Page 4

Chapter 4

I then interviewed the staff of the Old Town tower, the maids and washerfolk and servants and cooks. Sujedo had come and gone so briefly, however, that most hadn’t even seen the man.

“I assisted him to his rooms, sir,” said the porter, an elderly man named Hajusa. “He was most kind, and agreeable.” An impish glint crept into his eye. “He even gave me a silver talint for my trouble. Not exactly to the rules, however,” he said, placing a finger alongside his nose.

I gave him a conspiratorial smile, then asked him to describe Sujedo.

“Oh, he was a handsome man,” Hajusa said. “As many from the inner rings are. Thick hair, black and curling. Pale eyes. He was rather short, however. I’m not as tall as I used to be, but I was still taller than he…”

“Did you see anyone else coming or going from the building that night? Anyone at all?”

“Only servants, sir, and no one untoward. This is the finest building in all of Old Town. Used to be the palace of the king, in the ages before the Empire.” He attempted a haughty pose. “We hold ourselves to a high standard here.”

“Do you know what business he was coming here for?”

“Oh…well, I assumed it was the adoption of the realm,” he said uncertainly. “Making Yarrow a proper imperial state, I mean.”

His face was guarded now, and his eyes no longer met my own.

“How do you feel about that?” I asked. “You can speak honestly. I know little of it.”

“Well. I…suppose it’s always been coming. All that was decided decades ago, by kings who were long dead before I was born.” He attempted a deferential smile. “But it’s not my place to speak on the stuff of kings, of course.”

I glanced at Malo, who shrugged and extended a hand— What else did you expect?

I thanked him and moved on.

—

Next we spoke to the maids, who were both of Pithian or Yarrow stock, with eyes as green as Malo’s and a greenish hue to their gums.

“He was polite, sir,” said one woman. “Quiet, sir. Didn’t talk much at all, sir.”

“Very neat,” said the other. “Very spare. And very sick. Hadn’t touched a drop of his broth when I went to collect it.”

They nodded one after the other, again and again, their cadence so regular I was reminded of a child’s wooden toy dancing at the plucking of its strings.

“What time did you go to collect it?” I asked.

“Oh…evening, or thereabout,” said the second woman. “After dinner. It was dark out. The gentleman was lying on the bed, eyes closed, breathing hard. I left in a hurry, worried whatever he had might be catching. He did not seem well…His hand twitched, I recall, his fingers flitting against his belly.”

“His hands shook?” I asked.

“Just the one hand, yes,” said the first maid. “Like a palsy, almost. Beating against his belly. Like my mam had, before she faded and perished.”

“And the windows,” I said. “Were they open then, or closed?”

The maids thought about it.

“Closed,” one said finally.

“Yes, closed,” said the other. “And locked. I remember he had the lamp on, on his table, for it was very dark by then. We left him, and then in the morning…well, the gentleman had disappeared, leaving nothing but blood and savagery behind!”

“And no one heard anything?” I asked.

“Nothing!” she said.

“It was as if a spirit had whisked him away,” said the first. “Stolen out of his bed, like a sea spirit snatching up children from the old tales.” She paused. “You don’t think that’s what it was, do you, sir?”

I paused, surprised to be asked if a specter from a folktale might be our culprit. “In my experience, ma’am, regular people are more than dangerous enough.”

“You think it’s mad, for us to talk of spirits,” said the second maid archly. “But given what they do with the Shroud out there in the bay…perhaps the ghosts of those things linger, and hate us, for all we make from their flesh.”

“What about this bit of iron?” I asked, holding it up. “Did he have this?”

They peered at it and shook their heads.

“Never seen that before,” said one.

“Not once,” said the other.

I pressed them more, until Malo began yawning where she leaned in the corner. I let them go.

—

Last was the guard who had accompanied Sujedo through the city, an Apoth militis named Klaida.

“It was a very common day, sir,” he told me. “The immunis came. Moved in. Then I took him to the bank and waited outside the vault, for I’m not allowed in.”

“How long did you wait?” I asked.

“Oh, less than a few minutes, sir. I believe he was just making a deposit at the vaults. He had a bag with him, of about this size.” He gestured with his hands: about two span wide and tall, and a half span thick.

“Big enough for more than documents, then?”

“Yes, sir. He had something inside and left it there. The Treasury clerk there can tell you more—his eyes fluttered just as yours do, sir.”

I perked up at that. “He was an engraver?”

“Yes, sir. Likely has to be, to remember all who come and go to the bank. Immunis Sujedo then came out, I took him back to his rooms here, and that was that.”

“He didn’t mention what he put in the bank, I assume?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he talk at all?”

Klaida thought about it. “He asked me about my wife, sir. I remember that.”

“Your wife? What did he ask?”

“Just how she was faring. I thought it an odd comment, given that I hadn’t told him about her at all—nor that our wedding had been only two weeks ago. But the immunis pointed out that I had my ring on my thumb, and I kept touching it like I wasn’t used to it, so it must be new, he guessed. It seemed a clever thing, to know so much from just a glance. I supposed it was just something Sublimes like you, ah, could do, sir.”

I frowned. While nearly all Imperial Sublimes exhibited some unusual behaviors—myself included—axioms were not known for their social competence. Usually, the more they worked with more abstract numbers, the more aloof they grew.

I asked about the plug of iron. Like the others, he did not know of it.

“Did he show any symptoms besides his claims of stomach pain?” I asked. “Perhaps a palsy or tremor to his hands?”

“Palsy…no,” said Klaida, thinking. “But…he did tap against his leg, over and over again, as he walked. Like drumming. Like he had a tune in his head and couldn’t help but beat its rhythm against something. It was a little strange, sir. Does it mean anything, sir?”

I sighed and thanked him for his time.

—

For my final task I reviewed the vacant room beside Sujedo’s. I had old Hajusa unlock it for me, though he paused as he opened it. “We’ve not had many people stay in this chamber for some time, mind, sir. The room is quite wet. The way the tower leans, you see, all the water tends to gather here…In fact, all the rooms on this side are tricky to maintain.”

He opened the door and I peered within. It was almost an exact copy of Sujedo’s room, but every surface was overgrown with curling mold. The bed was bare wood with no moss mattress, and it, too, had been devoured by greenery. Even the closet was furred over with growth.

I looked to Malo, who stood at the door. “Smell anything unusual here?” I asked.

“Am I to be your hound?” she said. “But—no. Nothing but mold. It is the same as all the other molding rooms on this side of the building. We searched those when we first looked for Sujedo. There was nothing.”

I thanked Hajusa, he locked the room back up, and we departed.