When Demons Walk (11 page)

“My Lord says the magician last night was skilled in alchemy,” said Dickon as he pulled the skin of her calf closed.

“There's a white rock, mined north of the glass desert. If it is mixed with water, an open flame held near it will ignite the surface of the water,” said Sham, trying to ignore the tug of the needle. “I didn't get a clear view of the urns, but it seemed to be the kind of fire the white rock produces. I don't know what the purple smoke was.”

Dickon paused briefly in his sewing to look at her in surprise, then a slight smile crossed his lips at her peace offering. “I've heard of the pigeons in the pot, but I've never seen one large enough to house an osprey.”

“There must have been some magic at work,” offered Sham, tongue in cheek.

Dickon snorted in disbelief, tying off the thread tidily. He produced bandages from the kit he'd brought in and began wrapping her calf.

“I've yet to see any magic that cannot be duplicated with a little work,” said the valet as he wiped his hands fastidiously clean.

Sham nodded congenially. “I'm sure that's true.”

Dickon shot her a suspicious look, and she smiled.

“Will that be all, my lord?” he asked Kerim.

“Please see that the covering for Lady Shamera's bed is discreetly replaced and the burned covering destroyed.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Dickon?” said Shamera. “Thank you.”

“Very good, my lady.” Dickon bowed himself out of the room and shut the door.

“How did you explain the fact that your mistress needed stitches in the middle of the night?” asked Shamera, pushing her hair out of her eyes with a hand that shook slightly.

“I didn't. Are you steady enough to tell me what happened?”

She shrugged and immediately regretted it as the stitches in her shoulder pulled. “It's more painful than damaging, I'm fine. I was snuffing the candles when something attacked me from behind.”

“You're still sure that it was a demon? One that used a knife?” He sounded as if he were willing her to answer rationally.

Shamera sighed with more exasperation than she really felt. It would have been unfair to expect him to accept her view without allowing him evidence that true magic existed.

“I
told
you,” she said, “I don't know enough. It looked like a man, but I didn't get a glimpse of his face.”

“Why are you discounting the possibility that the killer is human?” He sounded honestly curious.

She felt guilty for deliberately misleading him with the truth, but she had never let a little guilt alter her course. “Because it picked me up and threw me across the room. I've been in a lot of fights, some of them with men bigger
than you are. This thing was
much
stronger, and faster. I couldn't see it.”

“It was dark,” he said patiently.

“So it was,” she agreed with equal patience.

“You said that it looked like a man—” he paused significantly, “—in the dark.”

“It did.”

“But it was a demon.”

“Yes.” Sham closed her eyes and yawned.

She could hear the squeak of the chair's wheels as the Reeve moved around, but she was suddenly too weary to see what he was doing. He had a substantial presence that relegated demons to the realm of stories, despite the throbbing in her shoulder. She smiled to herself and started to drift off to sleep when a flash of memory caused her to sit up and open her eyes.

“The knife was in the room when I entered this evening.”

Kerim had been balancing the broken pieces of door against the wall. At her speech, he paused and looked up. “What knife?”

“The one the demon used. It was lying on the mantel next to the silver and porcelain dog. I noticed the ornaments on the mantel were altered from this morning, but I didn't realize the dagger was new.”

Kerim pushed his way back into her room. He came back shaking his head. “There's no knife there now. What did it look like?”

Shamera closed her eyes, trying to visualize it clearly. “It was ornate, like the swords on display in the hall—not inconsistent with its use as an ornament. The hilt was wooden. There was a dark stone set in one end. Ruby . . . no, sapphire. A dark blue sapphire as big around as my thumb.”

“With etching on the blade?”

“You know the knife?” she asked, startled. “Who does it belong to?”

“My half-brother,” he answered with a tired sigh. “I don't think that your attacker was a demon.”

Sham felt her eyebrow rise at his acceptance of his brother's guilt. “It wasn't Lord Ven,” she snapped before she thought.

Kerim turned to her. “Oh?”

“Look—” she said finally, rubbing her hands briskly on her cheeks in an effort to wake up, “—whatever it was that came into my room did it without opening the door. The hinges on the door creak and I would have heard it if someone opened them.”

“There is a ‘secret' passage into that room, similar to the passage in this one.”

Sham shook her head, “I was next to the fireplace when it came in. All of the doors were closed.”

“You think that something used
magic
to enter your room.”

She hadn't realized just how easy it was to make such a small word sound like something obscene. “Yes, I do. There is no way that the thing that attacked me was your brother.”

The Reeve closed his eyes briefly. “It's too late at night for this.”

Shamera yawned and started to stretch before she remembered the skimpy silk shift that she was wearing and cursed her pale skin as it heated, though she hadn't seen any sign that Kerim had noticed her state of undress. “I'm going to sleep. Do you need any help getting back to bed?”

“I can manage,” he replied. “I think that we ought to keep tonight's attack quiet. I don't want to spread panic any faster than it is already propagating.”

Shamera nodded and started back to her room, giving the disabled door a wry glance as she passed it. As much as she hated to admit it, she was glad to give up her privacy in return for the security of Kerim's presence. Crippled or not, the man was a warrior.

“Good night, Shamera,” said the Reeve behind her.

“What's left of it,” she replied, trudging on to her bed.

 

S
HAMERA WOKE THE
next morning to the sound of A gentle tapping on the door.

“A moment,” she called as she threw the covers back and sat up.

If she'd been in any doubt of the events of the night, the soreness of her various wounds would have eliminated it. A moment of thought had her cloaking her wounds with illusion. Dickon's niece might very well be trustworthy, but if Kerim wanted to keep the attack quiet, the fewer people who knew about her bruises the better. She glanced in the little mirror to make certain that she'd gotten all of the blood washed off last night. Only when she was satisfied that she looked no worse than usual did she bid the maid to enter.

When Jenli came in, she was not alone. Three husky footmen carried a trunk and two baskets into the room, keeping their eyes carefully averted as they set their burdens near the door and left. The last one was blushing furiously.

It wasn't her state of undress that had done that, for the boys had not so much as glanced at the bed. Sham frowned thoughtfully and glanced at the fireplace implements scattered around the rugs that, like the floor, were covered with bits of porcelain and splinters of wood. A tapestry had been rehung over the opening to the Reeve's chambers. While it provided privacy, it didn't hide the fact that there was no door there anymore.

This little investigation was really going to have an interesting effect on the Reeve's reputation, thought Sham with amusement.

“Delivery from your dressmaker, lady,” said Jenli, indicating the luggage. A smile fought to make itself seen, as the maid took in the damage done to the room with wide eyes.

“Good,” said Sham assessing the new arrivals thoughtfully. “I told Kerim I didn't have a wardrobe suitable for court and he generously provided the means to acquire one.” She didn't want Jenli questioning why her wardrobe consisted only of new items.

She chose a dark green velvet dress heavily encrusted with glass gems and pearls. It was an old dress from several
decades past that she had glimpsed hanging in the dressmaker's storage area waiting to be stripped of the reusable finery.

The velvet had been worn threadbare where the sleeves and side of the dress had rubbed together; she'd directed the fabric removed and the edges finished in gold braid. The dress left her sides bare from underarm to halfway down her hip, relying only on the weight of the fabric to keep from revealing more than was acceptable. The skirt was artfully sliced in a similar manner.

She ducked cautiously under the tapestry and into Kerim's chamber, more worried about how much the dress revealed as she bent down than she was about who would be there. She made it through without displaying anything untoward and smiled at Dickon who waited alone in the room with a covered warming plate containing her breakfast.

“Good morning, Lady Shamera,” said the servant, with no sign that he had sewn her shoulder for her the night before. “The Reeve instructed me to tell you he will be meeting with various claimants on his time today, and regrets he will be unable to entertain you. He thought you might be interested in visiting with the courtiers, and he will join you for your evening meal.”

“Good morning, Dickon. Thank you.”

After Dickon left, Sham ate then ventured into the wandering halls alone. Her sense of direction served her in good stead, and she had no difficulty finding the public room on her own. These Eastern nobles were an idle lot if all they did from dawn to dusk was practice at court intrigue. With a mental shrug, Sham fixed a bright smile on her face and ventured into the room.

Lord Ven, Kerim's brother was the first to approach her, bowing low and kissing her fingers. “Ah Lady, you put the stars to shame.”

Shamera fixed a puzzled expression on her face and shook her head. “I didn't mean to. I like stars.”

He paused briefly before straightening. “I meant only than your beauty is brighter than the stars.”

“Oh,” she said, then smiled in comprehension. “You like my dress. Isn't it beautiful? And it only cost ten gold pieces. Kerim didn't mind. He likes my dresses.”

Lord Ven was looking slightly distressed. Sham supposed it was the public mention of the cost of her dress.

“Did you eat something that disagrees with you?” asked Sham, thoroughly enjoying herself. “I find that wintergreen oil makes me feel better if I eat something that makes me sick.”

Lord Ven was saved from further babble by the advent of a young man whose blond coloring proclaimed him a Southwood native. He was, Sham estimated, a good decade younger than she.

“Ah, fair lady, do me the honor of walking with me. My Lord Halvok asked me to entertain you, since he has been forced to rob you of the Reeve's company this day.”

Sham treated him to a bright smile. “Of course. Did I meet you yesterday?”

The young man shook his head. “No. I am Siven, Lord Halvok's fosterling, Lord Chanford's youngest son.”

Sham let the boy led her away, noticing that Lord Ven left the room unobtrusively behind her. She set her arm through Siven's, chatting with him about inconsequential things.

He left her speaking with Lady Sky on the nature of fashion, but when the pregnant lady excused herself to retire to her rooms, a second fosterling attached himself to Sham. Lord Halvok and his cronies had apparently decided to keep her out of trouble when she wasn't under the eye of the Reeve. Only good could come of having a Southwood lady as the Reeve's mistress.

 

T
HERE WAS A
note waiting for Sham in her rooms when she returned to them before supper. It was sealed with wax to prevent any of the servants who happened to be able to read from peeking. She smiled with satisfaction as she read the information the Whisper gave her on the nobles of the Court. Tonight she would visit three or four dwellings and see what she could discover.

S
ham smothered a yawn, and glanced around at the group of men who surrounded her. Severalof Lord Halvok's fledglings mingled with the older crowd. Kerim was right—the evening gatherings were more crowded than the daily press.

He had intended to come with her to her first night event, but had felt too ill. Without his formidable presence the men gathered around her like locusts on a wheat field, which she found both annoying and amusing. True to the character she portrayed, Sham flirted with them gently, but made it clear she was faithful to the Reeve.

She was beginning to think that attending court was less than useless. The Whisper had more detailed knowledge of the less public lives of the courtiers than the court gossip did. So far though, she had found out nothing about the demon.

This night the entertainment was a minstrel of indifferent skill—at music. From the heated glances he exchanged with several of the ladies of the court, Sham assumed that his skills in other areas were more than adequate.

She yawned again and scratched her thigh discreetly. The wounds the demon had given her were at that stage in healing where they itched like wet wool. She gave serious consideration to retiring to her rooms early.

She opened her mouth to make her excuses to her current escort, when she saw Lady Sky sitting alone, with a pair of Eastern women tittering nearby. One of the things that Sham had discovered during her tours of court was that although the Southwood lords were tolerated by the Eastern lords, the Eastern women had no such tolerance for the Southwood ladies—who numbered two: Shamera and Sky.

They stayed away from Shamera, who was protected by Kerim's presence or Halvok's fledglings, but Sky was fair game as long as Lady Tirra wasn't in the room. That the Eastern men didn't share their ladies' abhorrence for Lady Sky made things worse.

Shaking her head silently at herself, Sham began making her way through the throng to Lady Sky. The Shark swore her weakness for defenseless waifs was going to be the death of her.

Sky looked up, startled, as Shamera sat next to her—or perhaps it was her purple and yellow dress; it was certainly startling enough. Halvok's appointed guardian took one of Sky's hands and kissed it lightly before moving smoothly into the background, ensuring that the pair of Eastern ladies would have to find other prey.

“So tell me,” Shamera said, settling her skirts around her, “how a Southwoods lady managed to snare an Eastern warrior.”

Sky looked at her cautiously, but she must have taken heart from Sham's artless stare. “I met him at Fahill's pilgrimage gate.”

Sham widened her eyes, “How romantic! Ervan bought me from my father. I assure you it wasn't romantic at all. I made him work hard to make it up to me—that's how he died.” Ervan, an elderly, bitter man had died in his bed by all reports. Kerim had assured her that he was the only one at court who'd ever met him.

Sky couldn't help a sputter of laughter. “I'm not certain
my situation was any more romantic.” She rested her hands gently on her swollen belly. When she looked back at Sham her eyes were haunted. “My father had held onto our manor by swearing fealty to an Easterner, but when the plague claimed him our overlord claimed the manor for his second son. My brother gathered us together and left for the court here at Landsend, where he'd heard the Reeve was receiving homeless nobles. Bandits overtook us just outside of Fahill. I was washing in the stream when I heard them. I was not armed, so I had to wait until they left before leaving my hiding place. The raiders killed everyone but me.”

Shamera leaned forward and took Sky's hand. “I am sorry.”

Sky shook her head, forcing the old pain away. “No. It was a long time ago, and some good came of it. I continued toward Landsend, for lack of any better choice and came upon Fahill close to nightfall. Fahill himself answered my knock.” She smiled then, lost in the moment. “Fahill was bigger than life. He was as red-headed as any trader child and larger than Kerim. When I had him, it seemed that nothing could go wrong.”

Sham remembered the security the Reeve had given her the night she'd been attacked by the demon and nodded. “At least you have his child.”

Encouraged by Sham's sympathy, Sky continued. “I lost our first child two months before Fahill died. This one is an unexpected miracle.”

She looked up and quit talking as Lady Tirra came upon them.

“Lady Sky,” exclaimed Tirra, ignoring Shamera. “I've been looking for you; stand up, child.”

Kerim's mother pulled Sky to her feet and into an open space on the floor. Clapping her hands loudly she caught the attention of the minstrel who stopped playing. She raised a graceful hand and gradually the attention of everyone present was drawn to her small figure.

“Lords and Ladies, I beg your indulgence for a moment.” Her voice, low and rich as it was, carried clearly
to the farthest corners of the room. At her side, Sky looked like a rabbit caught in a hunter's snare. “You have all been aware of the problems we've had settling Fahill's estate. The dilemma has been a conflict between Southwood law and Cybellian custom. By Southwood law the lands should go to Lady Sky; by custom they should go to Lord Johar of Fahill. Most of his objection was that the lands, which were in Eastern hands, would be given to a Southwood's lady. We responded by proposing a marriage between my son, Lord Ven, and Lady Sky. He has most graciously accepted.”

Sham wondered if Lady Tirra was deliberately antagonizing the Southwood lords or if she was blind to the damage she was doing to the Reeve's attempts to bind Easterner and Southwoodsmen together.

“The estates of Lord Fahill,” continued Lady Tirra triumphantly, “—long held in contention, have been settled. The estates of Fahill, Oran, and Tiber will be given into the hands of the late Lord Fahill's brother and convey such title to him—from this day forth Lord Johar will be Lord Fahill. The estates of Kerhill and Tourn, as well as the title of Lord Kerhill will be settled on my son, Lord Ven, upon his marriage to Lady Sky. I ask you all for your congratulations.”

Lady Sky was frozen where she stood; all trace of color had left her face. She obviously had been told none of this. To have such an announcement made in front of the court—for the first time Sham was thankful for her life in Purgatory. At least there were some choices she could make for herself.

Lady Tirra continued as the room quieted. “I am sorry that Lord Ven was not here to help receive the well-wishes of the Court. He had urgent business and left early this morning: I shall inform him of the good news as soon as he returns.”

Sky stayed for a few minutes before leaving the room, leaning tiredly on Lady Tirra. As soon as the pair of them left, the court exploded into wild speculation and venomous
whispers. Shamera drifted from group to group with her escort trailing politely behind.

“Lady Shamera, a word with you,” said Lord Ven's smooth tones from behind her.

Sham glanced around. The room was still quite full, and she was able to catch the eyes of several men with whom she'd become sociable. Only after they began to approach her did she turn to Lord Ven. He'd tried to corner her several times, mostly, she thought, to see if he could find a way to spoil Kerim's enjoyment of her. Poor Lady Sky. Sham wondered if he'd been told of his betrothal—surely there was some fun to be had here.

She looked back at the handsome noble and frowned, tapping her chin in a puzzled fashion before she exclaimed, “Kerim's brother!” She paused again, before saying, “Lord . . . Van? I thought you were gone.”

There were a few smothered laughs from the group forming around them. Kerim's brother was not well liked among any but the most radical groups of the court. It was not lost on these men that the pushier Lord Ven became, the less impression he seemed to make on her.

His handsome face reddened slightly, but he said easily enough, “Lord Ven, Kerim's legitimate half-brother. I just returned.”

Shamera nodded wisely; his sly reminder of Kerim's bastard origins had removed her few remaining scruples about humiliating the Reeve's brother. “Now, I remember. What can I do for you? Does Kerim want me? He said he was going to rest this evening and I should amuse myself, but if he wants me now I'll be happy to leave.”

There was another round of smothered amusement.

“No, Lady,” answered Lord Ven, managing, with an effort, to keep his voice soft. “I haven't spoken with Kerim since I left this morning. I just wanted to speak with you in private.”

“Oh,” Sham said, in obvious disappointment. “I suppose that as long as you are certain that Kerim doesn't need me, I can talk to you. What did you want?”

Before he got a chance to speak again there was a
tentative touch on her shoulder. Sham turned to see Kerim's valet standing behind her.

“Dickon!” she exclaimed, then she said to the gathering in general, “Dickon is Kerim's servant.”

Dickon cleared his throat, but otherwise maintained his usual equanimity as he nodded to the cheerful greetings.

Sham regained his attention by tapping Dickon's arm. “Is Kerim awake yet?”

Dickon, looking uncomfortable with all the attention, said, “Yes, Lady. Lady Tirra—”

“His mother,” interrupted Sham, as if she were announcing a new discovery to a group of the uninitiated.

“Yes, Lady,” said Dickon patiently. “His mother has discovered a new healer who has a reputation of working miracles. He is with him now.”

Sham considered that briefly. It was obvious that Dickon had come to her to save the Reeve from a charlatan. Naturally the servant thought she would care—she was, after all, his mistress. Although she'd dropped her false mannerisms in front of Dickon since the night of the demon attack, he didn't know everything—or perhaps he did. The strength of the anger she felt frightened her.

When Sham spoke, she carefully displayed nothing more than the possessiveness of a mistress whose position was threatened. “His
mother's
healer? How long has this man been with Kerim?”

Dickon shuffled his feet and said, “Since dinner.”

Sham smiled blindingly. “Gentlemen, I pray that you will excuse me. Lord Van . . . er, Ven, we shall have to have our talk at another time. Dickon—”

“—Lord Kerim's servant,” supplied Halvok's fosterling, Siven, with amusement.

Shamera nodded and continued with dramatic flare, “—has come to get me. Lord Kerim has need of me, and I must go.”

With a quick curtsey, she followed Dickon out the door. As soon as they were alone in the maze of hallways, she dropped her facade and broke into a less than decorous trot.

“How bad is he?” she asked grimly.

“Bad enough. I didn't know what was happening until I brought in some of his lordship's clothing from the mending rooms. It seems that one of her ladyship's cronies discovered this
miracle worker
who has the reputation of making the lame walk. Lady Tirra has found several such; most of them are harmless, but this one . . .”

“I'm a miracle worker too,” said Sham direly. “Watch me make the healer disappear. Is her Ladyship there?”

“Kerim's mother?” asked Dickon in an innocent tone.

Sham snickered, despite the urgency that kept her pace only nominally under an outright sprint. “Liked that one did you? Yes, the Reeve's mother.”

He shook his head. “And be in the same room with a partially clad man? Never.”

“How did someone like Lady Tirra conceive an illegitimate son?” questioned Shamera with a touch of wonder.

Dickon shook his head. “Things happen in life that are so strange not even the most daring bard would relate them for fear of being ridiculed.”

Sham glanced at the servant's face.

“Dickon!” she exclaimed in surprise, “you
can
smile!”

 

I
N TRUE
L
ADY
Shamera fashion, she threw Kerim's door open so hard it almost hit the wall. She rushed to the wooden table where Kerim lay face down. He was oblivious to her entrance, as his face was buried in his arms—but the dirty little man standing beside him certainly was not.

His mouth dropped open unattractively, revealing several blackened teeth. He began a protest of her entrance, but he widened it into a smile as he took in the sensual being that was the Reeve's mistress.

“Kerim!” she exclaimed, touching of the Reeve's bare shoulders gently. “Dickon said that you couldn't be bothered, but I
knew
that you wouldn't mind if I told you that Lady Sky had the most
interesting
little hat. . .” Kerim turned his face toward her and Sham was enraged at his stoic expression, though she was careful not to show it.

She looked at the “healer” and frowned. “You need to
leave now. I
have
to talk to Kerim, and I don't like strangers listening to my private conversations.”

The man drew himself up in outrage that outweighed his lust. “Do you know who you are talking to?”

“No,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips. “I don't care, just as long as you leave now.”

“Her Ladyship . . .” began the man.

“Dickon,” called Sham, knowing that he was waiting anxiously in the hall to assess the damage done.

The door opened and the bland-faced servant entered, showing no sign of his recent dash through the Castle.

“Take him away,” Sham ordered airily. “You may come back and dispose of his belongings later.”

“Yes, Lady,” agreed the servant with remarkable composure as he seized the protesting man in a grip that spoke of the soldier he had been. “I shall return directly.”

When he left, Sham hurried over to shut the door behind him.

“Dirty, filthy, little leper,” she muttered in an evil voice, though she was intimidated enough by her surroundings not to use stronger language.