A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) (18 page)

“What time was this?” asked Draius.

“Hard to say, but I paid for a delivery right before he arrived and the carrier marked the time as half past four o’clock.”

“And your father’s residence is where?”

“On Palkka Street, several blocks into Keskil.” The location was quite a long way from the Sea Serpent, in a tidy working-class neighborhood of Betarr Serasa where many Sareenians settled.

“Why was Tellina going into his office so late on Fairday?”

“In Sareen, one doesn’t automatically get a day off from work every eight-day,” Maricie said, almost proudly. “Cousin Tellina was used to hard work. He said he was putting in a claim with underwriters—best to do such paperwork when it was quiet.”

Of course, Fairday night and Ringday morning would be quiet down on the docks. There would be no one around to hear the screams of a dying man.

“If you’re willing, Maricie, I can leave your father out of this entirely by having you give a statement to the watch. I need to establish your uncle’s whereabouts that evening.”

Maricie probably couldn’t write, but the watch could record her statement. Draius didn’t add that Maricie’s statement also removed Tellina from the list of suspects for the first murder. No one could have gotten to the Sea Serpent from Keskil in less than an hour, given the normal traffic on a Fairday afternoon.

“Did he mention stopping by the Sea Serpent earlier that day?” she asked the maid.

“No.”

“Can you remember any more specifics regarding his discussion with your father? About his oath?”

“No—he was always private about his business.”

“Did he ever mention the names of customers?”

“Never,” Maricie said. “He felt it a matter of honor to be discrete. He was truly a good man, Mistress.”

“Certainly, he was.” Draius tried to keep the doubt out of her voice. “Did he have any close friends?”

“He didn’t attend the Church, and I don’t know anything about his friends. We were his family; we were closer than friends.”

Yet his family apparently didn’t know anything about his activities. While Tellina hadn’t participated in the murder of Reggis, he was probably still a conspirator.

Maricie was tightly holding the box between her hands, almost like the supplicants that entered the Churches of the Way, of which there were many inside the sister cities due to the influx of Sareenians in the past ten years.

“On
your
honor, Mistress, you’ll find these murderers?”

This was no time for hesitation, with those young, pleading eyes upon her.

“On my honor,” Draius swore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Toasts and Swords

Raise your drinks to salute those who gave their lives to protect Tyrra, and who go before us to shine in the Stars. May we earn our own place in the night skies by following them in glory and honor.

—Traditional Tyrran Guard Toast, Origin Unknown

“You look great, Ma!” Peri said from the doorway.

“Thank you.”

Draius had to admit the City Guard dress uniform for women did look good, even if it wasn’t functional. In an attempt to be feminine, it had a green kirtle that extended down below the tops of her boots. A vest of supple suede, with vents about her hips, went over the kirtle. On her chest, embroidered in gold thread, was the stylized phrenic head and horn. Maricie had ironed and starched her collar and slashed sleeves to perfection.

“Get my ceremonial sword, will you?”

Peri was happy to have a chance to take her ceremonial sword out of its stand in the downstairs front parlor. He came back upstairs with it sheathed, but swaying above his head. She grabbed it before he smashed something. The sword was a light ceremonial saber, with a barely sharpened blade. It wasn’t intended for combat, but its length made it difficult for the boy to control.

She strapped the sword’s sash over her shoulder and remembered the only times she had used this sword: Master Arvo’s classes. He taught the fine points of Tyrran honor and swordsmanship.

“Never give point in a duel,” Arvo would call out as they sparred, “because that’s an assassination, not a proper contest. Always stop when first blood is drawn.” Master Arvo had been fanatical about the intricacies and rules of the duel—but it had only taken one fight with a Groygan, to the death, for Draius to realize that Arvo’s rules had to be thrown out in real combat.

Her rank and service medals were correctly aligned. Her unbound hair shimmered in silvery blond ripples down her back. When she looked in the expensive mirror that Anja had installed in her room, she thought she looked too young without her braids. There was no help for that; one didn’t braid one’s hair when wearing the dress uniform.

She twisted to the left and then to the right, watching the skirts swirl about her soft leather boots. After wearing breeches for so long, all that fabric twirling around her legs felt free and frivolously sensual.

“Da will be there too, won’t he?” Peri asked, ruining her good mood.

“Yes, he will.”

“I bet he’ll look real handsome.”

Yes, she couldn’t deny that Jan was handsome. It wasn’t his appearance that caused problems. He was exploitive and unreadable, unless one spent years studying him as Draius had. When Jan appeared to have a simple emotion, such as pleasure or anger, he could never be taken at face value. He was always manipulating, looking for the advantage and benefits for himself.

“You’ll be asleep when I come home, so let me give you your good night kiss now,” she said.

“I won’t be asleep!” Peri protested. “Tell me all about it when you get home.”

“We’ll see.” Smiling, she pushed him gently out of her room.

When he was gone, she made a last adjustment to her rank insignia and sighed. A whole evening would be wasted when she could be doing something useful. Tonight was the yearly Guard Festival and Awards. Every City Guard, King’s Guard, and Naval Guard member would be there, except those required to be on duty or patrols. Even Betarr Kain City Guard might attend.

Today was Honorday and, by tomorrow, an eight-day would have passed since the murder of Councilman Reggis. The interviews with the people in the shops around Taalo’s laboratory revealed that the apothecary had an apprentice. Unfortunately, no one had a name or lineage, only a description of a lanky male about seventeen years old.

Miina had the unpleasant duty of contacting every registered Tyrran matriarch to track down the Taalo’s assistant, as well as trying to determine the apothecary’s background. According to the interviews so far, Taalo portrayed himself as nunetton when he rented the shop from the Isan-Kolme—for much higher fees than he’d pay if he were attached to a lineage. They doubted he was missing entirely from matriarchal records, since he appeared to be “upper-city” educated. There was a chance a matriarch might remember him or, at least, remember paying for his education. Surprisingly, Miina approached this tedious work with good humor.

Draius exerted more pressure on the Purje-Kolme by petitioning the matriarch for Vanhus’ business records. She wasn’t following Anja’s advice by keeping a low profile and she wondered when the matriarchs would blacklist her for being so impudent, but at least she had gotten results. For most of the day, she sat with papers and records collected for all three victims, trying to connect them. Each victim socialized in different circles and she couldn’t tie Taalo to any of them. Worse, the apothecary still couldn’t be found, even though the Pettaja clerks had managed to establish his habits: Taalo displayed interest in recently published scientific papers, as well as attending lectures promoted by the Royal Academy of Science. He also frequented certain bookbinders for the specially made paper he used in his chemistry experiments.

After fruitless hours in the office, Draius went to exercise Chisel in the stable ring. At least the fresh air helped clear her mind before she had to wash and dress for this evening’s festivities.

“Draius, I’ll have Cerin prepare the carriage and drive you.” Anja called from the foot of the stairs.

“No thanks, I’ll walk.”

There had been a short but strong downpour after she left the stables, and the temperatures suddenly warmed. The streets were wet, and the evening was mild and sweet with early spring flowers. The Great Hall was only twelve blocks away and she would have a pleasant walk.

She entered the main square from the south, facing the Great Hall, and paused to admire the festival lights. Colored glass globes with candles were placed on ledges about the square, and light poured out of the tall, narrow windows of the Great Hall. The light reflected in puddles about the square. Laughter, punctuated with shouts, came through the open doors of the building.

As she approached the doors, a figure in green and gold pushed away from a pillar and came lightly down the stairs to meet her. It was easy to recognize the graceful movement and the coiled energy in each step.

“I suspected you’d be attending this alone,” Lornis said. “You look too good tonight, you should have a protective companion.” His hair was also unbraided and unbound. The shining mane swirled as he saluted and took her unresisting arm.

“As if I need protecting!” Draius laughed, feeling absurdly exhilarated. She didn’t pull her arm away as they walked up the stairs. There would be no talk of death threats or magical charms tonight. “The only thing I’ll need protection from tonight will be boredom.”

“I am at your service, even for that.” Lornis spoke gravely, although his eyes danced. They walked through the large doors together.

Noise and light clashed about the hall, almost making her head hurt. The City Guard dress uniforms were flashy, but the green and silver of the Betarr Serin Guard totally overwhelmed them. Here and there she spotted a blue uniform with gold braid on Betarr Kain City Guard. People in uniforms milled about the long tables, as friends greeted each other and searched for just the right seats. Barrels of lager and wine were stacked against the wall as busy barkeeps served drinks from the counter and kept the servers circulating with beverages for the tables.

Across several long tables, she saw Jan talking with Netta, apparently having a serious discussion. Netta’s dark hair, such a contrast to her husband’s, shone in the lamplight as she shook her head. She looked away, and her brown eyes accidentally met Draius’s gaze across the room. For a moment, Netta and Draius measured each other. Then the woman looked down and Draius realized she’d been holding her breath. Jan moved away, apparently finished with the discussion. Looking about, Draius suspected that Netta hadn’t brought her spouse, even though her Vakuutis-Nelja contract supposedly remained strong.

A watchman began beating a gong, signaling everyone to get to his or her seat and quiet down. Up on the dais sat Captain Rhaffus, as captain of the Betarr Serasa City Guard, looking uncomfortable in his position to the left of King Perinon. On the King’s right sat the master of arms, Meran-Kolme Sevoi, resplendent in his silver and green uniform. On the other side of the master of arms was the captain of the King’s Guard, as well as the captain of the Betarr Kain City Guard in his dress blue and gold.

Draius noted the absence of any Phrenii. So this would be a purely mortal affair. Besides, what harm could come to the King as he sat with practically every Guard member in the sister cities?

The dais wasn’t crowded. Only the master of arms had his spouse sitting with him. Two of the captains were widowers and apparently planned to stay that way. No young woman had been selected to escort the King, opening up endless speculation. There were other noticeable vacancies on the dais: the captain of the Naval Guard and the harbor master usually attended, but they weren’t here tonight.

Draius and Lornis found seats toward the back end of the long center table. Near the front of the same table, Jan took a seat next to his commander, the OIC of City Defense. She watched Jan smile politely and engage in conversation with his commander’s spouse. Since Erik’s fall from favor, he’d quickly cultivated other useful and politic friendships.

Draius and Lornis were sitting with a mixed compliment of King and City Guard. Across the table sat Bordas, the commander of the last border patrol she had been assigned to. The conversation was kept light, staying away from the threatening political situation: in response to Groygan military and naval build-up, the King’s Council had increased import taxes yet again on Groygan goods. Tyrra now waited for the Groygan response.

She looked about at the crowd. The King’s Guard executed military actions while the City Guard maintained defenses within Tyrra and provided the King’s Guard with supplemental forces. Her throat tightened as she thought of the possibility of friends leaving and dying.

At her table, speculation started regarding the marked absence of any Naval Guard.

“Supposedly three ships of the line have left harbor within the past two days. Perhaps they’re doing something about the piracy,” Lornis said.

“Maybe they’re training,” someone suggested.

“It’s best we mind our own business,” Bordas said. That seemed to be the byword for the evening as everyone dug into dinner.

The food was simple but plentiful. Roasted pig was the main course, supplemented with heavy egg noodles, the Tyrran mainstay, and early spring vegetables mixed with last year’s potatoes. Platters of candied and dried fruit were set on all the tables. No fresh fruits were yet available, other than what could be imported from warmer climates such as Sareen.

After most had been served their dinner, the program started. A watchman would beat the gong for silence, and an award or gift would be presented while the recipient (and often the presenter) stood red faced on the dais and shuffled his or her feet. The first awards were mostly fun and farce, such as the toy sword presented to a watchman who pursued a pickpocket with his sword drawn and tripped, breaking his weapon and his wrist. The man waved the small wooden sword with his splinted arm as he made his way back to his seat, where he and his comrades immediately precipitated a toast.

By the second break, Draius was weary of the noise and could not have stuffed another bite of food past her lips. Even imbibing conservatively with each toast, the evening was beginning to blur and feel like a ritual of endurance. The part she always dreaded was beginning: the serious awards. These were the career-advancing awards, prized by ambitious officers.

“Want to step outside for some fresh air?” Lornis asked.

She jumped up at his suggestion. They walked onto the back terrace that overlooked the public gardens behind the Great Hall. Others were trying to get some respite from the warm hall or, like her, trying to clear the wine from their heads. She and Lornis leaned on the stone balustrade, taking deep breaths of cool air.

“I’d trade this for all the wine inside the hall,” she said in a low voice.

Lornis nodded.

“Fine spring evening, isn’t it, Draius?” said a voice behind her.

She turned to face Jan. “Yes, a fine evening.”

“If you’ll excuse us, Lieutenant. I’d like to speak with my wife.”

Lornis nodded, but she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. He backed away only as far as propriety demanded, still within earshot.

“What do you want?” she asked. Jan was waiting for Lornis to leave and that didn’t seem to be happening. Given the wine she’d had, she didn’t care who overheard their conversation.

“I’ve heard our contract is now the subject of discussion with the Meran-Viisi.” Jan might have heard this from Anja, but Draius didn’t think the matriarch would have confided in him. Had Maricie or Cerin listened at the door?

“I wouldn’t say they’re interested in our contract as much as they’re interested in Peri.”

“Yes, Peri is who we must consider. My son—who will
stay
Serasa-Kolme, even if they’ve re-used your cousin’s name. On my Honor, I’ll provide for him myself before I let the Meran-Viisi have him.”

Picturing Jan with Netta, she released an explosive snort of laughter. “You?
You’re
swearing an oath on your honor? You can’t keep a contract, much less an oath!” She heard her words and her derisive tone, as if from a distance. It was too late to stop. The words were out of her mouth, and everyone around them went still.

Duels had been fought for such an insult. Now her mind filled with a glimpse of the
H&H
headline:
First Husband-Wife Duel Fought in the City Guard!
For a moment, her thoughts followed that bumpy road. She was good with the saber, but Jan had a better reach. The absurdity of the situation she’d precipitated made her hold back an uncharacteristic giggle of hysteria.
I’ve had too much wine. I shouldn’t be talking with Jan right now, much less insulting his honor
.