Moth and Spark (14 page)

Liko swallowed, then said, “I don’t know who killed him. But he was down here too much even for a gambler. He must have crossed someone.”

That settled one thing. Courtiers never came to this sort of place unless they had been caught in someone else’s trap. They were paying debts or making illicit sales of their valuables to keep the blackmailers at bay. Cade hadn’t been an accidental victim.

Corin asked, “What was he doing down here?” He wished the room were lighter.

“Watching. I never saw him talk to anyone. It was peculiar.”

“Did you ever talk to him?”

Liko shook his head vigorously. “He came here once and wanted me to put him into a sleep-trance. He didn’t make much sense. I don’t think he really knew what he was talking about.”

“Do you think he was mad?”

“No,” Liko said after a brief hesitation. “Desperate, maybe.”

“Well, did you do it?” Corin asked. He knew little of mesmerism, though it did not surprise him that Cade would practice it. It was a fad among the courtiers.

“No. I didn’t want to be killed when he came to regret letting me hear whatever it was he wanted to find out. Or when it didn’t work and he looked the fool. All mesmerism would tell him is what’s in his own head.”

That was prudent, although it was hard to imagine Cade as a killer. “Did he practice the occult?” That was a forbidden practice, not a fad, but a lord who would ask Liko to mesmerize him might well be lunatic enough to turn to the so-called dark forces for assistance.

“He hadn’t the mind for any kind of science,” Liko said contemptuously. “Not even the dubious ones.”

“Conjury’s not science.”

“Tell that to someone who does it and he’ll tell you the laws of magic are more complex than optics.”

Corin grinned, remembering his university years and the tendentiousness of some of the scholars. Then he brought the conversation back to Cade. “Is he the only one who’s been down recently?”

“The only one I’ve seen.” Always the careful answer. “I don’t know every retainer of every lord.”

“And all he did was watch?”

“I think he wanted to see what was happening, that’s all.”

“Spying?”

Liko gave a half shrug. “How would I know?”

Corin did not say what he thought. He said, “And what is happening?”

Another hesitation. Longer this time. Corin let himself show some impatience in his movements.

Liko said, “There’s people leaving. Laborers. Shoremen. Women.” The way he said
women
made it clear he meant the whores, which was a bad sign. They were the first to come and the last to go anywhere.

Corin asked, “No work?”

Liko shook his head. “Plenty of work. They’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“Don’t know.” He reached for his flask.

With a quick grab, Corin took it from him. The man tensed, then slackened, obviously reminding himself whom he spoke with. Corin sniffed it. Cheap sweet wine. He tilted the flask and let some dribble out, dark like blood, onto the floor. The odor rose to his nostrils. It smelled more vile spilled than in the flask.

Liko said, “No more. Please.”

“Then answer me.” He let a few drops fall.

“The dead,” Liko said with obvious reluctance. Corin wondered why. Perhaps he feared being accused of practicing the occult himself. Or just being taken for a fool. Anyone as well-off and educated as Liko had been knew that the dead stayed dead.

“What about the dead?”

“People say they’re waiting. Opening doors that shouldn’t be opened.”

The phrase
opening doors
made Corin chill despite his own wealth and education. He put the wine back on the table but out of Liko’s reach. Scornfully he said, “You don’t mean that. People don’t give up money because of ghosts.” He was aware that he was also scolding himself.

Liko said, “You haven’t heard these stories.” He stopped abruptly.

“Go on, tell them to me.”

“They say they look in the water and see the dead all pale and blind.
Not bodies. There is a woman who comes up to you and touches your shoulder and you freeze like ice and she sucks the blood out of you while you stand there. Then she turns into a bird and flies away. At night there are cold spots you can’t walk through and they herd you down to the water and the next thing you know it’s morning and you smell like river water and your clothes are sopping. And sometimes you walk and turn and turn and you can’t get anywhere, you keep coming to the same corner, or you’re standing in a courtyard that’s all white stone and nothing is alive and there’s no way out. You come back somehow and your shoes are worn to shreds and you have scrapes and bruises all over your hands and arms.”

It was more convincing than it should be. It rubbed at the edges of the blankness in his memory. There were drowned things in that water by the docks that would emerge white and swollen and blindly searching if they had the chance.

He glanced at Bron and Alric. Thankfully, neither of them looked persuaded. It reassured him. He said, “You know better, you’re not a peasant. I wager there’s not a person you’ve spoken to who can actually say any of it happened to him and not to the friend of a friend of a friend.”

Liko shrugged again. “Of course it’s false, but what’s it matter what I think? That’s what they think. So they go.”

That was true. And useless. “What about Cade? Had he heard those stories?”

“Probably.”

There was an answer in that somewhere, but it would not come to him. Nor was he sure of the question. Liko seemed just a bit too off-handed about it to be telling the truth. He decided not to push further in that direction. “If the dockworkers are leaving, what’s happening to the cargo?”

And then, an additional nugget. “There are plenty of Myceneans, they don’t seem to care.”

It took effort to keep himself from swearing. That was bad. There were always a few Myceneans about, but not many. The ones who were poor enough to work as laborers were usually too poor to leave Mycene. If there were many, that had to be Hadon’s doing too. He would give odds of ten to one that the Myceneans were the source of the stories, preparing a place for themselves to do whatever it was the Emperor—or
his sons—wanted. Dragons in the north, spies in the capital. Hadon could be sending in soldiers to prepare a strike at Aram much worse than taking Tai hostage. But why, what was the threat?

At any rate, Cade had probably talked to the Myceneans even if Liko hadn’t seen it. He had got himself in debt, turned spy for Tyrekh or Hadon, and then something had gone wrong. He became a weak link in someone else’s chain.

Corin said, “Are there enough Myceneans to do the labor?”

“Yes.”

He did not want to put Liko on the track of thinking that was important. He said, “Akelon is taking advantage of the situation, I presume.” Akelon controlled the canals and docks and the other lawless pockets of the city, and had for more years than Corin had lived. He loaned money to young foolish gentlemen who had lost too much gambling, and they were in his power before they knew it. He was a king of thieves and had eluded capture so many times it was mythical. The watch was paid well so they would not be easily corrupted.

“Of course. So are the docking fee collectors.”

In other words, the Crown. Corin let the jab pass. “Who else owes him?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Granted. But enough to really fear?”

“Brice, Ricard, Larron.”

The names were not a surprise. They were young men who cared only about impressing young ladies and one another. Cade had been part of that set. They might be traitors with him. “If Akelon catches anyone else in his net I want to know. Anything else notable?”

“No.”

He was lying, Corin was sure of it this time. He frowned. He was cold, and he pulled at one shoulder of his cloak. The candle flame flared high with the movement, brightening the room for an instant.

Liko stumbled backward, almost falling into the chair as though he had forgotten it. What the hell? Alric caught him hard about the arm and forced him to stand. With his foot he pulled back the chair. It fell over with a loud crash.

Corin took a step. The man shrank away from him. Alric moved his sword. Corin shook his head and motioned the guard back. “What just happened, Liko?” he asked softly.

“Nothing, my lord, I swear it.”

“If your drinking has gotten bad enough to give you the rats, you’re no use to me.”

“It’s not that bad.” He held his arm out. It trembled no more than anyone’s would.

“Then stop lying. Tell me what you saw.”

Liko swallowed. “Just—the shadow. A trick of light. That’s all. It startled me.”

That was a lie too. Something had frightened the man, but he did not know what. A trick of the light. Corin had the uneasy feeling that it was something he had done himself, something he should have recognized. He glanced at Bron again for reassurance and was not reassured at all by the look of unease on the captain’s face. Had Bron seen something too?

Then he put that thought aside, as he was well trained to do. The trick of the light had pushed whatever else Liko lied about deeper within him. There would be no quick way of getting it out now. It could be anything. Doubtless Liko had his own elaborate sets of plans that would be easily upset if Corin or his men poked around the docks too much. It seemed useless to press any further at the moment.

“Keep your eyes open. Someone besides Cade is putting his nose where it doesn’t belong. He’ll be down here eventually,” he said. “And you had damn well better answer the questions of anyone else I send.”

Liko made a bow that just escaped being mockery. Corin glared warningly at him and went out.

The rain seemed wonderfully cleansing. He spat. Without a word Bron handed him a flask. Water. “Thank you,” he said, returning it.

“You got more out of him than I thought you would,” Bron said.

In other circumstances Corin might have responded with a wry remark. This time all he said was, “It was adequate. Do you believe it?”

“Yes, sir, mostly. But I still don’t trust him. He may be honest, but I don’t think he’s reliable.”

Corin had one foot in the stirrup. He stopped. “Why not?”

“He’s frightened. When people are frightened they make mistakes.”

“You’re right there,” Corin said. He had thought he might be doing that very thing himself. He mounted and leaned over to address Bron. “Are you afraid of the other world, Bron?”

“You mean all that rubbish about the dead, sir? There’s enough to worry about in this world. But—” He went silent.

“But what? Go ahead.”

“It’s the same kind of stories people were telling in the north. I don’t like it.”

“Nor I. Any guess as to why he didn’t want to tell me?”

Bron shook his head, then said, “I think he believes it more than he’s let on. Something’s got to him.”

“Sarians?” Corin asked.

“He knows better than that, even drunk.”

That was a fair assessment. No, whatever Liko was afraid of, it was less tangible than a fire weapon.
Bad things are going to happen, Corin. Don’t let them take you unaware.
He was convinced now that Aram had been talking about something besides war. Something that put a cold grip around his heart and held on while the world spun away into the dark. Something more suited to hexes and visions.
You’ll need them later
, Joce said about the wizards.
Later
seemed to be approaching far too quickly. He should question Joce. Question his father, damn it. But when he tried to frame a question even here, the words would not come.

It was not worth thinking about in a downpour. He picked up the reins. His horse lifted its head. “What do you think of what he said about Cade?”

Bron didn’t answer immediately. He mounted his own horse and looked around. He sidled his horse closer to Corin’s and said in words hard to hear above the slap of rain, “Whatever Cade was doing smells worse than this place, sir.”

Corin had already come to the same conclusion. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he said to Bron. “We’ve work to do.” He kneed his horse into motion.

The rest of the evening unfolded before him: long discussions with his father, with Gerod, more bad news exchanged, piling tasks on everyone, and sometime well after midnight a cold, solitary bed. It didn’t have to be, of course. Other women besides Seana would come quite happily to him. A prince need never be in want of lovers. That bold woman at dinner would require only a wink.

He thought of Tam and was stunned at how quickly the desire for her filled him. She seemed a decent, honorable woman. She would never come into his bed, so why was he taunting himself by pretending there was a chance at it? He should try to forget about her. She was too beautiful not to have formed an attachment to someone already. It was
unreasonable to think she would break it for him, when he could give her nothing.

But now that he had called up the image of her, those eyes, he could not banish it. Hell. What was he getting himself into? Worse, what was he going to drag her into, through, that she did not deserve? Why did it matter to him what happened to her?

He swore aloud. No one heard.