Page 36 of A Drop of Corruption (Shadow of the Leviathan #2)

Chapter 36

The three of us were led to a side room with towering walls bristling with horns, wings, and occasionally hooves from countless preserved creatures: hunting trophies of birds and beasts, and many creatures I could not name. They shivered and danced in the light from the blaze in the fireplace, casting wicked shadows on the dark stone.

Jari Pavitar strode in, his broad feet stamping on the stone floor. We stood as if he were of royal stock himself, but he simply waved at the smoke with one hand, then walked to the far wall and opened the shutters of a window. He paused, peered out at something, then shook his head in disgust, walked back, and sat down in a huge wooden chair.

“You may sit,” he said brusquely.

We did so, with Malo sitting directly across from the jari, and myself right beside her, watching his every move. Ana sat behind me, bent in her chair, head cocked. Pavitar watched Malo very closely, his pale, green-tinged eyes shining under his indigo-stained brow.

“So. How may I be of service to your Empire?” he asked curtly.

“To begin with, sir,” I said, “I would like to hear you recount what happened last night, from the beginning.”

He scratched his tremendous, green-tinged beard. “If you wish,” he grunted, and then launched into his tale.

His story matched those offered by the prince and Gorthaus almost exactly. There had been the six of them there, and the cauldron, and the cups; they had drunk many cups of tea as they talked; yet then, just after Kardas had served the king tea, he’d choked, cried out, and fallen over, never to breathe again.

“It was after the king collapsed, sir,” I said, “that you accused Prificto Kardas of being the poisoner—true?”

“I did.”

“Why was that?”

“I know well of your magics, your thaumaturgy. For it was imperial magics that contorted the swampfolk in the forest to the south and turned the very land into an abomination. Is that not so?”

“The tools used to accomplish that were stolen, sir, and no imperial authorities were involved, bu—”

“Yes, yes. But it was your arts, your skills, that killed a hundred or more of Yarrow folk without the unsheathing of a single sword. If any state had the power to achieve such a thing, then a poisoning would be even simpler—and, again, it was Kardas who touched the cup last.”

“Do you consort much with swampfolk, sir?” asked Malo innocently.

An affronted pause. “I do not. They are low folk, akin to vermin.”

“Then if they are such low folk, why does their passing concern you?” she asked.

He glared at her. “Because they were still Yarrow! They fell under the domain of the king. Any curtailment of the king’s power is a harm against him, and the realm of Yarrow.”

A trace of a smile played at the corners of Malo’s mouth. She had rattled him, and took great delight in it.

“Could anyone else at the meeting wished to have harmed the king?” I asked.

Pavitar smirked as if I’d said something foolish. “No. Only an imperial could do this. We Yarrows worship our ancestors, the kin of before. The king is ancestry made flesh. All of his judgments are the judgments of the ancients.” He shot me a glare. “Nor will I have it suggested that it was the prince.”

“I didn’t make such a suggestion, sir,” I said.

“But you did,” he said. “You asked me to consider if anyone else at the meeting meant harm to the king, and the prince was present. I know how your minds work, pulled to this idea that the prince might kill his father to inherit. But this is apavitari, a terrible sacrilege, an offense to the ancestors. He would do no such thing.”

I watched him carefully. His eyes and movements were full of conviction. Either this was truth, or he was a very convincing actor.

I recalled Ana’s orders then, and asked, “How was the king’s health in the days before his poisoning?”

“You think his death natural?” demanded Pavitar. “Are you so foolish?”

“Not at all, sir. But it is procedure to ask.”

“His health was very good,” he said forcefully. “My king was strong in flesh, spirit, and mind. Never have I beheld a man so strong, in fact.”

At that, Malo reached over and gently tapped my thigh, without ever taking her eyes off Pavitar. A lie, then.

“Are you sure of this, sir?” I asked.

“Very!” he said angrily. “Or do you suggest I did not know my own king?”

I paused, worried he would storm out if I pressed him on this.

Suddenly Ana spoke from behind me: “Thank you for that, sir! I would like to know—who is it that conducts most of the negotiations with the Imperial Treasury?”

Pavitar could not keep his words from dripping with disdain: “That is Darhi.”

“And how do you feel the negotiations are going?” she asked politely.

“I think having them at all is an offense to our holy ancestors. The contract with the Empire should never have been signed.”

“And yet, by saying this,” said Malo, “you doubt the ancestors—for was it not King Yodhi di Lalaca eh Cautha, fourth of his name, who made this pact with the Empire?”

A vein slowly began to calcify at the edge of Pavitar’s thick, purple head. “He was deceived in doing so. Lalaca eh Cautha did not know what the Empire planned to do with his lands.”

“Do you think Darhi feels the same way, in his negotiations?” Ana asked.

“Darhi…Feh!” spat Pavitar. “No. He has always been the Empire’s thing. He seeks trade, and wealth. As we say— Ika a?akohsa la’i ika siki da parasi . He has a purse for a scrotum, and coins instead of balls.”

“What a colorful colloquialism. Does Darhi ever hold any meetings with Treasury folk in the reliquary, sir?” asked Ana.

“The reliquary? Of course not,” said Pavitar. “We never allowed an imperial foot to fall in that sacred place before today, and that was only because the prince insisted.” He glowered for a moment: this plainly still displeased him. “But he should be given some grace, I suppose, given the darkness of today.”

Ana nodded and gestured to me, indicating I should continue.

“Did Satrap Darhi ever meet with smugglers?” I asked. “Or swampfolk?”

“What? No. Not that I knew.”

“I ask because we found an oathcoin in a smuggler’s den, hidden in a box and buried in the earth. And I have only ever seen Darhi give one out.”

“That would be akin to giving a dog the first night with your daughter,” he said. “I cannot imagine Darhi being such a fool, nor any other noble.” He stood. “Enough! These questions grow foolish. I am loyal to the prince, and the prince wishes to give the Empire all they need, it seems, but…even my loyalties have their limits.”

We hastily rose and bowed to him.

“One more thing, sir…” I said.

His beard shivered as he gritted his teeth. “What now?”

“This time a very broad question…Have you seen anything strange here recently? Anything even remotely out of place? For the man we seek tampers with the world in strange ways. Anything of note would be valuable to us.”

That gave him pause.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “My…my dogs have perished.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My dogs, my fine hounds. Keen of nose and eye, and fierce of tooth. They were my pride, and I took them to court often, though Darhi protested. He disliked how they sniffed so at all who came and went. But six days ago…I took the prince hunting, in the west of here. When I returned, I found them dead or dying. Poisoned, my people suspected, or sickened.”

I narrowed my eyes. Another poisoning, perhaps. Yet I struggled to imagine how dogs might be connected to Sujedo, or Pyktis, or even the king’s murder.

“Do you have any idea how it happened?” I asked.

“At first I thought it sabotage by the boy-keeper, or perhaps stupidity. I debated having him beaten or taking a finger from him for it. But he is not so clever. Yet I know the cause.”

He pointed to the open window. I sat forward to see.

From this angle I could see into the Bay of Yarrow, the moonlight glittering on the dark seas, and there, rising above them, a shaft of shimmering green: the Shroud.

“Ever since that arose in the waters,” said Pavitar, “our lands have failed. Our cattle and lands blacken. And we have forgotten the ways of our fathers. It is a blight upon this world, an unnatural thing, compared to the natural, ancient rights of crown and throne. I pray each night to my fathers and forefathers that it shall fall. One day, perhaps, my wishes shall be heard.”

“What makes you say that, sir?” I asked quietly.

“It is merely a prayer. Is it a crime in your Empire, to beseech the fates for justice?” He made to leave, yet paused to look Malo over. “ Tusim naim dikhadi ki uham neh tuhadi? ” he whispered.

“The Empire can’t take away what the realm of Yarrow never gave me,” she responded coolly.

He glared at her for a moment, then swept out.

—

“Why the hell did you ask to see that man first?” Malo asked Ana once he was gone. “You knew he would fight us most! He practically swaggered up with a belly full of bile!”

“Did he lie, girl?” snapped Ana. “Did he ever once speak false to you?”

“His heartbeat was high, as was his sweat, but it rarely wavered,” she said reluctantly. “He spoke a lie but once—when he claimed his king was healthy in his later days. But nothing else.”

“Then that was why I asked for him first. He is stupid, and hostile, but he is mostly truthful. He lies only to give dignity to the dead—that, or he is so skilled an actor that even you could not see it, Malo.”

“But am I right in thinking that he directly threatened the Shroud, just now?” I asked. “Could he truly be so audacious?”

“Not so audacious as foolish,” said Malo. “But I am unsure if hating the Shroud is unique. Many Yarrow nobles curse and decry it every day.”

“Nor are his claims novel, really,” said Ana. “The Empire’s influence grows strong here, and as it does, less and less of the common folk of Yarrow wish to toil on farmlands under the watch of chiefs and nobles. They are all too happy to work for the Empire, which offers food and medicine in abundance. This means less folk to work their farms. Fields go fallow and yields dwindle—but it is easier to claim mystical imperial poison than upend the rule of the king.” She sighed. “But I still catch no hint of Pyktis about the jari—or not yet, at least. Let us speak to the trickiest one. Send in Darhi. We shall have much to ask him.”

—

The door opened and Satrap Darhi entered, his face cool and contained. He tossed his long locks to the side before sitting in the chair before the fire. Then he smiled at us—a practiced expression, I felt instantly—and extended a hand, asking us to sit. Again, Malo sat just across from him; again, I watched his face and hers, while Ana sat behind us.

“I hope our testimonials have been helpful to you,” Darhi said calmly. “I wish to find this killer, Signum Kol, for many reasons. Justice, diplomacy, the safety of the realm—but many personal, of course.”

“Certainly, sir,” I said. “But…what personal reasons might you mean?”

“Well, I do not think Kardas is the killer. Instead, I believe the poisoner wishes to harm the Empire and disrupt our relationship. As I have been the primary court member pushing for a beneficial close to our negotiations, then I assume I’d also be targeted. In fact…” He reached into his robes and produced a slender slip of paper. “I have recorded the names of all in attendance at the hall in the days preceding the tea. I have also added the names of all the naukari who were present—the servants. Or, at least, all I can confirm. The king’s great hall is a busy place.”

I took the list and glanced at the names. The writing was thin and neat, but the letters danced before my eyes, as always. I handed them back to Ana, who greedily snatched them from my grasp.

I then asked Darhi to recount his memories of the event. His testimony was quite detailed, but it matched what Signum Gorthaus, the prince, and the jari had seen.

“I admit, I can’t comprehend how it happened,” Darhi said at the end of it. “Or even that it had happened. I play the events back in my mind again and again, but I can see no moment when I might have spied poison in the cup of the king or Prificto Kardas.”

“Can you think of any in the hall who might wish the king ill, sir?” I asked.

“The naukari, possibly,” he admitted. “There have been times when they have broken out in fighting and insurrection in the past, but we have always quelled it quickly. Though I cannot yet see how they could have managed the poisoning, since only Kardas and the king were affected.”

“What about the prince?” I asked. “Or Pavitar?”

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” Darhi said. “The prince is a good man, but he is young and soft at heart. And Pavitar, well…” He smiled a very careful, steady sort of smile. “Never has there been a jari more devoted than he!”

“How has the king’s health been of late?” I asked.

“Very good, for a man of his advanced years,” said Darhi.

“Truly? For Pavitar said the king had been ailing in his last days.”

Darhi hesitated. “Pavitar said this?”

“Can you describe the nature of the king’s health, sir?”

“I…am reluctant to. I do not wish to break his privacy, even in death. And we mourn him now, of course.” His face tightened. “But…I will admit he forgot things.”

“Things?”

“Yes.”

“Did he forget who you were, sir?”

“Sometimes, yes,” he said, now very reluctant. “Sometimes he forgot more. Yet he was still ancestry incarnate,” he added quickly. “The spirits of his line still governed his mind and soul. Thus, this sacred wisdom was with him when it was needed.”

A soft, derisive exhale from Malo.

“We are worried there might be a connection here with another imperial criminal, sir,” I said. “A rather infamous thief—a Rathras man.”

Again, Darhi’s face tightened. “A… Rathras man, you say?”

“Yes. In fact, when we spoke to the prince about this, he…had some rather fascinating history to tell us, sir.”

His eyes danced in his serene features, calculating how to respond. Finally, he took a quick breath in and said, “So! It seems it is the business of the court to air all our foul winds the second they meet so charming a stranger. I assume the prince told you he and I are one quarter Rathras?”

“He did, sir,” I said.

A nod of grim resignation. “Then I also assume he told you how the kings of the past had a predilection for imperial brides, both for generational issues as well as…personal interest?”

Another soft, scornful snort from Malo.

“He, ah, did not mention personal interest, but yes,” I said.

“Thankfully, the king aged out of such passions. And like any member of the king’s harem, his imperial wives have received every comfort. We are no brutes here.”

“That is a reassurance, sir,” I said. “But…some do die in childbirth, correct?”

I’d thought this would irritate him further, but Darhi merely shrugged. “Yes? It is a common threat. No pregnancy is without danger, especially for the royal Yarrow line.”

“Why is that?”

“Because so many give birth to twins, or triplets, or more. Did you not see it, Signum Kol? Look closer at our guards and naukari, and you will find some faces repeat themselves.”

I paused, and summoned up a memory of Ana speaking to me: Did you know that the lyre duet is one of the ancient arts of Yarrow, Din? Yes. Some say it reflects the dominance of twins and triplets in the royal lineage here—a rather fascinating biological quirk. Led to some very interesting issues with inheritance, and many brothers killing brothers, sometimes at ages as young as six. Horrible shit, really!

I looked back at the satrap and saw him watching me with a calm look. He was quite accustomed to the sight of an engraver’s eyes fluttering, perhaps. Curious.

“Does the king have a twin, sir?” I asked.

“He did,” said the satrap with a shrug. “But the child died at a very young age. I myself am a sole survivor of three. Pavitar’s twin was born dead. So it goes.”

I paused, quietly horrified by his indifference to the death of so many young. Yet this new piece of information made me think.

“Are you related to the king, sir?” I asked.

He smiled, a rather chilly expression. “I am his second nephew. That is why I wear the green paints, you see.”

“Is that ever a point of conflict?”

“Mm. You imperials find it interesting to have so many of royal line living so close to the throne, yes? You have watched many dramas in your odeons, read many tales of prince killing prince, and king killing king, seeking power. But that is not how it is done here—or, not anymore.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small, wooden token hanging upon a leather loop: a bearded man’s face, scowling and stoic, with a circlet upon his head. “This is my ancestor, King Yodhi di Lalaca eh Cautha, fourth of his name. I keep this with me, for we Yarrow labor under the watch of our ancestors. All we do must honor their name. Yet the king is ancestry manifest, and the king picks his inheritor.”

“And that is simply that?” I asked.

“It is. Did you see the silver circlet on the prince’s brow? And the silver chain about his neck?”

“I did, sir.”

“Those are the signifiers of the king’s chosen heir. The silvers go to him—and only to him, and we accept this. The children and relations of the king are mere tools to his ancestry. If the king asked us to throw down our lives, we would do so.” He stowed the little totem away. “That is the nature of the will of the king, and thus the will of Yarrow.”

Ana spoke up behind me: “I would like to know, sir, a bit more about your negotiations with the Treasury.”

“Oh? Certainly.”

“What is it you and Prificto Kardas discuss in these negotiations?”

“Do you not know this yourself?”

“I think I do,” said Ana. “But I would like to hear you confirm it.”

He blinked and shifted in his chair. I glanced at Malo and saw that her eyes had gone wide, like a cat stalking its prey in the night.

“Why, taxes, of course,” he said. “Who owns which lands, the revenue of each, how all of them shall be accorded management when the realm is adopted by the Empire. Is this truly not known to you?”

Malo gently tapped my thigh with her finger again: a lie.

“Of course, of course,” said Ana softly. “But thank you for confirming it.”

—

The door closed behind Darhi. I looked to Malo, who sat with her head tilted toward the door and the hall beyond. Finally she nodded and said, “We may speak—but quietly. Guards remain, and they are not far.”

“Din,” said Ana softly. “Summon a memory for me, and quickly now!”

“Which one, ma’am?”

“That first day here, when you and Malo went to the Treasury tower and Sujedo’s rooms. You peered out the window at the top of the tower—but what did you see?”

My eyes shimmered, and I recounted that moment as I’d taken in the Yarrow coast, with Yarrowdale and Old Town sprawling below.

Ana interrupted: “When you gazed southeast, though—did you see New Town?”

“Well. Yes?”

“And the waterfront, and the canals?”

“Yes, some.”

“The Apoth works? Could you see what ships come and go from their manufactuaries?”

I frowned, bewildered, but realized I had. “Yes?” I said.

“Thank you. Good. Very good…” Then she bowed her head and was still for a long time before finally saying, “Please tell Darhi to send in Signum Gorthaus.”

I stood, but paused. “Would it be better if we went to where the Treasury officers are held, ma’am? We could simply talk to her the—”

“No,” snapped Ana. “I do not wish to speak to her there! I want her separate, and I want to make sure no one else hears a thing we discuss! For though I think Pavitar and Darhi both lied to us, I am now sure our comrade Signum Gorthaus did the same.” A fearsome, mirthless grin split her face. “And I think I know what about.”

—

Soon we heard footsteps in the passageway beyond. The door opened and Signum Gorthaus entered, still quite gaunt and frail-looking, accompanied by a grim-faced Yarrow guard. She nervously blinked in the light of the fire as the guard shut the door behind her, then sighed with relief when she saw us. “Oh, thank Sanctum. I…I wasn’t sure…”

“Wasn’t sure what, dear girl?” asked Ana.

“Well. This was the first time I’ve been out of that room, ma’am. I wasn’t sure if I…”

“If you were bound for execution?”

A meek nod. “I suppose so, ma’am. But I’m not sure why they’d do so for me, when…Well. I think it’s Kardas whom they hate so.”

Ana gestured to the same chair Pavitar and Darhi had recently occupied. “Sit! Sit and relax, for a moment at least, child. This ordeal must have been terribly unpleasant for you, true?” She smiled as if they were having a quaint afternoon discussion on her porch.

“I’ve not had it as hard as some, ma’am,” said Gorthaus, though she cringed as she sat, and rubbed her left arm. “But I feel so stiff. I’m not sure if it’s the stress, or if it’s how I sat over the prificto for so long…Have you made any headway in proving his innocence, ma’am?”

“In proving?” said Ana. “No, for proof is in short supply here. But I know he’s innocent—for I know how he was poisoned, at least.”

Gorthaus paused. “You do, ma’am?”

I glanced at Malo, frowning. She raised a dubious eyebrow, but we stayed silent.

“Oh, it is quite simple, really,” said Ana. “Prificto Kardas had often made a point of allowing the prince to carry the first two cups of tea to his father, and then carrying the third himself as a show of respect—true?”

“Yes?”

“Well, the killer, knowing this, had poisoned the king’s cup just before, to make it appear as if Kardas was the poisoner. Yet as Kardas poured the cup and carried it to the king, he unknowingly touched some residue of the poison. Ordinarily, this would be harmless—yet can you, as an engraver, recall a particular nervous mannerism of your prificto’s?”

Gorthaus’s eyes shimmered in her head, and mine did the same. I summoned an image of Kardas waiting before the bank vault, and again as he left the meeting at the Yarrow prison: his face tense, shoulders hunched…and his thumb placed between his teeth as he bit at the nail and pad at once.

“Oh,” I said softly.

“Ah,” said Gorthaus at the same time. “He…he bites his thumb when agitated.”

“Indeed,” said Ana. “And Kardas had a great deal to be agitated about after you all were locked up and threatened with execution, yes? I am sure he bit his thumb then—unaware it bore a trace of the poison that had just killed the king! It was just a trace, however. Enough to lay him low, but not quite enough to kill him.”

“Oh,” said Gorthaus. “Then…it is solved, is it not? Can’t you simply tell the prince, and—”

“No,” said Ana. “I cannot, for I still cannot prove anything. And I have not yet found the culprit, this traitorous poisoner. But we have made some headway there, for I believe I know someone who knows this poisoner.”

“Do you?” said Gorthaus. “Who?”

“Isn’t it obvious by now, girl?” said Ana. “It’s you.” Her grin was fearsome and mirthless. “For you’ve been betraying both the Empire and Yarrow for the past two years, haven’t you?”