Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar (15 page)

The assembly growled at the prospect of having their quarters and belongings ransacked. Tregan said, “Ridiculous.” Evidently it was a favorite word of his.

“No,” Baltes said, “it isn’t. Master Selden’s guesses are only that, but they seem plausible. We will search the house, if only to lay the suspicions he’s roused to rest, and you, brother, will try once again to locate the tiara with your sorcery.”

We organized ourselves into search parties and formulated a plan. I cast a final admiring glance at the broadsword with the emeralds in its hilt, then set forth with my companions.

The Keenspur mansion was enormous. It took well into the morning to complete our search, and even so, we didn’t look everywhere. Some hiding places simply seemed too unlikely to bother with, and I wasn’t bold enough to suggest that we rummage through Baltes’ or Tregan’s apartments, even if I’d believed it would serve a purpose.

Our mundane search failed to produce the tiara, nor did Tregan’s divinations fare any better. At the end of it all, standing before Baltes, the magician, and their tired, irritated relations and retainers, I did indeed feel “ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry, milord,” I said. “I thought I’d reasoned my way to the truth, or a part of it anyway, but it appears I was mistaken.”

Tregan sneered. “Will you now make inquiries among the robbers and knaves, as we told you to in the first place?”

“Yes, milord.” I certainly had no better plan.

As I walked to the door with as much dignity as I could muster, I heard Dremloc and another young blade muttering in my wake. “This is like sending a weasel to escort the chickens safely into the coop,” my would-be challenger said.

“What do you mean?” his companion asked.

“I don’t claim to understand any of this, why the tiara was taken or Venwell had to die. But you can bet your last copper a Blue is responsible.”

The seed of suspicion was already sprouting.

 

For the next week, I went about mostly in disguise, in the costumes of other lands or with false whiskers gummed to my chin, prowling all night and sleeping by day. Reasoning it would be difficult for a woman to wear the tiara in Mornedealth, I began my investigations among receivers of stolen goods who specialized in moving them safely out of town. When that availed me nothing, I moved on to the commoner sort of thieves’ market, and bribed whores and tavern keepers to tell if any of the city’s more accomplished housebreakers had lately boasted of a coup, started spending lavishly, or was lying low to avoid hunters like myself. That was of no use either. If any of the city’s rascals had knowledge of the tiara, it would take a shrewder, subtler agent than me to tease out the information.

Meanwhile, Mornedealth commenced a slide back into the hateful, bloody days of yore. Hotheaded young Keenspurs started wearing green tokens, their friends from other houses followed suit, and the fools among the supposedly defunct Blues would have felt cowardly had they not responded by displaying their own colors. Soon the Reds, Yellows, and Blacks took up the old practice, too. From there, it was a short step to insults, mockery, and scuffles in the street.

Baltes, Tregan, Pivar, and other leaders of the noble houses did their best to quash the unrest, and at their behest, the City Guards assisted. Thanks to their efforts, the quarrels among the resurgent Blues and Greens, and members of the lesser factions, ended short of grievous harm to any of the principals. But it was only a matter of time before our luck ran out, and I feared that as soon as it did, the blood-feuds would resume in earnest.

All because of a crime that, on the surface, had nothing to do with the grudges and rivalries of old. It was perverse, mad, yet it was happening.

In due course, I trudged back to Keenspur House to report my lack of progress.

Somewhat to my surprise, when a lackey admitted me to confer with Tregan and Baltes, I found the latter wearing the broadsword from the wedding gifts. It was contrary to custom to put such a present to use prior to the nuptials, but I could understand why he’d succumbed to the temptation.

I explained what I’d accomplished, or rather, what I hadn’t. It didn’t take long, as accounts of failure rarely do, so long as a man resists the urge to make excuses.

“I’m beginning to think,” said Tregan, sneering, “that your success in catching the salamander was a fluke.”

I was starting to wonder myself, but still had enough pride left to resent his contempt. “Should I infer, milord, that your efforts to solve our problem with wizardry have proved as futile as my own?”

The question made him glare.

“Tell me the truth,” Baltes said. “Is there any point in your poking around the slums any further?”

I sighed. “I can’t be certain, but probably not.”

“Then don’t. Tell me what I owe you for your time, and the steward will pay you on your way out.”

Now that—his assumption that I wasn’t merely stymied but defeated—truly stung me, and perhaps it was the injury to my pride that finally goaded my brain into squeezing forth some semblance of a fresh idea.

“Please, milord,” I said. “I don’t want your coin, not until I earn it. I have a further course of action to suggest.”

He cocked his head. “What?”

“I’d like to take up residence here from now until the wedding.”

“Why?”

I didn’t know myself, really, but had to improvise some sort of answer. “Maybe if I become more familiar with the murder scene, some new insight will occur to me. Or, failing that, maybe I can at least stop the robber from returning and doing any more harm.”

“Nonsense,” Tregan snapped. “You’re reverting to your first idiot notion, that one of our own family, or loyal retainers, is responsible for the atrocity. You want to spy on us in hope of identifying the culprit.”

“No,” I said, and wasn’t sure if I was lying or not. I was halfway satisfied that none of the household was guilty, yet likewise suspected that some secret awaited discovery within these walls.

“You’re aware,” Baltes said, “that the old folly of Green and Blue has flared up again. I’m struggling to put the fire out, and I fear your presence here will feed it. You surely won’t feel particularly welcome.”

“I can tolerate that,” I said. “Please, milord. I want what you and Lord Pivar want, to put the feuds and factions behind us forever. If there’s even the slightest chance that my presence here will help accomplish that, or simply lead to the apprehension of Venwell’s killer, isn’t it worth a try?”

“Perhaps,” Baltes said. “Stay for the time being, and we’ll see how it goes.”

 

So began my sojourn in Keenspur House. As the head of the family had warned, few of his kin exerted themselves to show me hospitality. It might have been even more unpleasant if I hadn’t kept to my nocturnal habits, sleeping the mornings away and roaming the mansion late at night, looking for clues that had eluded me before, trying to imagine what had happened on the night of the murder.

Any huge old pile, no matter how opulent, can turn into a shadowy, echoing, spooky place after the servants turn out the lamps and everyone goes to bed. So it was with the mansion, and perhaps it was that eerie atmosphere that prompted me to recall Venwell’s wide eyes and gaping mouth, and to infer what they actually signified.

Marissa was wrong. The lad had frozen. Because he’d faced a supernatural assailant, and any man, no matter how well trained a swordsman, can succumb to terror in such circumstances.

Yet Tregan swore the killing had nothing of the mystical or otherworldly about it, and much as he disliked me, he seemed sincere in his desire to identify the culprit, so what was I to make of that?

I returned again to the suspicion that the thief dwelled within the mansion. I thought of our search, and one area we’d neglected. Because the family kept it locked, Baltes had the only key, and thus it scarcely seemed a likely or convenient hiding place. It was, moreover, the sort of place folk rarely visit by choice.

But, though I still possessed no certainties, merely a collection of vague suspicions and intuitions, I decided I wanted to visit it, or at least inspect the entrance. I found an oil lamp that was still burning, lifted it from its sconce, and set off through the hushed, gloomy chambers and corridors. Portraits, busts, and statues seemed to glower as I passed, and suits of plate armor standing on display looked misshapen as ogres.

Then a pair of figures skulked from the shadows to bar my path.

It was Dremloc and his crony. Each was only half dressed, with feet bare and shirt unlaced. But despite the inadequacy of their attire, they’d taken the trouble to arm themselves. The flickering yellow light of my lamp gleamed on the smallswords in their hands.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “I’m here to help your family, I’m Lord Baltes’ guest, and if that’s not enough for you, Marissa would take it ill if you harmed me.”

They didn’t answer, just stalked forward, further into the circle of lamplight, and then I saw what I’d missed before: their eyes were closed.

Happily, I didn’t freeze, though I admit a chill oozed up my spine. Retreating, I set the lamp down on a table, drew my broadsword, and yelled for help. The Keenspurs spread out to flank me, then rushed in.

Somnambulism didn’t hinder their swordplay. The slender thrusting blades streaked at me, and I dodged and parried frantically, meanwhile striving to keep either of my opponents from working his way around completely behind me.

Even if I’d wanted to kill them, I didn’t dare, for fear of their kindred’s retaliation. But neither could I simply defend and defend until one of them got lucky and slipped an attack past my guard. I feinted at the crony’s face, and he jumped back. His retreat bought me a moment to concentrate solely on Dremloc. I parried his next thrust, feinted high, then made a drawing cut to his knee.

To my relief, the blade sliced his flesh precisely as I’d intended. His leg gave way beneath him, and he fell. But, barring ill fortune, he’d survive and even walk again.

I heard rushing footsteps as the other youth charged at my back. I spun, parried his thrust, stepped in close, and bashed his jaw with my weapon’s pommel. Bone cracked. He reeled, dropped, and lay motionless, his trance knocked into true insensibility.

It was then that help finally came rushing into the room, in the persons of Baltes, Tregan, and six of their household guards.

“By the Goddess,” Baltes said. He wore a robe, nightshirt, and slippers, but, like my assailants, carried a sword—in his case, the sword with the emeralds. “What’s happened?”

“Milord,” I panted, “I regret this. But I had no choice. Your kinsmen attacked me.”

“No,” said Dremloc, ashen, voice shaky, clutching at this bloody knee. No longer sleepwalking in any obvious way. “Don’t believe him. We found him looking at that jade statuette yonder as if mustering the nerve to pocket it. We told him to leave it alone, and he drew on us.”

The fabrication startled me, and it took me a moment to reply. “That isn’t so. You and your kinsman were sleepwalking. Possessed, or under some sort of spell. You attacked me.”

Despite the pain of his wound, Dremloc managed a laugh. “That’s stupid. Wyler and I were drinking and playing at knucklebones in my room. We got hungry, came downstairs to raid the larder, and found this Blue whoreson looking shifty.”

“If that was the reason you left your quarters,” I said, “would you have brought your swords? The same influence that controlled you before is tampering with your memory.”

Baltes looked to Tregan. “Tell me,” the Keenspur leader said, “if there can possibly be any truth to this.”

“As you wish,” the warlock said. He closed his eyes, murmured under his breath, swept his hands through mystic passes, and swayed from side to side. The darkness flowed and thickened around us, and a bitter taste stung my tongue.

Tregan opened his eyes once more. “There was no magic involved.”

“No!” I said. “Somehow, you’re mistaken.” I pivoted toward Baltes. “Milord, do you truly believe I’d steal from you, when you already offered me gold, and I refused it? Is it likely I’d pick a fight where the odds were against me, in a house full of my adversaries’ kin? Or that I’d be the one to cry for help if I did?”

Baltes scowled. “Perhaps it was simply ill will and folly that made the three of you brawl, and no one has the courage to admit it.”

“No, Uncle,” Dremloc said. “I swear, it happened as I told you.”

Meanwhile, I made the corresponding assertion in different words.

“Master Selden,” Baltes said, “I suspected no good would come of having you here, and you’ve proved me right. In other circumstances, I might be inclined to punish you for it. But Pivar and the other Blues—former Blues, I should say—hold you in esteem, the wedding is only two days hence, and I’m loath to do anything that might stir the old animosities. So just get out.”

“Milord,” I said, “I was about to follow up on an idea when all this happened. Apparently, our unknown enemy somehow discerned my intent, and used Dremloc and Wyler to stop me. That must mean the notion has something to it. I beg you—”

Baltes’ hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve had enough of your foolishness! Go now, or I won’t answer for your safety.”

I looked at all the Keenspurs and Keenspur servants glaring back at me, and I went.

 

Afterward, I resolved to put the affair behind me. Since Baltes had discharged me, it was no longer any of my concern, and I’d been lucky to come out of it with my skin intact. But I’d never had much of a knack for minding my own business, and after a morning of moping and grumbling around my school, I went to see Pivar.

He’d already heard I’d disgraced myself among the Keenspurs, but received me anyway, for the sake of the services I’d rendered him in the past. I told him my side of the story, and couldn’t judge if he credited it or not.