Tempt the Devil (The Devil of Ponong series #3) (9 page)

Only a man in love would come to her defense like that. He
could see why Voorus worshipped her, and if she’d hired Mityam Muul to tutor
him, the feelings must have been mutual. But didn’t the Devil mind that his
concubine had another lover? Maybe not. After all, she’d been married to
Jezereet while she’d served the Devil.

He rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. “May
I remind you that she
caused
the rice
riots?”

Mityam seemed puzzled, but rather than interrupt, he
rested his forehead on the silver knob of his cane. His intense focus was
frighteningly similar to QuiTai’s manner when she caught the faint scent of the
truth hiding behind other words.

Incensed, Voorus gestured emphatically down to the
marketplace. “Greedy Thampurians caused that riot. There was plenty of rice.
There was always plenty of rice. All people had to do was pay the full price
with the taxes, only buy what they needed instead of trying to hoard it, and
none of that would have happened.”

“Spoken like a man smoking her vapor.”

“I–” Voorus stood straight and yanked on the hem of
his jacket. His forehead wrinkled then smoothed as a wry smile spread across
his face. “You think we’re lovers. You actually think Lady QuiTai and I are…”
He cast a glance at Mityam. “Together. Is that why you’re letting Cuulon murder
her?”

“Execute,” Kyam quietly corrected.

Voorus raised his hands to the ceiling then let them drop
with a loud slap against his thighs. “You used to hate the colonial government.
Now you’re nothing but their hand puppet.” He made a rude gesture that left no
doubt as to where he felt the government’s fist had been rammed.

Kyam tried hard to keep his temper in check.

Voorus paced across the rug again. “She barely tolerates
me. Still. And believe me, we have no interest in each other that way. None.”

“You two seemed to have a moment at the harbor. I saw you
behind the crates.” Between Voorus and QuiTai, he might get the truth about
what they had been up to.

Voorus’ mouth opened and closed a few times. He pointed at
Kyam. “That’s right! You were there! You know she has an alibi for the time of
Turyat’s murder because you saw her! You know she can’t possibly be guilty, but
you won’t lift a finger to save her. Is being governor so terrible that your
revenge has to be her life?”

It wasn’t like that. Did Voorus think so little of him? “I
can’t comment on a case.”

“It’s a case? Wait, are you going to investigate the
murder?” Voorus’ temper turned instantly to relief. “Thank goodness. For a
moment there, I actually thought you were going to let Cuulon murder her.”

“Execute.” Kyam wasn’t sure why he bothered.

He leaned back. If he found Turyat’s real murderer, they
couldn’t hang QuiTai for it. The more he thought about it, the more he liked
the idea. Except for one small problem: QuiTai was the one who solved mysteries
with a mere glance at the scene, not him. It took him days to catch up to her
– and he didn’t have days.

“If Cuulon hangs her for a murder she didn’t commit, then
it’s murder, Zul, and you know it. No amount of political double-speak will
change that fact. Hide behind the state, and I’ll call you a coward.” Voorus
flopped down in the chair next to Mityam. “Not you, of course. ‘You’ meaning
anyone who would do that.”

“She’s safe enough, for now. I have the only key to her
cell.”

Voorus laughed. “Do you think we’re stupid enough to have
only one key to any cell down at the fortress?”

A bad feeling washed over Kyam. He felt stupid. “The
militia assured me–”

“They lied. And you better be careful, because everyone in
the marketplace saw you take her to the fortress. If she dies, you’ll be
blamed. The Ponongese are already angry about the assembly law. Kill their
favorite outlaw, and who knows what they’ll do?”

Kyam cursed. Was that her game?

“I’ve warned you before what could happen if the Ponongese
decide they’re tired of us,” Voorus said. “There’s ten of them to every one of
us, and that’s just in Levapur. Do you have any idea how many Ponongese live
across the Jupoli Gorge Bridge? I don’t. None of us do. But I have a feeling we
will if QuiTai is executed this evening. They still haven’t forgiven us for
what your grandfather did to them before the rice riots.”

“No need to lecture me about that,” Kyam snapped. He didn’t
want Mityam Muul to hear that juicy piece of gossip. As far as he understood
it, no one back in Thampur, and no one in Levapur, knew that his grandfather had
manufactured the crisis that eventually made Kyam governor.

Voorus shook his head. “Thampurians think you gave us rice
to end the riots. What our people should be told is that
she
gave you all that rice, for free.”

“The Devil gave me the rice,” Kyam said.

“Why would the Devil help you? That rice was hers.”

Kyam gave Voorus a sharp look. Ideas kept flitting into
his mind. The problem was that they flitted out just as quickly. There was a
tantalizing glimpse of something big beyond his perception. He wished everyone
would leave him in peace so he could try to coax it into view.

“Meanwhile, the Ponongese now think she’s the only one
standing between them and a police state,” Voorus said. “Guess which leader has
the most popular support? You or her? Here’s a clue. We Thampurians have rice
now. A full belly forgets hunger.”

Mityam snorted. “Police state? If the Chief Justice can
execute someone without a trial, this already is one. Poor deluded fools,
thinking only the guilty are arrested.”

When had Voorus gotten so insightful? Kyam suspected his
bastard half-brother had spent a lot of time in the past months learning at
QuiTai’s feet. What else had they done other than talk politics?

“What do you expect me to do?” Kyam asked.

“What you’re already doing. Find the real murderer and
free Lady QuiTai.” Voorus checked his watch. “Tick, tick, Governor. We’ll leave
so you can start your investigation. Call on me if you need any help.” He rose
and offered to help Mityam from his chair.

“Was the militia at the scene already? Do we know exactly
when Turyat died? After all, there was at least half an hour between when I
last saw QuiTai at the wharf and when she came here.”

“She was in my company the entire time, from the ride on
the funicular down to the harbor to the moment I escorted her into this
building for her meeting with you. I would swear to it in court if there were
such a thing as a trial in Levapur.”

“No trial?” Mityam bellowed. “I don’t care if this is
Levapur. It’s a royal colony, and the law of the land must be followed.
Everyone is entitled to a fair trial.”

“Yes, well, welcome to Levapur, Mister Muul.” Kyam’s dark
humor showed in a sour smile. ‘Welcome to Levapur, Mister Zul,’ had been QuiTai’s’
first words to him, before she’d stepped over him in the middle of the street
where he’d lain, bleeding, from the assault she’d arranged.

“Thampurians only pay fines. Ponongese are hanged. There
hasn’t been a trial in Levapur in… since I was sent here,” Voorus said.

“This is wrong, sir, wrong!” Mityam banged his walking
stick against the floor to emphasize each word. “I will make reports. I shall
write letters!”

“Maybe it won’t come to that. The Governor is going to
find Turyat’s real killer and free Lady QuiTai. Isn’t he?” Voorus stared
hopefully at Kyam. “He found the– Oops! Can’t talk about that, but he
solved the Harbor Master’s murder almost a year ago. He was an agent with His
Majesty’s Intelligence. He can figure it out. Can’t you, Kyam?”

“I’m not sure how to solve a murder. If the militia
destroyed the crime scene, I’m not sure I can read what’s left,” Kyam blurted
out. It felt good to admit that. The Thampurian way was to hide all weakness,
but he was out of his depth. Maybe Thampur’s finest legal mind could offer some
valuable insight.

Mityam’s hand trembled on the head of his cane. “Or you
could ask QuiTai. She’s a clever girl. From what I hear, it was her brothel
where the body was found. Surely she would have some idea.”

Kyam gulped as Mityam’s piercing gaze shone from behind
his heavy, wrinkled eyelids. For a moment, it felt as if his grandfather were
in the room. He wouldn’t shiver, but it was hard not to.

A suspect thought infiltrated his brain. What if QuiTai
knew about Turyat’s murder and set up her arrest to divert attention? That was
convoluted even for her. It didn’t make sense. But her wanting to be taken to
the fortress didn’t make any sense either. The further he stepped back from
this, the worse the big picture looked.

“Would you believe the prime suspect if they pinned the
murder on someone else?” he asked.

“Who said she was the prime suspect? She has a solid
alibi. It’s circumstantial that her place of business was the scene of the
crime,” Mityam said.

“If anyone could murder someone while she was somewhere
else, especially with a perfect, unshakable alibi, it would be QuiTai.”

~ ~ ~

Kyam grabbed a bottle of aged whiskey from the bar in his
office and hooked two glasses with his fingers. He could never get past Chief
Justice Cuulon’s secretary, so he went out on the veranda and let himself into
the chief justice’s office through the typhoon shutters.

Cuulon sat on a divan, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed
on something that wasn’t in this world. “Go to hell, Zul.” He sounded
exhausted.

Kyam set the glasses on Cuulon’s desk and filled them with
whiskey. He put Cuulon’s drink on a low table by the settee. It was rude enough
that he’d come in uninvited; taking a seat would have been beyond the pale. He
leaned against a bookcase. He started to say something, but then realized he
should have thought this through before he left his office.

When offering sympathies for any misfortune, but
especially death, the less said the better, his mother had told him many times.
If you’re truly sorry for their loss, visit them the week after the funeral,
and at least once a month after that. That’s real manners. If you aren’t sorry,
keep your visit short and don’t be a hypocrite. Unless, of course, they matter
socially. Then you had better make a good show of it.

“I came to offer my condolences.” That was honest.

It made him uncomfortable to see that the man he hated had
real feelings.

Cuulon’s gaze finally made the long climb up to meet Kyam’s.
“He’d be alive now if it weren’t for you.”

Why did he even try to be nice? He always regretted it. “I
didn’t kill Turyat.”

“No, you idiot! He wouldn’t have become an addict if you
hadn’t ruined his life.” Cuulon looked as if he might say more, but changed his
mind and gulped the drink Kyam had poured for him.

Kyam winced. That whiskey was almost as ancient as
Grandfather. “I’d appreciate hearing any theories you might have as to why
Turyat was murdered.”

Cuulon’s ears turned pink. He tipped the glass to his lips
again and licked the drops away. “Who needs theories? The Devil’s whore killed
him.”

“Do you have proof?”

“I don’t need proof. If I say she’s guilty, then she’s
guilty.”

Kyam pointed to the law books lining the shelves. “Is that
what those say?”

Cuulon’s wagging finger reminded Kyam of his least
favorite uncle. “You’ve been talking to that old fool Captain Voorus dragged up
from the harbor.”

“Mityam Muul happens to be the finest legal mind of our
age. I suspect he knows a thing or two about the law.”

“But you don’t, so leave the legal questions to me.”
Cuulon gave Kyam a nasty look. “Unless Theram Zul wants you to be the chief
justice too. Tell me, are any Zuls allowed to think for themselves, or are you
all puppets for him?” Cuulon raised his hands and jerked them in a pantomime of
a marionette.

It was true, they were puppets. His cousin Hadre fought it
as much as he could, but even he eventually did what Grandfather wanted too.

“Do you believe beyond all doubt that she killed Turyat,
or do you want to execute her for another reason? Come on. You can tell me.
Your answer won’t leave this room. I’m just curious.”

Cuulon rolled his empty glass between his palms. “I have
no idea if she’s guilty of his death, but she still deserves to die.”

Why was this man so determined to see QuiTai dead?

Kyam went to Cuulon’s bar. He carried a decanter of
honeyed whiskey to Cuulon. Cuulon nodded and lifted his glass. Kyam poured a
generous serving and returned the crystal decanter to the bar.

“Be that as it may, executing Lady QuiTai won’t fix your
problem,” Kyam said.

“What problem?” Cuulon asked.

“Your friend is dead.”

“Damn it, Zul! I know that!”

“His real murderer will still be out there after you hang
Lady QuiTai, and he will never pay for killing your friend. That, as I see it,
is a problem – the kind of problem that will make food taste like dust in
your mouth and whiskey like marsh water, the kind of problem that eats at your
soul.”

Cuulon covered his face. Sobs shook his shoulders. When he
took his hand away, his face writhed with anger.

Unexpected pangs of guilt and sympathy pricked Kyam’s
conscious. When your enemy was vulnerable, did you take advantage, or do the compassionate
thing and give them space to grieve?

Of course you took advantage.

Kyam was surprised how disgusted he was with himself. He’d
been much harsher with QuiTai after Jezereet died than he was with Cuulon now.
Turyat had only been Cuulon’s friend; Jezereet had been QuiTai’s spouse. At the
time, he hadn’t felt guilty about how he’d treated QuiTai because he’d felt it
was necessary. But afterward? Afterward, guilt had crept into his bed in the
middle of the night and propped open his eyes. It made it impossible to look in
the mirror some mornings. He didn’t look forward to losing sleep over Cuulon
too.