Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (37 page)

"He
asked for money?"

"Iathor!
Since when've you been a spy?!"

"Since
you started reading my mail in my own home. How much did he request?"

"More
than I'd with me, after all that traveling! Really, Iathor, he's
brilliant
. No immunity, but he's got the nose, and the things
he comes up with? Pure genius! Soon as he comes back, I'll send him
to your office, I swear."

"You'll
escort him, personally, to my presence. If you do not, and I find
him, I'll take this 'genius,' evaluate his potential, and train him
myself
, so he's not a wasted, self-poisoning menace to the
city. Do you understand me, Master Iasen?"

"Your
title's gone to your
head
, brother! There's more to life than
the guild!"

"For
you. Not for me. I'll not have your student running wild and
experimenting without supervision. Is this understood?"

The
silence stretched; Kessa thought
she
understood why Herbmaster
Keli said the elder brother needed a better heir than the younger.
Understood, even agreed . . .
But why must I be
involved?

Finally,
Iasen snarled, "Understood. I'll drag him to you even if you're
at that perverted brothel you favor."

"Acceptable.
Good day, Iasen. If I can find any faster way to remove this house's
stink, besides simple heat, I'll inform you. You might want to read
your mail."

"Good
day
, brother."

The
watchman's feet shifted at the corner of the house. The man
hesitated, then slipped behind the corner. His footsteps faded
quietly.

Kessa
stood, dithering over whether to run for it and hope Nicia was quiet
enough, or wait and risk the elder Kymus seeing them. A door slammed
inside; she grabbed up her skirt and darted through the withered
garden and around the carriage, pausing for breath and to let Nicia
catch up. Dayn, on the footman's perch, pretended not to notice them.
She grinned broadly, got the door open herself, bundled Nicia inside,
followed, and closed the door behind.

Nicia
peered out around the window-curtain. "He's coming," she
hissed.

Kessa
smoothed out her cloak and skirt, then leaned over to pick a few
leaves off of Nicia's cloak, tucking them behind her boots. "Right.
That was important. Now . . ." She cast about for
a way to distract Nicia from guilt. "How long
does
it
take for rocks to cool?"

"What?
Oh. I don't know! A long time?"

"And
till they're cooled . . . they're hot?"

"Well,
yes
."

"So
if they're hot, they're
hot
, right?"

The
door opened as Nicia said, in tones of revelation, "Oh! I see!
What, braziers of them? Buckets?"

"If
they don't catch fire, and the rocks stay hot enough . . .
Why not?"

"Why
not what?" Kymus asked, his tone between politeness and
irritation.

Nicia
gleefully explained, "Bake the rocks, and the ones that crack –
or, I suppose, any of them, really – can be brought inside to
radiate the heat out again!"

As
the carriage rocked into motion, Kessa added, "Build a bonfire
outside, pile in the stones, and make a reverse bucket brigade. The
things can be put in the rooms that don't have fireplaces. That is,
if rocks keep the heat long enough from fire." As the good
stones had, once the sun went down: cooling slowly beneath bare feet,
padding through the back ways or out by the stream when Kessa'd
fetched water for Chiftia.

Kymus
was silent for a few moments, but Kessa didn't look beyond his lap,
where his hands lay pale on his dark coat. "That's clever. I'd
been fixated upon the obvious: fire and Fervefax Stones."

"It
was Kessa's idea!" Nicia said cheerfully.

Kessa
shook her head. "I wasn't sure. Summer stones might've been a
different thing entirely, and the others lose heat too quickly."

"I'll
notify my brother that my students have put him even closer to living
in his own home again. Thank you."

Kessa
murmured an indistinct
ah
and turned her head aside. She tried
to remind herself . . . this would cause trouble; she
should be worried Kymus might try spiriting her away.

And
mayhap he would, if he thought it the only path of duty to the guild.
And mayhap he wouldn't, if she counted as part of his guild, to be
protected from such abuse.

She
hoped the lust-laced candle hadn't left its scent on her cloak and
hair. Or perhaps hoped it had. Mind-altering alchemy might explain
why her wariness was tinged with respect.

Chapter
XXXVII

T
he
morning after Iathor's instructive visit to his brother's house, his
working breakfast – plate and papers vying for attention –
was interrupted briefly by Iasen's cook, Viam. The thin, dark-haired
man had bowed and requested permission to make meal baskets, as he
and his fellows would be attempting to render his master's home
habitable, and hoped to be moving out of the guest quarters that
afternoon.

From
the circles under Viam's eyes, Iasen's dramsmen hadn't slept much;
perhaps selected rooms were now entirely livable, so long as the
fires were maintained. Iathor had reiterated the hot-rock solution,
suggested sealing the cauldron for later disposal by out-of-favor
journeymen, and given permission to further deplete his kitchen's
stores. Loria's budgetary concerns were more than outweighed by her
desire to get the other household out of
her
household.

Afternoon,
and watchman Thioso, found Iathor at the guild offices. The man
slouched into a chair before Iathor's desk, vaguely saluted him, and
asked, "So, that list of people known to make lust-potions. How
incomplete was it?"

"It
was my brother's list. Since he left himself and his student off, I'd
imagine it doesn't include anyone he believes does it 'just now and
then, as an experiment.' If you want to talk to him . . ."

"Was
considering it."

"Well,
he's no longer staying at my house." Thank something for that.
And two someones. "Unfortunately, the note I provided won't
likely secure his cooperation. I'll not say it's pointless, but
neither would I swear he'd not want you thrown out –
especially
if you show him my signature right now."

Thioso's
eyebrows went up. He scratched at his beard as he shifted in the
chair. "And why'd that be? If that's a secret that's yours to
tell, that is."

Iathor
snorted. "His student's workroom behavior is a disgrace. I've
insisted the man be presented to me. My brother claims he doesn't
know where Lairn is. I've informed him that if I find Lairn first,
I'll place him with a master who'll teach him to be something besides
a loose cannon. I may do that anyway; if he's the genius my brother
claims, I'll not have him ruined by my brother's lax instruction."

Thioso
contemplated him for a few heartbeats. "Sir Kymus, it's a
mystery to me why you'll speak of shaming your brother, but not say
why you're protecting an herb-witch."

"The
latter didn't descend upon me, uninvited, and throw a self-welcoming
party in my house. Besides, for all he's my brother . . .
He's a master alchemist. I'm the Guild's Master. If another's student
had gotten so out of hand, I'd want to investigate. I've been sadly
lax in taking Master Iasen to task; he
is
my brother and I'm
used to his behavior." Iathor sighed. "And in the end, the
shame he might feel is . . . minor, compared to the
secrets I do keep."

"Mm."
Thioso tapped his finger on the arm of the chair, gaze wandering as
he thought. "All right. You've told Commander Rothsam, and he
says I'm not to dig there. So, if I find this Lairn, you want me to
tell you where he is?"

"Please.
He may be hiding from people to whom he owes money – and by
now, from people to whom he owes potions."

That
drew the man's eyes up again. "Has a debt, eh?"

"It'd
be very tidy if his name were on Darul Reus' missing page. I cannot
hope for such a coincidence. However, neither can I discount the
possibility."

"Nor
I. My thanks, Sir Kymus. You've been helpful."

"I
hope so. How are you doing with the ink-ghosts on the remaining
pages?"

"I've
some partial names pieced together. I'm looking into them."
Thioso stood, adjusting his tabard.

"I'm
not the only one hedging information, I see. Very well. Be careful."

"I
try, sir. Good afternoon to you." He gave another vague salute
and headed out the door.

"Good
afternoon," Iathor called, and returned to his work. Or, rather,
the letter to Loria he'd been writing: if his brother was decamped by
dinner, he'd ask Kessa to dine with him.

Chapter
XXXVIII

T
he
wretched thing about getting food-baskets was that it kept thoughts
of the giver in Kessa's mind. Especially at lunch, when she was more
than awake enough to brood over leftovers.

She
liked Kymus better when she didn't feel obligated to gratitude. And
when he was being Lord Alchemist to
other
people. Though
clearly he'd a temper . . .

Wary,
she decided. That was what she felt. Anything else was because of
that wretched candle. His brother showed nearly proper manners to
Nicia; the elder Kymus had a duty to the guild . . .
to act the same to Kessa's face. There was no reason to think that,
even if he took darker amusements elsewhere, he'd let his wife lend
occasional aid to a courtesan, a thief, a fagin, and . . .
Well, perhaps Burk didn't need much supporting.

Family
was family, Nicia was perhaps a friend, Kymus was an enigma, and his
brother was a threat. Stupid of Iasen: if he'd not treated her as an
enemy, she'd likely've cooperated – especially if he'd offered
a few silver leaves. As it was, if he, with his alchemist's
resources, acted like a dockside gang-lord, Kessa'd only be safe by
vanishing entirely, or seeking shelter behind the Lord Alchemist.

Of
the two, the former was harder, and required money. Kessa looked out
the window. There was still daylight enough to hawk her wares in the
smaller of the two nearby markets. She'd be back before dark, pick up
the dinner basket (blight Kymus for making her depend on that), and
visit Laita and Jontho. If she wore Kellisan's clothing, she visit
Tag and see if he'd found more information, or just managed to get
his crèche a new sleeping place.

Her
herb-basket was heavy as she set out. On the way, she passed a
watchman: bearded, straw-colored hair worn short, and
unremarkable . . . He turned and followed her. She
began thinking of busy street corners where she could ask his
business, and count on witnesses. Not that they'd do or say much.

Unless
truth potions were involved. (
Gratitude
was ashy-acid in her
throat.)

The
watchman trotted to get beside her. She watched his hands with cold
alarm, but he kept his thumbs hooked in his belt. In a nearly
pleasant tone, he asked, "Kessa Herbsman?"

"Aye,"
she said, warily.

"Name's
Thioso. I'm investigating a matter."

"Mm."
There was a reasonably well-traveled corner just a few paces away.
Kessa was silent till she stopped there. "What matter?"

"A
moneylender. Believe you know about that?"

"As
does my guild master." The basket's handle bit into her crooked
arm.

"Oh,
aye." Moving slowly, Thioso extracted a paper from his
belt-pouch and unfolded it.

She
took it, cautiously, mouth twitching as she sounded the words in her
mind. The letter was signed
Iathor Kymus
, stamped with the
Guild Master's seal, and bade guild members cooperate with its
bearer, the watchman Thioso, in his investigation.

Kymus
had asked for a watchman, that day he'd questioned the captured gray
watch.

Kessa
gave the paper back, feeling its harsh grain against her fingertips.
The chill air against her skin. The swing of her hair against her
face. "What cooperation is asked?" she said, quiet and
meek.

"Answering
some questions. Here, the guild offices, your shop, wherever."

"Here's
fine. I've errands."

"Of
course. About the day you visited Darul – late evening?"

She
kept her gaze only high enough to watch his hands and stance. "Yes.
He said he'd time then." Though Kessa'd suggested the
when
,
not Darul.

"Anyone
else knew of the meeting?"

"His
servants, I suppose. A maid brought tea. I don't remember who
might've known why I'd closed early." Jontho and Laita, of
course.

"Did
he seem odd before you left?"

She
tightened her hand on her basket's handle. "Drowsy." That'd
been expected. "Slurring and drooling." That'd been
un
expected, and worrying. "I'd hoped that whatever it
was, he'd sleep it off." Tagget's Tonic only lasted a few hours,
after all.