Emperor's Edge Republic (47 page)

“All of them.”

“Er, yes, sir. Where shall we put them?”

“She can have my office for as long as she wishes.”

“I... yes, sir.” The captain lifted a folder with a three-inch-thick stack of papers in it. “Lieutenant Dodgecrest delivered these.”

Dak accepted the folder. “Excellent, thank you.”

“I’ll just... go get some help for those files.”

The captain surveyed the room before leaving. Looking for empty places for stacks of files? Tikaya was beginning to fear she had volunteered for an impossible task.

Dak walked up to her and held out the folder. “Want the first look? Lieutenant Dodgecrest was the night duty officer.”

Tikaya opened the folder to the first sheet of paper and found a hastily penned page full of ink, about one in three words legible. From what she could make out, it was some soldier’s report of what he had and hadn’t seen from a spy position in the city. She flipped through a few more pages and found more reports filled out by other hands, some more legible than others. All thorough.

“This is all from last night?” she asked. There had to be more than two hundred pages.

Dak’s eye glinted, not maliciously exactly, but close. “Yes.”

Tikaya refused to look daunted, though her mind quickly did the calculation of ninety days times two hundred pages times two shifts a day, not to mention whatever else the office had gathered independent of its various spies and independent contractors. She couldn’t quite refrain from a prim, “You know, Colonel, you’re not as nice a man as your uncle is.”

His dark humor faded, and she almost regretted her comment, for the weariness that replaced it gave him an air of defeat.

“No,” Dak said, “I’m not.”

Tikaya thought he might explain himself, justify his edge somehow, but he didn’t. He picked up a pen and scribbled a few names on the top of the folder.

“Those are the men in hot spots who are most likely to have reported something useful. If you want to delegate some of your research, Darkcrest and Moorivich have quick minds and sharp eyes. They’re out there.” He waved toward the office. “I need to go outside and check in with the men watching that plant. I hear the cursed thing is snatching up people openly now. Why these idiots keep wandering close...” He growled something more under his breath and headed for the door. But he paused with his hand on the jamb and looked back. “Lady Starcrest, if you do find the answers that have eluded us, I’ll have to resign my position in shame, but I shall hope that luck and your intellect favor you.”

It was the first thing she could recall him saying without that rancorous edge to his tone. He was gone before she could thank him.

Tikaya sat down again, this time in Dak’s chair, and laid the folder on the desk. She eyed the stacks of papers towering all around her and wondered how many days of reports they represented. One careless bump with an elbow, and a pile would topple to the floor.

Resolving to be careful with her limbs, she set to reading. The young captain and two enlisted men he had recruited made several trips into the office—with handcarts. She supposed she should start at the beginning but decided to continue with the latest night’s work in hopes that it would hold new surprises. Oh, but what about that man who had died of poison? Could she find that report in the mess?

She stepped away from the desk and poked at the stacks of folders the captain had brought in. Dates were stamped on the fronts. Good. It had only been a couple of days ago, so it ought to be... yes, there. She found the folder for that date, then sifted through the reports, finally locating notes from the doctor. She skimmed through a description of the symptoms of death and then the details of an autopsy that sounded crude to her Kyattese ear. Mahliki’s rant about the scientists in Turgonia not knowing what a cell was came to mind. By the time Tikaya reached the end, the verdict of death by “unknown poison” wasn’t surprising. Someone had managed to identify the bomber and confirm that he was a local citizen with no known ties to Nuria. That was the most enlightening thing in the report, and it wasn’t very enlightening.

Tikaya sighed. Her first dead end. She returned to the desk.

She had gone through a week’s worth of reports when a diffident knock came at the door. “My lady?”

Tikaya had taken her spectacles off to squint at some of the fine print, and she donned them again. “Yes, Captain?”

“A woman wishes to see you. Amaranthe Lokdon.”

“That’s fine. Send her in.”

“She’s not cleared to enter this office, my lady.”

“Oh. Am
I
cleared to be in this office?”

“You are now, my lady.”

“Because the colonel said so?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You didn’t stop me at the door before,” she pointed out.

“No, my lady. You’re the president’s wife.”

Tikaya gave up trying to wrap her mind around whatever logic motivated these military men. “I’ll go see her in the hallway then, will that do?”

The captain smiled, perhaps pleased she hadn’t asked him to break some rule. “Yes, my lady.”

Tikaya’s butt was already numb from sitting in the hard chair, so she didn’t mind the break. She found Amaranthe in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot.

“Incense,” she blurted before Tikaya could offer a greeting. “Was it a part of that old religion?”

“Yes, they burned sticks during their ceremonies, if I recall correctly.”

“Lemongrass scent?” Amaranthe asked. “I know lemongrass isn’t native to this area, but I wondered if they might have traded for it. The old spice road led from the south up into the lake areas, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but that religion actually originated down near the Gulf and extended outward from there over a few centuries. Lemongrass grows wild down there.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Amaranthe started to turn away but caught herself. “One more thing.” She lowered her voice. “Is Colonel Starcrest working in there?”

“No, he left the building. Any particular reason?”

“We’re following a new lead. We’re going to be... performing an unauthorized search for incense on the third floor.”

“In people’s rooms?” Tikaya guessed.

“Possibly.” Amaranthe’s eyes crinkled.

“I believe I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Most wise.” Amaranthe lifted a parting hand, then jogged for the stairs.

After she disappeared, Tikaya wondered if she should have had Amaranthe snoop into Dak’s room while she and Sicarius were at the task. And Serpitivich’s too. Cursed banyan sprites, someone ought to be searching all of the rooms in the hotel for proof of... snitchery.

Well, maybe the incense thread would turn something up. In the meantime, Tikaya squared her shoulders and headed back into paperwork miasma.

• • • • •

Sicarius followed his nose through the third-floor hallway. Though he remembered the area where he had smelled the incense before, he hadn’t stopped to locate the room the scent came from at the time. Now, it wasn’t being burned, and the trace odors had faded. He paused at the doors to take delicate sniffs and to listen as well. He might chance across some meeting in progress and not need olfactory proof to find the culprit.

Most of the non-essential staff and guests were being cleared from the hotel, and he detected the sounds of drawers closing and trunk lids thumping behind more than one door. He paused near the end of the hall, thinking he caught a faint hint of lemongrass. No sounds came from behind this door. He tested the knob. Locked.

As he withdrew his picks, the tread of light footsteps on the stairs at the other end of the hall alerted him to a visitor. He thought the gait familiar and nodded a silent greeting when Amaranthe walked into view.

“Lemongrass incense and the Kriskrusian religion,” she said, “that’s an affirmative.”

Sicarius nodded and slid his picks into the lock. “I believe the scent originates with this room.”

“Good, maybe we’re about to find our snitch.”

Soon, the lock clicked. Sicarius pushed open the door, then paused to analyze the room and scan it for traps, insomuch as he could by the light seeping in from the hallway. There weren’t any lamps burning inside, and the shadows lay thick.

“This is the source of the scent,” he confirmed.

“Oh?” Amaranthe leaned around his arm, peering inside.

Sicarius held out his arm to block her, for there was another odor inside, one he recognized well. Death. He stepped into the room first, igniting one of the lamps on the wall. It flared to life, revealing a man’s body on the floor. The hood on his green robe had fallen away, leaving the red line across his neck visible.

“Garrote,” Sicarius said, “from behind.”

“I... see,” Amaranthe murmured. She had seen enough death not to be horrified by it, though she never failed to look grim and regretful at its appearance. She picked up a pewter incense burner from a small table beside the door. It was engraved with crude images of animalistic creatures. The edges had been worn over the years—perhaps over the centuries. “I don’t think this fellow is going to be able to give us answers or take us to his leader, but this could be our snitch. Let’s see if we can figure out what he does for his day job.” She headed for the armoire.

Sicarius knelt to remove the robe and search the body. He lifted the man’s hand and checked his fingernails. “No skin,” he observed.

“Pardon?” Amaranthe opened one of the armoire doors. Several military uniforms dangled from hangers.

“Whoever killed him was good enough that he wasn’t able to claw at his attacker. Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet, either. This didn’t happen long ago.” Sicarius considered the height of the man and how the garrote had cut into his throat. “Someone taller than him as well.” He thought of the Nurian mage hunter, but she was no more than five-foot-nine. “Unless the attacker stood on the bed or a chair.” A possibility, as it would give a smaller person further leverage.

Amaranthe walked over to the window. “It’s locked from inside, so nobody came in that way.”

“Nobody went
out
that way,” Sicarius corrected, then turned toward the hallway, for he heard footfalls on the carpeting near the stairs. He thought about jogging over and closing the door to ensure privacy, but their search was sanctioned—somewhat—since Professor Komitopis had asked them to investigate on Starcrest’s behalf. This death would have to be reported soon, regardless.

“Good point.” Amaranthe returned to the armoire. Busy scrutinizing the uniforms, she didn’t notice the approaching footsteps. They were slowing. Two sets. Perhaps the people would go into a room before reaching this one. “Rank pins for a sergeant,” Amaranthe said. “The name patch says—”

“Avigart,” a voice said from the hallway at the same time as a tall figure stepped into the doorway, a key ring in his hand. Colonel Starcrest’s face grew closed as he took in the dead man, Sicarius, and Amaranthe.

A lieutenant leaned into the doorway to peer inside as well. He wore the same uniform and patches as the colonel, though he didn’t mask his features so well. His mouth fell open for a long moment before he snapped it shut. “I guess I won’t need his room key, sir.”

Amaranthe lowered her hands from the uniforms and gave the lieutenant a curious look.

Sicarius wouldn’t have expected the officer to answer questions—or looks of inquiry—especially since Sicarius and Amaranthe might well be suspects in the murder until they explained themselves sufficiently, but the lieutenant said, “He didn’t show up for his shift.”

Colonel Starcrest walked into the room, his gaze flicking about, taking in details—it lingered on the incense burner for a moment. After a moment, he sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees, and sighed down at the corpse. “What did you get yourself involved with, Sergeant?”

“We thought he might be the snitch,” Amaranthe said. “He’s from your office, isn’t he, Colonel?”

“What are you people doing in here?” the lieutenant asked, frowning not at Amaranthe but at Sicarius.

“Ms. Sarevic smelled lemongrass incense on the clothes of one of the robed men who tied her up,” Amaranthe said. “Sicarius remembered smelling that same odor in these hallways.” She pointed at the incense burner, a line of gray ash still nestled in its collection tray.

Though the lieutenant continued to glower at him, Sicarius stood with his hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing. He would let Amaranthe deal with the officers, for her words were more likely to assuage their suspicions. He gazed out the window where evening had fallen, eyeing the vines snaking out of the storm drains and sewer access holes, their tendrils streaking across the yard. Soldiers pressed into plant-slaying duty ran back and forth, doing their best to slow its growth. Brazen of an assassin to enter the hotel with all those people around and to kill this man during daylight hours.

Unless the assassin had come from within. Could there be more than one spy?

The colonel rubbed the back of his neck. “My room is two doors down. I smelled that stuff burning a couple of nights ago. I was in a hurry, between one meeting and the next, and didn’t think anything of it.” His mouth twisted in some inward censure.

“Is it likely this man could have been the snitch?” Amaranthe asked the officers.

“There’s a snitch?” The lieutenant blinked. “Am I not... in the Tiles game?”

“Yes,” Colonel Starcrest said, “it’s been implied that information is coming out of our department. Though
I
don’t seem to be in the Tiles game, either.”

“We only know about things because we stumbled across some notes.” Amaranthe offered a self-effacing smile and shrug designed to make the men less bitter and more comfortable. It seemed to work on the lieutenant, but the colonel’s face only grew harder.

Sicarius thought about bringing up the flaws of the intelligence office spies, but that was not likely to endear the officers to them, either.

“I don’t know all the details,” Amaranthe said, “but among other things, someone told that Nurian mage hunter when Sicarius and I—and the submarine—were due into port. We had only spoken to the president and his wife, through the magical communication device.”