Hunting Page 7

  "A considerable oversight," Investigator Verel said, annoyance surfacing briefly through her customary lack of expression.

  "It explains why there was no result when you tried divining entry points," said Thornaster. "Is it too late to get some residuals?"

  "Even a decem after is too late, really. But I should be able to pick something up. The slightest hint would be more than we have now."

  She knelt, and began to draw on the roof with a piece of chalk. It was all very interesting, recognisably magical, but Ash was distracted by the street below. They were not far from the front of the house, and people had noticed and were gathering to watch. Among them, leaning casually against the wall of the cobbler's opposite, was a blond girl in a blue smock. She was tossing a ball into the air and catching it, but when Ash came into sight she closed her hand over the toy and deliberately placed it behind her back. After a moment more, she turned and walked down the street. The girl was called Bitty, and Ash puzzled over what had to be a deliberate signal. Back or behind?

  "What is she doing?" Ash asked Thornaster, as the Investigator seated herself in the middle of the pattern of symbols she had marked on the roof. "Residual whats?"

  The Visel glanced at her briefly. "It seemed most likely that our killer gained entry with a translocation spell. A powerful piece of magic. Not only that, but also one set to return him to the point of departure. Verel, having found the place the spell was cast, may be able to catch a glimpse of the caster's identity. Now be silent. This requires concentration."

  Ash lingered a short measure more, then wandered off, giving the impression of too much energy and too short a span of attention. She crossed the roof, looked down at the Guardsman left with their horses, walked to the back of the house and leapt down into the garden, landing in a crouch. Weeds were growing. She frowned, itching to continue the endless fight against them, but knowing there was no point. Still, she felt guilty, as if the weeds were some sort of betrayal of Genevieve.

  Glancing around, Ash crossed to the lavender beneath her bedroom window and retrieved the hidden bundle. The breast cloth she tucked inside her trousers, to keep company with the artistically sewn and stuffed bit of leather she and Genevieve had laughed so much over. From the roll of knives she selected two – dully gleaming pieces of metal without decoration or binding – and slipped one into each boot.

  Then she walked down to the mimmerberry bush squatting in the farthest corner and began to search the mottled pink and white berries for ones almost ripe enough to be edible.

  "Do you need an out?" whispered the bush.

  "Hello, Lark," she replied, unsurprised. "And, no, not as yet."

  "Why'd you tell 'em?" asked Larkin. He would be, she knew, leaning casually against the back fence, looking for all the world as if he had just stopped for a rest – a tall, moderately handsome boy, probably with flour dashed carelessly through his blond hair. His was a baker family.

  "Because they knew what that dust was. Something called emanite. Because I will use any means necessary to discover Genevieve's killer, including the Guard."

  "I'm sorry, Ash."

  "So am I. I should have made her leave. Any news?"

  "Nothing. No-one saw anything at all."

  "Anybody else left town?"

  "Old Pokeface. And Caspersonn's packing up. Soon there won't be anyone left."

  Ash stopped herself from nodding, which was a pointless, give away gesture. "Four remain who really know herbs," she said, putting a berry in her mouth. "That I know of." She started to make a suggestion, then stopped, narrowing her eyes. No, she would try the official investigation first. "I'd better go. Keep the rest from getting too ahead of themselves, Lark. And take care of this." After a glance at the roof she slid the roll of knives through a gap beneath the palings.

  "Call me if you need anything, Ash Cat."

  Walking back through the neat rows of herbs, Ash stopped to harvest a cluster of sanac pods. She could brew a tea from them that would stop her monthlies for a while. It would make her ill if she took it too long, but would remove one complication from her close quarters with Thornaster. After cleaning her hands with a sprig of mint, she climbed back onto the roof, avoiding looking at the back door to her old home. The Investigator was still sitting motionless in her mess of chalk. Ash waited, thinking magic a particularly undramatic way of investigating matters.

  Finally the woman opened her eyes, raising a hand to her forehead.

  "What?" Thornaster asked.

  "The barest glimpse. I could only tell one thing, but I suppose it will narrow down our search somewhat." She raised hard brown eyes to Thornaster's. "Our killer is a woman."

  ooOoo

  Ash was so preoccupied by the thought of a woman killing Genevieve that she did not notice for some time the route Thornaster took after leaving the Investigator. When she did look up to see they were not heading for the palace she asked: "Where are we going?"

  "Patience, boy. It is a virtue you would do well to cultivate."

  "Funny," she said, after a pause. "I thought I was being very patient with you."

  "Then let this be a lesson to you on how perceptions differ."

  "Uh-huh." She looked around. They were following the Milk south. "There are only four people really knowledgeable about herbs left in town. Do you think the killer will use the roofs again, after our performance today? If the Guard posted a watch on the neighbouring roofs, they might have a chance of spotting him. Her."

  "So Verel suggested last night," Thornaster replied, an odd note to his voice. "We had the houses watched before this, but not the roofs." Ash wondered if he was thinking along the same lines as her – that if the Guard had known of the emanite earlier, they may have been able to catch the killer before she had murdered Genevieve. Was Ash guilty of causing Genevieve's death because she had held back her findings?

  Following the southern slope of Westgard, Thornaster left the wide main road for a drive Ash had peered down many times when exercising the city hacks. Screening hedges of dagger-thorned morrion bushes hid most of the property, but along the drive it was possible to glimpse the horses kept in the outer paddocks. Luinhall's premier stud, belonging to Setsel Ormsley.

  "Visel Thornaster!" A burly man emerged from the nearest of the several rows of stables as they rode up. "A pleasure to see you again. But I said I'd send word when Alki was ready. Unless you'd care to renegotiate."

  "Arth is not my reason for coming today, Bendress," Thornaster replied. "I need a mount for my seruilis here. Can you set up a selection for me?"

  "Of course, Ser Visel," the man said, turning away and calling for a couple of hands to come help him.

  "I don't think I want to be in debt to you to the tune of a horse," Ash said, after they'd dismounted.

  "Now that's not the right reaction at all," Thornaster replied, dividing his attention between Ash and Arth, who was tossing his head, calling a greeting and being answered severally. "You're supposed to be overwhelmed and near speechlessly grateful. Something on the lines of 'Oh my, Visel Thornaster, thank you! For this I will serve you with eternal and unswerving loyalty, even to the point of being polite to you unprompted.'"

  "Would you want loyalty given in return for a bribe?" Ash asked, curious.

  "Hm – not when it's termed that way. But don't worry yourself about debt. This is for my convenience, not yours. It will make our arrival at your aunt's funeral a little more dignified, and I'm certainly not having you dragging me out of the saddle during the upcoming hunt. Consider it a loan, for the duration of your...well, we'll call it service, for want of a better word."

  "Better pick a horse I don't like then," she said, uncomfortably. "Or you'll find it mysteriously disappearing the same time that I do. And I don't drag you out of the saddle."

  "Child, you are a leaden weight. Where are you going to mysteriously disappear to?"

  "If I told, it wouldn't be a very effective disappearance," she replied, watching horses making a game o
f avoiding their pursuers. A particularly nicely formed bay being led out caught her eye, and she looked it over semi-approvingly, then watched a grey mare standing tall and aloof in the middle of the pen. The grey knew the stable hands weren't chasing her, so didn't bother to run.

  Five horses were presented. All nicely made, neat little animals. She wondered which Thornaster would pick, and studied the expression in the bay's long-lashed eyes.

  "Display your acuity, boy," the Visel said, eventually. "Which animal here draws you? Do not say Arth."

  Ash, pleased for the choice, turned to the stable's manager. "Isn't the grey for sale?" she asked, nodding towards the mare still standing at the centre of the holding pen. Now if she could get Thornaster to buy her that one, she'd be quite cheerful about being a seruilis.

  "Cloud Cat? Oh, yes. But she's no animal to learn on."

  Ash just smiled. "Why's she called Cloud Cat?"

  "'Coz she clim's trees," chortled one of the hands.

  "Now that would be a sight," murmured Thornaster. "If true."

  "Well, Visel, in a way it is. Back when that one was only a few weeks old, we had her in a paddock with a big old lean-over tree." Bendress held an arm up to demonstrate the angle. "One day we went down and there she was up the wrong end of it! Caused a great set-to, with us trying to figure how to get to her without spooking her into a fall, and the mother fussing around the base of the trunk and going all leery-eyed. But, after watching us arguing it out long enough to get hot-tempered, down the foal trots, sweet as you please. She'd never manage it now, of course."

  "Really?" Ash was delighted with the tale. Ignoring the animals selected for her, she leaned across the fence and held out a hand in invitation. The mare was a smoked grey, a tall animal with black socks, tail and mane, and a coat the colour of a thunder-cloud elsewhere. Cloud Cat looked at her intently, snorted, and trotted up to Ash to lip delicately at her fingers.

  "You've not shown me this one before, Bendress," Thornaster said, behind her.

  "Ah, we've not bred her yet, and we'd want to see if she dropped clean before we wasted your Arth on her."

  "She's trained to the saddle?"

  "Oh, yes. A very nice piece all round, but high-spirited and strong."

  "Too much for you, Ash?"

  "Of course not," Ash replied, scornfully. Except in price, no doubt. This was definitely not a gutter seruilis' horse.

  "Saddle her," Thornaster ordered. "We'll see if my seruilis is more of a rider than he looks, or merely boastful."

  "As you say, Ser Visel," the stable master replied. A swift order, and Cloud Cat was saddled. The cushioning blanket was dark blue and Ash smiled at Thornaster as she climbed up onto the fence.

  "No choice at all," she said. "In your colours and everything. You can't not want her."

  "Perhaps. But if you split your skull reaching beyond your abilities, you won't find me sympathetic."

  Ash transferred herself from fence to horse, and felt the mare tremble with anticipation beneath her. Cloud Cat, hmm? A horse on which to fly.

  She waited as they adjusted the height of the stirrups, then touched the grey's neck, and nodded at the boy holding the bridle. "Let her go."

  There was no dramatic take-off. Reins held lightly, she sent the mare around the holding pen for a single circuit. Cloud Cat had the sweetest gait imaginable, and responded to the slightest touch. She tossed her head and sidled a little, wanting to run, but obeyed readily when called to hand. Finding herself grinning, Ash looked over at her audience, and considered the height of the outer fence. Nothing spectacular – it was sized for easy viewing of the display ring.

  "You're a jumper, aren't you?" she whispered to the horse. "You'd better be, or I'm going to make an utter fool of myself."

  Making another circuit, she judged the distance, then set the mare at the fence, heard a belated cry from the stable manager, but was concentrating on encouraging Cloud Cat with every fibre of her being. And there was no balk. Ears firmly forward, the mare cleared the fence easily, landing without a stumble. Ash brought her around in a neat circle, watching the other horses straining and shifting in response. Arth called, a deep stallion's cry.

  "She's a bit fresh!" Ash said. "I'll just take her for a run!" And off she went, down the drive towards the gap in the morrion fence. Cloud Cat flowed like water. What a beauty! What an absolute beauty!

  Chapter Ten

  The exultant gallop took Ash south, away from Luinhall and murderers, irritating seruilisi, and the prospect of Genevieve's funeral. On her return she found Thornaster and Arth waiting patiently by the morrion hedge. His expression was benign, so she didn't rein back her enthusiasm as she brought Cloud Cat dancing up to him. The mare was scarcely winded, a fine sheen of sweat slicking her coat.

  "She's perfect!" Ash said, glowing. "Smooth as silk. I've never ridden better."

  "A good choice," he allowed. "Bendress even threw the tack in with the price, so, all colours correct, we may head back to the city."

  They started off without another word, the two horses exchanging greetings. "She's really too fine for a seruilis," Ash said, eventually, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

  "Some might see it that way. She is certainly more impressive than most of the horseflesh I've seen in these parts. I will, I think, put Arth to her when she is in season and present the foal to my sister."

  High spirits damped by the recollection that Cloud Cat wasn't hers to keep, Ash seized the chance to change the subject. "You have a sister?"

  "A brother also," the Visel replied. "And you?"

  "No," Ash said, wiping a hand over her hair and turning the conversation a second time. "Does being descended from Luin and Astenar allow you to do anything special? Other than feel when magic's been used recently?"

  "Do? It varies on the time of the year."

  "What can you do now then? You can heat water, right?"

  "You noticed that did you?"

  Ash shrugged. The water he'd used to shave that first morning had been warm when she cleared it away, though he'd taken it from the jug of cold water. So she'd watched closely the second time and seen that he'd stared at the bowl for a moment of intense concentration before he'd wet and lathered his face. "How much water can you heat at a time?"

  "It depends on how much of a headache I want to give myself. At this time of year, a few barrels full in exchange for a mild migraine."

  "You get a headache every time you do that? Sun, I'll bring you heated water if you want it so very much!"

  The Visel laughed. "A bowl of water won't tax me. I'm at my strongest at Midsummer, and can manage, oh, dozens of barrels without much pain."

  "Midsummer? It would make more sense to be able to heat things in winter."

  "Most thoughtless of the gods not to have considered that," Thornaster agreed, eyes dancing.

  Ash nodded absently, thinking over the various things she'd heard about Aremish rulers and their bloodline. "Can the Rhoi of Aremal really call lightning from the sky?"

  "No. Though it does seem so to any watchers. What the Rhoi does is the same as what I do, but many times magnified by the Rhoi's formal bindings to Luin and Astenar. I can make things burst into flame, with effort. He can make them so hot they explode."

  "That's what Parclivvy meant about only attacking Aremal in winter," Ash said, in tones of revelation. She had never understood that brief chapter in one of the history texts.

  "Yes. Once it was a great secret, this fluctuation of the power. Then Aremal's weakness was discovered, became well-known, and is now just a factor to be taken into account."

  "Do your Rhoi's eyes really glow? Is his immediate family much more powerful than you? Could you make things explode if you were Rhoi?"

  Laughing, Thornaster held up a hand. "Slow down. I'm not sure I'll dare let you out riding again if this is how you respond to it."

  Resisting an immediate recommendation that he speed up, Ash held her tongue, only wrinkling her nose at him.


  "Rhoi Vorlan's eyes don't glow," Thornaster went on. "All Rhois have a certain intensity about their gaze, which is a product of the bond to both Sun and World. The combination of the Estarrel blood and that bond produces a particularly strong effect, and it can be difficult to meet his eyes, but there's no actual radiance. As for comparative strength – the Estarrel blood tends to weaken away from the Rhoi's immediate family. My mother is the Rhoi's second cousin, still close enough that there's no significant variation in strength. I've never sat down with Aremal's Veirhoi and tried to compare exact strength, but I should say we are similar."

  "So could you make things explode if you were Rhoi?" Ash asked.

  "I expect so. Does that satisfy your bloodthirsty heart, stripling? The thought that I could boil a lake or blast towns to rubble, if only I were Rhoi? I assure you that it's not an event I anticipate occurring. My Rhoi expects a long life and I would not be offered first chance to stand before the gods, even if we lost him."

  "I don't imagine it would be much fun."

  "Being Rhoi? A lot of hard work, from my observation."

  "No, being able to burn things just by glaring at them. I mean, I suppose it would be handy, being able to crisp your enemies and things like that, but I bet every time there was a fire, when lightning burnt down a house or something, everybody'd be whispering about how whoever owned the house had offended the Rhoi. And just imagine how the Landsmeet must act around him. Does he have a temper?"

  "A well-controlled one," Thornaster replied, face more solemn now.

  "And the ambassadors and probably other people as well, knowing of his power, all flinch when he says something even slightly grumpy." Like Ash had done with Carlyon, just because he was related to someone who frightened her. "That on top of all the horrible things about being Rhoi. I feel sorry for him. Unless, of course, he likes it. Does he?"

  "I don't think so," the Visel said, slowly. "I don't believe I've ever asked him. He can be very autocratic at times, and the strengthened link with the gods is, I am told, a great joy. But like it?" He shook his head. "What damnable things you say, boy. I quite dread the thought of bringing you in contact with Arun in case you should ask him to describe 'all the horrible things about being Rhoi'."