“You took a long time to say that.”
“I was thinking. I’m also hungry.”
Salyna nodded.
Mykella headed for the breakfast room and the serving pantry, where there should at least be bread and cheese. Later, after she ate, she would need to scout the paths of blackness to the west and use the Table to check on people, especially Cheleyza and Porofyr, as well as others, at least until she was certain those others posed no threat.
9
Londi morning dawned bright and clear, but Mykella didn’t feel that cheerful. On Decdi afternoon, she’d retreated to her apartments and slid into the darkness to explore farther to the west of Viencet. According to the maps and her own deductions, she’d covered perhaps another thirty vingts west of the town that held the Southern Guard’s training base—and nowhere was there a black path closer than two vingts to the eternastone highway, and the closest she could get to the town proper and still draw upon the blackness was a good vingt and a half north, still in the wooded low hills. That wouldn’t do at all.
When she had returned from her covert explorations for dinner with her sisters, Rachylana had remained as withdrawn as before, with occasional cutting comments, and Salyna was reserved, as if wary of a sister she wasn’t certain she understood any longer.
Mykella had gone to bed early, but her sleep had been restless, and she was more than glad to get up. Breakfast conversation was not much better than that at dinner had been although she was pleasant. After she hurried through her food, Mykella returned to her chambers, ostensibly to wash up and prepare for the day. Those tasks completed, she did not immediately leave for her formal study but instead walked to the window, touched the granite, called upon the greenish darkness, and slipped through the stone down to the Table chamber. The first thing that struck her was that the Table was shrouded in a brighter and stronger pinkish purple, a color that only she, and perhaps Areyst, could see, although it was more that they sensed it within their minds than saw with their eyes. Raising her shields, she stepped closer to the Table. The surface remained a shimmering mirror, and she could not sense any Ifrits. Still, the color concerned her.
After a moment, she concentrated on Cheleyza. The image that appeared displayed her aunt in some sort of inn or public room, at a corner table, with three men, one of whom looked vaguely familiar. Mykella thought that he might be Paelyt, the steward who had come to Tempre with Cheleyza and departed with her as well, but she wasn’t certain. Not for the first time, she wished she’d been more attentive in years past. Mykella couldn’t tell from the public room in what town or city it was located, but the most likely wager was that it was in Hieron, because that was where one of the ancient bridges of the Alectors crossed the Vedra and from where Cheleyza could ride straight north on an eternastone highway to Harmony. That was a guess, but Mykella doubted that her aunt could have gotten any farther than Hieron in the five days since she’d fled Tempre. To have done even that would have meant paying extra for the barge to stay on the river at night.
The Table showed her nothing new or revealing about Maxymt or Treghyt, except that both appeared on their way away from Tempre, and Porofyr was seated in his counting room, a vaguely pleased smile on his face that troubled Mykella. After letting the former minister’s image fade, she studied the Table again, convinced that it held a brighter shade. Yet … what could she do except keep checking?
She returned to her private study by the same stealthy method by which she had departed, then walked from her apartments down the corridor to the anteroom to her formal study.
Chalmyr was already there and waiting. “Good morning, Lady.”
“Good morning. Has either Khanasyl or Lhanyr answered my notes?”
“Not yet, Lady.”
“Are there any other missives? Have you heard anything from Prince Skrelyn’s envoy?” Her own words reminded her of the promise to Majer Smoltak of a missive for Envoy Sheorak.
“No, Lady.”
Mykella could tell that Chalmyr was skeptical about hearing from the envoy. He might be right about that. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
“Captain Maeltor left word that there was a fire in one of High Factor Hasenyt’s warehouses.”
Mykella thought. Was that why Porofyr was smiling? Is there anything I can do about that right now … or at all? “Is Hasenyt all right?”
“Captain Maeltor said that he was not injured and that the damage was limited to his smallest warehouse.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
Mykella entered the formal study, closing the door. Hasenyt had been the first High Factor to support her, in the moments after she had executed Joramyl. Just how likely was it that the fire in his warehouse was coincidence? Especially after seeing Porofyr’s face? Not all that likely.
Hasenyt was one of the few factors she’d met personally before her father’s murder, but she’d only been to his villa once. You should have paid more attention. But she hadn’t.
She eased the study door back open. “Chalmyr? I’ll need the addresses of Hasenyt’s warehouse, his factorage, and his villa.”
“Captain Maeltor provided the address of the warehouse. I’ll have one of the duty guards obtain the others.”
“Thank you.” Mykella closed the door and walked to the study window, looking across the courtyard, then at the park across the avenue. How could she determine whether Porofyr had acted against Hasenyt? Even if she could determine that, she doubted if there would be any real proof. Is it always going to be like this?
She took a deep breath and returned to the desk, where she opened the map folder, trying to plot out where she should make her next Talent trip. Abruptly, she stood. There was one other matter she’d forgotten.
Making her way to the end bookcase, she pressed the hidden catch, and the bookcase swung open to reveal an iron door. She unlocked it and opened it, revealing a second door, also locked. In turn she unlocked that and stepped into the small stone-walled and iron-paneled storeroom. From the small chest on the front shelf, she took twenty golds and twenty silvers and slipped them into her belt wallet. Then she closed the chest and left, relocking the doors and replacing the bookcase. She’d never carried that many golds, but, given what she was trying to do, having some coins seemed like a sensible precaution.
Recalling the missive she had not yet written, she pushed aside the map folio and picked up the pen, taking a deep breath. Writing and rewriting that short letter took three attempts, and almost a glass … and in the end she had a draft with which she wasn’t exactly pleased. She ran her eyes over a very rough draft, catching the key phrases.
… we assure you that Lanachrona has every wish to remain friendly toward all, but particularly toward those, such as Deforya, who have treated with respect and courtesy, and certainly in the future, once matters are settled, we look forward to considering the matter of possible matches.…
Chalmyr can smooth this out and add more flourishes.
At least, it conveyed the idea that, once matters were settled in Tempre, she would consider matches. She took that to Chalmyr, asking him to redraft it in his elegant script. She had barely seated herself back at the desk with the map folio than there was a rap on the door.
“Captain Maeltor is here, Lady,” announced Chalmyr.
“Have him come in.” Mykella did not rise but merely waited for the captain to enter and close the door.
“The commander said that you would be making inspection rides through Tempre, Lady. Might I inquire as to when you would like to depart the palace?”
“A half glass. I’d like to begin by riding by where the fire destroyed High Factor Hasenyt’s warehouse.”
“Yes, Lady.”
“We’ll proceed from there, as necessary.”
Once Maeltor departed, Mykella made another study of the maps, then sat at the desk, wondering to what degree she should consult Lhanyr and Khanasyl in the matter of appointing a successor to Porofyr. She shook
her head. She had no one in mind. Even if she had, any decision should follow meetings with the two highest-ranking traders in Tempre.
She left the formal study before a full half glass had passed, but the gray gelding and Maeltor and the Guard squad were waiting in the courtyard under a hazy silver-green sky. Once she mounted, two guards led the way from the palace grounds, first westward on the avenue, then south. Hasenyt’s factorage was less than two vingts away, roughly south-southeast of the Great Piers. Three warehouses stood forming three sides of a square around a central courtyard for loading and unloading. The trading building of the factorage formed the fourth side of the square and faced south.
Mykella and the captain had reined up before the porch of the building. While she had only been able to glimpse the fire damage from the gap between buildings as she rode up, she could certainly smell the odor of burned wood and other items in the damp spring air.
At that moment, a man stepped out from the double doors under the square arch in the middle of the building. Even though he was shaded by the overhanging eaves that formed the roof on the narrow porch, Mykella easily recognized him, a dark-haired and dark-bearded man some ten years younger than her father, she judged, and perhaps fifteen years older than she was.
“Lady-Protector … I did not expect…”
“The fire was not an accident, was it?” Mykella looked straight at the High Factor.
Hasenyt offered a rueful and sad smile. “It would seem unlikely, but none of the watchmen saw anything.”
“Are they still here?”
“Ah … yes, Lady. I was just speaking to them.”
“I would speak to them as well.”
Hasenyt’s eyes flicked from Mykella to Maeltor, then back to the Lady-Protector. After a long pause, he replied. “Of course.”
“Separately,” Mykella said, adding as she sensed Maeltor’s apprehension, “with you and the captain, of course. They’re in the building here?”
“Yes, Lady.”
Mykella used the only mounting block in front of the factorage, then followed Hasenyt inside, followed by Maeltor and two Southern Guards. She didn’t have to go far because both men were in the anteroom just inside the double doors. They sat on a bench against the side wall.
Beside them were two large men with truncheons. Both men looked puzzled to see Mykella.
Mykella repressed an ironic smile as she stopped some three yards from the bench, with Hasenyt to her right and Maeltor to her left. Clearly, Hasenyt had the same suspicions she did … or he just held the two responsible for not doing more to stop the fire.
“Naulyn, take Scerpio to my study. Close the door.” The High Factor looked at the younger burly man on the bench. “Dionyl … the Lady-Protector has some questions for you.”
Dionyl stood slowly, almost insolently, as Naulyn marched Scerpio through a door at the left rear of the antechamber.
“Were you the one who discovered the fire?” asked Mykella, trying to get a feel for the man but sensing little but contempt mixed with apprehension.
“Yes.”
“Scerpio didn’t see or smell it first?”
“No.”
Mykella could sense the absolute truth of the responses. She could also see the frown on Hasenyt’s face, as well as sense Maeltor’s growing anger. She smiled and turned to the captain. “If you would, Captain … I’m certain Dionyl will reveal what really happened.” Then she turned back to the watchman. “Why didn’t Scerpio see it?”
“I don’t know.”
That was a lie. Mykella nodded. “Did you see the fire first or smell it? And where were you?”
“I was in the courtyard, walkin’ from the west building to the north one, and I saw the flames coming from behind the big center door.”
Another lie. “Just behind the door?”
“Close to it.”
Mykella looked to Hasenyt. “I assume all the doors are on the courtyard side of the warehouses, and that there aren’t any doors or windows on the street side. I didn’t see any.”
“That’s correct, Lady,” answered the factor.
“Dionyl … you didn’t see anyone in the courtyard, except Scerpio, then?”
“I didn’t see no one. Didn’t mean someone wasn’t there. It was a dark night.”
Dionyl wasn’t that bright because Selena had been full, and the night had been clear. But he had been telling the truth about not seeing anyone.
“How long did it take for the fire to catch after you set it—”
In a single flowing movement, the man drew a throwing knife and released it. The weapon struck Mykella’s shields and half bounced, half dropped to the stone floor of the factorage. Hasenyt’s mouth dropped open.
Absently, Mykella wondered why he was surprised since he’d observed Nephryt’s futile attempt to decapitate her. At least, he’d been there. Or had he not believed what he had seen?
The man drew a long dagger from his boot.
This time Mykella was ready, and she took two steps sideways to place herself between Hasenyt and the attack, anchoring her shields to the stone. The attacker struck the shields with such force that he staggered back and went to his knees, dropping the dagger.
Maeltor stepped forward and clubbed the half-stunned figure with the hilt of his saber. The man sprawled facedown on the stone. The two Southern Guards pinned his still-struggling figure and began to tie him up.
Hasenyt swallowed.
In a few moments, Dionyl was trussed and held on the bench.
“Who paid you?” asked Mykella.
“I didn’t do it.”
“That’s a lie.” Mykella drew the faintest bit of light to her, just enough to make her entire figure seem brighter. “You can’t lie to me without my knowing it.”
Dionyl’s eyes widened, and one of the Southern Guards gulped.
“Who paid you?” Mykella added Talent to her words, and the watchman shuddered.
“… don’t know … wore gray cloaks and hoods … caught me in the alley near Lhaed’s … said if I said anything … turn my little brother into a woman … gave me two golds…” Dionyl shuddered again. “… what else … do…”
“He’s telling the truth about that.” Mykella turned to Hasenyt. “Someone might try to find his brother.”
The factor nodded to the remaining man with a truncheon, who eased from the anteroom.
“I think that’s a fair indication that the fire wasn’t an accident,” Mykella said dryly. “Let’s see what the other warehouse guard has to say. Oh … and check Dionyl’s purse although I can’t believe he’d have kept what he was paid there.”
Mykella questioned Scerpio in Hasenyt’s study, a smaller chamber less than a third the size of the anteroom. Scerpio had little enough to say because he’d been asleep after drinking some of the wine that his compatriot had offered him.
Then Hasenyt’s guard marched Scerpio out, and Mykella turned to Hasenyt.
“Who do you think paid Dionyl?”
“It could be one of several … or someone I do not even suspect.”
“I would doubt that you do not have a good idea of who your enemies are.”
“You are more formidable than many would believe, Lady-Protector,” replied the High Factor Hasenyt, “but there will be no proof at all of what I think and whatever you suspect.”
Mykella was certain that he was correct about that. “For now, High Factor. For now.”
Hasenyt nodded slowly.
Mykella understood all too well what he thought—that more of those thought to support her would suffer before anything remotely resembling proof would appear … if it ever did. While she wanted to promise to discover who was responsible, saying so would be unwise, especially since, even if she did discover the guilty party, it was more than likely she’d lack any proof to convince anyone but herself. “I am sorry for this, and I will not forget.” That … I can pledge.
“Thank you, Lady-Protector.” Even so, his eyes were sad.
After Mykella left the factorage and remounted the gray, Maeltor looked questioningly at her.
“Why?” she asked. “Because there are those who do not wish there to be honest and inquisitive rulers.” Particularly if they’re women. “We can ride south from here, can we not, then go east and take another boulevard back to the palace?”
“Yes, Lady.”
“Then let us do so.”
“That route will not be pleasant.”
“Good.”
Mykella could sense that her reply puzzled the captain, but she wasn’t about to explain. Not yet, anyway. After riding a good six blocks south past other factorages and crafting shops, she turned the gray to the west, toward a small square, where another avenue ran north and south. The square was little more than a wide paved space where the boulevard and avenue crossed. From the pattern of stones in the center, once there might have been a statue in the middle. On the southwest corner stood an older inn, its stucco recently whitewashed, and the railings on the side porch shimmering with new varnish. The sign proclaimed TRAVELER’S REST.
Mykella turned north. After less than a block, she began to notice an unpleasant odor, clearly of human wastes. As she rode past an alley, she saw piles of night soil. Why?
Unfortunately, that odor was mild compared to the stench that began to seep into her nostrils after another three blocks, one that seemed to come from the west on the light breeze. After another block or so, looking down alleys and between gaps in buildings, mostly holding crafters, she could make out what looked to be a canal or the stone walls of a confined river.
“I want to look at the canal.”
“It’s the South River, Lady.”
“It shouldn’t smell like that,” observed Mykella.
“It has since I was a ranker here ten years ago.” Maeltor paused. “Maybe not this bad, though.”
As she neared the river, still on the east side, they rode into the metalworking quarter, where smoke and haze air filled the air. While the buildings were set back from the river, and no open ditches led down the short slope from the structures to the river, two covered pipes led into the water, and an oily residue drifted downstream from the area of the pipes. That vaguely bluish shimmer on the water was not visible upstream from the pipes, suggesting strongly that some of the metalworks were letting wastes pour into the river.
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