Heart Quest

by Robin D. Owens

  Scraping up his own energy, Ilex teleported back to the guardhouse.

  The rest of the day he spent preparing the trap for the killers.

  Twenty-seven

  As Ilex was finally preparing to leave the guardhouse to return to the despair that shrouded his apartment, his new brother Tinne scried.

  “Yes?” asked Ilex.

  “I need some time with you.”

  “Has something happened to Trif?”

  Tinne sighed gustily. “Nothing is wrong with her, though I saw her today after settling in at T’Blackthorn’s.” He paused. “For once, she didn’t look cheerful and optimistic.”

  Ilex’s gut clenched with guilt.

  “Though I understand your first thoughts are about her—and your second would be about the murders—I am scrying about myself, and bonding with you as a brother.”

  “Yes?”

  Lines bracketed Tinne’s mouth as he stared out at Ilex. “I would be much better for a good fight and some other manly relaxation tonight.”

  Ilex blinked. He had no idea what Tinne would consider manly relaxation—other than a fight, of course. Ilex could do with a good fight himself; still, he didn’t see himself in a tavern brawl. “Fighting where?”

  “Sparring at the Green Knight,” Tinne said.

  A warmth of anticipation suffused Ilex’s muscles. He grinned.

  “The idea pleases you too. Thought it would. I’ll meet you there in quarter-septhour.”

  “Done!” Ilex broke the scryspell.

  The sparring was down and dirty enough to relieve his anger and despair at sending Trif away and Tinne’s same emotions at losing his child. He’d even broken one of Tinne’s ribs, which had the man disappearing on him—vanishing to Primary HealingHall, since he wore an amulet like Trif ’s.

  When Ilex teleported to the HealingHall to check on Tinne, they both were given a lecture by a Second-Level Healer on the evils of violence as their bruises were efficiently Healed—for an exorbitant price. Ilex paid since Tinne had disowned his Father.

  Then they went to T’Mor’s Bath House, sat in the steam room, and got a massage.

  “I want to go drinking,” Tinne said abruptly as they left the place. “Gen’s at her parents’ Residence, being pampered by her female relatives. I’m sure she’ll stay the night. You said once we could drink together. That you have a separate identity for that.”

  “Yes.” Ilex suppressed a sigh.

  Tinne wasn’t as oblivious as Ilex had thought. “When was the last time you garnered information in lower-to-mid-class taverns about the murders?”

  “You have a point,” Ilex said. “Let’s teleport to my place so I can don my disguise. I’m only glad you don’t want to cruise Downwind.”

  “Downwind isn’t that tough since the urban renewal. Most of the real rough folk left Druida and scattered.”

  “And I’m glad of it,” Ilex said. He took Tinne’s hand, sent him a minutely detailed vision of his apartment, and they ported.

  Once there, he dressed in a shabby commoncloth cotton shirt and trous in a dark blue, tinted his hair black, and grew a beard stubble with a special spell. Finally, he pulled on black boots that were so old they had holes in both the uppers and soles.

  Eyeing him, Tinne’s expression lightened. “You look like a different man, all right.” He jabbed at Ilex’s biceps. “Like one of those rough Downwind ones. Not at all ‘Pretty boy Black Ilex,’”

  Ilex threw him a scathing glance. “I thought the fighting part of the evening was over and we were going to do the drinking part.”

  Cocking his head, Tinne said. “What was your original hair color?”

  “A little lighter than this. Dark brown.”

  With a smile, Tinne shook his head. “Different guy, all right. Trif ever see you with your hair tinted?”

  “No.” Ilex fastened a thick belt composed of many flapped pockets around his waist.

  Tinne looked impressed. “That belt is so out of fashion, it makes a statement. Something G’Uncle Tab might have worn in his youth.” He poked at one of the bulging pockets. “What do you have in there?”

  Ilex smiled back. “A little bit of everything. It’s a work belt.”

  “Holds lots of guards’ stuff?”

  “Yes.” He opened the door and nodded to Tinne to leave.

  At that moment, Vertic shot through the door flap in the bedroom, passed them, and turned and sat on the threshold to the corridor, mouth open, tongue lolling. I wish to go on the adventure too.

  “Is it all right with you if Vertic accompanies us?” asked Ilex.

  “Sure. He going to be interested in taverns?”

  Mice and rats in taverns, said Vertic. Warm hunting, good eating.

  “He’ll be reducing the rodent population,” Ilex said.

  “Then I guess we’re not going to places where the establishments use anti-vermin spells.”

  Ilex rubbed his now bristly jaw with a thumb. “I thought we’d start out in the southwest quadrant. In general, that’s where most of the murders took place.”

  Tinne’s brows lowered. “The Clover Compound is in the southwest.”

  “Believe me, I know.” He waved Vertic into the hallway. The fox, using some of its natural Flair, stuck to the walls and nearly disappeared into the shadows.

  “Is Trif here or in the Compound?” asked Tinne.

  “There.”

  Tinne made a little sound in his throat. “Both our women deserted us.”

  Ilex squeezed his shoulder. “I sent mine away. I’m sorry Genista left you.”

  Mouth flat, Tinne said, “She needed to be with Family. Her older sisters will coddle her.”

  “You’re her Family.”

  Shoulders tense, Tinne just shook his head and gazed aside. His eyes had a liquid sheen. He swallowed. “She’ll be back with me tomorrow.” One side of his mouth crooked up. “She really can’t stand her Family for long.” They walked through the lobby of MidClass Lodge and out into the cool night air. Tinne dragged in a breath. His face settled back into easy lines. “Where next?”

  Vertic sat next to Tinne, batted the back of his calf with a thick tail, and Tinne relaxed his stance even more.

  The street wasn’t busy, though there were a few parked gliders belonging to those who were rich enough to own them and liked living in a community such as MidClass Lodge. Ilex started walking to the first cross street. The corner was treeless and wind ruffled his hair.

  He lifted his head, but closed his eyes, extending his senses. He scented the beach on the far side of the hollow square that was MidClass Lodge, and the inland fragrances of park and people. Expanding his Flair, he thought vaguely of the taverns in the southwest where he garnered information. Like lights set on a map, the inns glowed yellow, one brighter than the others, his Flair indicating that something interesting might be found there.

  Clearing his throat, Ilex said, “What of The Token?”

  Vertic barked approval. Good place to cache food around there.

  Ilex looked down at him in disgust. “You eat well from hunting around here, and I’ll always feed you.” Even as he said the words, his mind flashed on his body lying on a large area of red tiles and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Vertic’s eyes glowed golden, slit pupils enlarging. I am still a Wild Fox.

  “Granted,” Ilex said.

  “I don’t know that place.” Tinne appeared curious. He held out his hand. “You’ll have to handle the ’port.”

  “On three,” Ilex said, scooping Vertic up to hold under one arm. Ilex counted down, and they vanished from the corner to appear in a small grassy area ringed with greeniron spikes.

  Tinne winced. “You like to live dangerously, eh? We could have landed on one of those spikes.”

  “No.” Ilex let Vertic down, then opened the gate for the fox to trot out. He followed, closed the gate behind Tinne, then flicked the small concealed teleport landing pad light on.

  “Huh,” sai
d Tinne. “I didn’t even notice that. You are good.”

  “Thanks.” He deepened his voice slightly, added a rasp.

  Tinne’s brows went up. “You change your voice too?”

  Ilex shrugged. “My disguise is more effective that way. Believe me, most people in this sort of tavern don’t want to talk to guards.”

  Tinne nodded. “I believe it.”

  “Hmmm.” Ilex stepped back and looked at Tinne. “You’ll pass. The Token is slightly better than lower-class, shabby middle-class. You look like a younger Lordling down on your luck.”

  Tinne grimaced. “I am.”

  Another sentence Ilex would have liked to call back. This evening was turning out to be nearly as miserable as the day. He shifted his shoulders, accepting the burden of tactlessness, and started off to the inn’s door. Vertic had already silently disappeared into the dark.

  But I am here if you need me, the fox said.

  “So, have you and Genista decided where you’re going to live?” Ilex asked. He liked Tinne, but there was no place he could offer to the young man.

  A wry smile twisted Tinne’s lips. “Genista is the Third-Daughter of a FirstFamily GreatLord, the wife of a First Family GreatLord’s Heir. She’s used to Residences.” He shrugged. “Like I said I would, I asked Mitchella D’Blackthorn if we could stay there, since they have plenty of room and no Family other than the children they’ve adopted.”

  “Aren’t they about to adopt a baby? Won’t that hurt Genista?”

  “It was either T’Blackthorn Residence or T’Ash Residence, and T’Ash has a healthy young toddler and fertile wife. Genista knows Mitchella is sterile and will commiserate with her.” His voice was brittle. “It was what Genista wanted, and right now, I am endeavoring to give Genista whatever she wants.”

  “Of course.” With an unobtrusive flick of fingertips, Ilex sent Tinne some soothing Flair.

  Tinne stopped, shut his eyes, and shuddered as he absorbed the comfort. Then he opened his eyes and walked into the tavern. He strode up to a tall, scarred wooden bar that showed a film of grease and liquor. “Chwisge!” he ordered.

  Ilex shuddered, it was a raw form of whiskey.

  The barman, a few feet away from them, ignored them to continue with his conversation. Ilex noted that since the last time he’d been in The Token, it had slid a few rungs down into lower-class. He could pass as a patron, Tinne couldn’t.

  Uncharacteristically, Tinne pounded on the bar. “Did you hear me, I want chwhis-gee.”

  There was not even a twitch from the barman.

  “If I don’t get my chwisge, I’ll rip your heart out.”

  Silence fell like a blade.

  Ilex wanted to sink his head in his hands, or punch Tinne in the jaw. This was helping him with his case? It was all over town that the bodies were heartless. All the newsheets assumed the chest had been torn open and the hearts removed.

  Paling, the barman moved quickly to Tinne, looked him up and down. “You have any gilt, puppy?” His words were less harsh than his tone. Beads of sweat dotted his upper lip.

  Narrowing his eyes, Ilex realized the bartender was new, and not too observant. Tinne might be young, and was obviously Noble, but his life hadn’t been easy since he’d made the long trek from the Great Washington Boghole to Druida when he was seventeen. His body might not be fully mature, but he had more wisdom than many a man of twenty-two, more than his brother Holm had had at that age. More than Ilex had had at that age too.

  Tinne pulled out a coin and set it spinning gold on the bar.

  Ilex suppressed an urge to rub his temples and fell into his part. He jostled Tinne. “What you said weren’t funny.” He smiled with teeth. “Pretty boy.”

  Shock, then amusement lit Tinne’s eyes. He flushed. The barmen snatched up the rotating coin and laughed. So did the other men and two women at the bar.

  “Chwisge,” Tinne repeated. “Please.”

  The barman snorted, pocketed the coin, and slapped a bottle and none-too-clean shot glass in front of Tinne. The bottle had a green label. It was probably the best chwisge the inn had, but it could rot the gut.

  Tinne poured himself two fingers, slugged it down, and showed no appreciable reaction. Ilex was impressed.

  “What you want?” asked the barman of Ilex.

  “Ale.”

  “Draft or cylinder?”

  Ilex glanced at the man’s dirty hands and the equally begrimed taps. “Cylinder.”

  “Goddess Brew or Crimson Nut?”

  “Nut.”

  Grunting, the bartender reached down, then pulled a frosty cylinder from a no-time, setting it before Ilex. Ilex made a point of pulling out some coins, carefully counting them, and pushing them at the barman.

  Tinne swallowed another finger of chwisge.

  A stooped man sidled over to Tinne, nudged him gently in the ribs. “Care to share?”

  “Why?”

  The man licked his lips, gaze fastened on the bottle as if it was the most expensive brithe brandy. He looked around. “Well, mebbe for a story? Sounded like you was interested in them murders.” He leaned over and said confidentially, “You know, I had a friend of a friend who actually saw that Calla Sorrel being discovered in Landing Park….”

  “Give the man a glass,” Tinne told the barman.

  A shot glass slid down to stop before the informer. Tinne poured chwisge to the top.

  “Thankee. Yup, my friend of a friend saw that youngster, that other Clover woman—sure have a lotta people in that Family—find the body and call a guard. She was right broke up about it, but handled herself like a real gentlewoman, they said. The friend of a friend got really close and said the girl-body was all bloody, especially the chest.”

  Ilex turned away. Perhaps his Flair had been wrong about there being important information here.

  The informer swallowed. “An’ this friend of a friend said there was a funny odor about that corpse, probably all the corpses—” He coughed.

  Ilex stiffened slightly, swearing under his breath. They hadn’t wanted that news to get out.

  “—like smoke those Cross Folk people use in their rituals.”

  By now Ilex knew about various ritual incenses. The Cross Folk used frankincense, benzoin, storax, olive, myrrh, sandalwood.

  Pylor.

  Lady and Lord, why hadn’t he thought of pylor incense? It was more a drug to be inhaled in smoke form, but it could be a mixed incense ingredient.

  The guy coughed again, wiped his hand across his lips, then on his shirt. “T’only smell like that I ever smelt was when I was workin’ on that strange turquoise house a coupla kilometers from here for that woman who became T’Blackthorn’s lady.” He slid his eyes slyly toward Tinne. “P’raps ya know of her.” Smacking his lips, he said, “Mitchella. She who was one a those Clovers. Bright red hair. Body that gives ya thoughts of the best wet dream ya ever had.”

  An accurate but crude description of Mitchella, Ilex thought dispassionately, then realized that most men would consider Mitchella Clover D’Blackthorn far more attractive than her cuz, Trif. He ached for Trif. A Clover woman surely could stir the passions, bemuse a man.

  Tinne stared down his nose at the man. “Perhaps I do know GrandLady Mitchella D’Blackthorn.”

  The man’s eyes went wide, he choked on his drink. Covering his glass with his hand as if he thought Tinne would take it away, he scuttled to the end of the bar.

  …smell like that I ever smelt was when I was workin’ on that strange turquoise house a coupla miles here. The words replayed in Ilex’s mind. The hair on the back of his neck rose as connections snapped together. The turquoise house had belonged to GrandLady Kalmi Lobelia. She’d been a pylorsmoke addict, using the drug to amplify her Flair for prophecy. She’d had Straif T’Blackthorn’s FamCat on an altar—ready to sacrifice?

  Ilex had to investigate. Now.

  He plucked at Tinne’s sleeve. “Gotta piss, then I’m done here. Don’t like the company.” He put a litt
le stagger into his step as he headed to the toilet. And on his way there, he overheard even more from a table of men who looked like laborers. “Yuh, I was at that blue-colored house when that Mitchella Clover was workin’ on it. That room the other lady used for them Flair consults stank sumthin’ awful.”

  Another man nodded. “That’s the truth. I overheard the redheaded decorator say that the smell soaked clear inta the walls and even inta them spelled wooden beams. No way to get ’em completely free of it.”

  Ilex had the information he came for. The clue he so needed. He used the bathroom, then found a private scry cubicle and set things in motion—asking for guards to find who Lobelia had associated with, particularly younger people; who she had purchased her herbs from, who else bought the same mixture. Excitement of the final stages of the hunt surged inside him.

  A rapping came at the closet door. “You, in there, time to go,” Tinne said.

  Finishing his instructions rapidly, Ilex signed off, then opened the door. He had to force himself into the posture he’d used since he’d entered the tavern.

  Tinne frowned at him, whispering. “You should be more careful. You snapped out orders in there like a GreatLord.”

  Ilex jerked a nod, replying softly. “You’re right. My mistake.”

  Something in his eyes or his voice alerted Tinne and he caught the excitement.

  “You think you know—” He broke off as a woman stumbled into the short hallway leading to the toilets and the scry cubby. They moved out of her way, through the tavern, and into the night.

  Vertic joined them, swallowed with a large gulp, and smiled at them. FamMan is hunting!

  “Yes.” Ilex wanted to hiss it like a cat. Like Greyku. Yessss.

  I see the turquoise house in your mind. The place where the female who now lives in the house near my old den worked. I have been to that blue house often.

  “Can you get to the turquoise house from here, Vertic?” Ilex asked aloud for Tinne’s benefit.

  In response, the fox waved his plumed tail and took off in a ground-eating stride.

  “That animal is fast,” Tinne remarked.

  “Faster than a dog or cat,” Ilex agreed.

  “Do we run or ’port?”