He snapped the book shut and met her gaze. “Tell me, how did you know that I was the wizard this afternoon? The illusion of the old wizard has fooled many mages who, forgive me, were more powerful than you are.”
She shrugged. “How long have you known I was a sorcerer searching for a demon rather than just the Reeve’s mistress?”
“After all these years Lord Kerim chooses a mistress—not just any mistress, but a native.” He closed his eyes briefly. “We have been without hope for so long. Holding on to our lands by the thread of Lord Kerim’s honor.” He opened his Southwood blue eyes and met hers. “When I realized something was going on, it was easy to connect it with you. Why would he choose an unknown Southwood lady of, you’ll forgive me, more style than beauty, when he could have his pick of court ladies—including Southwood women like Lady Sky if his tastes were so inclined?”
“My scintillating intellect, of course,” she offered in Lady Shamera’s vacuous style.
He laughed involuntarily. “Right. I had already begun to rethink your intelligence, based on the reports of my fosterlings. Siven said he thought you used your stupidity with great skill and shrewdness.” Halvok shook his head. “All that aside, you had to be a wizard helping the Reeve track down the demon—he would never have risked taking up with a Southwood lady in this political climate for anything less. Now, you answer my question, how did you recognize me?”
“Maur always said that illusions are an unreliable spell—they are one of the few spells that can lose effect without the spellcaster being aware of it.”
“You aren’t going to tell me.”
“No. It’s not my secret to tell.”
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded his head. “Fair enough.”
Sham pursed her lips and tapped her fingers lightly on the table. “You sound as if you value Lord Kerim.”
He frowned sharply. “Of course I do. Why do you ask?”
She looked up from the table and narrowed her eyes at him. “Because some idiot summoned the Reeve through the worst corner of Purgatory just to recite an old story that could have been told to the Whisper.”
Halvok’s eyebrows flew up at the tone of her voice. “It was an opportunity I could not resist. Purgatory is a black hole where our people disappear. The Easterners like to forget that it exists—or they pretend that it is nothing more than a slum like most cities of any size have. You were safe with the Shark beside you, no one would risk his wrath—”
“—To kill the Cybellian Lord who is given primary credit for putting down any hope that Southwood had of shaking off Altis’ yoke? You are the one who needs to visit Purgatory, if that’s what you think,” snarled Sham. “The Shark, despite his own belief, is neither omnipotent nor omniscient and there are any number of people in Purgatory who would be happy to give their miserable lives to prove it.”
“Are you—” said Halvok softly, obviously keeping a firm hold on his temper, “—speaking as a concerned citizen or as the Reeve’s mistress?”
“Does it matter?” she returned roundly. “What you did was stupid and unnecessary. The Reeve knows all he needs to about Purgatory; where do you think he found me?”
Halvok stilled. “You were in Purgatory?”
Sham nodded. “The Reeve saved my life. Why do you think I am working for him, an Altis-worshipping Cybellian?” Twisting the truth was one of her many talents.
“Lord Ervan was hardly so poor that his widow—” he hesitated, then said in the manner of one stating an obvious fact he had overlooked, “You’re not his widow.”
“I,” said Shamera, losing enough of her annoyance to grin at him. “—am a thief, and have lived in Purgatory since the Castle fell. Look, I need to know everything you can tell me about demons.”
Suddenly he grinned as well. “Now that I’m feeling guilty enough to risk talking about them? All right, I admit, it was a stupid impulse to insist that the Reeve come to my workshop—especially as weak as he is. Although he’s been getting better ever since Ven died, hasn’t he?”
“Actually,” she said, “not quite. He’s been getting better since we discovered Ven’s body, though one had little to do with the other. That night I found a number of runes on and about the Reeve’s person that tied him to the demon. Apparently the demon was responsible for Lord Kerim’s illness—I’m not sure why, or even exactly what it was doing. The runes it was using are odd forms of the masterpatterns.”
Lord Halvok looked around until he found a pair of stools. He gave one to Sham and sat upon the other. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about this demon, and I’ll tell you anything I can.”
“Very well.” She perched on the proffered seat. “The demon is killing people every seven to eight days and has been for the past . . . oh three quarters of a year or so. It didn’t start concentrating its kills at the Castle until several months ago. As I told you, it killed Maur—which is how I first got involved.”
“So the killings started about the same time as the Reeve’s illness?” said Halvok.
“Yes.”
Lord Halvok frowned. “From what I know of demons, it is killing far more frequently than it needs to. Demons need to feed on death—but supposedly only once every several months.”
“Right,” agreed Sham, “but in order to keep its simulacrum working, I believe it needs to kill much more often.”
“A simulacrum?” Halvok sounded intrigued.
“Lord Ven had been dead several days before we discovered his body. I. . . freshened it to avoid frightening everyone who had seen him in court while his body was rotting in a little-used room in the Castle. The last form it had to wear that I know of belonged to a dead stableman.”
“The stableman who was found dead in the company of the Reeve’s pet selkie?”
She nodded. “It killed him to get rid of Ven’s form and used Elsic—the selkie—to throw as much sand over its trail as it could.”
Halvok shook his head. “By the tides,” he swore, “no wonder it has been so hard to catch.”
“Can you tell me how to find the demon?”
“No.”
“All right, then. Do you know how to kill it?”
Halvok shrugged. “Find out who it is and kill the body that houses it—after you destroy the simulacrum. It should take the demon a decade or so to find a person whose body it can steal. They are capable of that, you know, if they are not already tied to a host. The demon itself cannot be killed . . . unless—.” He stiffened as if a new thought had occurred to him, “—if you can find the demon, and enslave it the way the old magicians used to, it will die when you do.”
Sham thought about that and shook her head. “It’s free now because it killed the mage who called it and he knew far more about demons than I do. Is there a way I can send it back where it came from?”
Lord Halvok nodded and elaborated, “You’ll need to find a virgin, cut out his tongue, put out his eyes, chant a few lines, cut out his heart and feed it to the demon after taking a bite yourself. Death is capable of generating great power if you use it right. I have a young cousin who might work, though I’m not certain about his virginity, you understand.”
Sham snorted. “I think I’ll pass—if nothing else works I’ll settle on killing its host. What about the Archmage who destroyed Tybokk? How did he do it?”
“He managed to bind it to the dead body it had occupied so it was unable to seek another host. He used a spell that has been lost with most other demon lore—it’s not in Maur’s book. Perhaps there is something in the ae’Magi’s library. I won’t stop you if you want to ask the ae’Magi if he has a book of demonology in his possession—although such an admission would require him to present himself to the council for execution. Maybe it would help if you told him that you had a book on demon lore, but needed a specific reference.”
Sham laughed despite herself and held up a hand in surrender. “Would it be acceptable if I talk with you again after I have had a chance to read this?” She
tapped the book he’d given her.
The nobleman bowed his assent. “Lady, you have whatever aid I can offer. I will contact my old master and see if he has any suggestions.”
“I would appreciate that.” Sham rose from the stool and walked to the door. Before she opened it, however, she turned back to him. “Lord Halvok, would you happen to have any books on runes? Something that might have the forms that the demon is using?”
“Old runes?” He thought a moment. “I might have one that would help.”
Kneeling, he drew a thin volume from the bottom shelf and brought it to her. “This is something I picked up in the market a number of years ago. It’s quite a bit older than it looks, and it has runes in it I had never seen before.”
“Thanks,” she said taking it.
“You may leave by the front door if you wish.”
She turned to bat her eyelashes at him. “And have the Reeve’s mistress be seen leaving your manor at night? I can find my own way out, sir.”
“SOHALVOK ISN’Tcalling demons?” Asked Kerim, pulling another pillow behind his back to prop himself up higher.
Sham, so tired that her very bones ached, struggled to think clearly. She had come directly here after leaving Lord Halvok’s chambers, without stopping to find a safe place for her newly acquired books—not that there ever was a really safe place for a black grimoire.
“I don’t think so,” she answered finally. “If he is summoning demons, he is a better actor than I think he is, and he’s not doing it from his home.”
Kerim nodded. “Good enough for me. Why don’t you go to sleep and we’ll see what the morning brings.”
Sham gave him a mock salute and exited under the tapestry.
ALONE IN HERroom, Sham stood for a moment in the darkness. The rune book was no trouble, but she wasn’t sure what to do with the other one. Even though she had replaced the spell-warding on the book, the signature of black magic leaked from it.
Sighing, she set the book on the nearest flat surface she came to and set the second, more innocuous one on top of it. She could deal with it in the morning. She stripped out of her filthy clothing—the rain had turned the thick layer of dust to mud—and tossed her clothes in the trunk. As she shut the lid, the thought of the mildew the damp clothing invited crossed her mind, but she was too tired to deal with it.
TWELVE
The thunderous pounding on Kerim’s door was loud enough to force Sham to sit up in her bed and curse under her breath. From the weight of her eyelids, she estimated she’d been asleep less than an hour. She thought seriously about ignoring the noise and going back to sleep, but anything worth waking up the Reeve at such an obscene hour of the night was worth investigating.
Knowing her intrusion might not be welcomed, she stretched out on the floor and raised the bottom of the tapestry until she could see into Kerim’s room.
Kerim had already thrown on his bedrobe and was using his quarterstaff for balance as he hobbled painfully across the room.
“Yes?” he called out, before he opened the door.
“My Lord, Lady Tirra sent me to tell you that Lady Sky is in danger.”
Sham heard Kerim throwing the bolt on his door and the hinges squeaked once. A chest obscured her view, so she had to rely on her ears.
“I don’t know the exact circumstances, but Lady Tirra seems to feel it may be due to the Lady’s recent miscarriage.” From his voice the messenger was painfully young.
Kerim reappeared in Sham’s sight. He grunted as he settled himself in his wheeled chair and tossed the quarterstaff on his bed. Wasting no time he left the room.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Sham leapt to her feet and opened her trunk, shuffling through the assorted mess until her hand closed on damp cloth. She preferred her wet thieving clothes to court dress. As she wrestled with recalcitrant fabric, she realized she hadn’t had to unlock her trunk. Once decently clothed, she slammed a hand on the leather and wood top and spelled it closed without bothering with the latch.
Quickly she opened the panel into the passages and slipped through. By this time, she knew the passages of the Castle better than she knew the halls where more conventional people traveled from place to place in the Castle. There were only three short sections of main thoroughfare she had to cross. Either luck or the lateness of the hour blessed her with empty halls, and there was no one to see when she cautiously scurried from one passage to the next on her way to Lady Sky’s quarters.
Like most of the occupied rooms, the spyhole to Lady Sky’s bedchamber had been sealed. It took Sham less than a wisp of magic to pull the board off the wall. Before she pulled the board completely away, Sham doused the magelight. Luckily, Lady Sky lived on the third floor where all the unmarried ladies of the court stayed, so there were several windows to let moonlight into the room.
Lady Sky might almost have been posed for an artist. The silvery light of the moon played upon her fair hair and caressed her graceful figure, which was as slender as if her pregnancy had never been. The white muslin gown that she wore made her appear younger than she was. She sat cross-legged on her bed, staring down at a dagger she held in both hands.
Sham couldn’t see her face except for the corner of her jaw, but she had a clear view of Lady Sky’s fine-boned hands turning the dagger over and over, as if she were examining the knife at a marketplace, looking for flaws.
Sham began searching for a hidden door that would let her enter the room. Purgatory had eliminated any sympathy she might have had for people who took the easy way out, but the lady had the excuse of her recent miscarriage: It was common knowledge that such women were overly emotional. Sky had become as close to a friend as she had among the women at court, and Sham didn’t want anything to happen to her. She was exploring a likely looking area when she heard Kerim’s voice. Quickly she darted back to her spyhole and set her eye against it.
“Give me the dagger, Sky.”
The bolt must not have been thrown on the door, for Kerim’s chair had stopped just inside the threshold. Lady Sky held the dagger up until the moonlight danced on the blade.
“This was my husband’s,” she said in conversational tones. “He was very careful that all his weapons were kept sharp.”
“Sky, do you know how hard it is to kill yourself with a dagger? Unless you know what you’re doing, it can take days to die of such a wound. Despite Fahill’s axioms, dagger wounds are very painful. . .and messy.” Kerim matched her conversational tones exactly, as, with an easy push, he sent his chair rolling toward her bed.
A fresh breeze blew in from the window, causing the modest white muslin of Lady Sky’s nightgown to flutter softly against her skin. Wheels touching the edge of her bed, Kerim waited patiently for her reply.
“They all die,” Lady Sky said finally, in a child’s soft bewildered voice. “My babies, my parents, my husband, Ven—everyone. I think perhaps I’m cursed. There are so many people dying here—if I am dead too, maybe it will stop.”
“Sky, dying never stops.” Kerim’s voice was gentle but implacable. “The only certainty life contains is death. Would your parents, Fahill, or Ven want you to die for no reason? Should there be one less person mourning their deaths and one more person to mourn? Fahill loved you. I fought side by side with the man, and he was a withdrawn, embittered warrior until you came to him. During the few months he had you, he was happier than he had ever been. He would not like it if you used his death as a reason to destroy something he loved so.”
In the passage, Sham backed away from the spyhole. There was no threat to Kerim here, and somewhere along the line she’d developed faith in the Leopard’s abilities—he would talk Sky out of her foolishness without her help.
Shamera needed to get away from Sky’s voice. It wasn’t death that was hard, or the dying, though the tides knew it could be bad enough: it was finding a reason to keep on living. She wished Sky luck.
From the lady’s room, Sham heard the sound of a dagger flung to the
floor, followed by sobs muffled against a man’s shoulder. Sham stopped, and turned back to the spyhole.
Kerim held Sky in his lap, petting her hair gently as her shoulders trembled with grief. Sham bit her lip and turned away. There, in the dark passage listening to the sounds of another woman’s sorrow, she admitted what she would not admit in the light of day: Sham the Thief loved the Reeve of Southwood.
Tiredly, she walked back to her room. She threw her clothes back in the trunk, and found her nightgown. Then she climbed into her bed, pulled the covers over her head, and waited for sleep to come.
THE DOOR TOSham’s room hit the wall with a loud bang. She awoke abruptly to find herself in an unladylike crouch on the edge of her bed, her dagger clutched in one hand. Frowning blearily, she peered at the intruders.
Talbot’s raised eyebrows caused her to remember just what the Reeve’s mistress wore for nightgowns, and she dove back under the covers. Elsic, of course, was immune to the sight.
“Sorry to trouble ye, Lady,” said Talbot, smothering a laugh, “but the Reeve is in a meeting, and I have work to do sorting through records that the temple sent down. I waited as long as I could, as Kerim said ye were out until the wee hours. It’s now past luncheon and someone needs to see the lad here—” Talbot clapped the boy’s shoulder with a heavy hand, “—doesn’t get himself mob-eaten.”
Sham scowled at Talbot. “It is customary to knock, before throwing open a door.”
He grinned at her. “Worry about knocking do ye, thief? First I ever heard of it.”
Laughing, Shamera raised her hands in defeat. “Welcome, Elsic. Shove off, Talbot. We’ll keep each other out of trouble. I’ll fight off mobs and Elsic can handle the nobles.”
Elsic grinned. “For you, Lady, anything.”
Sham shook her head at Talbot. “From stableboy to courtier in one night. Shame on you for corrupting youth.”