Resenting the Hero (21 page)

“If you give me a bit of time,” I said, thinking of the list that had been waiting for Karish at the residence when he'd returned from the hospital. “And they can probably give you others.”

“Excellent. We appreciate it. Now,” Mulroney leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk, “can you think of any reason why anyone would want to abduct Lord Shintaro?”

And so it began. First we discussed Karish's sudden elevation in rank and its possible connection to recent events. Then we talked about Karish's skill and post. Could professional jealousy be behind it all? And then came the questions, endless repetitive questions. All asked politely enough but, I thought, there were more than were strictly necessary. And a few times I thought, from the wording and the tone, that there was some suspicion regarding my own character, but I dismissed those fancies as soon as they flittered into my head. Ridiculous.

I was happy when I was given permission to leave so I could pick up the list of names. That had been important information to get to the Runners, and the captain had wasted all that time questioning me.

Aiden was still sitting there waiting when I left the captain's office. I was relieved but surprised. Surely I had been answering questions for at least a million years? He had to be bored out of his head.

LaMonte was there with his Shield Hammad. There were a couple of other familiar people lingering about. It appeared that the parade of acquaintances had already begun. Wait until I brought the note in. The trickle would roar into a flood, I had no doubt. And I thought this place had been chaotic before.

Aiden stood when he saw me. “You look shattered,” he said, and he hugged me.

I appreciated the gesture, but I couldn't relax into him as he no doubt wished I would. “Let's get out of here,” I suggested, easing away from his embrace. “I've got to pick something up at the residence and send it back here.”

He nodded, and we threaded our way to the exit. “So what's happening?”

Mental exhaustion sank into my overworked little brain. I did not want to talk about it. But I owed it to him for waiting so long, and we had to talk about something as we walked back to the residence. There was little enough to tell, and perhaps Aiden would have some ideas. So I told him all that the captain had told me, and of course he had nothing to say about it. How could he? No one knew anything.

Karish's suite was a mess. It shocked me just looking at it. Papers scattered all over, furniture moved around, decorations removed from the cabinets. “What the hell—?”

“Looks like the Runners have already been here.”

“The Runners did all this? Why?”

He shrugged. “Guess they don't have time to be careful.”

Damn.

“Well, we might as well start,” I said. “I'm looking for a single sheet of paper that's folded in quarters. It has a short note and a long list of names.”

“Likes to keep track of his stable, does he?” was Aiden's snide comment.

“You don't have to be here.” I went to the tasteful little writing desk snuggled in a corner and opened the first drawer.

“What's your Source going to think about me pawing through his things?”

“Under the circumstances I really don't think he'll care.” The first drawer had nothing in it but blank stationery, wax, and pens. The next had the racing section of the newspaper. I picked it up and read some of the notations Karish had made in the margins, all about the horses' lineage, riders, owners, and racing history.

Aiden had looked through the emptied shelves in the room without success. “Try the bedroom,” I said, going to the third drawer.

“Must I?” he muttered, and I snapped a look at his back as he disappeared into a location that was surely a legend in some circles.

I hoped Karish had kept the list. I would have tossed it, myself, but something told me Karish was the type to keep such things. Not that it would be such a disaster if it didn't show up. I knew the names of some of Karish's friends—Michael Whiteknife, for example—and the Runners could work from there. But the better the start, the faster they'd find him. I hoped.

The last drawer was completely empty, the contents no doubt the pile of correspondence dumped onto the floor beside the desk. I looked carefully among and within the envelopes but found nothing. I rifled through the rest of the room and was equally unsuccessful. I joined Aiden in the bedroom.

The bedroom was a wreck, too. Aiden was taking what little was still in place and pulling it out. The jumbled mess was having an irritating effect on my mind. “How about we detract from, rather than add to, the chaos?” I suggested.

“Under the circumstances I really don't think he'll care,” Aiden quoted. “Will you look at those?” He gestured at the wardrobe.

I obliged him, and couldn't figure out what “those” he was referring to. There were no whips, no restraints, nothing unusual. “What?”

“There are more clothes there than I'll ever wear in my life.”

I rolled my eyes but said nothing. “What is all this?” I nodded at the mess on the floor.

“Bills and gambling IOUs. Why does he bother holding on to either?”

“I don't know.” I poked through them. There were many more IOUs than bills. I started to add up the money owed to Karish and came to a staggering amount. I knew it was staggering because Aiden whistled when I told it to him. Apparently Karish was a good gambler.

I fanned the notes in my hand. Maybe Karish was too good. “Do you think Karish would have been taken by one of the people who owed him money?”

“Of course not,” was Aiden's immediate response. “Karish can't force them to pay. The law won't support a Source's claims.”

“Does everyone know that?”

He shrugged. “Everyone should. A real gambler would.”

But what if these IOUs belonged to idiots? Lots of stupid people gambled. Or what if the assault on Karish had started out of anger, out of revenge for a humiliating defeat, and had gone further than planned, requiring his removal? It was surely a possibility. I made a note of the names on the biggest IOUs. Perhaps the Runners didn't think anything of the gambling debts, but I was going to see if I could find anything out about them.

Aiden handed me a paper that had been folded into a small, neat square. “Is this it?”

I opened it and scanned the note. “Aye, this is it.” Job done.

We took the list to the nearest messenger station and had it sent to Mulroney. And then, that was it. It was kind of anticlimactic. We went back to the residence, because I wanted to be easy to find in the case of any news. “There's got to be something else I can do.”

“Have you read his mail?” Aiden asked.

“Read it? Of course not.”

“Aye. In case he's gotten any threatening letters.”

“Wouldn't the Runners have found anything like that?”

“I don't know. What do you think?”

The Runners were the experts. Surely they would know better than I what constituted a significant piece of information. On the other hand, the Runners didn't know Karish at all. Neither did I, really, but there was no harm in using another pair of eyes. Only I didn't like the idea of reading his mail. That was really too personal. “All right, then.”

“I'll go downstairs and fix us something to eat,” Aiden said. “I'm starving.”

I wasn't. “Tell them I said you could, if any of the others question you.” I hadn't seen any of the other Pairs about the residence in the time I had been there. I wondered if they all knew what had happened.

Back in Karish's living room, I scooped up all the letters and sat with them on the nearest settee. I couldn't believe how many letters Karish had received in the short time we had been in High Scape. I'd gotten no more than a handful. I wondered how nauseous I'd feel after slogging through them. I was imagining line after line of fulsome compliments, and my stomach was a little delicate when it came to bad poetry.

The first letter was a surprise. Instead of being from a forlorn lover, it was penned by one of Karish's professors. An elderly man from the handwriting, but one who had held on to his wit and humor. The epistle informed Karish of all that had been going on at the academy in his absence, in such a manner that had me cackling, even though I knew none of the people involved. I hoped to someday meet the brutally funny Professor Saint-Gerard.

The next letter was more along the line of what I had been expecting. Endearments all over the place, worshipful praise of his beauty, and a thorough description of his sexual prowess. Yes, I read it. I was curious. It wasn't nearly as nauseating as I'd anticipated.

I had never gotten a letter like that.

The next letter was something different yet again. The salutation set off a warning all on its own. The other letters had begun with varying degrees of formality, but this correspondent had made an effort to drag out every title he could find.

The crazy Source was on the loose. In Middle Reach, of all places. What was he doing out there? They weren't supposed to let him out of the academy unsupervised until he was bonded. And if he was so old he was no longer considered dangerous, he should have been sent somewhere to work. One of the staff at the academy or at the very least out looking for undiscovered Shields and Sources.

Of course, he could be doing that in Middle Reach, but Middle Reach already had Pairs who would, in their spare time—and I imagined they had a lot of it—perform that task.

And why was he writing to Karish? In such a sickeningly submissive manner. Your talent, your breeding, with the word “noble” used at least half a dozen times. They couldn't have been friends, could they? It was impossible that Karish, with his enormous circle of acquaintances, could feel any sort of attraction to someone as twisted as Creol.

Still, it was odd that he was, apparently, urging Karish to leave his post, and me, which would be an illegal act on Karish's part. And not just for a vacation, but permanently. Very strange. And to Middle Reach.

Why was he in Middle Reach? No one chose to go there. Everyone who lived there had been forced there by one unfortunate set of circumstances or another. Or had been born there and couldn't get out. The only reason I could think of for Creol to be there was if the Triple S was punishing him for something, but that was an unusual punishment for someone who wasn't even Paired yet, and nothing had come through the rumor mill.

I set the letter aside with plans to look at it again later.

I suffered through a long series of love letters. Some embarrassed me, they were so blunt in their expressions of desire. Some made me laugh, because surely no one really believed Karish was an actual son of a genuine god. One disturbed me, for the author was piteously pleading for forgiveness for some unnamed crime, his words filled with such self-loathing that I almost squirmed in discomfort.

I went through a series of letters from relatives asking Karish to use his influence over his brother to encourage him to give them money, positions, introductions, and other forms of assistance. The tone of these letters ranged from embarrassed and apologetic to petulant, demanding, and even a little threatening.

There was a letter from a Reanist, asking Karish if he would like to be the religious group's next sacrifice and earn his place in the garden of the gods.

More love letters. Ho-hum. Another letter from Saint-Gerard, which made me laugh except for one line: “I'm happy for you, that things are going better with your Shield.” So, Karish had been complaining about me, had he? I wondered how many people thought I was an impossible bitch. Prat.

More demands for assistance. More love letters. Another letter from Creol, asking Karish if he had reconsidered his offer. Then another letter from Saint-Gerard. It was the first Karish had received from him after we had arrived in High Scape, and it spoke of me at great length. Naturally I read it.