Casket of Souls

by Lynn Flewelling

  “Perhaps Thero would favor us with a demonstration?” said Seregil, giving him a wink.

  “Magic! Magic!” the three young children cried, clapping their hands.

  Thero smiled as they watched him with big eyes. While he didn’t appreciate being made to perform for pampered noblewomen, he’d come to like amusing children during the long days in Aurënen.

  “Let’s see.” Cupping his hands over a leftover slice of bread, he concentrated on the form of a tiny dog and released it to run around the table and sniff at the delighted children’s fingers. Then he levitated the dessert plates, sending them into a complex swirling dance above their heads.

  “Those are my best dishes!” the tavern keeper called out nervously, but the rest of the crowd erupted into applause. He brought the plates down again, carefully setting each back in its original place.

  “How wonderful!” Merina exclaimed, kissing him on the cheek. Brader didn’t seem particularly surprised.

  “Do another!” the little girl cried excitedly.

  “Now, Ela, don’t pester our guest,” Brader chided.

  “One more,” said Thero, aware that many around the room were watching to see what he’d do next. If he wasn’t careful, he’d develop a reputation for frivolity. “May I have a strand of your pretty red hair, miss?” he asked, meaning to turn it into a ring for her.

  Brader clasped his daughter’s hand as she went to pull out a strand. “That’s enough now. We don’t want to tax the good wizard’s patience.”

  For a moment the big man looked almost frightened.

  “My friend is still superstitious after all our time in the south,” Atre apologized for him. Smiling, he plucked a strand of his own auburn hair and handed it to Thero across the table. “Here, you can use this.”

  Thero took it and for an instant he felt another fleeting wisp of that strange sensation. The strand of hair felt cold between his fingers. But with everyone looking on expectantly there was no way to examine it more closely. Instead, he wrapped it around the tip of his little finger, then hid it behind his other hand and murmured the spell. The hair transformed into a tiny ring of braided gold, which he took from his fingertip and presented to Ela with a flourish, glancing quickly at her father. This didn’t seem to bother him.

  Atre hoped the others couldn’t see him sweating. He hated wizards and their prying eyes. Luckily this one wore the robes of his Orëska House, so Atre had seen him from the wings and recognized what he was. He wasn’t always so lucky.

  He’d managed to keep his distance from the man at Alec’s party, and Kylith’s wake; now it was all he could do to maintain the protective shield around himself and Brader and still remain in the conversation. He hadn’t had any elixir in days, but Brader had drunk one only yesterday. He prayed that the scent of it or whatever it was that wizards sensed was faint. However, he’d seen something in this wizard’s expression when they were introduced that warned him that the man might suspect something.

  “Something wrong, Thero?” Alec asked as they settled into the hired carriage and headed for Wheel Street. “I thought you were enjoying yourself?”

  “I did. But there’s something odd about those actors.”

  Seregil raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “There’s a whiff of magic there. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Magic? No. Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t.”

  “What kind of magic?” asked Alec.

  “That I’m not sure of.” Thero didn’t like it, but hadn’t sensed any threat from either man. Whatever it was, the magic was working only on them. “Do they have any enemies here?”

  “None that I know of,” Seregil replied. “Though I’m sure the other companies in the city aren’t happy with the competition.”

  Thero settled back against the cool leather seat, not entirely satisfied. “I wouldn’t let Elani near them again, if I were you. You don’t want anything rubbing off on her.”

  “She’s met him twice now,” Alec noted. “You didn’t feel anything bad around her, did you?”

  “No, quite the opposite. The court wizard takes good care of her. All the same, better to err on the side of caution.”

  Seregil nodded. “Do you think someone means the actors harm? How serious is this?”

  “It was very faint,” Thero replied. “Perhaps something passing away.”

  “Certainly nothing that’s affected their luck,” Alec observed. “Did you see that brooch Elani gave Atre?”

  “A nice bauble for his collection,” Seregil replied. “Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone given so many gifts.”

  It was late when Seregil and Alec arrived back at Wheel Street but Runcer met them with the news that “that boy” was in the kitchen again, waiting for them.

  Seregil chuckled. “Ah, the poor thing must be hungry. It’s rather like having a stray cat for a pet.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” Runcer said, carefully neutral on the subject.

  “You can go to bed now. Alec and I are in for the night.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  They found Kepi curled up asleep by the banked hearth. Seregil shook him gently by the shoulder and nearly got himself knifed for his trouble as Kepi woke expecting who knew what.

  He blinked, apparently surprised to find Seregil gripping his wrist. “Sorry, m’lord. You startled me.”

  “My mistake. I assume you have some news for us?”

  “I do, if you ain’t already heard it. That Kyrin fellow you had me and me friends watchin’? He’s dead.”

  “What killed him?”

  “Don’t know, but he’s dead, all right. I seen through a window him all laid out with coins on his eyes, and women cryin’ over him.”

  “Any sign of drysians?” asked Alec.

  “Not that I seen and I watched fer a while, figurin’ you’d want to know.”

  Seregil paid the boy and sent him off to keep watch through the night.

  “Kyrin?” Alec exclaimed as they climbed the stairs.

  “If Laneus was murdered, perhaps this is a reprisal. But what in the name of Bilairy is killing them? Not one of them has eaten at the other side’s table before they died. If it is poison, then they’re hiring professionals. I think we should go out, Alec, and do a little gossip collecting.”

  Gossip spread quickly and it was soon common knowledge that Kyrin had been found dead in an arbor in his own garden, without a mark on him, or any clear sign of poison or magic, according to the high-ranking drysian who’d been called in. Apparently he’d just dropped dead like the others.

  “Kylith, Laneus, Tolin, Alarhichia, and now Kyrin?” muttered Seregil as they rode home. “All cabal members, except Kylith, and Kyrin seemed to suspect her. And no sign of what killed any of them.”

  “You really don’t think it was just age with Laneus and Kylith, at least? And Kyrin wasn’t young, either.”

  “Too many deaths in one small circle in such quick succession, Alec, and not their wives, husbands, children, and so forth. It stinks of treachery.”

  They spent the rest of that day making the rounds of what was left of Kyrin’s circle, offering condolences and subtly probing for more information. There were thinly veiled references to poison and enemies, but nothing definite, even from Reltheus, though he was clearly shaken.

  THINGS did not improve when two days later Kepi appeared with more bad news.

  “Duchess Nerian’s dead,” Kepi said, perched on the rain butt outside the kitchen door, eating his latest free meal. “She was a friend of Duke Laneus, right? I seen her at his house plenty a’ times.”

  “Dead how?” Seregil demanded.

  “Way I heard it from one of the other boys, she was found in her garden this mornin’ strangled.”

  Seregil paid him and sent him on his way. “Well, that certainly sounds like a reprisal, doesn’t it?”

  An hour later Kepi was back with news that Earl Kormarin, a known
friend of Malthus’s, was found bloated and floating in the inner harbor at the end of Crab Quay with a knife wound between his shoulder blades. According to Seregil’s assassin friend, Nerian and Kormarin were both commissioned killings: Nerian by Reltheus, and Kormarin by Malthus.

  “The two cabals have declared war on each other,” said Alec when Seregil came home with the news.

  “And saved Korathan the trouble of arresting all of them.”

  The following day word came that one of Princess Aralain’s ladies-in-waiting had simply dropped dead in the act of pouring her mistress a dish of tea, and one of Duke Reltheus’s pages had been found dead in a garderobe. The Noble Quarter was in a panic.

  “What in Bilairy’s name is going on?” Alec exclaimed as they sat in the library, trying to make sense of it all.

  Seregil took out pen and parchment and began to write names and draw lines between them. “Laneus, a Klia supporter; Tolin, an Elani supporter; Alarhichia, on Tolin’s side; Kyrin; now Kormarin, perhaps a conspirator we missed. Now Nerian, also a Klia supporter.”

  “But why the lady-in-waiting and the boy?”

  Seregil gazed out the window at the street below, where a cart laden with household goods and luggage was rattling by. “Accidents, perhaps? They somehow got the poison intended for their master or mistress?”

  “I doubt they’re doing their own killing, don’t you?”

  “Yes. So I think I’ll go have a talk with my friend in Knife Street.”

  Seregil disappeared in search of his informer in the assassins’ guild, and returned in a few hours, looking unhappy.

  “As far as my friend knows, only Kormarin’s killing, Tolin’s, and Nerian’s were commissioned with the guild,” he told Alec as they sat in the garden. “He knew nothing of any other murders by the guild, though they’re certainly adept at poisoning.”

  “Could your informer be lying?”

  “He hasn’t in the past. The Cat is very generous.”

  “My lords?” Runcer called to them from the dining room door. “There is a summons from Prince Korathan. He wishes to speak with you at once.”

  Seregil and Alec exchanged an apprehensive glance, then went to dress for court.

  It was not a long ride from Wheel Street to the Palace, but by the time they’d reached Silvermoon they’d already seen five costly carriages rattling away toward the Harvest Market with baggage lashed on behind.

  Near Ruby Street they encountered a mob of the poor, once again protesting the quarantine and shortages of food.

  As Seregil turned his horse to try to ride through the crowd, he caught sight of Atre down the street, mounted on a glossy bay. The actor waved and rode over to join them.

  “Have you come to see the commotion, too, my lords?” he asked.

  “No, we have other business,” said Alec.

  “There was talk of it at the theater last night. Such a tragedy, this strange plague! But I was actually on my way to see you.”

  “A bit of news?” asked Seregil.

  “Yes, my lord.” Leaning over in the saddle, he spoke softly in Seregil’s ear. “Earl Kormarin. I saw him at a dinner with Duke Reltheus the day before he was killed. And now he turns up dead!”

  “Yes, I know about that.”

  “Ah, but I know a bit of what the conversation was. I overheard Duke Reltheus telling Kormarin that all was in place for the queen’s return, my lord.”

  “All what?”

  “That I don’t know, my lord.”

  “Thank you. Are you dining with anyone else interesting tonight?”

  “Not tonight, my lord. The theater is dark and I’m going to enjoy a much-needed rest.”

  Seregil looked the man over. “You hide it well, my friend. You look fresh as a spring morning.”

  Atre laughed, flashing white teeth. “Kind of you to say, my lord. Good day to you!”

  They arrived in Korathan’s sitting room to find Thero already there, and looking none too happy. Korathan was still in his robes, but the velvet hat was perched on the head of a nearby statue. Under different circumstances, Seregil might have found that amusing.

  “What in Bilairy’s name is going on?” the prince demanded. “My nobles are dying or being murdered and those who are still alive are fleeing! Now this!” He snatched a scroll from the desk and brandished it at the three of them. It still bore the blue ribbon and seal of a royal herald. “Protector General Sarien is dead!”

  “Murdered?” asked Alec.

  “I don’t know—yet. After reviewing the defenses at Yantis, he dined with the mayor and his family, went to bed, and never woke up. Not a mark on him, just like Laneus and the others. I have had the mayor, his family, and all the servants jailed until the drysians there determine if it was poison.” Korathan leveled a finger at them all. “I have given you time, and you’ve brought me nothing. And people continue to die. Are they all associated with these cabals?”

  “Perhaps Kormarin,” said Seregil. “I have it on relatively good authority that he was killed by guild assassins working for Kyrin’s side. The young lady and the page could be spies for one side or the other or not related at all. I’m sorry, Korathan. I wish I had more for you.”

  Korathan shook his head. “I didn’t think you three would fail me again.”

  The prince’s words stung. Beside him, Alec was blushing in shame.

  “If you could just give us a little longer—” Thero began.

  “Until how many more die?” Korathan cried. “No, I want the names of every cabal member you know of. Now!” He shoved a parchment across the table at them and set an inkwell and pen next to it. “All who are left, at least. I’m arresting the whole lot tonight.”

  Seregil took up the pen and began to write. As much as he hated including Malthus’s name on the list, he knew better than to omit it. The man had brought this on himself, but that didn’t make Seregil feel any better about it.

  Korathan took the list and scanned it, scowling. “My truth knower is going to be busy. Is there anything else you haven’t told me about them? Any other names?”

  “No, you have it all.”

  “What about husbands and wives?” Alec asked softly.

  “We have no evidence that any of them are involved,” Seregil put in quickly.

  “I’ll take that under consideration. That’s all.”

  Dismissed and disgraced, they bowed and took their leave.

  * * *

  “You might have warned us,” Seregil grumbled as the three of them left the Palace.

  Thero rounded on him, pale eyes flashing, and whispered, “I didn’t know until I got there! If you two had paid more attention to the problem at hand, instead of haring off through the slums for Valerius, it might not have come to this. Who knows how many conspirators will escape now?”

  “We did all we could! And were we just supposed to abandon Myrhichia and Eirual?” Seregil retorted angrily, but deep down the wizard’s accusation struck home. Had they missed something important, all that time chasing ravens?

  Thero glared at him, then turned on his heel and collected his horse from a groom who was goggling at the argument. As he mounted, the wizard looked back and said, “I was going to send word. You should speak with Miya at the House.” With that he urged his horse into a trot and went his way.

  “Miya?” asked Alec.

  “He mentioned her that day at the Yellow Eel Street temple, when Korathan first began shoving the sick into the Ring. She’s old Teleus’s successor.”

  “I think we should go see her now.”

  Seregil shrugged. “Oh, I think we’re finished here, don’t you? Come on. Maybe we can be useful to someone.”

  Hearing her described as “old Teleus’s successor,” Alec was expecting Miya to be Thero’s age, but the wizardess was three hundred and fifty if she was a day, stooped and slack-breasted in her rose-colored silk robes. A fourth-degree thaumaturgist, she lived on the fourth floor of the Orëska House in a set of rooms much less im
pressive than Thero’s.

  “Ah, Lord Seregil,” she greeted them with more resignation than pleasure. “And this must be Lord Alec. Lord Thero said to expect you.”

  Leading them through a small, smelly workroom filled with cages of animals, she settled them in the sitting room beyond, which also smelled of animals. A young dragon the size of a cat sat on a perch overhead and hissed at them as they came in.

  Seregil looked up sharply at the sound and Miya chuckled and pointed to the mark of the dragon bite across his left hand. “You’ve had some experience with the young ones, haven’t you, Aurënfaie?”

  “Yes.”

  Wine and cups stood on the sideboard, but they weren’t offered any. Alec got the distinct impression that their visit was nothing to her but an annoying interruption of her work.

  Miya lowered herself into a sagging armchair and motioned them to a pair of wooden chairs. “Thero says you’re investigating the plague in the poorer quarters.”

  “Yes. I understand your master was an expert in various death magics,” Seregil replied. “I was hoping you might have heard of something similar to this sleeping death.”

  She nodded toward the workroom. “As you can see, my studies have taken me in a different direction, though I daresay I know more about death magic than most under this roof.” She reached over to a side table and carefully picked up a dusty, fragile scroll. “I found this in the cases of my master’s personal library. Do you boys read Red Sun Period Zengati?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Alec glanced sidelong at his friend in surprise; he hadn’t thought there was any language Seregil didn’t have some knowledge of.

  She sniffed at that, then gently smoothed out a portion of the scroll. “This was written by a traveler to eastern Zengat some four centuries ago, Teleus thought. I don’t know how it came to him. It’s just a journal, really, and talks about all sorts of different things, but here it mentions what the author calls the falling sickness, which he describes as a kind of trance a person falls into for reasons unknown. And then they die.”

  “That’s all?” asked Alec. “It doesn’t say what caused it?”

  The old woman spared him a scathing look. “No, it doesn’t. But an intelligent person might gather from this that it’s Zengati magic. Hardly surprising, really, with those folk. Always killing each other off in nasty ways.”