Beneath an Opal Moon (5 page)

“You mean baby-sit, by God!” Moichi cried, standing up.

Aerent smiled genially, calm as ever. “You know Azuki-iro, my friend. Do you believe that he would send us a helpless girl?” He shook his head by way of emphasis. “Not the Bujun. No, the Kunshin sends us a daughter who he wants made aware of the world outside Ama-no-mori. Besides”—he grinned broadly—“the message of state specifically requested your aid in this matter.” Aerent paused, his pipe in his hand. A thin curl of smoke drifted up against the side of his face making him squint as if he were gazing into the sun. The Regent's dark eyes were on Moichi. Never had they seemed so clear nor filled with such compassion. He put his hand on the navigator's shoulder. “My friend,” he said evenly, “don't think that I don't know you. I understand your restlessness here, your desire to return to the sea. Be assured that I have talked with Llowan. But for the time being, there is nothing either of us can do. There are no ships available now and we can only exert so much pressure on the shipowners' guild. The time is not yet right for you. But soon, eh? Soon.”

Rain beat down out of a low fulminating sky as they rode through the streets of the city. They were without an escort, an encumbrance Aerent would not tolerate. The seals of state were emblazoned on the Regent's mount's harness and on his own dark swirling cape and this was all he felt was required. As for the newly rekindled war, if Du-Sing—or Lui Wu, for that matter, the tai-pan of the Reds—learned that he had been attacked, the assailants would be summarily executed by the tai-pans' own hands. An attack was hardly likely, in any event, since the Regent was well known throughout Sha'angh'sei.

There was construction on Brown Bear Road and the ground there was mired in mud so they detoured, taking Quince Street, then Park Paradise until it bisected Thrice Blessed Road, from there carefully picking their way onto Green Dolphin Street.

They dismounted before the swinging sign of
The Screaming Monkey
, beaded in the rain, and Moichi called to a boy sitting just inside the doorway, handing him two copper coins, asking him to tend to their mounts.

Inside the tavern it was dark, the air thick. They shook the rain off their capes, inhaling the mingled scents of animal fat and charcoal, fermented wine and sawdust. It was quiet this early in the day; most of the chairs were still raised on the tables. Still, there were three or four figures seated, eating and drinking. A dark-haired woman with black-lacquered teeth lolled indolently in a far corner. Seeing them, she let her wrapped cloak unfurl as if by accident and Moichi caught a glimpse of a burnished calf and sleek thigh. The woman sat up, stretching so that her ample breasts arched toward him, half spilling out of her low-cut robe.

The tavernmaster came out from behind the bar. He was a short man with a barrel chest and legs like a bird. His skull was hairless. He rubbed his hands together and assumed an obsequious attitude in the hopes of forestalling the trouble which he expected was coming.

“Yes, Regent.” His thin voice was almost a whine. “How may I serve you? Some breakfast, perhaps? A cup of mulled wine on this terrible day?”

“Neither,” Aerent said. “We wish to see the room where the young man, Omojiru, was found.”

The other shuddered as if his worst fears had just been confirmed. “A monstrous act, Your Grace. Simply monstrous. The room is up the stairs, last door on your left.” He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again they seemed somewhat moist. “Forgive me if I do not accompany you but—”

“I understand,” Aerent said.

“Nothing has been touched, let me assure you, Your Grace. All has been left as—as we found it.”

“Tell me,” Moichi interjected. “Did Omojiru pay for the room in advance?”

The tavernmaster peered at him. “Why, he did not pay for the room at all.”

“What do you mean?” Aerent said.

“The room was paid for by another man. He arrived during the hour of the cicada. Omojiru did not arrive before the hour of the fox, I am quite sure.”

“What happened to this man?” Moichi said. “Did you see him leave?”

The tavernmaster's face registered surprise. “Why, no. But—but in all the excitement it would have been easy for him to slip out.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?” asked the Regent.

The tavernmaster gave them as detailed a description as he was able.

They left him and mounted the stairs. In the large room behind them, the tavernmaster was taking down the chairs. The dark-haired woman pulled her cloak about her again, closing her eyes.

They could tell almost nothing from the room. The curtains remained drawn and what little furniture there was seemed to be in place. The bed, of course, was a mess, the sheets and coverlets torn and rumpled, stiff with dried blood and excrement. And part of the floor was stained almost black. Moichi followed this out into the hall, squatting down. He scraped at the wood, licked the tip of his finger. Blood. He stood up. Blood on the bed and the floor. A great deal of it, almost as if an entire body had been drained.

He went back into the room. Aerent was on the far side, parting the curtains. He peered out the open window, pulled his head quickly back. “Phew! Someone ought to tell that tavernmaster to clean up that alley. What a stink!”

“Blood all over the place, Aerent,” Moichi said. “You saw Omojiru's body. Could this be his blood?”

The Regent shook his head. “Not the way he was killed. The blood loss was minimal; death came far too fast.”

“Perhaps the other man, whoever he is, is Omojiru's murderer.”

“Yes, but that leaves us with the question of what happened to him.”

Moichi looked around once more; they had searched in every conceivable nook and cranny and found nothing. Nothing but blood. “Well, the answer is obviously not here.”

They found the boy outside, throwing pebbles at passing carts. He danced a little jig at each hit. The rain had turned into a light mist while they had been inside
The Screaming Monkey
.

“The horses,” Moichi said to the boy, and he nodded, leading them down the street.

“Just a moment.” Moichi halted them as they were passing the dank black alley to the side of the tavern. There seemed to be a lot o£ movement in the denseness, small chitterings, sibilant rustlings.

Moichi went in and the others followed him into the shadows.

Refuse and garbage, excrement and—a humped shape.

Moichi bent down and hissed sharply, a quick exhalation. Squeals of the rats, scattering angrily before his looming presence.

“There is something here,” he said. “Something new to cause such activity in these normally nocturnal creatures.” His hand reached out, fingers moving rapidly, found stiff cloth, a hard and irregular configuration beneath it. Blood stench and a sudden geyser of fetid gas. Death. He choked.

“Gods, it is a man!”

Together, he and Aerent dragged it into the light of day.

The boy turned away and vomited, retching violently without letup.

The eyes were gone and, of course, the nose. They had been busy through the night, those creatures; he could not have been there any longer than that.

They were both crouching over the corpse. Moichi glanced up, saw the curtains blowing in the room they had just come from. A neat drop, he thought. Tidy. Let the scavengers of the city dispose of the body.

Aerent was staring at the corpse. His eyes widened. “By the Pole Star, Moichi, look at this!”

But Moichi had turned his head, knowing what the other had found, and was watching the boy who, terrified yet unable to leave, had turned back. He noted the boy's paleness of skin under the yellow tinge, the pinched look around the corners of his mouth, the slight wildness of the eyes. Everyone in Sha'angh'sei is inured to death, Moichi thought. Even the young. Just another fact of life here. What would cause such a violent reaction in him? It was a terrible death, yes. But was that the sum of it?

“Moichi, who could have—?” He grasped the navigator's arm, appalled. “Have you seen this—abomination? Death has been by my side for many long seasons, until I think of it now as a kind of constant companion; we have an understanding. But this—Never have I seen its like. Not on the battlefield; not in the military prisons. Nowhere.

Moichi nodded, holding onto the boy now. He looked again. The chest was a gaping maw, all white and black, crawling with tiny things. But there was nothing terrible about that; it was nature. The creatures of the world were due their right. The truly monstrous thing was that all the blood was gone. Only man could do that.

Because something had been done to this man's heart. Something perverse and evil, slowly and calculatedly, before he died, and Moichi still felt the chills reverberating through him, making the short hairs at the back of his neck stand up, a vestigial reflex from the time when man still swung through the trees, walking with his knuckles scraping the earth. Someone had worked on this man with a cunning more than human and with an obvious dispassion that was quite a bit less than human. Not the quick flashing death of Omojiru for this man.

Moichi tightened his grip on the boy's arm. “Who is he?”

The boy shook his head.

“Tell me.” Then, more sharply like the crack of a whip. “Tell me!”

The boy flinched, closing his eyes, but still he was silent. Tears stood out at the corners of his eyes.

“Tell me.” Softly.

“No. No!” he said miserably. “I promised.” He opened his eyes, pleading with Moichi.

“Promised what?” He was relentless now. “You must tell me.”

“I promised him I would not tell anyone!”

“Look!” Moichi barked, pushing the boy down on his knees before the corpse. “He is dead now. Dead. Do you understand?”

The boy began to cry. Great gasping sobs shook him and Moichi pulled him close, stroking his head. “All right,” he said softly. “All right. It does not matter now, your promise. Do you understand? What he was afraid of has already occurred. You cannot hurt him by telling me what happened. He is beyond that now.” He looked into the boy's tear-streaked face. “Kuo, here. Sit here beside us.”

After a time Kuo told them what he knew of the man who had given him the silver coin and promised him another.

“Kintai.”

“How did they get it?”

“The manufacture of the saddle. It's as distinctive as a chop, you know. But they're quite clever here. Given time, they could probably come up with the exact town within the province.”

“And the horse? Anything there?”

“Do you mean species?”

Moichi nodded.

Aerent shrugged. “That's another matter entirely. There is nothing remarkable about it. But, in any event, he could have bought it anywhere, really, even if it were a luma.”

They were sitting in the same room on the second floor of the Seifu-ke where they had talked earlier in the morning.

Kuo had talked for a long time before he had led them to the stable where he had quartered their mounts, showing them to the stall where the dead man's stallion was housed. He had brought it out at the appointed hour the night before, precisely as the dead man had ordered, only to find the horror in the alley where he had expected another silver coin and a few kind words.

“I know little of Kintai,” Moichi said.

“I am not surprised.” Aerent faced the window, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. The storm had all but spent itself and, here and there, over the rooftops of the city, he could see liquid wedges of cerulean as errant clouds followed in the wake of the rain. The Regent turned from the view of Sha'angh'sei. “It is a landlocked region far to the northwest. Not much is known of it, since its frontiers are beyond even the most northerly of the forest people with whom we have trading agreements.

“What would an outlander from such a far-off place be doing in Sha'angh'sei with the son of the tai-pan of the Ching Pang?

“And who was it killed them both?” Aerent tapped a long forefinger against his lips ruminatively. “I think what we must focus on is the difference of the modes of death.”

“I agree.” Moichi nodded. “Omojiru is killed almost instantly while the outlander suffers a most hideous and pain-filled demise.”

“Information.”

“What?”

“We can only surmise that the murderer sought information.”

“It must be of enormous importance to resort to that kind of torture.”

“My thoughts precisely.” Aerent was tapping his lips again.

“Perhaps Du-Sing should be told about this,” Moichi observed. “It does not look now as if the Reds were involved at all.”

“Uhm. Dangerous to make that assumption at this stage, I am afraid, tempting though it may be to do so. We do not know how many men were involved. Perhaps—”

“Perhaps what?” Moichi prompted.

Aerent poured them wine, handed Moichi a crystal goblet imprinted with the Regent's seal in silver. His brow was furrowed in worry. “There may be a military aspect to this; that would quite logically involve both the Reds and the Greens. There are still many peoples in the world who covet this port city with its vast wealth and strategic location.”

“Surely you are not suggesting—”

“An invasion from the north?” The Regent shrugged. “I cannot rule it out.” He sipped at his wine, barely tasting it. “I can tell you one thing for certain, my friend. This matter is about more than just a murder. Much more.” He put his goblet down. “Well, we have done all we can for the moment. I have sent for information on Kintai and that will take some time to compile. The newly formed Shōbai will be most helpful.”

Moichi laughed. “They had better, by God! Without your aid those traders would have a tough time with the Sha'angh'sei hongs.”

“The trading guild is a fine idea but who knows if it will work? There are so many divergent members from so many lands, they may burst asunder with a very loud bang.” He rubbed his hands together. “It's getting late. Will you stay for dinner?”