Master of Plagues: A Nicolas Lenoir Novel (27 page)

“I see,” said the inspector. “And how did you come to be in possession of this wonder tonic?”

“Why, I made it, of course. It does say Thirman’s Miracle Tonic
on the bottle, after all.”

The bloke wasn’t exactly helping himself. Posh people were so proud.

“You discovered the recipe for yourself, did you?” Lenoir asked.

Thirman hesitated. Innes could tell he was thinking about lying. “No, I did not.” He looked unhappy when he said that, so Innes reckoned it was probably the truth.

“Where did you get it?”

The apothecary looked away, embarrassed. He mumbled something Innes couldn’t hear.

Neither could the inspector. “Pardon?”

“I bought it.”
Thirman scowled. “Satisfied?”

“Not remotely. When did you buy it, and from whom?”

“About a month ago, from a fellow calling himself Elder—though I don’t think that was his real name.”

“And why is that?”

“When I went looking for him the other day, nobody had seen him for a while, and when I started asking questions, it sounded like the Elder they knew didn’t look a thing like the man I spoke with.”

“Where did you go looking for him?”

“At the docks.”

The inspector grunted, like he was feeling a bit smug.

“What made you think you would find him there?”

“He told me he was a sailor, although he didn’t really look the part.”

“How not?”

Innes didn’t see why it mattered, but he reckoned Lenoir must have a reason.

“Well, I suppose he was a little . . . bookish.”

“Not our man in the sketch, then,” Lenoir muttered, as if to himself.

That meant there were others involved. Hounds called that a
conspiracy
.

“Could you describe him to a sketch artist?” the inspector asked.

Like Irving before him, Thirman was only too happy to turn the inspector’s eye elsewhere. “I suppose so.”

“What prompted you to go looking for this Elder in the first place?”

“To complain,” the apothecary said. “He cheated me.”

“Cheated you how?”

“He promised me I would be the only one with the recipe. I paid for that right. But now there are competitors poking up like weeds all over town.”

The remark stuck in the inspector’s craw. His eyes went cold. “I am very sorry to hear they are cutting into your profits.”

“My profits are not as grand as you might think,” the apothecary returned. You had to give it to the bloke—he had stones. “In fact, the margins are shrinking. Two weeks ago, I paid almost nothing for a pound of those herbs. Now I pay half a crown per bunch.
Per bunch!
It’s obscene.”

“This ingredient,” Lenoir said, “it is Hogsfoot?”

“Hogsfoot?” The apothecary shrugged. “Possibly. That’s not what Elder calls it.”

“Show it to me.”

Thirman ducked into the back room, and when he came back, he had a bundle of dried herbs. He didn’t look very happy about handing it over. “Half a crown. Can you imagine? That makes it pound-for-pound the most expensive item on the market. Still, I suppose
exotic herbs and spices are always worth a small fortune. Look what they’re charging for cinnamon these days.”

“What do you mean,
exotic
? This does not grow in Braeland?”

“Of course not!” Thirman laughed the way you do when something isn’t the least bit funny. “Do you think I’d be paying half a crown per bundle if it did? It comes from Inataar. Brought in on the spice ships. That’s where Elder got it. Angel wort, he calls it. Probably made the name up himself.”

“Angel wort . . .” A glazed look came over the inspector, and he repeated the words in a near whisper. “Angel wort . . .” Abruptly, his gaze snapped back into focus.

Every hound knew that look. Innes could practically hear the
click
of something falling into place.

“Start with the cuffs, Sergeant, then round up the bottles. I will find us a cab.”

“Haven’t seen one of those in days, Inspector.”

“There is a cab company just up the road. I will roust the owner. We must not dally at the station. In and out.”

Innes glanced out the window. “Getting dark,” he pointed out.

Lenoir turned and looked. He swore.

“First thing tomorrow?” Innes asked.

“Do you have any idea how many people will have died by then?” Lenoir snapped.

Innes didn’t.

The inspector sighed and shook his head. “You’re right, of course. Even if we skip the station, we will never reach the docks before nightfall.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, growling. “How in Durian’s name did the day slip away so quickly?”

“They do that.”

“We could fetch the dockmaster,” Lenoir muttered. He was talking to himself again, trying to think his way around the sunset. “The ledgers will have what we need. . . .”

“When was the last time you slept, Inspector?” Probably wasn’t any of his business, but if he had to guess, he would’ve said it had been a good long while.

The inspector gave him a sour look. Innes figured he was about to get an earful. But then Lenoir sighed and said, “Two nights ago.”

“Thirty-six and counting,” Innes said. “Tough to be sharp on those terms, Inspector.” He shrugged. “’Course, it’s up to you.”

Lenoir’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He was mad, but Innes didn’t think it was directed at him. “First thing in the morning, then,” Lenoir said. “As in, dawn.”

Innes nodded. “Hope the sketch is done by then.”

“There, at least, we need not worry. I know exactly where we are headed next.”

“How?”

Lenoir flashed a rare smile. “Because of Zach.”

“Who?”

“My informant.”

“Oh yeah.” Innes had met the boy once. Crafty kid. They all were, those street urchins. Leastways, those as managed to stay alive. “Where’s he at these days?”

“I’m not sure, but if I know Zach, he is drinking ale and having a wonderful time.”

Z
ach drank his ale and thought dark thoughts.

The fire was his big chance, and he’d missed it. Bevin had been completely distracted, arguing with Old Molly and the others about whether they should make a run for it. Trouble was, Zach had been distracted too, mesmerized by the orange glow seeping through the warped windowpanes of Old Molly’s room upstairs. He’d been a little bit afraid, but mostly, he’d been fascinated. And when he’d finally woken up to the opportunity that was in front of him, it was too late. Word came in that the fire had been contained, and that was it—the excitement was over, and Zach was herded back to the dark little room where he’d spent most of the past twenty-four hours.

His only consolation was that Bevin looked just as bored as he was. The big man flipped card after card, whizzing grumpily through a game of solitaire while Zach sipped awful beer.

“We could just forget about this, you know,” Zach said, not for the first time. “If you let me go, I promise not to tell the hounds.”

Bevin didn’t even look up. “You keep trying, little pup.” He flipped a card, scowled at it. “Bugger.”

“What’s taking so long, anyway?” It wasn’t like Zach was in a hurry to be auctioned off, but he reckoned it would be better than watching Bevin get drunk. Again.

“Hounds must not have noticed you missing yet. Been a lot going on, in case you haven’t noticed.” He flipped another card. “Bugger.”

“It could be a while, you know. Sometimes the inspector and I go weeks without talking.” That was an exaggeration, but Bevin couldn’t know that.

He didn’t seem to care. “The patient cat gets the mouse.” He scanned his cards for a move, but he didn’t have one. Zach could see that from upside down.

“So we’re just supposed to sit back here until then?”

“Pretty much.”

Bugger.

Zach decided to try something new. “By keeping me here, you’re killing people, you know.”

At least Bevin looked up this time, if only briefly. “How do you figure that?”

“I got important information for the inspector about the plague. If he knew what I know, he could probably find a cure. You keeping me from him is costing people their lives.”

Bevin snorted and flipped a card.

“It’s true,” Zach said. It was desperate, appealing to the humanity of a thug like this, but he’d already tried everything else he could think of.

“Yeah? And what information is that? What do you know that’s so important?”

Zach hesitated. If he told Bevin what he’d learned, might it get back to Ritter and Nash?

“Well, now.” Bevin put his cards down, eyes narrowing. “You really do know something, don’t you?”

That was stupid.
For all Zach knew, Bevin was in on it too. Ale and boredom had dulled his wits.
Not thinking like an inspector anymore, are you?
Aloud, he said, “Never mind.”

“Oh, no—I’m not gonna let you off that easy. Most interesting thing I’ve heard all day. So tell me, little pup, what’s your friend the inspector looking for, anyway? Why’s he so interested in the plague? Last time I checked, hounds didn’t go sniffing after diseases.”

Zach had been thinking a lot about that, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to tell Bevin what he’d concluded. “I reckon the hounds think somebody is behind it. Like when a building burns down, and somebody did it on purpose. That’s called arse . . . arse . . .”

“Arson.” Bevin laughed. “It’s called arson.”

“
Anyway,
I reckon this plague is the same thing. People are saying it was the Adali, but I bet it wasn’t, and Inspector Lenoir is gonna prove it.”

Bevin grunted. “So he figures it’s one of us from
Serendipity
, ’cause we came across the plague in Darry? Thinks we brought it across the sea?”

“Well, did you?” Zach tried to ask the question the way Lenoir would have: cool, sharp-eyed.

Bevin smirked. “Not so as I’ve heard. That plague in Darry was years ago. Besides, why would we? Why would anyone?”

Zach couldn’t answer that.

“So this important information you got, what is it?”

Zach studied Bevin. The big man was good at bluffing; one round of cards had been enough to convince Zach of that. But like Hairy, he had a tell: when he was lying, his right eye narrowed just a fraction, as if to say,
Are you buying this?
It was subtle, but Lenoir had taught Zach to observe everything, and that’s what he did. Right now, he observed that Bevin’s eyes were alert and round with interest.
Not bluffing,
Zach judged. He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he decided to risk it. Maybe he could learn something new. “You remember that sketch Inspector Lenoir showed you?”

“I guess.”

“I found out who it is.”

Bevin’s eyes twinkled, and he sat forward a little in his chair. “Did you now?”

He’s interested.
There had to be a way Zach could use that to his advantage. “His name’s Nash.” Recognition flickered across Bevin’s face. “You know him?” Zach asked, watching closely.

“Heard the name. Serves on one of the local rigs, I think.”

“That’s right.
Fly By Night
, at least these days. He used to serve on
Duchess of the Deep
, along with his mate, Ritter.”

Zach felt pretty smug when Bevin’s eyes widened. The big man gaped for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Well, well. You really
are
a little pup, aren’t you? Gonna grow into a hound one day, is that it?”

“Maybe.”

Bevin scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Nash, is it? And he’s mates with Ritter, who was with us in Darry during the plague. I’ve gotta admit, that’s quite a coincidence.”

“Inspector Lenoir says
coincidence
is another word for an unsolved puzzle.”

“Might be.” Bevin sounded distracted. “Ritter always was a sneaky little cuss, but I never figured him for a killer.”

Bevin had called Zach a
cuss
on more than one occasion, but there was something different in the way he said it now. “Sounds as if you don’t like him much,” Zach ventured.

“Nobody likes Ritter. He’s no sailor, that one.”

“He serves on the
Duchess
, doesn’t he? And
Serendipity
before that?”

“As purser,” Bevin said dismissively.

“What’s that?”

“The money man. Just an accountant. You know what an accountant is?”

“Sure.” He had no idea. “But he’s an accountant on a ship. That makes him a sailor.”

Bevin snorted. “You can throw a cat in water, that don’t make him a fish. Hell, I reckon a cat takes to water better than Ritter. He was sick half the time, and had his nose in a ledger the other half. Counting his gold, that’s what made him happy. Going over his numbers, whistling those stupid little tunes of his. If he could find a way to pinch your coin, he would. Dock you for any damned thing he could come up with, no matter how flimsy.” Bevin’s expression darkened, and he shook his head. “Landed more than one of our mates in debtor’s jail. Lucky to still be around, you ask me. You’d think someone would’ve cut his throat by now.” Judging from the look on Bevin’s face, he wouldn’t mind doing the job himself.

“Did he seem crazy?” Zach couldn’t think of any other reason to start a plague on purpose.

“No more than a true sailor, and maybe less. The sea does strange things to a man’s head. She sings to you, and sometimes it’s all you can hear.” His expression took on a faraway look.

Keep him talking,
Zach thought. Some of this information might be useful to Lenoir, and besides, it might help him win Bevin over, get him to rethink his plans. “If Ritter and Nash really did start the plague, they must have a reason. Revenge, maybe?” Most of the violence Zach had witnessed could be put down to revenge. That, or money. Or revenge over money.
Which is how I ended up here.

“Revenge on whom? The whole city?” Bevin shook his head and took a sip of ale. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“I guess not,” Zach admitted. “But do you think he’s capable of it? Starting the plague, I mean?”

Bevin shrugged. “Could be. Certainly never showed much empathy for his fellow man.”

That’s the fish calling the snake slimy.
Zach thought about yesterday, tried to remember everything he’d seen and heard, right up to the moment Bevin nabbed him. One memory certainly stuck out. “Do you think it could have something to do with monkeys?”

“Eh?” Bevin looked at him as though he’d lost his coins.

Zach sighed. “Never mind.”

“What’s he up to?” Bevin scratched his beard some more, staring off into space.

The opening was too good to pass up. “If you let me go, maybe we can find out.”

The look Bevin gave him was almost pitying. “Don’t set yourself up for disappointment, little pup. Life’s got heartache enough in store without you going looking for it.”

No arguing with that,
Zach thought bitterly. “Just sounded to me like maybe you wouldn’t mind doing Ritter an ill turn.”

“Wouldn’t mind at all. I’d line up for it, tell the truth. But it’s like I said, this is business. I’m a practical man, and there’s no profit in revenge.”

But what if there could be?

Zach drank his ale and thought.