“Oh,” she said mildly. She slid out from his lap and waved the papers about, yawning. “Anyways. These are the first three options that fit the timeline that Din has so helpfully provided. But I don’t think any of them are the best candidates.”
“But…are you suggesting, ma’am,” said Strovi, still shaken, “that you can remember all of the fernpaper orders I just gave to you? And you can just summon up any one of them in your memory as you please?”
Ana grinned. “I remember and analyze all things interesting, Captain. And this has kept me interested. Thus far, at least.”
I smirked, for I was familiar with this line. But I wondered—was Ana actually an engraver? Was that her augmentation? Was she now mentally summoning all the words she’d read with her fingers as she’d lain on that floor? Yet that didn’t seem right. Though engravers like myself could instantly recall huge amounts of information, we couldn’t make the wild jumps of intuition that Ana seemed so prone to.
“I will say I am more interested in what’s not on these lists,” Ana continued, “than what is. There are a few shops, Strovi, that did not respond to your inquiries. Despite you sending some goddamn Legionnaires to their doorstep. Including this shop,” she said. A finger stabbed out, nearly piercing one parchment on the floor. “The fernpaper miller Yonas Suberek. This man did not answer your summons and was marked absent.”
Strovi looked bewildered. “Ah…I was not there for that inquiry, ma’am, so I will have to take your word for that. But all we can do is inquire. We can’t compel people to be present and answe—”
“And yet!” she said. She ripped another parchment out from the pile and slapped it with the back of her hand. “His neighbor was another miller. Fellow by the name of Linz Kestip. Now, Kestip dutifully gave you all of his most recent fernpaper orders…including one order that actually came from his neighbor, this absent Suberek! A transfer of inventory, in a way, from Kestip to Suberek. For six fernpaper panels! That’s quite a lot. This is the fourth order I mentioned. And this is our best candidate.”
Strovi, mystified by this rush of names and dates and numbers, looked to me for help.
I sighed and asked, “Ma’am…What’s the significance of all this?”
“The significance, Din, is the size of the order,” she said. “Kestip sold this now-missing Suberek a lot of fernpaper, and at a high price. Almost as if Suberek had gotten a very, very big order of his own, larger than his own inventory, that he was in a hurry to fill.” She turned to me, grinning. “And then there is the date. For this transaction took place seven days before the breach.”
Comprehension wriggled into my skull. “The day after we think the ten Engineers were poisoned…” I said.
“Yes. Suberek was apparently given a very big, frantic fernpaper order from some mysterious person just after the Engineers were poisoned. So big was this order, in fact, that he had to buy some panels off of his neighbor to fulfill it! It’s rather like how the groundskeeper hurried to replace the fernpaper door just after Commander Blas was poisoned—but far, far larger. And yet now, why…Suberek doesn’t answer the door, even when the Legion comes knocking.”
Strovi sat forward, looking alarmed.
“You think this Suberek might be in danger, ma’am?” I asked.
“I would at least like to discover his whereabouts,” she said. “And I would like to find out where this order was sent to. For that site is likely either where this Jolgalgan brought her poison, or where the poisoning itself happened.” Her blindfolded face turned to Strovi. “It’s late afternoon now. We’ve burned up almost all the day just digging through papers. I shall notify the rest of the investigation team of what we’ve found—but the curfew extends to everyone in the city except Legion personnel, correct?”
“That’s correct, ma’am,” he said.
“Then I would like to see if you could escort young Din here to this Suberek’s fernpaper mill to check in on him. And bring the Engineers’ reagents key as well, Din—just in case you find out where that order went.” She raised a finger. “But before you go, Din—a word?”
* * *
—
I WAITED FOR the door to shut before asking, “How went today, ma’am?”
“Inconclusive,” she sighed. “Miljin found the corpse, and the money, and the wall pass. He was outraged and shocked. He then brought it to Uhad, who was similarly outraged and shocked. Uhad showed it to Kalista, who was also very outraged and shocked. Then Miljin departed to bring Nusis in—I suspect you passed him as he left—and I expect she, too, will be appropriately outraged and shocked. I have done a lot of insipid pretending today, Din, but I have not yet detected a false note from any of our colleagues. All have reacted as they should.”
“Then do you trust them now?”
“Oh, no. I continue to feel something is amiss here. I just don’t know what it is. Yet still—tonight, stay sharp. We must establish the death scene, and there is most certainly someone out there who wishes you not do that. Strovi seems a solid sort, but…keep your hand close to your sword.”
I paused. “My sword is, ah…still made of wood, ma’am.”
She frowned and cocked her head. “Oh. Well…in that case, make sure your boots are laced up proper, boy, so you can run like hell.”
CHAPTER 20
| | |
STROVI AND I EXITED the tower just as the curfew bells stopped ringing. The streets of the city were now silent and empty, the buildings half lit by a moon shrouded in clouds. There were no lanterns or lights to be seen, except for the one swinging from Strovi’s hand and those carried by the patrolling Legionnaires.
If I’d not had Strovi striding along with me I’d have been locked up within twenty paces: each time a Legionnaire spotted us, they’d hurriedly advance, then pause at the sight of the captain, bow, salute, and let us proceed. Strovi would often shout a word of encouragement to them, or clap them on the back and bid them farewell. In the dark of that night, he seemed far older and more at ease than I. I had to remind myself we were almost the same age.
“Deserters,” he said to me at one corner, almost apologetically.
“Beg pardon, sir?” I said.
“That’s why there’s so many patrols. Streets aren’t often safe at night. Too many mutineers and deserters trickling back from the walls, trying to make it out of the canton. Captain Miljin might have acted a bit mad with you yesterday, flashing his sword about, but he wasn’t wrong when he mentioned that. They hide in houses in the day and move by night.”
I tried and failed to suppress a yawn. “I-I…I see, sir. I’ll take note.”
He smiled sympathetically. “Tired?”
“Somewhat, sir. I’m not used to sleeping so high up in a tower. Especially one that moves with the wind.”
“Let us stop at a station, then. I could use a hotfoot myself.”
He led me to the next corner, where a huge black canvas tent had been set up in the street. Legion officers in varying states of armor milled about before it, resting, regrouping, or receiving orders. Though I was tall, most of these men were taller, thicker, stronger than I, augmented chaps who could cleave me in two if they so much as tried. Yet they all saluted Strovi as the captain led me through to the back, bowing their heads and tapping their collarbones respectfully.
At the back sat a clay stove, the fire within bright and flickering. Three young boys squatted nearby, tending to the flames and boiling pots of water. Strovi held up two fingers to them, and they poured us two cups of tea, then grabbed a clay cask and dropped in a healthy finger of sotwine to each.
Strovi held his cup up to me. “Hotfoot. Clar-tea and mulled sot. We’ll be dancing and prancing for hours now, Kol. Chin to roof.”
He tossed his cup back and I did the same. It was hot and acrid and sweet, but not unpleasant. Instantly I felt warmth fill my bones, and then I felt a strange bubbling at the bottom of my brain, as if it were cooking in a pot.