A Path to Coldness of Heart (29 page)

“Anything else? About the man?”

“He smelled bad, Lady. He had not bathed in a long time.”

That was not unusual. She raised an eyebrow.

The boy said, “I prefer to keep myself clean. In accordance with the early teachings.”

Yasmid looked to Elwas. He shrugged. “Some young men are extremely fastidious. Al-Tiriki would have sweat a lot during a journey from Al Rhemish.”

“I won’t turn the world upside down again but I do want the Invincibles to keep a sharp watch. Al-Tiriki could give us some insight on what’s happening in Al Rhemish.” She made a small gesture indicating that the interview was over. Then, “Elwas, when next you run into Ibn Adim tell him I want to see him when he has a moment free.”

Yasmid bint Micah was no despot in the time-honored mode but Elwas executed her wishes as though she was. Ibn Adim was on his knees in front of her within the hour.

“Up. I hear you’re starting the audit today.”

“I was assigning tasks when al-Souki came.”

“As you inventory I want you watchful for signs of squatters.”

“You think…?”

“Nothing. See if those thieves didn’t move their families in where my father never goes.”

“I see. Of course. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“My father says his tent is haunted. Ask about ghosts.”

“As you will, so shall it be.”

...

Haroun found it more difficult to steal food. Outsiders roamed the empty reaches of the tent. They did not find him. They did discover the vixens and kits. The latter were nearly grown. They caused a great deal of excitement. Haroun hid elsewhere and waited out the scramble.

They found no evidence of his presence.

He learned that he could slip out nights with little risk.

...

Yasmid was exhausted. Trivia that would never have come near her during wartime inundated her now. Nobody wanted to be remembered for having made a decision should blame ever be assessed.

“Elwas, in six months these people will expect me to change their babies. Let’s start a war.”

Elwas started to say something serious.

Yasmid burst out laughing.

“Lady?”

“I’m sorry. Your expression. When I was eight I saw that look on my father’s face when Nassef asked if he couldn’t start a war so he wouldn’t have to waste time listening to people with the brains of chickpeas whine about trivia.”

“Makes you wonder.”

“Elwas?”

“How many wars happen because somebody with the power to start them was bored or sick of listening to nitwits?”

“So pass on the bit of tedium you’ve brought me now.”

“There has been an increase in petty theft and vandalism.”

“Oh?”

“I think bored kids are stealing things and destroying property. There is no pattern. There are no witnesses. Nothing taken has much value.”

“Then let parents and sons know that the parties responsible will be exposed to public humiliation when we catch them.”

“Excellent. That’s all I had.”

“Then I’m calling it a day. You do the same.”

“Thank you, Lady. Perhaps we should consider mandating shorter days and longer nights.”

Elwas was a good man, she reflected as she withdrew into her private quarters. He left her wearing a smile when he could.

It never occurred to her that Elwas bin Farout al-Souki, Jirbash al-’Azariyah, or any of several others young enough to be her sons, might be infatuated.

It did not occur to those young men that they were besotted by the daughter of the Disciple because it was not the mad fascination brought on by the proximity of a beautiful young woman.

Habibullah saw it. Habibullah understood. He remembered the young Yasmid and never missed a chance to see today’s Yasmid. He had been besotted for generations.

Despite the stresses and irritations of her day Yasmid went to her rest happy and almost content.

...

A chill took Yasmid in her sleep.

Fright clamped talons round her heart.

She was a maiden again, wakening to terror in the night. The feeble mutton tallow lamp did not help. It set wicked shadows fluttering all round.

Something terrible was near by, watching, slavering in its hunger to defile her.

Seconds passed before she recalled that she was a grown woman, old enough to be a grandmother but cursed with a son who would not give her grandchildren.

Reflection tamed her fright. Amused, she began to slide back down into the sink of sleep, wondering why Megelin did not wed. It was not that he preferred men. His worst enemies had found no evidence to suggest that.

The boy just did not relate.

Something pricked her senses again. She jerked involuntarily. She squeaked. She was wide awake, shaking, chilled to the core. She rolled and sat up, seized an unconsecrated Harish kill dagger that had been a gift from the last master of that cult. It needed only to enforce the slightest cut to cause an excruciating death.

The lamplight did not reassure her. There was a man-shaped shadow fading in and out. Someone was there. How had he gotten in? Only Habibullah had access at night. He would never dare.

Yasmid rose slowly, ready to fight. She fixed the intruder with a hard stare. He remained a pattern of shadow inside a dancing shadow. It was hard to stay focused.

How long would it take for help to arrive once she yelled?

“Show yourself.”

The shadows coalesced.

“It was you!”

Haroun stepped out of the shaghûn cloak of darkness. “It was me. And after waiting so long I decided to take a chance.” He advanced another step. He was almost close enough to cut. Almost.

He would come no nearer. Not even when his own wife held the knife. No telling where her heart lay after so long.

Yasmid put the kill dagger aside, carefully. It could bite her as easily as him. “Come talk to me. It’s been a long time. You must have a grand tale.” Tomorrow was soon enough to decide what to do.

“Not so much. I spent most of it in prison.”

“Sit.”

That boy Invincible was right. Haroun smelled perfectly awful. The smell might lead to difficult questions tomorrow.

†

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

YEAR 1017 AFE:

DISTRACTING DARKNESS

I
nger told Nathan Wolf, “This is ugly beyond anything I can grasp.” She reread the brief report. Eleven years old. Tortured. Raped repeatedly. Discarded in an alleyway near the Western Gate, probably still breathing at the time. She had not been found for days. No one had been looking.

Wolf said, “I nearly puked, Majesty. I will spare you the full ugliness. I won’t spare you a demand that we do everything we can to find the monster who did that to her.”

“Do you have a personal interest, Nathan?”

“No, Majesty. What we know comes courtesy of the sorcerer’s lame efforts. Her name was Phyletia Plens. She was the adopted daughter of Herald and Janna Bors. They identified the body. They say that her real parents had a chance encounter during the excitement back when. Phyletia was not a happy child. She ran away sometimes. This time she didn’t come back.”

Inger made a growling sound. This was more information than she wanted. “Nathan!”

“Majesty, more than anything else… We could reap the whirlwind if we don’t protect the children.”

“Yes.” Inger had a child of her own.

What she did not understand was why Nathan Wolf, unmarried and childless, was emotionally engaged. She asked.

“Majesty, I can’t explain. I don’t have the words. I just know that whoever did that to Phyletia Plens was a soul uglier than a savan dalage.”

His intensity pleased Inger, though its foundation remained obscure. She asked again.

“I doesn’t matter. All we can do for her, now, is mourn her. But another girl is missing. Hanna Isodor. She disappeared just before Plens turned up. She’s the same age, similar background, same physical description.”

Inger started to speak. Nathan gave her no room. “Also missing is a Carrie Depar, almost thirteen, different physical description. She’s been gone five days. She told friends she was going to run away with her boyfriend. They didn’t know who the boyfriend was.”

“This could change everything even though it has no strategic significance.”

Nobody in the provinces gave a rat’s ass whether the Queen protected Vorgreberg’s children but Vorgrebergers certainly did. Protection was the reason kings and nobles existed. The protected worked hard to produce surpluses in kind and coin to support a warrior class meant to defend them from predators external and internal.

In most kingdoms, much of the time, that mutual obligation was under stress, humans being the despicable beasts they became given any opportunity. But what was happening here was the nightmare that lurked in every parent’s heart.

There was no denying it. The Boogerman walked among them.

Angered, Inger summoned Josiah Gales, Babeltausque, and Doctor Wachtel to join her and Wolf. She seated them and Wolf at a table her husband had used when he wanted his henchmen to brainstorm. “We have to handle this fast. I don’t know how but we have got to find the man who tortured the Plens girl. If we don’t we’ll lose Vorgreberg, too. I’ve had an inventory run. It revealed two things. First, the servants have been stealing from us. Second, we should begin eating the horses to save their grain for a possible siege. Which we might withstand for as much as six days.”

Colonel Gales coughed, meant as a signal. It was heavy, liquid, and disturbing. He remained far from recovered.

The Queen stopped jabbering. “Josiah?”

“Cleave to the problem at hand. Don’t look into the gloom just yet.”

“Of course. Gentlemen. We have a monster among us. How do we find him? Babeltausque?”

The sorcerer shifted uneasily. Gales and Wolf looked at him like they dared him to open his mouth. Both had been in Greyfells service a long time.

Inger had heard rumors, too. “Well? Wouldn’t you understand this kind of mind better than anybody?”

Babeltausque asked, “Is there the remotest chance that your cousin has been getting out at night?”

That was well-played. Inger would relive her experiences as a comely lass in a household where wickedness was routine and Dane of Greyfells was one of the more wicked players.

Gales and Wolf kept on eyeing him darkly.

He tapped into his courage. “Torture isn’t what moves me. I never harmed anyone. I only love them till they break my heart.”

Gales and Wolf donned contemptuous smiles.

Inger seemed appalled.

What a screw up. He had used the present tense.

What mad, self-destructive force compelled him to indict himself that way? Was he so conflicted that he would set himself up to be convicted of another’s monstrous behavior?

Wachtel looked eager to get that word out. He might betray himself in his haste.

“All of you, listen. I did not harm Phyletia Plens. I didn’t know her. She is nothing to me. Was nothing, in that way. Look for someone else. As Her Majesty noted, there may be no hunter better than I. Doctor, sit. Relax. We’ll be here a while. Tell us, has this happened before?”

The old man took his time. Finally, he nodded. “Sadly, you are correct. There have been similar incidents, the most recent before your arrival. Things were more confused back then. No one had attention to spare for an anonymous child who probably brought it on herself.”

“Anonymous?” Babeltausque asked.

“She turned out to be Ellie Wood, a runaway, in flight from an abusive father. There was another one, seven or eight years ago, named Tefe Black, thirteen and pregnant by her father or one of her brothers. It would have been a marvelous scandal if there hadn’t been a war on.”

Babeltausque nodded. “Their deaths touched you.”

“They were children. Nobody loved them. They were tormented by their own kin first, then a monster consumed them. No one cared. No one but me. And I was powerless. Not even Michael would take it on.”

Tears filled the old man’s eyes. The others were amazed.

Babeltausque said, “Black isn’t a common surname, is it? It sounds Itaskian. Right? Mr. Wolf, didn’t we run into that surname somewhere recently?”

Wolf looked blank. “I don’t think so.”

“The butcher. In the shop where the Heltkler girl left the beer.”

“His name was Black? I don’t recall that.”

“Maybe I didn’t mention it. Neighborhood gossip says Haida Heltkler was an abuse victim.”

“The butcher?”

“Maybe too obvious. He wouldn’t destroy the girl physically. He would be feeding a different need. He would be the unwanted lover. Someone else would be the punisher. Someone close to the butcher. Let’s find out if Tefe Black was related. If so, we’ll look for the man Black’s girls ran to… Doctor?”

Wachtel seemed to be choking.

...

“That isn’t particularly subtle,” Nepanthe observed, watching over Varthlokkur’s shoulder. “You said you don’t want people remembering you.”

The Unborn was making a night progress over Sedlmayr. “This is the time when little plots will come to life. Radeachar will discourage them.”

“What will you do about what’s happening in Vorgreberg?” She meant the girl-killer.

He sighed. He did care. He was appalled. But there were only so many hours and no way everyone could be saved. There were bigger issues. And those people were not idiots. They could manage if they wanted.

“And tell me this, husband. How can you eavesdrop in Castle Krief but not on Haroun or Mist?”

“We lived in Castle Krief. I know every inch. Every inch remembers me. And I bespelled the place before we left.” And he could eavesdrop on Mist, when conditions were right. But Mist insisted on making it difficult now that she knew it could be done.

The truth was more technical but that was the gist.

“The baby-killer.”

Exasperated, “What would you have me do?”

“Something. Good men do nothing.”

He counted silently.

Nepanthe said, “The Star Rider will be there till the end of time. Meantime, the monster has hold of another girl.”

“I understand.” Surrendering to the will of the wife.

The villain should not be hard to find. A divination at the body dump… “I’d have to go there. I can’t manage the time dives from here.”