Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (13 page)

When I reached NordEste Design and Seliora opened the door, I could tell something had happened from the look on her face.

Her first words confirmed it. “Haerasyn stole all of Odelia’s jewelry and all their golds. He ran off. No one knows where.”

I couldn’t say that I was surprised. “I hope it wasn’t too much.” I stepped inside the foyer and closed the door behind me.

“The jewelry bothers her more than the golds. One of the brooches came from Grandmama’s mother.”

“He’s likely already fenced or pawned it. Or he will soon. If someone gives me a description, I can circulate it to the goldsmiths who handle pawned goods. They’d hold it, but Odelia would have to pay…”

“Aunt Aegina would pay…”

And that was how the occupational events of the day ended, not that we didn’t have to get on with returning home, feeding and getting Diestrya ready for bed, and all the other details of domestic life.

Because it was my turn for Samedi duty at Third District, I got up in the darkness before dawn, made my way to the exercise facility, and endured Clovyl’s tortures…and the run, which was always a relief of sorts, after strenuous exercise, practice in hand-to-hand combat, and defense against weapons. Seliora was still asleep when I returned. I was grateful for that, because we hadn’t gone to bed that early. She’d needed to talk about how upset Odelia had been.

I actually had to wake Seliora after I showered and shaved, not that we had time for anything besides a quick embrace, because Diestrya was already awake, and we struggled through the rest of the morning routine, including a hurried breakfast. Because of the consternation created by Haerasyn’s thefts, by the time we finished eating Seliora had decided that she and Diestrya would spend the day with her family, and I’d join them after I finished at Third District.

“You already told your family, didn’t you?” I asked.

“I told Mother we would, unless you had other plans.” She gave me a sideways smile.

I just shook my head as I rose from the table. “I can probably be there by fifth glass.”

“We won’t eat until sixth.”

“I’ll try not to be late…but it is Samedi.”

“Can you do something about the brooch and the other jewelry?”

“I can circulate the word among the goldsmiths in Third District and ask them to pass it to others.”

“Do you think it will work?”

I shrugged. “It just depends.”

“It would be nice, but we won’t count on it.”

That was the best attitude, unhappily.

Before long, we hurried out the door, leaving the house to Klysia, who would soon be leaving it even emptier, since she had most of the weekend off and to herself. The duty coach ride to NordEste Design was uneventful, except when Diestrya saw a pair of matched tans, and began to chatter about “pretty horsies.”

At that point, Seliora and I just grinned and listened.

After I walked them to the door at NordEste Design, still holding my shields, and then walked back to the duty coach, I scanned the newsheets on the ride to the station, but there was nothing new, except for a report that the Ferrans were sending more land-cruisers to the border with Jariola.

I wasn’t looking forward to duty, not at all, but I would be able to start circulating a description of Haerasyn and the stolen jewelry, both to Third District patrollers and to all the other districts. The Third District patrollers were more likely to keep an eye out for him, but it was always possible patrollers in other districts might see him. If Haerasyn happened to be smart about it, he’d stay well away from Third District. But then, stealing from a relative of a Civic Patrol officer wasn’t the brightest of acts.

Delanyn smiled as I walked into the station. “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good morning. Quiet so far?”

“Yes, sir.”

I hadn’t expected anything else. Very little happened early on Samedi, except for the business of making sure that the offenders brought in on Vendrei evening were secure for the weekend, since they stayed at the station until Lundi morning, when they’d be sent to headquarters for charging, or quietly released if their only offense had been being too rowdy.

I stood at the duty desk reading the log and round reports. There had been three more elver deaths since I’d left the station on Vendrei, one in the taudis and two in other areas. A tinsmith’s apprentice had been found dead in the alley behind the shop, at Sudroad and the Avenue D’Artisans, and the body of a well-dressed young woman had been found seated on a bench in the gardens behind the Anomen D’Este.

The second case seemed odd, and I went over Freasyn’s report. There was absolutely nothing that would identify the woman, who was reported as being in her early twenties, but Freasyn had noted that her wrists appeared bruised, and that she barely smelled of elveweed, although a smoked pipe had been found just beyond her hand, and the remnants of elveweed had been the greener and stronger variety.

I looked to the duty patroller. “Delanyn…has the body wagon been here yet?”

“No, sir. Should be any moment, though.”

I turned and headed toward the rear of the station. “I’m going to look at the woman elver.”

“Yes, sir.”

The body room was the last chamber in the station, with thick walls, and in fall and winter the barred windows were opened to keep it cool. I opened the door, ready for anything, but the day was early and cool, and the only smells were that of faint decay and stale elveweed. Three bodies lay on the long tables, uncovered. There wasn’t any sense in covering them. I moved to the body in the gray woolen suit on the second table.

The woman hadn’t been all that much older than my sister Khethila, but she’d been attractive, possibly beautiful when animated by that spirit we call life, with lustrous shoulder-length blonde hair. From the piercings in her earlobes, she’d been wearing earrings, but they were missing. I studied her hair, and there was something like lint in it. A red woolen scarf with a weave pattern I didn’t recognize was arranged around her neck. A scarf, and it was still largely in place? I eased it away from her neck, revealing an abrasion on the left side, as if a chain or necklace had been roughly removed. There were ring marks on her fingers, but not where a wedding band would have rested.

Most important, every elver I’d ever run across, dead or alive, had reeked of the weed. This one didn’t. Oh, there was a faint odor, but nothing like the overpowering stench that emanated from them. There was another odor, even fainter, that I recognized from my training with Master Dichartyn. That was pitricin—a poison that also sent a victim into convulsions if administered orally. That explained the bruises on her wrists. She’d been restrained forcibly, probably with a towel across her clothes, while someone had squirted the poison down her throat. But why would anyone do it that way? Pitricin could easily be added to wine or other liquids that would mask its taste…at least for long enough that the victim wouldn’t be able to do much about it.

I could see trying to cover a murder with the idea of elveweed excess, but there was something else about it…

I studied the body again. She’d been wearing a long skirt, but I didn’t see any shoes or boots. Then I looked at her feet. They were cut and bruised in places. I checked the skirt. The seams near the bottom had been strained and stretched. She’d been running, barefoot.

For all that, there was still something I was missing. Even if I couldn’t figure it all out, I had an idea who might be able to help.

I eased the woolen jacket and the scarf off the body and draped them loosely over my arm, then walked from the chill of the body room, closing the heavy door behind me, back to the duty desk.

Delanyn looked up as I stopped in front of the high counter.

“We’re going to hold the woman elver’s body until tomorrow.”

“Sir…?”

“She’s not that far gone, and it was cold last night. I need to check on something. Put it down in the logs as my orders.”

“Yes, sir.” He shifted his weight on the tall stool and looked inquiringly at me.

“She was murdered. Most likely pitricin poisoning. I’m going to see someone who might be able to tell me about her…or at least where she might be from.”

My words got a nod and a “Yes, sir.”

As I headed out to hail a hack, I had no doubt that at least a few patrollers would hear about what I’d said. I’d have preferred not to explain, even as much as I had, but Patrol Captains who did strange things without explanations created rumors more destructive than the disclosure of information could ever be. That had been what I’d observed.

It took me half a glass to get a hack and to travel to Alusine Wool. There were only two carriages waiting outside. I stepped out of the hack, alert and shields held firmly, as they always were from the time I woke until the time I went to sleep.

The factorage remained the same old one-story yellow-brick structure I’d always known, a long building stretching close to eighty yards and fronting West River Road. Khethila had nagged Father to enlarge the covered entry in the middle of the building to make it more impressive, and he’d finally given in, just before he’d agreed to let her take over the factorage in Kherseilles. I still wasn’t certain how much of her pressure for improvements had come from a desire to improve the image and the clientele and how much had been part of her stratagem to pressure Father to let her take over running the Kherseilles factorage. Still, even Father had admitted the improvements in the entrance and the more open space just inside the doors seemed to have improved business.

The loading docks were out of sight in the rear, as they always had been. As I hurried up the three steps to the double oak doors, I noted that it was about time to re-varnish them and repaint the dark green casement trim, but I wasn’t about to suggest that at the moment. Once inside, I crossed the open space to the racks that held the swathes of various wools. To the left were the racks with the lighter fabrics—muslin, cotton, linen. Despite the factorage’s name, Father had always carried a considerable range of fabrics.

“Master Rhennthyl, what a surprise!” Eilthyr was now totally bald, but his smile was welcoming and genuine. After ten years, he remained in charge of the day-to-day work on the floor.

“I was looking for Father.” The raised platform at the back, from where Father could sit at his desk and survey everything, was empty.

Culthyn saw me coming and hurried across the floor from behind the racks to the left. “Rhenn…what are you doing here?”

“I need to talk over something with Father. About wool.”

“He’s in the small storeroom in the back.”

I was all too familiar with that part of the factorage, since it had been fire-bombed years before in the events that had led to Rousel’s death. “Thank you.” I turned and nodded to Eilthyr. “It’s good to see you again, Eilthyr.”

“And you, too, Master Rhennthyl.”

I walked to the small storeroom.

Father was indeed there, checking one of the permanent wall racks. He looked up, surprised, then smiled. “I didn’t think I’d see you here on a Samedi.”

“Patrol business.” I held up the jacket and the scarf. “They’re not from here, but I was hoping you could tell me something about them.”

He stepped forward and took the garments, laying the red scarf across a rack gently, and then began to study the gray wool jacket for several moments, murmuring and mumbling to himself. Then he straightened. “The jacket is southern mountain wool…likely from the hills north of Ferravyl…”

Ferravyl…what was it about Ferravyl, except that it was a major barge and transport nexus? I forced myself back to concentrating on Father’s explanation.

“…We don’t buy any of that. It’s soft enough, like top Glacian, but it doesn’t wear all that well. The only factorage I know that deals with much of it is a place in Ruile…” He paused. “Chaeran Woolens…that’s it. He uses it for the southerners who like things soft and don’t wear wool day in and day out.”

“Can you tell me anything else about it?”

“It’s a one-off, done by a seamstress, probably the second or third one in a High Holder’s estate.”

“You can tell that?” I had to say I was impressed.

Father shrugged. “That’s a guess, but the inside trimming is just a touch off, and the stitching thread is Parmian cotton, the kind that lasts forever. Street seamstresses don’t use it. Now…I wouldn’t swear to the Nameless on that, but that’s what I’d judge.” After a moment, he asked, “Where did you get it? It smells…sort of…off.”

“The odor is elveweed, and the garments belonged to a dead woman who was supposed to have died of elveweed excess. I don’t think she did. She was probably poisoned, but someone tried to make it look like elveweed.” I paused. “What about the scarf?”

He handed the jacket back to me and picked up the scarf. After only a moment, he handed it back to me. “That’s from Etyenn. He’s the only one who uses the arbora red dye. It’s cheap, but it fades in a year or two. The wool has his weave, but there are hundreds of scarves like that. It’s faded a bit, and it’s probably three years old. Sort of scarf someone your sister’s age would wear, not that she would. She’s got better taste than to wear something so common.” He frowned. “The elver woman…she wore both of these?”

“They were both with her.” I knew what he was thinking, and I didn’t disagree.

“Bartering beauty…that’s a dangerous business.” He shook his head.

“You think…?”

My father smiled ruefully. “The jacket was a gift. The scarf she purchased. That would be my guess.”

That made as much sense as anything.

“Will you be coming to dinner any time soon?” he asked.

“Not soon. We have a couple of, shall we say, required engagements. A dinner with the Ryels and then the Council’s Autumn Ball next weekend. After that…”

“I’ll tell Maelyna. Namer-damned thing when you have to plan family dinners weeks in advance.”

I started to speak, but he held up a hand. “I know. You’re working six days out of every seven and many nights as well, and you two are trying to keep two families happy when you scarce have time for yourselves.” He smiled. “It’s just that it’s so good when you come. Could be that bride of yours. You were fortunate there, Rhenn.”

“I know. I do know.”

“You be careful, now,” he added as I turned to go. “The last time a war loomed, you got shot and then some, and more than a few people wouldn’t mind your absence.”

“Is that your opinion…or has Veblynt suggested that?” Veblynt’s wife was a relative of Iryela’s mother, and had come from a fallen High Holder family. He still had contacts, and his warnings were to be heeded. “Did he say more than to be careful?”

“My thoughts and his…if you must know. And no, he didn’t. He said he’d just heard rumors.”

“Thank him for me.”

“I already did.”

Since Culthyn was nowhere to be seen when I left the storeroom, I just went out and hailed a hack on West River Road. The hacker took the Sud Bridge over the River Aluse and went up the Avenue D’Artisans.

I considered what I’d discovered. The scarf was common, coming from the factorages of Councilor Etyenn, and the jacket was handmade and of quality wool and tailoring, but sewn by a seamstress personally for the wearer. I couldn’t help wondering for which High Holder she’d been a mistress, or more likely a serving maid who was a convenient concubine. I also wondered what she’d done to displease whichever High Holder it had been, and why her body had been dumped in Third District, if less than a block from Fifth District. While I had some scattered thoughts, with what I knew there really wasn’t any way to track her farther. Not yet, at least.