Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy)

by Pagliassotti Dru

  “Are you going to unmask to talk to the physician?” she asked her husband, instead.

  No.

  “All right.”

  They stood in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, by her heavy gold pocket watch, before the clerk returned, followed by a baffled-looking white-haired man in a suit.

  “Yes, hello, is there a problem?”

  “Are you the director of this hospital?” Amcathra asked. Rikard stepped backward and swung his rifle around, keeping the barrel low enough to avoid blatant threat but high enough to warn.

  Taya translated the lieutenant’s question.

  “I— yes, I am. Doctor André Morell.” The physician held out his hand, faltered, and looked from one of them to the other. At last his eyes settled on Cristof’s blank, mouthless mask, its ivory expanse broken only by glass-lensed eyes and a gold wave inlaid over one cheek. Morell dropped his hand. “Er, what can I do for you, my lord?”

  “This is his excellency, the exalted Cristof Forlore, ambassador of Ondinium,” Taya said. “I’m the exalted’s representative, Taya Icarus, and these are Lieutenant Amcathra and Lictor Kiraly. We have some questions about a murder victim who was brought here several days ago.”

  “Ah, yes,” Dr. Morell said at once, nodding. He gestured to his clerk, who hurried back to the file cabinet. “Was he a member of your delegation…?” His voice trailed off as he looked from the mute exalted to her.

  “No, but the exalted would like to learn more about him,” Taya said.

  “We want to see the corpse,” Amcathra added, in heavily accented Mareaux. Taya looked at him in surprise. Since when did he speak Mareaux? And why did he know the word “corpse”?

  “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it,” the doctor said, taking the file his clerk handed him. He glanced at it and offered it to Cristof. “These are his records.”

  Amcathra stepped forward and took the folder from the doctor’s hands, gave it a cursory glance, and handed it to Taya.

  Cristof’s sleeve-covered hand slid off her arm as she took the file, which was written in Mareaux. She read it through silently and then began to summarize out loud.

  “His name was Hubert Guisnard, a book merchant from Grimaucourt. He registered at his hotel a day before his death. His body was found behind a tavern where he’d been drinking, in the alley. His trousers were unbuttoned, so it’s assumed he was surprised while he was relieving himself.” She turned the page. “His throat was cut and his body was left on the ground. The coroner’s report says that he died from blood loss; he was dead when the body was found.” She showed the coroner’s sketch to Cristof, and then handed the folder to Amcathra.

  “We store his body here,” Dr. Morell said, speaking in hesitant, accented Ondinan. “We bury it after five days. Five… no, fifteen.” He repeated the word in Mareaux, giving Taya an uncertain look.

  “Fifteen,” she confirmed.

  “In Ondinium we store unidentified bodies for a month,” Amcathra said with disdain.

  “In Ondinium we have easier access to ice,” Taya pointed out. She turned to the doctor, switching languages. “Is the body well-preserved?”

  “Yes. We store our corpses on ice, too,” he said, sounding put out. She translated that for Amcathra, who grunted and handed the doctor the folder.

  “Good. Then let us view it,” Amcathra said, still speaking in Ondinan. She wondered if he’d only memorized the one Mareaux phrase.

  “I hope I’m not going to regret this,” she said, switching to Demican. Now that she knew the doctor understood at least a little Ondinan, she preferred to be careful. “My stomach isn’t as strong as it should be. And neither is his.”

  “Do not look,” Amcathra advised.

  She sighed.

  “Doctor Morell, would you please lead us to the morgue to see the body?” she asked in Mareaux.

  “Of course.” The director nodded and walked out. They trailed behind him in the same order they’d come in, Taya slowing to lean her head close to Cristof’s mask.

  “Try not to puke,” she whispered, in Ondinan. “If you want to close your eyes, I’ll lead. I’m just going to look at the floor, myself.”

  He made a noise she couldn’t quite interpret — a stifled laugh? — and tapped no on her arm.

  “I don’t care how many bodies you’ve seen,” she hissed in his ear, “you’ve been ill!”

  This time he tilted his head toward her, his fingers sliding over her arm in a caress.

  “And don’t look at me,” she scolded. An exalted’s public gestures were supposed to be slow, dignified, and minimal. Like a man-sized doll, Cristof had once said to her with disgust.

  The morgue was in the basement. The temperature dropped as they descended, Cristof negotiating the stairs with some effort. Public stairs in Ondinium were wide and shallow to facilitate exalteds’ measured movements. Mareaux’s stairs were steep and narrow and difficult to descend in long, heavy robes and a mask.

  When the doctor opened the door to the morgue, Taya’s stomach lurched. The smell was an unpleasant combination of chemistry lab and butcher’s shop.

  I’m not going to get sick. I’ve puked enough over the last two days to last me a decade.

  “Unclaimed bodies are sometimes passed along to university anatomists for specimen gathering,” Doctor Morrell said, noticing her discomfort. “The room next door is used for tissue preservation. I’m afraid the ventilation isn’t very good.”

  “Will— will this body be given to the university?” she asked, breathing through her mouth. It didn’t help.

  “Probably not. I assume he has family or friends who’ll claim the body. We’ve sent a letter back to Grimaucourt to inquire.”

  Amcathra made an impatient gesture that needed no translation. The doctor opened the next door.

  The room was small and almost entirely filled by a thick-walled box on a wheeled rack. Morrell pulled it out, and water sloshed over the edges of a pan at the bottom of the rack. He opened the box’s lid, revealing a naked body packed in ice.

  “The ice drips into the drainage pan as it melts. We drain the pan twice a day and take the water back to the ice house to be re-frozen,” Morrell explained.

  “Is that healthy?” Taya asked.

  “I wouldn’t use the ice in my lemonade, but we haven’t received any complaints. So, do you know him?”

  Cristof stepped forward, forcing her to move with him. She averted her eyes as his mask tilted over the corpse.

  His hidden fingers tightened on her arm.

  Oh, scrap. She swiftly glanced at the face but didn’t recognize it.

  “Should we claim the body?” she asked, barely breathing the question. A tapped no. “His things?” Yes.

  “The exalted would like to know if we may examine his clothing and belongings,” she said, raising her voice and addressing the doctor in his own language, then repeating herself in Ondinan for Amcathra and Rikard.

  “You’ll have to ask at the police office,” Doctor Morrell replied. He gave Cristof a newly uneasy glance, as if reminded that the masked figure wasn’t a wind-up mannequin. “He was murdered, so everything he owned was confiscated as evidence.”

  Amcathra didn’t look pleased as Taya translated.

  “Does the exalted recognize him?” he asked, in Demican.

  Taya hesitated, then realized that the lictor’s sharp eyes had caught her hesitation.

  “Maybe,” she hedged, also in Demican. The lictor nodded.

  “We are done here.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Taya said to the doctor, holding out a hand in Mareaux fashion. He shook it, looking curiously from her to the others.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help noticing that you look Mareaux….”

  “I’m second-generation Ondinium,” she explained. “Icarii don’t
wear castemarks.”

  “Ah, yes. The flyers.” He glanced at her shoulders as though expecting wings to suddenly appear. “Well, I hope this was of some help to the ambassador.”

  “Yes, thank you. You were very kind to see us without any prior notice.”

  “I’m happy to be of assistance to, er, our esteemed neighbors.” The doctor released her hand and made another awkward Mareaux bow to Cristof. “My lord. It’s been an honor.”

  A crowd had gathered around the carriage in their absence, and a buzz arose as Cristof exited the building. Taya straightened her shoulders and kept a wary eye on the crowd and her husband, but within a few minutes he was safely stowed in the curtained carriage.

  Amcathra again surprised Taya by ordering the driver to police headquarters in heavily accented Mareaux. Taya wondered if the lictors had been issued a special vocabulary list.

  When the driver nodded, the lieutenant took his place inside while Rikard climbed to the driver’s bench.

  Taya untied Cristof’s mask and pulled out a handkerchief to pat the sweat off his flushed face. He drew in a deep, relieved breath.

  “Lady, those stairs nearly killed me.” He rubbed the tip of his nose with his sleeve. “I can’t wait to get back to Ondinium and throw that damn mask in a drawer where it belongs.”

  “You did very well,” she said, wiping down the inside of the mask. Small leather pads lifted it off his skin, but his breath condensed on the ivory interior whenever he exerted himself.

  “And this wig itches, too,” her husband grumbled, adjusting it.

  “Who was the dead man?” Amcathra demanded.

  Cristof lifted a narrow shoulder.

  “He sold me some books on criminal phrenology. They’d just come out of Alzana.”

  “I thought you hated Alzana,” Taya remarked.

  “They make good criminal anthropologists.” Cristof raised an eyebrow. “Probably because they have so many criminals.”

  “When did he sell you those books?” Amcathra interrupted.

  “Soon after we arrived. Two weeks ago, I think.”

  “You talked to him without me?” Taya asked. “You know you aren’t supposed to do that!”

  “I was careful. I stood behind a changing screen.”

  “It doesn’t matter! Commoners aren’t even supposed to hear your voice. And I’ll bet you passed books back and forth, didn’t you?”

  “I hate to bother you with every little meeting….”

  “It’s my job, Cris.”

  Amcathra cleared his throat. “The bookseller returned to Echelles a day before his death. Did you give him reason to do so?”

  “I don’t know.” Cristof sounded nettled. “Maybe he found some of the titles I’d asked about. Why don’t we call the chief of police to the palace instead of visiting him? I can’t ask any questions in this mask.”

  “It is no longer your job to ask questions.” Amcathra said.

  “Well, I’m not going to sit in my suite hiding from assassins.”

  “No. You will sit in your suite planning our withdrawal from Mareaux.”

  Cristof scowled.

  “Taya’s better at making polite excuses than I am.”

  “Then you want to keep it polite?” she asked.

  “The exalted should withdraw in offended dignity,” Amcathra instructed. “Mareaux has failed in its responsibility to guarantee his safety.”

  “The queen won’t like that. You’re just going to strengthen Ondinium’s reputation for arrogance.”

  “Ondinium is arrogant.”

  “Lieutenant!” Taya glared at the lictor.

  Cristof shook his head. “He’s right; it is. But Taya’s right, too, Janos. I don’t want to make so much of a fuss over this that we risk our alliance.”

  “A show of offended dignity is hardly a declaration of war.”

  “You’d both better let me do the talking,” Taya muttered. At least the Ondinium delegation was already close to its scheduled departure; leaving a few days early wouldn’t cause much of a disturbance. She should be able to bring Queen Iancais around to some sort of mutually agreeable diplomatic pretense that would allow both sides to save face. Storms in the mountain passes, maybe. Weather was always a good excuse for adjusting travel plans.

  The coach slowed as they reached the police station. Taya restored Cristof’s mask and checked his robes to make certain they were still neatly arranged. By the time they left the carriage, a Mareaux man in a suit was speaking to Lieutenant Amcathra in Ondinan. The thin man paused when Cristof appeared and gave a precise Ondinium bow, his palm pressed against his forehead.

  “Exalted Forlore,” the man said in Ondinan, straightening. “I’m Martin Gifford, chief inspector of the Echelles Constabulary. Your presence honors us.”

  “We hope we haven’t inconvenienced you,” Taya replied, following his lead and speaking in Ondinan. “The exalted has some questions about a man who was recently murdered.”

  “Hubert Guisnard, yes; I reviewed his file after Lieutenant Amcathra wrote yesterday.”

  Taya gave the lieutenant a surprised glance. A police station wasn’t a crime scene, then? Must be caste bias.

  “Please, won’t you step inside?”

  Their walk through police headquarters didn’t cause as much of a stir as in the hospital, although Taya saw the staff and officers shoot surreptitious glances their way as they pretended to be unimpressed. Chief Inspector Gifford led them into a cluttered office with large windows that overlooked a busy street. He pulled around a leather wing-backed chair and set a smaller chair next to it. “Please, Exalted.” He gestured to the larger of the two.

  Rikard stepped outside and closed the office door, leaving the four of them alone.

  Taya brushed Cristof’s layers of robes aside as he sat, then arranged them in portrait-perfect drapery. She scooted the smaller chair closer and sat, draping his sleeve over their touching arms. She was impressed that Gifford understood Ondinium seating protocol.

  “Guisnard sold Exalted Forlore some books approximately two weeks ago, shortly after our delegation arrived,” Amcathra said, still standing. “Your report indicated that he had only checked into his hotel recently. Did he leave Echelles after seeing the exalted?”

  “I hadn’t realized Guisnard had been in town earlier, Exalted, and I had no idea that he’d spoken to you.” Gifford also remained on his feet, ignoring the chair behind his desk. He spoke directly to Cristof. “However, he worked for a publisher in Grimaucourt, so it makes sense that he’d travel back and forth in the course of his work. Did you place an order? Perhaps he was planning to deliver a book to you?”

  “The exalted didn’t place an order,” Taya replied, at Cristof’s negative. “But it’s possible that Mister Guisnard found something that might interest him.”

  “I’m sure Lieutenant Amcathra told you that Guisnard’s hotel room had been torn apart,” the inspector said. “The door wasn’t forced, and no key was found on his body, so we assume his killer took his keys and searched his room.”

  “Was anything taken?” Amcathra asked.

  “Difficult to say. He had a traveling desk that was forced open. There were no letters or files inside. Of course, we can’t prove they were stolen, but it doesn’t seem likely that a salesman would travel without any business records or receipt books. He had an entire crate of books in his hotel room. They were pulled out and left on the floor.”

  “Money?” the lictor asked.

  “We didn’t find any money on Guisnard’s body, but he had cash and several bank notes in the hotel safe. We also found two books there.”

  “Were they rare volumes?” Taya inquired.

  “I don’t think so, but they may have been set aside for a particular buyer, as you suggested.” Gifford pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket, walking to a sa
fe behind his desk. After a moment he turned, holding two slim volumes toward Cristof. “Would these have interested you, Exalted Forlore?”

  Taya took the first with her free hand and held it up for Cristof. The title was in Alzanan. Delinquency, Deviance, and Disorder: A Call for the Reformation of the Poor Law.

  His fingers dug into her arm.

  She set it down on her lap and picked up the second, also in Alzanan. Dangerous Women: Infamous Murderesses of History.

  Again.

  She set it down, keeping her face blank.

  Neither book looked like a work on criminal phrenology, to her. But Cristof wanted them both. The first made sense, but the second? Infamous Murderesses of History? Cristof didn’t read sensational literature.

  Which implied that he was up to something.

  When she found out what, she might qualify for a page in the book’s second edition.

  “Yes, they would have interested him,” she said with studied calm, handing the volumes back to Gifford. “Exalted Forlore studies criminal investigation and social reform. It’s very likely Guisnard wanted to show him these books.”

  Cristof signaled again, his gloved fingers tapping a pattern on her arm: obtain.

  “Are they rare?” Gifford asked.

  “No,” Taya said, after Cristof’s negative. “At least, not here. The Oporphyr Council is very selective about what books are allowed into the country. The exalted has been able to expand his private library during this visit to Mareaux; I suppose Guisnard may have realized that and brought back books he thought might be difficult to find in Ondinium.”

  Gifford set the books on his desk, his dark blue eyes troubled.

  “Did Guisnard sell books to anyone else in your delegation?”

  “Not that we know of,” Taya ventured, getting no signal from Cristof. She looked at Amcathra.

  “I will inquire,” he said, then inclined his head toward the inspector. “Or you, if you prefer.”

  “It might be useful for us to inquire together,” Gifford said, politely. Lieutenant Amcathra nodded in what Taya considered a startling demonstration of diplomatic acquiescence. He really must think of Gifford as another lictor.