Tempt the Devil (The Devil of Ponong series #3) (10 page)

“A witness saw you on the veranda of the Red Happiness
early this morning, with Turyat. He was alive then. Why were you there?” Kyam
asked.

“Those snakes will say anything against their betters.”

“The witness is Thampurian.” There was no reason to admit
he was the witness. It would sound as if he’d been lurking outside the Red
Happiness when nothing could be further from the truth.

Cuulon shook his head. “There weren’t any Thampur–”
He slowly smiled and steepled his fingers together. “All right. I was there. Am
I to take it that you’re investigating Governor Turyat’s death? Are you playing
policeman?”

That was a punch to the gut Kyam should have seen coming.
Police in Thampur were recruited from the lower castes on the theory that
brutes knew how other brutes thought. Calling Kyam a policeman was a deliberate
insult. But Cuulon had been in charge of a police force back in Thampur, so the
meaning might equally be ‘Now you’re no better than I am.’ Cuulon was no salon
wit, but even he could turn an insult into a stiletto through the ribs from
time to time. Kyam wouldn’t rise to the bait, though, no matter how much he
wanted to beat Cuulon’s head with his shoe, because his freedom depended now
upon solving Turyat’s murder.

With exaggerated patience, Kyam said. “I want to make sure
the right person is hanged for it. Isn’t that what you want too? As chief
justice, I’m sure the concept of fairness interests you.”

Sly wariness settled around Cuulon’s eyes. “Maybe you had
Turyat killed. Maybe stealing his office wasn’t enough. Your Grandfather was
like that when he ruled here. Absolutely ruthless. Once he had your scent, he’d
hunt you down to ground even if you weren’t a threat any more, like one of
those werewolf barbarians.”

Kyam forced his anger into the coldest portion of his heart.
He set down his drink carefully, so the glass made only a muted
thunk
against the wood. QuiTai had
taught him how effective quiet could be when it was used in anger. He kept his
voice calm, low, and chilly. “Ah, now you see, that was a mistake. First you
call me dirt for wanting to find the real murderer of your friend. Now you try
to insult my clan by bringing up the werewolves. Are you sure you want to
remind me of your involvement with the werewolves?”

Panic flashed across Cuulon’s face.

“We know you paid Petrof to kill Lady QuiTai and her
family,” Kyam said.

Cuulon gave him a haughty look. “When you eradicate
vermin, you set dogs to it.”

“So you’re finishing the job by executing the last Qui?”
Kyam leaned down close to the older man’s face. “She knows you’re the one who
paid Petrof to devour her daughter. Do you think she’d let a little thing like
death come between her and revenge? She won’t come back as a shy little maishun
spirit, either. Instead, she’ll probably hunt you down like an
anmau
.
I hear they eat your liver every night. It grows back during the day. Sounds
painful.”

Cuulon trembled. “You don’t understand anything. We didn’t
have a choice.” His voice sounded as if it had been dragged over a gravel road.

Something about the past had left a bitter taste in Cuulon’s
mouth, but Kyam didn’t believe it was the unjustified murders of the Qui clan.

Cuulon rose with a heavy sigh and went to his desk.

“The witness said Turyat quarreled with her. Do you know
anything about that?” Kyam asked.

“Let me tell you a little something about that bitch you’re
trying so hard to save. You know she controls the black lotus trade in Levapur
now?”

Kyam nodded. “Since the werewolves were executed.”

“She let Turyat binge on vapor for a month. Then she cut
him off for a week. Nearly drove him mad. Then she let him have as much as he
wanted for three weeks, then cut him off again.” Cuulon’s face reddened
alarmingly. “She toyed with him, and she enjoyed every second of it.” Spittle
foamed in the corners of his lips.

Kyam didn’t doubt it was true. That sounded like something
QuiTai would do. Technically, it was within the bounds of her promise, but it
was also far crueler than killing Turyat.

“I couldn’t buy black lotus anywhere on this island because
I might have given it to him. She cut off Lizzriat at the Dragon Pearl for a
month for allowing Turyat a single pity pipe. After that, no one would dare
challenge her decree. The itching got so bad yesterday he flayed his own skin.
I had to cover his forearms in balm and wrap them in gauze. You know how easily
scratches get infected on this cursed island.”

Kyam nodded.

“Last night, he went to grovel to that bitch for a pipe.”

Kyam could imagine QuiTai enjoying Turyat’s debasement.
That curve of her mouth. The sinister sideways glance of her eyes. Her standing
rigid and regal while she watched her enemy suffer at her feet.

“Madam Inattra said he couldn’t allow Turyat a pipe
without QuiTai’s permission, and that she wasn’t expected back for a while. The
hint was that we should go away, but Inattra knows how to walk that fine line
between his customers and his employer, so he didn’t have us thrown out. While
we drank out on the veranda, one of the whores whispered that she’d bring us a
pipe, but Madam Inattra saw her and started to head our way, so she had to
slither away. You know how dreamers are – Turyat thought if he waited
long enough, the snake would come back with some. There was no way to convince
him it was a lost cause. At some point I fell asleep. When I woke the next
morning, Turyat was gone.”

“Did you look for him inside the Red Happiness?” Kyam
asked.

“It wasn’t open yet.”

“What time did you wake?”

“When did your witness say I woke?”

Kyam spread his hands.

Sighing, Cuulon picked up a file from his desktop and
opened it. He peered at the papers, but Kyam doubted he read a word. Without
looking up, he asked, “Am I a suspect?”

“You’re a witness.”

“You are investigating his death. Admit it.” Cuulon leaned
back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap with the air of a man who’d
laid winning tiles on the table.

Everything Cuulon said made sense. Kyam prayed to the
Goddess of Mercy that he never ran afoul of QuiTai.

“Why would Lady QuiTai kill Turyat when she could torture
him instead? Wouldn’t that ruin all her fun?” Kyam asked.

“Does it matter? She’s guilty of many things. Why worry if
we execute her for the wrong reason? Come on, Zul, you know I’m right.”

“We have a town full of Ponongese who would care very much
if we hung her without just cause. I don’t like the mood in this town, Cuulon.”

“That’s why we agreed the assembly rule was needed. If the
snakes start gathering to cause problems, we’ll hang them by the dozens until
they get the message.”

Kyam felt sick. That wasn’t what he’d envisioned when he’d
agreed to that rule, not that his opinion mattered. Cuulon was the one who made
up the laws in Levapur.

“We still have to tread carefully here. Don’t do anything
without talking to me first. Don’t torture her, and definitely don’t hang her
until I’ve had a chance to build a case against her.”

“Against her? For a moment here, I thought you were trying
to exonerate her.”

“Just playing devil’s advocate.”

Kyam
shielded his face
as he ducked into the small Thampurian neighborhood on
the southern slope of the Quarter of Delights that was known as the Quarter of
the Unclean. He made sure no one important was nearby, and then hurried down
the narrow street lined with butcher shops, tanneries, mortuaries, and
tenements. Ocean breezes hadn’t purged the air here as they did the rest of the
town, and the sharp stink made his eyes sting. No wonder the rest of the
Thampurians made this caste live off by themselves. His hand moved from the side
of his face to his nose.

He stopped at a white building with sky blue shutters and
checked the name on the simple plaque by the door. No one came when he knocked,
so he stepped inside. Although it was midday, the dim light from the shrouded
jellylanterns made it seem like twilight. The transition made him feel as if he’d
suddenly lost time he could never make up.

The room smelled strongly of wood oil, a welcome change
from the tannery down the road. Stairs before him led into stifling darkness.
On both sides of the foyer, he caught glimpses of richly appointed parlors
through sliding screens.

Muffled footsteps shuffling over polished wood enforced a
sense of silence weighing down the air inside. He turned toward the sound and waited
with growing impatience.

A thin, elderly Thampurian dressed in white bowed deeply
before stepping into the foyer. His expression conveyed condolences. If this
man had been in any other profession, Kyam would have returned the bow, or
offered his hand, but it simply wasn’t done.

“I understand you serve as the coroner for the government,”
Kyam said.

The man bowed again. “I have been honored with that trust.”
His grating accent proved he’d been born in Surrayya, but in a neighborhood
above the canals. He’d moved as far as he could from Thampur, but he’d never
escape his caste.

Kyam’s mouth was dry. Too late, he realized how odd his
questions were going to sound, even to a man who prepared bodies for cremation.
Once it was known he’d come here to look at the body, the stain on his family
name would be nearly impossible to remove. Even this man would think less of
him. It had to be done though. With the scene of the crime hopelessly
contaminated by those idiot soldiers, the body was the best evidence he had.

“I understand Governor Turyat’s body was brought here,”
Kyam said.

“Yes.”

Even though they were alone, Kyam didn’t trust the foyer.
Anyone could be in the shadows of the upstairs landing. “Is there somewhere
private we can talk?”

The man gestured to one of the parlors.

Kyam walked in and sat on a dark red settee. His spine
ached from the stiff posture. His hands rested on his thighs inches from his
knees, as was proper. The man did not sit, and this too was right.

He pulled on his collar. “If I may ask, in your
professional opinion, how did Governor Turyat die?”

QuiTai had once observed that respect was in such short
supply in Thampurian culture that the smallest drop of it spent further than
coin. From the change that came over the man, that was true. Of course it was;
QuiTai understood people better than anyone he’d ever met. A member of the
thirteen families asking for such a man’s opinion was unheard-of flattery.

“As a professional.” The mortician smiled into his fist
then coughed to hide it. “I do not wish to bring up unpleasant topics.”

“And I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“You honor me, Governor Zul.”

Kyam realized he was in for a very long conversation.
While QuiTai’s directness often struck him as rude, he missed it at times like
these. As he went through the motions and said the proper words, his patience thinned.
They slowly circled on the topic of Turyat’s manner of death, but ricocheted
off into safer topics each time they got close. QuiTai would have made it a
tantalizing dance of wits. This man didn’t.

The man glanced a third time at Kyam’s leg. It bounced as
he tapped his foot. Kyam willed it to stop.

“If I might see the body,” Kyam said.

“See?”

Kyam was certain he’d spoken Thampurian, so the lack of
understanding wasn’t his fault. “Yes. See. Before you cremate him.”

Flustered, the man shot a glance at the parlor door. “It
is my professional opinion that the governor died from blood loss. His right
temple was wounded, and that might have killed him, but from the amount of
blood surrounding the body, I estimate that he was alive for a few minutes
after sustaining the wound, although he was probably unconscious. Praise be the
Goddess of Mercy that he did not suffer.”

“Praise
be.” Kyam echoed the words without thought or feeling. “Were there any puncture
marks on the body?”

The man
seemed surprised. “I didn’t look for them.”

“Why not? Surely you heard a Ponongese was accused of the
murder.”

“If a snake bit him, she didn’t share enough of her venom
to kill him. I assumed she had been caught delivering the blow to his head.”

Kyam didn’t know why he felt like defending QuiTai. “Truthfully,
she wasn’t even in the building at the time of the murder.”

“Ah. That makes it much more difficult to kill a man.”

Was that a slight twinkle in the mortician’s eye?

“Do you see many deaths by Ponongese venom?”

The man
shrugged. “A few cases since I moved here forty-six years ago. Much more common
before Governor Turyat took the office. Since then, only one that I can
remember.”

“How did
you know Turyat didn’t die from venom if you rarely see cases?”

This
time, the man chuckled. “When I came to Levapur, it wasn’t like this.” He
gestured around the room as if it encompassed the whole town. “There were very
few Thampurians. We lived with them, the snakes. It was primitive.” He wrinkled
his nose. “I learned to tell a boar brought down by a Ponongese hunter from one
our men killed.”

“Is it safe to eat that meat?”

“We survived. So do they. They aren’t immune to their own
venom, did you know? We cooked the meat well, of course, and the Ponongese
swear you must cook it with a root and spice preparation that nullifies the
venom. I don’t know if that’s true, but who would be the first man to risk
eating meat not cooked that way? We got used to it, but I never liked it.”

Kyam had never heard any of that. Meat in the marketplace
all came from Thampurian butchers because the Ponongese were only allowed to
sell fish, but he’d never known why. He’d assumed it was simply to protect
Thampurian butchers from competition with the Ponongese.