Chapter 41
Perinar stood outside the gatehouse, pacing up and down. He rushed to embrace her, knocking the breath out of her. “You’re safe,” he whispered.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, patting his back. She eased out of his arms and led him towards the south side of the middle ward, to make the most of the remaining daylight.
“That Watchman wouldn’t say what he wanted with you,” said Perinar, “and all sorts of horrible possibilities went through my mind.”
She sighed. “It was horrible. The officer wanted me to examine the body.” She tried to look as though she’d never done this before, and forced a shudder.
“So... what did you discover?” He looked into her eyes, seeming to dare her to lie.
“I... I...” A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t hold his gaze. “He ordered me not to say anything about it.”
Perinar looked down. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Neither can I.” Liar.
Hand in hand, they walked to the door of the senior apprentices’ building. “Good night, then,” she said, as they embraced on the threshold.
He stepped back, keeping hold of her hands. He seemed anxious, and she wished she could see his face properly.
“Adramal,” he said, and then hesitated.
“Yes?” Her stomach clenched.
He gripped her hands tighter. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for the last couple of days. I guess now isn’t the best time for it, but I... I’d gathered my courage to do it today, and I think if I don’t do it now then maybe I never will.”
“Then tell me.”
He threw his arms around her and pulled her close. She breathed in, the scent of him filling her head. She wanted to take him back to her room, rules be damned.
“Adramal, I love you.”
Tears prickled in her eyes. She’d wanted him to say that, but hadn’t dared to hope he would. He let go of her and stood back, head bowed.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve made such a fool of myself.”
“No.” She reached out to him and touched his hand. “It’s... it’s a bit unexpected, that’s all. But... whenever I’m with you, I feel there’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Even now?” He didn’t sound convinced.
“Even now.” She embraced him and took a deep breath. “I love you, Perinar.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” he whispered.
She eased out of his arms and walked backwards down the corridor, smiling and waving at him. In her room, she sat on her bed and hugged her pillow. Maybe — just maybe — her spying mission was over now, and she could start a new life with Perinar.
Adramal went through most of the next day in a daze, seeing and hearing without understanding. She was aware of Perinar’s love for her, and hers for him, but in an abstract way, as though she’d heard two other people say “I love you” yesterday evening. They sat or walked, saying nothing to each other.
Word had got around that she’d examined Degoran’s body. Several apprentices wanted to know what she’d discovered, but she brushed them off with Captain Tagahra’s orders for secrecy.
The entire school attended Degoran’s funeral, held on the broad grassy area at the western side of the outer ward. The apprentices were split into junior and senior, with the servants between them. Adramal wished she could be with Perinar, to comfort him. She’d always hated funerals — they made her feel helpless.
Each teacher gave a little speech about what a wonderful man and wizard Degoran had been, and how shocked they were by his sudden demise, and how great a loss he was to Kyturil. Adramal watched them all carefully, trying to decide which of them was in fact glad he was dead. She reached no conclusion: all seemed genuinely heartbroken.
The teachers stood around Degoran’s funeral pyre, one at each cardinal point of the compass. They pointed to the kindling stacked around the base. Adramal sensed a wave of magic, like a heavy, itchy blanket. Four small fires started and quickly joined together, sending thick white smoke into the still air. Soon the flames reached the corpse, wrapped in layer upon layer of cloth. These had been soaked in sweet-smelling oil to mask the odour of burning flesh. That scent brought back memories Adramal would rather not have faced. Mama’s gone, beloved. The magic that was in her has become part of the ground, the water, the air. She put an arm around Meldoran and surrendered to her grief.
“Stay where you are!”
Adramal opened her eyes to see a dozen or more priests of Mathran running towards the pyre. She looked frantically for an escape route, but more priests surrounded the apprentices, their raskarims held out. She sensed magic around her — apprentices readying spells. As if that would do any good. People jostled her, fear in their eyes.
“Wizards, you are surrounded and outnumbered! Offer no resistance!” Now she recognised the speaker — Marik, the Head of the External Inquisition. Her fear turned to anger. “We are here to arrest two dangerous criminals! We have no quarrel with the rest of you!”
“This is a funeral!” someone shouted. “Show some respect!”
“There are no criminals here!”
“Go back to your stinking temple, you filthy sons of whores!”
Three of the priests had converged on Lorgrim, who was swatting at them with his cane and cursing loudly. But the remaining teachers were unmolested — who else had the priests come for? She looked around, grateful for once for her height.
Two priests marched Rakbanorath towards one of the breaches in the outer wall. He walked with a steady dignity, as though he had already accepted his likely fate.
“No,” she whispered. Lorgrim had shown himself happy to commit blackmail, so it was no great stretch to imagine him capable of murder. But Rakbanorath? He was here to save lives, not to end them.
The priests who surrounded Lorgrim had by now picked him up and were carrying him to the outer wall. The rest of the priests slowly withdrew from around the apprentices and teachers, and followed their colleagues. A couple of senior apprentices ran after the priests, shouting. One of the priests cast a spell, and the apprentices went down, clutching their shins.
“Everybody back inside the middle ward,” said Eskalyn. His voice shook. “Go back to your quarters.”
The following day, after lunch, Eskalyn called everyone into the Great Hall. His face red and his breathing laboured, he said, “I’ve just come from the city. I have some news about Lorgrim and Rakbanorath. I wanted you all to hear it at the same time, to prevent rumours from spreading.”
It was too late for that, Adramal thought. At breakfast, she had already heard a dozen ideas about what had happened, all mutually contradictory and each one wilder and more implausible than the last.
Eskalyn continued, “The City Watch have got it into their heads that Degoran’s death was not suicide, dreadful as that is, but murder.”
The room erupted in uproar. Shendar shouted for quiet.
“Lorgrim and Rakbanorath stand accused of the crime,” said Eskalyn. “The Watch Captain was certain Degoran had been poisoned. He checked Lorgrim’s private garden and found a blue oleander was missing. One plant has more than enough poison to kill a man.
“The reason Rakbanorath is accused as well is that the ceiling of Degoran’s bedroom has a trapdoor, dating from when Kyturil was still a fortress. The trapdoor was unlocked, so that must have been how the murderer got in. Of course, a man as old and frail as Lorgrim couldn’t have made that climb. But there’s a wardrobe underneath the trapdoor, and in the dust on top of it was a handprint, exactly the same size as Rakbanorath’s.”
Everybody started talking at once. When Shendar had calmed them down, Eskalyn said, “I’m certain — quite certain — that Degoran died by his own hand, or else from his illness. In any case, we need look no further for the cause of his death, and I’m sure that Lorgrim and Rakbanorath are wholly innocent. The Council are doing all we can to have them released, and the accusations withdrawn.” A barrage of questions followed, but Eskalyn refused to answer any.
When the gathering dispersed, Adramal and Perinar wandered around the outer ward. The ashes of Degoran’s pyre had been swept away, leaving only a black patch on the ground.
“Something’s not right about this,” said Perinar. “The priests have got the wrong man.”
“Only one of them?” said Adramal.
“Well, maybe both of them. I can just about believe Lorgrim had some reason to harm Degoran. But Rakbanorath? He’d never hurt anyone.”
“Both of them know a lot about poisons,” said Adramal. “More than anyone else here. Lorgrim could have made the poison, but he couldn’t reach Degoran to administer it.”
“But Rakbanorath wouldn’t poison anyone.”
“How well do you know him?” she asked. “Or Lorgrim, for that matter? Have you ever spoken to Lorgrim about something other than herblore?” she said. “Or said anything to Rakbanorath except, ‘this is where it hurts’?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “But there must be something we can do.” He waved his hands, clawing the air. “Those priests who carried them off. I heard they were from the External Inquisition. They’re supposed to punish heresy and blasphemy. Murder is outside their responsibilities.”
“The Watch alone wouldn’t have been able to take Lorgrim, if he didn’t want to go, or the other teachers didn’t want to let him,” said Adramal. “The priests were there in case we decided to put up a fight.”
“But the case is so flimsy. Anyone could have taken the plant. And Rakbanorath has the same size hands as the murderer — well — not even that — the same size hands as someone who touched the top of Degoran’s wardrobe. It’s insane! A servant could have left that print there fortnights ago.”
He’d have needed arms that came down to his feet, she thought, which would make him stand out a bit.
She sighed and moved her hand to his shoulder. “I know you mean well. But you don’t have all the facts.”
“But you do,” he said, his eyes bright. “Tell me.”
She shook her head.
He scowled and lifted her hand. “It doesn’t matter about keeping things secret any more, surely. The investigation’s over. The trial could happen today. If they’re found guilty, they could be executed tomorrow.” He gripped her hand tighter. “If you know something that could save them, you have to speak up.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked down, finding it too hard to meet his gaze. “The Captain didn’t say I could talk about it once he’d accused somebody. He said I couldn’t talk about it at all.”
Perinar embraced her — hesitantly, as though this was a barrier he wasn’t sure he should cross. He touched her cheek, and she lifted her head far enough to see his eyes glistening. “I love you,” he whispered.
Even though I’ve condemned two men you hold in high esteem?
“If you can’t tell me,” he said, “tell the Council. Eskalyn would be glad of anything he could use to help prove them innocent.”
What I know would just sharpen the axe. ”Degoran was murdered,” she said. “I’m certain of that. Which means that if Lorgrim or Rakbanorath — or both — is innocent, one or more of the Council is very likely guilty.”
He nodded, and gave her a gentle kiss. He took another deep breath. “So that means, if Lorgrim and Rakbanorath are to be freed, we have to do it ourselves.”
Perinar told Adramal to fetch her herbal, as it was more comprehensive than those the school owned, and meet him in the library. When she got there, he took the book from her and handed her a slate with a list of half-a-dozen books.
“Those are about the laws of the city,” he said. “The rules that the Watch and the priests have to abide by. I want you to see if there’s any hint in there that the priests acted improperly — anything we can use to buy Lorgrim and Rakbanorath more time.”
“Right,” she said, her heart heavy. “What about you?”
He opened her herbal. “I’m going to see if they were right about blue oleander.”
Adramal picked out the books on Perinar’s list and took them to one of the desks. Where to start? The very idea of rules needing to be written down was foreign to her. Rules should be simple enough for everyone to remember, otherwise you could break them accidentally. Was that the idea, perhaps?
The thinnest of the books was an index of the other five. She wondered whether to start with Murder, definition of, or Arrest, lawful means of, or Mathran, Priesthood of, who had a whole page of sub-topics. The words External Inquisition caught her eye. She turned to the relevant page.
Although Perinar had claimed that murder was outside the remit of the External Inquisition, the book suggested they had a lot of leeway with regard to what they could punish. A priest could arrest anyone for anything that he believed threatened the authority of the Church or the spiritual welfare of the people. Murder wouldn’t normally fit either criterion, true, but murder committed by a wizard might. The accused could appeal to the Head of the Inquisition... who had helped in the arrests, and so had presumably already made his mind up about their guilt.
“Adramal?” said Perinar. She turned to see him standing behind her. “I’ve checked your herbal and three others. They all say that one blue oleander can kill a man. But yours says the poison can be absorbed through the skin — you don’t have to ingest it.”
“So what does that mean?” said Adramal.
“Cover your skin when you’re preparing it. In particular, wear gloves.”
Her heart thudded. “In which case, Rakbanorath’s hand doesn’t fit the print on top of the wardrobe.”
“Then whose does? Whose hands are smaller than his?”
Adramal pouted, thinking she should’ve paid more attention when Tagahra was making his measurements. Perinar sat opposite and rested his chin on his hands. Adramal reached to stroke the back of his hand, and then changed her mind, holding out her hand with the palm facing him.
“Compare the sizes,” she said.
Puzzled, Perinar complied, pressing his palm to hers. “Yours is bigger, just.”
She nodded. “Men’s hands tend to be bigger than women’s, and tall people’s tend to be bigger than short people’s.”
“So who’s shorter than Rakbanorath?”
She closed her eyes and tried to picture the teachers and the apothecary. The only time she’d seen them all in the same place, they’d been sitting, which evened out differences in height. She imagined herself talking to each of them and tried to decide how much she’d have to look up or down to meet their gaze...
Her eyes flicked open. “Shendar,” she whispered.
Perinar stared at her. “Impossible.”
She leaned back. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
“I mean — she’s a horrible woman, but I can’t imagine she’d ever want to kill anybody.”
Adramal stood up. “I could be wrong — the point is that we’ve proven that the priests arrested the wrong people.” She strode to the door. “We have to get to the city. Now.”
She sprinted out of the library, through the inner and middle gatehouses. Perinar stumbled along behind her. She swerved around the corner of the stable and skidded to a halt in front of it.
Inside, she saw the sorrel horse had gone. Only the grey one remained. She went back out to the side of the stable. The chaise had gone too. In her haste to get here, she’d run right past where it was kept without noticing its absence.
She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid this means I’m going alone.”
“A horse can carry two people,” he said.
“But not as fast as she can carry one.” She took a saddle from its hook on the wall. “Help me with this.” Perinar knew much more about horses than her, and she let him do most of the work of saddling the grey. She fumbled her way through the process of mounting.
“How much riding have you done before?” he asked.
“Enough to get to the city without falling off.”
“You don’t look all that confident in the saddle. Maybe I should go.”
She shook her head. “Captain Tagahra will recognise me. He — I think he’ll trust my judgement.”
“All right,” said Perinar, though his face said he doubted her. With a hopeful smile, he added, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said. Her heart pounded with those words. He kissed her hand, and she kissed his. She nudged the horse to start walking.
Halfway to the outer gatehouse, she glanced over her shoulder. Perinar stood where she’d left him, waving to her. Once she’d crossed the bridge over the moat, she persuaded the horse to gallop. She reached Kyer Altamar as the guards were closing the gate.
“I have to see Captain Tagahra,” she panted.
“Wait until tomorrow,” said one of them, a stocky, grey-haired man.
“Sergeant, please,” she said, hoping she was right about the insignia on his sleeves. “I’ve just come from Kyturil — the school. Yesterday, the Captain arrested two of our teachers on suspicion of murdering a third. I have evidence that those two men are innocent.”
The Sergeant rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s innocent in gaol, Lady.”
“Look,” she said, swaying to keep her balance as the mare shifted under her, “I’m a healer. Captain Tagahra asked me to examine the victim’s body. I found a handprint in the dust on top of the wardrobe that seemed to fit one of the accused men, but I’ve since learned that the killer must’ve been wearing gloves, so the print doesn’t fit.”
The Sergeant rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Are you trying to do our jobs for us?” She noticed he didn’t call her Lady that time.
A younger Watchman approached and whispered something in the Sergeant’s ear. The Sergeant frowned and said to Adramal, “My lad reckons he saw you in the Watch building a few days ago. I’ll let you in if you can tell me which day it was and the name of the man who was escorting you.”
Adramal took a deep breath. “It was All Gods’ Day, Sir, and the man’s name was Morakh.”
The Sergeant looked at his man, who nodded. The men stood aside, and the Sergeant motioned her onwards. She mouthed a thank you to the Watchman who had recognised her.
She had gone a few dozen yards when she realised the horse was worn out — mouth covered in foam, breath loud in the deepening silence. Adramal dismounted and led her through the streets, as quickly as she dared. If she pulled too hard on the reins, the horse might well refuse to move on, and she would have to abandon her. It was probably unrealistic to expect her still to be there when she came back.
The streets were almost deserted. Everybody was going home, or was there already. The stalls in the Eastern Market were all shuttered for the night. Candles burned in a few upstairs windows.
She came to the stables at the back of the Watch’s headquarters. A boy approached and took the reins from her. She fished a silver from her purse for him, saying, “Make sure she’s well cared for. I shouldn’t be long inside.”
“Yes, Lady,” the boy said brightly.
She climbed the stairs that led to the lobby, finding it empty. The front door was barred. She bounded up the staircase to the corridor where the Captains’ offices were. The torches had all been extinguished, but a sliver of deep red twilight fell across the floor. As she approached, she saw that it came from the half-open door of Tagahra’s office.
She slowed down. The sweat that clung to her from the ride went cold. On all her previous visits here, his door had been shut. She stopped and listened, hearing nothing.
She knocked on Tagahra’s door. No answer. She pushed the door and stepped into the room.
A layer of prickly warmth passed over her body. She stopped dead, her heart hammering. She’d just walked through a spell. She moved backwards, not feeling the spell this time. A gust of wind chilled her, and she heard the door slam. Every muscle tensed. Only now did she notice Tagahra was not at his desk.
“Are you ever on time for anything?” A woman’s voice, behind her.
Adramal spun round. In front of the door stood Shendar, a satisfied smile on her lips. In her hand, pointing at Adramal, was a knife with a long, thin blade, coated in fresh blood. A white nimbus of magic surrounded it.