Sweeping out of the study, Cassian called for the servant, then asked after Crielle's whereabouts. The man insisted again that he had orders not to disturb him, but Cassian insisted even more strongly that he wished to see him now.
"With respect, sir, you can come and go as you please, but if I so much as open the door for you, I'll get a flogging or worse," the slave said, standing his ground. It was a fair point, Cassian thought. He sighed.
"just tell me where he is," he said. "Imperial business is more important than a liaison with a ladyfriend." Uncertain, the man pointed along the east wing of the house.
"At the end, sir, in the pool room."
Depressingly predictable, Cassian thought. He marched along the length of the corridor, almost knocking one of the Indrisan death masks from the wall on his way, and tapped twice on the door, first gently and then more loudly. He waited, allowing Crielle time to disengage himself from his fleshly pursuits.
"I am praetor Cassian on Imperial business and I require an audience," he announced loudly. He sounded pompous even to himself, but felt obliged to offer at least the semblance of courtesy. He got no reply. After another minute of waiting, Cassian tried the door, only to find it locked. He hammered loudly again and repeated his demand, once more without response. At the far end of the corridor, in the hall, he could see the slave lurking, a shadowy and hunched figure behind him. A hazy, drugged voice was whining for an explanation.
"I'm sorry, mistress, he forced his way in," the servant was saying.
"I'm afraid that I shall require the key to this door," Cassian said firmly. Karlanta, Daralec's widow, was so heavily drugged that she was only half-aware of what was going on. She seemed barely to recognize him from the day before. The servant almost threw the bronze key at him. Ignoring his rudeness, Cassian unlocked the door and coughed loudly as he opened it.
The pool was a magnificent testimony to the wastefulness of over-wealthy provincial Therans, gaudy with marble and rosewood and gilded decorations. The room smelt of pinewater and lemongrass, reminding him of his hangover cure, but that absurd, fleeting thought lasted no more than an instant.
Floating in the middle of the pool, bobbing up and down almost imperceptibly in the last of the ripples around him, was Crielle's body, frozen in a final rictus of horrific agony.
9
Behind him, Cassian was aware of figures in the doorway, and then a dull thud as someone fell to the floor. Spinning around quickly, he knelt to help the servant lift the stricken woman's head and shoulders. Karlanta's face was ashen from the faint, and her pulse a little weak and irregular. They lifted her and laid her down on a trestle bench in the corridor, then Cassian piled cushions beneath her legs.
“Take this," he said, handing the man an Imperial seal. "Go to the Southern Barracks of the Eighth Legion— do you know where that is? No matter," he continued, not waiting for a reply, "Take my carriage outside and tell the driver I said to take you there. Ask for akarenti Ilfaralek. Make it plain that you must speak to him personally and privately. If they try to deny you, show them this and say that the praetor has demanded this audience. Tell Ilfaralek what has happened here, and to come with only a small number of men. We must try to keep this as quiet as we can. Your mistress has suffered enough, and there must be .is little further disturbance as possible."
"Yes, sir," the man replied quietly, his former insolence evaporated. He was pale himself, shaking a little.
"And do you know where the Rose Villa of House Medari is?"
"I think so, sir."
Cassian gave him instructions for finding the place, I hen realized that was needless. He felt a bit sheepish, but everything was happening so fast. "I'm sorry," he said, "my driver will know, of course. Tell him to take you there on the way back and to fetch young Jerenn. He is the servant of Tarlanth, who owns the villa."
"I know, sir."
"Do you?"
"I often carry messages to his mansion, sir."
"Ah, I see," Cassian said, not seeing at all and becoming intrigued. "And why so, exactly?"
"He and my master, Daralec, that is, they have affairs of business, sir."
"Of course they do, I had forgotten," Cassian said, though he had done nothing of the sort. The books he'd examined had not apprised him of the connection, and his curiosity and suspicion were aroused. But this was hardly the time to try to learn the details. "Well, say nothing to Jerenn of what has happened. Simply tell him to remain in the carriage until I come out to him. Is that clear?"
"It is, sir."
Realizing that he had not even asked the servant's name, Cassian inquired after it, learning that the man was known as Pauldin. "There are other servants in the house, Pauldin?''
The man began to rattle off a list of names, but Cassian cut him short. "Before you go, find the most sensible of them, and bring him or her to look after your mistress. Understood?
"Thank you, Pauldin. We will need to make sure that mistress Karlanta suffers no more than she must."
The man nodded respectfully, the elf's use of the word "we" seeming to dissolve any lingering dislike, and he scurried off down the passageway.
Cassian thought swiftly; he might not have long before prying eyes arrived, even if it were only a servant. He lifted his robe and grasped the bronze leg bracer set firmly at mid-calf, detaching what appeared to be an ebony scarab beetle from its setting. Laying the thing carefully on the ground inside the doorway of the pool chamber, he concentrated on it for a few seconds until the enchanted object sprang to life and began to click its way with an almost imperceptible sound toward the far wall. Leaving the scarab to its work, Cassian looked around in vain for something with which to fish the body from the pool. After a few seconds, he gave up, threw off his robe and descended the marbled steps into the shallow, warm, scented water, reaching out to take the hair of Crielle's naked form in one hand. Knotting his fingers in the hair, he pulled the body to the side of the pool, clambered out, and studied the young elf's appearance carefully.
There was no visible wound, no blood in the pool— only a tiny trickle down the side of Crielle's mouth, and that was already congealing. His death must have been barely minutes ago, Cassian thought; the blood in the young man's mouth was still wet and the body was not lying face down when he first saw it. The fingers of the corpse were dug into the palms of the hands so hard that the short, bitten nails had almost pierced the skin, and the corpse showed a degree of rigor that was extraordinary given the time elapsed since death. The veins beneath the skin were dilated and seemed to stand away from the flesh, as if something had pumped them up. Cassian descended into the pool again, ever vigilant for footsteps approaching the chamber, and took the young man's head in his hands, sniffing at the open mouth. There was a faintly acidic and metallic smell, and the lips were bluish in color. Poison, he thought. In the absence of any wound, it had to be poison.
In the brief time before he heard another servant approach and apparently stop at the sight of his mistress lying in a faint, Cassian was able to inspect the room. Of the poison, or the assassin who had administered it, there was no sign. And there was certainly no sign of the young woman who Pauldin had seen enter.
The beetle had stopped in mid-track, its mandibles raised slightly as if sniffing the air. Cassian gave it enough time to complete its work, then picked it up, catching the slightest whiff of a musky scent quite different from the cloying sweetness of the perfume used to scent the chamber. He wondered whether he might not have imagined it, for the sensation was evanescent. He re-clasped the beetle to his leg, tried ineffectually to squeeze some of the water from his sopping clothes, and then heard the rapid approach of several people. Ilfaralek's voice was already audible, and when he entered with a face like thunderclouds, Cassian turned to him at once, ignoring the two uniformed guards with him. He told the spymaster everything he'd seen and learned, save for the details of his magical investigations and the strange scent he had sensed.
"I asked for you
because I thought it would be well to keep this matter quiet," the elf opined. "I think that we should make arrangements for Karlanta to be cared for by members of her /r-House, preferably somewhere quiet and secluded."
Ilfaralek nodded agreement.
"Which is her fr-House, by the way?" Cassian asked. Under the circumstances, it would surely be best for the woman to be cared for by her original, pre-marriage family.
"Medari," Ilfaralek informed him. "Cuiper, go to the house of Tarlanth. He is best placed to arrange this matter." One of the guards marched smartly out the door and down the passage beyond.
"I believe that this young man has been poisoned, and dead for but a short time," Cassian said finally. Ilfaralek nodded again, obviously still pondering the events.
"I will deal with the matter of guards at this house," he said at length. "This is a bad business, so soon after his father's accident."
"It's murder,” Cassian said in a matter-of-fact way. "Unless we assume that Pauldin was lying or deluded when he tells of seeing a young woman. The fact that she is not here, and raised no alarm, suggests that she was the assassin, for Crielle hardly took the poison himself. I must get a description from the man."
"I shall make it known that the youth had an accident," Ilfaralek said slowly. "Drowned in his bath after striking his head on the side of the pool. People will talk and tongues will wag, and there may be some suspicions, but we cannot avoid that. People will be expecting Crielle to pay courtesy visits around the city and we cannot cover up his death. But we cannot have it about that this was murder. The servants must be disposed of, of course, so that they do not talk."
"They could accompany their mistress to care for her, and be kept to their quarters, wherever that may be."
"Then they'll talk to Tarlanth's own servants and word will get out. It's better to dispose of them now."
"But their disappearance will only give further cause for tongues to wag," Cassian said, keeping his tone even to conceal his anger at the man's callous readiness to kill several people for the sake of convenience. Considering Ilfaralek's position, and the many unsavory individuals he had to deal with, it was not a surprising readiness, but Cassian was instinctively opposed all the same.
"Best, then, if Karlanta is sent to convalesce on an offshore island, or perhaps to Parland," Ilfaralek said serenely. "Everyone in Vivane will think the servants will have gone with her."
"Then why not send them there?"
"Islands are visited by fishermen, traders, and the like. The truth will leak out, and we will have no control over it."
Cassian realized that he could not oppose the powerful man's decision. All he could really do was salvage some scrap for his conscience.
"Well, wherever she goes, Karlanta should not be cared for by unfamiliar faces. Let her at least have Pauldin with her, and her own personal maidservant. It is surely not beyond the skills of such as Tarlanth and yourself to prevent those two from talking too much for a while."
"Very well," Ilfaralek conceded, with a slight hint of irritation in his voice. He gave no more thought to the well-being of slaves than to the act of squashing an irksome bug, and was obviously displeased that Cassian was wasting time on such trivia. He began to give instructions to his remaining subordinate, and Cassian took advantage to sweep past and hunt down Pauldin. He found the man hanging around in the hallway, hardly knowing what to do with himself, keeping an anxious eye on his fellow servant bathing their mistress's face.
When Cassian inquired after a better description of the woman, Pauldin gave him even more than he could have hoped for; her height, her black hair, green eyes, pale skin, the color of her clothing. As the servant was beginning to run out of words, but still trying desperately to be helpful, Cassian had a sudden inspiration.
"How did she smell, Pauldin?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Was she wearing any scent? Perfume?"
The servant was taken aback briefly, and then looked more confident. "She did, sir. It was a peppery smell, sort of. A bit like burning oleanwood, but nowhere near so strong."
"Musky?"
"Yes, sir."
Cassian was itching now to get away and inspect his little magical spy, but certain anxieties kept him rooted there. "You are to take your mistress to Tarlanth," he said finally, accepting his Imperial badge back from the man. "Take her with her best maidservant over to his mansion. A messenger has already been sent to advise Tarlanth of what has happened here, but if you run into any trouble, you must insist that the household send someone to me and I will guarantee you there. Take my carriage and then send it back here for me. Ah! No, wait, Jerenn is in it. He mustn't know about any of this."
"I'm sorry, sir, but he was not at the Rose Villa." Pauldin looked miserable, as if he had failed in some final duty at a particularly unfortunate time.
"No?" Cassian tried to hide his surprise. "Ah, well, perhaps he was recalled to Tarlanth's mansion. I hardly have him twenty-four hours a day." If Pauldin suspected anything amiss, his expression conveyed none of it. Behind them, Ilfaralek was approaching.
"Shall I send Karlanta with the two servants to Tarlanth's house?" Cassian asked innocently. "My carriage is waiting outside."
"Very well," Ilfaralek replied in the slightly irritated tone that Cassian was starting to find familiar. He gestured to Pauldin to help his fellow pick up the still-unconscious Karlanta and carry her gently to the front door.
"Put her in my carriage. I'll go with them and speak with Tarlanth. You," he said imperiously to the junior officer with him, "organize matters for the servants here. Go to the gate barracks at once."
As he was about to leave, Ilfaralek suddenly realized he was leaving a house full of servants who might escape the fate he'd arranged for them. He turned to Cassian.
"You will wait a few minutes until my lieutenant returns, won't you?" The simple statement had a much deeper underpinning. Ilfaralek was demanding of Cassian that, in return for the two lives he had given him, the elf would deliver the remainder to the fate Ilfaralek deemed appropriate for them all. Cassian was unhappy, realizing that in some way this made him even more an accomplice to the crime. Then the thought was banished as he remembered something vital he should have been looking for. To keep Ilfaralek from noticing, Cassian yawned, then begged the man's pardon.
"I'm sorry," he said, sinking into a chair with an expression of fatigue. "I'm more tired than I thought. I had luncheon with General Crotias."
"Yes, so I heard." Ilfaralek allowed himself a smile for the first time since arriving.
"I'll make sure everything is in order, as I'm sure you will also," the elf said smoothly. Ilfaralek stared pointedly at him for a moment, then strode off into the darkness.
When the wheels of his carriage had glided away down the drive, Cassian got to his feet and headed up the marbled stairs leading to the mansion's bedchambers. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and the carpets and rugs would conceal the watery trail he would leave behind. Or so he hoped.
10
Jerenn got just a little careless, and almost paid for it with his life. He was excited and happy, and he didn't take his customary minute to wait and listen beneath the rickety wooden trapdoor.
When he scrambled out into the night, he ran straight into the arms of an ork as he was finishing off a bottle of some home-brewed, filthy-smelling drink. The bottle flew from the ork's hand and he cursed furiously, striking out at Jerenn with a curved dagger already in his other hand. Mercifully, the ork was off-balance and his stabbing strike missed by inches. Even more fortunately, the ork was alone; there was no shadowy accomplice waiting to grab the terrified lad from behind, dragging him down to cut his throat for whatever little he carried or striking him senseless to face a fate worse than a cut throat down in the depths of the Undercity. Jerenn had heard of the blood magicians and warped nethermancers said to haunt its darkest places and had been warned about their body-hunters more than once.
He knew exact
ly where he should be heading, but stark fear, and the lack of a properly lit lantern, left him unable to remember his way. As he raced across the rubble, the heavy foot-stompings of the irate ork closed in behind him. A pair of old dwarfs, ruined and almost too drunk to move, managed to get out of the way before Jerenn tumbled over them. As he did so, his foot caught on a chunk of stone and he ended up face-down in a pool of dank liquid that smelled like the dwarfs had passed some of their drink into it, and maybe worse, not too many moments before. Swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat, he managed to get to his feet with the ork barely a half-dozen strides behind him. The briefest of desperate looks behind him showed yellow tusk-teeth and the serrated blade getting closer by the second.
Jerenn ran full pelt, praying the ork would fall over before he did, veering around a knot of startled beggars and cripples, until at last he saw a tiny slice of light from under a door in a building, only half-ruined, looming at him out of the night.
It might only have been his imagination, but he could have sworn afterward that the ork's hot breath was on his neck when he flung himself at the door and prayed that it would open when he hit it, even if it knocked him senseless in the process.
Ilfaralek's lieutenant returned in a matter of minutes to find an apparently dozing elf sunk into a chair in the entrance hall. Cassian rubbed his eyes ostentatiously when the man marched crisply into the mansion and asked if he could take care of the place.
"Unfortunately, someone from House Carinci will have to be told of this," he said, thinking aloud. "They will need to make preparations for the appropriate rituals.
Karlanta can hardly do it."
"Akarenti Ilfaralek said that he would attend to such matters/' the officer said coolly, clearly wanting Cassian to leave so that he could get on with his work. Behind him, a dozen or so soldiers were already marching up the drive. Cassian obliged him and meandered out into the cooling night air, apologizing to his tired coachman for the delay. The man gawked at his sodden appearance, but said nothing.
Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness Page 7
