Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red

by Barb Hendee

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Jaromir stood near the bed and turned to focus on the man’s expression as he saw the scene before him. Then Amelie understood. Jaromir wished to gauge the cook’s reaction.

  “Captain?” the man asked, watching Keegan being held over the basin. “What is happening?”

  “You’re Volkian, the cook?” Jaromir asked coldly.

  “Of course I am. What is happening here?”

  “Captain Keegan was poisoned by a plate of mushrooms that you sent over.”

  For a second, Volkian’s face was blank, and then horror began to dawn. “That I . . . oh, no, sir.”

  “You didn’t send the dish?” Jaromir’s voice seemed to get only harder and colder.

  “I . . . ,” Volkian stammered. “Yes, I sent it over, but I have several assistants going back and forth between where the oven is stationed and the front of the supply tent. They often bring me whatever is most available.”

  That struck Amelie as an odd arrangement, but she let Jaromir continue with the interrogation.

  “So someone brought you the mushrooms?” Jaromir asked.

  “Yes, but I didn’t see . . .” The cook drew in a deep breath, perhaps trying to calm himself. “I was busy at the stove, seeing to the final touches of the stew. When I went back to my chopping table to fetch a bit of parsley, someone had left a pile of mushrooms. I assumed one of my assistants had brought them, and I remembered how much the captain liked them fried in butter.”

  He sounded plausible, but Amelie could have sworn she saw the slightest twitch of his eye at the words “someone had left.”

  He knows, she thought. He knows who brought those mushrooms.

  For some reason, he didn’t wish to tell.

  Jaromir did not appear to have caught the twitch. “You’re telling me you have no idea who left a pile of mushrooms on your chopping table, and yet you served them to your captain?”

  Volkian raised both hands in the air, palms up. “As I said, I have several assistants bringing me ingredients. It is a common practice, and I gave it no thought.”

  Jaromir pointed to Keegan. “Well, if he dies, you’ll have a good deal to think about.”

  The cook went pale.

  * * *

  By morning, Céline’s opinion of Quinn had risen even higher. The man certainly had backbone. He’d held the basin and followed her every instruction for hours.

  Amelie had kept up with the boiling water, and Jaromir helped out where he could, and not long past the mid of night, Céline was sure she’d purged Captain Keegan of anything in his stomach. After that, they were all in wait-and-see mode, so she’d sent Amelie and Jaromir off to bed to get some sleep. Quinn had insisted on staying.

  Keegan was so weakened by that point that he was unconscious and no longer groaning, so Céline and Quinn spent the remainder of the night quietly sitting at his side. But Céline’s mind was not still, and she continued going over and over everyone who had a motive to kill the captain. Unfortunately, the list was long, and the possible motives were convoluted.

  First . . . what if he indeed was a murderer—for that was how she’d come to think of whoever might be intentionally turning these soldiers into wolves—and someone had found out and, instead of accusing him, had decided to kill him? Keegan had a strong motive for wanting to shut down the mining project, even if he lost face in doing so. He hated it here and wanted out.

  However, even if he was not the one behind these recent tragedies, there were a number of people who would be glad to see him dead: Marcus and Mariah for two. Both of them had a reason to wish to be free of him.

  In addition, there was a whole camp full of panicked soldiers. What if one of them assumed they’d be transferred and replaced should their leader die? Had that not happened once before?

  The list of suspects was overwhelming, but she kept turning them over in her mind through the night until one other possibility occurred to her.

  Just past dawn, Jaromir and Rurik came into the tent, and Jaromir leaned over the bed. He looked as if he hadn’t slept well, with dark circles under his eyes.

  “How is he? Will he live?”

  Céline reached up absently and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know for certain, but I think so. His breathing is even, and he’s been sleeping normally for the past few hours.” She paused. “But he’ll be weak and ill for some time, possibly up to a month, and he won’t be fit for command while he’s healing.”

  At that, Quinn looked up, and a quick flash of alarm crossed his face. She wondered why. Did he fear a clear lack of leadership?

  Jaromir hadn’t seemed to notice Quinn’s flash of alarm, and he nodded to Céline. “All right. But you both need to get some sleep. I’ll sit with him.”

  “Where’s Amelie?” she asked.

  “I left her sleeping in your tent,” Jaromir answered tightly.

  Glancing at Rurik, Céline tried to stand and wobbled. “Guardsman Rurik, would you walk me back? I’m so tired I can barely stand.”

  Rushing forward, Rurik took her arm. “Of course.”

  She let him lead her out, and she took a deep breath. The fresh air smelled good after sitting with Keegan all night.

  “The lieutenant said you were something to see in there,” Rurik told her as they walked. “He said he’d trust his life to you before any court physician he’s ever met.”

  “Did he?”

  That was unusual. Jaromir wasn’t one to pay compliments. But Céline had other things on her mind, and she noticed two small empty tents to their left.

  “Rurik, stop a moment,” she said, stepping between the tents.

  “What? Are you that tired? Do you need me to carry you?”

  As soon as they were out of sight, she turned on him. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Jaromir will find out anyway, and it’s better for you if he hears it from me.”

  They were standing close enough that she could see his light freckles clearly, and she noticed his eyes were green.

  Before he could speak, she asked, “Did you leave those mushrooms for the captain’s cook?”

  Rurik’s mouth fell open.

  “You’ve wanted out of here since before we arrived,” she rushed on. “And yesterday, you asked what was standing in my way, and I told you it was Keegan. You were off all afternoon with Amelie, through the forest and in a meadow. While she was resting or watching the horses, you could have slipped off, picked enough mushrooms, and hidden them. You were both back today before me, and then you went to stable the horses. You’d have had time to get the mushrooms onto the cook’s chopping table. What if we’d been invited to the captain’s table? Amelie loves mushrooms in butter. You could have poisoned her.”

  Rurik closed his mouth and shook his head. “I never!” He took a step back. “I’ll not deny there was a moment or two when I thought everyone here might be better off if that captain was dead, but I wouldn’t kill him. And if I did, I wouldn’t do it by poison! I don’t know one mushroom from another, and poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  Céline was skilled at reading faces and voices and gauging reactions. At one time, her profession had depended upon it.

  He was telling the truth.

  She reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I had to catch you off guard. I had to know.”

  He exhaled through his nose and glanced away, still offended.

  “I really am quite tired,” she said. “Could you take me to my tent?”

  As they moved on, something he’d said kept echoing in her mind.

  Poison is a woman’s weapon.

  * * *

  Amelie stirred and opened her eyes.

  She was in the bed inside their tent, fully clothed, and Céline was sleeping quietly beside her—also fully clothed. Fra
nkly, Amelie wondered that she hadn’t woken up when her sister crawled into the bed, as Céline’s hair and clothing smelled . . . rather strong. After all, she had been up through the night tending a retching captain. She wasn’t going to smell like a rose.

  Carefully, Amelie slipped out from under the covers and made her way to the tent’s flap. Her sister didn’t stir. Amelie knew that Céline didn’t care to sleep during the day, but exceptions must be made.

  Besides, Amelie had a task that was best handled alone.

  Judging by the sun, she guessed it to be midday or so, and she wondered how Captain Keegan was faring. Had the man lived through the night? She assumed so. Otherwise, Céline would have awoken her with the bad news. Not that Amelie would have considered Keegan’s death much of a tragedy, but Céline and Quinn had worked hard to keep him alive.

  And this morning, Amelie had decided it would be best to track down the poisoner.

  Several of the soldiers milling about glanced her way, but no one tried to speak to her. Yesterday, Rurik had shown her the provisions tent, and she walked right to it.

  It was huge, even bigger than Keegan’s.

  The front section was filled with barrels and crates and casks sent from Castle Pählen.

  Ignoring the front, Amelie walked around to the back of the tent. Before entering, she crouched and drew the dagger out of its sheath in her boot. She didn’t expect much trouble with this first visit, but still . . . it was better to be safe than sorry.

  As she walked through the back entrance, the first thing she saw was a large wood-burning stove with a vent above it in the top of the tent. The bald cook, Volkian, was sitting in a chair beside it with his face in his hands.

  Amelie cleared her throat, and he looked up.

  Upon recognizing her, he jumped to his feet, moving faster than she would have expected.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told your lieutenant everything I know last night.”

  “No, you didn’t.” She kept the dagger hidden in her hand, gripping the hilt with the point upward and the flat side against her wrist. Walking closer to the cook, she tilted her head. “Who brought you those mushrooms?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve talked to my assistants and no one will own up.”

  “You talked to them this morning? So if my lieutenant goes and talks to them, they’ll tell him that you already questioned them yourself?”

  Panic flickered across his face.

  “I knew you were lying last night,” she said, “but I didn’t say anything. Tell me who brought you the mushrooms, and I’ll keep quiet. Stick to your current story, and I’ll go tell the lieutenant I think you’re lying. He’ll believe me. My sister and I are Prince Anton’s seers.”

  His breathing grew labored.

  “Trust me,” Amelie went on. “You’d be much better off talking to me. He always gets results, but I don’t think you’ll like his methods.”

  In defeat, Volkian sank back into his chair. “It was the gypsy girl.”

  “Mariah?”

  “I’m not sure of all their names.”

  “The young one with the black hair?”

  “No, her elder sister.”

  “Mercedes?”

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s her name.” He put his face into his hands again. “What a fool I am. I was trying to get the stew ready to serve, and she just appeared. But Captain Keegan has an arrangement with one of their young hunters, and those gypsies are always bringing venison or fowl or rabbits for the captain’s table.”

  “And she told you that she had some mushrooms?”

  “Not at first. First she asked me if you or your sister would be dining with the captain. He’d already told me to have your supper served in your tents, so I told her no. That alone should have gained my attention. But then she showed me the mushrooms and reminded me how much he loves them cooked with butter. Her sister . . . well, her sister knows the captain.”

  Indeed, Amelie thought dryly.

  “He’s been complaining about a lack of variety,” Volkian went on. “But I don’t have much to work with! I thanked her and fried up the mushrooms. Fool.” He looked up. “Do you understand how it will look to your lieutenant, to Corporal Quinn, if they find out I accepted mushrooms from some gypsy girl? I’ll be lucky if I’m only dismissed.”

  Yes, Amelie could see his dilemma, but at present, she had no intention of giving away Mercedes, not until she knew more. And that meant protecting the cook.

  “Listen,” she said. “You keep up your courage, and I’ll keep your secret.”

  He studied her cautiously. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I like those gypsies a lot better than I like your captain.”

  Turning, she walked out of the tent.

  * * *

  Although Jaromir had never been one for just sitting, at the moment, he was glad for having taken on the task of sitting at Keegan’s bedside. Hopefully, Céline, Amelie, Rurik, and Quinn would get some sleep while he sat here alone.

  It gave him time to think.

  Keegan had not yet awoken, but his breathing was still even. His complexion was a sickly shade of gray-green, and Jaromir did not doubt Céline’s assessment that the man’s recovery time would be long.

  However, this left Jaromir with some decisions to make, and he considered what paths were open to him. In the end, though, he could think of only one way forward if he was to solve whatever was happening here, stop it, and get the silver flowing again.

  The rear tent flap opened, and Quinn stuck his head inside.

  “How is he?”

  “I thought you were getting some sleep.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  Quinn’s genuine concern caught Jaromir off guard, as he’d not seen much of a connection or loyalty between the two men.

  “I think he’ll live,” Jaromir said, “but Céline is right, and he’ll not be fit to command for some time.”

  The anxiety on Quinn’s face grew more pronounced as he came inside to stand near the bed. “Does that mean we’ll be recalled and replaced?”

  “Not yet.” Jaromir paused. “As the only available officer, I’m taking command of the camp.”

  He waited to see how Quinn would accept this news. Officer or not, Jaromir didn’t serve Prince Lieven. However, he did serve Prince Lieven’s son—and thereby the House of Pählen. If Quinn accepted him, the others would follow suit.

  His concerns proved to be groundless. Quinn leaned against the bed in open relief. “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Amelie left the provisions tent and walked straight to the miners’ encampment. Upon breaking through the tree line, she turned left and headed toward the largest of the covered wagons. An old man sitting outside with a smokeless pipe in his mouth nodded a greeting. She nodded back.

  When she reached Mercedes and Mariah’s wagon, she paused out front at the sight of the clothesline; both her green wool dress and Céline’s lavender one were hanging there and appeared to be nearly dry. Every last speck of mud and blood had been removed, and the dresses looked new.

  Mercedes was a skilled laundress.

  Unable to put the reason for her visit here off any longer, Amelie climbed the few steps up to the back door of the wagon. In spite of what the cook had told her, she needed to know for certain whether Mercedes was the one who’d poisoned Keegan . . . and she needed to know why. There were a number of possible reasons for Mercedes to want him dead, but those reasons had existed well before now. Why had she finally acted? And did her reason have anything to do with the Pählen soldiers being turned into mad wolves? Could Mercedes be the one behind that as well? Had Keegan learned something, so she’d decided to get rid of him? But if that were the case, why wouldn’t she simply infect him next? Why switch to poison?

  Amelie had many questio
ns, and if Mercedes wouldn’t talk to her, she had her own methods for learning the truth.

  Raising a hand, she knocked lightly. “Mercedes?”

  The door opened almost right away, and Mercedes looked out. Her posture was tight but not overly anxious.

  “Are you alone?” Amelie asked.

  “Yes, Mariah is off searching for berries. I was just about to go and join her.”

  Amelie pushed her way inside and closed the door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mercedes demanded, backing up.

  “Céline was up all night trying to save Captain Keegan, but you probably already know that.”

  Mercedes watched her carefully, and Amelie wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating this woman. She might be slender, but she didn’t look weak.

  “I haven’t told anyone,” Amelie said. “Not Céline or the lieutenant. I just want to know why you did it.”

  “Did your sister succeed in saving the captain?”

  “Yes.”

  Of course Amelie didn’t know that for certain yet, but if Keegan were already dead, she’d most likely have heard about it.

  Mercedes turned away, closing her eyes.

  “Why now?” Amelie pressed on. “If you were going to kill him over what he’s been doing to Mariah, you’d have acted before this.”

  Opening her eyes, Mercedes spun back. “What do you know of our lives? Of what brought us here? Of how years of suffering can deaden a soul? You . . . with your fine wool gowns and your lieutenant and your meals at the officers’ table. Get out! At heart, you’re nothing like your sister, and I don’t owe you anything.”

  Without warning, Amelie closed the distance between them and grabbed Mercedes’s hand, gripping hard. She expected fierce resistance and was caught off guard when Mercedes gripped back, leaning forward.

  “Do you want to see?” Mercedes whispered angrily.

  Fearing this was a trick and that Mercedes might try to break away, Amelie reached out with her thoughts for the spark of Mercedes’s soul. She felt it right away and focused on the events of last night, on what led up to the mushrooms finding their way to the cook’s table.