Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (15 page)

The
signature was reasonably messy, but the lack of title made her
twitchy. Thankfully, "with my regards" was only politely
neutral. The rest confused her. Businesslike, she could handle.
Threats and blackmail, she could understand. Hints of humor? A social
letter? Baffling.

The
stew was excellent, though. Lightly spiced (with nothing alchemical),
tender meat – young chicken, she thought, from times when
Maila'd had money to spend on "frivolous luxuries, quickly
gone." Chiftia'd never gotten more than tough old hens, past
their laying. The bread was fresh, just enough crust for crispness,
but not so much as to make her jaw sore gnawing it.

She
frowned at a second knock, but when she cracked the door open, she
smiled at the roof-rat beyond. Tag's or some random brat –
either'd need warmth and food. "Come in. Have some bread,"
she said.

It
did, all badly-dyed-black bangs, grubby elbows, and tatters of mostly
out-grown coats and pants. Kessa gave the child the entire other
loaf, ladled stew into an eating bowl, and waited patiently while the
messenger devoured nearly half of each as if breathing in air, greedy
for both filling bread and expensive meat. Finally, the child
swallowed a mouthful and said, "Tag says you'll give a message
to someone for 'im."

"Kellisan,
I wager," Kessa said. She set a pair of copper half-flowers on
the table. "What's the message?"

"He
says no progress on th' mystery, but he's found plenty'a rumors on
th' master. Says Kellisan might want to stay in public an' be wary,
or might want to stay indoors at night. Conflicting stuff, Tag says.
He's still asking 'round. Says th' brother's confusing th' rumor.
Can't tell one man's rumors from t'other, sometimes."

Indoors
at night
meant that a night patrol might be involved –
half-sanctioned vigilante groups, paid by guilds and nobles to walk
the dark streets where city guards didn't care to go. But
be wary
meant someone with no constraint save fear of reprisal. Could Master
Kymus patrol personally? A danger to being out, indeed, if he was
with a group of men who'd crack heads for him. Yet some night patrols
were more honest than guards, safer to meet if you weren't the
pickpocket or thief they caught. Kessa frowned. "No more
details?"

"Says
th' Cat and Birch're involved, but dunno how much."

And
those were brothels that catered to . . . unusual
tastes. The Emerald Cat, with a green cat-o'nine-tails on its sign;
the Crimson Birch, a red switch on white. They were the most
respectable of such places, though; Tanas once hoped to sell Laita's
"apprenticeship" to them, but her poor health had delayed
that. Then Tanas had died. "The . . . target?
Goes there?"

"Tag
wouldn't tell th' likes'a
me
," said the child –
likely a cross-dressing girl itself.

Kessa
slid the half-circle coins over. They vanished nearly as soon as her
fingers were clear. "Should Kellisan go talk to Tag in person?"

The
child shrugged. "Didn't say."

She
tapped her fingers on the counter. "I've information for him.
Will you carry a letter? Tear it to shreds rather than let anyone but
Tag read it, though."

"I
can do it."

She
fetched graphite and paper, and a small lump of wax. "There's
someone lurking 'cross the way, mayhap," she warned.

"Didn't
see none when I was there."

"Good."
Kessa scribbled carefully, not quickly.
Tag. Talked to apprentice
at guild hospice. Master'll not marry save
not
dramswife. Heirs must drink, be immune.
How odd to think Master
Kymus' interest might continue, despite her eyes and half-breed
darkness . . . How oddly bitter that it had nothing to
do with
her
at all. She added,
Is there danger to his
question?

Of
a sudden, she wanted Tag to say
No, no danger
. To hear the man
visited those places to be on the other side of the crop, perhaps.
Something to tell her the prior letter'd been truth, not a lure for a
trap.
I shall find you
, he'd said, and there were so few
places she might hide . . . Unless she sought the
deeper shadows. She'd walked away from those, when Maila died. Said
she'd not even tasted the poisoned elixir (meant to preserve the
Shadow alchemist's seeming youth for another year), and had no talent
for Maila's position anyway.

She
wondered if the Shadow Guild still had a plain-faced woman as the
ruling Shadow-witch now, attractive plumpness running to fat –
or if someone else'd mixed her a deadly brew, since Kessa'd declined.

She
folded the letter and melted brownish wax with the rushlight to seal
it. She put her thumb to the warm wax, and didn't use a fingernail to
make a crude hound's-tooth.
Kessa Herbsman
, she told herself,
handing the letter to the roof-rat.
Not Kellisan Dog-eyes.

She
hoped.

Chapter
XIV

I
n
the morning, Iathor padded into the kitchen and was cornered by his
steward.

"
Well?
"
Loria demanded.

"What?"
he asked, sleep-muzzy.

Her
voice low, Loria said, "The
girl
. Dayn said you spoke
yesterday."

And
he'd not reported when he returned last evening, late and hungry.
Iathor looked around. Tania and her minions worked on breakfast for
everyone in the doubled household. Iasen's thin, dark-haired cook
attempted to help, or steal a chunk of Tania's domain, or simply
ensure she wasn't poisoning his master.

Loria
hmph
ed, tugging him out, through the dining nook, to a sitting
room with its curtains closed.

Iasen
will tease that I'm romancing my steward if he finds us.
"While
she's only shown it privately, she has the most vile temper this side
of a pregnant plains-fox, though some of that might've been hunger.
Plains-foxes can nearly be tamed if they're fed enough, I think."

"We'll
work
on that. Brague said she was fine and polite to him. Told
him to wear a cap if he came out again." That seemed to amuse
Loria.

"I've
not
yet
been able to ask her to be my student," Iathor
grumbled. "I'll wait for an opportunity, rather than planning it
out."

"Go
down this morning. Tania's already making rolls, with the little
jam-crocks, and an egg-crepe with cheese. Another pot of stew for
lunch, and yams with honey, and your little vixen should be fed till
dinner."

"Could
I be fed, too?"

His
steward snorted at him, but relented. "All right, to breakfast
with you. But we want better reports!"

Adding
to the pleasure of breakfast (a roll with jam, and cheese folded into
egg-crepes) was that Iasen's cook finally assembled a tray for
his
master, and took it and himself to the guest rooms. That let Loria
sit in the dining nook and ask questions about both Kessa and Nicia.

"After
hearing my brother's tales of girl-children expelled from their
families, I'd wonder about Kessa," Iathor explained at one
point. "Still, Aeston's a long way from Cym. And she
said
she presumed her mother was local." Not that Kessa's
saying
guaranteed truth.

"Hm."
Loria let him eat for a few moments. "Well, it's clear Nicia's
awe-struck enough. Which one do
you
like better?"

His
steward had a romantic streak? She'd been married . . .
Iathor bit back
What has liking to do with it?
and made a
thoughtful grunt while he pondered the unanswerable question.

He
was saved when one of Iasen's servants appeared in the doorway. "Lord
Alchemist," the man said uncertainly. "There's a . . .
woman here, to see you."

And
why were you where you could answer the door before the bell rang?
Iathor said, "Thank you. Please convey my regrets that I'm
having breakfast and bring her in."

His
brother's dramsman bowed. "At once, Lord Alchemist."

Quietly,
Loria asked, "Do you want us to get them down to 'Sir Kymus'?"

Equally
quietly, Iathor replied, "If you can. Or 'Master Kymus' around
those who care about the guild title."

She
murmured, "We'll do our best."

Iathor
nodded his thanks, and arranged himself to be less meal-rumpled. He
half-expected Kessa, come to complain he'd not visited last evening.

Instead,
the servant showed in a bony, gray-haired woman clad in a tan dress
with white accents. Her eyes darted around, looking at the
furnishings, walls, rug . . . The dramsman said,
"Saydra Glasswife, Lord Alchemist."

Darul
Reus' sister, Iathor realized, recognizing the name. "I'd hoped
to visit you today, Mistress Glasswife," he said, trusting that
would be title enough for a glassmaker's spouse. "You've caught
me at the end of breakfast, I fear. Will you join me?"

"I'm
here to discuss my brother," she said, but went to a chair.
Iasen's dramsman was too well-trained to balk at holding the seat for
a commoner woman instead of a noble's daughter, but vanished from the
room afterward.

"Loria,
would your sister have something for our guest?" Iathor asked.

"Of
course, m'lord," his steward said, and got her
comfortably-padded self out of her own chair, passing into the
kitchen.

Forestalling
a lecture – Saydra seemed the sort who'd give them to spirits
of Earth and Rain themselves, should she be granted such a miracle –
Iathor said, "I'm glad to finally meet with you. Our schedules
have not been kind to us. Have you visited the hospice yet?"

"Yes,"
she said, her voice faltering as whatever rehearsed speech she'd made
was adulterated by his question. "Yes, last evening. They seem
to be taking good care of Darul. The journeyman there said he were–
he
was
poisoned by alchemy! That's what them guards said,
too." She fixed him with a sharp blue stare.

The
brain-fever tale would not hold; Iathor was relieved there were other
options. "Yes. My people investigated his home – I hope
they asked permission? In any case, they found three alchemical
preparations. Mixing potions can be dangerous. If he's had the
preparations long, it may've been luck that he didn't suffer harm
before. Or . . . was he acting oddly, prior to this?"

"Ah . . ."
This seemed entirely beyond Saydra Glasswife's script. "Mayhap . . .
he said, he said he'd lent money to someone, that they'd make their
fortune, some months back. But he's said that every year, 'least
once. He does well, affords a maid and cook, but no
fortunes
come of it."

That
youth-elixir, perhaps? Someone's masterwork experiment, being tested
without notifying the guild?
He hoped he wasn't circling back to
incriminating Kessa; though her facilities weren't good enough to
brew true alchemy.

Unless
she paid two guild's dues, day and night.

Nasty
thought for breakfast. He put it aside. "Did you notice any
physical changes in him?"

"Oh,
his hair went white, finally. Before mine, but I'm the younger
anyway." Saydra sniffed.

Loria
came in and set down a plate with an egg-crepe and another with
rolls. One of the kitchen boys followed with fork, knife, jam-pot,
and a glass to pour clae-cleansed water into. The guest's eyes
widened a bit; Loria'd brought out good plates and silverware, and no
need to mention they were incomplete sets, bits shattered or lost
from the rampages of two boys growing up.

After
Saydra'd taken a bite, and had a chance to savor the experience,
Iathor asked, "How long ago did your brother's hair go white?"

"Oh,
it was
going
for months, of course. Gray, a bit of silver. He
probably found some wash to take the gray out. It'd be like him."
She took a breath and seized hold of her prepared words. "Lord
Alchemist, the hospice people said you were paying for his care. How
long before you'll know if he can be cured?"

Iathor
set his plate aside. "I can't be sure, but it seems unlikely
he'll be competent to run his own business again. I'm hoping enough
of the alchemical mix can be purged from his body that he can care
for himself, but if he'll ever recover what he was?" He shook
his head. "I wish I could ask him who provided the
preparations."

"Well,
the name should be in his books somewhere," Saydra said from
behind a jam-slathered half-roll.

"Indeed.
Unfortunately, he has a great many names to check." And one page
missing. "Would you recall him mentioning one?"