A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) (9 page)

“I will consider your suggestion, Taalo.” She grabbed the card from Lornis and made a show of putting it in her pocket. “Good evening, ser.”

She pushed past the little man.

•••

They left their horses at the Guard stables and walked through the damp streets. It was dinner hour, when recently lit streetlights cast wavering shadows and there were few pedestrians about. They took a shortcut to City Guard Headquarters, going through a long, dark alley. Their footsteps echoed and Draius loosened her knife, just in case. Brandishing weapons, in a confident and competent manner, could frighten off thugs.

“Are you going to officially link the murders?” Lornis asked.

“I might as well, before the
H&H
does it for me,” she said. “I’ll talk to Andreas again, but this time
I’ll
be asking the questions.”

“You suspect his Society for the Restoration of Sorcery?”

“I think these murderers pretend to sorcery, even though it’s all a sham, so Andreas may know some likely suspects.” Her voice bounced off the smothering walls of the alley.

“He might be involved himself.”

She was about to reply when she heard the footfall at the alley opening behind them. She touched Lornis’s arm and he was alert enough to pull up against the wall right beside her. They stood absolutely still, shoulder to shoulder, with their backs against the wall. There were no more sounds at the end of the alley. After what seemed like a long stretch of time, she motioned to him and they moved on, but neither of them said anything more in the streets.

They stopped at the watch desk when they got to Headquarters, and asked about progress on Tellina. No family had been identified for the dead ship owner. Since he was Sareenian, contacting the matriarch for the lineage was out of the question. In searching Tellina’s home, the City Guard found no information regarding family members in the sister cities. They sent a notice of his death and a request for information to Illus, but it would be several days before any response arrived.

Once they were in the warmth and light of her office, Lornis mentioned the sound they heard in the alley. “Do you think we were being followed?”

“No. It was probably a cat, or worse, some rats.”

He shrugged. “I suppose it would be melodramatic to assume otherwise. I’ll ask Usko for last year’s cases.”

Usko was still in the outside office, and he gave Lornis a pile of files. Lornis worked quietly at the other desk in the inner office while Draius penned a note to Perinon. She called a messenger to carry it up to Betarr Serin. Then she wrote up her report on the Tellina crime scene, which she had Lornis verify.

He shook his head while she read her report. After she finished, he said, “I wish I had your memory.”

“Sometimes it’s useful. But there are events I wish I didn’t remember with such clarity.”

“I never thought of the disadvantages.”

“Believe me, there are drawbacks. How’s the review going?” She gestured at the stacks on his desk.

“I think these are the
legitimately
closed cases from last year.” He pointed at the largest stack, to her relief. He handed her a small sheaf. “These three files, however, are reports you should probably read. They’re the robbery of the Royal Archive, and two reports from farmers.”

“Farmers?”

“They found their livestock gutted—with symbols painted on the ground with blood. Although the victims were animals, the madness is painfully familiar.”

“Not madness. They use method and precision,” she mused. “In both of our murders, the exact same fingers were missing. The victims were oriented with their heads pointed directly toward the middle of the circular symbols drawn on the walls, and their limbs were arranged in exactly the same configuration. The wounds down the torsos were precisely done with an extremely sharp knife, their intestines were pulled out in—”

She stopped as she saw Lornis’s face, his lip curling as he attempted a queasy smile. Perhaps she should focus on other details. “Two unmarked vials with powders were left at the first scene, but not the second. And what was on the parchment that disappeared from the first scene? No one’s turned it in, and it might be able to answer some of our questions as to
why
they murdered the councilman. The only thing we know for sure is they came prepared to perform their ceremony.”

“So the murders were ceremonies?”

“Someone wants us to believe that.” She tapped the desk pensively, then reached into her pocket, pulled out Taalo’s card and turned it over thoughtfully. “Perhaps they’re performing experiments, but we don’t recognize them as such?”

Lornis raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that little man can provide practical advice.”

She shrugged. She was now the OIC and if she wanted to try radical techniques, this would be the time. “Are you still here, Usko?” she called, thinking he’d gone home.

She was wrong. The clerk was quickly standing in the doorway, his face red. “Yes, ser?”

“Have you ever heard of this man?” She handed him the card.

She asked a simple enough question, but Usko stammered his answer. “N—no, not really. Well, yes—I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know him. He’s supposedly a good apothecary. What do you want from him, ser?”

“He says he can identify unknown materials. Have we heard of anyone else that would attempt this, at least in a methodical manner?” She looked at Usko and Lornis, who both shook their heads. This was new territory, indeed, for the City Guard.

“Then Taalo must be our choice. Usko, tomorrow you will take the two powders found at the councilman’s murder to this apothecary and commission him to do his analysis. We will
pay
him to identify these powders for us.”

“Are you sure, ser?” Usko wiped his glasses. “How much should we pay him?”

“The watch has informants. We have standard payments for information, don’t we? Why not pay this apothecary the same sort of fee?”

Usko left, after fussing about and neatening his workspace. Draius also got ready to leave, reaching for a packet on her desk which she hadn’t touched.

“You’re going to take the coroner’s report, perhaps as a little light reading before bed?” Lornis raised his eyebrows. “You
are
the right person for this job.”

She laughed as she turned off the gaslight and closed up the office. On the way out they said goodbye to the incoming watch, who were playing dice and waiting for their shift. Outside, she pulled her cloak tighter against the chilly spring night.

“Until tomorrow, then.” She faced Lornis.

Lornis laid his hands on her shoulders. She felt the warmth of his hands through the fabric of her clothes. He was about the same height as she was, so she looked straight into his face. She was suddenly intensely aware of him, his warm brown eyes, his shining cascade of hair, and exactly how close his chest, hips, and thighs were to hers.

“You look tired. You should try to get some sleep, rather than reading reports.” His hands squeezed her shoulders before he turned away.

She could only nod, astonished at her reaction. Then she slowly turned and walked the other way, smiling a little. As she rounded the street corner, a shadow moved away from the wall. She grabbed her knife hilt, and a hand clamped on her wrist to forestall her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

First Hireday, Erin Three, T.Y. 1471

This evening, my employer wanted me present when he met with the Groygan ambassador’s lackey.

We met him in a suitably neutral and neglected workshop in the port canal district, where the buildings loom close and the sea breeze can’t clear away the odors. Contrary to Betarr Serasa’s northern canals where the waters run clear, these are fetid, slow, and dark. Every now and then, debris bobs to the surface and one needs a strong stomach to investigate its nature, which explains why nobody hauls it out unless absolutely necessary. I remembered my poor apprentice and a spike of anger struck my temples. I rubbed my head and looked away from my employer, concentrating instead on Orze Be Lottagre, who was the first Groygan I’d ever met.

“I cannot help you, ser, if the
Danilo
Ana
’s captain took my advice and sailed for Chikirmo.” Lottagre smiled. He sounded as Tyrran as any five-star nobleman, instead of an “Honored Sword” for Groygan Ambassador Velenare Be Glotta. His eyes denounced him, however, with narrow pupils and irises that glinted and reflected light in the dark like an animal’s. That might only be Tyrran myth and I wondered what I could learn from dissecting those eyes. My fingers twitched, then stilled when he glanced at me.

“He took your gold, not your words, to heart. You bribed a shipmaster to violate the course he filed with the harbormaster.” My employer’s tone made me shiver. He was most dangerous when he was quiet.

Lottagre’s smile faded. “As embassy personnel, we cannot be charged under your King’s Law. Besides, you couldn’t accuse us without revealing your own crimes, which have been deliciously recounted in your
Horn & Herald
. So I’ll ask you—how soon before the City Guard is banging on
your
door?”

I watched Lottagre carefully, not quite convinced he was bluffing. The Groygans were more dangerous than I realized; how did they get their information?

“I’m more concerned with finding the ship than worrying about the City Guard,” my employer said. “More than five days have passed since the ship sailed and my contacts in Chikirmo report that the
Danilo
Ana
has not arrived. It appears we’ve both lost our money, as well as a powerful artifact.”

Lottagre’s eyes flashed at the mention of “contacts in Chikirmo,” but he didn’t say anything. He probably had the same reports within his embassy. A ship could sail from Betarr Serin to Chikirmo within three to four days during false-spring, when the winds are better for west-to-east sailing. By now the
Danilo
Ana
should have reached the city.

“What about pirates?” I asked, carefully watching Lottagre’s face. The
H&H
voiced the opinion of most Tyrran and Sareenian sailors: that the piracy committed by Rhobar about the Auberei Archipelago was actually privateering for Groyga. That archipelago, jutting into and violating the Angim, allows pirates to lie in waiting for honest cargo ships. Avoiding piracy was the main reason our group voted to send the lodestone to Illus.

Lottagre shook his head. “That galley carried a bombard of iron weighing several tons and the new centerline cannon was the best that gold can buy. The crew was well armed and if they had a modicum of competency, they could easily defend themselves against boarders. More likely, the crew betrayed you or the ship was blown off-course by storms. Perhaps she’s lost, gone to the bottom.”

That wasn’t what we wanted to hear. Navigational issues and storms were certainly possible, of course, despite the distance the ship put between the lodestone and the phrenic elements. Another worry, which I couldn’t voice in front of the Groygan, was that we didn’t know the full extent of the lodestone’s powers. Being both a prison and amalgam of cursed souls, the lodestone itself might have taken action to affect its own fate.

Where is that ship?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Husbands, Lovers, and Maids

If our children are our lifeblood, then Tyrra’s life is draining away. Since the Fevers our pregnancies and live births have dropped. The Phrenii say they cannot make an infertile woman fertile again, but they can increase a man’s ability to father children. But sadly, no one will volunteer for phrenic healing, given the superstitions. So while our men avoid reality and indulge their passions, our women buy useless potions or powders, and we matriarchs frantically search our records for viable matches. Perhaps all that’s needed is time, but can Tyrra afford any delay?

—Entry in Meran-Viisi matriarchal records by Lady Aracia, T.Y. 1469

“Jan, what are you doing?” Draius tensed but didn’t draw her knife once she recognized her husband.

“I was going to ask you the same question.” He continued to tightly hold her wrist.

“Have you been following me?” She thought of the sounds in the alley and twisted her arm out of his grip.

“What were you doing with him?” Jan used a light, curious tone and wore his perpetually pleasant smile, but she could sense he wasn’t in a good mood.

“Lornis
works
for me, as you well know.”

“Are you going to take him as a lover?”

She gaped for a moment. He knew, quite well, how she felt about honoring the clauses in their marriage contract. He was attempting to sidetrack her. Collecting herself, she decided she was too tired to do anything but play by the same rules. “Are you judging me by
your
behavior? You know I’ll honor our contract, in the manner and intent it was written.”

“No, you’d never involve yourself with someone for trivial reasons.” His voice was quiet and he looked searchingly at her face. “I’d advise against this dandy, pretty as he is.”

“Why?” She lifted her chin. Guard protocols forbid superior officers from becoming involved with someone under their command. They both knew this, just as they both knew she’d never involve herself with Lornis, so why were they talking about it?

Jan seemed to be carefully considering his next words. “If Peri is hurt by this, I’ll make sure he understands that you’re to blame.”

He was doing it again: jumping around and twisting the argument, keeping her off-balance with vague threats. And why did he always pick a time when she was exhausted? “Peri’s life needn’t change unless
you
change it. You were never so concerned about our son before this.”

The lineal matriarch was the keystone in the nurture and development of Tyrran children. She arranged for tutors and trainers, as well as spending time herself each day teaching the children the ethics, traditions, and history of the lineage. Half-brothers, half-sisters, and cousins, whether true, removed, or distant, sat together at their lessons because the lineage meant everything. The original parentage of children wasn’t as relevant as the lineal name that sustained them, sheltered them, clothed them, and paid for their schooling. In Tyrra, the word “bastard” had no sting, unless the hurled insult was “
nameless
bastard.” Then there might be a fight.

“I’ve realized how much the boy means to me. Do you think he’ll ever forgive you?”

“Why is this my fault? It’s about you and Netta.”

The memories of confronting him about Netta were still raw and painful. At the time, he tried to act as if he was revealing everything on his own volition, ignoring the fact that she’d discovered everything in a public and demeaning manner.

“I need to get this off my chest so I can start fresh,” he had said, when confronted. “What I’ve done shouldn’t impact
us
.”

“How can this not have any impact?” It sounded like they were talking about other people: another Draius, another Jan, living far away in a distant land.

“It can’t, because I haven’t allowed it. Besides, it’s over. I’ve had the good faith to end it and now we can start again. Fresh.”

Yes, he might be ready to start over, but Draius wasn’t. She’d contacted Netta regarding the affair and learned more than she expected—if Netta told the truth. According to her,
she
ended their relationship, even though she had comfort clauses in her marriage contract.

And if Netta hadn’t ended it, would Jan still be her lover? This was the question Draius desperately wanted answered. Even though the betrayal was blunted by previous infidelities, this affair had been different. Learning where Jan’s true feelings lay, however, was no small task when he was a master of deception.

“What if I asked the captain to transfer Netta? Send her to Betarr Kain for four years?” she asked suddenly.

His mask slipped. For a second, she saw something in his eyes, something she’d seen only once through the crack of a door. Netta had been honest. Under Jan’s façade, deep and buried in his soul, he had feelings for that woman. She saw, again, the flash of passion and tenderness he’d never shown toward her.

He laughed, his mask of invulnerability perfect again. “You wouldn’t do that. You’re devoted to objectivity, to keeping your emotions from affecting your work for the Guard. Remember, I know you well.”

True, her threat was empty. And now, her life was empty. She retreated into Darkness, all hope gone. She could never go back to the time when she felt secure. When she thought she was
loved
. That innocence and trust could never be regained. She stepped away from him while he waited for her to reply.

“I could forgive another dalliance, but I’ll never forgive or forget your feelings for Netta—no, don’t deny it. Consider this when you make your case to Lady Anja: the Stars will fall into Darkness before I
ever
let you into my bed again, regardless of where our contract stands.”

Her tirade took all her breath, and now her chest heaved in silent sobs. He stayed quiet while she turned and left.

Why was she always the one who walked away? Because Jan never walked away from something, or someone, he thought belonged to him.

•••

The next morning, the sun was barely licking the white peaks of the Cen Cerinas and turning them to rosy flames when she went downstairs. Nin had started breakfast, inferred by smells and sounds from the kitchen. Maricie, Anja’s maid, barely old enough to be out of afternoon lessons by Tyrran standards, was laying the breakfast service out in the morning room.

Maricie’s family had come from Sareen looking for employment, which Tyrra had in abundance. Sareenians flowed into the sister cities from Illus, Paduellus, and especially Forenllas, seeping into holes and cracks left in Tyrran society after the Fevers. Sareenians provided eager and cheap labor for the many vacant jobs.

“Good morning, Mistress,” Maricie said as she breezed around the table placing china. “Breakfast will be a few minutes, but tea is ready. Oh, that’ll be the news.” She bustled out toward the front door as they heard the belled cart go by.

Draius poured herself a cup of tea. She stood in open double doors to enjoy the view of the back garden. Anja’s garden glowed in the morning when the sun hit the back wall and the dew picked up the light. Spring had arrived and bulb flowers were beginning to bloom, while vines and perennials peeked up through the soil. She could almost convince herself that last night’s argument with Jan had never happened.

Peri’s footsteps banged down the stairs and came to a stop in the hall. “What’s wrong, Maricie?” she heard him ask. “Here, I’ll take the papers. Are you well?”

Maricie’s answer was unintelligible, but she heard the maid go up the stairs with unsteady footsteps.

Peri laid the
Horn & Herald
on the sideboard as he walked through the morning room. “Maricie’s taken ill. I’ll go tell Cook.” He vanished again, but his footfalls danced in the kitchen while Nin admonished him to stay away from her food.

“Without Maricie, Nin will need help at the market.” Anja stood in the doorway.

“Peri can go before his lessons. He’s finished his assignments,” Draius said. Peri was big enough to carry sacks and be a set of helping hands, which was all Nin needed.

“Good, because I wanted to have Cerin turn over the vegetable beds today—what’s this in the paper?” Anja had picked up the
H&H
and was staring at the front page.

“We uncovered another gruesome murder yesterday.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Anja laid the paper down in front of Draius.

The top headline on the flier read “GROYGA THREATENS TO RECALL AMBASSADOR.” Below that article was the Tellina murder. Apparently the murder of a Sareenian shipper wasn’t big enough news by itself, so the headline read: “OFFICER MERAN-VIISI DRAIUS IN CHARGE OF INVESTIGATING MAGICAL MURDERS! IS THIS A PROMOTION TO PERILOUS DUTY?”

Draius was annoyed on several counts. First, she’d changed her lineal name to Serasa-Kolme when she married Jan. Matriarchs of both lineages had approved the change, and duly changed their records. Andreas was trying to give his article more appeal by throwing the King’s lineage in the headline. Second, Tellina’s full name was only mentioned once. Third, the article made much ado about connections to the Reggis murder and the “magical” signs left in locked rooms. While the suppositions were silly, the details were correct. Andreas must have gotten information from someone inside the City Guard.

She read the entire article carefully and realized that instead of following up on the “perilous duty” in the headline, the article insinuated she was incompetent! Andreas used his words carefully, but the implications were clear. Draius tossed the paper back on the table and told herself not to take it personally.

“Are you in some sort of danger?” Anja watched her steadily.

She carefully phrased her answer. “Jan and I have jobs where we encounter more danger than the ordinary citizen would face. However, what I’m doing this erin is no more dangerous than what I was doing last erin. You have no cause to worry for Peri’s sake.”

“I could be worried for your sake,” Anja said.

There was the Serasa-Kolme inscrutability again: Anja’s words might be a rebuke, a caution, or an expression of concern, but there was no clue from her face.

“Well, don’t worry about me,” Draius said. “I’m not taking the traditional path for a woman, but I’m good at what I do. I’m not in any danger.”

“But you could be so much
more
. With your memory and your mind for facts and figures, I could use you within the Serasa-Kolme. You could start managing the smaller construction projects, which would bring in more money than that small salary you earn—”

Peri came back in, chattering about his plans for the day. Anja stopped, but her face said that they would be speaking about this again.

“Perinon, will you help Nin at the market this morning?” Anja asked Peri as he settled on his chair.

Peri ducked his head. He hated the use of his full name, and Draius gave Anja a warning glance as she laid her arm across her son’s small shoulders.

“It’ll get you out of helping Cerin dig the beds,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’d jump at this chance to escape, if I were you.”

A small smile started on Peri’s face. He nodded. Draius knew he’d have more fun at the market than helping Cerin in the garden; sometimes jugglers, or even the Phrenii, could be at the market in the mornings.

Peri finished his breakfast and was away from the table quicker than Draius would have liked, because he left her alone with Lady Anja. She tried to concentrate on her breakfast, afraid that Anja would renew their previous conversation.

“I’ve received a complaint from the Pettaja-Viisi,” Anja said, breaking the silence first. “Apparently your behavior at the Royal Library yesterday wasn’t well received.”

Draius continued to chew on the bacon that Nin had sliced and cooked perfectly; it was thick and crunchy, with just enough fat. There was nothing she could say in her defense, and she was only surprised by the speed with which the complaint had arrived. How did the matriarchs exchange information so quickly?

“If you’re serious about this
non-traditional
path you’ve chosen, then you must learn to be more politic, especially when dealing with men.” Anja poured herself more tea and put a small amount of sugar into the cup. She stirred carefully before continuing, and the chink of the spoon on the china sounded clear and cold. “Handling men’s passions requires
both
shrewdness and tact: talents you should develop.”

Draius sighed and wiped the grease off her lips, remembering to dab with the napkin. She kept her gaze on the young matriarch’s face. “If a formal apology is necessary, Lady, then I will make one. But I will only apologize for my manner, not my actions.”

“Who said anything about an apology? I trust your judgment enough to believe your manner was warranted.”

Draius blinked, then looked down at her plate in confusion.

“But I give you fair warning.” Anja’s tone became severe. “Lately, you’ve been the topic of our discussions far too often. This is understandable, given the unconventional way your father raised you, but you should try to avoid matriarchal attention in the future.”

Draius gulped. It was one thing for Jan to say she’d marked herself as a “troublemaker,” but quite another for a matriarch to advise her to keep her head down and stay out of trouble. The latter was far more serious.

After excusing herself from the table, she spent some time reading in the garden. Before she left for work, she quietly climbed up the back stairs to the third story to check on Maricie. As she suspected, the maid was not in her room.

•••

“I can’t stand it anymore, the grunting and panting. Surely I’ve suffered enough!” Onni faced her mother and her hands moved in emphatic jerks.

“Have you been taking the powder I gave you in your drink before bedtime?” Aracia was attempting a soothing tone; instead, it felt like cool steel running against one’s skin.

“Of course, but the Phrenii say it can’t help. They say it’s—”

“They say it’s only superstition. But the powder can be relaxing, if nothing more. Too bad the Phrenii can’t
heal
women’s infertility, like they can supposedly do for men. I fear this is the price we pay as women.” Contrary to her words, the matriarch was unemotional, as immovable as stone.