Sword of Waters

by Hilari Bell

  The number of things she didn’t know became more and more evident as she told the whole tale. Justice Holis asked questions at every stage, extracting details Arisa hadn’t even known she remembered. And what he didn’t ask about, her mother did.

  In the end… “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s not much.”

  Justice Holis leaned back in his chair gazing at the three of them, his expression half-thoughtful, half-appalled—especially when he looked at the prince. A portrait of Edoran’s father hung on the wall behind him. The last king had been bigger than Edoran, stocky instead of slight, but Edoran had his mousey hair and somber eyes.

  Justice Holis shook his head. “No, you were right to be concerned, and right to bring this to our attention. But the way you went about it! You are all forbidden, absolutely forbidden, to pursue this matter further. I can’t believe… No more chasing killers for any of you. Is that perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Edoran.

  Weasel scowled. “But we learned a lot. We learned that Ethgar is behind some of it. And we learned that Arisa’s maid was involved in something crooked too.”

  “Master Darian’s mere presence,” said Justice Holis, “indicates that something illegal is going on. The rest of it isn’t conclusive, though it certainly points toward… Hmm.”

  “You’re thinking about that comment about deck shoes?” the Falcon asked. “It’s a bit of a jump from there to those cursed pirates. And I can’t see how Ethgar would be involved in that.”

  “The pirates?” Arisa asked.

  “Not conclusive, as I said,” Holis told the Falcon. “Right now we’re both so taken up with pirates that if the cook put too much pepper in the soup, I’d see it as a pirate plot. Still, if Master Darian and Shareholder Ethgar are plotting against us… Arisa said there were naval officers at that meeting, and one of the conclusions we’d just reached is that someone is informing the pirates about the movements of navy ships.”

  “You reached that conclusion,” said the Falcon. “I can’t imagine any naval officer assisting pirates. I’ve known a lot of them over the years, and to stop pirates, to keep innocent lives and ships out of their hands, is what the navy does. None of them would betray that.”

  “It doesn’t have to be an officer,” Holis told her. “It might be some assistant clerk, who’s never set foot on a deck, but who has access to the disposition of ships.”

  Arisa’s mind was reeling with new information. “You think someone is telling the pirates where the navy’s searching for them? Does Shareholder Ethgar have any connection with the navy?”

  “No,” said the Falcon. “He runs the palace, but that’s all. And it might be someone, a series of people, in the villages and towns along the coast. Smugglers have created networks of informants like that. Why couldn’t the pirates?”

  “Because the pirates are preying on the same towns and villages those informants live in,” Holis replied. “And even before that, the sailors on the ships they raided and sank came from the seaside towns. Your hypothetical informants would be setting killers on their own kinsmen and friends! But that,” he added, as the Falcon opened her mouth to argue further, “is a problem for another time. Right now we need to investigate these conspirators of Mistress Arisa’s.”

  “I could go back to the tavern,” Arisa told them. “I could—”

  “No!” The Falcon and Holis spoke together, in the same I’m the-adult tone. The justice signaled for her mother to continue.

  “Holis is right,” said the Falcon. “I forbid you to go back there, ever again. I can’t chew you out for it this time, since it never occurred to me that I needed to forbid you to spy on treasonous conspiracies.” Her expression was a blend of horror and rueful humor—it looked astonishingly motherly, which her mother seldom did, and the corners of Arisa’s mouth twitched in sympathy.

  Then that expression vanished, and it was the commander of a successful rebellion who went on, “But I absolutely forbid it now. No more spying on conspirators—and that goes for all of you! If you see something suspicious in the future, you report it to me or Regent Holis. You don’t follow up on it yourself. Clear?”

  Arisa might have argued with her mother, but it was the Falcon who spoke now. Arisa had known this was going to happen. In truth, she was a little relieved.

  “Clear. But if we hadn’t followed up on it, you’d never have found the conspiracy at all. If I’d reported that Katrin was sneaking off at night, would you have done anything besides tell the master of household to keep better discipline over the maids?”

  “Maybe not, but that’s not the point!” A mother’s exasperation crept back into the commander’s voice. “You know better than—”

  “I think that discussion is best reserved for a later time,” Holis interrupted. “So long as all of you agree not to go chasing assassins in the future.” He looked at Edoran once more, shaking his head in dazed astonishment. Edoran, evidently under the impression that this was a severe scolding, looked down at his hands, but Arisa drew a relieved breath—if it got postponed long enough, she might evade the rest of the “discussion” entirely.

  “What we need to consider now,” Justice Holis went on, “is how best to continue the investigation ourselves. The city guard—”

  “The city guardsmen are probably known to most of the customers in that tavern,” the Falcon told him. “If they’re not customers themselves. It’s a dockside tavern. A naval officer would blend right in.”

  “The navy is part of the problem,” Holis said curtly. “Weren’t you listening? We can’t—”

  “I’ll send an officer who has my personal trust,” the Falcon snapped.

  Were meetings between Holis and her mother always so acrimonious?

  “What about the army?” Weasel asked. “A lot of them come from the country, and they don’t spend much time in the city, so they’re not as likely to be recognized.”

  The Falcon frowned, but her expression was more thoughtful than disapproving. “Those boots Arisa saw could have belonged to an army officer, instead of navy.”

  “Their boots have a different cut,” Arisa told her. “With a higher heel. I was on my knees, scrubbing the floor. I got a good look at all their boots and shoes, and I know the difference.”

  Holis’ expression had brightened. “Sending an army officer is a good notion. I’m sure Diccon has someone who’s well suited to that kind of thing.”

  The Falcon was still frowning. “You’ve got a point. Would Diccon take that kind of order from me, or do you need to give it?”

  Her voice rang with silken challenge, and Holis sighed.

  “The army has never failed to obey any legitimate order you’ve given.”

  The stress on the word “legitimate” was almost too subtle to hear, but Arisa caught it. So the army wouldn’t obey all their commander’s orders, just the ones General Diccon considered legitimate?

  Sammel was right. It was good that her mother had him close by, and officers loyal to her in the navy as well.

  Still, it would be even better if she and Justice Holis could get along.

  Arisa lay in her bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. They’d been forbidden to return to the tavern. They’d been forbidden to spy on the conspirators. At all. Arisa accepted that. She wasn’t a fool. This was too big for a handful of kids to manage. It belonged in the hands of competent adult investigators, and that was where it was. Out of her hands. Not her problem. So why couldn’t she sleep?

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t sleepy—at least, she should be sleepy. She’d put on her coat and britches and ridden Honey around the park, despite the rain that still drizzled down. She’d returned to the stable soaked and exhilarated, and she’d spent the evening reading to avoid meeting Shareholder Ethgar at court. She’d expected to fall asleep immediately. She would have… except for a small voice in the back of her mind, wondering if Baylee needed help with the tables. If Master Mimms was telling the customers that this latest
pirate raid was the new regent’s fault.

  Hang it, she was worrying about whether or not the floor was getting muddy!

  It would take days, maybe weeks, for a new investigator to get himself accepted at the tavern, and anything might happen in that time. And what were they going to do about Ethgar? Weasel was a good enough actor to talk to the man without giving himself away, but was Edoran?

  She rolled over in bed, pounding a fist into her pillow.

  She’d promised her mother she wouldn’t return to the tavern. Not in so many words, perhaps, but the Falcon had forbidden it and she’d acknowledged the order. “Clear” implied a promise, not only to her mother, but to her commander. She couldn’t break it. She couldn’t go back to the King’s Folly. She couldn’t spy on the conspirators in any way. She couldn’t—

  Arisa sat bolt upright.

  She’d promised, and so had Edoran, but she didn’t remember Weasel making any promises at all.

  * * *

  The streets were busier at this early hour—just after Weasel got out of evening court—but the stalker hadn’t been arrested yet. They’d climbed over the wall at yet another difficult place, and the stalker had no reason to think they’d go to the tavern. On the other hand, who knew what the stalker thought?

  Arisa jumped half a foot when Weasel grabbed her arm. “What is it? Do you see him? Hear him? Where?” She looked, but there was no one suspicious behind them and a crowd all around.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not him.” Weasel swung her into the next alley they passed, and pulled her down to crouch beneath a staircase.

  “If it’s not him, what are we hiding from?” Arisa whispered. Rain dripped off the stairs. Arisa was grateful that her promise to her mother left her no reason to wear her ragged tavern clothes. She couldn’t return to the tavern—but she could stand in the street outside it, while Weasel burgled the place.

  “Nothing,” he whispered back. “At least, I hope they’re not looking for us.”

  “Who are—”

  Then she caught the sound that had already come to Weasel’s sharper ears, the sound of boots, stepping in unison. A unit of troops marched past the alley without even glancing aside.

  “Why are we hiding from them?” Arisa asked again, more loudly. “They could keep us safe from—”

  “All right, maybe they weren’t after us.” Weasel rose from behind the barrel. “I just… It’s better to be safe than sorry, when it comes to armed guards.” Relief quivered in his voice, and Arisa realized that Weasel would never get over his fear of the guards. In his heart, they would always be coming for him.

  “They’re not after you,” Arisa assured him.

  “They may not be after us,” said Weasel, “but aren’t you curious who they are—”

  “Baylee!” Arisa leaped for the street, but Weasel caught her collar and pulled her back.

  “What are you going to do? Warn them?”

  “I don’t know!” said Arisa, twisting out of his grip. “I didn’t dream they’d send the guards for them! Not so soon.”

  “Soon is good,” said Weasel. “Isn’t it? Soon means they’re probably arresting Ethgar and his stalker right now. They’re involved in your maid’s murder. We’re trying to get them all arrested, remember?”

  “But Katrin was working with them! Those troops might be after someone else, right?”

  She’d been walking as they argued, and now they turned down Dock Street, following the troop. She could just see them, passing in and out of patches of light several blocks ahead. Another patch of light revealed Weasel’s skeptical expression.

  “That was an army troop. Anything but treason, it would be the city guard. Even for treason it should be palace guardsmen, but since Holis sent the army to investigate your conspirators, I suppose—”

  “They’re not mine!” Arisa snapped. “And those soldiers might not be arresting anyone. They might be doing army things.”

  “At night, in the rain? After all we told them? It has to be an arrest.”

  But Weasel was following her down the street, and she was grateful for his company.

  Despite her arguments, she wasn’t surprised when the troop turned into the narrow lane that housed the King’s Folly. By the time she and Weasel reached the corner, they’d gone into the tavern, and the uproar had begun.

  Customers spurted through the open door, shouting, cursing, pulling on their coats. Some of them still carried their cups—one opportunist had picked up half a dozen mugs on his way out.

  Most of them hustled away, looking for another place to drink and spread the news, but some lingered, shouting insults at the guard.

  The soldiers brought out Mistress Mimms first. Her hands were tied behind her. The white apron in which she took such pride gleamed in the darkness. She stood straight, haughtier than any court lady would have been in similar circumstances.

  It was the cook who wept when they hauled her out. Master Mimms was next, quiet now, but his rumpled clothes and a faint limp told Arisa he’d tried to defend his home, his family… his cause.

  Some of the wetness on Arisa’s face was tears.

  Baylee was one of the last people removed from the tavern. She tried to emulate her mother’s dignified calm, but her shoulders hunched with tension and her face was deathly white in the lamplight.

  Arisa had taken two steps forward without realizing it, when Weasel caught her arm and pulled her back.

  “You can’t do anything now,” he said urgently. “Confronting them will only make it worse. For all of you! If you have to give them a chance to kick you, first give them time to settle themselves and face up to things. All right?”

  “No,” said Arisa. “It’s not all right.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and walked away, away from the tavern, from pain, and the destruction of lives.

  She had told Weasel they weren’t “her” conspirators, but that was a lie. They were hers, and she had betrayed them to this. To arrest and scandal, maybe even prison and hanging.

  What else could she have done?

  “They might even be in league with the pirates,” Weasel said, trotting to catch up with her. “You had to turn them in. Those pirates are killing people.”

  “My mother killed people,” said Arisa. “For a cause.”

  Weasel said nothing. The dark buildings and rain-slick cobbles rolled past them as Arisa walked on.

  If the conspirators were in league with the pirates, if they were responsible for the deaths of innocent men, women and children, she couldn’t have let it go on. Every death they caused after this night, all the blood they spilled, would have been on her hands if she hadn’t stopped it. And yet… She remembered Baylee’s terrified face in the lamplight and shuddered.

  No wonder she had felt so at home among the Mimms— they were just like the people she’d grown up with.

  Part of her wondered how such decent people could be involved in something so horrible, but sacrifices had to be made for any cause. To lay down lives, your life and others, was the mark of a hero…

  … or a villain, depending on which side you were on?

  Was Yallin right? Was it only about power, not good or bad at all?

  If they knew the side they were on was slaughtering villagers, surely that made them villains. If they knew…

  Did they know? All of them? Master Mimms, perhaps, but Arisa would stake her life that Baylee wouldn’t do such a thing! And Stu, who was so soft under his gruff exterior, and Mistress Mimms, who gave food to beggars. And Katrin had been killed by someone who was working against the conspiracy. Even Master Mimms might not know that his conspiracy was dealing with the pirates!

  “I have to talk to my mother about this. I have to talk to her now. Tonight!” Arisa looked around the unfamiliar street and frowned. “Where are we?”

  “This is Load Street,” Weasel told her. “In the warehouse district, near the leatherworks. It’s not the best neighborhood, but not the worst, either. You’d have been in the wors
t if I’d let you turn downhill, like you started to three blocks back. You’d have been—”

  “I don’t care where we are!” Arisa snapped. “Get me back to the palace. I have to talk to my mother and Justice Holis. Now!”

  Weasel knew his city. He led her back to the palace in less time than Arisa would have believed possible, cutting through several work yards and over a rooftop.

  She considered saving even more time by walking right up to the gate and demanding that the guard take them to her mother. But if she was going to ask a favor, it might not be wise to flaunt the fact that she’d… skirted her mother’s orders. She’d probably have to confess that she’d taken Weasel to the tavern, even if she’d never intended to go in herself, and Holis would make him promise as well. But turning up in her wet coat and muddy boots would guarantee that result. So she and Weasel scaled the wall and climbed the vines back up to her room, where they stood, dripping on the expensive carpet.

  “Do you want to go to bed and let me go to my mother and Holis alone?” Arisa whispered.

  Weasel shook his head. “I’ll stick with you. I can’t let you face the consequences alone.”

  He sounded insufferably noble, and Arisa grinned. “You’re just curious. I’d have to fight to keep you out of that room.”

  “I’d fight back,” Weasel told her. “And I fight dirty. I’ll meet you in the corridor, in dry clothes, in five minutes. And comb your hair. Justice Holis probably won’t come down as hard on a girl.”

  He slipped out before Arisa could retort that she was a girl no matter what she wore. But he was right. Tonight she’d need all the help she could get.

  She left her wet clothing in a heap on the floor, and wiggled hastily into petticoats and a simple blue gown. Then she yanked a comb through her hair and tied it back with a white ribbon. She wasn’t pretty, but she looked young, innocent, and wholesome.

  The Falcon would see through that in two seconds, but Justice Holis might not. It was worth a try.

  Weasel was pacing up and down the corridor, waiting for her. Arisa led him swiftly to her mother’s room, where the maid told them that the lord commander was in a late meeting with the regent. But when they reached Holis’ office, it was dark and empty.