Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness

by Carl Sargent, Marc Gascoigne (v0. 9) (epub)

  "I think it might keep me awake beyond my accustomed hours," Cassian declined pleasantly.

  "Nonsense. Well, never mind." The man took a vast draught from one tube, having carefully closed the golden clasps on the others. Then he sat down, holding the perfect intake in his lungs for a few moments before exhaling with an almost feline grace. With a huge sigh of pleasure, he relaxed visibly into the silk and satin of his chair.

  "You're missing a lot," he said genially. "Well, ask yourself this: can this lying corrupt wretch I see before me be so guilty after all, when he can present himself defenseless in the arms of this wondrous and uninhibiting drug?"

  "Most thought-provoking," Cassian said, unable to suppress a slight smile. The man was outrageous; he was exaggerating, to be sure, but Cassian had already warmed to him enough to doubt that he was in the presence of a murderous mastermind.

  "So, what is it you want to know?"

  "Obviously, you're someone who knows more about the city's commercial agreements than anyone in Vivane," Cassian began. A weary, theatrical, and dismissive wave of an arm from Patracheus cut him short.

  "Look, dispense with all that. I can tell you who owes whom what and when they have to pay it. I can tell you who's thwarted whom, who has tried to bribe me over the years, which buildings have been constructed by cheating wretches, who is planning what and who beats his wife. I am powerful enough that I can speak ill of my own House and get away with it.

  "On the other hand," he went on, pausing to lean forward for a more modest dose of smoke, "my own power is slightly exaggerated. Though that exaggeration is in part due to my own skill at creating the fertile ground for such exaggeration to flourish."

  Cassian laughed. Perhaps the openness was an illusion, but the man was a skillful actor and he was surely due some appreciation from his audience. Patracheus exhaled cheerfully and awaited the questions.

  "You witnessed a will, relatively recently."

  "Whose, perchance?"

  "That of Daralec, Vivane's main importer and handler of stone."

  "Ah, yes," Patracheus said seriously. "Well, that all depends on what you think you've learned."

  "Meaning what, exactly?"

  "Meaning, have you heard that Daralec and Tarlanth didn't like each other?"

  "That view has been expressed to me, yes."

  "By the Passions, Cassian, you talk like a book. If you ever find disfavor back in Thera, come to me and I'll find you a job as a scribe or a judge. Well, they gave that appearance to the outside world. But they also had agreements and understandings. Nothing terribly significant as a single arrangement, but it all added up to quite a body of cooperation."

  "Such as?"

  "Oh, all manner of small things. Tarlanth provided I lie food for Daralec's workers. Daralec's stonemasons were always employed as builders for Tarlanth's properties. And they always wore clothing purchased from Tarlanth's businesses. That sort of thing."

  "Hardly enough for Daralec to bequeath an entire business to him, surely?"

  "Well, I must admit I was surprised. But as both were major figures in city works, I could hardly refuse when I hey asked me to witness the agreement. They knew I would not speak of it—though now that Daralec is dead ,ind you have seen the document, matters are different. I5een up to Balkaria, have you?"

  The elf nodded.

  "Wonder if Tarlanth might have had Daralec and his son disposed of to get the business, hmm? Bit embarrassing for you, Cassian of Medari."

  "I am a praetorCassian said defensively.

  "Well, yes," Patracheus said affably, "but it looks very tricky, doesn't it? What with your living in his villa and all. I'm sure you'd feel a slight pang of bad manners before you sent him off to the executioner's axe."

  "I hardly think I'm likely to be doing that," Cassian said, feeling considerably at a disadvantage.

  "No? You disappoint me. I had rather looked forward to someone high and mighty being carted off for a public beheading before too long."

  "I make my report to the Arbiter-General," Cassian said, "and it is up to him what action to take on the basis of that report."

  "There goes the talking book again," Patracheus smiled. "Next time you come here, make sure you spend a few hours at Syranita's first."

  "I haven't been told of such a place," Cassian said uncomfortably.

  "My dear fellow, how shockingly inadequate your advance information is. Just behind the excellent hostelry that rejoices in the name of Duraglim's. Catamite or concubine, it makes no difference; every form of intoxication is of the very finest. Not-—given my age—that I often visit the place myself these days. Besides, I must admit that the affair with the goats was rather disagreeable to one of my sensibilities and probably would have been to one of yours. My dear Cassian, they had them clad in silk!"

  The man was so arch in his expression, and his gesture of offended nature was so outrageous, that the elf had to laugh with him. Then Patracheus suddenly stopped laughing, sat bolt upright, and fixed him again with his discomfitingly hard gaze.

  "Cassian, I really have nothing to fear from you. I have no secrets that could truly compromise me and nothing of real interest to a praetor. My position in Vivane is unchallenged, and any change would be for the worse. Any enquiries you may make will only confirm that a thousandfold.

  "But, then again, I have told you that I lie. On occasion."

  This is a masterful man, Cassian thought. I think he's being truthful, and all I've learned so far tells me that he is, indeed, very well placed here. Then he makes me doubt him. He is clever, truly intelligent.

  "You must trust Mordain implicitly," the elf said.

  Patracheus's expression did not change in the slightest.

  "He is my right-hand man. Very diplomatic. Very good at putting people at their ease. Very good at dealing with the details. What can I say further? In time he will take my place, when I'm too bored and old to continue." Patracheus slumped a little in his seat, self-mockingly, and put down his flask, trailing white smoke into the air.

  "How involved is he with construction projects in the

  city?"

  "Well, usually that's something I keep more or less to myself," Patracheus said thoughtfully. "After all, that work involves dealing with some of Vivane's most powerful people. And, well, the interests of my own House are often involved."

  "Haughrald, for instance?"

  "Yes, and it's quite fair that I should favor him. Apart from the fact that his work is excellent, certain people have a quite irrational prejudice against him, so my influence counterbalances that."

  "But Mordain has begun to get involved in contracting some of the lesser licenses," Cassian noted.

  "True. He's of my House also, as you obviously know, and he must be groomed. It's all with the approval of my House conclave, of course."

  "Where you doubtless have considerable influence," Cassian murmured.

  "Well, obviously," Patracheus said with a slight frown. He seemed more perplexed than irked. "Look, what's this about? There's no schism between me and Mordain and I have no reason to consider him untrustworthy. If you do, I would be very anxious to hear of it. I would certainly be prepared to open any records you might wish to examine, and I could probably save you a lot of time by telling you where to look."

  Cassian believed that Patracheus was telling the truth. He'd been hunting for any sign that, with nobles involved in city works contracts being doled out, Patracheus might be concerned about Mordain. An ambitious junior might go a long way to topple his master, but Cassian no longer saw any reason to pursue that theory any further.

  Who is at the center of all this? he wondered. Someone must be poised to take a great deal of power unto themselves. But he still couldn't see who it might be.

  "It's late," he said, extracting himself from the luxurious depths of his chair. It took some doing, since the cushions had been threatening to engulf him for some time. "Thank you indeed for your hospitality, Patracheus. I believe yo
u have been frank and honest with me and I have found our conversation most agreeable and interesting."

  Patracheus stretched an arm out to the floor beside his chair, picked up a slim book and opened and closed it repeatedly, making muttering noises the whole time. Cassian remembered his jibe about him talking like a book.

  "Sorry," he smiled. "Thank you anyway."

  "Can you see yourself out? Actually, there really should be a night slave around somewhere."

  "I'm sure I can find the door," Cassian murmured and retraced his steps through the elegant mansion. His coachman was nodding off, half-asleep, but Cassian was awake and alert after his earlier nap and had no desire to return to his bed. Waking the man by climbing noisily into the carriage, he gave him a gold coin and asked him to drive him north along the Grandwalk. Surprised by the gift, the driver was only too happy now to extend his working hours.

  "Let's take a look at the world beyond the gates," the elf said loudly. "To the Northern Barracks, I think."

  19

  As his carriage moved silently and swiftly through the night, Cassian made plans for the next day. Tomorrow morning, the first task was to make for the House of Records and draw up a list of every registered wizard in the city. As in any border city, Vivane would have records of every wizard dwelling within its boundaries. This was in part because of the Theran love of bureaucracy, in part because of taxes levied upon wizards, and in part because of the need to know where to find magical defense for the city in time of attack. For a moment, the elf considered disturbing the record keepers and scribes even at this preposterous hour, but decided against it. He could, indeed, force them to admit him, but inciting the bureaucrats' fury would surely make it ten times harder to get any desired information in the future.

  Cassian got out of the carriage as it came to rest at the gates of the Northern Barracks and showed his seal to the officer and his troops. When he asked permission to scale the walls, the ork officer was not entirely pleased.

  "Make sure you don't fall off. As a rule, we don't go out there to retrieve people at this time of night," he growled. "What damn fool reason you got for going up anyway?"

  "Just curiosity," the elf said calmly, then began to climb up the wooden ladder to the battlements stretching out over the huge sprawl of the rest of Vivane beyond the walls of the Theran Quarter.

  A thousand points of light, flickering and moving, greeted his eyes. Lanterns and torches, campfires and even a burning building, dotted the night. Around the southern edge, the patterns of light grew more regular, indicating the more ordered Barsaivian merchant settlements along the Flamewalk. Not far from Cassian, a pair of orks stood gazing impassively out over the scene of wreckage, crossbows in their hands, clad in the hardened leather favored by most of the Legion rank and file. Behind them, a dull cherry-red glow came from a black stone receptacle, almost egg-shaped.

  "And that is for?" Cassian asked, knowing perfectly well why the elemental fire was placed there. One of the orks simply clasped his hands around a silvered badge at his chest and, with his other hand, pointed at a spot below and across the wall. A serpentine streak of elemental fire leapt from the stone and arced downward in a dazzle of burning light. The flash let Cassian see a hundred or more destitute forms huddled around the wall, before he himself was half-blinded by it. His eyes closed, he didn't see where the fire struck, but a terrible scream left little to the imagination. When he opened his eyes after a few moments, one of the orks was unconcernedly picking at his teeth with a steel pin taken from the decoration of his helmet, as if he had done no more than crush a bug.

  'The security is very impressive," Cassian muttered almost to himself. "Where," he added as if in afterthought, raising his voice a little, "would the Rat Circus be out there?" He hoped he was remembering correctly the name Jerenn had given him. It wasn't one he thought it much likely to get wrong.

  "There, about a half-mile out. Look, there's a couple of torches on top of Old Fatso' one of the orks said, cassian could just make out the elevated points of feeble, flickering flame.

  "Old Fatso?"

  The Honorable Quarique Oathstone, ruler of the city," one of the orks sneered. "Decided to erect a monument to himself to impress the locals. 'Course, those vermin out there have pulled half of it down over the years."

  "Not a good place to visit, I imagine," Cassian said.

  "It's called the Rat Circus because there are more rats down there than people," the ork told him. "Supposed to be catacombs half a mile down into the ground. Sometimes, in a really hot summer, they come up like a plague of locusts. Eat anyone too slow or too drunk to get away, and spread plague among the rest. They're vicious bastards too. Some as long as yer arm and teeth like mine." He grinned broadly to display his own formidable, and unpleasantly discolored, set of teeth as he picked at them again. The chunk of meat he managed to skewer f rom his molars evidently met with his approval, since he proceeded to chew it all over again.

  "Right. Thank you, that's most helpful," Cassian said as he retreated from the distressing display. It didn't sound like a promising place to construct or renovate tunnels—unless, of course, the tales about the area were more lurid than the reality. There had to be a Theran elemental-ist down there somewhere, he thought. She might just know about the defenses up here. Perhaps Ilfaralek was being too complacent; perhaps he should go and see for himself. He could surely find some Barsaivian merchant group to tag along with. He would have to go in disguise, of course, and hope he didn't run into someone able to penetrate magical concealments easily.

  "Drive me home slowly," he bade his driver as he climbed back into the carriage. They had begun to head south when Cassian suddenly thought he recognized a figure stepping out of a shop doorway along the great central roadway.

  "Stop here!" he commanded and the coachman pulled up at once. Cassian jumped down and approached the man on foot.

  "Pauldin! How is your mistress?"

  "Oh, it's you, sir/' the man said without any alarm. There was, after all, a patrol of night watch barely a hundred yards down the road. "Well, sir, I've just been to Culparn's for a little extra sedative. She's still quite agitated, sir. I must be getting back."

  "Of course. Just one thing," Cassian asked gently. "The messages you used to run from Daralec's to Tarlanth?"

  "I did, sir?" It was obvious the man wasn't sure of what he might have said. He was defensive and anxious.

  "You most certainly did. Quite often."

  "That must have been bad recollection, sir. I only took messages there on rare occasions. Nothing of importance, sir."

  "Really? Thank you. I must have been mistaken," Cassian said politely and let the man to go on his way.

  Either someone had been having words with the slave, or his mind had been magically changed in some way, the elf mused. But why would anyone wish to do that?

  "Now, I think, we actually will go home," he said to the coachman.

  The next morning's trawling through the House of Records took longer than Cassian would have liked. Even with his Imperial badge, he had to get signed permission from Kypros's office itself to gain access to the wizard lists. He noted that several names carried the simple entry of "wizard", and thought it likely that the military kept more detailed lists. Another bout of drinking with Crotias threatened to loom large on the list of future engagements.

  Then, to his surprise, one name appeared among the list of elementalists, a name with some connection to what he'd learned and observed so far: Cryselda, Tarlanth's wife. No details of her skills or talents were recorded, of course.

  By the Passions, she's the right size, he thought. Her body could have been the one he'd detected at Daralec's house the night Crielle was killed. Surely, if it were her, (hen Jerenn would have recognized her voice when he was perched on the roof of that house in the Broken Quarter. But why would such a woman wish to go beyond these walls, leave the luxury of her life to scheme among the pits and gutters of the Broken Quarter, to break down and
trample everything that kept her pampered and spoiled?

  I'm missing something, Cassian thought ruefully Maybe he was spending too much time talking to people and reading papers. But he still had time to figure out what it was. Several days still remained before the feast of the Overgovernor's birthday.

  Stepping out on to the Grandwalk, his eye caught a flurry of activity to the south, beyond the imposing concert halls and the steady trickle of robed scribes entering and leaving the House of Works. The distinctive blue-plumed helms of the elite soldiery of the Legion were in evidence, and he began to walk, and then run, towards the scene. Guards and no few townsfolk were clustered around the end of a small cul-de-sac with half a dozen driveways leading off to secluded villas and fine houses.

  Cassian was challenged by the guards as they threw up a rope barrier to warn curious onlookers away, but he soon pushed past by virtue of his Imperial badge. Then he hurried up the short road to the door of the villa, where a knot of guardsmen stood about impassively. Another display of the badge got him inside.

  Ilfaralek was standing there, grim-faced and muttering to a lieutenant. He did not seem pleased at the sight of the elf.

  "You got here damnably fast," he growled. "You always seem to be awfully close to the scene of murders, Cassian." There was no innuendo in the comment, but it made the elf uncertain.

  "Murder? What murder? I was simply coming out of the House of Records, and when I saw the guards, I came over to see what had happened."

  "It's Darnius, Mordain's son. It's something of a mess. I suppose you will want to see for yourself." Not waiting for Cassian's reply, Ilfaralek stomped off through an archway to the right. Cassian followed dutifully.

  It must have been a delightful room before the blood and tissue had bespattered every surface. Most of it was crafted of glass, with angles of construction that focused the light of the sun in cunning ways, flooding it with illumination without being blinding. Colored wedges of blue and yellow glass created pools of cool, soothing hues that seemed to bathe the many plants growing in pots and urns. Cassian was not, however, taking in the beauty of the scene. His mouth half-dropped at the sight in front of him, and all about him.