The Spell of the Black Dagger loe-6 Page 17

  “I need to know what’s true and what isn’t,” Sarai said. “You witches are good at that.”

  Teneria cocked her head to one side and replied, “In a way. We can generally tell when people believe what they say— whether that’s actually the truth is sometimes an entirely different matter. And it works better with some people than others.” Sarai nodded, and asked, “Suppose you spoke to a woman I thought had been connected with the murders; could you tell me whether she had, in fact, been connected?”

  Teneria frowned. “That would depend. Probably. If she spoke at all, almost certainly. If she spoke freely, with no magical constraints, absolutely. But I would not necessarily be able to ascertain the nature of the connection.”

  “Could you tell if a person had actually committed one of the murders?”

  “Oh, yes, I would think so. Unless there was a very great deal of magic hiding the fact.”

  “Suppose you were to walk down the street, or through the market; could you pick a murderer out of the crowd?”

  Teneria shook her head. “Only if I was incredibly lucky. The murderer would have to be thinking about the actual killing and feeling a strong emotional reaction to those thoughts, with absolutely no magical protection of any kind. Even then, I couldn’t be sure without stopping to investigate. What might look like a murderer’s thoughts at first glance could just be a housewife worried about killing a chicken for dinner.”

  “I thought it was probably too much to ask,” Sarai admitted. “If you could do that, we’d have just had witches working for my father for years, instead of relying on Okko and the others for most of it.”

  Teneria shrugged.

  “But if we brought you a person and asked, ’Is this the murderer,’ you could tell us?” Sarai asked.

  “Ordinarily, yes.”

  Sarai nodded. “Good enough,” she said. She pointed. “That man in the brown tunic there is a sorcerer by the name of Kelder of Tazmor; he claims to have magically established that a particular woman was present in each room where a murder was committed—though not necessarily at the time of the killing. I want you to find out how reliable his information is.”

  Teneria followed the gesture, but said nothing at first.

  “Does sorcery interfere with your witchcraft?” Sarai inquired.

  “Not usually,” Teneria replied. “Sometimes.”

  “Will it this time?”

  Teneria turned and walked away from the dais, toward Kelder. “I’ll let you know,” she said, over her shoulder.

  Ten minutes later, she let them know. Kelder believed absolutely in what he had told Sarai and Tikri. Sarai thanked the young witch, and stared down at the spriggan that was clutching at her ankle.

  Who was that woman Kelder had described?

  CHAPTER 21

  Captain Tikri’s files were a mess. Lady Sarai had thought her own records, up in her bedroom, were not as organized as they ought to be, and had always been embarrassed when she thought of the tidy shelves and drawers that her father and his clerks maintained. By comparison with Tikri’s random heap of reports and letters, her records were a model of order and logic. “What are you looking for, anyway?” Tikri asked, as Sarai dumped another armful on his desk.

  “I don’t know,” Sarai said, picking a paper off the stack. “But I hope I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “How will you know it if you don’t know what it is? I’d offer to help, but how can I?” Sarai sighed.

  “What I’m after,” she said, “is some record of a crime that the conspirators might have committed before the murders. Once they killed Inza, we were looking for them, and I’m sure they’ve been careful, and certainly we’ve been careful, checking out everything that we thought might be connected. Right?” “Right,” Tikri said, a trifle uncertainly. “Well, this conspiracy probably didn’t burst out of nowhere, full-grown and completely ready, the night poor Inza died,” Sarai explained. “They must have been preparing before that. They may have killed more dogs, for example, before working their way up to people. They may have injured people without killing them. They may have stolen things they needed for their magic. And maybe, since they weren’t so experienced yet, they left traces and clues. Now do you see what I’m after?”

  “Oh,” Tikri said. He hesitated. “How far back do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarai admitted. “You may not find anything.”

  “I know that,” Sarai said, flinging down a thick report and glaring angrily at Tikri. “Don’t you think I know that? But I don’t have much of anything else left to try. The Wizards’ Guild wants to catch whoever it is for themselves, because it won’t look as good for them if I do it, so they won’t help me any more than they have to.” Tikri started to protest, and Sarai cut him off. “Oh, they’ll put up a pretense of cooperation, I’m sure,” she said, “but half of them probably still think I’m trying to blame them for all this, or steal the credit. I won’t know if they’re covering up something or not; I can’t be sure, and they aren’t about to tell me. The Council of Warlocks is no help; they’re all afraid that if they do anything to help me they’ll draw down the Calling on themselves. The Brotherhood is less organized than a children’s street game; they don’t even know who’s in charge, or who their members are. The Sisterhood isn’t much better-they don’t know how many witches there are in Ethshar, let alone what any of them are doing. And none of them seem to be getting anywhere with their magic, anyway. So what else would you suggest I do?”

  “The magicians can’t help at all?”

  “They can’t help any more. Okko says the gods can’t see anything through the haze of wizardry; Kallia says the demons won’t tell her anything, and she doesn’t know whether they know anything to tell. The warlocks all swear their magic doesn’t handle information. Kelder’s told me all he can, and that’s more than I could get from any Ethsharitic sorcerer. Wizards and witches tell me what magic was used, what went where, but they can’t give me names or faces. So I’m reading these papers. Don’t you ever sort them?”

  “No,” Tikri admitted.

  Sarai let out a wordless noise of exasperation and turned back to the reports.

  Tikri, hoping to be of help, began picking up papers and glancing through them, as well. The two sat, reading silently, for several minutes.

  “Here’s a report of a missing dog,” Tikri ventured. Sarai glanced up. “Let me see it.”

  Tikri obeyed; Sarai skimmed through the report quickly, then put it to one side. “It might be worth another look,” she said.

  A moment later she found one herself.

  “What ever happened in this case?” she said, handing two pages to Tikri.

  Tikri read enough to remind himself what had happened. “Oh, this,” he said. “Nothing happened. We never found out who it was.”

  Sarai took the two sheets back. “ ’Guardsman Deran reports tending to stabbing victim in tavern,’ ” she read. “ ’No accusations or arrests made.’ ” She looked up. “That’s in your handwriting.”

  Tikri nodded. “That’s right,” he said.

  “The other one isn’t,” Sarai pointed out.

  “No, that’s the lieutenant who was in charge, Lieutenant Sen-den,” Tikri agreed. “He sent it in the next day.”

  “And you actually managed to keep the two together? It is the same stabbing?”

  Tikri shrugged. “Sometimes I get lucky,” he said. “It’s the same one.”

  “Guardsman Deran Wuller’s son tended to two knife wounds, a slash and a stab, on the upper left thigh of a man who gave his name as Tolthar of Smallgate, who claimed to have been discharged from the city guard five years previously for being drunk while on duty,’ ” Sarai read aloud. “ ’It was Guardsman Deran’s conclusion that the stabbing was a result of a disagreement with a young woman; witnesses at the scene reported that the so-called Tolthar had been seen talking with a woman shortly before the stabbing. Those elements of their descriptions of the woman that ar
e in general agreement were as follows: Thin, black hair, below average height, wearing dark clothing.’ ” She put down the report. “Short, thin, black hair, dressed in black,” she said. “A stab and a slash. Sound familiar?”

  “But it wasn’t his throat,” Tikri protested.

  “She probably couldn’t get at his throat,” Sarai pointed out. “He was awake.”

  “But drunk.”

  Sarai glowered at Tikri. “Are you seriously claiming you don’t see any possible connection?”

  “No,” Tikri admitted. “I’m just not sure there’s a connection.”

  “Neither am I,” Sarai said, “but it’s worth investigating, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I suppose so,” Tikri said.

  “Then send for this Lieutenant Senden and this man Deran Wuller’s son and have them find Tolthar of Smallgate and bring him to me for questioning.”

  “Now?”

  “Do you know of a better time? Yes, now!” Tikri put down his own stack of reports and headed for the door, in pursuit of a messenger. In so doing he almost collided with a messenger who had been about to knock at the open door.

  “Yes?” Sarai asked, as Tikri apologized and slipped past.

  “I’m looking for Mereth of the Golden Door,” the messenger said warily, eyeing Tikri’s departing back. “She has a visitor, and someone told me she might be here.”

  “Mereth isn’t here right now,” Sarai replied. “What visitor is this?”

  The messenger finally looked into the room. “Oh, is that you, Lady Sarai? It’s three visitors, really—the man gives his name as Tobas of Telven and the women as Karanissa of the Mountains and Alorria of Dwomor.”

  Sarai recognized two of the names. These were the foreign experts the Wizards’ Guild had sent for. “Show them in,” she said.

  The messenger hesitated. “Well, they aren’t...”she began. “Bring them here!” Sarai commanded, fed up with delays and explanations.

  “Yes, my lady,” the messenger said, bowing; she turned and hurried away.

  For the next few minutes Sarai sat looking through old reports; then the messenger knocked again.

  A spriggan scurried into the room, and Sarai took a moment to chase it to the corner and warn it, “If you tear a single piece of paper, or chew on one, or spill anything on one, I’m going to rip your slimy green guts out and wear them as a necklace; is that clear, you little nuisance?”

  “Yes, yes,” the spriggan said, bobbing its head and staring wide-eyed up at her. “Not hurt paper. Nice paper. Nice spriggan not hurt paper.”

  “Good,” Lady Sarai said, turning away and finding a young man standing in the doorway. He looked just about her own age; she had expected this famous expert on certain wizardries to be a good deal older.

  Well, maybe he had some way of disguising his age—an illusion of some sort, or a youth spell. But then, he looked rather sheepish just now, and Sarai had trouble imagining a wise old wizard, one capable of a youth spell or other transformation, looking so embarrassed when he had done nothing to cause it. Maybe this wasn’t Tobas of Telven at all.

  “I’m sorry about the spriggan,” the young man said.

  “Oh, it’s not your fault,” Sarai said, waving a hand airily. “The little pests are turning up everywhere lately.”

  “Well, actually, I’m afraid it is my fault,” the man insisted. “I created the spriggans. By accident. A spell went wrong on me about six years ago, and they’ve been popping up ever since. And they still tend to follow me around even more than they do other wizards, which is why that one came running in just now.”

  “Oh,” Sarai said, unsure whether she should believe this story. It was true that spriggans had only been around for a few years, but had they really come from a single botched spell? “I’m Tobas, by the way. You’re Lady Sarai? Or...” He paused, confused.

  “I’m Lady Sarai,” Sarai confirmed.

  “Ah.” Tobas bowed politely in acknowledgment, then stepped aside and ushered a black-haired young beauty into the room—one whose green velvet gown failed to hide a well-advanced pregnancy. “This is my wife, Alorria of Dwomor,” Tobas said proudly.

  Alorria did not bow, Sarai noticed, and a silver coronet held her hair back from her face—she was presumably a noblewoman of some sort from one of the Small Kingdoms.

  Or maybe the coronet was just an affectation, and bowing was uncomfortable because of her belly; Sarai had no firsthand experience to compare.

  A second woman, taller, thinner, older, and not visibly pregnant, but also black-haired and beautiful, appeared in the door. Where Alorria wore green velvet, this other wore red.

  “And this,” Tobas said, “is my other wife, Karanissa of the Mountains.”

  “She’s a witch,” Alorria volunteered.

  Tobas nodded agreement. Karanissa bowed.

  Sarai didn’t comment, but her lips tightened. Over the years she had met a few men who had two wives, and even one eccentric old fellow with three, and she hadn’t liked the men, their wives, or the whole idea very much; it had always seemed a bit excessive and in doubtful taste. This wizard not only had two wives, he had brought both of them along, despite Alorria’s pregnancy.

  The black silk tunic that Tobas wore was hardly extravagant, and his manners seemed acceptable, but still, bringing not just one wife but two, and claiming to be responsible for an entire species, in addition to his supposed expertise in magic—Sarai thought that despite his show of diffidence, this wizard appeared a little too pleased with himself for her liking. She was not favorably impressed.

  “I understand you’re an expert on the magic we’re dealing with,” Sarai said, without further preamble. She was not disposed toward idle pleasantries with this man.

  “Well, not really,” Tobas said, with a wry half smile. “I don’t know what you’re dealing with. I understand it’s an enchanted blade that appears to have a neutralizing effect on wizardry, and I know a little something about that, though—about things that neutralize wizardry. I don’t honestly know a great deal, but probably I know a little more than anyone else.”

  “Do you,” Sarai said. The fellow spoke well enough and wasn’t really an obvious braggart, but she still didn’t like him. “Why is that?” she asked.

  “Oh, well, I have rather a personal interest in it,” Ibbas explained. “I happen to have inherited a castle...”

  “No, you didn’t,” Alorria protested, “you found it abandoned.”

  “Oh, be quiet, All,” Karanissa said. “That’s close enough to inheriting.” “It isn’t the same thing at all!”

  “Shut up, both of you,” Tobas said—not angrily, but simply making a request. To Lady Sarai’s surprise, it was obeyed, and the wizard continued.

  “Let us say, then, that I have acquired a castle that happens to be under a spell cast during the Great War that renders wizardry ineffective,” Tobas explained. “And for reasons I prefer not to explain, I can’t just sell it or abandon it; I pass through its neighborhood fairly often, and being a wizard, I find the spell very inconvenient—I can’t use my magic there. So I’ve taken to studying what little is known about neutralizing wizardry, in hopes of someday reversing the spell.”

  “Ah, I see,” Sarai said. “And are you close? Have you learned much about this sort of negative magic?”

  “No.” Tobas shook his head. “Hardly a thing. But I’m still trying. This thing you’ve got here—I spoke to Telurinon about it and some of the others, before Heremon insisted I come find Mereth and talk to you. They tell me that someone has an enchanted weapon that appears to absorb wizardry, that they’ve been studying it, but they weren’t getting anywhere, because this thing is completely immune to wizardry, so much so that they only know there’s magic there because wizardry isn ’t, you see.”

  Sarai looked blank.

  “Well, ordinarily,” Tobas explained, “wizardry is sort of everywhere at once, in the light and the air and the earth, but wherever this thing has been used, this enc
hanted dagger or whatever it is, wizardry doesn’t work right anymore.” “So it’s an entirely new kind of magic?” Sarai said. “Maybe,” Tobas said, “or maybe it’s just a special sort of wizardry. I don’t really know a thing about it. But I thought it wouldn’t hurt to come and take a look.”

  “Besides, we felt so sorry for all those poor people who were killed,” Karanissa said. “We felt we had to try to do something.”

  “If we can,” Alorria added.

  “Tobas is a wizard, Karanissa’s a witch,” Lady Sarai said. “Are you a magician, too, Alorria?”

  The woman in the coronet shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, nothing like that,” she said hastily. “I just wanted to come along... I mean, Tobas is my husband.”

  Lady Sarai nodded. She wondered, though; was it comfortable to go traveling about when one was, by the look of her, six or seven months pregnant? Sarai had the feeling there was a story here she didn’t know, but it wasn’t really any of her business, so she didn’t pursue it. “And do any of you know anything about the conspiracy that’s behind the killings?” she asked. “Or is it just the murder weapon you’re interested in?”

  “Is it a conspiracy?” Tobas asked, interested. “I hadn’t heard that. Please, Lady Sarai, you must understand, we only arrived in the city a few hours ago, and all we’ve heard about these terrible crimes came from the other members of the Wizards’ Guild. Naturally, they’ve paid most of their attention to the magic involved. I’d be very glad if you could tell us more. Do you have any idea who’s behind it?”

  Lady Sarai eyed the wizard suspiciously. He wasn’t entirely living up to her first impression of him as a self-assured and superior boor.

  “We have a description of a woman,” she admitted. “There are guards out now looking for someone who may know who she is. We know she’s involved somehow.” “And you think this man will tell you where to find her?” “We certainly hope so. If not, once we have a name, wont a fairly simple spell lead us to her?”

  “If it’s a true name,” Tobas admitted. “The first name she knew herself by.”