Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “I’ve never seen the like.”

  No one tried to stop or apprehend them as they entered the receiving hall, either. Instead a servant led them to the small audience chamber, a room almost as grim as the palace exterior, and one with which they were already acquainted. It was long and rather narrow, and lit by a row of stained-glass slit windows set just below the vaulted ceiling. At the far end, several rows of long oak benches faced a large throne on a raised dais. The vicegerent’s banner hung behind it, signifying that Phoria was out of the city, and that Korathan dealt with all state business while she was away at war. At the moment the chamber was empty except for the three of them and the servant at the door keeping watch on them.

  “I hate this room,” Thero muttered, sitting stiffly on one of the front benches.

  “So do I,” Alec agreed as he paced restlessly back and forth.

  Seregil sat down beside Thero. “We generally don’t get a warm welcome here. I’d be happier if we’d been taken to Korathan’s chambers.”

  “I don’t welcome possible traitors there,” the prince said as he swept in with a female wizard.

  Alec recognized the woman; she was Korathan’s wizard, Ymany, and a truth knower. He and the others dropped to one knee with a fist pressed to their chest before the dais.

  “I see you’ve preempted my summons,” Korathan noted, sitting down in the ornate chair to the right of the throne.

  “I brought them,” Thero told him.

  “I won’t even ask how you knew before I did,” Korathan said with a sigh. “I suppose you two have come to explain yourselves?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Seregil told him, remaining formal under the circumstances and in front of the wizard. “We were aware of the letter and its rather ambiguous contents.”

  “Really? And how is that?”

  “I saw it last night,” Alec told him.

  Korathan raised an expectant eyebrow. “Why would Laneus, who thought you were friends, write such a letter?”

  “Probably for the same reason he tried to have us killed,” Seregil replied.

  “Twice,” added Alec.

  “You’re certain of that?”

  Seregil nodded.

  “And it’s still your belief that Klia has no part in the business, nor supports it in any way?”

  “More than ever,” Thero replied.

  “No one understands the gravity of the situation better than we do, Highness,” Seregil told him. “Laneus’s letter was addressed to Your Highness. That could implicate not only Klia, but Princess Aralain or yourself, as well. We don’t want to place you in the position of having to keep our secrets from the queen any more than you already have. But I swear to you by my life that Alec and I are acting only on Skala’s behalf.”

  “That’s not completely true, Highness,” Ymany said.

  Korathan gave Seregil a level look, waiting.

  “And to save Klia.” It was the truth and the wizard nodded.

  “Very well. What new information have you gathered in your mysterious ways?”

  “I believe I may have been attacked by some of Sarien’s men last night.” Seregil took out the bronze charm and gave it to him.

  “Yes, his soldiers wear these,” Korathan said, staring unhappily down at it. “But soldiers give these things away to children and loved ones, too. Anyone could have one.”

  “That’s one explanation,” Seregil allowed. “Or maybe someone wanted to throw suspicion Sarien’s way, although they’d have had no idea that I was going to tear it from the man’s neck.”

  “Then what exactly do you suggest I do?”

  “Give us a little longer to find proof of Klia’s innocence.”

  “And the letter mentioning you?”

  “Give out that it was some misunderstanding? You could say the man had a grudge against me. It’s the truth anyway.”

  Korathan glanced at his wizard, who nodded. “Did you have a hand in Laneus’s death?”

  “No.”

  The wizard nodded again.

  Korathan thought for a moment, then said, “I can’t look the other way for much longer. I need you to work more quickly.”

  Seregil and the others bowed with their fist to their chests again. “Of course.”

  LANEUS’S sudden death so close on the heels of Kylith’s caused a minor stir among the nobility; that of Count Tolin a few days later fueled talk of some mysterious illness at work among the nobility. After all, wasn’t there a plague among the poor? Or, others whispered, perhaps a murderer? The drysians reported no traces of wounds or poison in either case, but perhaps magic?

  For all the talk, neither Thero nor Valerius could determine what had killed Tolin, or Laneus; their hearts simply seemed to have stopped beating. Nonetheless, it wasn’t lost on anyone that they were members of rival cabals, one of which most certainly had access to Wyvern Blood.

  The heat held, and while Seregil and Alec attended the princess and kept an eye on their collection of conspirators, the denizens of the Lower City stews continued to sicken and die.

  It had been another late night with Reltheus. As Alec rode beside Seregil through the dark, quiet city toward Wheel Street, he wanted nothing more than some cool water and a soft bed. The late-summer air was charged and humid even at this hour, with the promise of thunderstorms to come. Flexing his sweating shoulders under the unwelcome weight of his linen coat, Alec added a nice refreshing wash in for good measure, perhaps with Seregil’s help.

  Tired as he was, however, he was still alert for any sign of assassins, although no attack had come since Laneus’s sudden death. As they turned the corner into Wheel Street, Alec saw with surprise that bright lamplight was showing through the salon windows overlooking the street. “Runcer’s up late.” The manservant usually left a single lamp burning for them when they were out at night.

  Inside, he was even more surprised to find Eirual’s doorkeeper, Manius, waiting for them. Alec had never seen him outside of the brothel, and the man looked uncharacteristically distraught.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Alec.

  “I’m not to say, my lord, if you’ll forgive me. That is my mistress’s wish. I’m to send you and Lord Seregil to her house at once, if you’ll come.”

  Seregil exchanged a worried look with Alec. “Of course.”

  Manius had come in a carriage, so they left him to it and galloped through the sleeping city to the Street of Lights, where revelers were still very much awake. Eirual’s great receiving room was full as always, with wealthy men and beautiful, alluringly dressed young courtesans.

  Pretty blond Hyli was waiting for them, eyes red from crying, and led them upstairs to Eirual’s private chamber. They found their friend sitting in a chair beside the bed, alone and fully dressed, holding the hand of someone lying there. Coming closer, Alec’s heart plummeted. It was Myrhichia.

  Dressed in the dark blue, crystal-spangled gown she’d worn the night they’d entertained Laneus and Malthus, she lay perfectly still, eyes open and staring unseeing at the silken canopy above.

  “Maker’s Mercy, no!” Alec sank down on the edge of the bed beside her and touched her hand. It was warm but limp as he took it in his.

  Seregil went to comfort Eirual. “When did this happen?”

  “A few hours ago.” Eirual leaned on his shoulder and a tear slid down her cheek. “She was singing in the salon. One of her favorites was here for the evening after a long time away. She was so happy! She was beginning a new song when suddenly she just—wilted, like a flower in the hot sun! I thought at first that she’d fainted and struck her head, but she’s been like this ever since! We managed to get her up here without anyone noticing her true condition. Is this the sickness from the Lower City?”

  “It looks like it.”

  “But she hasn’t been down there, has she?”

  “Of course not,” Eirual replied, wiping away more tears. “And there’s been no one of that sort here, either, I can assure you!”

&nb
sp; That sort, thought Alec, wondering what she’d say if she’d seen those children at the temples.

  “Have there been any newcomers?” asked Seregil. “Anyone out of the ordinary?”

  Eirual sank her head into one hand. “Newcomers? Of course, there are always new patrons. Lord Tryis, Duke Moren’s boy Kallen, young Lord Alerin, several well-to-do merchants from Mycena. I can’t recall the names. They were in a week or so ago. And that handsome actor of yours, Master Atre, comes to flirt with her now and then.”

  “He does seem to turn up everywhere,” said Seregil. “Who else? Dressmakers? Perfume sellers? Anyone of that sort?”

  “Well, there’s a new butcher’s boy, but my girls have no contact with him. Arlana did go to a new dressmaker, but the woman didn’t come here, and Myrhichia hasn’t been to her shop. Those are the only new people I can think of.”

  “Who is in and out of here regularly, besides your customers?”

  “Patrons,” Eirual corrected distractedly. “Let me see. The butcher’s boy, the dairyman, the man who delivers the firewood—”

  “Someone who has access to the girls,” Seregil prompted gently.

  “The hairdressers, the cosmetics merchant, jewelers, of course, perfumers, seamstresses, cloth merchants, wine and sweetmeat dealers—” She threw up her hands. “I don’t even know! The girls all have tradesmen they favor, and most of them come and go as they like. It’s never been a problem.”

  “So someone could conceivably have come in without you knowing about them?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Who has Myrhichia seen in the past week or so?” asked Alec. “We can at least narrow it down that way.”

  Eirual turned to Hyli, who’d been weeping quietly in the corner by the door. “You spend the most time with her, besides me.”

  The courtesan took the handkerchief from her face. “Mistress Kela came to measure her for some new nightdresses. Master Horrin sold her some rouge.” She paused to wipe her nose. “Master Kharom delivered some jewels she’d ordered from him.”

  “Has she been out of the house much lately?” asked Seregil.

  “To the Three Dragons with Duke Oreus one night, and the theater, and with you, of course. She went to the new play at the Crane a few nights ago, and to the Tirari last night with Duke Carnis.”

  “That just leaves her regular patrons. How many does she have?”

  “At the moment?” Eirual counted silently on her fingers. “Five regulars, and the occasional extra.”

  Alec swallowed hard. He knew what Myrhichia was, of course, and what her trade entailed, but he didn’t spend time thinking about the details. She was his friend.

  “Somewhere among all those is the one who carries this disease, or works the magic, whichever it is,” Seregil told her.

  Eirual looked to Hyli. “You can go, love. If anyone questions you, tell them that she’s indisposed.”

  When the girl was gone, Eirual turned to Seregil. “Will you speak to Brother Valerius for me? He doesn’t approve of me, I know, but I want the best for her.”

  “I’m sure I can convince him,” Seregil assured her, patting her hand.

  More tears came as Eirual looked down at Myrhichia. “I love all my girls, but she’s like a daughter to me.”

  “I’ll go, Seregil. You stay with Eirual.” Alec took the older woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to help.”

  * * *

  Alec found Valerius in his library, poring over a large book by the window.

  “What are you doing here at this hour?” the man asked, looking up with amused annoyance.

  “It’s Myrhichia. She has the sleeping death,” Alec told him, throat tight as he finally said the words aloud.

  Any levity fled the drysian’s face. “Maker’s Mercy!” He rose and fetched his herb bag from a cabinet and his staff from its place by the door. Striding from the room, he bellowed, “Zala, my horse!”

  At the brothel Valerius had Eirual and Hyli remove Myrhichia’s clothing and unpin her hair; then he inspected her closely. Alec stood by the door, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on the carpet. He’d seen Myrhichia naked, of course, but only that one night, and now it felt strange and uncomfortable.

  “No fever,” the healer muttered to himself. “No lesions. No bruising. No obvious punctures. No aroma of poisons. No discoloration of the tongue or lips … or the nails. Nothing unusual there …”

  Alec heard the rustle of bedclothes as Valerius drew them up to her chin.

  The drysian stood a moment in thought, scratching absently under his beard. “I need a cup of hot water.”

  Alec went out and found Hyli hovering outside the door. He sent her for the water, then stepped back in and went to the bedside again. Seregil’s eyes met his; they both knew what Myrhichia’s chances were, but Eirual was watching the drysian with desperate, hope-filled eyes as he went about sorting things from his bag.

  A serving boy appeared balancing a jug of hot water and a delicate tea bowl on a tray. Valerius filled the bowl, added something from a clay bottle that stained the water green against the pale glaze of the cup, then a pinch of white powder that turned it blue.

  “Hold her head up for me, Alec,” Valerius said.

  Her hair was warm and silky against Alec’s palm, and he had to swallow again as memories burned behind his eyelids.

  “What are those?” asked Eirual.

  “Zengati salts.” Valerius carefully spooned some of the liquid between the sleeping woman’s lips, then stood back, watching her closely. But Myrhichia did not stir, her face peaceful, breast gently rising and falling. She might have been truly asleep, if not for those empty grey eyes.

  “Well?” Eirual demanded softly.

  Ignoring her, Valerius pulled a small, three-legged clay bowl from his bag and filled it with bits from what looked like a twist of dry grass. To this he added several strands of Myrhichia’s hair and a crumb of dry mucus from the corner of her eye, then put a candle to it to start it smoldering. He held this over Myrhichia and blew the sweet smoke into her face, then set the bowl on the small table beside the bed and took up his staff, chanting softly under his breath.

  And it went on like that as the stars faded outside and the first pale glow of false dawn showed beneath the velvet curtains.

  Valerius finally sank into a chair beside the bed and sighed. “I’m sorry, Eirual.”

  “Try something else!” she begged.

  “I shall have to consult the texts.”

  “You mean there’s nothing more you can do now?”

  “I will send my best priests to pray for her in the meantime.”

  Tears filled her dark eyes. “Pray? What good will that do?”

  “If nothing else, it will cleanse her soul.”

  “Because she’s a whore?” Eirual spat out. Seregil reached to embrace her but she shook his arm away. “You think this illness is some punishment? Her soul is as pure as yours, Valerius, no matter what you choose to think of us!”

  “I meant nothing of the sort,” Valerius rumbled, rising to gather his things. “It’s to cleanse her of illness, if that’s possible.”

  “Has it helped anyone in the Lower City?”

  “Not yet,” he admitted. “I thought it might give you some comfort.”

  “Keep your priests, and find some remedy!”

  “As you wish.” Valerius motioned for Seregil to come with him.

  “Stay with her, Alec,” he murmured as he followed the drysian out into the corridor.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak?” Valerius asked, closing the door behind them.

  Seregil led him down the hallway to Myrhichia’s empty chamber. Candles were burning here. The silken bed had been turned down, and the room smelled of expensive oils and incense.

  The drysian scrubbed his fingers through his unruly black hair. “I didn’t expect this. Not so soon.”

  Seregil raised an expectant eyebrow.

  “
It’s broken out in the Ring, too, in that cesspit behind the Sea Market.”

  “I suppose that’s less surprising than finding it here. Those few found near the Sea Gate might have been random wandering, but now it’s more likely someone infected with it must have escaped the Lower City quarantine and headed for somewhere they thought they wouldn’t be noticed.”

  Valerius nodded wearily. “This is like no disease I’ve ever seen before, Seregil, and I’m beginning to wonder if it is one at all, or some form of poisoning. There are numerous decoctions that might escape detection.”

  “Why would anyone bother poisoning the poor?”

  “Who knows? I want you two to look into this for me, before the Ring and this street are placed under quarantine. I need someone who can travel in the Ring without getting themselves killed. None of my people have your talent for that.”

  “This isn’t exactly the best time for us, Valerius. There’s something else afoot that we’re investigating for Thero and the prince, and it can’t wait.”

  “And I’ve been tasked with this by Prince Korathan himself. He considers it a matter of civic security. Sooner or later this is going to spread farther in the city, unless we find the cause and stop it. If it does spread, there will be panic. I can only give you a few days before he seals the area.”

  “We can handle it,” said Alec, stepping into the room to join them. “Kepi can pass in the Ring as easily as we can. Let him do the legwork and have him see if there’s anything or anyone unusual in there.”

  “Yes, that will work,” said Seregil. “And we’ll do all we can.”

  “Thank you,” Valerius said gruffly.

  Time was no one’s friend and they all knew it.

  Kepi didn’t bat an eye at their request, just pocketed the money and left. The following day the boy showed up in the middle of an afternoon thunderstorm. He was soaked to the skin and his ragged hair was plastered down under his sodden head scarf.

  “Come in by the fire,” Alec said. The cook was out at the market and had taken Anat with her to carry the baskets.

  “I’ll fetch a flannel,” said Seregil.

  “I hope that’s something to eat. My belly thinks my throat’s been cut.” Kepi squatted down by the fire as Seregil went in search of a towel in the bathing chamber next to the kitchen. “Where’s that friendly cook woman of yours?”