Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (17 page)

"You
think they'd have anticipated her transport?"

Thioso
shrugged. "Her whole street knew. Be a poor arsonist who'd find
out when she was gone, but not how."

"Still.
I cannot believe my brother'd be involved. He can be petty and
infuriating, and he doesn't trust Kessa, but he'd never
hurt
a
woman. He's too much a nobleman for such brutality. And he'd
certainly not conspire to torch her shop! Besides the penalties for
arson, he should've well known I'd take her in. Driving her to my
house should've been the
last
thing he'd want."

"Begging
your pardon, sir," Thioso said, with deference he'd not shown
before, "but it seems to me your nobleman brother's the one who
grabbed the girl so rudely at that ceremony."

Iathor
shook his head. "He was upset. He'd likely convinced himself she
couldn't possibly be immune, and was in shock.
I
was in shock
when I discovered her immunity."

"Of
course, sir." The watchman got to his feet. "Mayhap someone
was watching the carriage house instead, and realized a rare chance
to lie in wait. I'll have to question your brother – see if he
saw anyone."

"Yes.
Of course." Iathor stood also, feeling distracted and unsteady.
"Do what you must to speak with him. A letter of summons from
Commander Rothsam might suffice."

"Excellent
idea, sir." Thioso bowed. "Good day, Sir Kymus."

"Good
day," he replied faintly.

After
the watchman left, Iathor sat again, thoughts turbulent. He wanted to
ask his secretive house-guest what she wasn't telling him, but that
was unlikely to work. He could trick bits of truth from Kessa, if she
was unprepared, or winnow through her silences. Sometimes he even
fancied she
wanted
to trust him, only refusing out of habit or
to protect someone else. Unfortunately, once she'd made up her mind
to lie . . .

On
the other hand, Kessa's
sister
had a charmingly mercenary
streak.

In
the outer office. Brague propped up the wall, idly watching over
Deocris. The secretary's boy was absent, probably running some
errand. Iathor said, "Deocris, I'm afraid something's come up. I
hope to return afterward, but it's close to lunch anyway . . ."

The
secretary waved a hand, the other marking his place on a letter.
"This will be a while anyway before I'll need your signature.
Really, so many people willing to claim a fire was started by
alchemists, just to see what coin they can get . . ."

Thioso's
earlier speculations, that the matter might've been a false attack,
bubbled up again. Iathor shoved them away; if Kessa'd wanted to get
into his house, she need only have appeared on the doorstep and
claimed concern. Mouse skull and rat skull . . . Small
things, but any dead animals caused worries when left on one's door.
"Thank you, Deocris. Ah, and thank you, Brague." He
accepted his coat.

The
missing-and-found-again cushion had stayed found after Laita, Nicia,
and Kessa'd visited Keli's home, after the testing. Iathor
contemplated it darkly. Once, while Jeck waited for some blockage in
the street to clear, Iathor leaned forward and pushed the cushion up.
The bloodstain was gone, and the dye faded slightly as well.

Nothing
but a pale spot to mark where a half-dead woman in a torn dress had
trusted him.

And
yet, she wouldn't trust him with
why
she'd agreed to wed.

The
mystery simmered in his mind as he walked into Keli's shop, then
evaporated at the sight of some half-dozen journeymen alchemists
looking guilty at him. An off-duty watchman ignored him, while the
three women customers simply looked annoyed to be blocked by so many
young men. Behind the counter, politely discussing the merits of two
different hair-washes with the watchman, was Kessa's beautiful
sister.

"Hm."
Iathor surveyed the gray-dressed journeymen and folded his arms. "Out
of the way of the customers, you lot, or I'll tell your teachers
where you've gotten to."

Even
the irritated ones adopted hangdog expressions as they shuffled to
the sides of the large shoproom. Iathor nodded approvingly and went
to hover behind the watchman, planning on expressive throat-clearing.
Laita leaned to look around her so-called customer. "Master
Kymus! How delightful to see you. I'm afraid Herbmaster Keli's out
right now."

"Actually,
I wanted to ask you something. However, I can wait for the paying
customers." He smiled mildly.

"That's
so kind of you, Lord Alchemist," Laita said.

The
watchman glanced over his shoulder. Iathor maintained his calm,
pleasant expression, knowing Brague loomed behind him.

The
watchman settled on both jars, with less haste than Iathor would've
preferred, and left. By then, so'd a few of the journeymen. By the
time the women departed with their purchases, the last of the
journeymen'd slunk out.

As
the doors closed, Iathor said, "I hope I've not driven off your
profit."

Laita
shrugged. "They'll be back. They don't buy much, anyway. What
brings you here, Master Kymus? The Herbmaster's visiting some senior
herb-witches. Something about finding a replacement for old Chiftia."

"Ah,
good. But I really am here to see you. In relative private, if
possible."

"Well,
there might be more lunch-time folk – especially the
journeymen. I don't know why they don't visit when Aldra or Clari
tend the counter. I think there's some bias against flirting with
herb-witches. Wait a moment; I'll see if Aldra can come up." She
trotted through the door into the room beyond.

Iathor
muttered to Brague, "There'd best not be such bias after I'm wed
to one."

"Harder
to impress an herb-witch than someone who doesn't know any brews at
all, m'lord."

Laita's
return with Aldra was heralded by an unhappy, "But it's got to
be stirred!"

"A
brew?" Iathor asked, as the apprentice emerged from the other
room and curtseyed.

"Y-yes,
Lord Alchemist." She looked nearly as hangdog as the journeymen
had.

"I
believe I might be trusted to stir a brew. If it turns out badly, you
may tell Herbmaster Keli I spoiled it."

As
he'd hoped, the girl's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't ask–"

"You
didn't. But I'm asking to borrow Laita. Besides, I so rarely get to
brew anything interesting these days."

As
he'd hoped, the rationalization that he
wanted
to stir
apprentices' concoctions was tempting. Aldra bit her lip. "If
you say so, m'lord."

"I
do. Is there a specific timing to it?"

"No,
m'lord. Just enough that it doesn't stick to the bottom as it
simmers. It's on the hearth . . ."

"I
know which one it is. I'll show him." Laita gave the girl a hug
from behind. "You're such a dear!"

Aldra
looked mollified. "Well, go on, then, before all the boys come
back to look at you."

Laita
giggled, then turned to Iathor and Brague. "If you'd follow me?"

"Of
course." He nodded to Aldra, then walked after Laita.

She
led the way through a workroom where a young boy stared wide-eyed,
small knife drooping in one hand and obscure root clutched in the
other; across a window-lit hallway; and down spiral stairs to a
good-sized workroom that smelled of herbs and alchemy. Brague stayed
at the steps, sitting on them half-way up.

There
were a pair of small stools by each of the two hearths, and a
head-sized pot hung close enough to one slow-burning log to simmer.
Laita headed for that one. When Iathor got there, he took up the
stirring spoon and gave the brew a careful scrape before he sniffed
it.

"A
healing preparation?" It didn't have the sharper, more delicate
notes of metal-salts.

Laita
curled up upon a stool. "Aldra's not said, and I've not the nose
for it."

Iathor
sat also, rather than keeping one knee on the hearth. "It's a
matter of practice, really. Even the most susceptible can learn how
to recognize the scents and tastes of harmless potions or
ingredients."

"In
my case, might as well try teaching a dog to howl on key. I've not
the sharp mind, either."

"I
doubt your mind's dull. Indeed, I think I've need of your insight."

She
lifted her head at an angle that made her hair fall over one eye; if
the room were dimmer, the shadows would've been truly artistic.
"About my sister, I wager."

"You'd
win. I've been given information . . ." About
something he'd said he'd not tell Laita, blight it. "It makes me
wonder again why she agreed to marry me. Why she continues to agree,
when she could've claimed shock."

Laita
looked into the burning coals. "That could be expensive
information."

"Shall
I fetch my purse from Brague?"

"No . . .
I think a trade, this time." She looked at him. "Why're you
offering gold flowers for four men, who attacked a certain
herb-witch, and
not telling me
?"

"Ah.
I wasn't aware Kessa'd–"

"
She
didn't.
Burk
heard it. It's all over town, but for some reason
my sister
and you
are keeping me in the dark. Do I
look
like a mushroom?" Laita put her hands on her hips, glaring.

It
was nothing on Kessa's murderous stares, being far too silvery blue
and attractive, the pale brows barely furrowed. Iathor smiled wryly.
"She asked me not to trouble you."

"Blight!"
Laita briskly folded her arms. "Advance warning on four gold
flowers, and she didn't
tell
me."

"She
didn't know ahead of time," Iathor said, defending his
betrothed.

"She
still didn't mention it after! Or have you kept
her
in the
dark? She didn't
say
she'd been locked in your wine
cellar . . ."

She'd
smash the bottles into deadly knives.
He cleared his throat. "I
don't recall if I told her or not. If I forgot, it wasn't
deliberate."

"You're
not forgiven, Master Kymus." Laita took a fortifying breath.
Then, without inflection, she asked, "What did they do to her?"

"Took
her cloak. Tore her dress. She told Keli . . . no more
than pawing. She'd a preparation that turned her body's fluids to
poison. She got away, and took my Purgatorie when I found her."

Laita
pressed her fingertips against her mouth, eyes closed and face as
blank as a doll's. After a moment, she whispered, "Sweet Earth
and Rain. She didn't say she'd used that."

Iathor
stirred the apprentice's pot again. "You know of it? She claimed
she invented it."

"The
green death. I've heard what it can do to her. Didn't she have her
own Purgatorie?"

"She
lost it from her pouch. Her shop was burning."

"Earth
and Rain. I hope she's not getting Nicia to make more of the stuff."

An
irking thought. "I know she had it. I'd not stop her from making
another dose in my workroom. Why would she have
Nicia
do it?"

"I
don't know! She didn't tell me she'd been attacked." From folded
arms, Laita'd gone to hugging herself, still with her face carefully
blanked from the anguish her voice held.

"And
wouldn't say why she agreed . . . Laita,
do
you
know?"

She
shook her head. "My sister's keeping secrets from everyone, now.
All she told me was that she'd been thinking of trading you an
illegitimate heir for a stipend, but with her shop burned, it'd just
be . . . inconvenient, to get another place." She
sighed. "Why're you asking me now?"

The
secrets
were
breeding. He wanted to pace. Instead, he stirred
Aldra's pot. "The watchman Thioso tells me that for spite or
miserliness, or both . . . 'Reserved in the name of
Kymus,' the buggy was, so Iasen felt free to take it, lest he be late
to Earl Irilye's ball because his own carriage had some problem."

"He's
behind the attack, then?" Laita whispered, and for a moment,
sounded very like her crèche-sister.

"He
can't be. He'd not do that, not to anyone. Kessa said it was
coincidence. But . . . he's been rude to her. Kessa
may
blame
him, that she was walking."

Laita
turned her head, her hair a golden curtain between them. "Odd . . .
You want to know why she agreed to wed?"

"Yes.
Convince her to tell me, if she doesn't want to trouble you with it?"

"Mm."
She peeked out from behind her waving curls. "That might cost
something."

"I'll
get . . ."

She
lifted her fingers gracefully and purred, "There's another form
of payment, you know. She'll not tell me
anything
about that
kiss."

The
expression and tone of voice left no doubt of her implications.
Iathor lifted his eyebrows. "Your sister doesn't nurture
grudges?"