Vincalis the Agitator (45 page)

Jess became aware of the fact that he muttered constantly under his breath; an instant later, she finally placed the words
he repeated.

“Gods forgive my trespasses,

My moments of weakness,

My choices against good;

Gods lead and protect in this

My hour of darkness,

In this my hour of need.”

Over and over. She’d never heard him pray before. She’d never heard from him even the slightest hints of piety. He stunned
her with this display, and, watching him drive like a man fleeing the gods themselves, she wondered what he knew that made
his fear so deep, so profound, so all-consuming.

She held a silent prayer in her heart—not for herself, but for Wraith.
Protect him,
she demanded of the gods.

She hoped they heard her.

A woman dark as death and a man white as bone came to Luercas in the middle of the afternoon, a full three days after Velyn
vanished—both wearing Silent Inquest robes and insincere smiles. They made no sound when they walked, and light seemed to
bend away from them as if in fear. “We would like to talk to you about the disappearance of your vowmate, Velyn Artis-Tanquin.”

Luercas felt his skin prickle beneath his thin tunic. If the Silent Inquest was coming after him, they had a lot more to banish
him for than brutality to his wife. But once they had someone fixed under their viewing lenses, everything else tended to
come out, too. His stolen body— and the way he’d gone about stealing it—would certainly be just cause to win him a life sentence
for treason. He frowned to hide the surge of fear that enveloped him and said, “I’ve filled out the proper reports.”

The woman said, “You have. But we’re conducting an investigation that seems to have crossed paths with an investigation that
you’re
conducting. A very interesting investigation.”

Anything he said could be the wrong thing. So Luercas waited.

“Not going to offer to explain why you’re having Gellas Tomersin followed and spied upon?” asked the man.

Anger, Luercas thought. That would be the best way to play this. “I have every reason to have that bastard followed. He was
the last person seen with Velyn before she disappeared, and I have reason to believe that he’s the reason she disappeared.”

“But she disappeared from a boardinghouse, and we know that he was having dinner with friends at the time.”

“You think he’d be stupid enough to kidnap her himself?”

“No. Nor do we think that
you
would be so stupid, though rumors seem to suggest that you had more reason to want her to disappear than even the judge’s
verdict might indicate.”

“Rumors are worth half what you pay for them. I didn’t kidnap Velyn.”

The woman smiled gently, and in her dark face her pale teeth seemed predatory. “The thing that made us think you were innocent
of her absence was that you’re spending a great deal of time and money to look for her—and Gellas isn’t. Which is not to say
we think you’re innocent of anything else.”

“So you think he knows where she is?”

“We know he knows where she is. We’ve found her—right where he had his people hide her. She’s on her way here now.”

Luercas felt a huge rush of relief—he wouldn’t be charged with murder, he wouldn’t suffer financial losses worse than those
that already faced him, and he might yet find a way to pull the whole mess out of the fire. “Excellent,” he said.

“Is it? I suspect she’ll have some fascinating things to tell us—and you know we have ways of getting at the truth better
than anything anyone else has ever created. She’ll be telling us … many things.” The woman stared at him like a cat who’d
cornered a mouse. Had she a tail, it would have been whipping from side to side right then. The man, in contrast, looked over
Luercas’s shoulder, down at the floor, up at the sky, anywhere but directly at Luercas. His restlessness, his darting eyes,
and his gaunt, hungry look sharpened Luercas’s fear like a whetstone sharpens steel. The woman said, “So what we would like
to know—and we’re only asking in a friendly fashion, you understand—” she smiled, and her smile held nightmares in it, “is
this: Have you anything to tell us before Velyn arrives? Any little thing that she might be privy to—anything that might bring
you grief should we find out about it after she … tells us what she knows?”

And how much did Velyn suspect? How much did she know of his activities with Dafril; how much had she seen or intuited or
overheard of his struggles with this flesh that did not belong to him? How completely could she destroy him?

He had not been careful around her, because he had never feared her. She lived in terror of him—of what he would do to her—and
so he had been free with his speech in front of her, and had not worried when Dafril was equally free. Her cringing, her silence,
her head-down submissiveness had always seemed to be its own guarantee. But next to the Silent Inquest, any power he had over
her would be nonexistent.

He looked at the woman, at the man, and he said softly, “What is the price of immunity?”

The woman and the man glanced at each other, quick smug smiles flitting across their lips, and then the man said, “You can
buy your freedom with either Solander Artis or Gellas Tomersin. Give one or the other to us, and you will live.”

“I believe I can give you Tomersin. My investigators have discovered … interesting things about him.”

“Then come with us to our chambers, and we’ll talk.”

Wraith viewed the morning with pleasure. No one had been watching him at his home; no one followed him to the Galtin, and
the theater hummed with the activity and excitement peculiar to such places. The actors on the stage finished up their rehearsal
of
Seven Little Lies
and applauded themselves before they left the stage for their break.

He’d had word first thing that morning that members of the Order of Resonance had successfully infiltrated the high-security
Empire Center for Public Education and inserted his latest round of Warrens information into the upcoming nightlies.

Jess had cut short her visit and left Oel Artis. Solander had successfully hidden his discovery and was quickly and quietly
putting together plans to get himself and his associate out of the city entirely—and probably permanently.

Wraith smiled a little as he added up the presold seats for the night and tried to determine whether he had already made the
necessary take for the day to cover expenses. He could begin to breathe again. Whatever had been going on had apparently not
been about him, or if it had been about him, then his precautions and the carefully compartmented way that he lived his life
had paid off.

Someone tapped gently on his door. Without looking up—he was halfway through a column of figures—he said, “Come in. I’ll be
with you in a moment.”

His guest opened the door and waited patiently while he added up his figures. When he was finished, Wraith looked up at the
stranger and smiled. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Math and I have never been friends, and once I’ve started a long column
of figures, the last thing I want to have to do is restart it.”

The man chuckled. Thin, plainly dressed, with a nondescript face, he was a man that Wraith thought must almost disappear in
crowds. “My sympathies. I’m no friend of math myself.”

Wraith rose and bowed appropriately to the man, who nonetheless seemed for all his ordinariness slightly familiar to him.
“I’m Gellas Tomersin, which you no doubt already knew since you’re in my office. And you are … ?”

“Davic Etareiff.” The man returned the bow, adding a flourish, and said, “I’m the head of a special investigative unit fielded
by the … ah, the Dragons.”

All of the quiet pleasure of the day disappeared for Wraith. “And how may I help you?”

“You may come with me without making any scenes that will disturb your employees. My people are scattered throughout the building,
and are both capable of killing and prepared to kill anyone who decides to make a heroic attempt to rescue you from us. The
best thing you can do, if you value the lives of the people who work for you, is to pretend that you are coming with us voluntarily.”

Wraith stood there for a moment, thoughtful. He could, perhaps, escape the men in his theater; they would try to use magic-powered
weapons on him, and those weapons would do nothing to him. However, any of his people who happened to be in the way wouldn’t
share his immunity.

“I’ll go with you,” he said at last.

“I’m glad you’ve reached the right decision,” Etareiff said. He smiled a bland, congenial smile, and said, “Just walk beside
me. Please don’t bring anything with you—no bags or cases or papers. Keep your hands empty and in plain sight at all times.
We’ll be walking out the back of the theater, where you’ll find one of our aircars waiting for you. You’ll board it without
struggle, and without attempting to give any sign to anyone still in or around the building. Anything you do that is not as
I have outlined will result in the deaths of as many innocent people as we can reach within your theater in the time we have
available to us. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Wraith said.

“Very good. Would you consider yourself much of an actor?”

The question startled Wraith. “I’ll do, I suppose. I haven’t the talent of the least of the people on one of my stages, but
…” He shrugged. “Why?”

“Because when the two of us walk out the door, we’re going to discuss some of the plays you have produced. You and I will
carry on a happy, enthusiastic conversation that will convince anyone listening to us that you and I are great friends, and
that everything is going just as it should be. Do you feel capable of doing that right now?”

Considering that if he failed, his friends and employees would be the ones to pay the price, he nodded slowly.

“Then let’s go. Tell me about the work you’re producing right now.”

They stepped out the door and began the walk down the long hall. Wraith nodded to his people but said nothing to any of them.
Instead he made it clear by his stance and focus that he was paying attention to his guest, in order to forestall employees
who might be tempted to come up to him for just one signature or just one question. He discussed with as much animation as
he could muster
Seven Little Lies
and several works that he’d recently put into production in out-of-town venues—works both of Vincalis and of promising young
playwrights Wraith had sponsored. He spotted plenty of Etareiff’s people in that long walk through the building. Etareiff
proved both clever and well read; he was able to quote choice lines from a number of Vincalis plays, and he made entertaining
jokes and comments to encourage the flow of conversation.

Wraith thought that, under other circumstances, he would have found Etareiff a likable and enjoyable companion. And that frightened
him. He worked with actors, but had never truly considered that the best actors he met daily might not be the ones on the
stage.

He hoped Jess was truly clear of Oel Artis, and under no suspicion for her past connection to him. That Solander was safe.
That no one had been able to prove any connection between Master Gellas and the invisible, but well documented, Vincalis,
or the Kaan, or the Order of Resonance, or the Warrens, or the family in Ynjarval who lied for Wraith about who he was.

He got into the aircar, and both he and Etareiff fell silent. He discovered that he was sweating profusely—the stinking sweat
of fear. The aircar lifted off and headed west, toward the Merocalins.

“Any questions about where we’re going?” Etareiff asked.

“No.”

“I’ll tell you anyway.” Etareiff smiled a cheerful smile entirely out of keeping with the situation. “You’ve heard of the
Gold Building?”

“Not really.”

“Of the Silent Inquest?”

A pause. “No.”

“Ah. Then you can’t begin to appreciate the honor being done you. Only the very worst traitors in the Empire have ever been
brought before an assemblage of the Silent Inquest.” Etareiff leaned back, folded his hands in his lap, and stared out the
window.