“Did you see anything else strange after you woke up?”
“My head hurt. So did Immar’s. So did Ottar’s. The front door to the inn was barred. So was the rear door, and the kitchen door.”
“Are those the only doors?”
She nods.
“How did anyone get out, then?”
“The shutters on the side window of the public room weren’t fastened.”
Lerial asks more questions of the innkeeper’s consort, but discovers nothing more, and then goes to the kitchen, where he questions Ottar the cook.
“What did you prepare for their dinner?”
“They had a young goat. I made the meat tender, seared it, and then put it in an iron pot with the spices for burhka. I served it all with pearl millet. Between the heir and his friend and their guards, there wasn’t much left. Just enough for small portions for the rest of us.”
“Everyone ate some of the goat, then?”
“The merchanter guard in the kitchen … he ate later, with the rest of us.”
“Did you drink much lager?”
Ottar snorts. “Can’t last in the kitchen without lager. It’s too hot.”
“You slept late?”
“Later than anyone, I guess. Immar was shaking me. My head was splitting. Never had a skull-ache like that before.”
“How did you find the boy?”
“The bucket is always hung on the post closest to the inn door. Jamara gets real upset if it’s not. It wasn’t there. When I looked down in the well, I saw something. It took both of us—Immar and me—to pull up the bucket, because Jahib’s belt was caught.”
“Was he wounded?”
“No, ser. He had a bump on the head. Like maybe he’d fallen and hit it. Don’t see how he could have done that. Soon as she saw him, Jamara started screaming that someone had killed him.”
“What did you think?”
“Someone bashed him, hooked his belt to the bucket, and lowered him into the well. Maybe they wanted him out of the way, figured he wouldn’t drown. Maybe they wanted him dead.” Ottar shrugs fatalistically.
Again, more questions bring little more information, and a half glass later, Lerial and Norstaan are sitting at the same small table where Lerial had questioned the innkeeper. Lerial looks at the dark lager in the heavy mug, then order-senses it, and finding no chaos takes a sip. The lager is even more bitter than it looks. He sets the mug down.
“What do you think, ser?” asks Norstaan.
“It wasn’t anyone here at the inn. One of Oestyn’s guards had to be the one who added sleeping draughts to the lager.” Lerial nods to the mug. “This is so bitter you could add anything. The wine might have been adulterated earlier. That’s most likely.”
“Why?”
“Oestyn and Mykel know wine. Whoever added something had to add it skillfully enough that it didn’t affect the taste too much. Or … maybe Jhosef sent a new or different vintage, one unfamiliar to the two.”
Norstaan nods. “Most inn lager is bitter, and it varies from place to place. Likely enough that the guards wouldn’t notice.”
“The boy wouldn’t be drinking as much, and his parents insisted on watering his lager … and the serving girl watered her own lager. The cook drank more lager than anyone, slept later, and woke with his head splitting.”
“And they did it here because they could get rid of the bodies fairly close,” suggests Norstaan.
“That means someone very familiar with the area.”
Like Jhosef. Except that Lerial does not voice that observation.
LI
Because Lerial can see no point in spending another day or even part of one at the Streamside, he and his force set out for Lake Jhulyn early on threeday. He does pay Immar two golds from the small bag with which Rhamuel has entrusted him, for which Immar again practically grovels thanks. Or relief, more likely, Lerial suspects.
As they ride away from the inn, Lerial cannot help but wonder whether Emerya will come to Swartheld. Father has to have received your dispatch by now. But there is also the question of whether he will even tell Emerya. Should you have sent a separate dispatch to her? But doing so would have meant going around his father … and that …
He shakes his head.