Poison Study (29 page)

  “I sincerely hope not.”

  “Good.”

  After several failed attempts, I managed to pop the lock open.

  “Now you need to practice. The quicker you can spring a lock the better,” Janco instructed. “I would let you borrow my picks, but I never know exactly when I might need them.” He winked, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. “So…” He pulled another set from his pocket. “I used that coin you gave me to buy a set for you.” He handed me a black cloth case.

  “That money was for you.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty left. Even after I bought you this.” He flourished an ebony-colored wooden rod as long as my hand. It was decorated with a bright silver button, and silver symbols were engraved on the side.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Push the button,” he said with glee.

  I pressed down with my thumb, and started when a long gleaming blade shot out. It was a switchblade.

  Amazed, I stared at my gifts. “Thank you, Janco. But why did you buy these for me?”

  “Guilt, I suppose.”

  “Guilt?” Not the answer I had expected.

  “I called you a criminal. I was once a criminal, but I’ve gone past it, and no one has held it against me. Besides, I have a terrible feeling you may need them. General Brazell’s soldiers have been swaggering around the barracks, bragging about who is going to ‘take out’ Reyad’s killer. They’re quite imaginative, and I had to hold Ari back from challenging the lot a couple of times. Ten against one isn’t good odds, even for Ari and me.”

  “I’ll stay away from them,” I said.

  “Good. I’d better get moving. I’ve drawn the night shift. But, first, I’ll escort you to your room.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Ari would kill me if I didn’t.”

  We walked together toward Valek’s suite. When we reached the corner before the main doors, Janco stopped just out of sight of the guards.

  “Almost forgot,” he said, reaching into his uniform pocket. He pulled out a sheath for the switchblade. “It goes around your right thigh. Remember to make a nice big hole in your pants pocket, so when you pull the weapon it won’t get caught in the fabric.”

  He was about to leave when I stopped him. “Janco, what are these symbols?” I pointed to the silver markings on the handle of the knife.

  Janco smiled. “They’re the old battle symbols used by the King when he sent out messages and orders during war times. It didn’t matter if the enemy intercepted them, because they were unintelligible to anyone who didn’t know how to decipher them. Some of the soldiers still use them. They work well in military exercises.”

  “What do they say?”

  His grin widened. “Too easy, Yelena. I’m sure you’ll figure it out…eventually.” Always the prankster, Janco laughed with delight.

  “Come here,” I said, “so I can punch you.”

  “I’d love to oblige you, my dear.” Janco dodged beyond my reach. “But I’m late.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

  A fter hiding Janco’s gifts deep in my uniform pocket, I went into Valek’s suite. He was working at his desk, but he looked up as soon as I entered the room, giving me the impression that he had been waiting for me.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  “With Janco,” I said. But I was wary. As long as I arrived at the scheduled times during the day, Valek didn’t ask about what I did with my free time.

  “Doing what?” Valek demanded, standing with his hands on his hips.

  The comical image of a jealous husband popped into my mind. I stifled a smile. “Discussing fighting tactics.”

  “Oh.” Valek relaxed his stance, but moved his arms awkwardly as if he felt he had overreacted and was trying to cover it up. “Well, that’s all right. But from now on, I need to know where you are at all times, and I suggest you stay in the castle and keep a low profile for a while. General Brazell’s guards have set a bounty on your head.”

  “A bounty?” Fear pulsed through my chest.

  “It could be a rumor or just drunken soldiers’ talk. But until they leave, I want you protected.” Valek’s tone was firm, but then he added, “I don’t want to train another taster.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “No. You’ll be paranoid. You’ll move in a crowd, keep to well-lit areas and you’ll make certain to have an escort with you whenever you’re walking down empty hallways late at night. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. The Generals’ brandy meeting is scheduled for tomorrow evening. Each General will bring a bottle of his finest brandy to share as they discuss Ixian business late into the night. You will be needed to taste the Commander’s drinks.” Valek lifted a box of eight bottles from the floor. They clinked musically as he set the carton on the table.

  Pulling out a small drinking glass, he said, “I want you to sample each brandy once tonight and at least twice tomorrow, so you know how each tastes clean of poisons.” He handed me the glass. “Each bottle is labeled according to the type of brandy, and which General brings it.”

  I grabbed a decanter at random. It was General Dinno’s cherry brandy made in MD-8. Pouring a mouthful, I took a sip and rolled the liquid around my tongue, attempting to commit the taste to memory before swallowing. The strong alcohol burned down my throat, leaving behind a small fire in my chest. My face flushed with the heat.

  “I suggest you use the ‘slurp and spit’ method so you don’t get drunk,” Valek said.

  “Good point.” I found another glass for spitting, and then worked my way through the remainder of the bottles.

  On the day of the meeting, I tasted each brandy twice more in Valek’s suite, and then tested myself with a third round. Only when I could pinpoint by taste alone which cordial belonged to which General was I satisfied.

  That night, I waited for Valek to escort me to the war room. He came downstairs decked out in full dress uniform. Red braids draped his shoulders; medals were lined up six deep over his left breast. He oozed dignity, a man of stature. I would have been impressed, except for the uncomfortable and peevish look he wore. A petulant child forced to wear his best clothes. I covered my mouth, but was unable to block my laughter.

  “Enough. I have to wear this damn thing once a year and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s one time too many.” Valek tugged at his collar. “Ready?”

  I joined him at the door. The uniform enhanced his athletic body, and my thoughts drifted to how magnificent he would look with his uniform puddled around his feet.

  “You look stunning,” I blurted. Mortified, I blushed as a rush of heat spread through my body. I must have swallowed more brandy than I’d realized.

  “Really?” Valek glanced down at his uniform. Then he set his shoulders back and stopped yanking at his collar. His cross expression changed to a thoughtful smile.

  “Yes. You do,” I said.

  We arrived in the Commander’s war room just as the Generals assembled. The long, slender, stained-glass windows glowed with the weak light of the setting sun. Servants scurried around the circular chamber, lighting lanterns and arranging platters of food and drink. All military personnel were attired in their dress uniforms. Medals and buttons sparkled. I knew only three Generals by sight; the rest I deduced by the color of the diamonds on their otherwise black uniforms. Scrutinizing their faces, I memorized their different features in case Valek tested me later.

  Brazell glared when I made eye contact. Adviser Mogkan stood next to him, and I shivered as Mogkan’s eyes slid over me with cunning appraisal. When Brazell and Reyad had performed their experiments on me, Mogkan had always hovered nearby. His presence, sensed but unseen, had given me violent nightmares. Brazell’s usual advisers were missing; I wondered why he had brought Mogkan instead.

  The Commander sat at the tip of the egg-shaped conference table. His uniform was simple and elegant with real diamonds stitched onto his collar. The Generals, flanked by their advisers, seated themselves around the rest of the table. Valek’s chair was to the Commander’s right, and my stool was placed behind them, against the only stone wall in the room. I knew the meeting would last all night, and I was glad I would be able to rest my back. Another advantage to my position was that I wasn’t in direct sight of Brazell. Although I could avoid seeing the poisonous looks he might flash my way, I couldn’t hide from Mogkan’s pointed stares.

  The Commander pounded a wooden gavel on the table. Silence fell. “Before we launch into the scheduled topics,” the Commander said, indicating the detailed agenda which had been distributed earlier, “I have an important announcement. I have appointed a new successor.”

  A murmur rippled through the war room as the Commander walked around the table and handed a sealed envelope to each General. Inside the envelopes were eight pieces to an encoded puzzle that would reveal the new successor’s name when deciphered by Valek’s key.

  Tension permeated the room. I felt it pressing against me like an overfilled water-skin about to burst. A maelstrom of expressions, surprise, anger, concern and contemplation crossed the Generals’ faces. General Rasmussen of MD-7 whispered into his adviser’s ear, the General’s cheeks turning as red as his hair and mustache. I leaned forward in my seat and saw Brazell struggle to keep his face neutral as delight tweaked at his features.

  Instead of erupting, the tension simmered, and leaked away as the Commander ignored it by beginning the meeting. Items related to MD-1 were the first order of business, to be followed by each district in order. As a bottle of General Kitvivan’s special white brandy slid around the table, the Generals discussed snow cats and mining rights.

  “Come on, Kit. Enough about the cats. Just feed them up on the pack ice like we do, and they won’t bother you,” General Chenzo of MD-2 said in exasperation, running a meaty hand through his moon-white hair. His full mane stood out starkly against his tanned skin.

  “Feed them so they’ll get healthy and fat and start breeding like rabbits? We’ll go broke supplying the meat,” Kitvivan shot back.

  My interest in the proceedings waxed and waned depending on the subject. After a while I began to feel light-headed and warm as the brandy influenced my body, since protocol dictated that I swallow when tasting for the Commander.

  The Generals voted on various topics, but the Commander held the final vote. Mostly he ruled in favor of the majority. No one ventured a complaint when he didn’t.

  Commander Ambrose had lived in MD-3, scratching out a meager existence with his family in the foothills of the Soul Mountains. Nestled between the mountains and the ice pack, his home was atop a vast diamond mine. When the rich find had been discovered, the King had claimed the diamonds, and “allowed” the Commander’s family to live there and work in the mines. He lost many family members to cave-ins, and to the damp and dirty environment.

  As a young man seething at the injustices of the monarchy, Ambrose educated himself and began preaching about reform. His intelligence, bluntness and pervasiveness gained him many loyal supporters.

  My mind focused back on the meeting when the Generals reached issues regarding MD-5. General Brazell caused a considerable stir. Instead of sliding around his best brandy, he sent a silver tray containing what looked like small brown stones. Valek handed one to me. It was a round drop of Brazell’s Criollo.

  Before protests about ignoring tradition could escalate, Brazell rose and invited everyone to take a bite. After a brief moment of silence, exclamations of delight filled the war room. The Criollo was filled with strawberry brandy. I gave the Commander the all-clear sign so I could savor the rest of my morsel. The combination of the sweet, nutty taste of the Criollo mixed with the smooth texture of the brandy was divine. Rand would be upset that he hadn’t thought of mixing the two, I supposed, then regretted feeling sorry for Rand as I envisioned his deceitful face.

  After the praise died down, Brazell made the announcement that the construction of his new factory was complete. Then he went on to more mundane matters of how much wool had been sheared and the expected output of the cotton plantations.

  Military District 5 produced and dyed all the thread for Ixia, and then sent it to General Franis’s MD-3 to be woven into fabric. Franis nodded his head in concern as he wrote down the figures Brazell quoted. He was the youngest of the Generals, and had the habit of tracing the purple diamonds on his uniform with a finger whenever he was concentrating.

  I dozed on my stool as fuzzy thoughts gathered like storm clouds in my mind. Strange dreams about brandy, border patrols and permits swirled like snowflakes. Then the images turned bright and sharp as a picture of a young woman dressed in white hunting furs snapped into my mind.

  She held a bloody spear high in the air in celebration. A dead snow cat lay at her feet. She slammed the tip of her weapon into the pack ice and drew a knife. Cutting a slash in the cat’s fur, she used a cup to collect the blood that spilled out.

  She exalted as she drank, scarlet rivulets spilling down her chin. I heard her thoughts clearly in my mind. “No one has managed this feat,” she thought. “No one but I!” she shouted over the snow. Her exhilaration filled my heart. “Proof that I am a strong cunning hunter. Proof that my manhood was taken from me. Proof that I am a man. Men will not rule me any longer,” she cried. “Become the snow cat to live with snow cats, become a man to live with men.”