The Unseen Hand

Ch 27: The Mistress of Rats

"You are aware of my current employment?"

Fhaen leaned back in her chair, toying with the point of the stiletto with the tip of a finger. "You have been hired by the Blackspur ambassador to investigate the Vise's death and find his daughter. I imagine that you have come here to discover why I had the Vise killed and where I have stashed the girl. Is that about right?"

"Almost." Deneven tested his bonds to relieve the tingling in his wrists. "I may be paid from Thrommish coffers, but I still work for Reyza's best interest. What most people don't know is that the Northern Fleet is sailing south as we speak. The result of my independent inquiry has the power to preserve the peace or provoke war. Fhaen, I need answers."

Fhaen slipped the dagger into her boot. "I suspected the Thrommish might sail, but hoped they would not."

Deneven licked his bloodied lips. "Tan'os' methods were harsh, but he was good for Reyza. Under his rule we enjoyed peace. Trade was never better for everyone, including your so-called Jewelers' Guild."

Fhaen stood up without a word. She turned her back on Deneven to tend the coals under the kettle. "War is not good for my business."

"What do you know of Tan'os' death?"

Fhaen grabbed a poker. She prodded the fire, sending a rush of embers swirling up into the chimney. "I did not sanction the death of Tan'os Ensther. And even if I had, what would you do? Arrest me?"

"Do you prefer to have this discussion in the dungeon?"

"Same old Deneven," Fhaen scoffed. "You speak as if you stand a chance of laying your hands on me again."

Deneven narrowed his eyes. He too could play dirty. "As I recall, you rather enjoyed the last time I laid my hands on you."

Fhaen's grip on the fire poker tightened. "Leave our past out of this if you wish to continue this conversation."

Deneven exhaled slowly before changing the subject. "The Thrommish do not believe the official story."

The prodding stopped. Fhaen put the poker down and rose. She walked across the room to a cabinet and withdrew a delicate teacup and a small, octagonal tin. She popped the lid off the tin with a deft twist and threw a pinch of dried herbs into the porcelain cup. "Of course not, what the Chancellery is peddling is absurd."

Deneven watched her fuss with the tea. If she was the same woman from his nostalgic memories, Fhaen was in the midst of an internal debate.

Returning to the fireside, Fhaen lifted the boiling kettle from the embers and poured steaming water into the cup. A sour odor with an unsettling thickness filled the room. Fhaen returned to Deneven's side with the teacup in hand. "Drink this; it will help with the pain."

Deneven looked at the brew with consternation. Unstrained, dark leaves swam in the brownish liquid. The aroma stung his eyes.

"Drink." The order was tinged with annoyance as she held the cup to his lips.

Deneven drained the tonic in a long swallow. He imagined that licking a barroom floor at closing time would begin to approximate the brew's awful taste. The foul fluid warmed its way down to his belly, where the heat blossomed much like lamp oil poured on a fire. The brief bloom of heat burned away the pain, leaving a comforting glow in its passing.

Fhaen crossed her arms. "You shouldn't trust me."

"Who says I ever did?"

Fhaen dropped back into the chair. She crossed her legs and laced her fingers around her knee. "Ask your questions."