Herb-Witch (Lord Alchemist Duology) (30 page)

An
unexpected question. Iathor tapped his fingers on his desk. "Mostly
and mostly. Why?"

Thioso
hesitated, then stepped around the chair and sat, pulling at his
straw-colored beard. "I was quizzing one of your Master Rom's
journeymen, seeing what alchemies might be of use, and picked up some
gossip."

"I've
not yet killed my brother, so it can't be that," Iathor said,
sourly. "Which version did
you
hear?"

"That
you've an interest in getting the herb-witch into your bed, sir.
'Scuse the bluntness." The watchman didn't look terribly shamed
by it.

Iathor
folded his hands in front of his chin, elbows on his desk. "I've
an interest in her as a student. In part, to keep watch on her. It's
premature to presume anything else. It would be rude to the girl, to
repeat such gossip."

"Now
that's one of the oddest responses I've ever met. Fair enough. I'll
be wanting to talk to her soon. Even if innocent, she might've seen
someone hanging around after she left."

Iathor
nearly winced to think of Kessa being questioned. "I'll try to
discuss the matter with her in a couple of days. At the moment, she's
indisposed, and I gather it's worth a man's life to impose until her
moon-flows are done."

The
other man laughed. "One of those, eh? I'll steer clear. Though I
hope you don't abuse it, sir, to get your stories straight."

"She
ordered
me
out of her shop two days ago." Iathor hoped
Thioso wasn't going to focus on gossip to the exclusion of the
ledger-book's missing page, and the supplier of the lust and youth
potions.

For
once, his hopes were answered. Thioso grunted, then said, "The
next thing is the book itself. There's some faint smudges of letters
on the facing pages. I'm about to interrogate alchemist apprentices
on a thought I had. If there's a thing that'll darken blots too faint
for mortal eyes, any trouble to me defacing those pages?"

Iathor
opened out his hands, as if permission were a physical thing to be
offered. "So long as the information on all pages is preserved,
I see no reason why it shouldn't be tried. The apprentices should
know a recipe or two for restoring inks. We've our share of old
books."

"Good
point, that." Thioso levered himself up out of the chair. "Back
to work for me. Though . . ." He gave Iathor a
look that suggested he was no more impressed by status than Kessa
was. "I'd like to know why you're protecting the girl. I'll be
prying at mysteries, and she's involved. I don't fancy reporting to
someone who's trying to cover tracks as I find them."

Ah.
Tob Rothsam had sent him an
honest
guard, with all the
benefits and drawbacks of the breed. "I don't enjoy keeping
secrets either, watchman. The matter is peripherally involved, and
not mine to betray further. If you've speculations you'd feel obliged
to report to Commander Rothsam, I ask to talk to him myself, first."

Thioso
tapped a finger against the chair-back. "You might take your
lunch at a tea-shop down Wine Street, sign of two dolphins over a
pearl."

Wine
Street wasn't far from a guard station. Iathor nodded. "I take
your meaning. Thank you."

After
the man left, Iathor went in search of Dayn. Happily, he found his
dramsman in the kitchen, surrounded by good scents and easily filched
food. With apple in hand (and one of the young apprentice cooks torn
between nervousness and annoyance), Iathor told Dayn, "Ask Jeck
to get the carriage ready before lunch, so I can waylay Watch
Commander Rothsam." He added to Tania, "Alas, I'll not be
on time for lunch here, and Dayn and Jeck will need theirs packed."

Tania
beamed at him. "I'm sure we can find a use for your portion,
m'lord."

He
eyed her back. "Indeed."

She
giggled.

"Mm.
Dayn, if you'd tell me when the carriage is ready? I'll be in my
office."

"Yes,
m'lord. I hope nothing's going wrong."

"If
I can prevail upon Tob to be discreet, no more wrong than two days
ago." Aside from being unable to think of how to keep Tob
Rothsam quiet
except
with much of the truth, which would
infuriate a certain herb-witch.

It
would all be much simpler if Kessa simply agreed to marry him. Iathor
could kick out his brother, install her safely within his house's
protection, and negotiate the details while wedding arrangements were
made. With enough backrubs, perhaps even Kessa's temper would soften.

Munching
his stolen apple, Iathor returned to his office to sort through work
and consider what he'd have to tell Tob. And what he'd have to tell
Kessa he'd betrayed, to protect her.

The
thought made him wince.

Chapter
XXX

T
he
first four moon-flow days were the only ones worth collecting. Even
the fourth, yesterday, Kessa'd barely gotten enough to justify the
effort. Perhaps the paste slowed the blood. For the last few days of
each flow, Kessa just used a clae-water mix to rinse the cotton and
cheesecloth tubes she'd tied to a thick yarn string beneath her
dress. The cotton wouldn't likely fail even if she wore it most of
the day.

She'd
accepted the offer of lessons, and spent the past two days brooding
and telling customers she'd be studying with a master alchemist once
a fiveday.

Some
were irritated she'd not be in her shop. Others were pleased, hoping
she'd stock true alchemy as well as herb-witchery. One told a story
he'd heard through his sister's husband's brother's wife's cousin or
some such, that in Cym, they made the work-gang criminals dramsmen,
forever bound to the evil alchemists there. Kessa'd not said
You'd
think they'd run out of criminals
, lest it extend the tale.

She'd
never been so nervous about a lesson. She'd been determined when she
went to Chiftia, bewildered when given to Maila. Occasional
recipe-swapping with other herb-witches, along with herb-swapping,
hardly counted.

Even
today, watching through her window, she wasn't sure where the lesson
was supposed to
be
. Which likely meant Kymus would . . .

. . . collect
her, yes.

Kessa
stood, pulling her cloak 'round her shoulders. Money-purse in her
belt pouch, an extra length of cotton within, shop-key 'round her
neck . . . Her defensive preparation was in her
basket, left in the shop; if
she
could catch whiffs of "green"
from the pressed herbs, he'd certainly notice. Her knife was strapped
to her inner thigh; it wouldn't show unless she sat carelessly.

Dayn
hopped from his footman's perch as Kessa stepped outside. "Good
day to you, Miss Herbsman!"

"Good
day," she replied, closing up and barring the shutters. "Do
I need to bring anything?"

"M'lord
has breakfast for you both, so I trust not. I hope you're well?"

He'd
become chatty. Was her agreement cause for
that
much
excitement among Kymus' dramsmen? "Enough for travel, so long as
I'm home before dinner." Kessa locked up.

Dayn
opened the carriage door. "We'll take you back, even if m'lord
works late."

"Thank
you." She climbed in, once again stuck in a carriage with her
Guild Master. She sat, twitched her head so her hair came down
farther on one side, and peered at him through its shield.

Irritably,
Kymus said, "Go ahead and look. It's Earth's own justice, no
doubt."

Kessa
pushed her hair from her face and stared, while Kymus glowered out
the carriage window, resting his arm aggressively on the familiar
breakfast basket.

No,
he does not look like his brother.
Even frowning, the elder Kymus
was not so aloof as the younger'd been. The resemblance was further
marred by a green and yellow bruise across the right side of Kymus'
face, that must've been truly horrible when it first bloomed.

"What
happened?" Kessa asked, dropping her gaze.
And why's it
justice?

"We
were walking night patrol at the top end of Kelp Street, near a
two-story tavern. Some cut-purse fled upstairs, there was an
altercation, he fell out a window . . . and landed on
me."

"Oh."
She raised a hand to hide her smile at his indignant tone. "Poor
Brague."

His
whole body twitched as he looked at her quickly. "Yes. I think
he'd have broken the cut-purse's arm if that hadn't happened in the
fall. At least my vials were padded by my coat, for if they'd
cracked, I might've agreed Brague should break something else. I'm
not at my best after someone's landed on me."

"Understandable.
And this is justice . ..?" 

"Mmgh."
That was a verbal wince. He crossed his legs nervously. "I'd
rather settle the lesson logistics first."

"All
right . . ."

"The
guild offices have a basement workroom, divided into one larger room,
and a few smaller ones. It's near the hospice, so Nicia can get there
easily. It's not, obviously, near you."

"I
could walk."

"It
would take too long. I can pick you up or send a hired buggy."

She
watched her booted feet, and hoped she wouldn't have to walk in the
rain with the toes cracking. "The latter, of course, would come
out of my stipend."

"
No
,
blight it." And that was sharp frustration. "
I
approached
you
. It's up to me to ensure you can attend without
undue hardship."

"Which
would cause less gossip?"

He
was silent briefly, then said, regretfully, "The buggy."

"Then
I leave it to you," she murmured.
You want to take over my
life. What would you do with it?

That
was a longer pause, as the carriage rattled along. "I'll see
that one's sent." He sounded defeated, then rallied. "Though
if the weather's poor, I'll fetch you myself. No need half-drowning
you in an open buggy; the driver'd charge more for going out in such
conditions anyway."

"Fair
enough." She took a breath. "Your letter said the stipend's
a silver leaf, per lesson?"

"I
trust that's sufficient? None of it need go toward guild dues, after
all."

Now
her voice acknowledged defeat. "Since you'll be feeding me, like
as not, it should be fine."

"By
now, Tradeswoman Kessa, I couldn't stop my cook if I wanted to. She
reports I'm to give you three copper trees."

"Ah,
it worked? Good." Kessa nodded in satisfaction; Tania'd visited
some three days ago. They'd spoken of various things, from the
dramsman's draught (dizzy and flushed, Tania'd said she'd felt, and
as if she suddenly had a son entirely grown up) to something to take
mold out of wall-fabric. "I'll mix up more later."

"Whatever
'it' may be. You're not conspiring to poison my brother, are you?"

Kessa
tilted her head. "I don't
think
so. Unless you drown him
in the bucket, of course, but that's not herb-witchery."

"Pity."

"Has
he been a problem again?" Kessa asked.
Do you know he called
upon me?

"
Still
.
I'll take you and Nicia to his house soon enough.
He's
unlikely to be there, after all. Anyway, I've brought food."

And
not explained the "justice" he bore on his face. Kessa
accepted a warm egg-pie, the open top showing chunks of meat and
vegetables. "Aren't you supposed to be eating, too?"

"Blight.
I suppose a roll isn't enough." He dug out an egg-pie for
himself.

When
Kessa finished hers, she delicately licked her fingertips before
asking, "So, how angry do you think I'll be, if you deserve that
bruise?"

"Sufficiently
that the cobblestones saved you the trouble."

She
closed her eyes and concentrated on not letting the excellent food go
to roiling discomfort in her belly. "Kymus . . ."

Quickly,
not
quite
in a tumble of words, he said, "The watchman,
Thioso, asked troublesome questions. The hazards of an honest guard.
To drain that brew, I explained to Watch Commander Tob Rothsam why I
have been, am, and will be protecting you." A tiny pause. "Tob
says he'll not tell anyone save Earl Dhaenoc, who administers the
soldiers and the watch, or the city-prince. Better Tob find out from
me than piece together rumors his watchman brings."

Why
not just tell everyone? Hire someone to cry it through the streets?
Post papers outside the taverns?
No, she couldn't say that. It
might make him think of the invitations that would be sent should he
marry. She stared at her hands in her lap, and thought about drawing
her cloak back around her.

Into
her silence, Kymus said, "I'm sorry. I wish I could protect you
entirely."

She
thought of an imaginary broodmare, in a safe, comfortable
stable . . . with only a strip of sky showing through
the window. "I suppose it's better than the prison."