The Devil's Concubine ARC

by Jill Braden

  The sequence of events began to fall into place for her.

  “There, there, and there,” she pointed to the three drops.

  It wasn’t a vision, but everything she saw fit the picture that formed in her mind.

  “From his throat?” Kyam asked.

  She shook her head. Her fingers fanned out along the line of the spray on the cabinets then swung over to the dots to show that they weren’t the same trajectory. Then she pointed to the steady track of blood drops from the separate smear on the floor to the window.

  Kyam lifted his hands as if he saw but didn’t know what to make of it.

  The stink made QuiTai’s head spin. The flavor of old blood clung to the back of her tongue. “Seen enough?”

  ~ ~ ~

  They hurried away from the harbor master’s apartment, gasping the clean, ocean-scented air. They slowed after a minute, and then QuiTai decided that the building with the number eight painted above the doors was a lucky spot, so she sat on the front stoop. Kyam groaned as he sat next to her. His shoulders rubbed against hers. She moved over a bit.

  “That was the harbor master, yes? I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him,” she said. The werewolves handled that side of the Devil’s business. Her nose wrinkled. The harbor master’s replacement would doubtless be as corrupt as his predecessor, but if he wasn’t it could cause problems. Petrof needed to know about the situation.

  “That was him,” Kyam said.

  “Just making sure. He was fit enough to captain a skiff.”

  They sat in silence for a while. She sniffed her clothes and the scarf. They smelled of bruised leaves and churned earth; the scent of death hadn’t had time to work its way into the fibers. The sarong and blouse she didn’t care about, but she would have been sad to part with the scarf. She ran the silk through her fingers. Not only was it the highest quality, but it would, indeed, match most of the colors she usually wore. How flattering that Kyam paid attention to such things. Maybe he truly had an artist’s eye.

  She looked up and surprised him studying her with a hint of a smile.

  If she was going to talk to PhaNyan and LiHoun, she had to convince Kyam that they needed to go to town square for some reason. She pretended to him that all their misdirection and sleight of hand was narcissistic, that no one cared what they did, but she knew that Petrof had her watched. And she knew that she was in a race against Kyam and the colonial government to reach the Ravidians first.

  And the Devil. She mustn’t forget the Devil. Who had said that? Kyam had.

  She was in a race against Petrof too.

  Where had that idea come from? Surely she meant to think that it she was in this race for Petrof. She was supposed to be rededicating herself to him, and proving her loyalty. Yet there it was, that unbidden thought with its ring of truth. So for now, she had to keep everyone looking the wrong direction while she... well, she wasn’t sure what she’d do yet, but she believed the answer would present itself soon. There were hazy details to her vision of the future, like exactly how the Ravidians planned to use the sea wasps. She knew how she’d use them, and that was all that mattered.

  The Ravidian’s plan was quite elegant, she mused, and executed with precision she admired. But they shouldn’t have killed the harbor master. The greedy bastard had probably blackmailed them, but they should have paid him anyway. How else would they get supplies? From the harbor master’s brother? That’s where her admiration dimmed; everyone knew that you couldn’t trust an addict, ever. No doubt the Ravidian killer found that out the hard way, after murdering the harbor master and returning to the harbor only to find the brother lost in vapor. QuiTai could picture the Ravidian’s panic. And then he would need to avoid being seen by the soldiers on the fortress’ ramparts. Perhaps he had waited on the skiff for nightfall, as QuiTai had.

  And then what? One man could manage to sail a skiff alone, but why steal such a large boat when so many small, one-man fishing boats were within arm’s reach? She’d have to ask the fishermen if any boats were missing. No Ponongese would report such a theft to the Thampurians, who would simply pick another Ponongese to blame and kill him; but they would tell her. Then they’d expect her to bring it back. Information always had a price. Her nose wrinkled. Maybe this time she’d skip the verification and simply trust her vision. This was no time to go hunting for an errant fishing boat.

  “Oh, no,” Kyam said. “You’re thinking again.”

  “Let’s go get your farwriter. Someone is trying to kill us. I know that you want more proof, but honestly, what if we are killed? Then the Ravidians get away with everything. Your superiors don’t even know that anything is wrong. Send a preliminary report.”

  Kyam sat forward and watched the empty road as if he expected someone to come along at any moment. “What should I say? You started to tell me something before the funicular cable got cut. What do you know?”

  “Someone tried to make it look as if the harbor master was killed by werewolves. You certainly wanted to believe it.”

  “No, at that point we were talking about medusozoa, not werewolves.”

  It would ruin everything if he started asking the right questions, because she sensed he’d know if she lied to him. Sticking to the truth would be safer. But she needed more time.

  “Do you want a lecture about colonial economics, Mister Zul, or do you want to know why this murder proves that you’re on the right track?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “It doesn’t take long in this town for someone to sit down and regale you with the story of the time the werewolves rampaged through Levapur. You know how we love our stories. I’m sure someone related it to the Ravidians within days of their arrival. But of course, they didn’t pay attention to some of the important details.”

  “Such as?”

  “Normally, the werewolves head for the inland valleys when they shift. After all, they don’t want anyone to bring them to trial in case they attack a Thampurian instead of a boar.”

  “Don’t you worry about them attacking Ponongese in the inland villages or on the plantation terraces?”

  “They won’t.”

  “You sound awfully confident about that.”

  “May I continue? Good. A couple months after they came to Ponong, some of the werewolves came across the Jupoli Gorge Bridge and into town. But only the fringes of Levapur, you understand. It’s not as if they were running wild in the marketplace. They were after food. When they’re in their animal states, they don’t think like people. The destruction wasn’t deliberate.”

  “You’re making excuses for them.”

  “No. I’m explaining why that time, when we knew it was the werewolves, is different from this time, when we’re being led rather sloppily to believe it’s the werewolves again.”

  “You parse words like a Thampurian merchant measures silk. As I said before, the legal profession lost a great mind when you took to the stage.”

  “And the stage lost a comedian when you took up painting. Be careful, or I might take up the law in the third act.”

  Kyam cupped a hand over his ear. “Did you hear that? Judges from here to the continent shrieking in terror.”

  She chose to take that as a compliment.

  “Explain why you’re so convinced that the werewolves aren’t involved. Facts that prove it, not simply your opinion this time, if you please,” he said.

  If only they could stay away from topics that cut deep. QuiTai took a deep breath and hoped her mastery over her voice hid the quiver of emotion that rose in her chest. “As I was saying before, the night of the full moon massacre, several werewolves came into town. At the first apartment building on the fringes of town, they attacked a group of neighbors sitting out on their veranda. It was horrible, horrible carnage. Children, adults, elders. The wolves gorged. Nine people almost entirely devoured. Fact.”

  She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. Talking about that massacre always reopened a wound that would never heal properly. The trick was to
keep it distant, as if it were something she’d heard about long ago and half forgotten.

  She went on, “So you understand why it couldn’t have been a werewolf that killed the harbor master? The wolves kill at their first opportunity. The harbor master’s house is much too far from their den for that. And they don’t carve steaks.” She held up her hands and wriggled her fingers. “No hands, just paws. They tear off chunks off the body as they eat. Again, fact. Not opinion. And I’m sure that you noticed that the body and the apartment were a fairly tidy murder scene. Believe me, werewolves aren’t neat, even in their human form.”

  “You need to keep better company.” Kyam mulled over her words for a while. “What about a werewolf when he’s human?”

  “Then they’re common murderers. No excuses. They know right from wrong in the human definition of morality.”

  He scoffed. “I haven’t seen much evidence of that.”

  “If they were mad killers while in their human forms, they wouldn’t go to the trouble to strangle their victims rather than rip out their throats. Madmen don’t think about hiding their crimes.”

  “Strangle. I find it interesting that you know that but don’t – sorry. You were saying?”

  Concentrating on the current murder helped her push the past back where it belonged. The challenge electrified her brain. While she knew it was morbid to dwell on the harbor master’s body, and even worse to enjoy the challenge, the murder scene presented an interesting tableau of facts. She was eager to share them with someone who could appreciate her observations rather than obsess on the death.

  She hugged her knees. “There’s more. Want to hear it?”

  He leaned on his elbow and stretched his long legs down the steps. “Yes. Amaze me.”

  “Three dots of blood. The low spray.”

  “You pointed them out.”

  She rested her cheek on her knees. The sarong he’d given her to wear was the softest cotton she’d ever felt. “Come on, Kyam. Put it together.”

  “You called me Kyam.”

  “Forgive my familiarity. I got carried away.”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Only on an intellectual level. I’ve seen more than my share of mutilated bodies. One gets used to it. The smell, never, but the blood and brutality...either you go mad, or you pretend it’s merely a cerebral exercise.”

  Or you sell your soul to the Devil for vengeance.

  Kyam seemed a bit taken aback, but then lightly touched her hand. “I understand. And you can get as familiar with me as you like.”

  “If I get into the habit, I might slip in front of another Thampurian, and I don’t need that kind of trouble, Mister Zul.”

  He nodded, even though it was clear he didn’t like agreeing with her.

  There was no need to pound him over the head with that lesson, so she said, “The blood. It told a story. Tell it to me.”

  His forehead furrowed as he concentrated. “The spray was low, so he was on his knees.”

  “Very good.”

  “Someone stood in front of him, which explains the break in the spray pattern, so his throat probably wasn’t slit from behind. And Ravidians have those neck frills… if you want to slit their throats, you almost have to come at them from the front to be sure you’ll get the right angle. So a front attack could be the way they’re trained to kill.”

  “Excellent, Mister Zul.”

  “You sound like my music tutor, except that you haven’t smacked my knuckles yet. She suffered for years before she gave up on me. You could save yourself a lot of time too if you’d simply tell me everything you know.”

  That was something she couldn’t afford to do, not until she’d had a chance to speak to PhaNyan and LiHoun. “I don’t drop compliments like a lace hanky in front of a gentleman, so take me at my word. You’re doing fine, but I’ll give you a hint since you’re in a hurry. The trail of blood drops fell from the meat they cut off the harbor master’s body. They’re not important. However, the three distinct blood marks are. Tell me why.”

  Kyam cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “Evenly spaced, about a yard apart. Parallel to the line of dripped blood,” she prompted.

  “I was in the same room you were, and I saw the circles you talk about, but I have no idea what they mean. How do you do this trick where you see things I can’t?”

  No one had ever asked, so she wasn’t sure how to explain it. “Everything is a pattern, or not part of a pattern, or it’s completely random. Those are the only options. So you find something that doesn’t fit in the pattern, or what’s missing from it, and figure out why. And don’t allow yourself to imagine a pattern when what you see is truly random. You have to see, really see, what you’re looking at, rather than what you’re meant to see. The clues are a story, Mister Zul. Find the beginning and follow it to the end.”

  “That was enlightening.” He made a ‘hurry up’ gesture. “Let’s just assume that it would take hours of our valuable time for me to figure it out, if ever.”

  “What I saw was the bloody dewclaw of a Ravidian. After he sliced open the harbor master’s throat, he walked to the window. Probably to toss the meat he cut from the body over the cliff to the water below. The bloody marks – not drops – aren’t a footprint, but they’re better than one in a way, because Ravidians are the only race I know of with dewclaws.”

  “Are you sure that’s what made those marks?”

  “We could go back and examine the harbor master’s neck more closely to be sure that the fatal wound was caused by a dewclaw-shaped weapon and not something meant to make marks like wolf teeth, but we’re not making a case to present for a judge,” she reminded him. “Besides, I don’t want to stick my hand into his neck. It’s probably filled with maggots.”

  “I wonder if the print of a Ravidian’s dewclaw is unique, like a fingerprint,” Kyam asked. “Not that it matters. As you pointed out, we’re not making a case against a specific Ravidian. All we need to know is that a Ravidian did it.”

  She smiled benignly at him. It was so nice for once to talk to someone who could almost keep up with her. “So there’s your proof that the Ravidians are, indeed, guilty of something. That should be good enough for your superiors.” She stood. “Let’s go back to town. You can make your report while I take care of a bit of business.”

  He came to his feet. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Stubborn man. You could have the Ravidians arrested for the harbor master’s death right now and save yourself a good deal of trouble. Bring them in for questioning.”

  She stood too.

  “You forget that I don’t know where they are exactly, but I think that you do. Something to do with medusozoa, I believe.” He had the effrontery to wink at her before taking her hand and placing it on his arm.

  ~ ~ ~

  The marketplace was in chaos as people squatted in groups and talked in excited voices about the funicular. People streamed downslope, as others returned to share their reports of the damage.

  QuiTai caught a glimpse of LiHoun from the corner of her eye as she and Kyam passed the government building, but he disappeared quickly into the milling throng. She didn’t see PhaNyan, but if he knew what was good for him, he also hovered close.

  Kyam moved with determined speed through the crowd, nearly colliding with a woman who balanced a basket of fibrous jikal roots on her head. If he didn’t want to attract attention, he was doing it all wrong: he should have stopped to listen to the gossip.

  Since they’d left the harbor master’s apartment she’d been too busy managing his train of thought to keep far enough ahead of him. The priority now was convincing him to leave her alone long enough to talk to LiHoun and PhaNyan. Unfortunately, he loomed like a jealous lover. Maybe another demonstration of her defensive moves was in order. They might end in a compromising position again, though, and she’d enjoyed the first time too much to trust herself a second. Besides, one of the wolves might see, and the th
ought of facing Petrof’s anger sent a cold jolt of fear through her.

  She touched the vial of black lotus on the chain around her neck as if it were a talisman. With a lot of luck, she could dope him long enough to carry out her plan. Kyam would never forgive her…but she’d warned him that she wasn’t a nice woman.

  Then the hair at the nape of her neck rose, and a shiver went down her back even though it was the hottest time of day. She rubbed her arms. “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?” Kyam asked as he pulled her past an abandoned fritter stand. Her stomach grumbled; they hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “You’re growling at people. I can’t hear it, but I can feel it.”

  He gripped her elbow hard and dragged her down a side street while he cast suspicious glances at everyone they passed. She barely kept up with his long stride.

  “You know one thing that bothers me?” she finally said. “You haven’t seen the Ravidians in town for several days. As far as I know, my people haven’t seen them either. If they aren’t here, who brought down the funicular?”

  “I have my theories.”

  His grim expression worried her. And for once, she didn’t have a theory herself. It would take a gang of brawny men to hack that cable apart. The only men fitting that description in Levapur were the werewolves, but she would know if they were working with the Ravidians. It had to be someone else. She simply couldn’t imagine who.

  “Are we heading back to your safe house?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Rule of safe houses: only use them once.”

  She knew no such rule. She used her safe houses many times.

  “I need to make inquiries about who might be working with the Ravidians. Give me a few moments to talk to a couple of informants,” she said.

  His grip on her tightened. “Not alone.”

  “Quit trying to stick your finger into my rice bowl. This is outside the scope of our business agreement, which clearly stated that I would help you find the Ravidians and their crates, not that I would solve a murder. That’s purely a Thampurian matter.”