The Seer (19 page)

“But what were the packages?” Jesco wondered. “He had already taken the whirly-gigs to that old woman and that was his last delivery of the day.”

Scoth’s mouth flapped wordlessly. As a kitchen worker came out to wipe down the tables, Gavon returned and said, “Do you want a roll to your room?”

“I’ll roll him!” Scoth said almost in a yell, ripping the pad of paper from his pocket and flipping through the pages rapidly. “Why the
hell
did Jibb have packages at that point? He had taken the lord’s jewels to the bank hours before and Mrs. Cussling didn’t mention giving him anything to deliver.” He came to the page where he had copied down the letter from the courier. “‘He was unharmed, not even a tear to his trousers at the knees, from landing in that river grass. There’s no river there but the grass grows thick and soft as a pillow.’”

“Because they have to clean the tables now,” Gavon said obliviously.

“‘I left him collecting the little packages that had fallen out of his satchel and rode on,’” Scoth concluded. Stuffing the pad away, he stood up and came around the table for Jesco’s chair. At the last moment he remembered his hands, and swiped two napkins from another table to cover them. He pulled Jesco away and rolled him to the doorway.

“He was doing courier work on the side,” Jesco guessed, motioning to the hallway that led to his room. “Wassel said something about that. The company doesn’t approve of its couriers taking side jobs, but it’s hard to prevent. Jibb must have picked up those packages somewhere in his day.”

Scoth opened the door to his room and pushed him inside. Standing with care, Jesco used the desk and chair for support and made his way to the bed. He sat down and pulled up his legs one after another. Scoth rolled the chair to the wall and parked it there, saying, “You would have made a fine detective.”

“Thank you,” Jesco said.

“Are these all yours?” Scoth asked about the whirly-gigs.

“Yes. I love to collect them.”

Scoth bent down to take a look at one. “A sunner? I’ve never seen one of these up close. Is this the kind that gives you a dose of sunlight on cloudy days or winter months?” Jesco nodded. He didn’t fall into a slump with the reduced winter light like others did, but it had been enjoyable to take apart. Keeping his hands covered with the napkins, Scoth picked it up to inspect it. He bumped the controls on the side and the golden disc grew brighter.

“Just leave it,” Jesco said when the detective tried to turn it off. “It’ll go off on its own.”

Scoth set down the sunner, which was filling the room with an intense golden light. “There’s an annual whirly-gig convention over in Sprogue. Have you ever been to it?”

“No. I’ve never even heard about it.”

“Companies bring out their newest. So do individual inventors, most hoping to get picked up by a big funder. There are marvels, there’s junk, and everything in between. Contests and demonstrations and little tent shops, too. It takes place at the end of next month and lasts for a weekend. I was just about to send away for my ticket of admission.”

“That sounds like wonderful fun.”

“If I can get away, that is.”

“You can’t work all the time, Scoth. They walk with you, that’s true, but they can wait for a weekend to let you rest and recuperate.”

Scoth was looking directly into the sunner. The light radiated upon his handsome face and illuminated paler strands in his dark hair. Though it was not winter, something in the blaze was relaxing the detective, and he did not look away from it. “These cases,” he said ruefully. “These are the ones that get to me the most. People like Hasten Jibb. No one cared much when they were alive. No one cares much now that they’re dead. Someone should care. Someone should give them a little respect by finding out what happened. I’m the last stop for someone to care, and I’m just a stranger. If the captain had his way, Hasten Jibb would vanish into the cold files and no one would spare him another thought. When the captain’s got relatives weeping and wailing in his office, then the victim is important because other people deemed him so. But if the victim didn’t count to anyone, then he doesn’t count to Whennoth either.”

Scoth closed his eyes but kept his face turned to the sunner, letting the light beat through his lids. “It wasn’t a brother or cousin but a friend,” he said. “Back when we were boys. He was part of a frivolity circuit that went up and down the Razille in boats. They rarely went back to Lotaire. We got to be friends, he and I. They always stopped in Korval where there are fairgrounds. One of those people that you could not see for almost a year, and then pick up exactly where you left off. He was murdered when we were ten. And they never caught who did it. They never wrote to an asylum or a proper police station to see if they had a seer around. He was just another dark-haired Asqui brat on the circuit, and it was sad but . . .” He shrugged to show the lack of interest in pursuing the case.

“But he was much more than that to you,” Jesco said.

After a long, drawn-out breath within the beam of the sunner, Scoth said, “We just got on well, the two of us. Such good friends that we could finish each other’s sentences. His parents were dead, and he’d been taken in by the gamma. Usually circuits have a gamma or a gappa, an older person who minds the orphans. The gamma had eight or nine children to look after, too many to pay much attention to any one in particular. He had me, his summer buddy that he went swimming and fishing with, and I’d say I was the only one broken up about his murder. So sometimes it’s hard for me to see you do your work. Not you in a personal way, but any seer, that’s how I mean it. You could have given him some respect after he died, but none of you were there. No one sent for you. He didn’t count for enough. He wasn’t a businessman, or someone who lived in a big city where a seer is right at hand. He just vanished in pretty much every mind but mine.”

“What was his name?” Jesco asked.

The intensity of the light was fading, and Scoth glanced at him. “You would be the only one to ask that in the few times I’ve told the story. His name was Ramono, but he went by Ono. The Asqui word for zero. Even his name showed how he counted for nothing.”

“There were no leads on his case? Nothing at all?”

“I was supposed to meet up with him that day, but my mother had kept me behind for shirking my chores. I couldn’t leave until I finished them. A woman who’d gone to fish found Ono at the riverside, his upper body pushed into the water. It looked like he’d gotten into a fight, and someone held him under until he drowned. Towns like Korval don’t have official police like they do here. I’ve told you that. It’s just a bunch of privileged fools who like to wave clubs and homemade badges around to feel important. No witnesses, no motive, no interest, so no case. Now that I’m older, I have a better idea of what happened. There are different kinds of frivolity circuits. Some are a carnival of wonder, gymnasts flying through the air, wild animals jumping through burning hoops, and some are a carnival of contests. That was the kind Ono was on. Testing strength, speed, smarts, agility, luck, talents at singing and spelling and such. And some are more racy. Do you know about those?”

“I’ve heard about them in passing.”

“They’re banned in most places. Sexual feats, orgies, there aren’t too many of those types of frivolity circuits and they’re smaller than the other kinds. But some people think every circuit is that sort, and that every Asqui there is going to entertain that way. All of them carry knives as a precaution, even the children. You might go the length of a carnival and never get propositioned, but you’ll never go the length of your life in a frivolity circuit and never have it happen to you. Ono was bothered for the first time when he was eight.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. I can’t stand when we’ve got someone in a cell at the station with those proclivities. Usually men, occasionally a woman, all of them waiting for trial and thinking it’s just fine and dandy to have an attraction to a child. Ono got propositioned at eight, and the summer he was ten, he’d had it happen by two men at different times. I remember him telling me about it. They were asking him how much for his body, showing coins and promising more, and getting mad when he said no. The first man was seventeen, which seemed quite old to two ten-year-old boys, and Ono said that his head was misshapen and he reeked. Some fellow out of the backwoods who had come to the carnival, that one, and he was going after all the boys and girls until a pair of Asqui men got him by the arms and threw him out of the fairgrounds. He sneaked back in days later, scooped up a little Asqui girl playing with her wooden animals, and tried to take her away. She was three years old.”

“Angels save us,” Jesco said, revolted.

“She screamed like the dickens in his arms and her grandmother, her mother, her aunts, and her older sisters came running. All of the women in that family worked the Ladies’ Strong-Arm contest, and Ono and I laughed and laughed about that. Nothing but muscle, the whole lot of them. They beat him bloody, dragged him out of the fairgrounds, and told him never to come back or they’d kill him. And I believe they would have. So he was the first man that summer going after Asqui children, and the second was a man we called The Marble for his shape. He was old enough to be balding and he took a real shine to Ono. Offering flowers like they were beaux, dice and toys, he came every day to the carnival with a new gift and pleaded with Ono to take a carriage ride with him, have a picnic somewhere. He was getting pushy, and frustrated when Ono kept saying no. Ono had taken to hiding from him.”

“You suspect that one of those two men followed him to the river on the day he died,” Jesco said.

“All Asqui children are taught to hold their own. I think there’s a fair chance that that’s what happened. A man followed him over there, Ono said no again, and they fought. But he was a child against a grown man, and he died in that fight. All a seer would have had to do was touch his clothing to know. But there was no seer, or anyone with the sense to save Ono’s clothing and write for one. There was just the mayor as the chief of police and his friends’ adult children for officers, and they let a murderer slip through their fingers since the person he killed was insignificant. Maybe . . . I always thought that maybe if I’d just done those chores when I was supposed to, I would have been there. One to one, Ono didn’t stand a chance. One to two, however . . . it might have ended differently.”

“It might have ended in both of you dying,” Jesco said as the sunner dimmed and turned off.

Scoth did not debate that with him. They had seen enough, both of them and in different ways, to know that that possibility was true. Bending down to the whirly-gigs, Scoth checked the weather-catcher. He said off-handedly, “I could get two tickets.”

“Two tickets?” Jesco repeated, lost in the change of subject.

“To the convention. If you’d have any interest.”

Astounded, Jesco tried to keep his voice even and equally off-handed. No man had ever asked him anywhere. “I might like that.”

“You’ll have to bring your sheets and spoons and things for the stay.”

Jesco gave up on his efforts at nonchalance and smiled, feeling as radiant as the light from the sunner. “I can do that.”

“And don’t touch anything without your gloves on!” Scoth growled at him. “There’s going to be a side-hall on the second day for Science’s Greatest Failures. I want to see that one. I might enter my shoulder shooter in it sometime. And, just so you’re on alert, there are always protestors outside from the Church dressed up like angels to hand out tracts against science and call everybody demons for going in. They throw things now and then, eggs mostly, and last year it was their haloes.”

“I’m inured to being called a demon,” Jesco said. “It’s happened too many times before.”

A perturbed expression came over Scoth’s face, and he barked, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked out the door and closed it behind him, leaving Jesco in a state of surprise and happiness upon his bed.

Chapter Nine

The city of Somentra was tucked away out of sight in the quiet green hills to the west. There was a lot of traffic on the main road from Cantercaster, and it only grew worse when they reached the foot of the hills. Scoth rerouted the autohorse to another road that wound through the trees. It was narrow and unpaved, at times running alongside deep slopes that ran down to a riverbed that was nearly dry. The river itself had been redirected. Now only trickles of water slipped between the rocks in the bed’s lowest point. Bright yellow birds splashed in the little puddles far below the road.

With the fall of industry in Wattling, some of it had moved to Somentra. Plumes of smoke rose into the air from the factories, dissipating in the wind. Those plumes were all the evidence of civilization that Jesco had until the road suddenly emerged from its green cover. Down in a valley was a sprawling city. The factories formed a necklace around the many lines of homes and shops, and the air was hazy from the swells of smoke. Chemical scents seeped into the carriage.

“I would not want to live here,” Jesco said.

“Nor I,” Scoth said. It had been a friendly ride between them, although most of what they spoke about was the case. “They don’t ever stop. Three shifts a day, each eight hours long. The factory doors never close and they breathe that smoke night and day.”

Cable Holding was a business center at the very heart of the city. It had two wings connected by a second floor walkway suspended over a garden and fountain. Carriages swung by the curb to release well-dressed men and women, all of them carrying briefcases and making beelines to the doors at either wing. A trolley full of window washers with brushes and buckets lifted into the air on one side, and when it reached the second floor, they got to work with swift, even strokes.

The directory guided them to the right wing and up a flight of stairs to a closed door labeled AGREA. Flowers in vases were everywhere, their sweet scents warring with the pungent chemical odors. Entering the office, they stopped at the secretary where Scoth requested an audience with Torrus Kodolli. The flabbergasted woman went through a door behind her desk and soon returned, saying coldly, “You must make an appointment. He has an opening next week.”

“That will not do,” Scoth said, keeping his badge out. “He can meet with us now, or I can involve a judge.”

She went away again and was gone for fifteen minutes. Then she beckoned them through to a hallway. They walked past many offices with people hard at work inside. A courier burst from one office and almost ran into them, his satchel overflowing with ledgers and letters. Spinning aside at the last second, he raced away.

When they passed the office that was marked T. Kodolli, President, Scoth said, “Where are you taking us?”

“Mr. Kodolli will be meeting you in the conference room,” the secretary said frostily.

That was the last room in the long hallway. It was wood-paneled, and three-quarters of it taken up by a massive oak table. Maroon drapes had been drawn back and tied with heavy bows, but sheer curtains still obscured the view of the street. The sunlight filtered in red through them. Although there were no flowers, the air was heavy with the scent of perfume.

There was not one man in the room but four. The oldest had to be Torrus Kodolli himself. Seated at the table and a jeweled cane beside him, he stared at Scoth and Jesco with affront. Age had wizened him. His suit was slightly too big on his frail frame but elegantly cut. Gems glittered within rings on two of his fingers.

Beside him was a starched and pressed fellow with thick spectacles, and the last two men were much younger, extremely muscled, and standing in the corners of the room. Their faces were expressionless, but their eyes were trained upon Scoth and Jesco. Then a fifth man with a graying comb-over entered the room and pushed past them to join Kodolli on the far side of the table. “Will this take long?” the new arrival asked querulously. “I’ve got to drive out to Carrin.” Something about his tone made Jesco think that the man had only said it to show off how important he was.

“Now, now, Morgan,” the old man chided. The younger man was his son. “Apparently, these detectives here have something very serious to question us about.” His tone was polite but mocking.

“I am Torrus Kodolli’s solicitor, Aveth Eemes,” said the man with thick glasses. The two in the corners were bodyguards, Jesco presumed. Kodolli was a very rich man, and required protection. The name Eemes had been on the directory, explaining how the solicitor had arrived so quickly to sit in upon the interview.

Scoth dispensed with the pleasantries and pushed the photograph of Hasten Jibb across the table. “Do you recognize this man?”

Lifting a little from his chair to reach it, Torrus Kodolli gave it a casual glance. “No.”

“He was found murdered in Poisoners’ Lane roughly two weeks ago,” Scoth said. “Have you been in Somentra long?”

“My client does not have to answer that question-” the lawyer started.

Kodolli waved him off and smiled meanly. “I’m sorry to disappoint, Detective, but I’ve only just arrived in Somentra five days ago. I have spent the last month south in Fyllyn, as an entire office of employees and my home staff can attest, as well as various friends, shopkeepers, and acquaintances. But why would you think that I had information about this murder?”

“Have you ever met a man named Tallo Quay?” Scoth asked.

“I asked you a question,” Kodolli said with another mean smile.

“And I am the one investigating this case,” Scoth responded. “Have you ever met a man named Tallo Quay?”

“I can’t recall. Do you have a photograph?”

“I have a picture.” Scoth pushed that across the table and Kodolli took it. The bodyguards watched, their eyes all that moved. The solicitor was stiff in his seat; the son looked at the picture with a furrowed brow. It was hard to see Torrus and Morgan as father and son: Torrus had sharp features and gleaming eyes while Morgan’s face had all the definition of a bowl of pudding.

Torrus Kodolli turned the picture from side to side like he was taking it very seriously, and then he laid it down. “He doesn’t stand out.”

“You’re saying that you don’t know him,” Scoth said.

“I didn’t say that. I employ thousands of people. Is he one of them?”

“He spent two years trying to get in contact with you, and finally made your acquaintance at Luthen Playhouse. It was a showing of Scarred Crest.” It was a bluff since they had no proof of the two men meeting there.

However, it appeared to work. The older Kodolli took another glance at the picture as the solicitor repeated that he didn’t have to answer. Again, his advice was dismissed. “Do you know how many people want to speak to me, Detective . . . Scoth, is it?” Kodolli mispronounced it, and probably on purpose. “I run a large company, a very large company. Journalists always want a word. Societies chase after me for donations. Members of Parliament plead with me to fund their reelection campaigns and give them endorsements. Total strangers approach me for jobs and favors; those idiot protestors hike their union signs in the air and picket outside my mines and a few of my homes and offices. Maybe this man did approach me at the intermission, come to think of it.”

“What did he want of you?” Scoth asked.

“He said he had something of value to me. How many times have we heard that?” The old man looked at his son, who snorted with derision. His comb-over wafted in the breeze of the movement. “Just some gossip, it turned out.”

“Which was?”

“I never got the specifics. He was playing cagey, and I didn’t care enough to prize it from him. It was late. I’m an old man who wanted to enjoy my show, and go home to my bed and hot water bottle. I told him to go off and he did. I never saw him again.”

Tallo Quay had dedicated years of his life to chasing down this man; Jesco could not believe that being told to leave would have succeeded in dissuading him so easily. Scoth said, “Do you know Mrs. Kyrad Naphates?”

Kodolli’s lips puckered like he was sucking upon a lemon. “I have had the misfortune of meeting that jewel-swathed strumpet.”

“Your relationship isn’t a pleasant one.”

“Relationship? Hardly a relationship. We met at her wedding very long ago and have seen each other sporadically at social events since then.”

“Were you friendly with her late husband?”

“He was a business competitor, but we were pleasant. I would have absorbed his company into mine had he sold it, as he should have. He had no heirs, nor would he name some vice-president of the company his successor. He refused to consider that one day he might die.”

Kodolli laughed. It was as dry a sound as sandpaper, and like his smile, full of mockery. “That was why he took such a young wife, young enough to be his great-granddaughter, to make him feel young as well. And it was why he did not have his papers in order so it all went to her upon his inevitable demise.
Weeks
after the wedding and that filthy trollop from a penny-pinching family became the head of a multi-million dollar business when she could barely read and still spoke in miners’ brogue. I was embarrassed for old Cluven at the wedding, since he did not have the sense to be embarrassed for himself.” Kodolli shook his head, his lips still pursed. “I’m afraid, gentlemen, that I fail to see any connection between a dead man, a man who interrupted my dessert at the intermission years ago, and myself. Would you care to enlighten me, or will you continue to waste my time?”

“Did Tallo Quay give you anything?” Scoth asked.

“Give me anything? I told you: he wished to give me information, and I did not wish to receive it. That happens from time to time, people thinking that I’m going to be fascinated to learn the peccadilloes of my competitors and that I’ll line their palms to hear everything. From what I recall, his information had something to do with Naphates. I didn’t want it. I didn’t need it. I try to do as little dealings with her as possible. These companies are our legacies from our parents, and we pass them down to our children or loyal staff favorites should there be none. Cluven’s blindness and denial led to his company going to a veritable stranger. Someone who did not understand how business is run, who feels no loyalty to our circle, who did nothing but lift her skirts to get where she is today!” The old man’s voice was rising in fury. “What was this man going to tell me about her? That she was covertly helping my miners to unionize? That she sleeps around when rich ground is discovered to make sure it’s sold to her, or plies a man or woman with escorts should her body not be to the seller’s liking? I know what that whore of a woman does and I want no part of it! She’s cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars since Cluven died with her shenanigans! Perhaps it’s in the millions now; I would not be surprised!”

“It’s all right, Father,” Morgan Kodolli said.

“Be
quiet
, boy!” his father roared like his son was five years old and not five plus fifty. Morgan fell into a meek silence. “If you have nothing else, detectives-”

The solicitor gasped. He was looking straight at Jesco, and cried out, “This isn’t a detective but a seer! That’s why he is wearing those gloves. You do not have permission to touch anything in this room, or in the entirety of this office! This is an invasion of privacy!”

“A seer!” Already irate when the topic was Naphates, Torrus Kodolli came utterly unglued to realize a seer was in the conference room. He snatched his hands off the table, taking the photograph of Hasten Jibb and the drawing of Tallo Quay with him. Thrusting them at the solicitor, he shouted, “Have these destroyed! You! You!” He had turned to his bodyguards. “Get them out of this office! If they resist, call more guards to help!” The pair of men stepped menacingly from their corners and started around the table.

“Put your hands on either of us and I will see all of you arrested!” Scoth bellowed. “We will see ourselves out, and return if we have more questions.”

The guards followed them out of the building, and all the way to the carriage. As Scoth and Jesco entered it, the two heavily muscled men retreated to stand at the doors of the wing. Jesco took his seat and said, “That went well.”

“They were afraid of you,” Scoth said. “Terrified. Involved in Jibb’s case or not, there are memories in that room that they don’t want you to pick up upon.”

“What did you think?”

Scoth directed the autohorse to take them to the nearest place that sold food and sat back as the carriage began to move. “If that old man killed Jibb for whatever reason, he can’t be the one to have put him in that alley. Torrus Kodolli couldn’t lift a sack of wet sand, let alone the body of a grown man.”

“The bodyguards could have done it.”

“But what we’re still missing is
why
. And if Kodolli was telling the truth about where he was, all the way in Fyllyn, and when, then he couldn’t have killed Jibb. Fyllyn is hundreds of miles to the southwest.”

They stopped at a busy restaurant, Jesco pulling out his own utensils to eat and Scoth wolfing down two entire meals. It was difficult to talk with the racket all around them, and it took so long for the check to arrive that Scoth estimated the cost and put the money on the table. Evening had fallen outside and they wanted to return to Cantercaster. But the main road was even more throttled with traffic than before, so Scoth sent the autohorse back to the quieter route through the trees.