Magic Can Be Murder (5 page)

"Old man," Edris said calmly though firmly, "they're not interested."

"They asked," the old man protested.

"They did not," Edris told him. To Nola she added, "If you insist on being polite, I assure you smiling every once in a while and nodding is more than enough. Truly. He takes the fact chat you're in the same room as encouragement. And if you leave the room, he'll call out after you to make sure you can hear from wherever it is you've gone."

"That's not true," the old man said. "Well, not all the time."

Edris continued, "The only way to get him to stop is to take his cane away from him and thump it on the floor and shout, 'Enough, old man,'"

Despite the fact that the words could have been harsh, the woman's tone was affectionate, so Nola did not feel at all sorry for the old man as he repeated sullenly, "It's my establishment," but simply recognized it as his determination to have the last word.

"Aye," the daughter agreed, "that it is, but I am the one to whom falis the day-to-day running of the tavern." Once more she gave her full attention to Nola. "What did you want to ask me?"

Just when it appeared chat Nola would finally be able to state their business and learn if they had a place to spend the night, her mother spoke up. She asked Modig, "Was it the king who had no sense with women, or che king's brother who had no sense with women?"

"Ha!" the old man cried. "Either! Why, I remember a time—"

"Father!" Edris said in exasperation. "It makes no difference. They're both dead now, dead and gone."

"Well," Nola's mother said, to Nola's dismay, "of course, there's dead, and then there's dead and gone. And sometimes somebody starts out as one, and ends up the other, or sometimes it's the other way around."

"Exactly," Modig crowed triumphantly. "So there I was, fresh from my service to the king..."

Nola was desperately trying out different excuses she might use, but Edris waved her hand in a dismissive gesture at her father and Nola's mother, and she said to Nola, "It's good of your mother to humor the old man. So many of his friends are dead."

"I know," Nola answered earnestly, "
exactly
what you mean."

"Are you looking for work?" Edris asked. "Is that what I should take you to have been asking? If so, you're a godsend."

"We
are
looking for work," Nola said, amazed that twice in a row now she hadn't had to beg, or even to ask. Of course, she hoped this would turn out better than their short stay at the silversmith's house.

"If you can help me in here," Edris said, and then leaned closer to add, "and if your mother can keep my father from, well, from annoying the customers with his long-winded accounts of times past, this could work out well for both of us. You see"—she looked embarrassed to admit this—"I love him dearly. But he can actually drive customers away with his chattering about the old days. And your mother looks to be—well, not his age, but closer to it than most of the people who come in here. My niece and her husband do most that needs doing in the kitchen. If your mother could help out, just a little, just light work, and once in a while—she doesn't even need to listen to the old man—maybe just nod occasionally and say, 'Yes, yes...'" Edris drifted off, looking as though she expected to be rebuffed.

"If nothing else," Nola assured her, "my mother is a very good listener."

N
OLA SPENT THE
evening serving customers and smiling at customers and making sure customers didn't sneak away without paying. It seemed to drag on forever.

There was no longer any way for Nola to magically spy on che man who grew blackberries in Low Beck. Either he would come after her or not—and she would have no warning.

But in any case, that now seemed to have been worrying for the sake of worrying. A far greater problem was that the bespelled bucket of water would be discovered. And if she feared that a man would track her down a day-and-a-half's journey away to denounce her as a witch because she had hurt his pride and caused him to drop and break a jug, how relentless would the pursuit be if someone discovered a spell she had left in progress?

Keep moving,
the most cautious part of her urged.
This town is too close by.

But then she argued with herself,
It's not. You worry
too much, and you'll yet be the death of both Mother and yourself by this constant fleeing.

Everything hinged on whether the bucket had been discovered or not.

Of course, there was one easy way to find out, for she had hairs from the silversmith's house. One was gray and might belong to Innis himself, or it might be from someone who had simply been in the shop, for she had found it on one of the pieces of velvet Innis used to display his finer wares. Then there were three long golden strands that were obviously Brinna's. And five light brown ones that could belong co either Kirwyn or Alan. Or rather, in all probability three of them were Kirwyn's because she had gotten them from his room when she had cleaned in there the first night; and the fourth was probably Alan's, for she had found that when she had—for that specific reason—offered to make up his bed in the cubbyhole by the stairs; and the last she had gotten off the kitchen floor, so that it could easily belong to either man. But all five were similar in color and length, and she had made no attempt when gathering them to keep track of which was which.

So, she decided, she would start with Brinna. For of them all Brinna was the one most likely to find reason to go down to the root cellar, where she might happen upon the bucket with the spell still going on inside it.

When she and her mother were at last in the privacy of the larder room where Edris had said they could set up beds, Nola cleared a space on one of the shelves so that she could place the washbasin there.

"Oh, no, not again," Nola's mother moaned when Nola poured out a pitcherful of water. "Leave be, Nola. Half the time it's precisely because you're so fretful things will go awry that you specifically
cause
things to go awry."

It didn't help Nola's mood that Nola suspected she might be right.

Nevertheless, Nola put her hands over the basin and said the magic words. Then she took a strand of Brinna's hair and dropped it into the water.

The shadowforms began to dance.

Brinna was in the kitchen, the day's pots and crocks and dishes cleaned and stacked neatly on the counter. Her blond hair was tied up, but with long strands hanging loose as she scrubbed vigorously at the floor. The bucket beside her was the bigger one she normally used, not the smaller one Nola had left in the root cellar.

Poor Brinna,
Nola thought: still at work so late because there was no one to help her. There was a crock on the cable that Nola knew, from her short time in the household, contained dried beans. Apparently there would be beans to eat tomorrow, and after Brinna finished scrubbing the floor she would measure out and sort the beans so that they could soak overnight.

Nola was determined to prove her mother wrong: She was
not
overly fretful; she would pluck Brinna's hair out of the water, and she would resist looking again until tomorrow. But even as her fingers broke the surface of the water, she saw something in the quiet domestic scene that made her pause.

Over Brinna's shoulder, framed by che unshuttered window, a man's face appeared.

Nola lifted her fingers out of the basin, and the water settled.

Kirwyn,
she realized. But what was Kirwyn doing, standing outside his own house, staring in the window as Brinna washed the floor?

Nola hesitated, and in the bucket Brinna gave a sigh of weariness and reached to tub the small of her back. And Kirwyn absolutely proved he had no honest business being where he was: Seeing Brinna start to move, he ducked down below the sill of the window to avoid being seen.

He's spying on her,
Nola thought. Of course, Nola was spying, too, but she knew why she was interested. What mischief was Kirwyn up to?

A moment later Brinna resumed scouring the floor. Sure enough, as Nola watched, Kirwyn peeked in again, warily, as though ready to dive for cover.

Nola became aware, in the world beyond the basin of bespelled water, that her mother was standing next to her, also watching what was happening.

"What's he doing?" Nola asked.

As though there could be no other answer, her mother said, "Hoping she'll get hot enough to loosen her bodice." Seeing Nola's look of startled distaste, she laughed and said, "Come to bed before you see something you
really
don't want to see."

No,
Nola thought.
That isn't it.
Or, at least, that wasn't all of it. She doubted Kirwyn would mind if Brinna cook off her top, but his look held more than the hope of catching a glimpse of a woman undressed.
He HATES her,
Nola thought.
He admires her beauty, but...
She shuddered at the hard look on Kirwyn's face.

To prove to her mother that she could do it, Nola plucked the hair out of the water; and when the ripples settled all she could see was the bottom of the basin.

Her mother sat on the edge of the mattress she and Nola had just finished stuffing and began to unfasten her shoes, first one, then the ocher, and still Nola stood by the washbasin. It was the way her mother gave such a knowing sigh and shook her head that settled the matter for her. If her mother knew she wasn't strong enough to resist, why bother fighting?

Nola looked at the five brown hairs, three—if not four—of which were Kirwyn's. She selected one and threw it into the basin. If it was Alan's, so be it. Whatever came, she was determined this would be the last spell tonight. The water, already bespelled, shivered.

It was Kirwyn's hair.

Kirwyn had left the kitchen window and was walking—in the dark—around the outside of the house. His steps were careful and precise, more so than he would need simply to avoid bumping into obstacles. He seemed to be trying to move without a sound. Dodging from shadow to shadow, he made his way toward the front of the house. He stopped once, crouched and silent, and waited while someone on the nearby street passed.

Well, at least he wasn't trying to sneak up on Brinna.

In fact, Nola saw he was heading toward the door that led into his father's shop.

Kirwyn waited until the street was empty, then he knocked against the door.

No answer.

Kirwyn stepped to the side of the shop and rapped his knuckles against the closed shutter.

Innis's voice came, very faintly, through the wood of the wall and the water of the spell. "Shop is closed. Come back tomorrow."

"This is important," Kirwyn hissed through the crack of the shutter. He went back to the door and knocked again.

The silversmith flung the door open. "What is it?" he said, and—before Kirwyn could answer—"You!" in a tone of surprise that indicated he hadn't recognized his son's voice through the urgent whispering at the shutter.

Light spilled onto the street. With one hand up to urge quiet, Kirwyn motioned with his other hand for his father to back into the shop. Innis, who had not seen Kirwyn's stealthy movements nor how he had waited until the street was empty, stepped backward. Kirwyn followed and hastily closed the door behind him.

Doesn't he see?
Nola wondered of lnnis.
Can't he tell something is wrong?

In the room beyond the basin, Nola saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. Her mother reached forward, and Nola caught hold of her wrist before she could upset the basin.

Her mother began a high-pitched moan, though Nola knew she hadn't been rough enough to cause her mother harm.

"Stop it," Nola begged urgently. She let go, and her mother cradled her arm, rocking back and forth. The whining moan became a strangled-sounding hum—a lullaby to calm the baby in her forefinger.

Nola looked away from her mother and back to the basin.

On the shelf behind the silversmith's workbench were several silver cups, ornaments, a knife handle, buckles. The back door leading to the silversmith's bedroom was open. On one of the tables was a small but high-edged wooden tray on which were other silver items. By chance or design, Kirwyn had caught lnnis in the process of putting valuables away for the night, locking them in the more secure inner room.

"What
is
it, Kirwyn?" lnnis demanded.

"I found myself locked out," Kirwyn said, "and Brinna and Alan already to bed. I didn't want to disturb them."

"So you disturb me, instead?" lnnis turned away in disgust and picked up the tray he had obviously set down to answer the summons at the door. Over his shoulder he added, "And if the servants are abed at this hour, they obviously are not kept busy enough."

Instead of following his father into the inner room, Kirwyn went to the largest of the silversmith's several anvils. His hand hovered over the tools beside it, then he selected a hammer, the biggest of them, a tool apparently meant for the earliest, roughest work.

Nola's mother, standing the length of the room away from Nola and the basin, became more frantic in her humming.

Turn around!
Nola mentally warned the silversmith. But, of course, nothing she did on this side of the water could affect the scene she viewed. Nola wished she had let her mother tip out the water.
She
wanted to tip out the water, but in her horror she couldn't move. She didn't want to see what was coming, what she knew was coming.
Turn around! Turn around!

Innis didn't turn around.

Kirwyn followed his father into the bedroom. There was a second door that led to the rest of the house, but this was closed. The silversmith had his back turned. He crouched down to lift a section of boards from the floor and removed a wooden chest from the cavity there and set it on the bed. He was fitting a key into the lock, obviously intent on putting his silver away securely for the night, too intent to notice that he was not alone.

Kirwyn raised his arm.

Perhaps his father saw the shadow fall across the box. Still crouched, he turned. "No!" he cried.