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

Fanuilh to be shut out of his mind, to resume his quiet life. The activity that had brought him bouncing out of bed only a few days before was now tiresome. It had brought him the contact with other people that he belatedly realized he needed, but the investigation had begun to color the contact.

Lady Necquer had sent him packing, after all, and he had grown used to their daily conversations.

So much so that now my afternoon seems empty as a keg after a feast, he reflected ruefully. Heartily sick of the search for Tarquin's killer, and even sicker of his own maudlin thoughts, he gratefully turned his attention to the lunch he had ordered.

The meal was huge, and the cost equally large. Just past the soup, a thick broth delicately spiced, and into the fish, sole with a fiery-hot sauce, he managed to put his concerns away and keep them at bay for the rest of the meal. The afternoon light crawled slowly across the front of the nearly empty tavern, and when he was done, over an hour had passed.

"Not late enough," he cursed. Hours still lay in wait before him, and like stubborn crows, his thoughts swung back to pick at what he had learned from Donoé. By her report, Tarquin had sworn an oath of chastity which, if true, effectively destroyed any theories about the wizard having gotten the hooded woman pregnant.

Or did it?

He had a happy inspiration concerning the rest of his afternoon, settled his score quickly, and set out for Northfield. His stomach groaned for time to deal with the heavy meal he had put down, but he gave it as little thought as possible.

Viyescu was in his shop, and clearly wished he hadn't been. He twitched when the door opened and Liam walked in, and set down the mortar and pestle he had been using with a heavy thud.

"Hierarch Cance," he grated unhappily.

"Master Viyescu. I'm sorry to bother you again."

The druggist shrugged to indicate that it did not matter, but there was no fluidity in the gesture: his shoulders were a single block of tension.

"I wanted to ask you some more questions about the wizard, and the pregnant woman who mentioned him."

"I'm afraid I can't spare the time, Hierarch," the druggist said, in a strange tone that bordered on pleading. "I must prepare for the procession."

"Ah, the procession," Liam answered airily. "Of course. You'll be marching?"

"I always do, Hierarch." Viyescu sounded almost miserable, and Liam fixed his gaze squarely on the man's eyes.

"Of course. I only wish more followed your example. But I must detain you for only a few moments, and as you know, the business with the wizard is quite important to the temple in Torquay."

"As you wish," Viyescu acceded nervously. Liam noted with mild astonishment that the druggist had actually begun to sweat.

"It has to do with the woman who mentioned Tarquin to you. I think I misunderstood you when last we spoke. I thought you implied that the wizard had gotten her pregnant, but I have it on the best of information that he had sworn an oath of celibacy."

The words seemed to strike Viyescu with physical force. He stammered for a moment, and then controlled himself with visible effort. "I apologize, Hierarch, I did not mean to imply that. He did not get the girl pregnant; he did not sleep with her."

"I see. So some other man was the father, then? Not Tarquin?"

"No, Hierarch. Not Tarquin."

"You see, I've been trying to figure out what has happened to him, because he was important to us, if you take my meaning. Tell me, did this woman ask you for any virgin's blood?"

The question drew a complete blank from Viyescu, who shook his head as if he might have misheard. "Virgin's blood, Hierarch?"

"Never mind. She only asked for santhract?"

Viyescu nodded eagerly. He was being more cooperative than he had been before, and Liam wondered why.

"How does one take santhract?"

"Powdered, Hierarch," the druggist said instantly, "in wine or cider to cut the taste. But I never sold her any," he added quickly. Indecision suddenly flickered behind his eyes, and he began to add something before cutting himself short. Liam waited for a moment and then went on, disappointed.

"And she wanted it to terminate her pregnancy?" Viyescu nodded again. "She must be very deep in sin, Master Apothecary. Very deep." He intoned the words deeply, with as much of the piousness of a Torquay priest as he could remember. It sounded silly to him, like a poor imitation from his student days, but the sound clearly hit Viyescu another way.

He began to speak, faltered, and gazed deeply into Liam's face, searching for something. Liam willed himself to remain impassive, hoping that whatever was sought would be found, but apparently he disappointed the apothecary because he only said, "Yes, Hierarch, very deep," before snapping his mouth shut.

"Did you know the woman when she came to you?"

"No, Hierarch," Viyescu said, firm once again, but Liam knew he was lying. "I had never seen her before."

The sound of a horn echoed out over the city, and Viyescu looked up in alarm.

"The procession! I must go now, Hierarch, if I'm to be on time. You'll excuse me?"

Liam gestured graciously, though inwardly he was angry and frustrated. The druggist had been on the verge of telling him something of importance, something about the woman. Watching him pull off his stained apron, Liam cursed himself mentally. It had been very close. What was Viyescu hiding?

"I must go upstairs to change," the druggist said when he had hung his apron on a peg, pointing vaguely towards the rear of his shop. "Don't you have to prepare for the procession, Hierarch?"

"I have a dispensation for this Uris-tide," Liam said smoothly, and allowed himself brief mental congratulations for having thought it out earlier. "I will be watching, of course, but the business Torquay has sent me on is terribly important."

"No doubt. I, on the other hand, must prepare myself." Liam understood the