When Demons Walk (15 page)

Sham drew the thick covering tighter, as if that would warm her feet or ward away demons. “Lord Kerim wants you to collect Talbot from his lodgings and come with him to the Reeve's private chambers.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Dickon, losing some of his professional demeanor.

She shook her head, “Not at the moment. But . . . you might bring a bedrobe for Kerim.”

Dickon looked at her face closely a moment, before nodding and closing the door, presumably to dress.

 

W
HEN
S
HAM ENTERED
the Reeve's chambers again, Kerim had managed to pull himself into a chair. Balancing
his chin on his fists, he looked up when she came in.

“Go get dressed,” he said waving a hand toward the covered doorway to her room. “I expect this is going to be a long night and you might as well be warm.”

Sham ducked under the tapestry again and opened her trunk. She saw no need to wear a dress, so she pulled out her second-best working clothes and put them on. She pulled a brush through her hair and washed her hands.

Just before she splashed water on her face, she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed. She must have run her hand across her cheek after stabbing the golem—a swipe of blood as wide as her palm covered her from ear to chin. She was impressed anew by the mildness of Dickon's reaction when she had knocked at his door.

Clean and dressed, Sham reentered Kerim's room carrying his tick to find Kerim asleep. She set the bedding on the floor and quietly found another chair near the wardrobes. She slid her rump to the edge of the seat, propped her feet on a convenient bit of furniture, and settled into a comfortable doze.

A soft knock on the door aroused her, but before she could get up, Kerim called out, “Enter!”

Dickon came in, followed by an anxious-looking Talbot. They stopped just inside the door and took in the chaos that neither Kerim nor Sham had taken the time to clean up. Chairs, tables, and broken glass lay scattered across the floor. Talbot knelt by a dark stain and ran a finger through it.

“Blood,” he commented thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers on his pant leg.

“Pull up some chairs, both of you,” ordered Kerim shortly. “Dickon, I would look upon it as a favor if you would clean my sword and set it back in its sheath. I'd clean it myself, but I doubt that I'd do a good job at this point.”

“Of course, Lord,” replied Dickon.

He handed Kerim a neatly folded bedrobe before picking up the sword and wiping it down with a square of cloth he removed from a drawer. Talbot pulled a pair of chairs near
Kerim's and sat in one, while Kerim struggled into Dickon's robe.

“I hate to admit it, Talbot,” began Kerim heavily, once everyone was seated, “but you were right; we needed a mage.”

Dickon stopped polishing the sword and gave the Reeve an appalled look before turning his accusing gaze to Sham. She grinned at him and motioned to herself to indicate that she was the mage in question.

Kerim turned to his valet. “Dickon, have you noticed any change in my brother's behavior in the last few days?”

“No, sir,” came the immediate reply.

Kerim nodded, and rubbed wearily at his temples. “I thought not, but couldn't be sure. I haven't been as attentive since I found myself confined to that chair.”

Talbot and Dickon followed Kerim's gaze to the fireplace where the metal remains of his wheeled chair sat forlornly in the middle of the flames.

Kerim cleared his throat, “Yes, well, that doesn't seem to be a problem at the moment, does it? Let me start from the beginning so that Dickon knows as much as everyone else. You all know that I've been concerned with the random murders that have taken place over the past months. Once the killer began to concentrate on the courtiers, it became obvious that he was comfortable in the court—otherwise someone would have noticed him wandering through the halls.”

“I thought your selkie stable lad had more to do with that determination than the killer's habits,” commented Sham.

Kerim smiled tiredly. “Yes, I suppose it was good we listened to him, don't you? Talbot suggested it might be beneficial if we could search the nobles' houses as well as the apartments in the Castle itself. Although I could have done so in an official manner, it would have caused needless panic and resentment. Talbot suggested that we bring in a thief. I agreed, and he went to the Whisper of the Street to find a skillful thief who could be trusted to do no more than look.”

Sham stood and bowed solemnly.

The Reeve smiled tiredly and continued. “According to the Whisper, Shamera had a personal grudge against the killer. One of the victims was a close friend and she was looking for him on her own. We decided to give her the role of my mistress to allow her easy access to me as well as the court. Both Shamera and Talbot were of the opinion the killer was a demon. Not the things we fought in the Swamp, Dickon—but a magical creature.”

Dickon snorted and shook his head sadly.

Kerim smiled, “That was my thought as well. The second night we were here she was attacked by the killer, but she didn't get a good look at him.”

“The cuts I sewed up were caused by a knife or a sword; there was nothing magical about them,” commented Dickon briefly.

Sham lowered her voice dramatically. “Demons are wholly evil, highly intelligent, and better magic users than most wizards. They do not age. They hunt humans for sustenance and pleasure, though they have been known to kill other animals as well. They come from another world, akin to the one the gods inhabit, and can come here only if summoned by a mage—and the pox-eaten thing attacked me with a knife.”

“Thank you,” said Kerim with a touch of sarcasm. “I'm sure you're trying to be helpful, but Dickon might find this more palatable if you keep the dramatics to a minimum.”

Sham tried to look repentant.

“At the time of the first attack,” continued the Reeve, “I also thought it was a human that attacked Shamera. I saw only knife wounds and surmised that the killer had chosen his victim—it fit the pattern of one killing every eight or nine days.”

“Tonight, however, Shamera found proof that convinced me that she and Talbot were right.” Kerim paused, but other than that, there was no emotion in his voice as he continued. “She found the body of my brother, Lord Ven. I examined him myself, and he has clearly been dead for several days.”

“But that's impossible,” Dickon broke in. “I saw him this evening when I retrieved Lady Shamera.”

“Nonetheless,” replied Kerim, “his body is in the meeting room next to Shamera's room. Dickon, you and Talbot have both seen enough battle to know how long a body has been dead; after we are through here you are welcome to examine it yourselves.”

He drew in a breath. “After I saw Ven, I thought that Sham and Talbot might be closer to the truth than I thought. When the man who wore my brother's face attacked later this evening, I was convinced. Sham thinks the thing that attacked us is a simulacrum—a creature animated by the demon that can assume the identity of its victims. Between us, Sham and I managed to drive it off.

“Regardless of the nature of the killer, we are left with several problems. The first of these is my brother's body. We are not the only ones who have recently spoken to Lord Ven. If we turn his body over to the priests as he is, they will certainly discover the discrepancy between the time of his death and his last appearance. Last year's riots in Purgatory will be a faint echo of the witch-slaying that will take place if word gets out that there is a killer loose who can look like anyone.”

“Can the priests be reasoned with or bribed to keep the secret?” asked Sham.

Kerim shook his head, but it was Talbot that explained. “Our little priest, Brother Fykall, could keep it a secret if it were anyone but the Reeve's brother who slipped his rope . . . er died. As it is the High Priest himself will want to prepare the body, and he has bilge to bail with Lord Kerim. It would please him immensely to get the Prophet to remove Lord Kerim from office and replace him with someone more devoted to Altis. A large riot might just put wind in his sails.”

Kerim leaned forward in his chair. “We need some way to conceal how long Ven has been dead.”

“We could stage a fire,” offered Dickon.

Kerim shook his head. “Where? My brother seldom went into the city and I doubt that there is a place inside
the castle that can burn hot enough to destroy his body without hurting someone else.”

“We could leave him for a few days,” offered Talbot.

“No,” said Shamera. “In this climate, the body will start to rot soon. It will still be too obvious how long Lord Ven has been dead.”

“But it might work, if no one remembers exactly when the last time they saw Lord Ven was,” said Kerim with obvious reluctance at the thought of leaving his brother's body untended for so long.

“No,” said Dickon, but he was unable to come up with more of an objection. Sham knew that he was more concerned with Kerim than with the state of Lord Ven's body.

“I won't be able to sleep in a room next to a dead man's rotting body,” lied Sham firmly.

Dickon nodded approvingly at such ladylike sentiments.

Kerim, for his part, shot her an impatient look. “You were willing enough to leave Ven there when we thought that we could use the knowledge of his death to trap the demon.”

Sham dismissed that with an airy gesture. “That was different,” she said.

“What about magic?” said Talbot. “Is there some way that you can make Lord Ven's body stiffen with rigor mortis again?”

Sham tilted her head in consideration. “Yes, and mask the smell of the blood as well. I'll need an hour of rest first.”

Dickon looked at her. “Do you really have some way of changing the appearance of the body?”

Sham grinned cheerfully at him and responded as she usually did to someone who so obviously didn't believe in magic, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I wouldn't expect a Cybellian barbarian to understand.”

“Parlor tricks,” commented Dickon in thoughtful tones.

Sometime during the past hour, Dickon had lost most of the mannerisms of a servant. Sham looked at him narrowly. Maybe she wasn't the only one here who was good at playing roles.

After a moment, Dickon shrugged. “If it works, then it doesn't matter if it's chicanery or not. But—” he added with honest offense, “—if you ever call me a Cybellian again, girl, I'll wash your mouth out with soap. I am Jarnese—” He named another Eastern country. “Cybellians are uncultured, bark-eating barbarians.”

Sham lowered her head in submission, saying in a sweet voice, “If you call me ‘girl' again, I'll turn you into a minnow.”

“Children!” said Kerim sharply, as Sham and Dickon exchanged mutually satisfied looks. The hint of amusement in his tone faded as he continued to speak. “Back to the issue at hand. Shamera, go rest. We'll wake you in an hour to see about my brother's body. I'll fill in the details of what we know, for Dickon and Talbot.”

Sham nodded and came to her feet. As she started to duck under the tapestry, Kerim's voice followed her, “I thought that it bothered you to sleep in a room next to my brother's body.”

She gave him a sly look and continued into her room.

A
lone in the putrid-smelling room, Sham surveyed Lord Ven's body. Filthy work this and nothing she relished, but it had to be done. She'd told Kerim she worked best alone, but the truth was she feared his grief would distract her. He tried to hide it, but in the short time that she'd known him, she had learned how to read deeper than his public presentation. She rubbed her eyes and put such thoughts aside.

The blood first
, she decided after surveying the task before her.

She could clean up the old stuff, but couldn't create new blood to replace it without exhausting her magic well before she'd finished. Creating matter was extremely inefficient, and true alchemy, changing one kind of material into another, was almost as fatiguing. Sham had briefly considered visiting the kitchens and bringing in the blood of a slaughtered pig or some such, but the risk of someone noticing her was too great.

She knelt at the edge of the dark stain, ignoring the faint queasiness resulting from the rancid smell. She pulled her
dagger from her arm sheath, which she had donned with the rest of her thieving garb, and opened a shallow cut on her thumb. Three drops of fresh blood joined the old.

Sympathetic magic was one of the easiest kinds of spells to work: like called to like. Using blood, though, was very close to black magic. There were many mages who would call it that even if the blood she used was her own. Even Sham felt vaguely unclean doing it—but didn't allow that to hinder her.

Bending near the floor, she blew gently on the fresh blood, then murmured a spell. Lord Ven's blood began to change, slowly, to the pattern lent by hers. Sweat gathered irritatingly on Sham's forehead as she fought to work the magic and watch the results at the same time. It was important that the blood not appear too fresh.

She stopped her spell while the edges of the largest pool were still dry. She cooled the blood to match the temperature of the room and surveyed the results. The smell of new blood added to the unpleasant mix of aromas already in the room. Rising somewhat unsteadily, Sham walked around the newly wet pool until she could view Lord Ven's body.

She did not risk stepping in the mess; what she had done to the blood destroyed the traces where she, Kerim, and later Talbot and Dickon, had disturbed it. It would be disturbed again, but the mistress of the Reeve would have no business in the room with a corpse, and she wanted no questions about a woman's footprint.

What she needed to do to Lord Ven's body could be done from a distance, and she had no real desire to touch the corpse anyway. It was easier than the blood, since she only had to emulate the stiffness of joints rather than duplicate it.

When she was finished with her spell, she stepped away from the scene. Wiping her hands on her clean shirt as if they were stained—though she'd touched nothing with them—she turned and picked her way across the floor to the panel that opened into the passages and left the room.

 

T
HE THREE MEN
looked up when she entered the Reeve's chambers.

“It is done,” she said, her voice sounding as raw to her ears as she felt, “but if his laying out takes too long, someone could discover that I've been meddling: Lord Ven's rigor will not loosen for a week or more.”

Kerim nodded. “I'll take care of it.”

Talbot called in several men to travel to the Temple of Altis for priests to attend to Lord Ven. Until they arrived, Talbot guarded the hall door of Ven's final resting place while Dickon stood watch at the panel.

Sham retreated to her room to change, carefully locking the trunk after she put her thieving clothes away. After an extensive search of the closet she found a dress she could don without help.

In her guise of the Reeve's mistress, she rejoined Kerim in his room where they waited for the priests without speaking. Sham didn't know what caused Kerim's muteness, but she kept quiet because she was too tired to do otherwise. It would be a long day before the fatigue of her magic use would leave her.

Dickon entered the room and nodded at Kerim.

“Tell the priests to step in here a moment before carrying out their duties.” Kerim's normal baritone had deepened to a bass rasp, either from exhaustion or from sorrow.

Dickon nodded, returning with five men in the brown robes of the lesser minions of Altis. Four of the robes were belted with blue ties and the fifth wore yellow.

Kerim addressed the man in yellow. “Blessings upon you, brothers.”

“Upon you also, Lord Kerim,” responded the yellow-belted one.

“The dead man is my brother.”

“So we were informed by Master Talbot.”

Kerim nodded impatiently. “My brother's affianced wife is heavy with child, and already bears the death of her first husband this past year. I would spare her further grief, and Ven's body is not fit for viewing in any case. It is my command that his body be shrouded immediately and a
funeral pyre laid and ready for burning in the Castle courtyard at sunset.”

“It shall be done, Lord Kerim,” agreed the solemn-faced priest.

Kerim watched as they left the room. Sham turned her eyes away from the expression on his face. When she looked back he was sending Dickon to find some of the court pages to deliver messages.

He busied himself writing short notes at his desk. When Dickon returned with a small herd of young boys who looked as if they had been roused out of their sleep without a chance to do more than scramble into their clothes, the Reeve sent them to Lord Ven's closest friends, to Lady Sky, and to his mother.

When the last messenger left, Dickon frowned at Kerim. “Shouldn't you break the news to Lady Tirra yourself?”

Kerim shrugged. “Lord Ven is my brother, but he is also the latest in a number of bodies who are appearing among the courtiers. Sham may have been able to disguise the time of his death, but the mere fact of it will increase the city's unrest. I need to meet with the Advisory Council immediately to forestall as many of the adverse effects as possible.”

Sham, watching forgotten from a seat in the far corner of the room, thought the Reeve was using the meeting as an excuse to avoid taking the news of his brother's death to Lady Tirra. Not that she blamed him; she wouldn't want to be the one to tell the Lady that her favorite son was dead either.

“Dickon, I need you to send messengers with the news that the Council has been called in the Meeting Room to the counselors who live outside the Castle walls. When you are finished, go to the rooms of those who live here and tell them the same.”

“Yes, sir.” Dickon slipped back out.

“Do you want me to go?” asked Sham.

Kerim shrugged tiredly. “It doesn't matter. If you stay, you'll reinforce your status. Be warned, it might make you a target for bribery or threats if the court believes you are
close enough to me to influence my decisions.”

Sham smiled. “If you think that I haven't been receiving bribes, you are sadly mistaken. Lord Halvok's fledglings are skilled at interfering with the courtier's attempts to corner me, but your nobles have become quite devious. Gifts and notes appear in my laundry, under my pillow, and on the food trays. I've gotten several very fine pieces of jewelry that way; they usually come with very subtle notes. My favorite was one implying that certain grateful parties would gift me generously if I would just slip an innocent-looking powder in your drink.”

“Poison?” questioned Kerim, though he didn't seem alarmed.

Sham grinned. “No. Someone has access to a real wizard; it was a love-philter.”

“A
what
?”

Sham laughed at his outrage—outrage that had been absent when he thought it was poison. “Don't worry. Love-philters are very temporary and are simple to resist—not that the person who sent it would necessarily know that. To be safe, if you find yourself suddenly lusting after someone, just wait a few days to approach the lady. If it persists, it isn't magic.”

Kerim raised his eyebrows. “What did you do with the powder?”

Sham looked at him innocently and smiled.

“Shamera.”

“Calm yourself,” she advised. “I threw it in the fire, though I was tempted to find the biggest, nastiest man in your personal guards and give it to him. I thought finding out who you were supposed to fall in lust with could be useful, but Talbot wasn't certain you would approve.”

Kerim brought one hand up to his face, and bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with weary laughter. “You would have, wouldn't you. I can just see it. Karson, all fifteen stone of him, chasing after some noble's daughter.”

“Is Karson the one missing his front teeth?”

“That's he.”

“Nah,” Sham said, “I wouldn't have picked him: he's
married. I talked to Talbot about the first few treasures that I found in my water glass.” She displayed the diamond solitaires in her ears. “He said to keep them, and eventually they'd give up. He said that's what Dickon did, and Dickon's long since ceased to receive gifts from anonymous sources.”

Kerim raised an eyebrow and asked again, “Have you had any threats?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I suspect it will come in due time.” When he looked worried, she laughed. “My lord Reeve, I have lived half my life in Purgatory. I assure you it is much more dangerous than court.” After a moment's thought she added, “Even with a demon hunting here.”

 

W
HEN
D
ICKON RETURNED
, he began sorting through Kerim's wardrobe for clothing. When he brought them to the Reeve, Sham stopped him and examined each garment closely. When she was finished, she tossed the tunic into the fire.

“My lord,” protested Dickon.

Kerim shook his head. “Find another tunic.”

Dickon frowned, but he found a second tunic and presented it to Shamera with a bow. When she handed it back to him, he mutely pointed to the covered doorway. With a faint smile, Sham left while Dickon saw to the Reeve's dressing.

 

B
ECAUSE THE WHEELED
chair was in the fireplace, Talbot and Dickon carried Kerim to the meeting room next to his chambers. It was undignified, but only Sham was there to see. By the time the council members began to filter in, Kerim was settled in a high-back chair facing the door with Sham standing behind him.

Except for Halvok, the lone Southwoodsman counselor, the Advisory Council ignored Sham's presence. It might have been because the rather plain cotton gown she wore was remarkable only for being ordinary. More probably the death of the Reeve's brother was of more moment than his
unorthodox mistress. Lord Halvok smiled when he saw her.

Kerim waited until all the counselors were seated before speaking. Tired and grieving, he was very much the Leopard.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “we have a problem. As you have already been informed, my brother's body was discovered this evening. He was killed in much the same manner as Lord Abet and the other nobles these past months. As his body is in no fit state for viewing, I have ordered him shrouded, and set the pyre for sunset. I need your suggestions, my lords, as how to best stem the fear yet another such death will cause. To make sure you are all thoroughly aware of the entirety of the matter, Master Talbot will tell you what we know.”

Sham approved the smooth delivery that directed the inquiry away from the unseemly need for haste.

The Reeve nodded at Talbot who stood up and gave a brief summary of who had been killed by similar means and a partially fictitious account of what was being done to catch the murderer. By the time that a carefully worded eulogy and public announcement were drafted, to be delivered by the High Priest to the court at large, the skylights overhead were beginning to lighten.

After the others had left, Talbot and Dickon carried the Reeve to Dickon's room for a few hours of sleep. Sham wouldn't let him occupy his own room until she had a chance to search it more carefully.

She retreated to her bed and dreamed fitfully of dead bodies and blood before she lapsed into a deeper slumber that lasted until just before dinner. Her sleeping schedule had never been particularly regular, and she woke up refreshed when Jenli knocked at the door. She hastily covered up the new bruises and old wounds with an illusion before she called out an invitation.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Lady,” said the maid, “but the Reeve sent me to make sure that you are ready for the state dinner that precedes Lord Ven's pyre.”

Sham gave the woman a sharp glance. Exposure to Jenli's uncle had given her a healthy respect for the
intelligence that could be hidden under a bland facade. Jenli's large, brown, cow-like eyes blinked back at her and Sham turned back to her wardrobe, shaking her head.

She rummaged, ignoring Jenli's moans as she shoved dresses left and right, and pulled out another black gown. She hadn't chosen it for mourning, but it would work well for that as well.

As Jenli began working on the myriad tiny buttons that closed the narrow sleeve, her brows twisted in puzzlement. “Lady,” she said hesitantly.

“Yes?” Sham preened before the mirror.

“This is a dress that my grandmother would find overly modest, Lady.”

Sham smiled slyly and said, “I think it will contrast nicely with the more daring gowns that have become the style recently, don't you?”

 

S
HAM MIGHT HAVE
gotten a decent amount of sleep, but it required only a glance at the Reeve's face when he welcomed her to the state dining area to tell her that he'd managed far less.

He brought her hand to his mouth and greeted her with the solemnness required on such an occasion. Someone had finished the new wheeled chair, though they hadn't had enough time to stain it or cover the wheels with leather to provide traction—instead the metal had been crudely scored.

“Your timing is impeccable,” Kerim commented as she sat in the cushioned chair next to him. “You missed the vultures gathering for the bones.”