Tempt the Devil (The Devil of Ponong series #3) (11 page)

“How could you tell if the boar came from a Ponongese
hunter? Is there some obvious sign that a Ponongese killed the animal?”

“Death comes from slow suffocation as the paralysis takes the
use of their lungs from them. They feel it, you know, the Ponongese. There’s a
psychic connection in their venom that makes them suffer along with their prey.
The connection stops the moment the prey dies. That’s why the snakes kill their
prey as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

“But the body, how could you tell Turyat – Governor
Turyat – hadn’t been dosed with venom to render him incapable of fighting
back when he was struck?”

The mortician blinked. “My profuse apologizes if you
thought I was not clear, Governor. No snake would allow a victim to die as
slowly as the late Governor Turyat appeared to, as they would suffer through
his death and maybe even slip into unconsciousness themselves along with him.
They suffer when they kill prey, suffer the pain of death, so they are careful
to do it in such a way that it does not kill them too. Can you imagine if every
time you ate meat that you had to pay such a price? We Thampurians would all be
vegetarians. Such is the curse of a more refined nature.”

Kyam knew all of this, but had never connected the
information like that. If the rumor were true, no wonder QuiTai had taken
refuge in black lotus when the werewolves she’d paralyzed were torn to pieces
by that mob. It was a wonder that she wasn’t insane. Although, if he were
honest, there were times when he thought she might be a little mad.

“Interesting,” he said.

“In addition, Governor Turyat’s fingernails and lips didn’t
show classic signs of suffocation. And his tongue wasn’t swollen or discolored.”

“Ah.” That was much better. It sounded like real evidence
rather than an opinion.

“Believe me, we look for such signs, under orders from Chief
Justice Cuulon, even though, as I mentioned, I’ve rarely seen it. The Ponongese
aren’t especially violent people, unlike the Li Islanders, who are dirt.” The
mortician spat on the polished floor.

LiHoun was the only Li Islander Kyam knew. He wouldn’t call
LiHoun dirt. And he’d never seen the man act violently. Sneaky was a better
description. But maybe LiHoun was as different from his people as QuiTai was
from hers.

The mortician folded his hands. He had the look of a man
taking out his memories and cherishing each one. “It’s funny, odd, that Cuulon
made it illegal for the snakes to show us their fangs. Way back, he used to beg
their women to show their fangs to him. We all did. There were no Thampurian
women for years. And we were curious about the rumors…”

Of course they had been curious. The first rumor
Thampurian men heard about the Ponongese, even before anyone mentioned their
reptilian eyes, concerned their venom. That time QuiTai had slid the tip of her
tongue down her fangs, he’d almost grabbed her and pulled her into the jungle.
In his most erotic dreams of her, he returned to that moment. Had she been
threatening him or seducing him? Probably a bit of both. She liked layers of
meaning in her words, why not her actions?

“We’ve all heard that rumor.” Sometimes Kyam wondered if
he were the only Thampurian in Levapur who hadn’t tried a drop of venom with
his sexual encounters. Maybe it was one of those rumors everyone believed but
no one dared follow up on. Most of the Ponongese hanged for showing their fangs
were men, after all, not women.

A flash of insight made him wince. Were his people really
so intimidated by Ponongese men that they’d treat the mere flash of fangs as a
sexual assault? They would. He knew they would, because he knew what Thampurians
thought of the shiftless races.
Animals
was the kindest word they used.

Kyam missed the days when he had never thought about such
things. Ignorance was a kind of bliss, which probably explained why QuiTai
lived in a permanent state of rage. She knew too much.

The
mortician leered. “You’ve heard about the psychic connection the snakes feel
with their prey? It works with a lover, too. As long as you don’t get a lethal
dose, the woman, she knows exactly what pleases you. You don’t have to say a
word. And she feels pleasure by serving you.”

Kyam’s
ingrained snobbery made him recoil from the lower caste man. He hated himself
for the creeping sense of disgust inching up his spine.

The mortician’s wife shuffled into the parlor, and the
conversation slipped back into the expected propriety. Time ticked away with
each practiced phrase. Tea was offered. To his surprise, they inquired after
Nashruu. Gossip flew on strong wings in Levapur. He forced his attention back
to the conversation. His knee bounced again. “Pardon me, but could you tell if
Turyat was in dream when he died? If he had been, he might have fallen and hurt
himself. It might not be a murder after all.”

The wife gasped. She covered her mouth, but not before he
saw her lips purse.

“I have no way of telling, but he had a pipe in his hand
when he was brought in.”

It was hard to tell if she were more aghast at Kyam or her
husband. As a
thiree
and Governor, Kyam had more face to lose, but money could buy a lot of
forgiveness. As low as their caste was, there was still a level or two to sink.
She stared daggers at her husband.

“A pipe?” Kyam asked.

“Would you like to see it?” he asked.

Her hand shot out to smack his thigh almost faster than
Kyam could see it, but he heard it.

Kyam nodded. He doubted it would tell him the most
important part: someone had offered Turyat black lotus, and he was pretty sure
it hadn’t been QuiTai.

Kyam rushed uphill
from the mortuary and through the dodgy
neighborhood. He slowed when he reached the peak of the hill near the Dragon
Pearl to catch his breath. The Quarter of Delights spread out below him. The
streets were busier than before, but the crowds wouldn’t come until after it
cooled down later in the evening. Then laughter and light would spill out of
these buildings into the streets. The verandas would be crowded. No one would
be mourning Turyat.

He stepped over a flowing sewer in the middle of the road.
One of these days, he’d have to do something about the streets in Levapur. It
seemed like the sort of thing a governor should do. The streets around the Red
Happiness had real sewers, but that was the only place in Levapur that did.
QuiTai had probably paid for the project herself. She wanted her customers to
be able to enjoy the veranda without having to see or smell a river of
excrement as it flowed past.

Kyam shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled to the
Red Happiness. Maybe the scene of the crime wasn’t as disrupted as he feared.
He should at least give it a look. He wished some Ponongese were around to see
him investigating the murder. It was important that they knew what he was
doing. Dear Goddess of Mercy, he had no respect for himself anymore. He’d
become a politician.

He reached for the typhoon shutter but pulled his hand
away. He’d never been inside when the brothel was closed. He felt as if he were
trespassing; but honestly, who would dare stop the colony’s Governor from going
wherever he pleased? He yanked open the shutter.

Inside, it looked as if there had been a brawl. Broken
tables and chairs were stacked at the far end of the room. White stuffing had escaped
from the cushions of several settees, and empty bottles covered the bar. Long
splinters hung around the lock on QuiTai’s office door.

Water pooled in the center of freshly mopped floorboards.
The ceiling fans rotated slowly. Under the strong scent of whiskey and rum, he
smelled blood and the resinous stink of black lotus. A large fly buzzed close
to his face. As he swatted it away, it bit his hand.

“We’re closed.”

Even
though the room was brightly lit, he had to search for the source of the voice.
The brothel’s Ingosolian Madam, Inattra, sat on the staircase. Only his curly
strawberry-blond hair was visible over the banister.

Kyam
walked up the stairs to the first landing and leaned against a post. “Turyat
put up quite a fight.”

Inattra
sat with his knees spread and shoulders bowed. Despite the turmoil, he was
dressed in a stylish brown suit that complemented his bluish skin. Lace flowed
from his cuffs and down his shirt front.

“Your
militia did that.”

“All of
that?”

With a great sigh, Inattra gripped the railing and pulled
himself to his feet. He towered over Kyam until he stepped down to the same
riser. “When have you ever known a vapor ghoul to struggle against a pipe?”

Inattra indicated the mess with a sweeping gesture as he
walked down the stairs. “Your militia also broke the locks on the liquor
cabinets and drank our stock. What they couldn’t drink, they stuck in their
pockets. What they couldn’t put in their pockets, they broke open and poured
onto the floor. I’d send the colonial government a bill, but from what I’ve
heard, Turyat plundered the treasury so thoroughly that you can’t even remit
the rice tax to Thampur.”

Bad news
traveled fast; even faster when it moved through QuiTai’s network. “Send the
bill. We’ll take it out of their pay,” Kyam said.

Inattra
picked up an empty bottle from the bar and put it into a large basket on the
floor. “That would be a first, but I’ll pretend you’re serious.”

“I am. So
you gave Turyat some black lotus? I understood that QuiTai cut him off.”

“Give
that ghoul a pipe? Never. I’d lose my job, and I like working here.” He set
more bottles into the basket. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Then who
did?”

“An
idiot.”

“Only if
someone actually gave him some. Is it possible that someone took his coins and
ran off with them?”

A short bark of laughter filled the bar. “Once a ghoul
latches onto the idea of a pipe, it’s all their decaying minds can focus on. Can
you imagine the fuss Turyat would have raised if the black lotus never came?
His friend Cuulon would execute anyone who tried to pull that trick.”

“So you think he actually got his pipe?”

After thinking for a bit, Inattra slowly shook his head. “I’m
not sure. There was a lit spirit lamp sitting on this bar. He was clutching a
pipe, but I never saw a vial. Maybe it fell on the floor. Who knows? The
militia made such a mess. It wasn’t like this before they came, you know.”

“Who found the body?” Kyam asked.

“Me. To be truthful, I’m not so sure he was dead yet when
I came downstairs. The blood was still–” Inattra gulped. “Spreading.
Slowly. As if it were leaking out of his head.” Inattra drew a long breath in
through his nose.

“What time was that?”

“It was horrible.”

Kyam tried to look sympathetic while a hundred questions
begged to be asked. “I’m sure it was.”

“Yeah, well, thank you for making me relive it.”

“Sorry. I’m…” He didn’t know why, but he lowered his
voice. “Trying to clear QuiTai’s name.”

“Sure you are. You arrested her.”

Kyam
leaned on the bar and hoped sincerity would be enough to convince him. “Not for
Turyat’s murder. And it was her idea, not mine. Don’t ask me why. And I truly
want to get her out of the fortress, so please help me figure out what happened
here, so I can do that.”

Inattra
paused with a bottle in each hand. “You better hurry, because they’ll hang her
before the sun sets.”

He didn’t
need anyone to remind him that he had to work fast. “That’s why I need your
help. Anything you can tell me about what you saw. Anything. Did you notice
anything unusual?”

“Other than a body on the floor, no. And the lit spirit
oil lamp. That’s a fire hazard. QuiTai would fang me if she saw an open flame,
especially right above the liquor. Half the Quarter of Delights burned down
about six years ago when a dreamer knocked over a lamp in a black lotus den.
QuiTai said the stink of cooked flesh hung over the quarter for days. Says the
memory still makes her sick to her stomach. She’s fired workers for leaving
lamps lit in their rooms. Everyone knows that.”

If QuiTai was that worried about fires, there was no way
she would have left a lit lamp on her bar. He could see another killer
panicking and forgetting to douse the flame, but not QuiTai.

Inattra suddenly gripped his wrist hard. Kyam saw his
panic. “I was joking about her fanging me. She’d never do that. Please don’t
tell anyone I said that.”

“I wouldn’t tell a soul. I’m trying to save her, remember?
What time was it when you found the body?”

“Thank you. Thank you, Governor.” Inattra pushed a red
curl out of his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. “I, uh, came down a bit
after ten, I think. Much earlier than usual. I’m… This doesn’t seem real. I’ve
only seen dead bodies at funerals, and then they’re clean and pretty and there’s
no blood, you know? And you expect to see a corpse then. This morning, I wasn’t
prepared… It…” He pressed his hand to his mouth.

Around ten, QuiTai and Voorus were leading Mityam Muul
across the wharf while the funicular began its ascent to Levapur. It would have
been twenty minutes at least before she could have caught the next one. An hour
later, she’d been in his office. That didn’t give her much time. She could have
murdered Turyat before she went to the harbor, though.

He pushed that thought aside while he tried to think of
his next question. Large flies slammed into the typhoon shutters, a sound that
made him flinch. A swarm of them had whirled through the air outside the
mortuary. They always showed up in the marketplace within minutes of the
butcher opening his stall. The vicious things bit hard.