* * *
Glazier seemed to have things well in hand by the time we entered the great hall of Castle Portsmouth. His daughter Agnes, a tiny, simpering child-woman, was seated at the head of a large table, as befitted her new rank, surrounded on both sides by nobles and clergy, no doubt dispatched by the King to oversee her succession as Baroness. A sea of parchment washed the table before her, and she was industriously signing everything in sight. But it was Arnold Glazier, standing at Agnes’ right hand, who was reading the documents and showing the girl where to sign. No doubt remained in my mind as to who the new ruler of Portsmouth really was.
Everyone looked up as we came in. It would be impossible for Zora to make a subtle entrance; her bell-spangled clothing made a sound that echoed the length of the hall. Glazier appeared truly surprised to see her.
“You’ve come back?” he said.
“Of course I have,” Zora said. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Glazier raised his eyebrows at the woman. “I assumed you had seduced the coachman and fled with him. You had taken all your wealth . . . .”
“All my wealth?” Zora cried, striding across the hall toward the table. “You mean these?” she said, clutching at her necklaces. “They are nothing! They are trash!” She pulled one from her neck and threw it to the ground, snapping the cord and scattering gold bells and pearls the length of the hall. “How could you think I would leave when my greatest treasure lies here?” She turned to a mass of servants who stood huddled at one side of the hall. I noticed that a large number of them seemed to be elves.
“Evan!” she cried. “Where is Evan?”
A small boy, no more than six or seven, burst loose from a knot of elven servants and ran to Zora, who fell to her knees to embrace him.
“Here I am, Mamma!” he said. So, I thought, this is her “other consideration.”
A balding, middle-aged cleric, a priest of Saint Gabriel by his white robes, plucked nervously at Arnold Glazier’s sleeve. “Master Arnold,” he said, “who is this, ah, person?”
“I apologize for the intrusion, Father Reynard. That person,” Glazier said, not bothering to hide his distaste, “was the late Baron’s lover. He had agreed to send her away. You will find it in the marriage contract. The boy is hers. Doubtless she has come to claim he is Hubert’s heir.”
“Evan is Hubert’s son,” Zora said, dark eyes flashing, “but I know the laws of your people well, and I know he cannot be his heir. I am not here to try and claim Portsmouth for him. I am only here to protect him, and to seek justice for his father, whom I know was poisoned!”
The crowd began buzzing at this. A tall, gaunt priest, this one in the green robes of Saint Tannis the Healer, stepped forward.
“Please, please, everyone, be silent,” he said. “The last thing the Temple and Crown want to see is the spreading of vicious rumors. Mistress, I am certain you are deeply distressed at the sudden death of your, ahem, benefactor. However, I can assure you that his passing, though regrettable, was natural. I myself have examined his body and have determined that he died of a sudden seizure of the brain. Such deaths are not uncommon among men of his years and, pardon me, corpulence.”
“Holy brother,” I said, stepping forward at last, “I agree with you that the last thing Portsmouth needs is a flood of rumors. My name is Edward Red Mage, and I have come equipped to prove or disprove the woman Zora’s accusation with a simple test." I turned to Glazier, the real authority in the room. “Surely you will allow me to lay her suspicions at rest, for the sake of your daughter’s reputation and future rule of this city.”
“I should have known you would show up here,” said Glazier, looking me up and down. “Edward Red Mage, champion of the downtrodden, self-proclaimed savior of helpless elf women.”
Ignoring the contempt in Glazier’s voice, I answered, “Master Arnold, I proclaim myself savior of nothing. I simply want to see the truth known here. May I perform my tests? This worthy brother of Saint Tannis may observe me.”
“Be my guest,” said Glazier. “I have nothing to hide.”
The test for poison is simple enough. A curl shaved from a bit of unicorn’s horn is dropped in the matter to be tested, in this case the dregs and ends of the baron’s last meal, and spittle from the corpse itself. If the horn turns black, there is poison present. If it stays blue, there is none.
The horn stayed blue, even in the drippings of sauce from the dish of truffles and oysters, which had been carefully preserved by the servants (probably friends of Zora’s).
The priest of Tannis and I returned to the hall, where the household was still assembled, with our findings.
“We are pleased to report that the Baron was not poisoned,” said the priest. I wisely remained silent. “The wizard concurs with me. Hubert of Portsmouth died of natural causes.”
Zora, standing near the servants with Evan clutched protectively to her side, appeared shocked. Baroness Agnes smirked. Glazier looked at me in mild surprise.
“You are not going to insist upon your accusation, Master wizard?” he asked.
“I only insist upon the truth,” I said. “I found no traces of poison, either upon the Baron or in the remains of the wedding feast. Mistress Zora,” I said, turning to her, “please lay your suspicions to rest. Your patron was not murdered.”
For the first time that morning, I heard Agnes speak. “The presence of that woman is offensive,” she said in the voice of a little girl.
“My husband promised me she would leave the household,” she continued, standing up. She was scarcely taller. “Get rid of her.”
The servants stood frozen, looking at one another. Obviously Zora was popular with them.
“You heard the Baroness!” said Glazier. “Throw that whore out! And take back all that she has stolen!”
“Stolen?” cried Zora in righteous fury. “I have stolen nothing! All that I have Hubert gave me out of love. But if you must stoop to calling me a thief, then I will leave with nothing more than I came with—my flesh and blood.” With that she began throwing her jewels and clothes to the ground in a pile: her necklaces and bracelets, her gold-fringed cape and embroidered robe, her scarves and spangled gown.
“Stop right there!” Glazier commanded before she could pull off her last shift. “Let it not be said that I cast you out naked. Go as you are. And take your bastard with you.”
“I intend to take my son,” Zora said, clutching her wide-eyed child to herself with bare, tattooed arms. She turned to leave the hall.
“Master Arnold,” I asked, “I beg a favor of her Excellency. May I borrow her coach to return to Belcamp?”
“Certainly,” said Baroness Agnes, speaking for herself. “Take that woman with you if you like. I care not where she goes, as long as she is gone.”
On our way to the carriage, I lent Zora my blue cloak. “You have been most ill-used,” I said to her. “I would not have you take cold and die as well.”
Zora said nothing to me on the long ride back. She sat wrapped in my cloak, looking out at the passing landscape from behind the edge of the window curtain, lost in her own thoughts. Her son sat in her lap and peered out of the cloak at me with huge and wondering eyes. Finally I spoke.
“Mistress Zora, my landlady, Sadie Brewer, mistress of the Snake and Egg, will be happy to find a place for you.”
The courtesan looked at me in mild amusement. “As a tavern servant? Waiting tables and scrubbing pots? I, who shared the bed of a Baron and bore him his only son?” She shook her head. “You are kind to offer, I am sure, but please, leave me at the foot of the bridge. I still have friends at the South Gate, friends who owe me favors.”