The Fire Seer and Her Quradum Page 20

  What she’d seen in the vision wasn’t enough to answer the question of why Yanzu had died. To know whether his death had been accidental or a suicide, she needed to know what was in his mind that evening. She could ask his brothers, but she wasn’t sure she could trust anything they said. Might Yanzu have left some writings behind that would give her an indication of his thoughts?

  She recalled seeing some tablets in a chest in Yanzu’s room when they’d searched it the first time, but she hadn’t read them. She headed back to Yanzu’s room.

  She hadn’t been here since the day his body had been discovered, but the room looked much the same. Yanzu’s body was gone, but his water cup was still on the table. The blankets on the bed were still mussed, as before, and the ewer of water was still in the washroom, though with less water in it.

  Taya opened the chest that sat against the wall and saw that someone had been here before her. His clothes were no longer neatly folded but crumpled and strewn all over. Possibly the guards had searched this chest for evidence, or Yanzu’s brothers had gone through his things, seeking valuables.

  A thought occurred to her: what if Yanzu had asked one of his brothers what the proper dosage of nepenthe was, and that brother had deliberately told him wrong, either maliciously or as a prank, and had thus led him to his death? It was an interesting thought. But Mandir had lived here long enough to know that the nepenthe dosage was one drop, and Yanzu had been here longer than he. Surely Yanzu already knew the proper dose.

  At the bottom of Yanzu’s chest, she found the collection of writing tablets. She started to read them and was disappointed. They contained nothing of Yanzu’s thoughts. Rather, they were, collectively, a lapidary—a handbook for the identification of stones. Near the tablets, also at the bottom of the chest, was a collection of stones. One stone had clear crystals in it, another was patched white and black, and the third was streaked with red veins. None were valuable, but they were nice to look at.

  She swallowed. Yanzu’s rock collection was the most human thing she’d seen yet in Tufan’s household. Yanzu had been a terrible person, but some part of him had liked pretty rocks.

  Finding nothing else of interest in Yanzu’s room, she left and headed for the stable. The sun was low in the sky, and the horses had gathered around the stable door, waiting to be let in for their evening feed. She located Soldier, who stood apart from the others.

  “How are you, old fellow?” She ran her hands along his neck and back. He dropped his head in response. “It’s a shame you can’t talk, because I imagine you’ve got some stories to tell.”

  Soldier’s head popped up. Nindar was opening the barn doors.

  The horses crowded forward. A bay mare, who appeared to be the herd leader, pinned her ears and cocked a hip at an encroaching chestnut, who quickly moved out of her way.

  “You’re the wise one, aren’t you?” she crooned to Soldier. “Why compete to go into the barn first, when you can wait patiently in the back and avoid trouble?”

  The horses, of their own accord, entered the barn in single file. Taya watched, impressed by their manners, as each horse went into its own stall. Nindar had them well trained. Soldier and the blood bay followed the others into the barn but lingered in the aisle—it appeared they hadn’t learned the routine yet.

  Nindar hobbled down the aisle, closing the stall doors. He tossed a rope over the blood bay’s head and led him to his stall. Then he did the same with Soldier. Taya wanted to talk to Nindar, but he was obviously busy with feeding. She waited as he went to the feed room and measured out rations of barley.

  “I heard what happened with your partner,” said a voice behind her.

  Taya turned. Setsi had entered the barn behind her. “What did you hear?”

  “That he’s been accused of the murders.”

  “He has.”

  “Did he really kill Tufan?” asked Setsi.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think he did,” he said. “He’s safe from Tufan, unlike the rest of us, so it makes no sense he would kill the man in a fit of temper. Will the Coalition help him fight the accusation?”

  “I believe they will, if it comes to that,” said Taya. “I’m hoping to discover the killer myself and put a stop to all this. If I fail in that, they’ll take him to the palace for trial tomorrow morning. Then you and I and Nindar will ride for the Coalition for help.”

  “The Coalition ought to help him,” said Setsi. “He’s one of their own.”

  One of their own with a less than perfect record, but she wasn’t going to worry about that just yet. There was still a chance she could end the conflict before it got serious enough to involve the Coalition elders. “This is going to sound strange, but I’m beginning to think Yanzu wasn’t actually murdered. You knew the man better than I did. Can you think of any reason Yanzu might have to commit suicide?”

  “Suicide?” Setsi drew back in surprise. “I can’t think of any reason at all. Unless, perhaps, he’d killed Tufan and then decided it would be better to kill himself than face punishment.”

  That was a possibility. Yanzu had entered Tufan’s chambers and disappeared from her view while he’d fetched the nepenthe. He could easily have unbarred the inside door and poisoned Tufan’s cup before poisoning his own. “Can you think of a reason for him to murder Tufan?”

  “Well, none of us liked Tufan.”

  Taya didn’t think that was enough of a motive. If Yanzu had killed the man, and then killed himself, he had to have a reason more urgent and more powerful than dislike. Or even hatred.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” said Setsi, “what makes you think Yanzu killed himself?”

  “I saw him in a fire vision,” said Taya. “He went into Tufan’s chambers through the window, came back with a vial which appeared to have nepenthe in it, and put ten drops into his cup. Which, presumably, he later drank.”

  “And?” prompted Setsi.

  “And nothing,” said Taya. “Ten drops was an overdose.”

  “No,” said Setsi. “Ten drops is the normal dose.”

  Taya blinked. “Mandir told me the dose was one drop.” Also, that was what Gadatas took, but at the moment, Setsi might not know about Gadatas’s nepenthe addiction. It was time he found out. “Are you aware that your tutor takes nepenthe as well?”

  Setsi’s brows rose. “No.”

  “Well, he does, and the amount he takes is one drop. It was his nepenthe that was planted in Mandir’s saddlebags to incriminate him.”

  “They must be different varieties, then, because we all steal Tufan’s nepenthe from time to time, and ten drops is what we take.”

  And yet Mandir had been certain it was one drop. How had he been wrong about that? Perhaps this was something that had changed during the nine years he was away. Perhaps when he’d been here as a child, Tufan had been taking a concentrated variety, and later Tufan had switched to a dilute variety for more flexibility in dosage. Setsi wouldn’t know; at the time Mandir had left the household, Setsi had been only four years old. “It sounds like I’m wrong, then. Yanzu didn’t kill himself.”

  “Not by putting ten drops in his cup, no.”

  She was back to the beginning. Or was she? Two men had died on the same night, both of an overdose. And there were two different vials of nepenthe on the grounds, one more concentrated than the other.

  Could it be that someone had switched the contents of the vials?

  Taya froze. That was it. That had to be it.

  Someone had swapped the dilute form of nepenthe for the concentrated form. It could have happened any time during the day of the murder, not necessarily at night, during the chaos when the dogs were out. Any time before Tufan took his customary dose of ten drops—which, if the contents of his vial had been exchanged with those of Gadatas’s vial, would have been ten times too much.

  Yanzu had been killed too, but by accident. He’d stolen the nepenthe of his own accord and, like Tufan, had not known the contents of the vial we
re ten times their normal strength. What a clever maneuver, to switch the contents of the vials. It was a nearly hands-off way of murdering someone, since whoever had done it had essentially caused both men to poison themselves.

  And now she knew why she’d had so much trouble coming up with a motive for Yanzu’s murder. There was none, because nobody had intended for Yanzu to die.

  She had a theory now for how the murder had been accomplished. But who had accomplished it?

  “You have this look,” said Setsi. “As if you’ve bitten into rotten fruit.”

  Taya blinked. Lost in her thoughts, she’d almost forgotten he was still there. “It’s because I figured something out. Thank you. That information about ten drops being the normal dose was what I needed.”

  Setsi perked up. “What did you figure out?”

  “How Tufan was murdered,” said Taya. “But I still don’t know who did it.”

  She could find out, though, if she could persuade Gadatas to talk. Somebody must have gone to his quarters that day, taken his nepenthe, and swapped the contents of that vial with Tufan’s before returning it. Since Gadatas never seemed to leave his quarters, he must know who it had been. Strangely, he didn’t seem to be aware that his vial had been tampered with. If the contents of his vial had been exchanged with Tufan’s, he was now taking the drug at a tenth of its normal strength—which answered another question. This was why Gadatas had developed withdrawal sickness while still taking the drug.

  Getting information out of Gadatas would be difficult, since he’d clearly been threatened with physical harm if he talked.

  But never mind—on second thought, she didn’t need to ask Gadatas anything. She knew from her fire vision who had beaten and strangled him. It was Bel-Zaidu. If the man who’d threatened Gadatas was the same one who’d tampered with the nepenthe, and that seemed exceedingly likely, she had her murderer. It was Bel-Zaidu at least—and probably he’d been working in partnership with one or more of the other guards.

  “More rotten fruit?” asked Setsi.

  “I just figured out the rest of it,” said Taya. “Well—some of it.”

  Setsi glanced around to make sure they were alone except for the horses and Nindar. “Who’s the murderer?” he asked excitedly.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?” His brow furrowed. “If there’s a murderer around, I’ll be safer if I know who it is.”

  Taya shook her head. “Not in this case. In this case, you’re safest knowing nothing at all. But I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”

  How was she to handle this? Obviously she couldn’t take the information to Bel-Sumai. He might or not might be involved in a conspiracy with Bel-Zaidu. But in either case, Bel-Sumai would surely defend his fellow guard from accusation.

  She had to prepare herself for a confrontation and find a way to prevent it from escalating into violence. The last thing the Coalition needed was the scandal of one of its fire seers murdering several palace guards.

  “Nindar,” she called, turning around. “Have you fed Soldier and the blood bay yet?”

  He was pouring a measured amount of barley into the sensitive chestnut mare’s bucket. “No, I feed them last.”

  “Good. Don’t feed them at all. Saddle the blood bay for yourself, and I’ll take Soldier. We’re going for a ride.”

  Nindar looked perplexed. “It’s getting dark.”

  “A short ride,” said Taya.

  “What for?” asked Setsi. “Can I come too?”

  “No,” said Taya. “You wait here. But answer me this: when Bel-Sumai goes hunting with his dog, where does he go?”

  “That way.” Setsi pointed northeast, away from the river. “There’s a bit of a wood that’s good for rabbits and game birds. Tufan hunts there too.”

  “Thank you.” She headed to the tack room to grab Soldier’s bridle and saddle, but called back to Setsi over her shoulder, “Lay low for now. With a bit of luck, this will all be behind us by morning.”

  ∞

  “What are we looking for?” asked Nindar.

  “I’ll tell you when we get to the wood,” said Taya, sending Soldier into an easy lope. She only wanted Nindar’s company so that he could confirm the area where Bel-Sumai hunted with his dog. There was enough daylight left for her to find what she was looking for easily enough, if her hunch was correct about what she was going to find.

  Nindar sat the blood bay well, though he was comically small perched on the big animal’s back.

  As they approached the wood, Taya mulled over something that was still bothering her about the case: motive. She was almost wholly certain that one or more of the guards had murdered Tufan by swapping the contents of the nepenthe vials. But why?

  She knew that Bel-Sumai, for one, had no love for Tufan. He’d referred to Tufan as “human garbage.” Possibly the other guards felt the same way; she could not be sure. But hating someone was not sufficient motive to murder them. If everyone who hated somebody murdered that somebody, the valley would be devoid of human life. Furthermore, these were the hand-picked palace guards, the “best of the best,” as Mandir had called them. If they were so trustworthy, how could they go so far wrong as to murder the man they’d been charged to protect?

  Killing Tufan was treason, not to mention a tremendous betrayal of the trust the king had placed in them. Their motive for killing Tufan had to be exceptionally strong, or else these were exceptionally corrupt men.

  The sun was just touching the horizon as they reached the edge of the wood. She’d have to search quickly. “Tufan hunts out here, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Nindar. “Rabbits and chital deer.”

  “What does Bel-Sumai hunt?”

  “Chukars, I think.”

  She slowed Soldier to a walk and began to wind through the trees, searching the ground for a particular plant. “What about quail?”

  “I think sometimes,” said Nindar. “Chukars are his favorite.”

  “How does Bel-Sumai hunt?” asked Taya. “With his dog, and a bow and arrow?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  She knew about game-bird hunting from her childhood, as many of the farmers hunted quail and chukars. The dog would be trained to flush birds from the bushes. The hunter then shot what he could with his bow and arrow, and the dog would retrieve what fell. It was customary, at the end of the hunt, to reward the dog for its work with a single bird from the day’s catch.

  She turned abruptly and reined Soldier to a halt. There it was, the plant she’d been looking for. Spotted corobane was unmistakable if one knew what to look for, and thanks to her childhood growing up in a farming village, she did know what to look for: a smooth green stem streaked with red on its lower half. Lacy, triangular leaves and, at this time of year, clusters of small white flowers. She dropped off Soldier’s back and broke off a branch.

  Nindar peered down at her from his vantage point on the blood bay. “That’s what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes.” She squeezed Soldier on the withers and he knelt, folding his left foreleg beneath him. She threw a leg over his back and up he went, taking her with him. Great Mothers, it was convenient not to have to vault. “Never eat this plant, by the way.”

  Nindar made a face. “I wouldn’t want to eat it. What is it?”

  “Spotted corobane,” she said. “It’s very poisonous.” And very likely it had killed Bel-Sumai’s dog ten years ago.

  Chapter 28

  Mandir spent an uneasy night in Tufan’s own bed, watched over by the guards, who had taken their duty in shifts. Now it was early morning. He’d been moved back to his customary chair, with his wrists and ankles still tied, where he watched two of the guards as they bustled about, arguing with one another over travel arrangements.

  They were still trying to figure out how to haul him to the palace without his running off. Apparently they had a supply wagon in storage somewhere. Bel-Sumai wanted to put him in the wagon, while Bel-Ditana thought that Mandir could si
t a horse perfectly well with his hands tied, and if they led the horse, there was no chance of his kicking the horse into a gallop and escaping.

  They didn’t know it, but their conversation was irrelevant. He would burn them to death before he let them transport him anywhere.

  The sounds of footsteps, distant voices, and chests opening told him that most of the household was awake despite the wee hour. It was unusual, but he could understand the anxiety and excitement that had everyone up at the crack of dawn. Everyone knew the guards were leaving today. Presumably any goods that weren’t being returned to the king would be passed on to Mandir’s brothers, who would set off today for parts unknown.

  “If we put him in the wagon, we’ll have less room for the furniture,” Bel-Ditana was saying.

  “Izdubar won’t want the furniture,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “We don’t know that,” said Bel-Ditana. “I think we should take as much back as we can fit. It’s not as if his sons can take it as their inheritance. It’s too heavy for them to carry on their backs.”

  Mandir closed his eyes, bored with their bickering. His arms were sore from being pulled behind his back for an extended period of time, and he worried that if he stayed in this position much longer, his body wouldn’t answer him when he needed it to. He’d have to make his move soon. But first he would wait for Taya. He knew she’d been working on the case, and he still hoped she might come through with a better answer than the violence he was planning.

  “Except for the chest, we’ll just leave the furniture here,” Bel-Sumai was saying.

  “For any bandit to steal?”

  “Who cares if someone steals it?” said Bel-Sumai. “It’s heavy. We have no zebus to draw the wagon, only horses.”

  “We can hitch more than two,” said Bel-Ditana.

  “And where are we going to get the extra harness?”

  The door opened, and Mandir opened his eyes to see which guard was joining them.