“You’re necromancers,” the woman said, backing away from Sienne into a corner of her cell. “Guards! Guards! Somebody help me!”
“Oh, for Kitane’s sake, we’re not necromancers,” Dianthe said.
The woman kept shouting. This time, a female guard they hadn’t seen before came down the stairs, a guardsman’s truncheon in her hand. “Shut up, you,” she said, smacking the bars and making them ring dully.
“They’re necromancers! You can’t leave me in here with them! I’m as good as dead!”
The guard looked at Alaric, whom she clearly saw as the biggest potential threat. “What’s she talking about?”
“I have no idea,” Alaric said blandly. “She’s probably still drunk. Been babbling all night about monsters.”
“Liar!” The woman shot forward and gripped the bars. “He’s lying—they were just talking about potions and rituals—they’re going to use me for their evil magic—”
“You’re all in separate cages. Give it a rest.” The guard smacked the bars one last time and went back upstairs.
“If you’re afraid we’re necromancers, you really ought to be more polite,” Alaric said.
“We shouldn’t discuss this in public,” Sienne said. “We have to wait, and hope Octavian comes soon.”
Alaric shrugged. “You’re right. It’s not as if we can work our evil magic in here.”
The woman cringed. Alaric smiled a pleasant, non-threatening smile. “Stop taunting her,” Sienne said, but she couldn’t help laughing as she did.
They waited. The sunlight slanted across the cells and turned into a diffuse afternoon light. No one came to feed them at noon. “Two meals a day,” Dianthe said, making Sienne wonder what experiences she’d had to be so certain. She sat on the stinking bench and practiced her small magics, spark and invisible fingers and ghost sound, the last of which sent their neighbor into a frightened huddle. Sienne tried to feel bad about it, but it wasn’t as if ghost sound could hurt anyone, and the woman was unnaturally skittish.
Finally, as she was about to tear the hem of her shirt so she could practice magically mending it, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and three people came into the jail. One was the female guard with the truncheon. The second was a strange man dressed in magistrate’s robes. The third was the divine Octavian. Sienne shot to her feet and gripped the bars.
“These are the five I spoke to four days ago,” Octavian said. “They informed me they were pursuing a lich—a powerful undead creature.”
“I’ve never heard of a lich,” the magistrate said. “I don’t see what it has to do with the very serious matter they’re charged with.”
“We have not heard the charges against us,” Perrin said.
The guard said, “Entering someone’s home illegally. Attempted robbery. The murder of Master Myles Samretto and his housekeeper. We’re still working on learning what more they might have done.”
“We did not kill Master Samretto,” Perrin said. “He was a lich. When his body was killed, he took the body of his housekeeper, the woman you found dead.”
“I can’t believe you’re confessing to these crimes. Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?” the magistrate exclaimed.
“It is no crime to destroy an undead,” Perrin said. “Our defense hinges on proving that we speak the truth. Pretending we did not do what we did would work against us in the long run.”
“This was the lich you were pursuing?” Octavian said.
Perrin hesitated. “No. We found and destroyed that creature elsewhere. We did not know Master Samretto was a lich until he attacked us.”
“Two of these creatures?” The magistrate laughed. “This sounds ridiculous. I’m inclined to leave you here pending trial.”
“When did you destroy the lich? The second one?” Octavian asked Perrin, ignoring the magistrate.
“Last night, sometime before eight o’clock,” Perrin said.
Octavian closed his eyes and cursed fluidly, making the magistrate’s eyebrows go up and the female guard emit an uncharacteristic giggle. “The ghoul presence in our city increased markedly yesterday evening,” he said. “As would be expected if a lich died and lost control of his undead. My lord magistrate, this man is telling the truth.”
“You can’t expect me to believe this nonsense? And even if I do, it sounds like they’re responsible for setting the ghouls loose on this city.”
“That wasn’t our fault!” Sienne exclaimed, then subsided when Perrin glared at her with an unspoken Let me do the talking.
“It was an unfortunate side effect,” he said, “and I assure you if there had been an alternative, we would not have allowed it to happen. But the lich attacked us, and we were forced to defend ourselves. As proof, I offer Master Samretto’s reliquary, which is intact save for the crack that prevented the lich’s spirit from remaining connected to the material world.”
“You kept a dangerous necromantic device?” The magistrate took a step back. Sienne wanted to slap him. If he was representative of what passed for justice in Fioretti, she almost wanted to take her chances with the lich again.
“It is not dangerous, my lord magistrate, certainly not if it is damaged,” Octavian said. “Where is it?”
“With our belongings, in a belt pouch.”
Octavian turned to the guard. “May we see their possessions? If he is telling the truth, I will recognize the lich’s reliquary and can attest to its witness on their behalf.”
The guard nodded and went back upstairs. “You’ve had a busy week,” Octavian said. “Two liches. I don’t suppose you want to go into the spirit hunting business? Kitane would be happy to sponsor you.”
“We’ve had enough necromancy to last three lifetimes,” Alaric said. “Though we have a great appreciation for those who make spirit hunting their life’s work.”
“Well, I’m sure we can arrange for some kind of compensation.” Octavian turned as the guard came back down the stairs. She had all their belt pouches dangling from one hand, which she held well away from herself as if she feared contagion. “Which one?”
Sienne pointed to hers. As Octavian opened it, she experienced a moment’s terror that someone had stolen the reliquary, that their story had no proof and she was going to live in this awful cell forever. Then he withdrew the black glass prism, and she sighed. Octavian held it up to the light. In the light of day, Sienne could see the cloudy glass pieces were held together by a network of fine bones, not those of a child, but surely a woman’s bones, and she was gripped by a certainty that she was looking at the remains of Uriane Samretto. She swallowed bile and tried not to think about it.
“This is indeed a lich’s reliquary,” Octavian said. “My lord magistrate, these people have done the city a tremendous service. They should be freed immediately.”
“They have to face official charges,” the magistrate said, somewhat pompously, Sienne thought.
“With the city in the turmoil it’s in?” Octavian frowned. “They ought to be out destroying ghouls, not rotting in a cell. Come, young man, show sense.”
The magistrate eyed Alaric. “Two hundred lari fine, for disrupting the peace, and they’re free to go,” he said.
“What!” Sienne exclaimed.
“That’s acceptable,” Alaric said, shooting a warning glance at her.
The magistrate nodded to the guard, who unlocked the cells. Sienne tried not to leave the cell at a run, but it was hard not to imagine the door closing on her again.
“Thank you,” Perrin said to Octavian. “We are once again in your debt.”
“It’s a small way for me to be involved in fighting evil,” Octavian said. “Now, be on your way. I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind?” He held up the reliquary and turned it so the remaining glass caught the light.
“Please do,” Perrin said.
They collected the rest of their gear and spent some time scrounging money for their fine. Finally Perrin removed the amulet from around his neck and laid it
on the pile of coin, saying, “I pledge this against our returning with the rest of the money. I assure you it is more valuable than the fine, and it had better be here when I return.”
The guard at the desk held it up by its chain and let the citrine catch the light. “It’s magical,” Sienne added, and the guard hastily put it down.
“The rest of the fine to be paid in the next twenty-four hours, or it’s forfeit,” she said. Perrin nodded agreement, and they were out the door and blinking in the soft afternoon light.
“Sienne?” Alaric said.
“Let’s start walking,” Sienne said.
“What are we doing? Should we fight the ghouls?” Kalanath said.
“We’ve got one last shot at finding whatever Samretto had,” Alaric said. “His house is probably being watched, so—”
“Five full-body imitates, coming up,” Sienne said, opening her spellbook.
27
Sienne made herself walk the way the female guard at the jail had, hips loose, legs swinging in long strides, arms hanging relaxed at her side. But it turned out not to matter. No one was guarding Samretto’s house. It hadn’t been wasted wizardry, as the confusions had gotten them past the gate with no trouble, but it did feel anticlimactic.
“Spread out, and let’s be quick,” Alaric said.
Sienne chose the short hall leading to the kitchen, though she wasn’t sure she’d find anything useful there. It wasn’t likely Samretto had mixed his potions there—or maybe she was too fastidious, and nobody else found the idea of brewing necromantic potions in the same place they made food disgusting. She searched the cupboards, anyway, and checked both ovens, which were cold. The cupboards held only ordinary foodstuffs, no strange herbs and certainly no varnwort.
Another door led outside, into a kitchen garden that at this season was still new and undergrown. At the far end of the kitchen garden, a shed squatted just inside the gate that led to the main gardens. Sienne crossed the path of hard-packed earth and opened its door, summoning a handful of magic lights to illuminate its interior. It contained nothing but garden implements, all hung neatly on the walls within the chalk outlines of their shapes. Sienne sent her lights into all the corners and saw nothing more than a spider web and a blobby, multi-legged body scurrying off into what shadow was left. She shuddered and called the lights back to her, shutting the door.
She returned to Samretto’s study, where Alaric was making neat piles of the books on the floor. “Anything?” he asked.
Sienne shook her head. “I’m hoping Dianthe finds a secret room.”
“None of these books are about necromancy,” Alaric said. “At least, none of the ones I can read. That small stack is books in Meiric, if you want to take a look.”
Sienne knelt and sorted through the pile. “Poetry. A history of the lost city Ma’tzehar. I’d love to see that someday. Or is it mythical?”
“Maybe a job will take us to Omeira. Though I’m not sure Kalanath wants to return home.” Alaric handed her another book. “I know he misses it, but whatever he left behind, it’s worse even than Dianthe being wanted for murder.”
“That’s pretty bad.” Sienne sat back on her haunches and looked up at him. “What will we do if the book isn’t here?”
“Keep looking. I’m not giving up.”
“I didn’t mean give up, I meant…I don’t know. We’re running out of places to look. Depending on chance seems like it could take forever.”
Dianthe and Perrin came into the room together. “There aren’t any secret rooms in this house,” Dianthe said, dropping heavily into one of the ladderback chairs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Master Samretto was no necromancer.”
“I cannot imagine how he did it,” Perrin said. “He implied his interest in necromancy postdated his wife’s death. Becoming a lich in less than five years…much less, if I am correct…it is unprecedented.”
“There’s nothing here worth taking,” Alaric said, dropping the last book to fall on the floor with a thump. “Where’s Kalanath?”
“He was out back exploring the garden,” Dianthe said. “Looking for an underground lair, or something. I’m afraid all he’ll find are hidden graves.”
Sienne shuddered. “I still don’t understand how Master Samretto could justify murdering people.”
“Let’s go,” Alaric said. “Whatever Samretto’s secrets, he kept them well. We should see about hunting down those ghouls.”
They trooped through the house and out the kitchen door, through the garden to the gate. For all Samretto’s main gardens were raw and unfinished-looking, they were beautiful, with beds of flowers in all stages of bloom and trees casting shade that in true summer would be wonderfully comfortable. Kalanath strode toward them, a look of disgust on his handsome face.
“I do not think we should dig here,” he said, “but maybe we should tell someone about the bodies. There is one fresh grave by the toolshed and another under a tree. I think there are more that a priest can find. They should have real burial.”
“We can tell Octavian. I’d rather not try to explain Samretto to a different divine,” Alaric said.
“You didn’t dig them up, did you?” Sienne exclaimed. Then she said, “Wait—what toolshed?”
Kalanath gestured over his shoulder. “There is a toolshed at the edge of the garden, near the back wall.”
Sienne turned to look at the shed just inside the kitchen garden. “This estate’s too small to need two toolsheds,” she said. “Especially if Master Samretto was the only one tending it.”
Alaric followed her gaze. “What are you saying?”
Sienne turned and ran for the kitchen garden. “I don’t know which one he’d use. Would he want it close to the house, or far from prying eyes?”
She threw open the shed door and stepped inside, once more summoning lights. It looked and smelled like a toolshed, dank and musty and smelling of compost. Sienne reached for the nearest rake. Her hand passed through the handle.
“This is it,” she said to her friends, who crowded in round the door. “It’s seeming. Master Samretto got someone to cast a permanent confusion on this shed.”
“And then killed the wizard, no doubt,” Alaric said darkly. “Why didn’t it disappear when you touched it?”
“Seeming is one of the most powerful spells you can cast,” Sienne said, waving her hand through a few more tools. “Even if you know it’s a confusion, your eyes can’t not believe it unless it was cast to exclude you. It takes divine magic to counter it.”
All eyes turned on Perrin. “I think…” he said, looking through his handful of blessings. “Healing…shield…I believe Averran does intend us to hunt ghouls today, here are more of the undead-destroying blessings…ah.” He held up a ragged-edged piece of Sienne’s notebook paper. “This is intended to break an ongoing magical effect. It disrupts rather than dispels, so it will not be permanent, but it should last long enough for us to perform a search. O Lord, I thank you for your foresightedness, and I ask you to have patience in your crankiness, and grant me this blessing.”
Orange light flared, spreading outward from Perrin’s hand like fire. It crackled across the floor, walls, and ceiling of the little shed, revealing black paint stippled with tiny pale blue writing where ordinary planks and paneling had been. The tools vanished. Cabinets and bookshelves painted the same matte black as the walls and floor appeared in their place. A long table against the far wall was stained dark with old blood, and manacles hung from its corners. Sienne swallowed bitter bile and tried not to look at it.
“Unbelievable,” Alaric said. “Let’s be quick.”
They spread out, each taking a cabinet or shelf. Sienne ended up going through a shallow cabinet whose shelves contained nothing overtly necromantic, but some of whose objects shone with magical light. “He must have been collecting these artifacts for years,” she breathed, picking up a knobby chunk of metal whose use she couldn’t begin to fathom. “Most of them are broken, but…” She set
the metal down and touched a silver ring engraved with a winged serpent. “I don’t know what they do.”
“Take them all,” Alaric said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Someone will eventually see all this, and if it’s obvious things have been stolen, all it takes is one blessing to trace the stolen things to us.”
“Perrin said the confusion will be restored after a while. How will anyone ever see it?”
“I…that’s a good point. I still think we should be careful.” She nodded at a peg on one wall. “That cloak is magical, too. I’ve never seen an artifact made of cloth before.”
“We could probably take that,” Dianthe said, rummaging through a box on the floor. “Is any of this magical, Sienne?”
Sienne shook her head and turned her attention back to the cabinet. Rings, necklaces, more chunks of metal encrusted with cabochon gems, and a box the size of her palm and fingers, about four inches deep, that alone among the items did not radiate magic. It was lacquered red, with strange angular letters engraved on the top and stained black. Sienne didn’t recognize the alphabet. She slid the lid off and almost dropped the box as magical energy blinded her inner eye.
Carefully, she tipped the box over, and a deck of cards fell into her hand. They were old, the corners worn down, but the purple and gold pattern on the backs gleamed as if freshly painted. Sienne turned over the top card. The duke of crowns looked back at her, his perky blond image scuffed from years of play. A hazard deck. She looked at a few more cards. An antique hazard deck, based on the style of the paintings. The images weren’t as bright as the backs, but for something that had to be hundreds of years old, they were remarkably well-preserved. She counted quickly; all seventy-eight cards were present. What magic could a hazard deck possibly contain? Luck, for winning at hazard? Or…people used hazard decks for fortune telling—what if the fortunes actually came true?
She tipped the cards back into the box, took several other items, and rearranged what was left on the shelf so it didn’t look like anything was missing. This was too big a mystery to let slide. Whatever the deck really was, she intended to find out.
Mortal Rites Page 29
