Casket of Souls (45 page)

“It looks like it.”

“But she hasn’t been down there, has she?”

“Of course not,” Eirual replied, wiping away more tears. “And there’s been no one of that sort here, either, I can assure you!”

That sort
, thought Alec, wondering what she’d say if she’d seen those children at the temples.

“Have there been any newcomers?” asked Seregil. “Anyone out of the ordinary?”

Eirual sank her head into one hand. “Newcomers? Of course, there are always new patrons. Lord Tryis, Duke Moren’s boy Kallen, young Lord Alerin, several well-to-do merchants from Mycena. I can’t recall the names. They were in a week or so ago. And that handsome actor of yours, Master Atre, comes to flirt with her now and then.”

“He does seem to turn up everywhere,” said Seregil. “Who else? Dressmakers? Perfume sellers? Anyone of that sort?”

“Well, there’s a new butcher’s boy, but my girls have no contact with him. Arlana did go to a new dressmaker, but the woman didn’t come here, and Myrhichia hasn’t been to her shop. Those are the only new people I can think of.”

“Who is in and out of here regularly, besides your customers?”

“Patrons,” Eirual corrected distractedly. “Let me see. The butcher’s boy, the dairyman, the man who delivers the firewood—”

“Someone who has access to the girls,” Seregil prompted gently.

“The hairdressers, the cosmetics merchant, jewelers, of course, perfumers, seamstresses, cloth merchants, wine and sweetmeat dealers—” She threw up her hands. “I don’t even know! The girls all have tradesmen they favor, and most of them come and go as they like. It’s never been a problem.”

“So someone could conceivably have come in without you knowing about them?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Who has Myrhichia seen in the past week or so?” asked Alec. “We can at least narrow it down that way.”

Eirual turned to Hyli, who’d been weeping quietly in the corner by the door. “You spend the most time with her, besides me.”

The courtesan took the handkerchief from her face. “Mistress Kela came to measure her for some new nightdresses. Master Horrin sold her some rouge.” She paused to wipe her nose. “Master Kharom delivered some jewels she’d ordered from him.”

“Has she been out of the house much lately?” asked Seregil.

“To the Three Dragons with Duke Oreus one night, and the theater, and with you, of course. She went to the new play at the Crane a few nights ago, and to the Tirari last night with Duke Carnis.”

“That just leaves her regular patrons. How many does she have?”

“At the moment?” Eirual counted silently on her fingers. “Five regulars, and the occasional extra.”

Alec swallowed hard. He knew what Myrhichia was, of course, and what her trade entailed, but he didn’t spend time thinking about the details. She was his friend.

“Somewhere among all those is the one who carries this disease, or works the magic, whichever it is,” Seregil told her.

Eirual looked to Hyli. “You can go, love. If anyone questions you, tell them that she’s indisposed.”

When the girl was gone, Eirual turned to Seregil. “Will you speak to Brother Valerius for me? He doesn’t approve of me, I know, but I want the best for her.”

“I’m sure I can convince him,” Seregil assured her, patting her hand.

More tears came as Eirual looked down at Myrhichia. “I love all my girls, but she’s like a daughter to me.”

“I’ll go, Seregil. You stay with Eirual.” Alec took the older woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to help.”

* * *

Alec found Valerius in his library, poring over a large book by the window.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” the man asked, looking up with amused annoyance.

“It’s Myrhichia. She has the sleeping death,” Alec told him, throat tight as he finally said the words aloud.

Any levity fled the drysian’s face. “Maker’s Mercy!” He rose and fetched his herb bag from a cabinet and his staff from its place by the door. Striding from the room, he bellowed, “Zala, my horse!”

At the brothel Valerius had Eirual and Hyli remove Myrhichia’s clothing and unpin her hair; then he inspected her closely. Alec stood by the door, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on the carpet. He’d seen Myrhichia naked, of course, but only that one night, and now it felt strange and uncomfortable.

“No fever,” the healer muttered to himself. “No lesions. No bruising. No obvious punctures. No aroma of poisons. No discoloration of the tongue or lips … or the nails. Nothing unusual there …”

Alec heard the rustle of bedclothes as Valerius drew them up to her chin.

The drysian stood a moment in thought, scratching absently under his beard. “I need a cup of hot water.”

Alec went out and found Hyli hovering outside the door. He sent her for the water, then stepped back in and went to the bedside again. Seregil’s eyes met his; they both knew what Myrhichia’s chances were, but Eirual was watching the drysian with desperate, hope-filled eyes as he went about sorting things from his bag.

A serving boy appeared balancing a jug of hot water and a delicate tea bowl on a tray. Valerius filled the bowl, added something from a clay bottle that stained the water green against the pale glaze of the cup, then a pinch of white powder that turned it blue.

“Hold her head up for me, Alec,” Valerius said.

Her hair was warm and silky against Alec’s palm, and he had to swallow again as memories burned behind his eyelids.

“What are those?” asked Eirual.

“Zengati salts.” Valerius carefully spooned some of the liquid between the sleeping woman’s lips, then stood back, watching her closely. But Myrhichia did not stir, her face peaceful, breast gently rising and falling. She might have been truly asleep, if not for those empty grey eyes.

“Well?” Eirual demanded softly.

Ignoring her, Valerius pulled a small, three-legged clay bowl from his bag and filled it with bits from what looked like a twist of dry grass. To this he added several strands of Myrhichia’s hair and a crumb of dry mucus from the corner of her eye, then put a candle to it to start it smoldering. He held this over Myrhichia and blew the sweet smoke into her face, then set the bowl on the small table beside the bed and took up his staff, chanting softly under his breath.

And it went on like that as the stars faded outside and the first pale glow of false dawn showed beneath the velvet curtains.

Valerius finally sank into a chair beside the bed and sighed. “I’m sorry, Eirual.”

“Try something else!” she begged.

“I shall have to consult the texts.”

“You mean there’s nothing more you can do now?”

“I will send my best priests to pray for her in the meantime.”

Tears filled her dark eyes. “Pray? What good will that do?”

“If nothing else, it will cleanse her soul.”

“Because she’s a whore?” Eirual spat out. Seregil reached to embrace her but she shook his arm away. “You think this illness is some punishment? Her soul is as pure as yours, Valerius, no matter what you choose to think of us!”

“I meant nothing of the sort,” Valerius rumbled, rising to gather his things. “It’s to cleanse her of illness, if that’s possible.”

“Has it helped anyone in the Lower City?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “I thought it might give you some comfort.”

“Keep your priests, and find some remedy!”

“As you wish.” Valerius motioned for Seregil to come with him.

“Stay with her, Alec,” he murmured as he followed the drysian out into the corridor.

“Is there somewhere we can speak?” Valerius asked, closing the door behind them.

Seregil led him down the hallway to Myrhichia’s empty chamber. Candles were burning here. The silken bed had been turned down, and the room smelled of expensive oils and incense.

The drysian scrubbed his fingers through his unruly black hair. “I didn’t expect this. Not so soon.”

Seregil raised an expectant eyebrow.

“It’s broken out in the Ring, too, in that cesspit behind the Sea Market.”

“I suppose that’s less surprising than finding it here. Those few found near the Sea Gate might have been random wandering, but now it’s more likely someone infected with it must have escaped the Lower City quarantine and headed for somewhere they thought they wouldn’t be noticed.”

Valerius nodded wearily. “This is like no disease I’ve ever seen before, Seregil, and I’m beginning to wonder if it is one at all, or some form of poisoning. There are numerous decoctions that might escape detection.”

“Why would anyone bother poisoning the poor?”

“Who knows? I want you two to look into this for me, before the Ring and this street are placed under quarantine. I need someone who can travel in the Ring without getting themselves killed. None of my people have your talent for that.”

“This isn’t exactly the best time for us, Valerius. There’s something else afoot that we’re investigating for Thero and the prince, and it can’t wait.”

“And I’ve been tasked with this by Prince Korathan himself. He considers it a matter of civic security. Sooner or later this is going to spread farther in the city, unless we find the cause and stop it. If it does spread, there will be panic. I can only give you a few days before he seals the area.”

“We can handle it,” said Alec, stepping into the room to join them. “Kepi can pass in the Ring as easily as we can. Let him do the legwork and have him see if there’s anything or anyone unusual in there.”

“Yes, that will work,” said Seregil. “And we’ll do all we can.”

“Thank you,” Valerius said gruffly.

Time was no one’s friend and they all knew it.

Kepi didn’t bat an eye at their request, just pocketed the money and left. The following day the boy showed up in the middle of an afternoon thunderstorm. He was soaked to the skin and his ragged hair was plastered down under his sodden head scarf.

“Come in by the fire,” Alec said. The cook was out at the market and had taken Anat with her to carry the baskets.

“I’ll fetch a flannel,” said Seregil.

“I hope that’s something to eat. My belly thinks my throat’s been cut.” Kepi squatted down by the fire as Seregil went in search of a towel in the bathing chamber next to the kitchen. “Where’s that friendly cook woman of yours?”

“She’s off to visit her son,” Alec replied. “But don’t worry. We never send you away hungry, do we?”

Seregil came back and handed Kepi the flannel.

“Your clothes will dry faster if you lay them out by the fire,” Alec suggested.

The boy gave him a dark look and his hand went to the hilt of the knife at his belt as a loud crack of thunder shook the house. “None of that, my lord!”

“That’s
not
what I meant.”

“I’m fine as I am.” The boy grabbed the flannel and vigorously worked it over his wet hair, still keeping a watchful eye on Alec.

Alec saw with some irritation that Seregil was suppressing silent laughter as he filled a plate with cold meat and bread from the larder. He added the remains of an apple tart and handed it to the boy. Kepi grabbed it and began wolfing down the food as if someone was going to take it away from him. In his daily life, that was most likely a common occurrence.
Alec leaned on the mantelpiece, smiling as he watched Kepi cram a handful of tart into his mouth.

“Do you have something for us, or are you just looking for a dry place out of the rain?” asked Seregil, pulling up a stool.

“ ’Course I do, my lord! You said to look for anything odd or out of place. You heard of the raven folk?”

“No.” Seregil took a few pennies from his purse and placed them on the floor in front of Kepi. “Suppose you enlighten us.”

“Nothing special about ’em, except they’re touched in the head,” the boy replied, quickly grabbing up the coins. “They’re queer folk, even for the Ring.”

“Why are they called raven folk?” asked Alec.

“Why, because they barter up for any damn thing you can think of! I know one boy who got a sack of sweets for a glass bead. Another one give Easy Lia a half sester for a lock of her stringy hair, and didn’t even want a tumble to go with it. Now she’s gone missing.”

Seregil exchanged a look with Alec at the mention of hair. “How many of them do you think there are?” The boy shrugged and bit one of the coins, as if doubting its make. Seregil flipped him another. “So? How many have you seen?”

“Just the one—a lame old man with a patch over his left eye. He offered me a yellow stone for my head rag, if you can believe it.” He glanced possessively at the greasy silk kerchief drying on the hearth. “I’da told him to go to Bilairy, but figured you might want to pay—I mean, see it, and so I give him a hank of my hair for it in the end.” He held up a short lock of his wet hair where it had been cut.

“Let me see the stone.”

Kepi gave him a chagrined look. “It got lifted.”

“Someone picked
your
pocket?” asked Alec.

“Folk are hard in the Ring!” Kepi exclaimed. “Some older boys seen me trade and went after me. It was give it over or get knifed.”

“It can’t be helped, but it would have been useful. Do you know of any other raven folk?”

“Three or four I heard of from some of the others about the
neighborhood. One of ’em’s a young fella on a crutch, and there’s a couple of women.”

“What do they look like?” asked Alec.

The boy shrugged. “The ones who seen ’em didn’t take much note, except for they was dirty, and making silly bargains for dross.”

“Which means they weren’t young or pretty,” Seregil noted. “So, a bead, locks of hair, and an attempt on your colorful headwear. What do you make of it?”

Kepi let out a scornful snort. “They’re loons.”

“When did they show up in the Ring?”

“Real recent, folk say.”

“Since the closure of the Lower City?”

“Maybe. It ain’t been long.”

“Does anyone know where they came from?” asked Alec.

Kepi bit off a mouthful of bread and shook his head as he chewed loudly. “If they do, I ain’t heard it.”

“Alec, I think our friend here could use a little beer with his meal.”

Kepi grinned, showing off a newly missing canine tooth and bits of bread stuck in his remaining teeth. “Much obliged, my lord!”