Dead Letter (13 page)

“
Well, what is she doing here? I’ve not agreed to pay wages
for two bloody mages! This is extortion.”

Lanuille
took a noted breath before consoling the merchant with an
explanation. “I am not taking wages from this enterprise, dear
merchant. I am tasked with assisting the Inspector.”

The
merchant chewed the explanation over as he nibbled on a stick of
liquorice. “Well, as I said, I don’t know what your lot get up to,
and quite frankly, I don’t care. Let’s get down to business and see
if you are worth your silk and salt, Inspector.”

“
The report you gave said that a lockbox was opened and its
contents stolen. Could you show me the lockbox?”

“
That’s it, over in the corner. Paid a fortune for a dwarven
locksmith to make the chest unbreakable. Useless, more like. Can’t
trust these immigrants; they take our gold and send it back to
their mountain fortresses. Ask a local. Their guarantee is their
livelihood. Unlike an itinerant promise.”

The
chest was long, low and carved by a master artisan. Gold filigree
bordered a bronze etching of a market scene in a rural village.
There was no damage to the lock and no force marks from prying it
open.

“
Do you have an idea who might have done it?”

“
It was some blaze addict. They’re too bloody useless to work
a real job for their fix. They’d rather thieve shine from hard
working men like me.”

“
Is there anyone else who would gain from your loss? Anyone
you know?”

The
merchant leaned over his desk and continued in a dramatic whisper.
“I can’t say this openly. It could all be the work of the
Guildmaster trying to derail me. Though you won’t see his hand in
it, he is surely pulling the strings. He’d have paid a crony to pay
someone else to send word to another and on it goes, until some
desperate slumper trash is promised a free sky dream to do
it.”

“
That is a strong accusation to make,” replied Kettna. “Do you
have any proof that the Guildmaster was involved? What makes you
think he wanted your things stolen? What purpose would that
have?”

“
Oh, I see. Siding with him already?”

“
Of course not,” said Kettna, though she did have her
reservations about the merchant’s theory. “I am gathering
information to find the perpetrator. Anything you can offer would
help me do that. I don’t believe one testimony over another. I will
consider the proof available. If you have any, please may I
continue to gather it?”

The
merchant folded his arms, not at all happy with such a tone being
taken with him. “Continue, but mark my words, he can’t handle
competition. It could easily have been him.”

“
I have noted your opinion and will consider such a
possibility against the cumulative evidence.” Kettna couldn’t allow
herself to be swayed by powerful men and their opinions. The very
fact that he was pointing his finger at others begged more
questions about the merchant himself. If the Merchant was being
blackmailed by the Guildmaster, it was an unnecessary manipulation.
It didn’t make sense. Extortion required a lever of power, a
valuable pivot to force the victims acquiescence. A debt? A secret
love? A dirty connection? The Guildmaster was already powerful
enough without the need for such leverage. Who else might need such
a manipulation? Another power-hungry merchant? A disgruntled
employee? “You have a swordsman at your front door. Is he
new?”

“
Talon Greyn? No, he’s manned that door for more than a full
turn.”

“
He must retire for rest. Do you post other guards at
night?”

“
We pay extra for the damn Night Watch to keep an eye on our
properties. This wouldn’t have happened if they had done their job
in the first place. If I were Guildmaster, that is the first thing
I’d be doing; cleaning the filth from our golden city. Come the
election after seasons passing, cast your votes my way, ladies.
I’ll make sure the Constable gets double his budget to fight crime.
Men on the street are what we need. No offence to your
dispositions, of course. I’m about prevention, you see. With a
sword on every corner, the criminals would slink off to ply their
trade in the City of Bones or one of its flea bitten towns over the
range.”

“
Would you say that’s your central focus? Crime
prevention?”

“
I’ve been campaigning about it for the last three moons!
Don’t you read the
Golden
Gazette
on your little
island?”

“
I must admit, I’m not so interested in politics. I prefer
writings on things more arcane.”

“
Well, that’ll have to change, young lady. There isn’t
anything more important than politics to get this city shining like
it did before Daniakesh flew off on us. I’ve a mind not to blame
her for leaving. You young’uns wouldn’t remember, but things were
tarnishing even while she protected us. Probably why she left. If I
were a dragon, I’d not stay to protect a city of criminals where
nameless can openly mock guild law. The old wyrm’s better off
protecting a tribe of orcs in the mountains. They’d show more
respect than some of the filth I’ve seen gathering on Calimska’s
once respected streets. Half the guards bed down with bribes and
let Bloody Agnus and her gangs rule from the hovels.”

Kettna
tried to steer the conversation back to the facts of the matter.
“On the items you list as stolen, you mention a purse of gold
containing approximately twenty tabs. Your ceremonial chain of
office and personal effects. Is that correct?”

“
Actually, the chain of office was recovered and
returned.”

“
That is bright news,” said Kettna. “Can I speak to the person
who returned it?”

“
I don’t know who it was, some collector. They all look the
same in the grey garb.”

“
I’ll enquire at the Hall of the Dead. Where was the chain
found?”

“
About the neck of the dead addict who stole it, just as I
told you. This was the work of rampant criminals hooked on blaze or
nectar or some other bloody ungodly high.”

“
And the personal effects? Could you elaborate?”

“
They were mere … ah, knickknacks and diversions. Keepsakes
from travelling in my youth. They’re all in another smaller
lockbox.”

“
And there was nothing else?” asked Kettna.

“
Nothing,” assured the guilder.

“
If that is the case, I thank you for your help filling in the
details. I have enough here to begin the investigation.”

“
Well, don’t let me hold you up. Mind you put justice before
your guild allegiances.”

“
I am without prejudice on the matter.” Kettna bowed and left
the room, pervaded by an air of mistrust. Merchant Guillan was not
telling the whole story, but the evidence would.

The two
women were escorted from the Merchant Guild and rejoined the twins
on the steps. “What do you make of that then?” asked Lanuille, as
they returned to the street.

“
He was adamant that the crime was perpetrated by an addict
keen on shine for a fix. However, it doesn’t add up with the
blackmail claim.”

Lanuille
shook her head in confusion. “How do you reach that conclusion? The
evidence corroborates his theory. The dead slumper that the
collector found had his chain of office. It’s clear cut to me.
Break in, take the shine, celebrate by getting sky high and
overdose with the chain of office around your neck.”

“
Yes, but if a slumper dies with all that gold around their
neck, wouldn’t another street mug take it for themselves? An
official chain of office would be worth a small
fortune.”

“
I see your point.” Lanuille digested Kettna’s argument as
they strolled, passing a knot of people tied up in a minstrel duo’s
irreverent rendition of the classic ballad,
Love’s Disguise
. A slim elven man
played the part of Penellonine, singing with comedic baritone,
while a concertina-playing dwarven woman played the hero Arbajkha,
hitting the high notes and striding about with macho grandeur. The
crowd laughed and clapped, throwing tabs into a hat on the
cobbles.

“
What happened to that stolen pouch of twenty tabs, I wonder?”
asked Lanuille, prompted by the busking minstrels. “I imagine some
shine went on blaze, maybe some for nectar and paff. Then there is
ale and likely another pleasure or two, but twenty gold bought more
than one night of revelry for one man. That kind of shine would
fund a merry band carousing for days.”

Kettna
raised her eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“
Dear Novice, there is a dazzling world outside the Great
Library. A bit of carousing once in a while never hurt
anyone.”

“
And here I thought that you were my protector,” Kettna chided
with a smile. “What do you make of the lockbox? Merchant Guillan
was reluctant to disclose the contents in any detail.”

“
A lockbox within a lockbox,” said Lanuille. “That means it is
worth more than the twenty gold and the chain of
office.”

“
If this slumper took that too, then where is it?”

“
Dumped somewhere? Maybe he couldn’t open the
lock?”

“
We’ll go to the Hall of the Dead and find the collector who
claimed the body for Nathis. Perhaps there is a priest claiming
more than the souls of the dead for the gods. The lockbox might be
there.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hall of the Dead

The Hall of the Dead was a grand mortuary burrowed into the
Calimskan hillside, but from the street it appeared as a humble
temple to Nathis, God of the afterlife. He would come and pry the
souls of the dead from their morbid husk and take them to meet
their maker. Kettna wondered who she would be taken to. Which God
made her? What if none did? What if more than one had a hand in it?
It was too simple for Kettna’s liking. Gods were one thing, but she
doubted they wanted an endless stream of broken souls landing on
their extra-planar doorstep. In the end, it was a macabre case of
mathematics. How many souls can the gods keep to themselves? How
many were left behind and raised through necromantic
arts?

Kettna
had read of tombs dedicated to such things. It was not the best
practice to be raising undead hordes amongst the living. That was
asking for trouble. The thing that bothered Kettna the most was the
odd or orchestrated occasion where the darkest of arts reanimated
the corporeal whilst occupied by a spirit. Sometimes the soul was
the original, unclaimed by Nathis or rejected by the gods, one
would presume. Other times, the soul that resided in the body was
of another origin altogether. Some undead had an agenda. More the
wary a sorcerer should be, when weaving magic upon the
dead.

Kettna
was happy the Herders occupied that niche. They provided an
essential service, though they dressed it up in the strictures and
rules of religious doctrine. Perhaps religion was the only remedy
to eternally guarding the dead from the inopportune occasions a
delinquent spirit claimed an empty body. The herders kept the dead
at peace and over the centuries the catacombs must have been quite
a task to manage. For every citizen born would surely die and the
Herders took them all in.

“
You know,” said Kettna, deciding to open up to Lanuille,
“when I was a small girl I was confused about what the Collectors
did here all day. My mother told me they work in the mourning
chamber and I assumed the collectors were paid to weep for the
dead.”

“
That’s about all they are good for,” scoffed Lanuille. “That,
and clearing corpses from the streets. When I was a girl, I
wondered how Nathis kept up with carrying the dead away. Now I know
that Collectors simply stuff them in the catacombs to
rot.”

Kettna
cringed at Lanuille’s disrespect. “Mother was never hesitant to
remark that my attitude to our civic responsibilities was low.
Yours is positively hellish, Lanuille. Don’t you see the importance
of priests for the dead? They do good for Calimska.”

“
Only for the living,” said Lanuille. “Our farmers must wake
up with a smile every morning, knowing that their fields are safe
from being planted out with headstones.”

“
My opinion of you has been corrected,” joked Kettna. “The
Farmers Guild would be proud to have you as their advocate, leading
a patriotic march against the foreigners who might yet spill across
the range. You could pen an essay on the dangers of buying Jandan
wheat grown beside graveyards.”

“
You should know that I already have, but there was not one
farmer who could read it.”

“
Hellish, indeed.” Kettna gaped at her companion, mocking
offence. “You’ll end up an undying crone, suffering through weevily
wheat because Nathis won’t chaperone you to death.”

“
I doubt Nathis could endure listening to a lifetime of my
spite. The quicker I’m shown the door the better for
him.”

“
Well, let’s not be hasty. I’m just warming to your
company.”