The tainted cup, p.26
The Tainted Cup, page 26
“How does the water get up here?” I asked.
“The servants bring it up in buckets,” called Fayazi. “How else? Then they light the stonewood fires beneath and send it down to the baths.”
“And this is what happened after the party, ma’am?”
“Yes. Of course.”
I opened the top of the tank and peered in. It was wide and rounded with a small grate in the center.
And there, lying in the middle of the grate, was a small strip of something dark. Though it was hard to see in the shadows within the tank, I had no doubt what it was.
My eyes fluttered, and suddenly I was not leaning down into a water tank: I was back in Daretana, watching as Princeps Otirios held his hands up about eight smallspan apart.
A slender slip of grass…not big at all. Odd to think such a small thing could kill a man so horribly.
I swallowed as the memory released me. “That’s it,” I said hoarsely. “It’s still here.”
* * *
—
I RETURNED TO the coterie and informed them of what I’d found. “Don’t use or tamper with or touch any of the bathing mechanisms,” I told Fayazi. “I frankly shouldn’t have looked into the water tank. I’ll call the Apoths when I return, and they’ll dispose of the contagion accordingly.”
For the first time, Fayazi looked rattled. “But…but how did it get in there at all? We had guards at all the hallways, and…and for the love of Sanctum, we had telltales at the entries to the estate! We made all the attendees march past them as they entered! That’s how we keep contagion out!”
“Calm,” said the axiom quietly. “Calm yourself, mistress…” Again, her hand returned to Fayazi’s arm, gripping her tight.
I considered the situation. The estate was a giant place. And despite what Fayazi had just said, I knew such a giant place would offer many points of entry—but where to start?
I remembered what Ana had told me after catching Uxos: Projecting motives is a fool’s game. But how they do it—that’s a matter of matter, moving real things about in real space.
“How do the servants get up here?” I asked. “Do they take the same route we did?”
“They use the servants’ passages,” said the engraver. He pointed east along the walls. “The entrance is there, out of sight, but it is kept locked.”
I went to where he pointed and found a small, bland little door that had been built to blend in with the wall. I tried the knob, but it was locked tight.
“It was locked the day of the party?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And it was only unlocked before Kaygi took his bath?”
“Correct.”
“Is this the only servants’ door to this part of the house?”
“There is another servants’ door inside,” he said slowly. “Just past where we entered. But it is not well used.”
We crossed the parapet, reentered the hall, and came to the little door, which had been disguised as a stretch of wall. I tried the knob—and the door fell open, revealing a narrow, dark little passageway.
I peered at the knob. The bolt had been broken from its housing, like someone had pried at it with a length of iron.
The axiom stared at the broken knob, then turned to hiss at the engraver, “How did this escape your notice?”
I interrupted as he stammered to answer. “It’s possible the poisoner knew this door was little used,” I said. “But this must be how they came up. Does this passageway connect to the halls where the party was held?”
“Of course!” the axiom snapped. “How else might the servants move about the house unseen?”
“But much of the passageways are unlit,” said the engraver. “Servants and porters usually carry lanterns with them while attending to their duties. I’m sure they would have noticed if one of the guests was running about in the servants’ passageways with a lantern.”
I gazed into the darkened passageway. “I’d like to see for myself, please.”
They had a servant with a lantern lead me through the passageways, which were often tight and cramped. I couldn’t imagine how the Haza servants maneuvered within them carrying bundles of linens or trays of food. Yet though I moved slowly, descending always down to where the party had occurred, I could spy no sign of any trespasser’s passage—or at least, any sign that was distinguishable from the servants’ own.
The servant finally led me to the vast halls on the ground floor, where I found Fayazi and her coterie waiting for me.
She cocked an eyebrow at me as I exited. “Well? Did you find any evidence indicating how this was done? Or how that damned poison was smuggled into our home?”
I dusted myself off and tried to think. It seemed unlikely that the poisoner would have been able to improvise that trip through the passageways—which would mean they’d have to at least have known the passages existed, and where they exited.
“Signum?” Fayazi said. “Are you listening?”
“Still tracing it, ma’am,” I said. “Tell me—were these doors locked during the party?”
“Not the ones down here, no. It would have been tremendously awkward if the servants had been forced to lock and unlock doors as they went.”
“So anyone could have slipped into one?”
“Yes,” said the engraver. “But there were guards stationed in the halls. And the servants, as we’ve pointed out, would have noticed someone navigating the passageways with a lantern.”
I frowned, peering along the long, cavernous halls, studying the near-invisible forms of the servants’ doors built into the walls.
“You mentioned a fire occurred during the party,” I said. “Please take me to where it happened.”
They brought me to yet another of the many halls, this one featuring a tremendous stonewood fireplace that still smelled of old soot. A few square spans of the rug before it were black and crusted, and crunched underfoot as I approached.
I knelt before the fireplace, studying the hearth and the ash pit cover. There were whitish scorch marks all along the back left corner of the firebox. Strangely patterned, almost like pale flower blossoms. I touched them and found they were not residue: the brick itself had been burned.
Then I caught a faint aroma, acrid and unpleasant. I was reminded of horse urine or something similarly foul. I leaned closer to the scorched corner and sniffed again. The scent was much stronger there.
“What is it?” said Fayazi.
“Not sure, ma’am,” I said. I clambered back out of the fireplace and sniffed my vial to engrave the memory properly. “But I don’t think the ember that popped was natural.”
“Meaning someone threw some…some device into the fireplace?” asked the engraver.
“Yes. With the intention of causing a diversion. This started the fire, the guards came running—along with you—and someone slipped into the servants’ passageways and made it up to the bathhouse and back without anyone noticing.”
Fayazi stared at me, shaken. “How could they have maneuvered throughout the servants’ quarters without being spotted?”
“Don’t know, ma’am.”
“And how did they get the damned contagion in here in the first place?”
“Calm, mistress,” said the axiom quietly. “Calm…”
“Don’t know, ma’am,” I said again.
“There must have been some way!” Fayazi snapped, suddenly riled. “I thought you Iudex people were supposed to be clever!”
“You must be calm!” said the axiom. “Breathe deep the airs of this place and be calm!”
Again, the axiom held her mistress’s arm, yet this time she gripped her so tight her fingers disappeared into Fayazi’s robes. I could think of no one less calming and reassuring than this needle-eyed creature. Yet I sensed an opportunity.
“I don’t think the poison was brought in during your party, ma’am,” I said, thinking rapidly.
“Then how?” Fayazi demanded.
“I think it came earlier,” I said. “I think it was already here, waiting to be used. The murderer simply had to come to the party, pick it up, and bring it to the appropriate place. And it wouldn’t be hard to sneak something the size of a blade of grass into your estate.”
I paused. All I’d said thus far were things I truly believed; but now I would have to lie. And that had never been my greatest talent.
“Then how?” Fayazi demanded again.
“It could have come over the walls somehow,” I said slowly, “or, possibly, it was carried in by some small animal.”
“Like what?” said the engraver. “The killer used a trained mouse to sneak the blade of grass into the boiler?”
“Or a trained bird,” I said. “The estate does have a rookery, doesn’t it? For scribe-hawks?”
Fayazi paused, considering this.
“That place,” said the axiom softly, “is not for you.”
“You…you are suggesting,” the engraver said slowly, “that someone…posted the poison to the lady’s house? Carried by a scribe-hawk?”
“Possibly. You get a lot of them coming here, I’d expect. And a blade of grass would be a simple thing for such a creature to carry. Do you check your hawks the same way you checked your guests for your party?”
“Do you really think,” the engraver said, “that having had this poison carried here upon a scribe-hawk, one of the lady’s servants just took it off the bird and…what, left it lying about?”
“I would normally think it unlikely,” I said coolly, “but then, I would also think someone navigating your servants’ passages, breaking the top door open, and then you not noticing either would be very unlikely. And yet, that is evidently what has happened.”
A frosty pause. All three of them glared at me.
“Very few are allowed in our rookery,” Fayazi said. “Even I was not permitted there, until recently. Only my father and his most trusted servants possessed access.”
“I must review all avenues of entry, ma’am,” I explained. “The rookery, the walls—everything.”
“Would you still wish to see it, Signum,” the axiom said, “if you knew that we had burned all of the master’s correspondence after his death?”
I tried not to let my frustration show in my face. Of course. Of course they’d burned it all. Perhaps for contagion, but also to destroy evidence, surely.
Yet Ana had told me to get into the rookery. Perhaps there might still be something of value there.
“Yes,” I said smoothly. “Of course I would.”
Fayazi thought about it. “Then I will allow you a moment.”
“There is nothing there for him to see, mistress,” said the axiom. “We canno—”
“They tell me this boy is the one who investigated Blas’s murder,” said Fayazi sharply. She glared back at her servant. “Perhaps he can give us assistance.” She looked at me. “Five minutes, Signum, and no more.”
She turned and began walking, and I and her retinue followed.
CHAPTER 28
| | |
AS WE WALKED I peppered Fayazi and her Sublimes with questions about her father’s correspondence. Had there been anything unusual? Any packages that had been laid aside? Any letters or correspondence from unusual places? Part of this was to maintain my story as to why I wished to see the rookery, but I also wanted to learn as much about Kaygi Haza’s correspondence as I could, even if it was now burned.
But their responses were short, clipped, and inarguable: “No,” or “Certainly not,” or “Not that I recall.” Nothing useful whatsoever, and the axiom eventually stopped answering altogether.
Finally we came to the rookery, a tall, circular tower built into the northwest side of the estate. I smelled the place before Fayazi’s Sublime opened the door for me: the musk of straw, the roil of humidity—and, of course, the ripe, acrid scent of birdshit.
The engraver opened the door and beckoned me inside. I looked up as the shadowy tower yawned above me, the sunlight filtering in through the slots along the side of the roof high above. The darkness was rippling with clicks and troks from the birds, who were nestled in wooden cubbies lining the walls in a spiral.
“There is a desk here,” said Fayazi’s engraver, gesturing to the corner, where an ornate desk of white wood sat beneath a small roof of green cloth—to prevent it from being shat upon, I guessed. “It was here that the master would read and answer critical letters immediately. But it is empty now. We considered burning the desk as well, but…”
“It is an heirloom,” said Fayazi. “From the Khanum days. Older than this very canton, certainly.”
I stared at the desk, thinking. If there were no letters here to review, then what was there to see?
I looked up at the birds nestled above. I could not see the birds themselves, but occasionally I caught the gleam of a bright, amber eye peering out between the wooden bars of the doors. The cubbies appeared to have been installed in pairs, little sets of two running up and down the walls, with little bronze plates installed beneath them. Interesting.
“How do they work?” I asked the engraver.
“Work?” said the engraver. “They’re altered. That’s how they work.”
“Yes, but—how do you manage them? What’s the process, please?”
He sighed. “They’re trained in pairs, one in each location. One for incoming, one for outgoing, as it were. Each bird has been suffused to possess not only great stamina and speed, but also a great memory for the map of the earth. And each pair has exactly one destination they’ve been trained to fly back and forth to.”
“How are they trained to do so?”
“Each bird has a deficit of a compound in its body—one that’s necessary for them to live—and each pair is trained to learn that they can only receive those compounds at these two specific locations. Usually in a bit of sukka melon. The bird completes the journey and is then given a sukka melon as a reward. It all becomes very mechanical.”
I looked up at the cubbies above, listening to the quiet troks.
“The plates underneath each pair of cubbies indicates this fixed destination?” I asked.
“Yes?” said the engraver.
“And the bird devoted to this location…”
“It is always housed on the cubby on the left.”
“So the birds from the other locations—should any arrive with an incoming message—would be housed on the right, before being sent back.”
“Correct.”
I thought about this. “And if both birds are here, then you’ve received a message recently,” I said. “And if both birds are gone, then you’ve sent a message recently.”
The engraver now looked slightly troubled. “Well…yes. I suppose that’s true.”
“And if you locked the estate down after Kaygi Haza’s death, then there should have been no new scribe-messages missing or arrived.”
“Yes…?”
I watched him. The man’s face flickered, just a little. A lie, perhaps.
“Then I’ll check them for any sign of tampering,” I said, approaching the winding stairway up. “And be right back down. It should only take a moment.”
I climbed the shit-spattered stairs, my boots crunching with every step, and approached the first pair of cubbies set in the wall.
Fayazi’s voice floated up to me: “Go quickly, Signum. I said five minutes, and I meant it. If you wish to see our lands, they are vast, and I did not intend for you to spend the night…”
“Understood, ma’am,” I called back.
* * *
—
I CAME TO the first set of cubbies. A pair of amber eyes looked back at me. It was difficult to see in the shadows, but the scribe-hawk within was a long, beautiful, slender dark bird, crouched in the straw with rinds of melon curled about it. It troked? curiously at me as I knelt before it, as if unsure what I was.
The cubby beside it was empty. This, I reckoned, meant no messages had recently been sent to its destination, nor received.
I looked down at the little bronze plate below the cubbies. It was written in a curving, sloping text that made my eyes ache to look at it. I furrowed my brow, forcing my eyes to read—the letters kept dancing and shivering before me—and finally I saw that it said:
Llitȡa ñan yarȡaaqñu urkuquna ñanȴana yunᶈayᶈniyuq kay.
I stared at the intricate text, utterly flummoxed, my mind working desperately to make sense of what I’d read.
I took my eyes away, then looked back. Instantly, the letters faded back into meaningless scribbling. I had to focus to get them to make sense again.
“Ahh,” I said aloud. “What…what language are these plates in, please?”
“They are in Sazi,” answered Fayazi’s voice. “The language of my people in the first ring of the Empire. Do you know it, Signum? I rather doubt it…It’s most tricky to learn, I understand…”
I stared off into the tower, trying not to breathe hard.
I did not know this language, of course. I could barely read it, and some of the letters were wholly alien to me—which meant I certainly could not read it aloud.
Which meant I could not engrave it in my memory and could not bring it back to Ana.
I shut my eyes and tried to focus, summoning up the memory of the words I’d just read. Yet in my memory, all I could see were delicate scritches and scratches in the plate, a trembling pile of nonsense where there should have been words.
I opened my eyes and whispered, “Shit.”
“Is something wrong, Signum?” drawled Fayazi’s voice. “Did you find something?”
I felt cold sweat breaking out over me and continued climbing the stairs.
