‘Yeah.’ Her gaze fell on the guard standing stern-faced on the other side of a small gate set into the larger. ‘Expensive art.’
As they approached, she could sense Penn trying to make himself look as imposing as possible, and realised she was doing the same. It was the way the guard stared at them: as though they were feral dogs coming too close to a feast table, and in a moment he would chase them off with a stick.
Captain Caraway should have sent older Helmsmen, she thought in dismay. No-one here is going to take us seriously. Why did he pick us?
Though she hadn’t thought she knew the answer, some part of her brain supplied it anyway. Because he trusts us the most. Because the older men were already part of the Helm before he became captain, but he trained us himself. It made her proud enough that she was able to step forward to the gate and hold up Caraway’s letter without so much as a quiver.
‘We’re here to see the foreman,’ she said. ‘Ayla Nightshade’s orders.’
The guard reached through the bars to pluck the letter from her hand. His eyebrows lifted as he examined the seal, and he cast a brief, curious glance at the wrapped bottle nestled in the crook of Penn’s arm. ‘Wait here, please.’
When he returned, he was accompanied: a woman walked beside him with neat, rapid steps. Her hair was greying, her face lined, but she had a wiry kind of strength about her. The guard unlocked the small gate before stepping back to allow her through.
‘Aires,’ she said, touching her fingertips to Ree’s and then to Penn’s. ‘I’m the foreman here. I understand you have a taransey problem you wish to consult me about.’
Ree nodded mutely. For some reason, she hadn’t expected the distillery’s foreman to be a woman. She thought of taransey as something that belonged almost exclusively to men, like … well, she couldn’t think of another example. But then she noticed Aires studying her with an equal amount of interest, and had to suppress a grin. Like the Helm, Ree. That’s the comparison you’re searching for.
‘We’re here on Ayla Nightshade’s business,’ Penn said, recalling Aires’s attention. ‘Can we come in?’
‘I suppose so. But you’ll have to agree to be blindfolded.’
Ree and Penn exchanged swift, startled glances, and the foreman gave a rusty chuckle. ‘Honestly, your faces! You won’t learn the secrets of taransey just by looking. Come on in, both of you.’
Feeling more than a little foolish, Ree followed her. Once everyone was inside, Aires led the way towards the distillery while the guard relocked the gate and resumed his position. Ree studied the building with interest as they got closer, but there wasn’t much to see – just a little complex of chimneys releasing different shades of smoke into the air, no different from any other factory in Arkannen.
‘Some from the stills, some from the kilns, and one from the engine that runs the mill,’ Aires said, following her gaze.
‘Are you allowed to tell us that?’ Ree asked doubtfully, and Aires laughed again.
‘There’s no secret in it. Making liquor’s much the same the world over. It’s the precise ingredients that make the difference.’
She pushed open a door, releasing a grumble of steam-powered machinery – that must be the mill – and a waft of spice. As they climbed a flight of steps, the air became warmer and warmer until it was almost uncomfortable. Then Aires opened another door, releasing a wall of scented heat. Ree took a deep breath, trying to separate out the different components: sweet woodsmoke, yeast, coal, some kind of roasted grain, and above it all that spicy flavour that made the back of her throat tingle with the ghost of the drink it would become. Aires raised her eyebrows.
‘Any the wiser?’
‘No,’ Ree admitted.
‘Good. Come on, then.’
She led the two of them along a walkway that seemed to be a kind of overseer’s platform. Ree glimpsed three brick-walled structures that must be the kilns, a large vat of liquid being stirred by two men pushing a rotating paddle – Aires stopped briefly to look at that, then called something down to one of the workers, who slowed his pace a fraction – and what looked like a big wooden tank. Finally the gleam of copper caught her eye and she saw the stills themselves, shaped like bells with long pipes leading out of the top, connected in pairs: one larger, one smaller. She would have stayed there longer to examine it all, but by then they’d reached the other end of the walkway and Aires was ushering her and Penn into what looked like an incredibly compact office.
‘Standing room only, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I don’t usually have visitors. So, how can I help you?’
Unwrapping the bottle he’d been carrying, Penn held it up. ‘We need you to tell us everything you can about the history of this bottle.’
Aires raised her eyebrows. ‘What about it?’
‘Well, for a start,’ Ree said, ‘is it possible to find out who bought it?’
‘Perhaps. Sometimes we sell an entire batch to a wealthy customer. I’d have to check the log … here, hand it over.’
Penn did so. Aires took it, running her fingers over the seals as though she could read the information they conveyed through her fingertips.
‘Let me see, now … this one was bottled only recently. At a guess, within the last three months. We mature taransey in casks, you see, and bottle it once it’s ready to drink. Each batch of bottles gets a different serial number, to allow us to trace them and detect forgeries.’ She pointed at a complex set of wedge-shaped marks in the wax around the neck of the bottle. ‘So if I look this one up …’ She turned to grab one of the books from her desk, flicking through the pages until she found what she was looking for. ‘Here you are, see? Bottled this year, the month of the Awakened Moon.’
‘Just last month, then.’
‘Yes. Not long in the world.’ Aires moved her finger across the page, frowning. ‘But this particular batch was down for individual distribution within Arkannen, so it’s impossible to identify with any certainty exactly who bought your bottle.’
‘But it was someone in the city?’
‘Oh, yes. We often have orders for a single bottle at a time. Many of those are inns – your average inn patron doesn’t tend to drink taransey all that often, so they get through it quite slowly – but they could be individual households, boutiques, brothels … anyone, really.’ She gave them a sly, sidelong glance. ‘Even the Helm. We used to sell entire batches to Darkhaven, but I understand Lady Ayla doesn’t have the taste for it.’
‘Do you have a list of the individual customers who were sent the bottles from this batch?’ Ree asked.
‘Here.’ Aires passed her a different book. ‘This is the customer log. The list you want is on that page – see? Same serial number.’
A batch turned out to consist of two dozen bottles. Ree copied down the twenty-four names and addresses, while Penn picked up their taransey bottle from the desk and handed it back to Aires.
‘Is there anything else that strikes you as unusual about this bottle, ma’am?’
‘No, it looks fine …’ She removed the cap, took a sniff and winced. ‘But someone’s put something in it that isn’t meant to be there.’
‘That’s why we’re here,’ Penn said. ‘I don’t know if you heard, but the Kardise ambassador died recently, and –’
‘This is what killed him?’ Aires suggested with flippant swiftness, still pulling a disgusted face at the bottle.
‘Yes.’
The foreman lifted her head sharply. ‘What?’
‘There’s poison in it,’ Ree explained, tucking her completed list of names away and passing the log book back. ‘And of course the ambassador didn’t know what taransey was meant to taste like, so …’
‘But how did the poison get in there?’
‘That’s the difficult part,’ Penn said. ‘The bottle was brought to the ambassador untouched.’ By unspoken agreement, Ree noticed, neither of them was mentioning Ayla’s involvement. ‘He broke the seal, drank from the contents, and it killed him
.’
‘Murder,’ Ree added.
Aires frowned. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting we –’
‘No, of course not. How could you be sure it would go to the intended target? But that being the case, we need to know how it’s possible for someone to have opened a sealed bottle of taransey, added poison, and resealed it in such a way that no-one could detect the difference.’
The foreman picked up the bottle, rotating it slowly. After a few moments, she pulled an eyeglass from an inner pocket and used it to examine the seals.
‘I wouldn’t have said it was possible,’ she said finally. ‘Not with this bottle, anyway. The seals are wax, as you know, and patterned according to our own design. For someone to open the bottle, they would have had to snap the seals and then melt the edges back together afterwards – but I see no sign of any damage in the wax, no hint of melting and rejoining. Maybe it would be possible to lift the entire design using a very thin, very sharp blade, but again you’d have to fix it back onto the bottle afterwards. And that would be incredibly tricky, because to get the wax to stick to the bottle, we usually have to melt an entire lump and imprint the seals and patterns while it’s drying. So again, either you’d end up with a faulty set of seals – which they’re not – or the wax wouldn’t adhere properly to the glass and so wouldn’t be convincing as an unopened bottle.’ Lowering the eyeglass, she shook her head. ‘I really can’t see how –’
‘May I look at that bottle, Aires?’ At the sound of the new voice, the foreman straightened much as Ree or any other Helmsman would have if Captain Caraway had entered the room. She turned to see a man standing in the doorway, his height and presence crowding the already crowded office. Perhaps her parents’ age, Ree thought; neat brown hair, fair skin, wearing a coat and breeches that spoke of understated wealth. Despite the polite phrasing of his request, his outstretched hand left no doubt that it was really an order.
‘Yes, sir.’ Aires handed over bottle and eyeglass, and the man subjected the seals to his own intense scrutiny.
‘Ah, no,’ he said finally. ‘It has been done very well, but this bottle has most certainly been resealed.’ He glanced up, and Ree was struck by the bright, mesmerising blue of his eyes. ‘It is not so much the rejoining; Aires is correct that there is no sign of that. Yet the texture of the wax tells its own story. One does not get such a dull surface without melting and resetting several times. And … yes, here and here are imperfections in the pattern. Not visible to the naked eye, but there all the same.’ He lowered the bottle, nodding thoughtfully. ‘Interesting. Very interesting.’
‘How do you know this, sir?’ Penn asked. The man turned to him with a pleasant smile.
‘My apologies. Clearly I failed to introduce myself.’ His gaze moved from Penn’s face to Ree’s, where it lingered for a moment in amused curiosity. ‘Derrick Tarran.’
He gave his name as if he fully expected them to recognise it – and Ree did, though perhaps not entirely for the reasons he was assuming. Tarran was one of the oldest names in Mirrorvale. Hundreds of years ago, a Tarran ancestor had founded this distillery and given his name to the liquor it produced, and the distillery had stayed in the family ever since. Derrick Tarran was the current owner – a rich and powerful man, and certainly a knowledgeable one when it came to questions over taransey and its production.
That much was probably known to most people in Arkannen, but Ree had an additional reason for recognising the name. The village she’d grown up in and where her parents still lived, Torrance Mill, was named for the Tarran family. They had an estate just outside the village. Of course, that didn’t mean Derrick Tarran would recognise her, or have any idea who she was. The Tarrans spent most of their time in the city; she didn’t think she’d ever seen any of them before, and they certainly wouldn’t have seen her. Still, it was a link to home that she hadn’t expected.
‘Then you’re certain this bottle was tampered with?’ she asked.
‘As certain as I can be, ah …’ He paused delicately, and Ree realised she’d failed to observe the basic courtesies. Her mother would have been mortified.
‘Ree Quinn,’ she said, extending her hand for the traditional greeting. Once again, she saw both laughter and curiosity in his eyes as he touched his fingertips to hers.
‘Delighted to meet you.’ He studied her face a moment longer, before turning to Penn. I guess no-one told him there are women in the Helm now. Ree wasn’t sure whether to be disgruntled or amused.
‘Penn Avens,’ Penn said.
It was the name he’d used when he first came to the city, hiding the secret of his family connection to the previous Captain of the Helm, who had kidnapped Ayla and who Caraway had killed. After learning the reasons behind that death, and losing his desire for revenge in the process, Penn had stuck with the alias. Yet Derrick Tarran smiled at him and said, ‘Ah, yes. Young cousin to the late Owen Travers.’
Penn nodded mutely.
‘I find it pays to keep abreast of the goings-on in the city,’ Tarran explained, almost apologetically. He handed the bottle back to Penn. ‘I do hope I have been of some assistance. Please, if you find you have more questions at any time, don’t hesitate to come back and ask them.’
It was a dismissal, albeit a polite one – but Ree stood her ground.
‘I do have one more question, sir, if you don’t mind. You said the tampering was very well done. Can you tell us what kind of skills it would have taken to do it? Or what tools?’
‘A good question,’ Tarran said approvingly. ‘It would not have been easy. I suggest you look for a very clever forger. Someone who is used to copying intricate patterns. But other than that …’ He shrugged. ‘I am afraid my extensive knowledge of Arkannen does not extend to criminals.’
‘No. Of course.’ Ree offered him a short bow. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, Aires.’
Once she and Penn were out on the street, making their way back to Darkhaven, they compared notes. An expert had testified that the bottle really had been tampered with, which proved that it was possible for someone other than Ayla to have added the poison. They also had a list of twenty-four names, one of whom must have bought that particular bottle. Surely it wouldn’t take long to visit them all, and then …
‘One step closer,’ Penn said, and Ree smiled.
‘Yes. You know, Penn, I really think we can do this.’
That evening, Ree had just got back to her apartment with a hot snack she’d bought from a street vendor when someone knocked at her door.
‘You said a couple of days,’ she said when she opened it to find her parents standing there. ‘I make that one.’
Her father chuckled uneasily. ‘Can we come in?’
‘I suppose so. But only if you keep well away from the subject of finding me a husband.’
‘Please, Ree …’ Neither of her parents moved from the doorway, but her father took her hand. ‘Will you at least hear us out? I really think you’d like Lewis Tarran, if you just got to know him.’
Tarran. Ree frowned at him. ‘This boy … is he related to Derrick Tarran? The distillery owner?’
‘Only child,’ her mother said enthusiastically. ‘Just think, Cheri, your children would inherit an entire –’
Her husband gave her a look, and she subsided. Ree paid very little attention to them. She was remembering the interest with which Derrick Tarran had studied her – hardly surprising, if he was planning to accept her as his daughter-in-law. Yet she wasn’t at all the sort of girl whom young, wealthy heirs married. They wanted beauty, compliance and a good family, not an ex-Helmsman from lesser merchant stock who would challenge her husband every time he failed to treat her as an equal. It was curiosity over why the distillery owner should even have considered the match, as much as a vague thought that she might glean useful information to help with the murder investigation, that led her to step back from the doorway and gesture her parents inside.
‘Come on, then. I’ll listen. But make it quick.’<
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They settled into the same places as before. Her mother cast a disapproving glance at the cooling butty in Ree’s hand, but made no comment. Probably doesn’t want to get thrown out again, Ree thought. She unwrapped the butty and took a defiant bite.
‘Listen, Cheri.’ Her father spoke firmly. ‘I know you think you want to stay in the Helm, but sooner or later your time there has to end. It’s a young person’s job. And if you wait until you’re too old to keep doing it before you move on, it’ll be too late. You’ll have no family, no home of your own, no man to share your life.’
‘I don’t want a family,’ Ree said, though she’d had the same conversation with her parents often enough to know it was fruitless. ‘And retired Helmsmen get good –’
‘Every girl wants a family,’ her mother interrupted. ‘You just don’t know it yet.’
‘I’m nineteen years old. I’m old enough to know what I want.’
Her mother gave her an indulgent smile. ‘When I was nineteen, Cheri, I thought I wanted to elope with the chandler’s son. My parents had to guide me onto a better path –’ she darted a glance at Ree’s father – ‘and that’s what we’re trying to do for you.’
It’s not up to you to say what’s better for me. With an effort – she almost felt it scrape down her throat – Ree swallowed her anger. This argument would circle around and around until all three of them were tired and frustrated. Better to try a different line of attack.
‘I know you mean well.’ She had to force the words out. ‘But you don’t seem to understand how important my work is to me. Not only that, but I’m good at it! I saved Lady Ayla’s life when I was still a trainee!’ She didn’t want to bring that up again, after the lukewarm response she’d received from them originally to the fact that she’d saved the overlord of Mirrorvale’s life, but any weapon would do in an emergency. ‘I know for a fact she won’t want to see me go, and Captain Caraway won’t either.’
We’re talking about the two most important people in the country, she added silently. Surely that has to mean something to you?
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