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.
THE THREE MENlooked 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.”
“Awhat ?”
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 hav
e, 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.”
WHENDICKON 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.
BECAUSE THE WHEELEDchair 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?”
SHAM MIGHT HAVEgotten 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.”
Sham nodded gracefully, “I have found timing to be an extremely useful skill in my work.”
His mouth quirked upward in something not quite a smile, “I expect you have.”
The time for personal conversation ended as Lady Tirra took up her post on Kerim’s other side. Her skin was too dark to be truly pale, and her features were composed—but she looked ten years older. Sham sat quietly in her seat, feeling no desire to antagonize the matriarch in her grief. Around the room the buzz of gossip was loud enough to be deafening, but at the high table silence reigned.
At last, the High Priest stood before Kerim’s table, facing the rest of the room. When the roar died to a sullen murmur, he began to speak.
“High Ones, we come here to mourn the passing of a bright star. He leaves us one less light to steer by, and we are bereaved by his falling. Tonight we will witness the last, faint reflection of his light as his mortal form is reduced to ashes. Let us remember the illumination he brought to our dark world. Let us remember the untimely method by which he was stolen.”
Beside her, Kerim stiffened and muttered something nasty. Sham touched her rouged lips lightly in thought—this was not the speech he and his counselors had prepared.
“This is a dark and troubled time,” continued the High Priest, playing the crowd. “Lord Ven’s life is not the first of our brethren to be so rudely extinguished, yet they go unavenged and the killer still stalks among us.”
In tones that carried no further than Shamera’s ear, Kerim muttered, “If he keeps this up, we’ll have a riot, and my brother’s will not be the only body on the pyre.”
It was his grim tone that made Sham glance around the room and see the emotions that were rapidly increasing: flames of terror and outrage, fanned by the High Priest’s speech.
Sham did the first thing that came to mind. Though never formally taught, there were a few cantrips that every apprentice learned from an older one: simple tricks like making milk go sour—they didn’t require much magic, which was good as she was still tired from her earlier battles.
“. . . someone or something killing—” the High Priest’s eyes began to water and the beautifully trained voice faltered as Sham’s cantrip took effect.
He cleared his throat and began again. “Killing . . .”
She added more power to the spell.
The High Priest began to cough. A brown robbed man ran up to him with a goblet of water. It seemed to help until the High Priest attempted to speak again.
Kerim frowned and glanced at Sham. Whatever he saw in her face made him relax slightly; he folded his hands loosely and rested them on the table.
When it was apparent the High Priest would not be able to complete his speech, the High Priest’s slender assistant, Fykall, took his place, head bowed as if with heavy mourning.
“High ones,” he began, “—we share our sorrow, and yet we must glory for him who has gone before us as so many others have done. It is the best part of being mortal that we may throw off the robes of this life for the next.” He too, diverted from the approved text, but even Sham, inexperienced as she was with demagoguery, saw it was necessary to control the people first.
The little priest raised his head and surveyed the crowd. Shamera could almost hear the High Priest grit his teeth as the Fykall continued. “This night we must put our fears aside; only by doing so can we properly mourn and celebrate the passing of Lord Ven. We are aided by the trust we hold for the wisdom of a man who has served Altis so well in the past. As the Prophet has spoken:What need we fear when the Leopard is on the field? Altis calls, and Lord Kerim answers with a roar to snatch victory out of the gaping maw of defeat. Let the murdering jackals howl as they will, when the battle is over, the Leopard of Altis will stand alone on the field of his enemies! ”
Right now the Leopard of Altis was muttering under his breath about firepits and cooking pots, noted Sham with well-hidden amusement. He straightened, though, when the priest’s words were met with a roar of approval. As the people quieted the priest took a step back and to the side, clearly leaving the floor to Kerim.
The Reeve rolled his chair back slightly and used the table to lever himself to his feet; at this there was a second cheer.
“My brother has been taken from me,” he said, when the noise had quieted in a voice as carrying as the priests’ had been. He spoke slowly, so he could be heard by every person in the room. “I will find the one who has done this and force them to suffer justice if I must take him to the very throne of Altis myself to see it done.” He could not have said another word if he had wanted to, such was the response he won.