“Which means the demon would have arrived only after her departure. Jay’s departure isn’t public knowledge, yet. It will be; there’s no way to avoid that—but it’s not open knowledge. Had this occurred three weeks from now, it would trouble me just as much—but confuse me less. The demon is almost certainly a new arrival. But he is a new arrival who could ask for, and expect to receive, the ear of at least two members of the House Council.
“And that, at the moment, terrifies me. Jester, stop pacing or I’ll start. We’ve faced this before: the demons can, and do, look human. They can—and have—occupied living people, using them as a disguise. The person in question could well have been a loyal and upstanding member of the House Council—of the House itself. If the demon were at all careful, there would be no suspicion. And Jay’s not here.” Jay could see the strangeness.
“I could tell you,” Daine said quietly, “who the demons are. I would need physical contact with them.”
Finch shook her head. “We have a House Mage for that. You can be decapitated in an eyeblink—and Meralonne can’t. I’m not sure death would take him if he offered himself, weaponless, with open arms.”
• • •
“That is harsh,” the mage in question said. He was standing, unlit pipe in hand, in the doorway; no one had heard the door open.
Finch managed, with effort, not to glare at his pipe as he lit it and sauntered—there was no other word for his movement—into the kitchen. Jester resumed his seat. Finch indicated that the mage should take a chair, but without much hope. Meralonne was, in all ways, like a cat. He did as he pleased; you could possibly cajole him or bribe him or distract him—but command? No.
Meralonne surprised Finch; he sat. “To my thinking, you have overlooked one possibility.”
“I’ve probably overlooked two dozen.”
“None of any significance.”
“How long have you been listening in?”
“Only long enough—thanks to the impatience of your captain—to hear the last string of suppositions.”
“Do you believe a demon could be planted here?”
“Yes; they have already demonstrated that ability.” He blew smoke rings as he tilted his chair back on two legs and propped his slippered feet on the table. “Consider this scenario: Rymark is aware that the demon is present. It is just possible that Rymark is attempting to claim responsibility for the death because he is afraid of compromising either himself or the demon in question.”
“What would the demon gain?”
Meralonne smiled. “Pain. Sustenance.”
“Not from that death,” was Daine’s quiet, intense rejoinder. “She was unconscious throughout.”
“Ah, now that would be frustrating. There have been no similar deaths?”
“None.” None yet, Finch thought, grim now.
Haval exhaled. “Very well. You have always suspected that it was Rymark who was responsible for the demon that killed Amarais Handernesse ATerafin.”
No one in the room spoke for one long beat. When someone broke the silence, it was Jester. “We didn’t suspect,” he said. “We knew.”
“It would not, then, be a stretch to say that Rymark is aware of—possibly in league with—demons?”
“None.”
“Do you assume that Rymark is the summoner?” Haval’s question was flat, unadorned.
“We don’t exactly know much about demonology—it’s a forbidden art.”
“I believe Finch is attempting to keep Terafin on the right side of Sigurne’s famous vendetta against the ancient arts of summoning and control,” Meralonne said.
“Finch,” was her reply, “is merely being honest.”
Meralonne raised one platinum brow, which had the effect of making him appear to be even more dismissive. “A pity. If you are certain that the demon who assassinated The Terafin was there at Rymark’s behest, than Rymark was the summoner.”
“He could have been working with—”
Meralonne waved pipe smoke in her direction. “Do not mince words. What should, at this point, be your chief concern is this: Rymark would not have chosen the manner of attack that was chosen. Either he has summoned a demon beyond his control—which would in almost all circumstances cause his death—or he is not the summoner.
“But he is aware that the demon is present—and he does not wish its presence to be revealed. It may be that he has chosen to serve The Terafin, and to cut ties with former allies.” His smile was slender; he was amused. “And he is discovering that those ties are binding in ways he had not foreseen. If he does not control this creature—and it seems clear to me that he does not—who does?
“And why was it sent here?”
“It was sent,” Arann said quietly, “Because Jay’s not here.”
“Yes. If they are attempting to destroy the economic wheels of the city by killing all of its significant merchants, they are no longer attempting to hide their presence; they have come in force. Now.”
“Because Jay is absent?”
“That is my supposition. I will look for your demon. It seems clear to me that, if you desire that information, the fastest way to get it is through Rymark ATerafin himself.”
Finch shook her head. “Haerrad had that information. Which means that the demon will—no doubt—be masquerading as someone Haerrad is willing to trust.”
“Haerrad,” Jester said, “trusts no one. He may consider the source of information reliable.” He rose.
“Where are you going?”
“Drinking with Marrick,” Jester replied. He did not look like he was in much of a mood for carousing. “If Marrick was given the same information, it will have come from the same source—and we’ll know that they were targeting specific individuals on the House Council. The ones with significant power.
“If Marrick doesn’t know, so much the better. Haval, will you do as Finch requested?”
Haval nodded quietly. “I am concerned,” he said at last. “I feel that you have been intellectually thorough, given the information at hand. Demons are very like the mage-born in their abilities. The West Wing—and its kitchens—are secure; no information will escape into the wrong hands from here. Not magically. But the servants clean, and they require access.
“The information therefore comes from somewhere. Vareena was not a normal child. Duvari doesn’t allow untrained children into his service. She would therefore be both pragmatic and careful; it is unlikely—in my opinion—that she was to do more than listen to servant gossip while doing her duties as a junior maid.”
“She wasn’t a maid,” Daine said.
“Apologies.”
“She was too junior.”
Finch winced, and caught one of Daine’s hands in hers; he crushed it. She focused most of her attention on Haval. “In other words, her duties as a probable spy were very, very light.”
“Yes. I believe the first order of business is to find—and dispose of—the demon, if it exists.”
Meralonne blew rings. Concentric rings.
“The demon’s presence here is more problematic. The demons, however, are straightforward. I assume that he is to prepare for Jewel’s return, and to kill her the moment she sets foot on these grounds.”
Finch exhaled; she was almost out of patience. “It’s been tried, Haval. And given the guildmaster’s reaction—the Guildmaster of the Order of Knowledge—if the last big demon didn’t succeed, nothing will.”
“Yes. That is my concern.” He turned to the very indolent mage. “Member APhaniel?”
“I will attempt to ferret out your demon. If you are asking in a roundabout way why the demons might expect, with preparation, to have greater success this time, you fail to understand what Jewel is, and where the manse itself is situated. This is understandable; I do not believe Jewel herself fully realizes it. It is willful, expensive ignorance.
/>
“She is not invulnerable. If control, however brief, can be wrested from the absent Terafin, what she faces will not be a single demon, no matter how powerful; it will be a small army.
“It is not clear to me that Rymark ATerafin is fully ignorant of these plans. He is a man who is concerned with both his own survival and the power he can accrue while accomplishing it. He is aware of the power that a god—even a hobbled one—wields. He may—”
“Wish to commit to both sides, and await the outcome of that battle?” Finch asked. Her hands were shaking.
“It would be the prudent course of action.” Meralonne’s smile was slender and cold. In spite of this, it was clear that he found Rymark amusing.
Finch didn’t.
“You are angry, ATerafin.”
She said nothing.
“You are not the only one whom this attitude angers. It is my guess that Rymark has been given the opportunity to fully commit. If he fails to make that commitment in a fashion that satisfies his former allies, they will force him to do so by revealing his connections to the demons, thus giving him little choice. He is unlikely to survive for long if Sigurne has any proof—at all—that he has too great a knowledge of the forbidden arts.
“He has survived thus far because he has been adept at keeping these activities hidden. Should a demon wish to threaten Rymark, this is how he would do it.” Meralonne frowned.
Probably because Haval was.
“The demon is not preternaturally omniscient. If we assume that demons do not require food, shelter or sleep, they are nonetheless wed to physical form. They cannot—without magic—pass through walls; what I have seen or heard of demons implies that if they did, there would no longer be a wall. How, then, did this possible demon have the information about Vareena?”
“You are certain it was correct?”
Finch said, curtly, “Yes.” She didn’t want to have the same conversation a second time; not with pipe smoke driving clean air out of the kitchen.
Haval stood. “You will excuse me, Finch. Teller. Jester, I would like your aid. If I am to return to my shop for a period of a few days, I cannot leave the fabric and tools here.”
“Going out drinking, remember?”
“And far be it for an old man to interfere with your evening of pleasure; it will not take much time.”
Finch’s eyes narrowed; she said nothing. She was surprised—and uneasy—when Jester shrugged and followed. She didn’t dwell on it. She was now concerned about many other things.
Well, two. Daine and Teller.
“Daine, I want you to remain in the West Wing. I understand why you took up residence in the healerie—and why Jay let you. But there were no demons here when Jay left, and she wouldn’t have let you out of her sight if she’d even suspected they’d be here.”
“She doesn’t live in the West Wing,” Daine pointed out.
“Yes. But I do. I want you here. These are—with the possible exception of the right-kin’s office and The Terafin’s personal chambers—the most secure rooms in the manse. We don’t have House Guards; the only guards here are Chosen.”
He looked as if he would argue; Finch could see, clearly, that he wanted to do so. But he was exhausted. His color was horrible; his hands—and his shoulders—were shaking. He was terrified for Vareena, and afraid of her as well. She caught his free hand in hers and drew him round to face her. “We won’t survive this,” she said, “if you die. They couldn’t kill The Terafin until they’d killed Alowan first. Things are not normal. You can argue with Jay when she returns. But don’t argue with me. Please. I don’t think I could stand it tonight.” When Daine failed to reply, she said, “Captains, please—escort Daine to the healerie to collect anything he might need.”
They nodded. They were grimmer by far than they had been. They didn’t, however, move. They exchanged one silent glance before Torvan rose and addressed not Finch, but Teller.
“Before you all adjourn, we would like to discuss your current guard rotations.”
Finch gently helped Daine out of his chair.
“Apologies, Finch—but that was a plural ‘you.’ Teller’s detail would have been considered acceptable a scant five years ago. Yours is nonexistent. You have protection only when you are in the West Wing; you do not have protection of any note traveling to—or from—the Merchant Authority.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Haval chuckled. She looked at him. It was hard to tell what Haval was thinking at any given time, but she was almost certain he was genuinely amused.
“You have been given the opportunity that any responsible leader dreads,” he told her. “You are being asked to lead by example.”
Torvan and Arrendas exchanged another glance. If they were amused, it didn’t show. “We’re not asking,” Torvan said quietly. “We would prefer that neither of you elect to humiliate the Chosen by refusing to cooperate with the changing of guard—but we will accept humiliation if there is no other way to carry out our duties.”
Finch opened her mouth again.
“If Rymark is being pressured to somehow demonstrate commitment, ATerafin, there are very few significant ways in which he could accomplish this. He cannot assassinate The Terafin; she is not present. He can attempt to take control of the House in her absence.
“The only way to do that is to kill both of you. Neither of you are The Terafin; The Terafin left us strict orders which you do not have the authority to countermand. We will now follow them to the letter.”
Finch nodded, as if this was not unexpected. In truth, it wasn’t. She had called Torvan and Arrendas in for a reason—her reason largely being Teller. But she knew that Teller would accept what she would accept, if reluctantly. She was concerned, and growing steadily more so, about Teller.
She lifted a hand and laid it against the table, signaling an end to the meeting. “When you work out the details, inform us. We will do our best to keep you apprised of our movements, should those movements shift.”
Torvan nodded. He didn’t salute. But Finch was fairly certain that formality would, as of this evening, be added to their routine. She glanced at Arann; his hands moved briefly, but he smiled. It was his usual, quiet smile—but Finch was almost surprised to see it.
She returned it, even though her head was pounding. “Thank you, gentlemen.” She was not entirely looking forward to work in the morning, because Jarven would be in what he cheerfully described as transition.
Jarven would be at the head of the Merchants’ Guild, unless something was done. She had some idea of what that something would be.
• • •
“ATerafin,” The pipe-smoking mage said. “With your permission, I will now begin a hunt of my own within these halls. Inform the Household Staff that they are not to interfere.”
“The Household Staff is unlikely to interfere with you under any circumstance.”
He nodded, bored. “Indeed. They will summon the House Guard. Who will, in turn, summon the Chosen. The Chosen and I have our routines in place; we understand each other. I will not, however, be guaranteed the luxury of waiting upon the chain of Terafin’s command if you are to see the demon apprehended or destroyed. It is not clear to me that the demon would choose to remain within the manse.”
“Jay’s not here.”
“No, she is not. She is not, however, completely ineffectual; there are rudimentary protections built into the earth upon which the manor stands. I do not know the extent to which those protections are allowed free rein—but it is best to proceed with caution. I am the first line of defense.”
Finch was never going to escape the kitchen. She drew her shoulders back, lifting her chin in almost unconscious imitation of the former ruler of the House. “I have seen you fight,” she said, voice cool. “And I wish the manor and its various walls to remain standing. The repair of the foyer the l
ast time you let loose within the manse was fiscally ruinous.”
White brows rose; pipe smoke trailed from bowl rather than lips.
There was a tense, still silence. Finch raised one brow, as Haval so often did.
The mage laughed. “You may recall that on that one occasion my intervention preserved The Terafin’s life,” he said, his grin wide and disturbingly youthful.
“I do. But The Terafin is not here. There are—at least that we know of—no gods present, either. Should a god happen to enter our foyer, I will repent of the harshness and inflexibility of my command.”
“Command.”
“Command.” She inclined her chin. “We face one demon, possibly two. I have confidence that you can manage them with a minimum of structural damage.”
• • •
Jester allowed Haval to open the door to his wretchedly messy workroom; he followed the old man in. Haval also closed the door.
“You really are paranoid, you know that?”
“It has served me well,” Haval replied. “It will serve you equally well should you adopt similar, basic precautions.”
Jester nodded. “You want to speak with me?”
“Yes. I did not, however, lie; I will spend some time in my shop. It is a far better conduit for the general information Finch seeks. You will speak with Marrick?”
“Yes, and possibly Elonne; she’s not particularly fond of me.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“Will you speak with Duvari?”
Haval pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is not the way these conversations are conducted.”
“That isn’t a no.”
“Neither is it a yes. I am unwilling—at this moment—to approach Duvari directly; you have access to Devon ATerafin, and I suggest you use it.”
“Not my access,” Jester replied. “If we’re desperate, Finch will speak to him—but she’s not kidding. Every element of the Merchanting in this city has been thrown into total disarray; Devon is extremely busy. I believe he is currently resident in Avantari for the duration.”
Haval shrugged. It was almost a mirror of the gesture that defined Jester on most days. “Allow me to point out that I consider this, in its entirety, to be your problem. Yours personally.”
Oracle: The House War: Book Six Page 39
