Hunting Page 14

  The Veirhoi smile faded.

  "Are you going to get upset every time I mention Lauren Carlyon?"

  Shifting fretfully, the Veirhoi winced, then took a cautious breath and met her eyes: "Why did you act like that?"

  He put enough emphasis on the question to make clear he wouldn't accept a glib answer. Lauren Carlyon mattered to him. Ash considered her answer equally carefully.

  "I saw Eward Carlyon the day before he died," she said slowly. "He was especially notorious in the months before his death because he treated the world like a joke he'd orchestrated. Like he could do anything. He was riding a monster of a horse, a vicious-tempered creature which was nipping at other mounts it passed."

  She had been trying out her brand-new boyish disguise, and the Black Carlyon had been like a bogeyman, inescapable in his determination to find her.

  "There was a boy, eighteen or so. He was a natural, and most ways deaf. He didn't get out the way of the horse, which nipped him, and he swung at it instinctively, didn't even connect. And Eward Carlyon laid his face open with his riding crop. He did it with such open enjoyment that the entire market just stopped and stared at him. Stared and didn't dare do a single thing. Not because he was Luinsel – though his position protected him from too many consequences in life – but because he was waiting, hoping for it. By that stage he must have known his damnation was a certainty, and yet he took such delight in himself. It was a...disgusting display."

  "What did you do?" Heran asked in a small voice.

  "Nothing," Ash replied, closing her eyes and remembering the way her hand had closed around the hilt of her knife.

  She opened her eyes to find Heran staring at her worriedly, so she smiled lop-sidedly. "What could I do? Kill him and be jailed for it? No. The Black Carlyon sat there, enjoying our fear and our hatred until we all looked away and then he enjoyed our cowardice as well. Then he left, the personification of everything that is hateful."

  And Genevieve had gone out that night, even though no one had called for her. In the morning, Ash had heard that Eward Carlyon had died, cause unknown.

  "I had nightmares for months about that. About the price others might pay for my own inaction. About whether I was running away, or being sensible, or a true coward. I'm someone who – I'm forever getting involved, trying to fix things. I have to make myself not step in at times, when it isn't my business. But the Black Carlyon – in truth, there were things I could have done. Spooked his horse, for a start. But I was just plain scared of him.

  "When I first encountered Lauren Carlyon I didn't, as was obvious, know who he was. I was impressed by his air of command, thought that at least the first seruilis was someone I wouldn't mind taking orders from, and so there I was, trying to impress in return, wondering vaguely who he reminded me of."

  "Then he told you."

  Ash inspected faint abrasions on the palms of her hands, remnant of the previous day's exertions. "I think that Lauren Carlyon is as far removed from his father in personality as anyone I have ever encountered. I have no problem, no difficulty with him at all; can only feel sorry for him. You're not the only person in the world who suffers because of his parentage. Yours is too high, and Carlyon's..."

  "Yes. I never speak to him of it. No-one does."

  "What could you say? But enough of this. It's depressing." Seeing that he was sagging into the pillows, Ash stood up, postponing part of her planned conversation until later. "Make a quick recovery, Ser Veirhoi." She made her way to the door.

  "Ash. Come and talk to me again, will you?"

  She smiled, flipped him a vague salute, and left, turning over ways to keep him alive.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Do you think there are two killers?" she asked, not long before she was due to go to the Mern the next day.

  Thornaster looked up from the sword he was oiling, and raised his brows. "Do you?"

  "I don't know." She sat down on the long lounging chair that was a central feature of the Visel's new receiving room, where Thornaster had been teaching her to maintain his weaponry. "It doesn't make sense that someone should hire a foreign assassin to kill all the herbalists unless they were planning to use some sort of herb for something important and poisoning people is the logical conclusion there. But if the Rhoi or Heran is the target, why the obvious attempts to finish off Heran? And why him? There still haven't been any attempts on the Rhoi's life, have there?"

  "Not that we know of. One occurrence that could easily have been an accident. But he is a little more difficult to come near."

  "If they could block Heran's chimney, why not the Rhoi's? They live in the same apartments. And, if there's a woman out there who can appear in people's bedrooms, why doesn't she just appear in the Rhoi's? Or Heran's?"

  "There are wards on many of the palace rooms. There are wards in these rooms. Old ones, very faded, but still operating."

  "Really?" She glanced around in automatic futility. "How long does it take to put a ward on a room?"

  "Months. For a permanent one."

  "Oh." She lifted the sword from her lap, correcting her grip the way Thornaster had shown her, and moved it thoughtfully back and forth. "I don't think this is my weapon," she told him, considering the weight of the blade. "It feels very wrong."

  "Does it?" He was being amused again, but she ignored that.

  "Yes. But I suppose you could teach me the best ways to get past a swordsman's guard. Where did you put my knife?"

  The Visel, eyes dancing, produced the thin, precisely balanced throwing blade he'd confiscated as soon as he'd discovered her carrying it. "You consider this the better weapon, then?"

  "It doesn't have some of the advantages of a sword, of course. I expect there are good and bad points to both, but I've carried a knife for years and I can't see myself becoming more adept at a longer blade at this late date."

  "You're past learning at sixteen? But what if you find yourself with only a sword as a weapon?"

  "Facing someone who's been learning since he was knee-high? I'd have a better chance throwing the thing at him as a distraction and legging it. Why are you finding this so funny?"

  The man brushed his hair back out of his eyes, smiling down at his sword. "I have had two seruilisi before you," he explained. "I was just considering their reactions if they heard you glibly producing reasons why I should not spend too much effort instructing you in the sword."

  "Did you teach them?"

  "On occasion. If they had done something particularly deserving, I would reward them with a few lessons."

  "Wasn't there anyone else to teach them?"

  "Of course there was, stripling," Thornaster replied, lips quirking. "And don't point that wide-eyed expression in my direction. If you ever had an ounce of naiveté in you, it's long since moved on to more convivial surroundings."

  "I take it you are accounted particularly good? And my predecessors would consider it nigh-on blasphemy for me not to fawn at your feet in gratitude at the mere idea of you attempting to pass this skill on?"

  "Exactly."

  She pretended to give this due consideration. "I suppose it would be impolite of me to suggest that they were probably trying to keep on your good side?"

  That opened the man's eyes wide. "Why cultivate politeness now?" he asked. "I wouldn't want you to abandon the habit of a lifetime out of any desire to please me."

  "Oh, good. I thought for a moment I'd have to pretend I was enjoying myself."

  Smiling, the Visel shook his head. "Having established your unwillingness, shall we go on to the Mern? I'll speak to Master Humboldt first, and take you for the second session."

  With exaggerated reluctance, Ash rose and followed him down to the Mern, leaving him to make her way to the Common Room to face her fellow seruilisi.

  They were, she sensed immediately, now split into two distinct camps. Those who had grown more hostile towards her and those who were unsure how to react. She suspected Gibrace had thawed towards her the most, and perh
aps Vendarri. Only two people hadn't changed, one being Frog, who greeted her enthusiastically, plumped himself down beside her and talked non-stop until Carlyon arrived. Carlyon, as before, gave her no more attention than any other seruilis. Ash kept her own reactions to modest shrugs and a few 'yes-no' answers as Frog plied her with questions.

  The first session was another lecture on sewers. Keeping the Milk uncontaminated was a major concern, though it sounded like the Luinsel in charge of the city districts did little more than retain experts. Ash wasn't the only one struggling to keep her attention focused, and was relieved when Carlyon returned and told Vendarri that he could instruct the group in archery before indicating that Ash should follow him.

  "I owe you my thanks, Lenthard," he said, pausing at the entrance to the main practice ground.

  She met his eyes, abandoning the meek obedience that she'd been using in the Mern. This wasn't something she could answer flippantly, not with this so-honourable youth she had insulted. But it would be easiest to keep absolutely to business. "You were ahead of him. Was there anyone with or ahead of you? Who can be ruled out?"

  He didn't shut down the discussion, had likely been given some intimation that Ash's role was in part to protect the Veirhoi. "Vendarri. He's always break-neck in the rough."

  Ash nodded. "It must have been spur of the moment. Too difficult to arrange on purpose – suddenly finding oneself alone behind one's target. If he was alone."

  "You're suggesting a conspiracy? False alibis?"

  "Can't rule out the possibility. Even the ones supposedly unarmed. I could have concealed a crossbow in my saddlebag and fired when the opportunity arose. Thornaster has one of astonishingly small proportions."

  Carlyon just shook his head, but, as they came up to the two older men, he added in an undertone: "Not if you shoot as wildly as Vendarri claims."

  Ash's opinion of swords did not improve, despite Thornaster's patience. She felt awkward with them, and it didn't help that not only Carlyon, but Master Humboldt as well, were apparently to share her lessons. They handled their blades as if they were goose down and, while they were apparently learning a new style, they were quick to adapt. Ash, seeing no immediate escape from these lessons, boredly copied the moves Thornaster demonstrated, her mind on more important matters.

  Thornaster's eyes rested on her thoughtfully while they made their way back to his rooms, but he didn't chastise her for her probably too-open dislike of her 'reward'. He understood, at least, where her priorities lay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two days later a note was delivered via Mirramar, and taken by Thornaster to Investigator Verel.

  "Wagoner found her hiding in a barrel behind Varitty's. She's cold and scratched up, but no serious injuries. The only thing she'll say is that a Sera turned into a black dog and chased her. Ma and Da say you can find her here if you want to talk to her – from the sound of it, we won't get any argument about who keeps her from her so-called grandparents."

  "Shapeshifter?" Lips pursed, the Guard Investigator handed the note back. "Shapeshifting is rare – few mages can achieve it. Though it would explain why we're having so much trouble finding a foreign female mage."

  Thornaster turned the note over before handing it back to Ash. "A clever tactic for an assassin. How many dogs, black or not, are there in any city? Who would pay attention to one roaming at night? Accessing the palace grounds wouldn't be difficult either, though she'd stand out inside the buildings. And she would have traces of power about her while transformed, so I would know her if I saw her."

  "Well, if we manage to line up all the dogs in the city for inspection, I'll be sure to call you," Verel said sourly, and left.

  "I wonder how she'll go about arranging that search?" Thornaster said, entertained.

  "Can I go down into the Commons?" Ash asked. "I can get there and back before I'm due at the Mern."

  "Of course." He dropped a hand briefly onto her head. "Take Arth, if you like."

  Ash blinked up at him, then realised he was still trying to reward her. "A much better idea than waving swords about," she said, and left to the sound of his laughter.

  After a detour by the kitchens for an offering to appease Cloud Cat, Ash almost skipped to the stable, and had to rein herself in before approaching the stalls. After lavishing suitable attention on Cloud Cat, she took immense pleasure on saddling the Aremish stallion. Arth turned his head to look at her as she set her foot to the stirrup, but made no objection to her mounting, and took mincing little steps until they were out of the stable.

  "Don't you laugh at me, too," she told the stallion, and wished she had an excuse to let him have his head. As it was, she reached the Rogadney bakery in record time, and sent Bitty out to watch over such valuable horseflesh.

  Merit Rogadney, Lark's towering father, came out to shake his head admiringly, then made a number of genial remarks on Ash's determination to increase the size of his family. Her street waif had been appearing morning and evening for the promised meals, but had so far resisted Sera Rogadney's dismayed attempts to clean her up and extract a name from her.

  "Can I see Sonia?"

  "She's asleep right now," Larkin said, emerging from the bakery in his usual dusting of powder. "Take a walk with me, and maybe she'll be up when we get back."

  "I can't stop," Ash said regretfully, inviting him to admire Arth, which he did from a safe distance. And once they were safely out of earshot of Larkin's extensive family, she added: "Tonight, take Melar and Bitty to the Shambles. See if you can spot the skarl. Don't do more than observe it: confirm its existence. And its colour."

  There was a long, slow intake of breath, then a frown. "The first skarl was grey."

  "That's why I want you to look. It's logical to connect shapeshifting mage with magical wolf, but the last one didn't show any hint of being originally human. Look for any differences, any sign of increased intelligence. For Astenar's sake, don't engage it."

  "Considering how close I came to buying it with the first skarl, I'm not overwhelmingly eager to tangle with this one. But...do you want me to test to see if the rowan works on it?"

  "If it's our killer, we don't want to make her think we've spotted her disguise. Look and leave."

  "And then what? You thinking of calling in your new friends to clear up?"

  She shook her head. "The Guard and the Watch would be hopeless trying to deal with the Shambles. They don't know it; don't know the short cuts, the boltholes. All they'd succeed in doing is putting her in more intensive hiding. If it's her, we're dealing with a skarl-mage-assassin-shapeshifter which we have to capture alive, to find out who hired her."

  "Alive?! Well, I hope you've got a solid plan, Ash, because even if it is just a skarl, no shapeshifting involved, I don't know if we could manage that."

  "I'll think on it," Ash promised.

  She failed to even appreciate the ride back to the palace, and paid no attention to the afternoon of dancing lessons, completely forgetting that Montmothian formal dancing was something an ex-Khanteck stable hand was unlikely to know. Fortunately she also kept forgetting that she was supposed to take the male role, and flubbed often enough to seem unlearned. Her session with Thornaster would certainly not make him believe she had a future with the sword, her mind fully occupied while her body swung the practice rapier back and forth.

  Thornaster noticed but didn't bother her with questions, and she made no attempt to explain, though her preoccupied air lasted through the evening. She stood behind him in the Rhoi's study and failed to track the conversation at all, beyond recognising a level of constraint in the previously light-hearted chatter. How to capture a skarl, who was a mage, alive?

  ooOoo

  "It's there. It's her."

  Ash shut the door of the storage room, closing any eavesdroppers from the kitchen away. "Tell me."

  "I took Sho along as well as Bitty and Melar – this 'no-one in the Shambles alone' thing makes for complications." Larkin shrugged. "We figured
on either the Wet Yard or The Pile being the best place for a skarl to hide out, and split into pairs to sit watching the easiest roads in and out. Wasn't much past sundown when we saw her, coming out of The Pile. Skinny black thing, a little smaller than the last skarl, but that same weird effect of almost seeming to bring shadows along. Damn hard to see. Me and Sho waited till she was long gone, then whistled for Melar and Bitty. Melar nixed the idea of backtracking into The Pile, and instead took all the food we had along, tied in a kerchief with a couple of coins and a comb Bitty had with her. He bounced along the street like he was running from something, fell flat on his face – still not sure if he did that deliberately – and left the kerchief behind, rolled into a tangle of old boards. He and Bitty headed home, and Sho and I sat it out till midnight."

  "I suppose 'just confirm there's a skarl' was too much to ask from you lot."

  "Like you'd do any different, Ash Cat. I suppose any dog, skarl or not, would have smelled that kerchief. Nice bit of bacon and cheese, which Melar pointed out was silly for me to bring along in the first place. And he'd dropped it in a good spot, not just laying out in the open. Instead of trying to nudge the boards away, or stick her head into them, the skarl looks around and then..." Larkin pulled a face, waving his hands as if trying to outline something intangible. "Sho kept calling it 'vomiting' and I guess that'll do. Except all over. It was quick, thank Luin, and then there was this woman. Gaunt, pale, with close-cropped hair. She even had clothes on, though it looked as if she'd put a hole in a sheet, and then sewn pockets on it. She grabs the kerchief, quick and easy, tucks it in a pocket, and two breaths later there's just the skarl again, trotting off into The Pile through a hole she'd have to crawl to get through in human form. So, do you have a plan?"

  Ash made a face. "Tell the Huntsmen to be ready for something tonight. I'll get word to you before the sun sets, after I've found out more about shapeshifters. She mightn't be as difficult to kill as a real skarl."