Pendant of Fortune (25 page)

He rested his arms on the cold stonework, folded his ears down against the chilly breeze, and sighed. He was no closer to understanding what was going on than he had been before. Over and over, he’d racked his brains trying to identify the mouse’s scent, now that he’d had a chance to smell it, and he couldn’t. He knew there were several mice at the palace who served in various capacities, but he was almost sure that the scent had belonged to none of them.

It was not out of the question that Dereath had brought in a spy from outside to watch the papers. If indeed the whole scheme had been conceived as a trap, Volle thought it likely. He’d found out about the papers the night before a large banquet, and of course thought the banquet would be the perfect time to steal the papers. He went over the events in his head: the deserted corridor, the empty office, the long minutes spent sniffing the air to make sure everyone had gone, and the quick grab of the papers. The footfalls behind him in the corridor, his quick dash to the hiding place, and the subsequent arrest.

Lord Fardew’s office, as he remembered it, had only a single door: the one he’d entered by. The anteroom, similarly, had only one entrance. But the palace was riddled with secret passages; just because he didn’t know about one didn’t mean Lord Fardew didn’t have one. Could there have been a peephole through which someone could have seen him? He glumly concluded that he couldn’t rule out the prospect. Dereath had listened in on the conversations in his cell as he and Streak had fallen in love, and he hadn’t realized there was another conduit out of the cell until the rat had told him. If there was such a hole in Lord Fardew’s office, he might not have been able to smell the mouse behind it.

That incident was tied closely to the current situation, he knew, but rehashing it didn’t help him shed any light on Streak’s predicament. He knew that as soon as he talked to the wolf, he would know whether or not he had killed the mouse. Streak wouldn’t be able to hide it from him. He wanted so badly to know, and just to see the wolf again. The chilly air and the breeze blowing through his fur kept reminding him of their last afternoon together, and the memory made him smile, and flooded him with melancholy. He had hoped their life could make the transition to the palace without losing the simple joys that they’d had on the farm, but the murder had changed all that.

And yet, though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, there was a part of him that was enjoying being in the thick of things again. Even though he realized the danger he was in—or perhaps because he realized it—he felt awake and alive again, and the sensation wasn’t totally unpleasant. Usually, he told himself, the messes he became embroiled in were not quite so dire in nature. But regardless, his feelings were similar. He felt amplified: his worry and love for Streak, usually quiet as the small creek on their farm, were as loud as a waterfall now.

And keeping him from that waterfall, the familiar obstacle of Dereath, exploiting this situation to get a cheap night of sex out of him. Though it seemed completely typical, Volle was surprised he had the nerve to do it under the nose of Captain Nero. He was convinced that he could find another way to get to see Streak. He wouldn’t give in to Dereath. Who knew what the rat might have planned if he got Volle in his power? Mutilation, maybe? He shuddered.

But Dereath had to have known that that would be his reaction. Did he think Volle was so desperate to see Streak that he would agree to anything? Volle’s tail lashed slowly back and forth as he thought about that. Had Dereath proposed that specifically so Volle
wouldn’t
get to see Streak before the trial? Was there something Streak could tell him that would make a difference?

Maybe Streak could tell him why he’d been in Dereath’s rooms to begin with?

He was rolling a small chip of stone under his fingers as he thought, staring down at the world below, but as his thoughts carried him along this path, he turned to look behind him at the rest of the castle. The three towers stood behind the main bulk of the castle, pennants waving desultorily from their sparsely shingled tops. He couldn’t see much more of the towers, but he could see that one of the towers had lost an entire section of wall, exposing the weathered stone inside. The other two looked more solid; his gaze flicked back and forth between them before settling on the one that he knew had to be the north tower. That was where Streak was, somewhere behind those stone walls.

The idea seized him that he could find a way in from the outside, or at least find a window he could talk through. He scanned the parapet, looking for a way over. There—but no, the other tower was in his way, and there didn’t seem to be a walkway around it. Maybe he could go around the other way, through the decrepit tower.

He sidled along the parapet, aware that he was doing something dangerous, not only physically, but politically as well. If he were caught, his hearing might not go as smoothly as Tish hoped it would. He looked back every few seconds toward the stair he’d mounted, in case someone were following him or chanced to come up, but the roof remained as empty as it had been since he’d stepped onto it. He didn’t dare risk a glance into the courtyard for fear someone would look up and see him.

Rounding the next corner, he saw that the decay in the walls covered more than just the tower. In addition to the side of the tower, an entire section of the castle wall was missing, and the parapet was mostly gone. He would have to walk on the wall itself to reach the tower, with a gaping hole on one side and a steep drop to the other.

Creeping closer to the point where the parapet ended, he peered down into the hole. It had been patched with boards, but half of a staircase remained, so that someone could conceivably walk up and onto the false wooden ceiling. The room didn’t look used, of course, but he couldn’t see beyond a bend in the corridor at the base of the stairs and he hadn’t been in that section of the castle.

Gingerly, he lifted a paw and stepped up onto the wall, staying hunched over with his tail out because he felt more balanced that way. The surface was considerably less smooth than the parapet, and more than once he winced as he put his weight on a rough protrusion. He was almost to the tower when he looked up to see where he could jump onto it, and the wall fell away under his left paw as he set it down.

He felt a moment of all-consuming panic, and clutched blindly at the wall. Vertigo seized him as his body fell, but fortunately he landed squarely on the wall, not to either side. He ended up lying flat on top of it, arms and legs on either side and tail all bristled out to his left, his chest and hips stinging from the impact. The inside of his left leg gradually joined the chorus of pains as the shock of the abrasion wore off. He was sure he’d left some fur on the wall, if not blood.

The pounding in his ears subsided in a few moments, enough for him to hear voices wafting up the staircase. “…shouldn’t be anybody up there…” He glanced down and saw several chunks of the wall lying on the boards, and realized that the sound of their impact, quieter in the open air and blocked out by his panicked scramble to keep his balance, must have sounded as loud as a drum in the corridors below. And in a few moments, someone would be coming up the stairs to investigate.

The tower, in front of him, offered no refuge. It was open to the staircase. He might find a place to hide while inside, but if he didn’t, there would be no disguising his intent. Back? He thought he could at least get back to the parapet if he hurried. The wall was stable enough—provided he watched where he put his paws.

He scrambled to his feet, listening for footfalls on the stair below. Trying not to let panic rule his steps, he hurried back along the wall, dislodging another few chips in the process. There was a loud scrape, as of some covering being moved aside, and he saw torchlight in the shadow at the base of the stairs. The parapet was close; he leapt for it and landed squarely on it, stumbling into the wall of the castle.

“
Ho! Who’s up there?” he heard faintly from the hole.

The parapet was about seven feet above the top of the stairs, so Volle felt he was safe from view. But what if someone had seen him go up? Not responding could be suspicious. He agonized for a moment and then crept to the edge and peered down.

A large cougar guard, looking up, snapped his head around. Volle recognized him, and the cougar obviously recognized him, too, because he relaxed and his tail stopped lashing. “My Lord, it’s dangerous up here. You should return to the castle.” He looked from side to side. “How did you get up there?”

“
The other way.” Volle pointed. “I’m sorry, I was just angry and wanted to get away. I threw some rocks around and I guess I hit the boards. I’ll come down now.”

The cougar nodded. “Thank you, my Lord.” He bowed and then turned and walked quickly down the staircase.

Volle lay there for another moment before getting up. He looked at the north tower again, then at the nearer tower, fixing some details in his mind. There wouldn’t be a moon tonight; it was too overcast. But he might be able to navigate the wall in the dark.

He pushed that idea to the back of his mind, and padded back along the walkway. He kept close to the parapet as he walked around the main courtyard, aware that anyone might be watching. That made him think about Dereath’s witness, and wonder how many times he’d thought he’d been alone and hadn’t been.

As he descended the staircase, pausing for a moment to look around in the fading light at the shadows that seemed to spring from every cranny and crevice, a thought occurred to him.

He’d been in the dungeon for months. Why hadn’t Dereath produced his witness then?

Chapter 7

“
From what you’ve told me,” Tish said quietly as they waited for dinner, “he wanted to get more information out of you. Producing his witness would mean a quick conviction, but the case would be taken out of his purview. As it was, nobody really knew what had happened to you apart from what we were told, remember?”

Volle nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” He chewed on the small vegetable rolls they’d been given as appetizers, and looked around the table. The place next to him was empty, and Tika was on the other side of Tish. Only about half the table was full, but it was populated by small clusters who were chattering merrily to themselves. “Nobody seems really upset. Remember after Prewitt, how everyone was tense for weeks?”

Tish shrugged. “They all…” A grey fox placed a dish in front of him and then moved to Volle, and he waited until the servant was out of earshot before continuing. “They all think the murderer is locked up.” He watched the King, and dug in as soon as he saw the King begin eating.

Volle didn’t touch his food. “And you?”

“
I’m waiting to hear what you think,” Tish replied equably.

“
You don’t have any opinion?” Volle toyed with the chicken, and finally ate a piece. The sauce smelled just a bit off to him.

“
My opinion is that there will not be any more murders.”

“
Then you think he’s guilty.”

Tish pointed a finger at him. “Wrong. I believe it was a deliberate crime, and it accomplished its goal. I do not believe that the murderer is interested in killing anyone else.” He took another bite.

“
Deliberate?”

“
She was the witness on Dereath’s list. Did I tell you I confirmed that? We still don’t know who she was, but it was definitely her name. But the way it was done, Volle, think about it. She was sought out, protected in the chambers of the Minister of Defense. It wasn’t a case of some crazed bloodlusting creature roaming the halls and cutting throats. It was a deliberate and planned attack.”

“
Captain Nero thinks Streak didn’t plan it.”

“
Well.” Tish shrugged. “If he is guilty—and you still haven’t told me what you think—then the killing itself might not have been premeditated, but he certainly went to Dereath’s chambers with some intention. Have you thought, for example, that he meant to kill Dereath? Rodents all smell alike, and he wasn’t that familiar with the rat’s scent.”

“
He could still tell male from female,” Volle said. Hunger got the better of him, and he started in on his chicken in earnest.

“
True, true. But if he were trying to disguise his scent, then his own sense of smell might have been confused.”

“
What would he disguise his scent with? Anyway, he wasn’t. It was all over the room. And the murder weapon,” Volle said gloomily.

“
Well, then, you see my point. It doesn’t look premeditated. Unless it was very carefully premeditated, and your wolf happened to step into the middle of it or was placed in the middle of it.”

“
Placed?” Volle chewed his chicken thoughtfully. “The only one who could have done that is Dereath. Would he have sacrificed his witness for a chance to put Streak in jail?”

“
Maybe,” Tish said. “Or maybe the witness didn’t really witness anything at all, and was just bait for Streak.”