Echo in Emerald Read online

  So far there had been no answers. As Jackal said, Malachi’s investigation had turned up nothing. Jackal himself swore he had no idea who was behind the attempted assassination, which would be the first time something had happened in the whole city that remained a mystery to him. I had to wonder what the mood was like at the palace: Were Cormac and Jordan nervous and on edge? Were King Harold and Queen Tabitha furious at the inquisitor’s ineffectiveness so far? Was Malachi himself full of rage and fear at the notion that he could not protect his royal charges? Maybe he would even lose his job over this failure.

  That would be the best day I had had since … since I could remember counting up good days.

  “From what I hear, Malachi’s got all his men working on that one case,” said Bertie.

  Jackal nodded. “That’s right. You want to kill anyone else in Camarria? Now’s the time to do it because Malachi doesn’t have the resources to come hunt you down.”

  Pippa gave him one slow, level look. She was a sleek, long-limbed woman who didn’t waste words or motions, and I’d always considered her the most lethal person in the room next to Jackal. “Well, I don’t want to kill anyone in Camarria,” she said at last. “You saying you do? That would be a first.”

  It would be a first for most of the petty criminals in Sweetwater. There was plenty of illegal activity in Camarria, but most of it was minor: smuggling, robbery, gambling, prostitution. Murder was rare, violence tended to be short-lived and personal, and the good behavior of the citizens could largely be attributed to the implacable presence of the king’s inquisitor. Everyone feared Malachi, even Jackal, and Malachi was unswervingly loyal to the crown.

  “I don’t want to kill anybody,” Jackal said, “but somebody did. And from what I can tell, the inquisitor isn’t looking into that murder at all.”

  I had to think about it a minute to realize what he was talking about. Maybe two weeks ago, a man’s body had been found a few blocks over from where I’d met Morrissey and JoJo. It was pretty clear how he died because there was a deep gash across his neck and his clothes were covered in blood. Everyone in Sweetwater knew not to touch a murder victim until an inquisitor came to haul him off, so someone sent a message to the palace while a ring of curious onlookers gathered around the corpse, simply staring. The way I heard the story, the first officials to arrive on the scene were a couple of priestesses from the temple of the triple goddess, dressed in white for mercy and saying prayers over the dead man. But it wasn’t long before some of Malachi’s men appeared. They commandeered a cart and quickly took the dead man away. That was the last I’d heard about him.

  “There’s been no investigation?” I asked, surprised. “Do they even know who the poor soul was?”

  “As far as I’m aware, the answer to both questions is no,” said Jackal. “But I’ve heard a couple of rumors.”

  Of course he had. “What kind of rumors?” I said.

  “That the dead man was a lord. Low noble—but still noble.”

  That made all of us stare at him in shock. You might expect Malachi to ignore the death of a career drunk or a working girl, but a noble? I couldn’t see the inquisitor—or the king—letting such an outrage go unpunished.

  “That doesn’t seem right,” Bertie said. “A man gets his throat cut, he has a right to expect someone will try to find out why.”

  “Apparently the king agrees with you,” said Jackal. “Because he’s appointed someone he’s calling a ‘special investigator’ to work with the inquisitor to solve the crime.”

  “I bet Malachi doesn’t like that much,” Bertie said with satisfaction.

  “He’s acting like it was his idea,” Jackal replied. “But I agree with you. I bet he doesn’t like it at all.”

  “So who is this investigator?” Pippa asked. “An inquisitor from one of the other provinces?”

  “That’s what you might expect,” said Jackal. “But no. He’s a lord himself. A friend of Cormac’s named Dezmen. He’s from Pandrea.”

  “Gorsey,” Bertie said, using the workingman’s corruption of goddess have mercy on my soul. Anyone who uttered it sounded like an uneducated provincial, but it sounded entirely appropriate at the moment.

  Pandreans were rare in this corner of the world. Pandrea was the southernmost of the seven provinces that made up the Kingdom of the Seven Jewels. It wasn’t as wealthy as Banchura or as strategic as Orenza, but it was unique in its own way, in that most of the people who lived there were dark-skinned and dark-haired. Each of the seven regions had a certain traditional “look.” Those from Banchura were frequently blond-haired and blue-eyed, for instance, while those from Alberta tended to have porcelain-white skin and rich black hair—though, of course, there was great variation among appearances, helped along by the constant intermingling among the provinces. But if you spotted a blond woman with huge cornflower eyes and you said, “I bet you’re from Banchura,” seven times out of ten you’d be right. In fact, Camarria was overrun with these fair-colored folks, because Banchura was so close to the royal city.

  But people from the more distant provinces didn’t travel here quite so often. The city of Camarria was located in the province of Sammerly, at the northeast tip of the kingdom, so it took a little effort to get there. Pandrea, for instance, was half the width of the country away, and a Pandrean man would have to have a powerful incentive to make the trip. Folks from Alberta and Orenza were even less likely to be found in the royal city—partially because they were even farther away, and partially because the western provinces were in a state of constant rebellion against the eastern ones. Pandrea had a reputation for being loyal to the crown, but even so it had managed to maintain good relations with the governors of all the other provinces, even the fractious ones.

  That might have been the reason, come to think of it, the king had chosen a Pandrean man to look into this mysterious murder.

  “Maybe the king thinks the lord was killed by someone from Alberta or Orenza or Empara, so he has to proceed with caution,” I said slowly.

  “I had the same thought,” Jackal agreed. “He thinks if the crown makes an accusation, it will be just one more reason for the western provinces to rise up in rebellion.”

  Bertie heaved himself to his feet. “Well, let me know if the country goes to war,” he said through a yawn. “Until then, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Hang on,” Pippa said, grabbing her coat. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  In a few moments, they were gone. I glanced around the tavern once, checking to see if I should cut my break short, but there were only a few drowsy customers sitting at three other tables, and Dallie didn’t look too pressed to keep up with them. She wouldn’t even bother checking on Scar and Chessie, because she knew I’d take care of them.

  I brought my attention back to Jackal. “Well, come on, out with it,” I said.

  He showed me a face of innocence. You wouldn’t think he could pull it off, but he can. “With what?”

  “Come on. I know you better than that. You had some reason to be talking about this dead lord and this Pandrean noble.”

  He grinned. “I did. I’m interested in Lord Dezmen of Pandrea. I want to know what he’s found out. I keep coming up against blank walls, and this is my city. How can he discover anything?”

  “Maybe he’s smarter than you are.”

  His grin deepened. “Well, anything is possible. But is he also more careful than I am?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jackal drummed his fingers on the table. “Seems like Lord Dezmen has already poked his nose into a couple of places where he wasn’t wanted. Asked a few questions about Halloran, and Halloran didn’t like it.”

  Halloran was Jackal’s chief rival on the east side. I’d never had any personal dealings with him, but, of course, I knew all about him. He was probably twice Jackal’s age, a tall, fine-looking, white-haired autocrat who owned half the property in Sweetwater and had no end of en
emies. But he also had money, power, loyal supporters, and—some said—a direct connection with the king’s inquisitor. He was probably the person Jackal hated second most in the world.

  I opened my eyes as wide as they would go. “You think Halloran would do something to the Pandrean man? A friend of the king’s? That seems a lot riskier than killing off some anonymous lord that nobody seems to recognize.”

  “It does. But I heard a rumor today. A pretty specific one. It mentioned a time and a place and the number of men you’d need if you wanted to kill all three.”

  “Three?”

  “Lord Dezmen has two echoes.”

  I felt an odd pain arrow through my heart at the thought of anyone killing an echo. I didn’t even know the man, but I had a sudden, sharp sympathy for him. I pushed it aside, as being a useless emotion. “Do you believe it?”

  Jackal waggled his head back and forth. “I don’t know. Halloran’s a rogue, but he hasn’t been mixed up in murder before, at least not that I’ve ever heard. Maybe I’m linking two separate stories that don’t go together at all. But I know Halloran doesn’t like the questions the Pandrean is asking. And I know that someone has hatched a plan to do some harm to the Pandrean. Seems to me those two things might be related.”

  “Well, then, I hope the Pandrean man is careful,” I said. “Maybe he’s smart enough to bring a few guards with him the next time he starts asking people questions.”

  Jackal fixed me with a sudden, unnervingly direct stare. “I need to warn him.”

  “That his life is in danger? That’s kind of you.”

  He responded with a half-smile. “Not entirely. If Halloran wants him dead and I can keep him alive, then Halloran’s unhappy. And that makes me happy.”

  I laughed. “Good enough for me.”

  “Will you help me?”

  “What?”

  “Take a message to Lord Dezmen. Let him know he’s in danger. I’ll give you all the particulars I’ve been able to pick up.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  It had been an instinctive reaction; I didn’t have a good reason to say no, except that the request was so odd. Warn a high noble that his life might be in danger? Why would he listen to me? “He’ll think I’m a lunatic.”

  Jackal shrugged. “Why do you care? I’ll pay you. It’s a job. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

  “I wait tables,” I grumbled. “Chessie carries information.”

  “Then I’ll hire her. Send her on over.”

  I sighed theatrically but pushed myself to my feet. “All right, then. I’ll have her come talk to you.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said with a smile. “Now give me a kiss.”

  I complied, then headed over to the table where the echoes sat. This was just a little tricky since I had to shift bodies while anyone could be watching. I also had to send Red out of the room for the duration of my conversation with Jackal, because I didn’t have the focus to carry on a conversation with one person while mixing drinks and making change for any number of other people. So Red exchanged a few words with Chessie, then slipped out the back as if getting some fresh air. Instantly I was in Chessie’s head and sauntering over to Jackal’s table.

  “You’ve got an assignment for me?”

  “Take a seat.”

  I settled across from him and propped my chin in my hand. In part, trying to change my mannerisms from Red’s to Chessie’s. In part, trying to cover at least some of my face. The bar was dark, I was wearing a cap and a lot less makeup, but Chessie’s face was identical to Red’s and Jackal had just been looking at Red. I didn’t want him to start noticing resemblances.

  “Tomorrow afternoon, in the botanical gardens, a man will be waiting by the statue of King Edwin,” he said. “You know it?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’ll be meeting someone who might be bringing him information. Don’t interrupt the conversation, but once he’s free, go up to him. Tell him that there will be some men waiting for him by the entrance. It’s not clear if they want to kill him or if they just want to scare him, but they’re planning to do some level of damage. I want you to show him another exit.”

  I feigned surprise. “There’s another way out of the gardens?”

  He gave me a stern look. “Don’t pretend to be dumb. Or uninformed.”

  I grinned. “All right. I’ll show him the way out. Then what?”

  “That’s it. If you want to guide him back to the palace or wherever he’s staying, that’s up to you. I just want you to warn him.” He pushed a small bag of coins across the table. “Payment in advance.”

  It was a heavy bag for such a small job. But Jackal always paid Chessie well—because of his fondness for Red, I’d always thought. I slipped the bag in my pocket. “How will I recognize him? There could be more than one man standing around admiring that stupid statue.”

  “He’s Pandrean. And he has two echoes. Should be easy to spot him.”

  “Sounds good. You want me to come report to you afterward?”

  Jackal smiled. “Don’t bother. If he turns up dead, I’m sure I’ll hear about it. I’ll know something happened to keep you from making contact.”

  The threat was unspoken but perfectly clear. Jackal would most definitely learn the news if a Pandrean high lord was killed in the public gardens. And he would most definitely want an explanation from me. I unhurriedly stood up. “If that happens, I’ll make sure I give your money back.”

  Jackal laughed soundlessly. “That you will. But I don’t foresee any problems, do you?”

  I shook my head. “None at all. Thanks for the work.” I nodded confidently and strolled back to my table. A moment later, Red reappeared and I went back to waiting on tables. The final hour of the night flew by. When my shift was over and I collected Chessie and Scar, I glanced over at Jackal’s table one last time. But he was already gone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I wanted to look a little less like an urchin for my encounter with a high noble, so the following day I dressed myself with more care than usual. As Chessie, I usually wore pants and oversized jackets, and I wasn’t about to don one of Red’s flashy dresses, but I didn’t want to look like a sewer rat, either. So I put on a pretty white blouse with floral embroidery around the high scoop neck, a pair of tailored black trousers that flattered my figure, and a pair of black boots that could almost be called fashionable. I couldn’t do much to style my short hair, but I made sure it was clean and well brushed. The lightest touch of cosmetics gave me a slightly more feminine air. When I studied myself in the mirror, I thought I looked respectable enough—certainly like a working-class woman, maybe even a merchant’s daughter. Almost good enough to address a high noble in public.

  I dressed the echoes with a bit more care, too—toning down Red’s usual bright attire, and smartening up Scar’s—even though I didn’t expect them to be anywhere that the lord might notice them. Still. The rich and titled tended to promenade around the botanical gardens. I didn’t want to be embarrassed by my own appearance.

  As was my habit, I got to the meeting spot more than an hour in advance and spent the time familiarizing myself with the locality. The gardens were one of the loveliest spots in Camarria, and every time I visited them, I wondered why I didn’t go more often. They had to encompass seventy or eighty acres of flower beds and stands of ornamental trees, all tied together with winding paths and delightful low bridges arching over man-made streams. This late in the season, there wasn’t much left in bloom, but most of the trees and shrubs were still green. Here and there unexpected bursts of glorious color could be found as hardy rosebushes defied the onset of cold weather.

  The whole park was bounded by a latticework metal wall close to ten feet tall and tipped by decorative spear-point finials. Easy enough to climb, of course, and I had to imagine that vandals made their way in over the top on a regular basis. But most people came in through the formal entrance, which consisted of a sweeping stone archway lar
ge enough to admit a carriage. Two young women sold tickets and flirted with the soldiers who stood nearby to make sure everyone paid their way.

  I paid the entry fee for the three of us, then set off on a slow circuit of the whole park, keeping mostly to the formal pathways. I let Scar and Red fall a discreet distance behind, walking hand in hand like lovers. The day was cold and somewhat overcast, so there weren’t too many others in the garden admiring the flowers, the water features, and the scattered statuary. We made the loop a second time, stopping at a point almost exactly halfway around. Here the metal of the wall was woven with ivy and clematis, the leaves and vines so thickly interlaced that you couldn’t see the lattice underneath. The ground between the path and the wall was carpeted with more ivy and other creeping plants that I couldn’t identify, all of them so old and well established that the vines were almost as thick as my wrist.

  Leaving Scar and Red on a wrought-iron bench, I investigated more closely, wading through the ivy so I could put my hand on the fence. My fingers closed on a mesh of metal and greenery. I gave the bars a shake, but this section was solid.

  Somewhere, there was supposed to be a marker. My hand still on the fence, I looked around. On the other side of the path, I could see a bronze statue of an archer pulling back his bow, but his arrow looked like it would shoot straight toward the grand entrance. I noticed an ornamental bridge, but it lay parallel to the wall, so I couldn’t cross it in the hopes that it would deliver me to the right spot. But there. A few yards away from where I stood, half covered in ivy and green with moss, was a small bronze sundial with a triangular wedge of metal set on its circular rim. If I considered the wedge its own kind of arrow, I could tell it was pointing straight toward a specific section of the fence.