The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series)

It’d been an impossibly long day for Mahrree and her children. The plan had been to work. Just work. Not think, not worry, just work.

  Except that Edge didn’t get the message. The message they got was, Rush over to the Shins and tell them how sorry you are.

  It was nice to hear, Mahrree had to admit, but it always happened just as she was finally making some decent progress in loosening a stubborn timber from a pile of rubble, and the focus of her concentration made her temporarily forget the agony in her heart—

  That’s when the, “Oh look—it’s the Shins! We just heard, and I’m so sorry . . .” cut into her efforts. Each time she heard the wailing croon it sucked her energy and resolve nearly dry. She’d give up, take the embrace, and miserably wait until it was over so she could get back to something real and useful, such as freeing a timber.

  Four soldiers followed them around, on Karna’s orders, and in turn Mahrree ordered them to work. They could easily snatch up their swords in a moment’s notice if some brazen Guarder decided to attack the Shins in broad daylight in the middle of the village.

  But what they found when they trudged home that evening, exhausted and depleted, stopped Mahrree and her children in their tracks and wrenched out a new set of tears.

  Flowers.

  Flowers, everywhere.

  Wedged in the slats of the wooden fence, along the rock path to their front door, all over the porch, and even into the house. Every bulb that had sent its blooms bravely up through the last snowfall, every shrub that had dared to open its buds, had been cut and delivered to the Shin house.

  Mahrree sat down, right there in the road, and held her head to weep. Others had died in their village—over one hundred—but none of them had been given the entire village’s supply of flowers.

  “They wanted to do something,” said a gentle and familiar voice above her. Someone squeezed her shoulder kindly. “Relf and Joriana saved the village from starvation, and it seems it cost them their lives. Everyone asked me how they could honor their memories. This was all anyone had left to give.”

  Mahrree looked up into the peaked expression of Rector Yung. The poor man must not have slept in weeks, but here he stood again, ready to check on them, and ready with a shoulder to cry on.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jaytsy sobbed quietly. “Reminds me of the gardens in the mansion district. Rector Yung, you would’ve appreciated their gardens. Flowers, everywhere. Just like this.”

  Peto just sniffed and nodded.

  Hycymum stood at the front door; she hadn’t left all day, but waited for news about her son-in-law that never came. “There’s more inside,” she called softly. “They’ve been bringing them all day. Fortunately you have a lot of empty jugs I could use to arrange them. Your gathering room has never looked lovelier.”

  Mahrree chuckled pitifully. At least her mother had a pleasant time arranging the tribute to and for the Shins. She massaged her forehead, unable to release the pressure building there.

  “It is lovely,” she confessed as she allowed Rector Yung to help her to her feet. “Please send out the word that we’re most grateful and overwhelmed.”

  “I will,” the old man told her. “What more can I do, Mrs. Shin?”

  “Just keep praying for us, Rector. Pray that our men come home.”

  ---

  Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.

  “Not that I’m one for saying ‘I told you so,’—”

  “Oh, yes you are!” Doctor Brisack snapped at his companion.

  But Nicko Mal wasn’t about to be silenced. Not tonight, of all nights. “But I told you so! Not only did Perrin Shin show up, he barged unannounced into my Conference Room, jumped on my table, and tried to kill Gadiman!” He slapped the armrest of the chair in triumph. “Ha!”

  Brisack slowly began to smile. “I’ll admit it: when you’re right, Nicko, you’re really right.”

  Chairman Mal threw back his head and laughed. “What a marvelous day! Not only did I see my old irritant buried, but I also watched his son fall to his knees and writhe in misery—”

  “—then fall into a pit ten feet deep!” Brisack grinned back. “Should’ve seen him at the hospital, Nicko. Completely broken and destroyed. I went back to my office and spent an hour detailing every behavior, movement, and word I could remember. I’ll be studying his reactions for seasons.”

  Mal sighed in contentment. “The old weasel—Slag, I wished Perrin had killed him! Just one thrust,” Mal gestured to his own chest. “His sword was right in line with Gadiman’s puny little heart. I kept thinking, ‘Do it, Perrin! I dare you! Just do it!’ He could have, when Cush was pulling him off the table. There was that moment before the master sergeant took the sword, when Perrin could have just—”

  Mal made a thrusting motion, but sighed in disappointment.

  “Ah, well. I guess we have to give Gadiman a little credit. I thought you were going to bring him tonight?”

  “Couldn’t find him again.” Brisack held up his hands. “I thought perhaps he’d gone out to celebrate, but that’s not his style. Maybe he’s out looking for a blacksmith that can make him a shield he can wear under his shirts. I’ll tell you,” the doctor began to chuckle, “I have never, never, seen a man go so gray without passing out!”

  The two men laughed.

  “We should have brought mead tonight,” Mal sighed as he wiped tears from his eyes. “Or ale to celebrate. This was easy and brilliant. And there was something else we were lucky enough to observe first hand. Or rather, someone we were allowed to meet.” He looked at his companion meaningfully.

  Brisack pointed at him. “That’s what I thought too. When I saw him execute the suffocation technique on the table, it suddenly hit me—it was him!”

  Mal nodded. “After all these years, I thought he was gone or even dead. But no—our Quiet Man is alive and very well.”

  Brisack leaned forward in his chair. “So we have confirmation?”

  “Revealed himself to Thorne in the carriage on the way to the hospital. He said he ‘always found the north appealing.’ He was the baby tender, after all! Stunning.” Mal looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, if only I could get him alone for five minutes, just to know what he knows—”

  “You can,” Brisack pointed out. “Who can turn down an invitation from you?”

  “It’s too risky,” Mal shook his head. “I’ve already contemplated several scenarios, but whatever he does while he’s here, Perrin will know about. Then fourteen years of our Quiet Man’s work will be gone. No, I’ll find another way to reach him.”

  “‘I find the north appealing,’” Brisack muttered. “Haven’t heard that one in years. Nearly forgot about it. But he didn’t. I guess it’s not surprising he doesn’t know the later codes, since he hasn’t left Edge for many years.”

  “He said he was from between Flax and Waves,” Mal told him.

  The doctor shook his head. “I doubt that. I spoke with him in the hospital. His demeanor and speech are nothing like those from the southern edge of the world. Then again, he has been in the north for quite some time.”

  “Extraordinarily close to the family,” said Mal, a bit awe-struck. “Did you hear him call Shin by his first name when he was choking him nearly to death? Never have I heard an enlisted man call an officer by his first name, not even out of uniform.”

  “I noticed that as well,” Brisack nodded in concern. “That could signal a problem.”

  Mal scoffed. “That Perrin’s closest man is also one of our closest men?”

  “But is he still?” the doctor pressed. “Nicko, what if the Quiet Man has bonded to Shin? What if he has a skewed sense-of-duty problem just like his commanding officer? If he’s forgotten he’s loyal to us, then . . .” Brisack shrugged. “He was extremely concerned about Shin’s treatment at the hospital.”

  “Worried that you might be eliminating him?”

  “That’s what you thought I’d do, isn’t it?” the doctor accused. “When you didn’
t want me to go with them to the hospital?”

  Mal shrugged.

  Brisack shook his head. “Nicko, you know I’d never do that! I still respect the man. Perrin completely fascinates me, now more than ever. I certainly don’t want to eliminate the most fruitful research project we’ve ever encountered. I really was just intending to sedate him.”

  “Of course you were,” Mal smiled thinly. He pursed his lips in thought. “Qayin told me he got the impression the master sergeant is tiring. He was questioning the methods. He seemed to accept Qayin’s coded explanation that the testing is the point, but still . . .”

  “But still, fourteen years is a very long time,” Brisack finished his sentence.

  The two men pondered the question of the master sergeant for a few minutes.

  “Perhaps,” Brisack eventually began, “perhaps Zenos’s attention to the colonel was an effort to make sure the colonel remains in the game for us. He has no idea who I am, but he apparently knows who Thorne is. He was quite adamant about our not administering the sedation, but when Thorne pulled him back, he seemed to accept the decision. Would a man who’s switched sides bother to ‘check in’ with Thorne, and then listen to his advice?”

  Mal considered that. “A traitor would avoid those he betrayed at all costs, so that they wouldn’t be able to see the deceit in his eyes. Qayin was impressed with him, and Qayin’s never impressed with anyone.”

  Brisack nodded once. “So the Quiet Man is still our man.”

  Mal nodded back. “I’m going to assume so. He just doesn’t know what to do, is all.”

  “We’ll devise something for him to do. In the meantime,” the good doctor said, massaging his hands, “you realize we can’t just let this go. The caravan was one thing, but barging in here and threatening to kill the Administrator of Loyalty? That’s just a little tough to ignore, Nicko.”

  “Agreed,” said the Chairman. “Now tell me, my dear doctor: for how long can a man remain on his knees in a pit?”

  Brisack shrugged. “I really don’t know. That’s never been tes—” He stopped. “Oh, Nicko—brilliant. That’s never been tested!”

  “We can drag this out for a very long time, my dear doctor. We can pick at his heart like a scab. Just when it’s starting to heal over, we can peel it off and expose the wound yet again, watch it fester. I’ve already decided that there will be some major changes to his fort. Perrin must remain in Edge for the time being. There were too many in Idumea who fell under his influence. Several reports came back to me as to how ‘impressive’ he was. If he remains here, in some other capacity, he may become too confident. The time’s not right for him just yet. Besides, now he’s everyone’s favorite pathetic orphan, so sending him back to his favorite village will be seen as an act of mercy. But it won’t be. Our colonel will lose all who are close to him, except for our Quiet Man. We’ll need him for the next steps.”

  “And is Qayin’s request going to be honored?”

  “Might as well. His little scruff needs a posting somewhere. In time, he may even find the north appealing.”

  “Excellent,” Brisack agreed. “And then?”

  “We’ll just see how long that festers, then . . . I hope you’re ready for this: Perrin faces more loss.”

  Brisack’s smile dimmed. “What kind of losses?”

  “Spread out over time, I assure you. But don’t worry, my dear doctor; we’ll let Mahrree Shin survive for as long as we can. Her death will be the biggest blow of all. After he’s lost his officers, his children—one at a time, mind you, and that’s how the Quiet Man will demonstrate his devotion to us—the last thing he’ll be able to bear will be losing her. Tell me, Doctor—can a man die of a broken heart?”

  “Again, Nicko,” said Brisack with unusually severe resolve, “that’s never been tested. But it will. He will come to realize that we are far more powerful than his Creator.”

  Mal smiled. “This is so much more enjoyable when you agree with me, Doctor. Finally, after all these years, you’re beginning to see the light.”

  ---

  It was dark as two different men sat at the table in the guest quarters of the garrison with dinner in front of them. The plates were brought by a major some time ago. Only one of the men was eating; the other was filling a sheet of parchment.

  Shem watched Perrin intent on writing line after line. He wondered if he should reveal what he suspected—what he knew.

  After a few silent minutes, he tried. “You know, I was just remembering that time, maybe eleven years ago, when we spent every Weeding Season night sitting up in the trees on the edge of the forest listening in on the Guarders below us. We sure picked up a lot of information then, remember?”

  Perrin didn’t look up but kept writing.

  “They were so careless in those days,” Shem went on, “thinking that no one was spying on them as they spied on us. We just climbed high enough, and they never bothered to look up. Why would soldiers be dressed in black themselves and sitting at the tree line to overhear their plans?”

  Perrin scratched out another line.

  “Some of those nights sure were dull though, weren’t they? Except when we saw the occasional mountain lion under us, sniffing the trees. But we had plenty of time to perfect our silent communication of winks and facial tics, right? So those nights weren’t a complete loss.”

  Perrin scrawled yet another line.

  “But then there was that night when Brillen and his partner eavesdropped on two Guarders talking about a raid, and we surprised those ten Guarders the next day just as they came running out to the field.”

  “Yes, Shem—I was there,” Perrin said, a bit impatiently.

  “Swiftest end to a raid ever,” Shem said, and then attempted a soft chuckle. “Remember that time I had to climb down to go, uh, water the trees, and that Guarder mistook me for his contact?”

  Perrin merely grunted.

  “Yeah, that Guarder—we were talking about needs in the south and lack of silver slips, until suddenly he became suspicious of me. Starting saying a slightly strange phrase—”

  “You messed up in responding,” Perrin cut him off. “So I dropped from the tree and slashed his throat before he could slash yours.” His quill continued to move methodically across the page.

  Shem smiled faintly. “Quite a mess, and thank you again for saving my life. But I’ve frequently thought about that phrase. It was about the north—”

  Perrin looked up at him, his eyes dark and cold. “Not now, Shem.”

  “But Perrin—”

  “I’m not in the mood for any of your stories, Zenos!” Perrin snipped. “Now is not the time for ‘Remember when.’”

  Shem took a deep breath and let it out as Perrin went back to work. He was right; now wasn’t the time. Someday it would be, but now, considering his state of mind . . .

  Shem looked at Perrin’s plate, still untouched. He knew it was well over a day since Perrin had eaten. “You need food. If you want to be strong enough to go home tomorrow you need something.”

  Perrin didn’t answer, but started on a second page.

  “I realize it’s only army food,” Shem tried to say lightly, “but still.” When Perrin remained silent, he asked, “Is that for the major?”

  Perrin didn’t look up but instead regarded the notes he made. “Yes. Some questions I want him to investigate. I want them to look more into Riplak’s background. He started working for my father as a teenager, in the stables, but where did he come from before that?”

  “Uh, they have some ideas as to why his jacket was in Kindiri’s room.” Shem hesitated to go into further detail.

  “I know why,” Perrin said offhandedly.

  “You do?”

  “Caught Riplak coming down the servants’ stairs one morning.” Perrin dipped his quill in the ink and continued with his notes. “He was buttoning his jacket, but had missed a button. When he saw me, he seemed surprised but tried to be casual about it.”

  “What??
?d you say to him?”

  “That I expected better behavior from an officer. But he wasn’t an officer. Not really.” Perrin’s quill never stopped moving.

  “What do you mean, not really?” Shem asked, mystified.

  “He was one of them, Shem. A Guarder. He used Kindiri.”

  Perrin said it so plainly that Shem shook his head a little to make sure he heard that right. “Riplak was a Guarder? How do you know?”

  “He set us up. All of us. Worked for my father for years so that he trusted Riplak. Used Kindiri to keep close access to the house when he was supposed to be sleeping at the garrison. He left his jacket in her bedroom on purpose, Shem, so they’d think he was ‘caught with his trousers down,’ right?” Perrin looked up briefly into Shem’s stunned expression.

  “Well, uh, yeah, uh . . . that’s what Cush was suggesting—”

  Perrin turned back to his pages. “That’s what he wants them to think: that he was a derelict officer, and now he’s run away in shame.”

  “Yeah . . . exactly . . .” Shem shook his head, dumbfounded.

  “They’ll never see Riplak again. He’s long gone, but not in shame—in triumph. He’s probably been given a sizable bag of gold and will become the newest trainer of Guarders in how to infiltrate, murder, and get out alive and rich.”

  Shem sat back, deflated. “That’s . . . that’s . . . How’d you put that together? The way your mind works—Perrin, sometimes you really startle me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t exactly a compliment.”

  “I know.”

  Shem sighed. “I thought Riplak sounded honest in your office. He had me fooled, too. I guess Guarders are living in Idumea in disguise.”

  “Probably have been for years. The Guarders never quit; they just planted a few apple trees in some choice land, knowing they’d be back in a few years and would want a harvest.”

  “Wow,” Shem said dismally. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”

  “It’s what I would do.” He didn’t look up as he made a note on a smaller piece of paper.

  “Guess you would have made a good Guarder, then, with forethought like that.”

  “Three Guarders may have had free rein in that mansion,” Perrin bristled. “One of them even held my daughter for an hour teaching her to dance!” He scribbled more furiously.

  “Three? But,” Shem started hesitantly, “Kindiri couldn’t be one of them. She was beaten, horribly.”

  “Because she followed them, perhaps? Because she recognized her brother’s voice? Or went after her lover, trying to see what he was up to? She condemned herself. Oh, by the way—that corporal that survived but was found wounded and unconscious?” He waved a little note impassively. “Died this afternoon, of course. The only man with any answers as to who did what and where?” Perrin scoffed. “Besides, what better way to show Kindiri’s not connected to them but to attack her? Leave her bloodied and beaten in the house?”

  Perrin dropped the quill and exhaled. Shem blinked at his abrupt manner.

  “Leave them bloody and beaten in the house,” Perrin repeated tonelessly. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Perrin?”

  He slowly looked up at Shem. “Leave them bloody and beaten in the house. Like you were. Left in the Arkys’ house during that first successful raid of Edge.” He leaned back in his chair and glared. “There’s been an apple tree in my back garden for fourteen years.”

  Shem’s mouth fell open in shock. “What are you talking about? Perrin! That was, that was—are you, are you suggesting, after all this time . . .” He struggled to know how to say it as angry tears filled his eyes.

  Perrin sighed and put his head in his hands. “No, no, no,” he said quietly, “of course not. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling . . .”

  He stopped, released his head, and looked at the affronted face of his friend. “Shem, there are cats everywhere.”

  Shem looked at him, baffled, before he understood. “You heard all of what Thorne said?”

  “Of course I did. I was in the carriage right next to you.”

  “But you seemed, you looked . . .”

  “Like a man who didn’t want to talk to Cush and Thorne? Like a man who just wanted to be left alone?”

  Shem smiled feebly. “Yes, and you were. But Perrin, I’m not like them. If anything has shown that, I would think the last thirteen, fourteen years would have.”

  Perrin held up his hands. “I know. I know. You’ve said so many things to me no Guarder could ever consider.” He looked away and seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Shem, what did you mean earlier today? As I was asking the Creator to watch over them at the burial? You said my parents were there.”

  Shem put his fork down and looked intently at Perrin who now stared at the flickering candlelight. He’d been waiting for him to ask. “They were there. On either side of you as you knelt between their coffins. You mother on your right, your father on your left. I don’t mean their bodies. Their spirits.”

  Perrin slowly looked up at him. “Why didn’t I see them?”

  “Because you’re too angry.”

  Perrin breathed out heavily. “How did they look, honestly?”

  Shem began to smile, to Perrin’s surprise. “Wonderful! Much younger, radiant, and very concerned about their son.”

  “They were . . . cleaned up?”

  “Perrin, it’s only their bodies that were hurt, not their souls.” He leaned forward earnestly. “They looked as if they could be experiencing great joy, if only they could see you freed. They’re going to stay with you until they’re sure you’re fine. They had their arms around you, and each had a hand placed right—”

  Perrin put his hand on his chest, just above his heart. “Here?”

  Shem smiled. “Yes!”

  Perrin nodded slowly. “I wondered at first if it was the start of a heart attack, but it felt peaceful, like a glimpse of the sun during a terrible thunderstorm. But it didn’t seem right to feel such comfort at a time like that. I guess I pushed the feeling away—”

  “They’re trying to reach you, Perrin,” Shem said as his eyes shifted back and forth across him. “Right now, in fact.”

  Perrin looked down at his plate, breathing deeply. “There’s nothing I want to believe more than that.” His eyes darted to either side of him and saw nothing but the table and empty chairs next to him.

  “Then you have to forgive,” Shem said. “It’s the only way you’ll feel them.”

  Perrin’s head shot up. “Forgive?!” He leaped to his feet, shoving the chair behind him. “Do you see any Guarders kneeling at my feet begging for my mercy? Do you see any officials saying anything more than, ‘Sorry Perrin, let’s go get you sedated’? No!”

  “In the hospital you said you already felt nothing,” Shem reminded him. “But you wanted to feel better. You won’t feel better, or feel your parents, unless you release that bitterness. It’s consuming you. There’s no room for anything else. Let it go.”

  “Let it go? How can I ignore what happened?”

  “Forgiving isn’t ignoring the act; it’s moving past it.”

  “But my parents deserve justice!”

  “That’s the Creator’s domain, Perrin. It’s up to Him to give justice or mercy. Do you think the Creator won’t be fair? Or that maybe He’ll go too easy on whoever did this?”

  Perrin’s breathing slowed. He dully straightened his chair and sat back down. “I’ve known many evil men. And I think I’m beginning to find more. They sit in large, beautiful homes and do whatever they please and suffer no consequences. How’s that justice?”

  “It’s not justice yet,” Shem said. “But their success cannot last. The Creator watches all, and rewards and punishes accordingly, but not until the end of the Test. Perrin, it’s not up to you to exact revenge or justice. You’re not the Creator’s destroyer. It’s your duty to move on.”

  The two men sat in silence. Shem couldn’t see anything on h
is friend’s face but deadness. Finally he said, “Perrin, eat. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Depending on how long the Administrators take with you in the morning, we could be on the road by midday meal. Let’s find out your punishment for the ‘stolen’ wagons of food and your little show on their table, and go home.”

  Perrin still sat listlessly.

  Shem sat up straighter. “You’re not going home, are you?”

  Perrin looked up at him.

  Shem leaned forward. “You’re planning to stay, to investigate this!”

  “No I’m not.” He was very convincing. But not enough.

  “Yes, yes you are!”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Your father! He’s just told me. Perrin, he knows what you’re planning and he doesn’t want you to stay. You want to send me back to care for Mahrree and your children until you find your answers. Well, what if you never do? Perrin, your father wants you to forgive, leave Idumea, and go home!”

  Perrin’s jaw trembled. “Stop it, Zenos. Just stop it! It won’t work. Besides, who else could do investigate this properly? Everyone else will think like Cush and believe Riplak was merely derelict instead of a Guarder. But I can get to the bottom of this, Shem. I’ve figured out so much already, now I just need to figure out who gives those bags of gold, then I—”

  “No, you can’t! They don’t want you to do this!” Shem pleaded, nearly crawling on the table in earnestness. “Feel them! Just release the burden! At the burial, could you have carried their coffins alone? No, you needed me to help. I carried half the weight. Now it’s enough. Now give all the weight to the Creator. Let Him exact justice in His time. You can’t move on unless you release this. It’ll crush you, Perrin, just as trying to carry them to their graves would’ve crushed you. You don’t have to feel this way. Choose to release it! Give Him your burden.”

  Perrin stared at him.

  After a long silence he said, “Sometimes I think I still hear my uncle Hogal Densal. You sounded just like him there. Years ago he said something similar, but he was talking about how to start again when you need to change your life.”

  “Repentance and forgiveness go hand-in-hand, Perrin,” Shem told him softly. “No one may ever ask your forgiveness, but you still need to forgive. It was your parents’ time to go, Perrin. The Creator allowed this. He also allowed it to be done by . . . whoever, to seal that murder’s fate with your parents’ blood. Now the Creator can punish him not only for the darkness of his thoughts, but also for the darkness of his actions. In the meantime, your parents are enjoying themselves with their friends and family in Paradise.”

  Shem leaned forward and, to Perrin’s cynical scowl, said, “All is well—truly. You must be well, too. Only you can choose to live again. Stay here to investigate and you will die, crushed under the weight of this anger and grief. Your parents don’t want that. They can’t feel complete joy until you release this burden. Choose to keep living, for them if for no one else.”

  Perrin’s eyes grew wet. “I wished it was that easy. I wished I could just let it all go, but you have to have a heart to do that. I buried my heart this evening. I’m going to bed, Shem.”

  ---

  The fog was thick again, likely because of all the melting snow, Gadiman concluded as he made his way to the usual spot. Something about water on the ground becoming water in the air . . . Oh, he didn’t care about the tedious explanation. He was in too good a mood.

  It was brilliant—all of it!—from beginning to end. They wouldn’t be able to deny him now. He patted the pockets of his trousers filled with two bags of gold. He was even paying for it himself. Granted, the gold was originally destined for Edge, from Brisack’s coffers, but now it was to pay off the most effective lieutenant Gadiman had ever trained.

  It wasn’t revenge that motivated lieutenants; Gadiman now had hard evidence of that. It was greed. Sonoforen/Heth failed years ago likely because . . . well, Gadiman never did work that out, but Mal had said he would succeed because he was angry about his father’s execution.

  But anger’s not the right motivator. Riplak wasn’t bitter about the High General. He actually respected the man. But he respected two bags of gold even more.

  The young officer was clever. It was his idea to leave behind his jacket, to make it appear as if he was derelict in his duty and allowed the Shins to be stabbed. But it was also Riplak who stuffed a camouflaging black shirt into his trousers, along with a jagged dagger he left behind as evidence, and had no qualms about smashing in the face of his convenient upstairs friend. He was growing bored with the dull girl anyway.

  Now if Gadiman could only find Riplak.

  He didn’t locate the lieutenant last night to pay him, but realized the timing may have been off. In this part of Idumea one can’t sit around waiting for long before someone mistakes you as one of them and decides you look too rich in that coat or those shoes. Then they relieve you violently of your burdens.

  Gadiman picked his way through the heavy cold, wishing he had worn his warmer overcoat. But it didn’t matter. The glow of his victory heated him, head to toe. He didn’t even have to deal with that creepy Kuman, either. Once again, greed triumphed as Riplak made sure he killed Kuman, along with the other two, before they left the mansion. Not only did he get their share of the gold, but he also left behind the prime suspects dead. Any investigation would be over by tomorrow morning, when the Administrators dealt with that other piece of annoying slag.

  Gadiman was going to insist Perrin Shin be tried for attempted murder, although he knew that was the last thing Brisack wanted. He argued against that most vehemently at the little gathering Colonel Thorne organized in the afternoon.

  There still needed to be someone, Brisack told them again and again. Why destroy it all? Now that it was finally becoming interesting again? Why be so quick to take out the wounded falcon?

  Gadiman didn’t quite follow all of that, but Thorne seemed to take that peculiar falcon reference as some kind of code and reluctantly agreed no execution squad would be convened in the morning.

  But Gadiman had access to prisoners in the garrison. And when Shin was imprisoned, he could send Riplak, disguised with longer hair and a beard, to finish off what the others were oddly hesitant to.

  If only Gadiman could find Riplak.

  He’d reach their meeting place along the banks of the Idumean River West in mere moments, just below where the homeless people sat in wooden crates mumbling to themselves.

  “Stupid crazy people,” Gadiman muttered as he walked passed one of them. He made his way warily along a path sloping down the river banks. The water was unnecessarily noisy tonight, more so than he ever remembered.

  “Must be the fog. Traps the noise of the river or something. Where do those smelly men live when the river banks are flooding? Ridiculous . . . Ew, and now I’ve got muck on my boots! How can a man walk properly along here with muck on his boots?”

  He didn’t notice two men sitting nearby on large rocks watching him trek further down the bank. Probably because their layers of filth and tatters of clothing made them look like wind-ripped vegetation.

  “Should pave it or something. For those wishing to enjoy the water . . .”

  The two men looked at each other and smiled about the crazy man going further and further.

  “Should we tell him?” one asked the other.

  “Mebbe. But would he tell us?”

  The first man shrugged.

  It was becoming harder for Gadiman to see, and even harder to hear himself. “Riplak!” he hissed to the foggy banks. “Where are you? I’ve got your payment! I couldn’t find you yester—”

  There was a slip and a splash, but the sound was quickly swallowed up by the roar of the swollen river.

  The only ones who noticed were the two scruffy men.

  “What’s wrong with them fancy suits?” the first man asked his companion. “Can’t none of them tell the river’s flooding?”


  The second man shook his head. “They’re too full of nice coats and blue uniforms and whispers and shifty eyes and wandering about and secrets. Mebbe when you’re too smart, you don’t notice the real things. You think you already know it, until you walk right into it and it eats you.”

  “Good entertainment, though, you must admit,” the first man nodded. “First there’s that young officer last night. Gave a proper fight against the water, that one did. Then some stuffed suit tonight? Sounds like he went down much faster.”

  “Mebbe his pockets were lined with gold,” the second man drawled. “Nice coats full of nice gold, dragging him down to the nice rocky bottom. They’ll find bits of him by the southern sea in a few days, mixed up with that splashing young officer.”

  “And when the river’s gone down, we’ll nose about the bottom and find a few pockets?”

  “Mebbe. If we’re lucky.”

  “Maybe tomorrow we’ll hear a proper lady drown.”

  “Mebbe. If we’re lucky.”

  Chapter 26 ~ “Snakes, cats—I know you hate them all.”