Liar's Moon (18 page)

We sat under the bridge as Tiboran shifted from phase to phase. I’d figured out more or less where we were, and I plotted out a new route — quicker and more direct — to our destination. Eventually judging it safe to move on, we hastened into the night again.

“We need to get you out of that uniform,” I said. “They’ll have spread the word to look for a Greenman
with a girl.”

Almost uncannily, Durrel’s panicked path had pulled us in the right direction, and we hit the Temple District within minutes of leaving the shelter of the bridge. I felt safer as soon as we stepped into the glow of the big tavern, but Durrel looked perplexed.

“Where are you taking me again?” he asked.

“The Temple,” I said.

“Temple? Which temple? I don’t need
a church, Celyn —”

“Not
a
temple,” I said, sweeping my arm toward the massive, round public house with a flourish. “
The
Temple. The House of Tiboran. They’re bound by sacred oath not to ask questions, and guards are forbidden from coming in here to look for anyone.” Unfortunately that protection didn’t extend to Ceid henchmen sniffing around, but I didn’t say that out loud.

Inside, I
waved down a woman at the bar, a dark-skinned beauty in a raven black wig that cascaded curls, winking with jewels, to her waist. She gave a dazzling smile behind her mask when she saw me, but her eyes narrowed briefly when she took in Durrel’s green uniform.

“Now, Digger,” she said in her lilting voice, “you know we can’t have Greenmen coming in here. It upsets the Masked One.”

“Oh,
I’m not really —” Durrel began, lowering the green hood.

The woman’s grin widened. “But he loves a man in disguise,” she said. “I am Eske, High Priestess of Tiboran. Be you welcome to this place, stranger.” The note of amusement in her voice said she knew exactly who this man in green was, and, in keeping with the long-honored tradition of the Lying God’s hospitality, found it highly diverting
and didn’t plan to do a thing about it.

“He needs a room,” I said over the din.
A place to hide
, I didn’t need to add.

Eske took Durrel by the arm. “It is our duty and our honor to provide one,” she said, her rich voice warm and genuine. Like all high priestesses of Tiboran who had served at the Temple, she was named for the mythical original Eske who had held the role, back in the Nameless
One’s day. Our present priestess was a tall woman whose beauty owed more to artifice than nature, and her ecclesiastical costume made her look even more striking, from the gown’s open neckline showing off her night-dark skin, to the vast mask that covered almost her entire face — tonight’s version made of feathers, the peacock plumes that were Tiboran’s favorite, but also sporting a few spiky
violet shafts I didn’t recognize.

Since this Eske had taken the mantle of high priestess, the followers of Tiboran had sported Sar’s colors more and more openly. Long-standing truce, and hefty bribes billed as taxes, kept the Inquisition from interfering with Temple business. Tiboran’s devotees controlled Llyvraneth’s wine and spirits trade, which even Celys’s people relied on for their
rituals and their everyday lives. Vintners outside the city, not to mention coopers, glassblowers, and all the other people who made a portion of their living from Tiboran’s bounty, wouldn’t stand for interference in their trade either. The Celystra left the Temple and its denizens alone, for the most part. And so Temple folk could sometimes get away with things other people didn’t dare do, like show
open defiance toward Bardolph and Werne.

Eske led us up through the second-floor gallery where I’d watched Karst with Fei, to a curving corridor of guest rooms, her beaded skirts brushing the dark floorboards. Some of the doors had colorful silk masks hanging from the knobs. I saw Durrel give them a look, and then cast a questioning glance my way, but I pretended not to notice.

The priestess
stopped before a room at the back of the Temple. “It’s not quiet, but it’s private,” she said. “No one will disturb you here.” She produced a key out of thin air, a slim length of ornamental iron fashioned into the shape of a mask, and handed it to Durrel. A moment later the door swung open into a fair-sized room. “But understand, Tiboran’s sanctuary only applies
inside
our doors. We can’t protect
you if you go outside.”

“But —” Durrel objected.

“He’s not going outside,” I said hastily. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’ll leave you now,” Eske said, bowing to Durrel. “I’ll have my staff send up some food, and my dear boy, you’re going to need new clothes.”

“
Normal
clothes,” I stressed. “Nothing — outlandish. He’s supposed to be in hiding.”

Eske gave me a wink. “Digger,
darling,
nothing
is going to make that boy look like anything other than the pretty nob he is. Even the Masked One has his limits.” In the candlelight, under the grime from the gaol, I thought I saw a flush of pink color Durrel’s face.

Almost before we were inside the room, a procession of masked serving girls carried down the hall, linens and platters and clothes in their arms. One of them
lit the lamps, casting the room in a merry glow. It was well-appointed but not lavish, with a feather bed and a couple of cross-frame chairs, a large window overlooking the river (with a wide sill below it, convenient for Tiboran’s servants to come and go as necessary), and a bottle of wine on the prayer stand. Durrel grinned at that.

“There’s no hot water till tomorrow, milord,” one of the
masked acolytes said apologetically. “But Her Grace has ordered you a bath come morning.”

“
Morning
means almost noon,” I murmured to him.

The acolyte continued. “There’s rosewater with mint in the washbasin, and fresh clothes for you. Would you like us to dispose of the uniform?”

“Ah, no. I think the owner’s going to need this back,” Durrel said.

“Very good, milord. We’ll
just have it cleaned, then.” The girl stood back expectantly, but when Durrel made no move to strip in front of her, she nodded. “We’ll pick it up in the morning. Good night, milord.” And she and her fellows slipped out in one masked stream.

Once they were gone, Durrel stood in the middle of the room, looking faintly lost. I sat on the bed. “A wash?” I suggested gently. His weeks in the Keep
had him smelling like something that wouldn’t pass inspection at the Favom Court stables. Absently Durrel shrugged off the green tunic, and his shirt with it. A smudge of blue still showed up on his back, where someone must have kicked him. When he was arrested, probably. I looked away; men had a disturbing propensity to take their shirts off in my presence. Eske had been right about the noise;
the sounds of tavern life down below us rattled through the floorboards, a merry clamor and din in the distance. I tried to ignore the sound of Durrel splashing in the background. Once cleanish, he put on an embroidered shirt the serving girls had left, with vaguely rude designs at the cuffs and collar, then sank down to the floor, his legs folded neatly under him. With a lavish sigh, he tipped
his head back against the bed, eyes closed, and sat like that for a long moment, not speaking. I watched him, his throat tilted to the ceiling, the bronze of his beard glinting in the lamplight, until I was sure he’d fallen asleep.

But a moment later he sat up, grinning, and lifted down one of the trays of food. “I think we should share a celebratory feast,” he said, uncorking a bottle of
wine. He hooked two glasses from the tray, then pulled the clay cover from a dish. Inside was a steaming platter of stew, thick with meat and onion. Durrel looked like he could drown in the
smell
of it. He speared a chunk of meat with his knife and popped it into his mouth. “Oh, gods,” he said, sagging a little. When he recovered, he poured me a glass of wine, then toasted me with the bottle.

“To Raffin Taradyce,” he said.

“Raffin,” I echoed, lifting my goblet.

“Is this Grisel? I thought it had been banned.”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘Grisel,’ ” I said noncommittally as Durrel polished off his glass and poured another.

“I think I like this god of yours.”

I took the wine from him and refilled my own glass. “Most people do. Maybe you should have
some food with that.”

“You too. Eat. I feel like a glutton with you just watching me.”

“I had a decent meal this week. I live at a bakery,” I reminded him. “It’s going to take more than that entire pot of stew to get you back to not looking like a half-starved hound.”

“That bad?” He winced. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve seen a mirror.” He set down the plate and rubbed at
his chin.

“Not so bad,” I said softly.

He gave a choking laugh. “Try to say that with a little more enthusiasm! I know I’m not at my peak at the moment, but I’ll be back to racing form in no time, thanks to my favorite servant of Tiboran.”

“Eske?”

“
Not
Eske,” he said, so solemnly that a moment later we were both grinning. We finished the meal and the wine, merrily managing
to ignore the crisis that had drawn us here as the candles burned lower and the room felt warmer. Finally though, Durrel grew serious again. He set down his empty glass and stretched his lean body past me, reaching for the pile of Raffin’s clothes. He retrieved a roll of papers from them and spread the pages on the floor.

“You saved the manifests?” I said. “Well done.”

“I’ve been studying
them. I wish we could have recovered more of Talth’s papers. The Ceid keep records of everything — docking fees, licensing, records of payments made or received. Whatever they were doing, they weren’t
invisible
. There’s proof somewhere.”

I was thoughtful, looking at the documents, now covered in notes and scribbles. He’d made lists of the ships and their cargoes, their routes and arrivals
and all the money that went with them. “You told me about Talth,” I said, “how she kept you out of her business. But you’re
good
at all this; it’s obvious you know what you’re doing. Why would she ignore an asset like that, right in her own house?”

Durrel eased back, watching me curiously. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Months ago, she was eager to marry the heir to
Decath, but after the wedding she shut you out of everything? I don’t think it’s because she thought you were ignorant or immature. She didn’t
want
you nosing about in her business. I think she was doing something she didn’t want you to see, and she knew you’d do exactly this. You’d figure it out.”

Durrel’s face was impassive. Finally he sighed and shuffled the papers back into a neat stack.
“I wish she would have trusted me,” he said. “Because whatever she was hiding, it got her killed.”

“We’ll work it out,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “We just need to know how Karst fits into all of this.” There hadn’t been time yet to explain everything I’d learned from Fei, but I filled in the details now. Durrel seized on the idea.

“We have to find him, then. If he’s involved
— if he killed her —”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said. “It sounded like he might be connected to the Ceid somehow. Would they just take your word for it that he was guilty, instead of you?”

He looked stubborn, and for the briefest moment I could tell what he was thinking. The word of a nobleman weighed against a street heavy and Ferryman? But he finally shook his head. “We’ll
need evidence.” He glanced back through the documents. “Were you able to learn any more about the magic that you saw at Bal Marse?”

“No,” I said, “and it’s even more confusing now. I haven’t seen him up close, but Karst doesn’t seem the magical type to me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the traces I saw didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”

Durrel just gave me a
look
at that. I suppressed
a yawn, and the look grew concerned. “You need some rest,” he said. “You’ve been running around town all day.”

“You too,” I said, dragging myself upright. “But you’re right. It’s a long walk back to the bakery.”

“You’re not leaving?” Durrel stood and reached for me, his hand falling before making contact. “Don’t go.” I thought I heard a thread of something else beneath the lightness.
“I’m going to need help fending off those servants of Tiboran in the morning.”

“So you’ll want me here for backup, then?”

His arm was on the door above my head now, and he was leaning over me, grinning slightly. “It couldn’t hurt,” he said, but that easy charm faltered just a little.

“I can’t.” I sighed. “Grea and Rat will worry, and I still have to let the Greenmen know about Raffin.
He can probably manage to get out of there on his own, but we shouldn’t risk it. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“The morning?” he said, a little quirk to his lip.

“The
real
morning,” I promised. My hand on the doorknob, I grew sober. “Listen, Eske was right. You can’t leave the Temple, and it’s probably a good idea if you don’t leave the room. At least for a while.”

He nodded finally.
“Good night, then,” he said.

At the last minute, I almost didn’t leave him. The lamplight behind him flickered against his shoulder and sparked through his beard, and his gray eyes were in shadow as he watched me. But he was safe as he could be for the night, and he had a friend out there taking an awful risk for him. My job wasn’t finished yet tonight. As the door clicked shut, I caught
a glimpse of Durrel sinking back to the floor among the remains of our feast, his empty glass in one hand.

On my way home, I tipped off the Greenmen at Raffin’s station, using the anonymous speaking-box outside the wall, which was meant for citizens to accuse their neighbors of heresy without being identified. Although they’d been told one of their own was in the Keep, it might be a day or more before they actually
believed
it. Raffin would have to miss at least one
shift before anyone would register his absence, and who knows how many more before they did anything about it.

The next morning, I descended the bakery stairs feeling oddly unsettled. I had slept poorly, worried about Durrel. He’d traded one cell for another, and though we’d dodged the immediate threat from Karst for now, we still weren’t any closer to clearing his name. Downstairs, Rat was
in the common room, making his way methodically through Grea’s leftovers. “Letter for you,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “It came by courier. You owe me two marks for the tip.”

Now what? There was no seal and no signature; whoever had sent it wasn’t concerned about the message being intercepted. But I immediately recognized the small, neat hand as Cwalo’s, and his message was typically
cryptic.

Shipment of Talancan oranges arriving tonight. Come to the docks to inspect cargo.

“You’re smiling,” Rat said. “Love letter?”

“Better.” I memorized the address Cwalo had included, then handed the note back to Rat. “Burn that when you’re finished,” I said, breezing out the door.

I heard Rat’s voice behind me. “Secret riverside rendezvous? Clearly I’ve underestimated
you.”

As I crossed the city, I grew almost cheerful. Last night’s rain had left the air light and fresh, and everything looked brighter. Durrel was free, Raffin would be fine, and now Cwalo had come through with a lead on those secret shipments he’d told me about. Maybe I’d be able to connect them with Talth’s burned records and the discrepancies in the Ceid manifests, and see what they had
to do with the magical stains on the Bal Marse floor.

This news buzzing in my thoughts, I hurried back to the Temple District. Was it my imagination, or were there more guards on the streets today? Up in Markettown, I saw red-sashed Day Watchmen mustered by a public fountain, distributing broadsides. I drew back into a shadowed alley and turned to take another route. It was a safe wager
those papers had Durrel’s portrait on them. And possibly mine, as well. Pox. I took to the river paths, which were always crowded in the morning, and kept my head down as I hurried along the water.

Upstairs at the Temple, Durrel swung open the door, half dressed in steel gray breeches and a blue jerkin that made him look like a yeoman farmer. Eske’s girls had chosen well; the clothes fit
his smaller frame better than anything I’d seen him in yet. “Good morning,” he said cheerily. “Sunshine, new quarters, new clothes. I am a new man.”

I looked up at him, and he was right. He did look like a new man. The light scattered across his damp hair and clean cheeks and — “Oh, you shaved,” I said.

He gave a little frown. “You sound disappointed.”

“Of course not.” That was
ludicrous. Why should I care whether Durrel had a beard or not? “But it makes your cover a little trickier. You’re harder to recognize with a beard.”

“Oh,” he said, fingering his chin. “I hadn’t thought of that. I just wanted it gone — it made my whole body feel grimy.”

I came inside the room. He’d been busy since I’d left; in addition to the bath, the shave, and the new clothes, he’d
apparently wheedled a box of tacks from Eske’s girls and pinned the shipping manifests all across one wall of the room. They’d sent up breakfast too, simple fare, a jug of mead and a loaf of hot, brown bread. The bread was untouched, but he’d started on the mead. I tore off a hunk of bread and helped myself.

“I’m going to thank you again,” Durrel said, sitting beside me on the bed. “I’d almost
forgotten what it felt like to be a free man.”

“You’re
not
a free man,” I reminded him. I strode to the window and pulled the shutter closed. “You’ve got to start thinking like a fugitive. Don’t let people see you, don’t call attention to yourself. You need to learn how to be invisible. Karst and the Ceid are still out there.”

“Of course,” he said quietly, staring into the distance.
“Anything else?”

Pox. When I’d gotten here, Durrel had looked the best he’d seemed for weeks, and now I’d deflated him. “Ignore me,” I said. “I’m used to living like this. You’re not. I can’t expect you to master all the secrets to fugitive behavior overnight.”

Durrel looked grave. “You live like this all the time? Don’t you ever feel safe?”

I didn’t know how to say what I was thinking,
but it came out anyway. “Not
unsafe
, exactly. Just cautious. Like a mouse.” My mouth had a little trouble with the last word. It was an old nickname, and those memories were painful ones.

“That’s an awful way to go through every day.” He reached for my hand. I meant to pull it away, but it had its own ideas.

“It’s not so bad,” I said, but my words sounded a little hollow. I couldn’t
help looking at him, at the way he sat, holding my hand like it was fragile and precious, like the scars were beautiful. Eske was right. Even in the drab and well-worn workman’s clothes her servants had procured, there was still something unmistakably noble about Durrel. He made the title seem like it meant something.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. I looked at him quizzically, so
he added, “I didn’t mean to insult your virtue by asking you to stay.”

Oh
. Surprise hit me like a blow, and for a second I wanted to laugh. “It was nothing.” I paused a moment, deciding, then added, “I don’t have anything to insult.”

His freshly washed boyish face turned pink. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had no right to assume —”

Seventh Circle boys never embarrassed that easily.
It was oddly endearing. “Where I grew up, down below the Big Silver, life can be short. There’s not always time to wait.” There hadn’t been, for me and Tegen. I bit my lip and shoved that memory aside. “And sometimes you don’t get to choose. There’s always some Greenman patrolling your neighborhood, and plenty of fathers scared enough to give up their daughters in return for spotty protection
from the Guard. Not to mention all the girls ready to give up their lives and bodies for the Goddess.” My own mother had been one of those.

He was watching me calmly, too much going on behind those dark eyes for me to make out. “You lost someone.” It wasn’t a question, but it was a long time before I could answer.

“Tegen,” I finally said, hating the way I had to whisper it.

“Meri
told me something of it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t want to talk about Tegen. Not here in Tiboran’s temple, not to this kind-eyed nob I’d just plucked from prison with the help of a Greenman. It seemed wrong, somehow, given how he’d died. But Durrel
knew
, he understood; I could see it in his eyes, in the long shadow there that belonged to a dark-haired Tratuan girl, and somehow I found
myself telling my fugitive nob about the man I had loved and lost, and how.

“This can’t be easy for you, then — with Raffin, I mean.” I saw his eyes go past me to the folded-up Greenman’s uniform on the bench near the door.

I just shrugged. “Everybody has a story like that.”

Outside, we could hear the soldiers marching through the circle. They were becoming more and more a part
of the music of the city. Why were we talking about this when there were Ferrymen and murderers on the loose? I shifted to another side of the room and took one of the chairs. Durrel lifted his mead cup, but, seeing my eyes follow his hand there, set it down again and took some of the bread instead.

“All right,” he said. “What comes next?”

“We keep you away from Karst,” I said. “And
I will be going back to the docks tonight.” I explained about Cwalo’s note.

“Well, I’m coming too,” he said.

“Like hells! Every guard in the city is looking for you. It’s too dangerous.”

“Damn it, Celyn!” He rose and paced the room. “You can’t expect me to just
wait
, while you’re out there taking all the risks.” I opened my mouth to object, but he went on. “Look, I have to do something.
If this Karst really is out there, and he really did kill Talth, I have to know. Not just to clear my own name, but —” Durrel trailed off, but his eyes were fierce. “She was my wife; she was my responsibility.”

I fidgeted, but I knew he was right. If our positions were reversed, there was no way I could simply sit still and wait for answers. I understood that, at least. “All right,” I said.
“Just as long as you don’t plan on starting any more fights on my behalf. I can take care of myself, milord.”

Satisfied, he nodded. “Well,” he said, “I’m not making any promises.”

I supposed that was the best I could hope for. Nobs.

Durrel went to the documents pinned to the wall. “We have a few hours until then. Let’s review what we know. First, the magic you found at Bal Marse.”
He pointed to a mark on one sheet of paper. “Second, Talth and the Ceid were running clandestine shipments in or out of the city on falsified vessels. Third, a man called Karst claims to have killed her. Fourth, Karst is a Ferryman.” Durrel turned a sober face to me. “I think the implication is clear,” he said. “The magic, the shipments . . .”

A dark feeling stole up my spine and made my
skin prickle. “The Ceid are involved with Ferrymen.”

Durrel studied his lists, his jaw set. “I’d like to believe there isn’t any truth to it, but — I lived with Talth. I saw what she was capable of.” His brows drew together grimly, as if he was remembering too much. “Maybe your Cwalo’s information can shed some light on things.”

“It’s just a rumor about some undeclared shipment,” I warned.
“It’s a lot more likely to be a load of Vareni marchpane or cloves for the spice trade, and it might not even have anything to do with the Ceid.” I got up from my chair to look over Durrel’s lists. He’d been thorough, marking the connections between everyone so far, from Karst and Talth to Barris and Koya, and even himself. Still, something was missing. I hesitated a moment, then said, “What
about your father?”

“What about him?” Durrel’s voice was sharp. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Durrel, Karst sent him an
ear.
That’s not a gift you give a stranger.”

“You said yourself — that was just a warning, to stay out of their business.”

Maybe. “Look,” I said. “I don’t know what it means, but I’ve seen Karst before, and it wasn’t with Ferrymen or the Ceid.
He was there when I went to Charicaux.”

Durrel looked like I’d struck him, an expression of surprise and confusion on his face. “I need to see him.”

“Who? Karst?”

“My father.”

“You can’t,” I said, although I did think, rather belatedly, that someone ought to let Lord Ragn know his son was well, and
not
the owner of the ear delivered to Charicaux two days ago. “It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” Durrel looked stubborn. “I must speak with him.” He turned and rummaged through the clothing Eske’s girls had brought, but absently, as if he couldn’t find what he needed. “And if you don’t take me, you know I’ll simply walk out that door the second you leave here.”

I believed him. I nodded. “I’ll try and arrange it.”

He still looked set and worried. “Good,” he said. “Thank
you. You’re taking as much risk as anyone, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.” That
noble
tone was back in his voice, all solemn and weighty.

“It’s nothing.”

“No,” he said. “It’s
everything.
”

A few hours later, I presented myself at the Charicaux gates. Last
time the guard — or
Karst
, rather — had summarily dismissed me, but now a stone-faced retainer ushered me through as soon as I gave my name. He led me into the house like an errant child tardily returned from some high adventure, finally depositing me in an interior courtyard with a curt warning that I was to wait there until Lord Ragn became available. He gave no indication of when that would
be, however, and after a few minutes of pacing between a fountain and an iron bench, I grew restless. Since this was probably my only opportunity to get a glimpse at what those guards were keeping so well protected, I decided to make the most of it.

I could hear voices from the second story above me, and saw a series of closed doors in the courtyard level below. Swiftly I passed from door
to door, testing them. I ignored the unlocked ones — kitchens, workrooms, a covered walkway to the stables — and set my attention (and my lock picks) to the ones that wouldn’t open to a visitor’s casual curiosity. The first two were useless, a music room and a cluttered storeroom that held spare furniture and bolts of cloth. The third, however, granted me access to a broad chamber of bookcases, desk,
and a chest of many tiny drawers and doors. An office. Perfect. I slipped inside, leaving the door open a sliver so I could hear my guard return with Lord Ragn.

It was dark and hot in the office, the tall windows closed behind heavy damask drapes, like the room was hunkered down and hiding from something. I went straight for the desk; a closed ledger sat atop a blotter, with a neat row of
pens and inkwells. Very tidy. Very Decath. The desk drawer held a stack of correspondence and an accounts book from a banking house. The book was smallish, and though it would have fit very nicely in the bodice of my kirtle, I resisted. Lord Ragn would miss it straightaway, and Durrel would hardly welcome it. Nobs and their honor.