Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

"And leaves us with Marcius, and Lons."

"It leaves us with Lons," the Aedile said. "There's naught that's proved against the merchant."

"Hmm."

Coeccias rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Liam did not notice. A piece of Donoé's story had lodged itself irritatingly in his head.

"If you were a wizard," he suddenly asked, "wouldn't you have to test to know if your virgin's blood was good?"

"What?"

"Do you think Tarquin had a test? A way to know if she were still a virgin?"

"Truth," Coeccias answered with a smile, "I scarcely know her, but I'd wager that trull'll be a virgin on her deathbed."

Liam ignored the Aedile's joke; he had not been thinking about Donoé at all. He pushed the idea to the back of his head, and took up considering more immediate questions. They walked towards the outskirts of the rich quarter, the Aedile smiling at the warmthless sun bright in the sky, Liam staring at the cobbles, tracing his thoughts there.

Why had he mishandled Donoé so badly? Was the other man right, he could only be sharp with people he truly suspected? In a certain way, it was comforting to think that he was not completely suspicious, that only those who deserved it called out the bloodhound in him. And in the end, he had gotten the important information.

On the other hand, they were left with Lons, a conclusion he could not believe.

They left the confines of the rich quarter without saying a word, passing into an area of smaller buildings of poorer construction and pushed closer together. Suddenly remembering his appointment with Lady Necquer, Liam stopped.

"I just remembered; I am supposed to meet someone soon, back there."

Without a trace of anything more than casual curiosity, Coeccias said, "Poppae Necquer?"

"Yes," Liam answered shortly, refusing to be surprised by what the rough-looking man picked up.

"Then we'll part here. I'm to prepare for the procession. We ought to meet later, to see if there's any current news."

"The White Grape for dinner?"

"No, the Grape grows stale for me, and I've all that cider to finish. Come to my house after the procession. You'll know it's done by the bells. The priests'll toll all when the procession gains the temple."

"Your house, then," Liam agreed.

Coeccias smiled and suddenly stuck out his heavy hand, and Liam took it firmly.

"Though y'are only a scholar, y'are a good hound, Rhenford, and a better man. Don't fret so over a silly girl, nor over the player. We've got to see justice done— I for my office, and you for the wizard. Whatever we do, whatever we've done, is to a higher end."

Liam fidgeted, but Coeccias would not let go of his hand until he relented.

"I suppose so. I suppose you're right."

His hand was released, and the two men bid each other goodbye diffidently, as if embarrassed by their words and thoughts. Coeccias went down the street to the city's heart and his procession. Liam turned around and traced his way back towards the Point and the Necquers' house.

Chapter 11

LIAM WAS NOT far from the Necquers' when he left Coeccias, and the bells had only just begun to · announce noon when he knocked on their street door. Lares received him as usual, but did not usher him up to the parlor. Instead, he motioned for Liam to wait and, avoiding his eyes, hurried up the stairs himself.

A few minutes later, Lady Necquer came down in a whirl of skirts, her face drawn and pale. She stopped on the bottom step and shot a fearful look back up before coming quickly to him.

"You must away, Sir Liam," she whispered anxiously. "I cannot receive you this day." Her eyes kept returning to the stairs, as though she were afraid something horrible would come down them.

"May I ask why? Are you ill?"

She laid a hand on his arm, and quickly withdrew it. "My apologies, Sir Liam, but I beg you not to press. I simply cannot receive you. You may come tomorrow, at this hour, if y'are careful."

"But—" He did not move, not understanding, and her face screwed up suddenly before she burst out:

"My lord would not have you so much about! Now please, Sir Liam, do not ask the wherefore; only go!"

Bewildered, Liam hesitated in the face of her distress, shifting from foot to foot.

"Please," she begged. "Come tomorrow, and let none see you."

His thoughts scattered, and he retreated, sketching a hasty bow. She shut the door firmly behind him. Standing in the street, he stared at the closed door and blew out a heavy breath.

"Necquer won't have me around so much," he wondered aloud, then turned away down the street, shaking his head and muttering. "And just the other day he asked me to dinner. Freeporters. Hah."

The afternoon stretched emptily before him, with nothing to do. He had hoped to fill a large part of it with Lady Necquer, listening to her outline the series of poems he could not write. The odd hour he could fill with wandering, or maybe a visit to the Uncommon Player. Now there was nothing, and it was far too early to go to a wineshop.

A long lunch was a poor second, he decided, but it was all he had. Over the course of the morning, he and Coeccias had been into every tavern in the Point but one, and he chose this last one to eat in, solely because it was the farthest from the Necquers' and would take the longest time to reach.

It did not take as long as he wished to get there, but the service made up for it by being extraordinarily slow. He could almost feel the minutes creeping away.

In a way, his impatience for the afternoon to be over amused him. It had been quite a while since he had anything to wait for, and he had watched so much time slip profitlessly away that it was strange to begrudge the hours.

He was anxious, he saw, for the whole business to be over. For Tarquin's murderer to hang, for