Sword of Waters

by Hilari Bell

  She was gasping for breath, with a stitch in her side. She stood with her back to a building, watching people move up and down the street. No one lingered in a suspicious fashion. In fact, no one lingered at all. This relative break in the rain might have lured more people out, but they weren’t standing around.

  No one seemed to be passing her repeatedly, though bundled as people were, it was hard to tell.

  Had it been only some footman, braving the milder weather to spend his free night in a tavern? He’d seemed to start moving faster when she’d looked at him, but at that distance she couldn’t be certain.

  Arisa kept close watch the rest of the way to the tavern— she’d have sworn that no one followed her.

  More than one man was taking advantage of the light rain to spend an evening out, and quite a few women, too. The benches were packed, and Arisa was too busy to notice anyone who might be watching her.

  It wasn’t till near closing time, when she and Baylee were gathering up the crockery and wiping tables, that she had time to bring up the subject that had brought her there.

  “I’ve been thinking about your cousin, Katrin,” she said, as casually as if this weren’t a total change of subject.

  Baylee blinked in surprise.

  “Maybe it’s ’cause of the way my folks died,” Arisa went on swiftly. “But I wondered if she’d children of her own. Or a husband who’d mourn her.”

  Or who she might have confided in.

  “She’d not yet wed,” said Baylee. “She spoke of this lad or that, but nothing ever came of it.”

  “So she’d no one but your family to care for her?” Arisa persisted.

  “No, her own parents are still alive, and they’re grieving something fierce,” said Baylee. “She had two brothers as well, but she was the only girl in the family, and her folks… They kept her room, still, in their house, even though she lived in the palace and the One God knows they could have used the space. Her pa’s a tailor,” Baylee went on. “And my pa’s sister worked in the palace herself before she married him. That’s how they met—he clothed her mistress, and she was forever picking things up at his shop. More often than need be. He’d send a boy to deliver to those who didn’t have pretty maids he could flirt with. And he says he never started forgetting things out of the orders he filled till my aunt started coming by to get them.”

  The sparkle in Baylee’s eyes spoke of an old family joke. Her aunt and uncle clearly loved each other, and they’d loved their daughter, too. Arisa felt another pang of that odd grief for others that Katrin’s death evoked.

  But if they’d kept her room… “He must be fair prosperous,” said Arisa, “to keep a room for someone who didn’t live there.” She could hardly demand the address outright.

  “He does well enough,” said Baylee. “But it’s not that they don’t need the room. They live over the shop, and they’ve got bolts of cloth stacked in the hallways, even going up the stairs. You want to watch your step, if you’re going out to the privy after dark.”

  “Trip you up?” Arisa asked, to keep the conversation going.

  “I skidded down half a flight on top of a bolt of fine kersey.” Baylee grinned. “It wrecked the cloth, but it saved my shins.”

  “It sounds like a big place,” said Arisa, though it didn’t, really.

  “No, it’s one of those tall, narrow shops in the Weavers Row,” Baylee told her. “It was only because they cared for Katrin so much that they kept her room for her.”

  Weavers Row! Arisa struggled to keep her expression indifferent. “I’m glad she’d someone to care about her. And glad she left no orphans hungry, though I’m sorry for her folks.”

  “The brothers, too,” said Baylee. “She was the baby of the family, as well as the only girl, and they all spoi—” She broke off, looking uncomfortable.

  “I understand,” Arisa said, and she allowed Baylee to change the subject. She’d gotten a clearer picture of her maid from this conversation than she had from more than a month of knowing her. Was that Katrin’s fault, or hers?

  Whoever’s fault it was, Katrin had a room on Weavers Row, and that would be a far more private place to keep incriminating papers than her room in the palace.

  Arisa crept home from the tavern, watching with every step for someone following, but she saw no one suspicious—and as she neared the palace she saw no one at all. Had the man she’d seen been an innocent stranger? Either way, she was carrying her dagger next time, though it would be hard to explain to the Mimms.

  The next day she hid out in the tack room where she’d spoken to Sammel, and when Weasel and Edoran came back from their ride she caught Weasel’s arm as he passed the door and dragged him in.

  Edoran, looking back to see what had happened to his companion, encountered her most ferocious scowl. His brows rose.

  She made a shooing gesture, ordering him on his way.

  He rolled his eyes in exasperation, but turned and walked off. A moment later she heard him ask a question, distracting the grooms. Spoiled maybe, stupid no.

  “He’s keeping them busy,” she told Weasel, closing the door. “But we might not have much time.”

  “Time for what?” Weasel asked warily. “You’re up to something, aren’t you? You’re going to get both of us in tons of trouble. Again.”

  “Again? Who dragged who into rescuing Justice Holis? Into dealing with criminals? Who got who arrested by the palace guard?”

  “Who got whom,” said Weasel. “And you got me into trouble more recently.”

  “Who got whom? You’ve been hanging around with too many lords—it’s rotting your brain. Especially if you think that little fuss about teaching Edoran to fence was trouble.”

  He grinned. “All right. I got you into lots more trouble than you got me into. It’s just that I’m afraid you’re about to change that.”

  “You may be right,” Arisa told him, sobering.

  She started at the beginning, when she had first followed Katrin out of the palace, and told him everything.

  Weasel listened, his frown of concern deepening. Alarm flashed into his eyes when she mentioned the man who might, or might not, have been following her.

  “You could have been killed!”

  “Assuming he’s the one who killed Katrin, I could have. But he also might have been some assistant undergroom on his night off. And I never saw him again. It’s like everything else—there’s no proof! But I think I know where to look for some.”

  She told him what she’d learned from Baylee and then sat, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. It had been raining for an awfully long time, even for a coastal winter.

  “You want me to help you break into that tailor’s shop,” said Weasel slowly. “And search for something that might give you a clue to Katrin’s mysterious employer. Or to the conspiracy’s palace patron. Assuming, of course, that there really is a conspiracy going on, and that Katrin wasn’t just trying to embarrass you because you annoyed her. Which isn’t exactly impossible, all things considered.”

  “I saw two meetings in the tavern,” said Arisa. “I found the cell. Can you think of innocent explanations for that?”

  “A club of wine tasters,” said Weasel promptly. “And a crazy relative who had to be locked up sometimes.”

  Sudden dread sent a chill over her skin. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you? You think I’m imagining all this. That I’m making it up.”

  And now, with his new royal friend, he didn’t need her or her problems.

  “I might,” said Weasel, “except for one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Your maid was murdered, dummy! She had to be involved in something—something deadly serious.”

  “So?” Arisa’s heart had begun to pound.

  “So I think we’d better search her room.”

  Arisa had intended to go that very night, but Weasel insisted on taking a full day to scout their target. He wanted a week, but Arisa put her foot down at that.

>   She wouldn’t have begrudged several days, except for the fact that Holis’ and her mother’s edict meant she couldn’t go with him. He also insisted that she not go alone to the tavern, or anywhere outside the palace, until the stalker had been caught.

  “But I’d have my dagger with me,” Arisa had told him. “I’m not an amateur.”

  “Neither is he,” said Weasel grimly. “Promise, on your word.”

  “But I can’t just—”

  “If you don’t promise,” he went on, “I’ll tell Justice Holis and your mother the whole story. They may not believe there’s anything to it, but I’ll bet the Falcon can keep you here. She would, too.”

  “All right, all right,” Arisa grumbled. “I won’t go out alone until the stalker is caught.”

  Weasel looked skeptical.

  “I promise,” she had added. “I won’t. Really.”

  He must have heard the sincerity in her voice, because he’d nodded and let the subject drop.

  The next morning her dancing tutor told her that Weasel had been sent on an errand for the regent and would be gone all day.

  Arisa wondered how he’d arranged that. He’d been Justice Holis’ clerk, and still sometimes worked for him in that capacity, but how had he persuaded the regent to let him go?

  He was good at that kind of thing, far better than she was. Her own talent was more along the lines of taking on an enemy with knife or pistol in hand… and it embarrassed her that she’d been relieved when Weasel had extracted that promise.

  Being stalked by a professional assassin in the dark was different from fighting a man she could see, who would almost certainly underestimate her, and who probably wasn’t as skilled as she was anyway. Her mother’s men had not only taught her to fight—the best of them had taught her to reckon up the odds before she started a fight. Arisa had no desire to confront the man who’d put that dagger so skillfully into Katrin’s heart.

  The day dragged past. For the first time since she’d come to live at the palace, Arisa found herself looking forward to evening court. She stepped briskly into the overheated candlelit room and looked around. Through the swirl of dancers, she saw that Weasel was standing beside the prince, as usual. Arisa frowned. She’d have to get him away from Edoran before they could talk, and she wasn’t sure how to do that without calling attention to herself. No one had forbidden her to speak with Weasel in public, but she knew her mother would prefer that she avoid anything that might make people gossip.

  She drifted around the edge of the room toward the prince, keeping out of the dancers’ way. She didn’t even see Ronelle until the girl stepped into her path.

  “Arisa, my dear, how lovely to see you here. We see you so seldom, since… anymore.”

  Since she’d been caught tussling in the hay with Edoran? Since something else? Danica stood to one side, smirking. Whatever Ronelle was getting at, it had been set up in advance.

  “Nice to see you, too.” Arisa moved to the side, but Ronelle blocked her path and Danica came to stand beside her. Definitely up to something.

  “Considering what happened the last time we talked,” said Arisa, “are you sure you want to have this little chat?”

  Color flamed in Ronelle’s face, and several people snickered. It wasn’t just Ronelle and Danica; they had an audience. Arisa looked for her mother, but the Falcon wasn’t there.

  “I’m too well born to hold your unfortunate upbringing against you.” Ronelle sounded as if she were strangling, but she got the words out. “I just wanted to say how lovely you look this evening.”

  Arisa’s panicked gaze flashed to her dress, but nothing was falling apart or off of it. The dark green satin bore no stains that she could see. She grabbed the back of her skirt and pulled it around to examine as much of the fabric as she could, and Ronelle laughed.

  “No, I mean it. You look very fine. Your new maid’s doing a wonderful job. Surprising you could get such a talented woman… since you murdered the last one.”

  A murmur of delicious shock rose from the crowd around them. They’d known what she planned to say, Arisa realized, but she still felt chilled. This was what the Falcon had feared. Did they really think she might have killed Katrin? Did the servants? She struggled for something to say, something to prove her innocence, but she couldn’t find it.

  “You know perfectly well she didn’t kill anyone,” Weasel announced, suddenly appearing at Arisa’s side. “If she was going to stick a knife in someone, it would be—”

  “What’s going on here?” The words were the same as last time, but it was Shareholder Ethgar who pushed through the crowd instead of the Falcon.

  Ronelle lowered her eyes. “Nothing, Papa. I was just complimenting Arisa on her new maid.”

  “She called Arisa a killer,” said Weasel bluntly. “But since she’s a notorious liar, I suppose we shouldn’t make too much fuss about it.”

  This time the crowd’s gasp was unfeigned.

  “That’s enough,” Ethgar snapped. “From all of you. Ronelle, come with me.” He took her by the elbow and dragged her off. With a triumphant glance at Arisa, Danica followed.

  Weasel glared at the staring circle of courtiers, until one by one they turned away.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” he said. “Ronelle’s nothing but a troublemaker, and everyone knows it.”

  “Do they?” Arisa murmured. “Do the servants know it too?”

  Weasel’s gaze slipped away. “If they don’t, they will soon. Don’t let it bother you.”

  He patted her shoulder, and then returned to the prince. Arisa found she had no more stomach for court and went back to her room. Her maid was waiting, despite the early hour. She didn’t seem to be afraid of Arisa. Weasel was right. They’d find out who really murdered Katrin—then everyone would know. She could talk to Weasel tomorrow.

  It wasn’t till her maid undressed her, and the crumpled note tumbled out of her sash, that Arisa realized what he’d done. And the woman almost certainly got the wrong idea when Arisa snatched it up and thrust it into her dresser drawer. Was Weasel as bored with palace life as she was? He was certainly dusting off all his criminal skills.

  When her maid left to fetch some hot water, Arisa read the note. At the wall, it said, in Weasel’s neat hand. As soon as you can.

  Of course, he hadn’t known she’d leave the court so early. Arisa let the maid put her to bed. She picked up a book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the story. She built the dummy in her bed, and waited till most of the court had retired before slipping out of her room and down the vines. The rain was heavy again tonight, but it had been raining for so long that she barely noticed it.

  Weasel reached the climbable place in the wall soon after she did. He too wore a broad-brimmed hat, and his coat looked warmer than hers. When she started for the wall, he took her arm and drew her away. “If he’s picking you up when you come over the wall, let’s see if we can avoid him.”

  He led her down one of the bridle paths, stumbling on stones and ruts in the darkness, to a section of the wall that fronted a different street. When he climbed to the top, he looked up and down the street for some time before reaching down to give her a hand.

  It was a harder place to climb, but Arisa managed—and Weasel had no need to signal for silence as they hurried down the street and turned onto another. They’d traveled several blocks before he spoke. “I don’t hear anyone behind us. You?”

  “Not a thing,” said Arisa, light-headed with relief. Companionship, as well as the dagger in its sheath on her belt, made her feel much more comfortable. She was inclined to think that it had been some innocent stranger behind her the other night, and if it wasn’t, they had lost him. “Did you learn what you wanted to about the tailor’s shop?”

  Weasel sighed. “Not nearly as much as I want to. But there are no dogs, the back door lock is one I can pick, and unless they noticed and refilled it, the lamp by their back gate should be running out of oil right about now. And I did find out t
he most important thing.”

  “What’s that,” Arisa asked obligingly.

  “I found out which of the eleven tailors on Weavers Row recently had a daughter murdered.”

  “Eleven!” Arisa exclaimed.

  “There are reasons,” said Weasel, “why you should take a lot of time to study your target before you break into it.”

  When he led her straight to the correct back gate, Arisa began to agree with him. This area was prosperous enough that several gate lamps glowed in the narrow lane, but the lamp beside the gate Weasel stopped at was dark, just as he’d promised. Arisa drew her dagger and slid it through the crack between gate and post, lifting the latch. She pushed the gate open and stepped into the yard behind the shop.

  Weasel didn’t follow. She looked back. He was standing in front of the gate with a thin strip of wood in his hand and a scowl on his face.

  “Well, excuse me for seeing the obvious,” Arisa whispered. “Are you going to stand there till the guard comes by?”

  “Not at all.” Weasel came in and closed the gate quietly. “By all means, burgle the place yourself. The lock on the back door’s all yours.”

  Despite his words, he was already pulling out his picks as he crossed the yard. If you had to work with a burglar, it was nice to have one who was too professional to hold a grudge. And he opened the lock almost as fast as Arisa could have done it with a key.

  He pushed the door open slowly, but no squeal of hinges betrayed them.

  “Even if they heard something,” Arisa breathed, “they’d just think it was one of their workers going out to the privy.”

  “Assuming,” Weasel breathed back, “that their workers live in. This is the city, remember? They might all lodge somewhere else. If I’d had more time…”

  If he’d had more time he’d have known how many people slept in this house, where their rooms were, and probably a dozen other things that Arisa hadn’t thought of. She resolved to let him lead the way from now on.

  A resolve that was promptly tested, when the first thing he did after closing the door was to stand perfectly still while their eyes adjusted to the darkness.