Darkness in tiber, p.4
Darkness in Tiber, page 4
“If you can spare me for a couple hours tomorrow, I wanted to check in with my parents.”
“Best wait until Father is fully recovered. Once that’s done, you’ll certainly have earned a day off.”
He didn’t like it, but arguing would accomplish nothing with Alexandra. And at this point, a few days more or less would make no difference. “What about the corrupt guard?”
“I’ll find out all about him in the morning. After you talk to the imperial guards, we’ll meet up and the two of you can look into his background. Until I know for sure who I can trust, we’ll be handling this matter ourselves.”
Joran suppressed a groan and reached for a second sandwich. When she said we, she actually meant him and Mia. His training at the college didn’t exactly cover murder investigations, but then again, it hadn’t covered killing giant serpents either and that had worked out okay.
Hopefully this would too.
Chapter 5
Cordius slumped in the lone chair gracing his hidden lab, utterly exhausted. He’d been wandering Tiber for hours, trying to make sure no one followed him here. When he’d felt confident he didn’t have a tail, he made his way to the basement room of a warehouse he owned via a merchant company that didn’t know his true identity.
He’d spent a modest portion of his personal fortune building and supplying the place. That task had been simple enough; keeping it secret from the emperor and his many spies took a fair bit more effort. He rubbed his face and frowned at the rough, wrinkled skin. He’d worn a beard for so long he’d forgotten what his face felt like underneath. At least no one would recognize him at a glance.
None of his many problems mattered a fraction as much as what his dear Lovia faced. He needed to find her before word of his failure reached the overseer. Cordius had no idea what the man’s real name was or even his true appearance. The two times they’d met, the overseer wore a hooded robe that cast his face in shadow. Only the depth of his voice convinced Cordius he spoke with a man and that might be the result of a potion.
He dared not think about that. It didn’t matter in any case. He had wealth enough that he and Lovia could flee to a remote corner of the most distant province and live in comfort for the rest of her life. Surely the overseer had better things to do than hunt down an old man and his granddaughter.
His humorless chuckle sounded bitter in the silent room. No, if he betrayed the overseer, death would certainly hunt him for the rest of his days. Unless, of course, the hunter ended up dead first.
Forcing himself out of his chair, Cordius marched over to the workbench with grim determination. He might have trained primarily as a healer, but he knew enough about alchemy to brew up weapons to reduce the overseer and his henchmen to smoking ruins.
First, he reached for the precursor to alchemist’s fire then he caught himself. Satisfying as he’d find torching everything between himself and his granddaughter, Lovia might get caught in the backdraft. Not to mention the danger of drawing all the emperor’s soldiers down on his head. Something subtler would be necessary.
By the time ten bells had rung, Cordius had a neat row of vials filled with many flavors of death lined up on his workbench. His eyes drooped and much as he’d like to go at once to find his contact, force the pig to tell him where his allies held Lovia, and kill everyone between him and her, he didn’t dare in his exhausted state.
A few hours’ sleep then at first light he’d set out. And woe to anyone that stood in his way.
Eight bells woke Cordius from a dead sleep. So much for getting an early start. In the plays, the hero always set out at dawn. He rolled out of his cot, winced as he stood, and smiled at his own stupidity. He was no hero, just a broken-down old man that had betrayed everything he believed in for the only family he had left. And if put in that situation again, he’d make the exact same decision. As long as Lovia stayed safe, nothing else mattered, including the emperor’s life.
He took a step toward the workbench and grimaced. Between the chase and his sleeping arrangements, his entire body felt like he’d been beaten with a knotted stick. He tried to avoid using potions for his aches and pains; the most effective ones also carried a risk of addiction. But today that didn’t matter. He needed to be at his best.
Three painful steps brought him to a cabinet filled with healing potions. He took an acid-green one, pulled the lid, and sniffed. Spearmint, good, this was the one he wanted. He threw it back and ten seconds later felt like a young man again. Strength and vitality flowed through him and would for twelve hours. Then he’d crash hard, reduced to little more than a still-breathing corpse for a day.
Unless he took another dose.
Having no idea how long he’d need to find his granddaughter and escape Tiber, Cordius pocketed two more of the potions. If he had to use both of them, he’d end up a corpse and not the still-breathing kind.
Next, he found his combat harness and filled its many loops with vials. When he had his arsenal in place, he hid it with a loose-fitting robe whose hood would also help disguise his features. Finally, a small pouch of silver coins to buy his breakfast went into a pocket and he set out.
The lab stairs exited into an unused closet near the rear of the warehouse. He slipped out, ignoring the many workers already busy shouting and loading wagons. The manager knew that the building’s crazy owner valued his privacy and made sure his employees stayed well away from the entrance.
Outside, he strode down the narrow street, keeping close to the buildings to let passing wagons go by. Three blocks brought him close enough to the food stands to smell frying dough and roasting meat. His mouth watered and he pulled two coins out for a small beer and a meat pie. His favorite vendor handed the food over without a word as she accepted the coins. The woman never spoke so far as he’d noticed; that’s what made her his favorite.
Eating as he walked, Cordius considered his best approach. He’d never actually sought out his contact before, usually the man came to him. Always in the same neighborhood, so Cordius would start there. The One God owed him some luck after everything that had happened.
He finished his breakfast and brushed the crumbs off his face. The priests would say that The One God owed no one anything. We all owed him for our very existence. Be that as it may, Cordius still hoped he took mercy on a desperate old man. For Lovia’s sake if not his own.
When he reached the target neighborhood, a middle-class area filled with three- and four-story apartment buildings where doubtless many of the teamsters at the warehouse lived, he reached into his robe and pulled out a vial filled with paralyzing powder. He wanted to question the man, not kill him.
At least not right away.
One of the reasons he’d planned to get here early was to blend in with the people headed out to work. Now he found the streets largely empty save for a few women dressed in tan tunics, walking and chatting while their children ran around screaming.
He found the scene both soothing and annoying. Why should these people get to have a normal life when his had fallen apart? A little, bitter piece of him wanted to hurl a vial of Dread Spores at them just to watch the group die screaming. He dismissed that idea at once. They’d done nothing deserving of his wrath. Better to quickly find someone that had.
He put a few blocks between himself and the mothers and children. His contact had to be around here somewhere.
No sooner had the thought entered his head when something sharp poked him in the back. “Just keep walking,” a familiar voice said.
How had his contact snuck up on him without Cordius noticing something? Perhaps an invisibility potion. He didn’t know and it didn’t matter.
A sharp poke in the ribs turned him toward a brick bakery that appeared closed up and abandoned. “In there.”
Cordius obliged, turning toward the door. As he moved, he broke the seal on his vial and worked his nail into the cork.
“Open the door,” his contact said.
Cordius reached out with his free hand and pulled. As he did, he turned, popped the cork out, and flung a paralyzing potion into his contact’s face.
The man slashed once, opening a bloody gash in Cordius’s side before his body started to stiffen.
Grabbing his would-be kidnapper by the collar, Cordius forced him into the bakery before he went fully rigid. The effects of his earlier potion kept the pain from his wound to a minimum, but he’d need to apply troll’s blood paste soon.
His contact collapsed to the floor. Cordius ignored him and saw to his injury. The paste sealed it quickly, leaving only a thin line and a bloodstain behind. He had enough paste for three more cuts like that. He winced and hoped he wouldn’t need it even as he feared he’d need that much and more before he finished his business.
A swift kick turned the paralyzed man over on his back. He glared up at Cordius. This variation of the poison left the target’s head free to move and speak.
“I know you think you won’t tell me anything.” Cordius drank a detect-deception potion. “But you will. The only question is how much pain will it cost you?”
The man’s jaw muscles bunched as he clenched his teeth together. A stubborn one. Pity. Cordius didn’t generally like inflicting pain, but this once he’d rethink his preferences.
A vial of acid nearly the same color as the vitality potion he took earlier slid out of his harness. Cordius carefully pulled out the cork.
“Where is my granddaughter?”
No reply.
Shaking his head, he let a drop fall on the man’s cheek. Skin sizzled as the acid did its work. His contact hissed then groaned as the acid burned through his cheek, leaving a hole big enough for Cordius’s finger.
“Where is she?”
Still nothing. He had to give the man credit for toughness if not brains. The next drop landed on his lip and burned through before dissolving two of his front teeth.
“If you don’t tell me where Lovia is, the next one is going in your left eye. I’ve attended a few inquisitions. Believe me, you don’t want me to dissolve your eyes. The prisoners always scream like mad when that happens. But the best part is, when I’m done, I can give you a potion of regeneration. Growing your eyes back is every bit as painful as melting them, or so I’m told.”
His contact trembled so hard his teeth chattered. “I don’t know where she is, I swear. Only the overseer knows.”
A bit of truth at last. “That’s a start. Where can I find the overseer?”
“A little villa in the second ring. It’s called The Snow Bird since it’s painted white. It’s the only white house on Fourth Street, you can’t miss it.”
More truth, good, nothing like a couple drops of acid to motivate a man. “Thank you very much.”
Cordius dumped the vial of acid on his contact’s face and head. The screams didn’t end until most of his brain resembled a melted candle. Thank goodness for thick brick walls. He had no desire to attract attention. No doubt his now-dead contact chose this place for similar reasons.
Cordius very much looked forward to giving the overseer a taste of what he’d fed his minion.
Chapter 6
Joran and Mia walked down the sidewalk through one of the nicer neighborhoods in Tiber’s second ring. The guard they assumed had betrayed his fellows—Kellic, according to the palace scribe Joran spoke to—only to be killed by Cordius, lived in the area. The houses all had two stories, fresh coats of paint, and a few even had yards.
Joran’s apartment was actually in this ring, though on the opposite side of the city. Mother had been horrified that he’d chosen to live in the second ring. “Slumming,” she called it. No noble worth the name would live there, she said. Which explained why he’d moved there.
And now he found himself living in the palace while attending the emperor himself, his formal post being personal advisor to the princess. Nobility surrounded him on all sides though happily most were kept at a distance for now. The effort he’d expended avoiding them for the past four years seemed like a complete waste of time. But they had been good times.
“What do you think we’ll find?” Mia asked.
Joran banished his gloomy thoughts and forced a smile. “Beats me. I’m impressed Kellic could afford a place in this part of the city. Guard sergeants must make good coin at the palace. Though apparently not enough to purchase more than passing loyalty. There it is.”
They stopped in front of a white house surrounded by a wrought iron fence. A little sign marked it as number sixty. That matched what the scribe said. Joran shook his head. He knew lesser nobles that lived in worse-looking places than this. Anyone making more than a cursory effort would realize something strange was going on.
Mia reached around, popped the latch, and they strode through. Joran plucked his official amulet out of his tunic and let it rest on his chest where it flashed in the sunlight. Only an idiot or a traitor would give someone wearing a platinum amulet marked with the imperial eagle any trouble.
Joran knocked on the freshly painted red door. Seconds later a very pregnant woman dressed in a neatly pressed white silk robe opened the door. “Who are you and why are you loitering on my doorstep?”
He pointed at the amulet and her eyes seemed to rapidly double in size. “Please forgive me, my lord. My husband didn’t come home last night and I’m a bit of a mess. Are…Are you here about Kellic?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Joran said. “Can we come inside? This may take a moment and I’m sure you’d prefer to sit.”
“Thank you for your consideration. Please come in.”
She led them through a small foyer to a nearby sitting room. Joran and Mia sat on a patterned loveseat while she practically collapsed in a chair. A silver bell sat on a fine hardwood coffee table between them. She rang it and a moment later a rather plain, blond provincial woman wearing a leather slave collar and white tunic hurried in.
“Yes, Mistress?” the slave girl asked.
“Tea and snacks for our guests. Quickly now.” The slave hurried back out and sounds came from what Joran assumed to be the kitchen. She turned her attention back to Joran and Mia. “What can I do for you?”
How did one best tell a woman about to give birth that her husband not only got himself murdered, but also served a cult dedicated to the empire’s destruction? Directly seemed best. Hopefully she didn’t miscarry.
“There’s no easy way to say this. Kellic was killed yesterday.” She gasped and her hand went immediately to her swollen abdomen. Taking a breath, Joran continued. “It seems he’d fallen in with a dangerous group that call themselves followers of The One True God. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No, I’ve never heard the phrase before. Kellic always went to work early and came home early. As far as I know he went nowhere else and had few friends outside of the other guards. We went to church every God’s Day. He couldn’t…” She broke down and started crying.
Joran grimaced. Weeping females weren’t his area of expertise.
The slave girl chose that moment to return with a silver tray laden with cups, crackers covered with cheese, and a steaming tea pot. “Mistress, is all well?”
The woman wiped her eyes and sat up straight. “Yes, I’m fine now. These people just brought some unfortunate news. Go ahead and serve.”
The tray clinked down on the table and she poured the tea, handing each of them a cup. Joran took his to be polite, but he had no intention of drinking. One of his mother’s constant warnings was to never trust anything prepared by a slave if they didn’t have a free person overseeing their work. You were asking for trouble if you did. While Joran didn’t always hold to everything his mother taught, that had always seemed a prudent bit of advice.
The slave finished and withdrew, leaving them alone once more. At least Kellic’s wife appeared to have herself back under control, thank The One God.
Mia glanced his way, then at the cup, then back at him. Joran gave a slight shake of his head. Better safe than sorry.
After the wife had taken a big gulp, they all set their cups back down. “I don’t know what I can tell you. Kellic never spoke about his work. He didn’t think it appropriate to discuss it with a woman, even his wife. Perhaps now I know why. What will happen to us?”
“I don’t know. I’ll recommend some sort of pension, at least until the child is grown, but given the circumstances of your husband’s death, the palace may have other ideas. Is coin an issue? This is a very nice home in an equally nice neighborhood.”
“It’s been in my family for generations, a leftover from when we were more prosperous. Kellic made enough to take care of it and pay the taxes. I suppose I’ll have to sell it. Jenna too. Shame really, but the coin should keep us comfortable for many years.”
Joran was getting the distinct impression that they were wasting their time. “Well. I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad news. We’ll leave you alone.”
He stood and Mia quickly joined him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the slave peeking at them from the shadows of the kitchen doorway. She ducked out of sight at once. The servants always wanted to know what transpired in their household. Joran didn’t blame her considering her fate rested on the family’s success or lack thereof as the case may be.
The fate of a slave was yet another thing outside of his control. The wife didn’t bother getting up, so they showed themselves out.
As soon as they reached the street Mia said, “I don’t envy her.”
“Neither do I.” Joran set out with no particular destination in mind.
Alexandra didn’t expect a report until dinner time and he had no desire to rush back to the palace. Not to mention they hadn’t actually learned anything, except Kellic had married the least lucky woman in the city.
“Where are we going?” Mia asked.
“Nowhere. I thought a little walk might clear my head. We’re no closer to finding Overseer than we were this morning. Maybe inspiration will strike.” He looked her way. Mia’s eyes were narrow and her hand inched toward her sword hilt. “What?”
