“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Keifer! Gods damn the crib bait slut! He was bringing women into our husbands’ quarters! Oh, gods, night after night, he turned us out, refusing us sexual services while he was whoring himself with someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” She thought of all the spent matchsticks, far outnumbering the number normally found in a box of that size. “Perhaps half the guard by the count I can figure.”
He nodded, then glanced about the garden. “We should go in, before we give away the door.”
The door is given away, she almost snapped, but swallowed it. He was right. She followed him back inside and bolted the exit carefully shut. Jerin was silent the whole trip back. It wasn’t until they were in the dressing room that she realized he was holding something back from her.
“What is it?”
He refused to look at her. “Ren, you were with Keifer, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” She was puzzled.
“Odelia too?”
“Yes.”
He whispered so softly, she almost didn’t hear him. “Ren, you two should be checked, before the marriage, so if Keifer passed—if Keifer had—who knows if his lovers were clean? We should be sure. For the youngest’s sake, for Lylia’s sake, we should be sure.”
“Ren! What’s wrong?” Queen Mother Elder asked as Ren stumbled into her room and collapsed into the chair before the fire.
“Keifer betrayed us.” Ren gazed numbly at the fire. Had Keifer died instantly in the explosion, or had he been pinned and burned alive? “When he was refusing Eldest and others services, he was servicing strangers he brought in through the bolt-hole. Jerin—Jerin thinks it would be wise if Odelia and I were checked, since we can’t be sure we’re clean.”
“Oh, dear gods in the heavens,” Mother Elder whispered.
“Halley will have to be checked, if we ever run her to earth. And Trini—sweet Mothers—he could have infected her too.” She pressed a trembling hand to her eyes as she realized the true depth of the danger. “I don’t know about these diseases, Mother, how intimate you need to be to pass them. I might have already infected Jerin. There was no joining, but otherwise, we were extremely intimate.”
Ren stared numbly at the fire, trying not to think of all the horrible ramifications. Keifer had died six years ago. Surely, if they were infected, at least one of them would have fallen sick by now.
Gods, she hoped Keifer hadn’t been killed immediately by the explosion. She hoped he burned slowly.
The doctor was a thin, old woman, part of a family that had treated Ren through sore throats and broken arms. She examined Ren with dry, cold, dispassionate fingers, then asked a myriad of questions, reminding Ren often to think carefully and to hold nothing back. With a growing sense of relief, Ren could truthfully say that she never had a sore on her vagina or rectum. She had never lost patches of hair. Her eyebrows had never thinned. She never had rashes on her body, and especially not on the bottoms of her feet or the palms of her hands.
“You know if you’re lying, you’ll give any child you conceive this awful disease while it’s still in the womb. It will be born dead, or so damaged you’ll wish it had been.”
“No. I’m not lying. It would be stupid to lie,” Ren said.
“Yes, but it never seems to stop people from doing it,” the doctor said. “It would be helpful to have Princess Halley here as well, but so far, I see no sign of disease. Recently, they’ve developed a test. A device has been invented that allows one to see things so small they’re invisible. We actually have small organisms living in our blood.”
“I know. I’ve worked with a microscope.”
“Oh. Well, they couldn’t see syphilis for a while. Turns out it’s white. On a normal slide, you can’t see it. Recently, they found a way to examine things on a black background. The syphilis shows up. It still isn’t very accurate in the early stages of the disease, but if you were exposed six years ago, it should be fairly simple to spot.”
“How soon can we have it done?”
“I’ll come back in an hour or so with equipment to take your blood and have it tested.”
Jerin attacked the mystery of Keifer’s lovers. Surely, somewhere in the husband quarters, well secured and untouched these last six years, there had to be clues. No one outside the family, not even the Barneses, were allowed into the husband quarters. Once Ren’s father died, Keifer could have kept lovers’ mementos with no fear of discovery. Since Keifer died suddenly, any damning evidence should have remained.
Jerin tore through the accumulation of the ages. He carried armfuls of objects out to the balcony, examining each piece carefully before setting it aside. When shelves, dressers, and closets were empty, and the balcony was overflowing, he attacked the furniture itself.
The massive bed in his bedroom yielded up an earring, a bold hoop of gold, with strands of golden hair caught fast in it. Had the earring been Keifer’s? Certainly the rest of the Porters were blond. He checked the well-stocked jewelry boxes and found no mate; in fact there were no earrings at all. Keifer, it seemed, didn’t follow the recent fashion of men’s piercing their ears. Jerin placed the earring carefully in the center of a piece of paper, and then tackled the smaller bedroom.
Tucked up under the support boards of the bed, he found a box wedged onto the shelf made by the bracing. He pulled it out. It was six inches square, and locked.
Resisting the urge to beat it open, he got his lockpicks and sat tailor-fashion, amid the wreckage he’d caused, to tweak it open. At first his find seemed disappointing, a handmade book, containing hundreds of small yet incredibly detailed pictures. The first pictures were portraits of the Queens, then women that must have been Ren’s older sisters, and finally Ren and the others, the surviving sisters, almost unrecognizable in their youth. Detailed drawings of palace rooms followed. As he reached abstract pictures—a dining table set for dinner, a ballroom filled with dancers, a theater with actors on the stage and a crowd of people watching—he noticed the cant. Beside each detailed drawing was a small cant symbol. The dining table was represented by a circle in a rectangle, crude knife, fork, and spoon. Two stick figures with a line joining them indicated a ball. Jerin flipped back to the beginning. A crown and a counter marked the Queens. A crown under a bar and a counter ticked off princesses.
It was a lexicon, he realized, of someone’s personal cant. Keifer’s lovers must have given it to him so they could communicate with him. Under the book, little scraps of folded paper contained Keifer’s secret messages.
Jerin unfolded one: a ball, Heraday, a cant name, talk. Despite the unknown symbol, the meaning was fairly clear. At the ball on Heraday, talk to cant-named person.
The second message sickened Jerin: Claireday, a clock showing midnight, a simple drawing of a bed, a key unlocking a door. Unlock the door to your bedroom Claireday at midnight.
The third message sent Jerin to the lexicon for the first symbol. Picnic. Food was the second word, though he checked the lexicon to be sure. The third symbol couldn’t be found in the lexicon. Jerin’s grandmothers, though, had carefully taught it to him: an X with an oval drawn over it—to stand for skull and crossbones. Poison.
The husband quarters looked like Keifer still lived there, throwing his fits, wreaking his anger on anything at hand. Ren stopped just inside the door, shocked. Surely Jerin wasn’t like Keifer! Surely Jerin didn’t turn his anger on everything and anything.
The rooms were strangely quiet. No howls of anger. No screams of ugly, yet childishly simple names. Was Jerin even here?
She walked to the bedrooms, noting with some relief that nothing seemed broken. No shards of glass. No splintered, battered furniture. In fact, there seemed to be a strange order to the chaos.
Jerin wasn’t in the big bedroom, with the bed stripped down to the frame, nor the dressing room, where not a stitch of clothing remained. It was the stark emptiness of the dressing room that turned her anno
yance to concern. This was far too orderly and systematic to be compared to Keifer’s random acts of destruction.
Jerin sat tailor-style on the floor of the little bedroom. He sat silent, statue-still, a box and a book both open on his lap, a scrap of paper dangling in his hand, nearly slipping from his fingers.
“Jerin?”
He looked up, pale, his eyes wide with shock. He gazed at her, seemingly too stunned to move or speak.
“Jerin? What’s wrong?”
“I—I thought I might find out who Keifer’s lovers were.” He held up the paper and book to her. “I was searching for clues.”
It was thieves’ cant, written out on a piece of good stationery. Three neat symbols. There was also a lexicon for translating it, the simplified symbols expanded into pictures a child could understand.
“Keifer’s stupid, Ren. He’s a cow!” Trini had sneered her contempt of their husband. “I know you don’t marry men for their brains, but there’s a limit!”
Keifer’s lover had apparently known his mental limits as well as Trini had. The book left little chance for misunderstanding. Ren looked at the quality of the stationery and the lexicon with its careful renderings of the palace, its occupants, and the daily life of gentle society and realized the truth. “This isn’t thieves’ cant. This is the personalized cant of the cannon-stealing gentry that nearly killed Odelia.”
The color drained out of Jerin’s face. “The ones that killed Egan Wainwright?”
Ren flinched in memory of the mutilated, raped man. Had Jerin’s sisters told him about that? “Yes. Them.”
“How could they get into the gardens to get to the bolt-hole door?”
Ren knew that the gardens weren’t perfectly secure despite the wall and the guards. It was unlikely, however, that such a vast number of women scaling the wall could go unnoticed. The Barneses? They had access to the gardens. No. The Barneses never left the palace in any large number—they couldn’t have been the ten women escorting the cannons on the Onward. Nor had one of the Barneses vanished mysteriously when the red-hooded thief had been killed.
Only palace guests could have been in the garden unobserved.
And the only women invited to the palace, prior to the Whistlers, were from noble families. During Keifer’s short time in the palace, the royal family entertained often. He liked parties where he was the focus of powerful women. Keifer flirted with everyone; those who had the decency not to return the attention were never asked back.
Ren flipped through the lexicon, hoping for a clue to the family’s identity. There was the picture of the executioner’s hood, and a translation for colors, but nothing as damning as a woman’s face with “black hat” transcribed beside it. She cast the book angrily aside and looked into the nearly empty lockbox. All that remained was a small square of fine white paper, folded carefully into an envelope, as you might receive from an apothecary. Powder shifted inside the envelope, creating sand dune shadows as she held it up to the light. A circle overlaid an X to obscurely label the substance. Ren started to unfold the envelope, only to have Jerin catch hold of her hands with a yelp, squeezing until she stilled her fingers.
“It’s poison!” Jerin cried. “Don’t open it! It could kill you if you breathed it in or got it into your eyes.”
She froze. “Poison? How can you tell?”
“The cant. It’s marked poison. Skull and crossbones.”
“What was Keifer doing with poison?”
Jerin picked up one of the abandoned slips of paper. “Ren, I think he killed your father.”
She found Kij and flung the note into her face. “Look at this!”
Kij took the note, unfolded it, gazed at it for a long time, and then asked carefully, “Am I supposed to understand this?”
“This is the note that your brother received along with a packet of arsenic to kill my father!”
Kij forced a hollow laugh. “Oh, be serious. Keifer would never do anything like that!”
“Keifer was a whoring, murdering slut!” Ren snarled. “After murdering my father, he fucked women in our wedding bed!”
In a flat, emotionless voice, Kij asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes! The evidence is everywhere, once you start looking!”
Kij sat still, controlled. “What do you want me to say, Ren? ‘I’m sorry’ does not seem to be large enough for this.”
“You can tell me who!” Ren shouted. “Who killed my father? Who laid waste to the Wainwrights, nearly murdered Odelia, and butchered forty of my troops with grapeshot? Who was fucking your brother?”
“I don’t know!” Kij cried, spreading her hands. “He flirted with everyone. I don’t know who could have seduced him to that level. Even if Eldest knew that he was being unfaithful, which I’m sure she didn’t, who could have guessed that anyone was using him for treason? Keifer? He wasn’t intelligent, Ren!”
Intelligent, no, but cunning, yes. He should have been on that stage that night. What a performance he wove for such a young man. During the courtship, he pretended to be blindly in love with Eldest. He fooled the Queens into thinking he would make their daughters a fine husband. His fits of anger were just illusions to cover his infidelity.
“I need to know who was using him, Kij. He might be dead, but they’re continuing their treason.”
“I don’t know. It was six years ago, Ren, and I wasn’t Eldest at the time. I tended family business. I was always either on the Destiny or at Avonar. Eldest stayed here in Mayfair, but she couldn’t have known. Do you think she would let him chance destroying our connection with the crown? We gained so much influence when we became your sisters-in-law; we’d have lost it all if you returned him to us.”
Ren sighed. If Keifer had kept his secrets from her own sisters, right under their noses, she supposed that his sisters could have been just as fooled. They would have seen him only at social functions and occasional joint family dinners. “Raven will be by to interview your staff and sisters. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to make this public in hopes of information surfacing. We need to track down my father’s killers.”
Kij frowned. “Is that truly wise? There will be rumors that Keifer picked up something and spread it to you. I know what that’s like, Ren. People don’t want you sitting on their chairs, afraid they’ll catch something.”
“If rumors are all I have to deal with, Kij, I’ll be happy. It has yet to be seen if Keifer has left death behind him. But I will find these women, and then, heads will roll.”
The thunderstorm started with the longest thunder Jerin had ever heard, as the cloud boiled off the plateau and struck the river valley. It went on and on, and finally died. He went to the window and watched as the thunderclouds claimed the sky until only the farthest horizon remained clear, a slice of gold in a sky of rolling gray. Raindrops began to fall on the gray flagstone of the balcony, a splattering of dark spots. And then the rain started in earnest, in driving sheets.
I was so happy. Jerin opened the door and walked out into the pounding rain. It was too good to be true. Keifer was probably diseased. Ren and Odelia and Trini are going to die.
If they did, he couldn’t bear going on too. It would be more than just the grief of losing them. No one would think him clean, not even his own family, who knew of his indiscretions with Ren. Everything balanced on an edge of cascading disaster. If Ren was infected, the Queens couldn’t allow him to marry Lylia and the younger princesses. If his family had to give back the four thousand, they would lose the mercantile, and would have to pay the penalty.
His sisters had planned to stop in Annaboro for a few days before going on to Heron Landing. With a quick boat, the Moorlands could fetch back Cullen with his reputation fairly intact. With four brothers, why would his sisters need to visit a crib? The public opinion would be that, unlike Ren, his sisters were clean and thus Cullen was safe, regardless of any dalliance.
But Jerin’s brother’s price would be worthless forever. The betrothal notice had gone to the newsp
aper before his sisters left. His return to his sisters—and the reason why—would be equally public. Returning the four thousand crowns would be a crippling blow to his family. Much as his sisters loved him, they would have no choice but to set him up in a crib, servicing strangers for ten crowns a night.
He stared down at the bleak drop below the balcony, a storm of dark emotions raging through him. My life has been ruined by a man already dead.
“Jerin!” Ren dashed out into the cold pounding rain and caught his arm. “What are you doing out here?”
“If he was alive, I would hunt him down and cut out his heart!” Jerin trembled with the desire to do violence. Never before had he wanted to hold on to someone—preferably by the throat—and squeeze the very life out of him. Nothing would be slow and painful enough to ease the pain inside himself. “Why did he do this? He had everything!”
“Jerin, we’re clean!” Ren shouted over the roll of thunder. “If Keifer had anything, he didn’t pass it to me or the others!”
He blinked the cold rain and the hot tears out his eyes. “Clean?”
Ren smiled at him, oblivious to the rain. “There’s not a single trace of anything! Keifer’s noble lovers must have been clean. Nobles don’t visit cribs!”
It sounded so sane and reasonable. Of course, nobles were never pushed to desperation—they had money to buy the pretty son of a poor farmer if they had to bend that low. Surely if the women slept with Keifer, it was part and parcel of using him to commit treason. Had sex and the lure of doing something forbidden been simply an easy leash to control Keifer with?
The darkest and bleakest of Jerin’s emotions drained away, leaving him feeling bruised.
“Come on.” Ren tugged him back toward the suite. “Come out of the rain, and take off those wet things before you catch a cold.”
Numbly he followed. She pulled his nightshirt up over his head. She was soaked to the skin and shivering herself.
“You need to get dry too.” He reached for the buttons of her shirt.