My premonition of last night was not a lie. It is clear to me now that I must write and make everything known to my readers, but I can promise that there will be daylight at the end.
It was Huro, of all people, who came to my door the next morning to summon me back to Agamnu’s house. “Lurwi wants everyone there,” he said with an expression on his face that was without a doubt a leer. “She’s holding a kind of inquisition, and I must say she’s charmingly enthusiastic about it. Me, I say Agamnu and you just drank too much. You don’t remember anything, do you?”
“Nothing,” I said coldly.
“You see? It’s a wonder you’re still on your feet and breathing the air of the upper world. You should make a special sacrifice to Solīriso.”
“Thank you for the advice,” I told him, of course having no intention of sacrificing to a doctor who had died long ago. Not that Huro was sincere in his piety. I once saw him walk, without a single genuflection, past a whole row of priests who were carrying the images of gods. Why there was a whole row of priests carrying the images of gods is another story that I have no intention of ever telling.
I set out for Agamnu’s house without waiting for Huro to lead me. But his long legs kept him nearly at my side as we walked. He kept me company by telling me all about his adventures in the upper and lower parts of Edazzo during the recent war against the Amikni, most of which I cannot write down without shame. It was with enormous, unutterable relief that I saw the pillars at the gate and hurried into the courtyard, leaving Huro behind for a blessed moment. You will not be surprised to read that at this moment I had definite suspicions about who was guilty of Agamnu’s blood. The only question in my mind was how much Lurwi knew.
Lurwi herself was standing in the main hall, upbraiding the four servants, but she broke off her words when she saw Huro and me. She lifted her veil and simpered. At least, that is the only word I can think of to describe the remarkable expression she aimed at Huro. Her greeting to me was less simpering, and indeed was almost brusque. “So you’re here. Good. Now we can finally put an end to all this nonsense and avenge my husband. I have gathered together every member of the household.”
Indeed, Bekzamu was standing against the far wall with his arms crossed, looking far gloomier than he had the preceding day. Barzidi and Taurūmi were sitting together on the couch, Taurūmi whispering words to no one in particular. She had always been an odd girl, but her state now was a sad and distressing one. “Agamnu is not pleased,” I said to myself.
“I should hope not,” said Huro. Apparently I had not been speaking as much to myself as I had intended. “He’s dead.”
“You’ll join him if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” said Bekzamu in a sudden fury.
Huro had been wearing a mocking look on his face, but it vanished quite suddenly, and he sat down on the ground, folding his long legs under him. “All right, my lady,” he said to Lurwi. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Tell us, then, what your Hawk would say,” said Lurwi, facing me and letting her veil drop again.
On the walk from my home I had been thinking about that exact question. Unfortunately, I had yet to think of an answer, and so I spent a great deal of time clearing my throat in a way that was similar to and yet distinct from the pre-confessional clearing of the throat. It reached the point where Barzidi brought me a cup of wine, and I thanked her. By the time I had finished drinking, I had the answer I was looking for.
“This is what the Hawk of the White Mountain would say. He would turn to one of you and ask a simple question that would reveal some flaw in your stories.”
“What stories?” Taurūmi asked.
“I knew I was forgetting something. The servants, I know, say that they were asleep all night. We will let that pass for now, though the Hawk of the White Mountain would find it extremely dubious. That leaves Huro and the relatives of Agamnu.”
“And you,” said Lurwi.
“And me, of course. But it was not I who barred the door, we have established that.” Quickly I turned to Huro. “You! You said you were here to see Bekzamu on business. What business, and when did you arrive?”
“No need for him to speak,” said Bekzamu with understandable scorn, even if he had stepped on the heels of my question. “He was not here to see me. I think we all know whom he came to see.”
“I came here to see Bekzamu,” said Huro with enviable calmness. “I had hoped that he would listen to me concerning a horse-breeding opportunity that I had for him, but I suppose not. I arrived early this morning, and knew nothing of all the messy business inside until you told me. Lurwi can confirm this, since she met me as I entered the courtyard.”
“Of course she can,” said Taurūmi, drawing away from Barzidi and uncoiling herself to point at her mother. “What were the two of you doing in the garden? What have you been plotting against my father? What have you done to him? Liars! Murderers! I hate you both! May Thundargi cut you down at night!”
Huro backed away from her fury, but Lurwi only clicked her tongue. “You will obey me girl, and be quiet. Madness has made you see phantoms, but they are nothing more than that.”
This was my opportunity: exactly the sort of weak point in a suspect’s armor that the Hawk would seize on, and I seized on it. “Phantoms, you say? Then what exactly were you doing in the courtyard this morning?”
“We talked,” said Lurwi coldly. “I was a courteous host.”
“I imagine you were.”
“What, exactly, do you mean by that?”
I wasn’t entirely sure what I meant by that, so I took a moment to think it over. Before I had finished mulling over the implications (though I suspect they were unsavory ones), Lurwi’s maid broke out into words. “I can tell you what she was doing! She was awake all night, weaving and singing to herself. Oh, I knew she was up to no good, and I followed her out when she left this morning. Huro was embracing and kissing her in the garden! She is a traitor to her lord!”
Lurwi struck her maid, knocking her to the floor, and continued to kick her until Labarinud managed to pull her away from her mistress’s wrath. “You are a liar!” Lurwi screamed. “A liar!”
“We could put her to the trial, if you like,” said Bekzamu. I thought he was oddly passionless until I saw the way his hands were working against one another, as if struggling to wring the necks that were his wrists. “We can see whether her accusations are true, and you can meet the consequences. Or we can simply give her a generous dowry and banish Huro from the city.”
“Wait a minute,” said Huro, but no one paid him any attention.
“All right,” said Lurwi. There was a curious noise, which I realized after some time was the noise of her teeth grinding. “Send her away, send him away. Send them all away and leave me alone to grieve the loss of my husband.”
“I would just like to say this,” Huro said in a high pained voice. “It should be obvious that neither I nor Lurwi killed Agamnu. Unless you are proposing that I sneaked in and back out again.”
“Get out,” Bekzamu told him. He spoke, I think, for all of us, or most of us anyway. Whether he spoke for Lurwi or not is a question beyond my understanding.
“And it is also obvious that I know nothing about poisons. I come from a family of warriors, and I would never stoop so low. If you want to learn about poisons, I have always heard you should ask Bekzamu.” He departed with this final shot. I have not heard what has become of him since. I believe he has left Edazzo, but whither he went from there is not something I know, nor do I care to know it.
I consoled myself with the thought that things did tend to work out like this for the Hawk of the White Mountain. One suspect or another was always eliminated, leaving the Hawk with a significantly easier task. I looked from one to another, wondering who I should address next. Bekzamu? Barzidi? Taurūmi? One of the servants? It was extremely perplexing, and I finally began to empathize with the Hawk’s companions, whom I had previously considered to be somewhat dimwitted, lagging behind his deductions and making obvious remarks as they always were.
“Taurūmi!” I said, largely because she had started to sing about blood and other unpleasant things. “You said you went to meet your goddess yesterday. What did she tell you?” Privately I doubted whether her goddess had told her anything, but it would not do to leave any avenue untraveled.
“She told me that soon I would learn the truth, and so I shall!”
“Bekzamu said he stopped you once. When, exactly, was that?” Memories and bright ideas were coming to me like the spray of a waterfall. It was exhilarating, and for once in my life I thought I understood what it was to be inspired, like a poet or the oracles of olden times.
“Bekzamu will be punished by the goddess,” said Taurūmi sullenly, like a child.
“Early yesterday morning,” said Bekzamu. “I was returning from a brief walk when I met Taurūmi coming out the door. I was quite shocked, I must say. But I delivered her safely to Barzidi in the main hall, before I went to sleep.”
“She complained to me all night about how cruel Bekzamu was,” said Barzidi, staring down at her hands. In her poise she made such a contrast to her ranting sister, I thought. It was unfortunate that the art of painting was still somewhat crude in this land, else the two of them would have made an excellent subject.
“I’ll complain until your ears bleed,” said Taurūmi. “A walk, he says? Ha! Where did you go on this walk of yours, uncle? Who were you talking to?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bekzamu said.
“Oh, but it does matter. I wasn’t coming out the door, you liar. I was well on my way to my goddess’s shrine, and I know what direction you were coming from. Despite all father’s admonitions, you were meeting Kholudo, weren’t you? How fortunate for you that he was out of the way, never to admonish you again!”
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“What spiteful nonsense.”
I was inclined to agree with Bekzamu. Dismissing Taurūmi’s words with a wave of my hand, I addressed Barzidi. “You were in the main room when Bekzamu brought your sister back?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, looking down and blushing. “I thought it might help if I walked around a little bit. I meant no harm.”
It seemed there had been an epidemic of walking around that night. I considered my next question carefully. It was, I am sure, to have been a question that would pierce to the heart of the matter like a keen arrow, laying bare the truth of the entire matter. But Labarinud interrupted it, and so it was lost to the world. I wish I remember it, as it was probably the most brilliant thought I have ever thought.
“Excuse me, but I was wondering something about what you said, master Bekzamu. Forgive me if I am being impertinent or speaking out of place.”
Bekzamu did not look happy as he pulled on his hair. Something was bothering him. No doubt his brother’s death. “No, no,” he said. “Please go on. We all value your insight a great deal.”
“We know that the wine master Agamnu drank was poisoned.”
“Yes, yes, by whoever sneaked into the upper room that night.”
“Perhaps. But perhaps the wine was poisoned before that point. If I remember correctly, you stopped me at the base of the stairs to ask me about the preparations for the feast of purification, not previously a subject in which you had taken an interest. I was distracted from the cups I was carrying for a few minutes, and you, I believe, have some skill as a juggler.”
Now I remembered that Bekzamu did have a fondness for entertaining children with such tricks as making trinkets disappear and drawing pebbles from his ears. I looked at Bekzamu in a new light, as I think we all did at that moment. Bekzamu himself seemed utterly stunned, as well he might. After a moment of deep consideration, he said, “I will have you punished for this. I assure you that I can think of many terrible punishments that you would well deserve for accusing me.”
Barzidi’s hands tightened in her lap. “What are you doing, Labarinud? Bekzamu didn’t kill Father.”
“Perhaps not,” said Labarinud through tightened lips. “But Bekzamu’s walk was not as brief as he claims. He was gone when I came down from the upper room, and did not return until he brought Taurūmi back. I suspect he was meeting Kholudo as Taurūmi said, though beyond that I would not dare to say.”
“Bekzamu,” I said gently. “If you know something, please tell us.”
“All right,” he said. “But I did not kill my brother, I swear by the Father Above. I know my drugs better than that. I only put him to sleep for a time, and you along with him, I’m afraid. I only wanted an opportunity to talk with Kholudo. Agamnu didn’t understand Kholudo, he never did. He would have forbidden me, or raised a storm about it when he found out. I just wanted to make sure the deal was made before Agamnu could protest.”
“And now he never will!” said Taurūmi, jumping to her feet. “Because you killed him!”
“No! I told you that he was killed with hemlock, didn’t I? It was another who added that to Agamnu’s cup, and Agamnu’s cup alone. Why would I want to kill my brother?”
I remembered something then, happily for Bekzamu. “Ah!” I exclaimed, and all eyes fell on me. “Agamnu gave me a drink from his cup, so he couldn’t have been poisoned before then.”
Bekzamu sighed and shut his eyes. “I told you I didn’t kill my brother. I don’t know what evil spirit possessed Labarinud to say such a thing.”
I looked at Labarinud, considering what he had said. Labarinud’s eyes met mine, but I was utterly unable to read his expression. He was Amikni, after all, and I have spent far less time among the Amikni then here among the Parako. It takes one a certain amount of time to grow accustomed to the customs of a people; I think that is true even for the Bird, thing of fairy though it be.
The thought that had been gnawing at me for some time found words at last. I stared at Labarinud as the Hawk of the White Mountain might stare at his prey. “When you said you went to sleep, then were awakened by Barzidi and Taurūmi, did anything happen in between?”
“I saw many things that night,” said Labarinud. “But I would be a fool to keep on hiding the most important thing I saw.” He turned away from me to face Bekzamu. “The answer to your question is simple enough.”
“Labarinud, no!” cried Barzidi rather over-dramatically, jumping to her feet alongside her sister, who had been laughing quietly to herself for a few minutes now. I made a mental note to look for someone in the city who could help Taurūmi out of her distressing state.
“I killed Agamnu.”
The blood drained from Barzidi’s face at these words of Labarinud’s. I remember the terror that fell upon the city of Tīuame during its siege by the Ikkësa, but the fear on Barzidi’s face rivaled anything I had seen during that dreadful time. “What are you saying?”
“I came upstairs in the middle of the night to find both of them fast asleep. I took the opportunity to exact revenge for everything his people have done to mine, for all the blood they have spilled, and for my long humiliation as a servant of his household. The deed is done, and I will go to my punishment and to the souls of my fathers in peace.”
It was all very simple, and it made sense of everything I knew about the events of last night. I opened my mouth to say something along those lines, but then it was as if the Hawk himself whispered in my ear, and I reconsidered. I knew Labarinud well enough to doubt that he harbored such hate for Agamnu, and even if he did consider himself bound by pious duty, why did he try to pin the deed on Bekzamu? “No,” I said. “The deed is done, but it was not you who did the deed.” If I had a few minutes to think over my words, I might have phrased that more poetically. The Bird made a small noise of complaint in my head: I’ve learned over the years that it has something of a critical streak.
“Do you call me a liar?”
“It is a harsh word,” I said. “But what would make you, of all people, tell such a lie?” I looked around the room at each of those present, each of whom looked shocked in their own way. I have often been called a fool, but I do not think that is fair. My thoughts do not go where I want them to go, and my words choose their own road out of my mouth, but I can find my footing if given enough time. I had my footing now, and when I spoke it was with all the authority that I and the Bird could muster. “Barzidi, what do you know about this? Why did you protest when Labarinud was about to speak?”
“I don’t know anything,” she said. Her face was so pale that I thought she was about to faint. “I was asleep until Bekzamu brought Taurūmi back.”
“But Bekzamu said he found you in the main hall, didn’t he?”
“Enough of this,” said Labarinud. “Why are you tormenting the girl? I have confessed, and no matter what torture you put me to, you will hear the same thing. I am guilty of my master’s blood, and I must face my punishment.”
“No!” Barzidi cried again. “Labarinud didn’t kill my father!”
“How do you know?” I asked. At this point Taurūmi rose again and began to intone something in the voice of an avenging spirit, but none of us were paying attention. I wasn’t, at least.
“Father was planning to marry me off to Āyuso. You know Āyuso, you know that he is the last man in Edazzo that any maiden would want to marry. But Father never could be turned from his path once he had decided on it. There was only one way to escape. This was the only way.” Then she turned and fled from the house so quickly that none of us who remained were able to do anything but stare at one another in silence. Taurūmi continued to intone, but still none of us were paying attention.
“I loved her,” said Labarinud. “I slept very little last night, and I saw everything. I could not let her perish, no matter her crime.” He sighed, all the breath leaving him until he seemed more like a doll than a man.
With the exception of Taurūmi, we were all too shocked to speak. I believe that I had even forgotten entirely about the Hawk of White Mountain, and what he would do at such a juncture.
After some time it occurred to me to pay attention to what Taurūmi was saying. “My sister killed him, but I will bring him back to life.”
I began to tell her calmly that such a thing was beyond the skill of even the greatest alchemists, but the Bird began to protest at the idea of trying to find a word for alchemy in the language of the Parako. So instead I merely asked her how she intended to do that. It is good to humor the bereaved.
I was expecting her to mention some god or mystery, but she did not. She stood up and beckoned for us to follow her out into the courtyard, where the sun had risen over the wall to give a tincture of gold to every stone and leaf. There was a man sitting on the bench with his back to us, and for a moment I thought it was Huro, come back in defiance of all reason and honor, but this man was, though broad-shouldered, not quite thick enough around the waist to be Huro.
He turned his head, revealing that he wore Agamnu’s face. Indeed, he was Agamnu, smiling at us all. “My children, my friend. I am sorry for what I did to you.”
“If you pretended to be dead, that was a cruel trick,” I told him. “And one that has done irreparable damage to your house.”
“It has brought what was hidden into the light, for which I must thank you and your friend the Hawk of White Mountain.”
I decided at this point to say nothing about how the Hawk of White Mountain was, in fact, a character from a popular series of stories that I had enjoyed as a child. He had never existed, nor did he have any worshipers like the legendary heroes of the Parako, but this truth would only bewilder my Parako friends, among whom literature is a province restricted to the bards. They sing about the history of the great families and of the gods above and below, but never about detectives no matter how brilliant.
“I don’t understand,” said Labarinud. “Did Barzidi really poison you?”
Agamnu shook his head, smiling.
“But she said she did,” Labarinud began to protest.
“She said nothing like that. I do not raise liars out of my seed. Barzidi came to the upper room that night to kill herself with the poison, don’t you see? At that point you were already asleep, my friend. I think you must have taken the lion’s share of the drug that my misguided brother put in the drink.
“Of course I told Barzidi that she would not have to marry Āyuso if she hated him that much, I persuaded her that instead that I would be the one to undergo a sleep that is like death.”
“He and his airy helpers could not fool me,” said Taurūmi, dancing from foot to foot. “I knew the truth as soon as I saw him.”
“You looked quite dead to me,” I interjected.
“I have many resources which you do not know, and of which I cannot openly speak,” Agamnu said, rising until he stood between me and the sun. “Like Risseldo, I bring gifts back from the underworld, though in my case it is not songs but light. There have been too many shadows for too long in my household, and it is good to burn them away. My daughters played their parts well.”
“I’m worried you might have burned the walls down around us. What about Lurwi? What will you do about her treachery?”
“And mine,” said Bekzamu. His head was bowed from the weight of his shame.
“Bekzamu needs to stop playing with potions,” said Agamnu in a rumbling voice that made me glance around for thunder before I realized my mistake. “And if he wants to make deals with Kholudo, the two of them can do so in the underworld.” Bekzamu’s head bowed even lower. He was, I thought, in serious danger of falling over. “As for my wife, she has condemned herself, and you all are witnesses. I doubt that she or any of us will be seeing Huro again, but I shall have to keep a close eye on her in the future.”
“You don’t intend to cast her out?” asked Labarinud.
“You don’t intend to burn her?” asked Taurūmi. I have as much respect for marital fidelity as the next man, but this seemed rather extreme.
“Perhaps I should, but I confess to a shameful weakness of mine. I love Lurwi dearly, and I will not abandon her yet. As for you, Labarinud, what shall I do with you?”
“I have spoken out of place,” said Labarinud as calmly as ever. “If you choose to punish me, that is your right.”
“It was noble of you to put yourself in the way of my daughter’s punishment, but it was less noble of you to accuse my brother. You shall leave my service at once; you shall return to your homeland. And you, my old friend, what reward shall I give you?”
My answer was the obvious one, I think. “Only this. The next time you die and come back to life, please leave me out of the entire affair.”