The Inquisitives [4] The Darkwood Mask (14 page)

The valet opened the front door. “Did you have an appointment with Lord Arkenen?” he asked with a smile of neat, pearlescent teeth.

“I did not,” she answered. “I’m sorry for this unannounced visit. My name is Soneste Otänsin, agent of the King’s Citadel in Breland.”

The valet’s eyebrows rose.

“I am here on behalf of the Justice Ministry,” she explained, holding up Hyran’s writ. “I know your lord may be occupied, but the matter is pressing. Please ask him if he will see me for a brief interview.”

“Of course,” he said. “As it happens, my lord is home. Enter, please.” He stepped aside.

The valet shut the door behind Soneste, offering to take her coat. She politely declined, and the man drifted away. Soneste found a wall mirror and checked her appearance, affecting her professional veneer with ease. She removed her hat, combed her hair with her fingers, then retied the ribbon at the base of her neck. When she was finished, she examined her surroundings with a practiced eye.

The great hall beyond the foyer doubled as an art gallery, a wide corridor running left and right. According to the
Korth Sentinel
, Lord Charoth had hosted a number of exclusive showings
since his reemergence. Even Baron Zorlan had been invited to the last showing two months ago.

Knowing her time was limited, Soneste set to work, feigning the idle interest of a citizen with a passing appreciation of art. In the homes of the wealthy and magical, you never knew when you were being examined in turn.

The sculptures that lined the corridor were set upon matching pedestals of gray marble. Most were works of metal or stone, some abstract and unappealing to look upon, while others were realistic, pleasing depictions. Every piece, she observed, contained some component of glass—an hourglass in the arms of a marble beggar, a monocle affixed to the gold bust of an elderly scholar, even a single fingernail in the closed fist of a soldier cast in bronze. Impulsively, Soneste produced the small magnifying lens she’d once purchased years ago in Starilaskur. “Karrnathi glass,” the peddler had insisted, “none better.”

Glass was one of Karrnath’s chief exports, so it didn’t surprise her that a former Cannith director would take part in the industry. By all reports, though, Charoth steered away from House Cannith interests. Surely Cannith East already had a hand in such revenues? But then, Cannith produced innovative devices and wondrous architecture, not everyday exports.

“This way, Miss Otänsin,” the valet said when he returned, sooner than Soneste had expected.

She was led through a series of austere chambers and was left alone again in a windowless parlor rendered entirely in shades of black, gray, and white. She found the near monochrome effect unsettling, as though all life had been drained from everything in the chamber. The blue of her coat confirmed that the effect was a nonmagical one. Mere eccentricity.

She studied the room in greater detail when heavy footfalls alerted Soneste to her host’s approach. The valet entered first and offered her his recurring smile. “My lord, I present to you Miss Soneste Otänsin, inquisitive of Thuranne d’Velderan’s Investigative Services of Sharn, surrogate investigator of the Justice Ministry.”

Soneste refrained from scowling. She hadn’t mentioned her agency to the valet. Charoth’s people were resourceful.

“Miss Otänsin …” the servant said.

The noble stepped into the room. Her expression remained assertive, but Soneste admitted to herself that the ex-Cannith lord presented an imposing figure.

“I presented to you Lord Charoth Arkenen.”

Every inch of the man’s body was enshrouded in a courtly robe of midnight blue. From wide sleeves she could see black silken gloves on each hand, one of which clutched a striking silver-headed cane of deep blue glass. His hooded face was concealed with a mask painted with bright, stylized colors and carved with twisting runes. She recognized it as darkwood—an uncommon, expensive wood usually imported from Aerenal. The slits of the eyes were covered with glass, the lenses too thick to reveal the eyes beneath.

Against the muted shades of the parlor, the wizard’s attire stood out in livid contrast. His metal-braced boots came together as Charoth inclined his head, acknowledging his guest.

“You may speak plainly in my house, Soneste,” he said with a strong, sharpened baritone. His voice sounded clear but sleightly reverberant, a result of speaking through the slender crevice in the mouth of his mask. “Am I a suspect in your case?”

Soneste looked into the impassive eyes of the wooden face, uncertain on which to focus. She recalled the sketch in the
Sentinel
that depicted Charoth’s gaunt, aristocratic features and tried to visualize them now as she looked at him. The presence of the esteemed Cannith wizard was sleightly unnerving, but she’d interrogated hostile criminals. Charoth was no comparison. She pushed away her unease with cool professionalism.

“Lord Arkenen—”

“Charoth will suffice,” he said.

“Lord Charoth. You know of my case, then?” she returned.

The wizard shrugged. “What else would bring a Brelish inquisitive to my door? The ambassador’s death was two days ago. Old news now. Many die in this city.”

He gestured to a white divan, waited for her to sit, then settled himself in a high-backed chair across from her with a quiet grunt. Between them sat a low glass table, upon which sat a glass figurine of a dryad whose shape was so delicate it was almost invisible in the colorless room. She wondered if he’d designed any of these works of art himself.

“You’re not a suspect at this time, my lord,” she lied, defying the rumor that his mask revealed falsehoods in his presence. She would not be intimidated by this man’s reputation. “Only a potential source of information. I am only here to ask you a few questions. Are you willing to aid this investigation?”

“I am always willing to help the Ministry,” he said, “even when foreign dignitaries are careless and get themselves killed.”

Soneste used to take notes when speaking with important suspects or witnesses. Since her brief training with Veshtalan, she’d learned to commit even spoken words to memory. It was not as easy as imprinting written words in her mind, but with focus she found it manageable.

She took a steady breath, centering her mind. “Is it your belief that Ambassador ir’Daresh brought the murder of his family upon himself?”

Charoth did not answer immediately. He took a deep, rasping breath, leading Soneste to wonder if the injuries he’d suffered had affected more than his face and skin. “It is one thing if royals from the Five Nations wish to send their whelps to foreign courts as a show of peace, but another to parade their aristocrats across national borders while the scars of war still burn.”

Soneste was surprised to find his prejudice so nakedly displayed. Perhaps that was a learning point. “So you
do
approve of the exchange of royal siblings, of Prince Halix and Princess Borina staying here in Korth—which, I understand, was initiated by your king?”

Charoth nodded. “Such compromises are necessary to maintain peace. But the rulers of our lands must take care not to push the limits. The ambassador, like all of them, was taking a risk bringing his family into foreign lands. Karrnath is not Breland. Your
people are well known for wagging tongues. It can bring trouble in our land. Perhaps the ambassador invited it.”

Soneste shrugged, choosing to sidestep the insult to her people. “At any given time, my lord, there are hundreds—thousands—of nobles and commoners from across the Five Nations in your kingdom. What would make this particular man and his entire family victims?”

“You’re the inquisitive,” he answered. “You tell me. Perhaps an old rival took his holiday as an opportunity to settle a score?” He leaned forward, the grimace of his mask clearer to see, adding a touch of sarcasm to his voice. “You know how brutal those Karrns can be.”

“Of course, anything’s possible.” Soneste needed a new direction. “May I ask, my lord, why you were scheduled to meet with Ambassador ir’Daresh if you disapproved of the presence of such nobles altogether?”

“I am a businessman, Soneste,” Charoth answered. “With the war behind us, I am in the business of production and exportation. Ambassador ir’Daresh was a potential customer, nothing more. When I learned of his imminent arrival in this city, I arranged a meeting with him. A meeting of which the Sovereign Host apparently did not approve.”

Caustic
and
blasphemous, Soneste mused.

“You think me callous,” he continued, “but I am a realist. I have to be. I may have once belonged to a dragonmarked house, but I have lived in Karrnath all my life. It is not a forgiving land, but it is, ultimately, rewarding. You must forgive my candor.”

Soneste offered a genuine smile. “You are entitled to it, my lord, especially in your own home. I am the guest here, and I do appreciate your honesty. Many men and women I have questioned in my line of work are less cooperative.”

“And less interested in justice—Karrnathi
or
Brelish, as it were. I am well known in this town as an advocate of retribution, when and where it is due.”

“Understood. How did you make the acquaintance of the ambassador?”

“A mutual colleague introduced us via written correspondence.” He offered nothing more. Was there nothing to add, or was he hiding someone?

“Were you aware that Gamnon ir’Daresh was a Seeker?” she asked.

Another blatant lie, but if Charoth’s relationship with Gamnon were strictly professional, he probably wouldn’t know the man’s religious affiliations. Or would he? Choosing a political follower of the Silver Flame almost ensured there would be no use of necromantic interrogation of the victim. How convenient that would be.

Soneste had found this method of interrogation effective at times, used to distract the subject into revealing more. When you couldn’t find the truth, invent a new one and see if it leads you anywhere. It was how she’d found the missing Shauranna Rokesko.

“I … was not,” Charoth answered. “That would surprise me, indeed. The Brelish aren’t known for their devotion to Seeker philosophy.” Of course, the method worked best when you could read the subject’s face. Charoth’s mask, even his leveled voice, concealed everything.

“No, indeed we’re not.” Soneste moved on, not wanting to be trapped by her own falsehoods. “I have only a couple more questions for you today.”

The wizard gestured for her to continue.

“Do you know the name Tallis?” she asked, studying his body language in lieu of his face.

Charoth didn’t shift. “If the Tallis to which you refer is the infamous dissenter, Major Tallis of Rekkenmark—yes, I know the name. He is the prime suspect in the ambassador’s murder, is he not?”

Soneste leaned back, nonchalant in her manner. “Perhaps. He seems to be a local criminal, a major no longer. Did you know him personally?”

“Criminal? What Tallis
is
depends solely upon who you ask. In
my opinion, he is a misguided malcontent who
wants
to be a hero but chooses the wrong friends.”

“What you’re saying,” Soneste said, “is that you once tried to hire him, and he declined you.”

Charoth laughed, a dry rasp that sounded forced. “You don’t miss much, do you? King Boranel sent the right woman for this case.”

Soneste shook her head and smiled. “Do not think to evade my questions with flattery, my lord. Did you seek to employ him?”

“Employ him? Yes, perhaps.” Charoth gestured idly with one hand. “A man of his skill should be doing something more productive with his time than wasting it on skewed patriotism. I had hoped to hire Tallis as a guardmaster for the shipments I receive from abroad. Some of the raw materials I require for my factory are expensive and in need of greater protection. I would have beseeched the Ministry on his behalf, to grant him legitimate employment in exchange for his martial skills. It would also allow the law to keep an eye on him.”

Soneste considered his words. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t telling the precise truth. Charoth was feared by many, and she could see that he exuded wealth and influence, but he fronted himself as an eccentric philanthropist as well. Could this be real? He owned many of the properties within the Low District Ward, and if rumors were true, helped to keep a lot of the city’s poor employed. Arkenen Glass was doing well.

“Did he give you an answer at all?”

Charoth shrugged. “He was evasive. But then, Major Tallis spurns authority, and that would have included me.”

“Do you know of any prior connections between Tallis and ir’Daresh?”

“I do not.”

“One more question for you, my lord.” Soneste chose her words carefully. “Tallis is a wanted man, affiliated with crimes of desertion, armed assault, murder, and treason. If his whereabouts were commonly known, he’d have been executed by now. How did you know how to find him in order to present your offer of employment?”

Charoth’s response was casual. “If you mean—do I know where he hides? No, but I have knowledge of a great many things in this town. There are places you can contact a man when you do not know how to find him. And when all is said and done, everyone knows where to find me.”

Soneste smiled, refraining from pursuing
that
point. She had a better sense of Lord Charoth now. She would recall this conversation, and the details of his home, with greater scrutiny when she was alone. Another gift of the “Great Light.”

“Thank you for your time, my lord.” Soneste paused, then stood up.

Charoth held up one gloved hand. “There is another question you wish to ask.”

Soneste stared back into the lenses of the mask, genuinely surprised. Surely he isn’t like me? she wondered. Even I can’t read minds.

“Why darkwood, you were wondering,” he said with cold satisfaction.

“No, no. I—”

“It is conducive to magical application. The eyes behind this mask are damaged. Only with magic can I look again upon the world as I remembered it.”