Closer to the Chest (34 page)

Since Jorthun was nodding at that, Mags kept his mouth shut. Besides, he really did not want to have to deal with another weeping woman today, and . . . the owner was going to weep. They might be fashionable, but the muff-dogs were also endearing. Women openly adored them, and he'd seen plenty of men take the little things on their laps when the lady-owner wasn't around.

“Kerit said the knife was brand new, and kept in the dark until it was used,” he told them all. “And that the letter had been passed around so many hands that it was impossible to tell anything about it.”

“So he knows, not only about Gifts, but about some fairly obscure ones.” Jorthun picked up the letter, and looked it over.
“Death to the vain, and vainglorious. Death to she who treads on the backs of men. Death to she who deceives her masters. Death to she who spurns the worthy and breaks their spirits. Death, disgrace, and degradation to the harlot and whore.
Well, that's rather specific, don't you think?”

“It sounds like someone who's been jilted—perhaps? Or passed over, or completely overlooked,” Nikolas observed. “Also, put together with someone who knows about quite obscure Gifts and how to befuddle them, I'd say we are dealing with a man of some education.”

“Highborn?” Dia asked.

“No way to tell,” her husband admitted. “But my instincts
say no.” His brow furrowed. “It might be my snobbishness speaking, but I just can't see anyone highborn using some of the obscenities that have been in the past letters and painted in the Temple of Betane and the Scriptorium of Ardana.”

“But why kill the dog?” Mags asked.

“Not prepared to do anything to a human being yet, but needing to kill something to make his point, perhaps?” replied Jorthun. “Or just as his anger built to the bursting point, he came across the dog?”

“Well . . . if someone was observing the Court from outside, it would be reasonable for him to assume that
every
woman has one of these little dogs,” Nikolas pointed out. “They're certainly ubiquitous, and they're so good-natured, they'll go to anyone who pets them. If he wants to terrify and upset every woman in the court, killing one of the dogs in that particularly brutal fashion will certainly do that. The Healers will be making up soothing teas by the gallon today.”

“So basically,” Mags said, thinking out loud, as Amily, white-lipped with fury, helped Dia wrap the little thing in a kind of shroud, “it probably didn't matter who owned it, just that
only
women own these things, so it became a target.”

Dia took the shrouded dog off somewhere; probably to have one of her kennel-men dispose of it properly.

When she returned, Jorthun summoned them all with a crook of his finger, leading them out of the kennel, across the yard, and into the manor. The great library was nearest the entrance to the yard, so that was where he led them, taking the dagger and letter with him. He summoned a servant and ordered food and cold herbal tea. Suddenly reminded that he hadn't eaten since they'd been awakened that morning, Mags' stomach growled, and so did Nikolas's, to the latter's profound embarrassment.

“I can't be entirely sure,” Jorthun continued, after they had all seated themselves, “But I don't think he
came here
intending to kill a dog. You know how the little things are; they're
very well trained. If they need to relieve themselves, they find a door and let themselves out. I suspect the poor thing was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, he saw it, he was furious, and he met the dog with blind, bestial assault. I fancy that sundial was the real reason the man was there.”

“The gardeners have complained about the little messes the dogs leave in the gardens that they have to clean up first thing in the morning so often that the Head Gardener hired three new boys just to deal with it,” Nikolas observed. “I think you're right. And there is a dog-and-cat door not far from that spot. But why the sundial?”

“Because of the inscription on that sundial,” Jorthun told him. “Did you never read it?”

Both Mags and Nikolas shook their heads.

“Sweet her allure, by nature born. Crave the rose, and brave the thorn.”

“Oh,” said Mags.

“Exactly,” replied Jorthun grimly. “Exactly. If we don't get to the bottom of this, there will be murder done.”

•   •   •

The dog's owner had been discovered. She was heartbroken—so much so that she and her husband were packing up to leave for the country, and the estate of one of their relatives. Just as they had thought, the little thing had let itself out in the middle of the night by the dog-and-cat door by the sundial, the door it always used.

I'm just as glad, at this point,
Amily had thought, Nikolas relayed the information to Mags.
That's one more innocent out of here until we can find this bastard.

Dia had said that when she came back, she was going to give the lady another puppy, one as unlike the previous dog as possible.

That's an excellent idea, and very generous of Dia,
Amily mused, thinking about the situation as her hand fell on the door-handle.
But I'd rather the Court was deserted right now.
It wouldn't be, of course. The Poison Pen letters were drying up. And even the most persecuted of the women would probably rather be scalped than be idling her time somewhere in the countryside, with no gossip, no intrigues, no one to watch, no one to be watched by.
Maybe
the four who'd seen the murdered dog would leave, but the rest? In three days they'd forget whose dog it was, and in a sennight they'd forget that anything had happened except something vaguely disturbing where that new statue was. In a fortnight they wouldn't remember the statue was new.

Mags was closeted with Lord Jorthun and Nikolas; there was nothing she could contribute to that. Amily had just finished making a detailed report to the King and the Prince on behalf of all of them, and now she stood in the doorway of one of the doors into the Collegium gardens, just watching. This was the middle of the afternoon, and there should have been Trainees and some courtiers soaking in the river; instead, there were only a handful, and most of them were the lads. The gardens were usually bedecked with courtiers in every spot of shade at this hour, but the lawns and gardens were nearly empty. After a moment she spotted a couple of Trainees nervously crossing from Herald's Collegium to Bardic.

I need to talk to the Deans,
she decided.
All together, I think.
And sighed.
This is like trying to herd fish. It's probably going to take all afternoon to round all three of them up and get them sitting down in one place.

It looked as if she was right as she headed into Herald's Collegium. When she looked for Dean Caelen he was not in his office, no one had seen where he had gone, and her heart sank a little.

All right then. Bardic next. And if I can't find Lita, I'll see
if Rolan can find them all for me.
But when she arrived at Dean Lita's office, she found not only Caelen, but the Dean of Healer's Collegium, Healer Devin, as well.

“Oh thank goodness,” she said, as Lita moved a pile of music from a chair so she could sit with them. She took her seat, and felt herself relaxing a bit. Lita's office was . . . wonderful. Big and airy and she had the door open so a good breeze was sweeping through. Things felt
normal
in here, in a way they had not since the Poison Pen letters began. Unfortunately, she was going to ruin that. “I wanted to talk to you all about what happened this morning.”

“We know most of it. So do all the Trainees and teachers. The Trainees are terrified,” Lita said grimly. She glanced out the window at the river. The empty lawn spoke volumes.

“They should be, I won't lie to you,” Amily replied, just as grimly. “I think you should issue orders that no one goes anywhere alone. Pairs are good, trios and larger are better. And I think we should allow them to go armed with knives, at least—I can't think of any Trainees in any of the Collegia right this moment who hasn't had basic knife training by now.”

The three Deans looked at each other. “I think you're right,” said Caelen, “But we'll check our records to be sure. I don't think it would do any harm to have them carry wooden training swords or Kirball sticks either. Most of them have had stick or staff training as well.”

“Both good ideas.” She nodded. “Have you got any more? Have you planned to change anything?”

“We're suspending outside watches at night,” Caelen told her. “While I don't think this madman would be bold enough to try to take one of the Trainees on watch duty, I don't want to take a chance on it. And only the most senior Trainees are going to be mounting watches in the corridors at night. Sedric sent me word he's bringing in more Guard; it's summer, so they can camp when the barracks fills up. I was wondering if we ought to ask the Companions to patrol the grounds at night as well—”

“A fine idea, except that a bright white horse that very nearly glows is going to be pretty conspicuous,” Amily pointed out. “I asked Rolan about that, and he made that same point. He said we should leave the patrolling on the Palace and Collegium grounds to the Guard, and I think he's right and told the King as much. The Companions will just make sure no one sneaks in by way of the Field.”

They sat and stared at each other for a moment. Amily was feeling exhausted.
This is taking more out of me than anything other than a real fight,
she decided.

“The devil of it is, there really isn't a great deal we can do, is there?” asked Lita.

“Not really. Just make sure the Trainees stay safe. Hopefully get their self-confidence back to where they can act normally, but
not
get them over-confident so that they stop taking precautions,” she advised.

Caelen snorted. “They're younglings,” he pointed out. “Overconfidence is part of being young.”

She held up her hands, helplessly. “You three are the Deans. I'll leave it all up to you.”

“At least we have something we can actually do, now,” Devin, the Dean of Healer's, observed dispassionately. “That's better than sitting about on our hands.”

“And on that note—on to my next errand.” Amily got up, bade each of them farewell individually, and headed for Lord Jorthun's manor again. This time to a meeting of Dia and all the Handmaidens.

•   •   •

They could not all fit in the gazebo, so they were all waiting for her in what Dia called her “solar”—a room that got
all
the sunlight in the winter—but in summer was heavily shaded. Thanks to the many windows, it also had a bit of breeze as well. The rugs had been taken up, so the bare stone floor was
exposed, and looked cool and exceptionally inviting. Most of the Handmaidens had their shoes off, and were resting their bare feet on it.

They all looked up at her entrance—and to her surprise, they were all smiling.

“What's going on?” she asked suspiciously.

Dia waved her to a chair where there was already a glass of fruit-infused water waiting for her. “We have good news for you for a change,” she said. “We've persuaded about half of the ladies of the court to take self-defense lessons with the Weaponsmaster. Most of them are the ones in the most danger, the younger set.”

She sat down in the proffered chair abruptly. “
How
did you manage that?” She simply could not imagine anything of the sort happening. And in this heat!

“Because I announced that
I
am taking them,” Dia said serenely. “Suddenly they are fashionable.”

Amily rolled her eyes. She could just imagine what
that
was going to mean. Ladies descending on the local metalsmiths demanding jeweled daggers . . .

“Joya is helping by designing special fighting sticks for me to sport, beside my dagger, of course. And thick heels will be coming into fashion, thanks to me,” Dia continued. Amily did not trust her serene expression, not one bit. Dia was out for blood—and Amily knew very well that she didn't actually
need
self-defense lessons. “I've designed an outfit to practice in that will probably be copied within two days.”

“Please tell me that Steveral got you to promise you wouldn't go out looking for the Poison Pen yourself,” she begged. Because she had a notion that if Lord Jorthun had forgotten to get that promise . . .

Dia's eyes darkened, and she frowned a little. “Yes, I promised. In fact, I promised before he even asked me. I would
love
to encounter this bastard and show him what it feels like to be beaten to death, but . . . I'm practical enough to know that is
not
how it would likely go. Besides, we still have no idea where to look for him.”

“All right then,” Amily said, and leaned forward in her chair. “Let's figure out what
we
can do to teach these ladies how to protect themselves. Or at least, hold off trouble until help can arrive.”

“Screaming lessons are a good way to start,” Joya said, unexpectedly.

“So they are,” Amily encouraged. “Tell me more.”

•   •   •

“Today turned out to be more productive than I thought it would be,” Amily told Mags, as they walked back from dinner together. They had met right outside the dining hall, and the talk inside had been too loud, shrill, and nervous for them to actually converse.

“I'll just say today didn't turn out as bad as it coulda—” he began, and stared across the lawn at two figures, one tall, one short, who were making their way toward them at a very determined pace.

By the clothing, they were highborn. As they neared, Amily recognized them. Hawken and Loren, Lord Lional's sons.

But Mags spoke first. “Heyla milords, kin we help ye?”