XII

“How are you feeling?” Arlian asked.

They were inside the hospital wing at the watch headquarters. Yahan was in bed, resting, but she was awake and quite alert.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It still hurts.”

“And will continue to hurt,” Erruna said. She wore the green and white robes of the medical mage, her golden hair tied back out of her face. “Magic is a wonderful tool for healing, but your body still remembers the hurt, and must forget.”

“Does that mean I can walk?”

Erruna nodded. “Soon. Tomorrow morning would be best.”

Yahan looked disappointed. Like Arian, she didn’t want to quit working, especially in these times when people needed her. The Watch needed her, and Arlian needed her. But she had subordinates, so it would be fine.

“I’m glad you’re better,” Arlian said, and he smiled. “Now I must leave you.”

“You’re supposed to go home later, remember?”

“I still remember,” he said. “But we have a prisoner to question.”

“Do you think he’ll talk, my lord?”

Erruna was busying herself with some potions and ointments on a rack with wheels, but Arlian could tell she was listening.

It reminded him that there were spies in their midst. Otherwise their coach would not have been attacked.

Not Erruna, though. She was no spy.

“I don’t know. Even if he does, we might not find a use for the information.”

“What do you mean?” Yahan seemed concerned.

“There’s been so much politicking by both sides, they may say any accusations we levy, assuming we get useful information, was simply squeezed out of him—a forced confession if you will.”

“That wouldn’t be useless. We would know who to keep our eyes on.”

Arlian knew who they needed to keep their eyes on. The Grand Mage Klause Schuar. But maybe the orders from the Schuarists probably didn’t filter down directly from him—to keep him out of the path of blame.

Which was why somebody needed to throw the Grand Mage off a roof.

“We will see.”

Yahan nodded.

“Feel better, soon,” Arlian said.

“Thank you.”

He left her there, and stalked through the hospital wing, the day’s sun shining brightly through the tall windows.

Arlian came to the main entrance, but continued straight, then down another wing, where their prisoner was being held in a basement. It was dark down here, and the stones were wet. Wheather there was a leak in the city’s aqueducts or if there was an underground source of water dampening the bricks, he didn’t know, but it gave the holding cells a particularly eerie air.

The guard saluted Arlian with a “My lord,” and opened the door. There was a thick wooden table at the center of the room, candelabras and wall sconces with torches lit the space.

A square of bright light shone on the table from the skylight above. That skylight, build in the brick edifice of the watch headquarters was particular of many dungeons throughout the land. The design was meant to give the prisoner a sense of the world outside, but while denying them that privilege.

Yseful, but Arlian didn’t like it.

In a chair on the other side of the table, the mercenary he had defeated earlier in the day sat, his hands manacled and chained to a ring set into the table. On the other end of the table was the interrogator, Corporal Cleryn.

They hadn’t hit him, as much as Arlian felt he would have enjoyed some satisfaction from doing so. They had even healed him, but unlike Yahan, he wasn’t given a bed and time to rest afterward. Instead, he had been hauled straight down here, limping along with the thick chains between his feet while two guards held him by either arm.

Also in the dank room was captains Lech and Cedras, who was back from his earlier assignment. They had been in the room with their new prisoner for nigh on three hours now.

“Has he said anything?” Arlian asked.

Lech turned to face him. He was a tall, thin man with a somewhat gaunt face. “He’s claiming to be a roadside bandit.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asked the mercenary.

The man looked at him. Sneered and shrugged. “You all look the same to me. Now can I have some water?”

Arlian was still wearing his decorative armor. The fool was being recalcitrant. “I’m the Commander of the City Watch.”

The mercenary’s eyes widened a bit at that.

“We know you’re working for someone connected to the support for Prince Balthazar. But who?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You murdered my coachman, wounded my clerk, and attempted to kill us. That’s a hanging offense. I could have you executed by tonight.”

That seemed to loosen him up as he glanced about, evidentially in thought. But still, he said nothing.

What worked well was leaving a man with his own thoughts, the threat of death hanging in the air.

“He’s not going to say anything,” Arlian continued. “Leave him be. I’ll draw up the papers to be signed and then we can get this over with.”

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The men got up and shuffled out of the room.

Before closing the heavy door, Arlian could already see the worry on the man’s face. He would talk, but not this moment. In a few hours, when evening came, he would have the man hauled out for execution.

A pretend execution.

Arlian didn’t have the authority to execute a man. A magistrate had to sign off on the evidence, in this case, sworn statements by Arlian and Yahan and other witnesses in the area, of which he sent a man for as soon as Yahan was moved to the medical ward.

But an execution tonight?

It wasn’t possible, and even if it was, the City Watch wasn’t responsible for that sort of business.

“Do you think your bluff will work?” Captain Lech asked as they left the stairs to the main level.

“I think he’ll talk.”

“It could be that he’s afraid to speak. If he’s in line with the Schuarists—they could have something on him.”

Their voices would have otherwise carried in the stone corridors, but the watch headquarters was well furnished and carpeted, preventing that.

“Like what?” Arlian asked.

“My lord!” The four men turned around. It was the guard. “My lord, Arlian! There’s something wrong with the prisoner!”

Arlian pushed his way between Lech and Cleryn and sprinted after the guard back to the holding cell where he found the mercenary on the floor, the table flipped over to accommodate his short chain. He was grasping at his neck so fiercely he had gouged his own neck.

“Take his arms!” Arlian called.

Corporal Cleryn and Captain Cedras moved forward and did as told. It was no easy feat, as the prisoner squirmed and kicked strong enough that the chair he had been sitting in went flying across the room when his leg went into a violent spasm.

Arlian jumped in, grabbed his legs with Captain Lech.

“What’s wrong with him?” Lech asked, trying to hold him down, but he was bucking off the floor, his head coming back down onto the stone floor hard enough to crack his skull.

“I—“

Arlian couldn’t’ say! His face was purple and his eyes were bulging. “Is he choking?” Cedras said.

“On what?!” Arlian shouted.

The mercenary’s struggles lessened as saliva foamed out of his mouth, and then finally his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he stilled.

The four men released the man, his clothing rumpled and torn. Arlian whirled on the guard. “What did you give him?”

Shaking his head, the guard was as shocked as they were. “Nothing. I gave him nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!”

Shit.

He moved up to the dead man, took his lower jaw between his fingers and opened his mouth. “There’s nothing.”

“I’ll… fetch Erruna,” Captain Lech said.

“Be quick,” Arlian ordered, and watched the man move with haste up the stone steps leading out of the cell.

“I can’t believe this,” Cedras said. “How could he have just died—before he could—“

“Before he could give us any information?” Arlian finished. Cedras was right. This was suspicious at best, and clear evidence of a plot to cover up evidence at worst. The Schuarists were crafty, but the common lot wasn’t this intelligent.

“Corporal Cleryn,” he said, addressing the slight man. “Did you realize anything suspicious about the prisoner?”

The corporal breathed in deeply, flicked his eyes to the dead man, then back to Arlian. “He seemed anxious.”

“Isn’t that normal?”

“Of course, but there was a moment when the impression came to me that he wanted to speak, but did not.”

“I’ll trust your instincts, Corporal.”

There was a real force behind this, one that meant to twist the situation to its own benefit. That included murder and assassination.

Erruna and two of her assistants finally arrived. She came up short when she saw the body, looked at Arlian with bright blue eyes, then moved closer.

She bent down on her knees, took the man by the jaw as Arlian had. She inspected for what seemed a long time. “And he ate nothing?”

“That’s right,” Arlian said.

Turning to address him, she asked, “Could he have swallowed something from his person?”

“Not likely,” the guard said. “We searched him, and his hands were chained too tightly.” He pointed to the mercenary’s hands, still cuffed to the table, hanging, purple but now starting to whiten from death. “As you can see.”

She looked at him, tilted her head.

Arlian came closer. “What is it? Is it the plague?”

“Whatever this is,” Erruna said, her tone musing and distracted, “it’s not the plague. There’s something here.”

He leaned closer as she parted his shirt. The high collar had been hiding something. It looked like body ink.

“Markings,” Cedras said.

Lech was at the door. He didn’t come inside. This strange death seemed to have spooked the captain, but Arlian didn’t take him for the superstitious type.

“It’s this.”

“What do you mean?” Arlian asked. “He’s inked—what of it?”

“This is no normal ink,” Erruna said, turning and looking straight into his eyes. “Moy lord—“ she swallowed—“I’m fairly certain this is a curse.”

“A curse?” Lech said, sounding alarmed.

Arlian glanced at the man. “Captain Lech.”

“Commander?”

“Busy yourself, sir.”

The officer nodded and left the room, but before he could go, Arlian added, “Captain. Tell no one of this.”

He nodded and went.

“Lady Erruna,” he said, accidentally taking note of her ears. He thought she might be part elf, but it was hard to say. “Are you certain of this?”

“I thought I sensed a dark presence for a moment when I entered the cell, my lord. I’m fairly certain, but I will need time to examine the markings.”

He trusted her completely, had shown her skill and aptitude for magic and the healing arts on many occasions.

“How long?”

“At least several hours?”

He nodded. “All right, let’s get this man to the morgue, then.”

“Wait,” Erruna said, raising a quick hand. “I don’t think we should touch him with our skin. Let me return with gloves and some other materials.

“Of course, we will defer to your judgment, lady Erruna.”

She left them there with her two assistants, but returned a short while later, whereupon they put on leather gloves, wrapped the body, and then put it on a stretcher before taking it to the morgue.

Sighing, Arlian felt exhausted.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information, Commander.”

Arlian nodded and left the morgue. He parted ways with Captain Cedras in the main hall, who was approached by a clerk with urgent orders.

“Corporal, see to it that lady Erruna gets anything she needs.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“And post guards at the morgue and in the infirmary.”

The Corporal saluted him and Arlian went on his way.

The next thing he did was go to his personal quarters and wash his shaking hands. Thoroughly. But Erruna had been certain the mercenary hadn’t died of the plague. If it was a curse, as she said she suspected, then washing his hands would be like putting on a coat when you’ve lost a limb in a sword fight. Foolishness.

But he couldn’t be too careful. The man had just died. That danger could still be present, which was why he had dispatched guards at the morgue and infirmary to make sure everyone coming and going had a purpose to do so.

Sighing, he had a drink of water as he perused the urgent reports of the day, requests for men and supplies in various parts of the city. He melted wax, put his stamp on letters of order, and signed his name where needed, the clerk—one of Yahan’s subordinates who was filling in for her, taking them away to the appropriate individuals.

The day was ending, and Arlian finally found the time to wash his sword, sharpen the blade and then oil the steel. But he did not slide the weapon back into his scabbard. Instead he delivered that to the quartermaster for cleaning and got a replacement in the meantime, as well as a new cuirass that wasn’t so ornamental.

He opted for lighter armor. Heavier plate was for battle. Running about through town, he decided to start wearing partial plate instead, along with more mail. Mail would stop arrows—not bolts—and protect him from blade attacks.

Wondering how many times his life had been in danger the past two days, he tidied up his desk and finally decided to leave, giving Captain Orvyn command while he was gone.

Walking to the stables, he almost felt guilty for leaving. There was so much to do, so many people to help, but it was also clear a plot was underway—a plot to seat prince Balthazar on the throne.

Council woman Jorrissiana was in danger, but with ten guards at her residence who followed her every single place she went, there wasn’t a lot else Arlian could do, short of putting her in the cells and lining the corridors with men.

He hadn’t seen her today, but she was supposed to put forward her vote for Prince Kandrion. Had she done it? Arlian wanted to make sure, to check on her, but that wasn’t his place.

In the morning he would ask. Or perhaps Mariel would know the news. She stayed up on current events, despite not leaving their house. The Brennovo residence employed several runners on Arlian’s ample salary.

Instead of taking a coach, he mounted his personal horse, a tall chestnut mare called Vira, and set off for home.