Chapter Eighteen
We took a carriage home, and Taro was all for bundling me up to bed, but there were a few things I felt I had to do before shutting myself away for the day.
Ben was back from his errands, cooking soup in the kitchen. I watched him from the doorway for a moment. He was so involved in what he was doing, chopping vegetables with fluid precision. He had no idea what was coming.
I cleared my throat. “Ben.”
He looked up at me. “Shield,” he said. Then he seemed to take a closer look at me. “You don’t look well, Shield Mallorough.”
“That’s one of the things I have to talk to you about.”
He put down his knife. “Is there something wrong?”
“Can you leave this for a while? I’d like you to come up to my room for a bit.”
“Of course.” He covered the pot and followed me up to my sitting room.
Once we were settled, I asked, “Have you been using niyacin powder in the poultices for my hand?”
He blinked in surprise. “Yes, of course. It’s a common medicine to prevent infection.”
“Well, it turns out I have a negative reaction to it. I turns out it could kill me.” I hated saying that. It sounded so ridiculous. And it sounded like I was accusing him of something. I wasn’t. I didn’t blame him.
“My lords, I had no idea.” He leaned back from his proper position at the edge of the settee. “I will, of course, stop using it immediately.”
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to feeling better soon.” And quickly getting back on the roster.
“Please accept my apologies, Shield. I had no idea—”
I raised a hand to stop him. “The healer said the powder is often used. You had no way to know I’d react that badly to it.”
“That’s very gracious of you.”
“No, no, not at all.” No stalling now. It was time to get it over with. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
“I see,” he said calmly.
An odd reaction to a warning of bad news, I thought. Was it possible he already knew? It was his daughter, after all. “I have been told that Sara has been arrested for the murder of Yuri Izen.”
His eyes widened, and then he stood abruptly, turning his back on me.
The silence stretched, and I had to resist the stupid urge to ask him if he understood. Of course he understood. He wasn’t an idiot.
So instead I said, “I am very sorry.”
He turned back around. It was hard to read his expression. He seemed annoyed more than anything else. “I have to admit I was worried she might have had something to do with it.”
“You what?” I squeaked.
“She was a servant of his. She left his house immediately after his death was discovered. And while we didn’t see each other often, I was always able to find her when I wanted to. I haven’t been able to contact her since she left the mayor’s home. I’d hoped it was only a coincidence.”
“I see.” He hadn’t told me that. Had he told anyone? Was it realistic to think he should? She was family, and he would have had no way to confirm whether she had anything to do with Izen’s death if he hadn’t been able to speak with her. For all he knew, she really had nothing to do with the mayor’s death but had feared suspicion and had run in an ill-advised attempt to avoid it.
Except they thought she’d stolen his ashes, too. There had to be a reason for that belief. “To your knowledge, did she believe that using the ashes of lucky people would bring her good fortune?”
He appeared even more surprised than when I’d told him his daughter had been arrested. That was odd.
“You know of such things?” he asked in a voice lowered nearly to a whisper.
“Of course. Everyone knows.” Didn’t they?
“People of your,” Ben stammered, “of your stature shouldn’t be bothered with such things.”
“What things?” I asked, deciding that to question him on what he meant about my stature would take us off on a tangent.
“Foolish things,” he muttered.
“You feel believing in casting is foolish?” Thank Zaire. I thought absolutely everyone in the city was going mad.
He wiped his mouth and avoided answering that question. “Has she confessed?”
“I’ve been told she hasn’t.” I found it curious that he immediately assumed she was guilty. And was prepared to admit that to me.
“So there will be a trial?”
“There damn well better be.” With a possibility of a finding of not guilty. To hear Risa speak of a trial followed by a sentence, as though the trial were nothing more than a show for the sake of procedure, had chilled me.
“Good.” He nodded, and he kept nodding. “Good. Good. Thank you for your time, Shield Mallorough.”
I didn’t try to keep the poor man with me. I doubted he would want to discuss such a personal tragedy with me any more than he had already. And there was nothing I could say to comfort him. Soothing lies never did anyone any good, and it wasn’t as though I actually knew anything about how a trial or anything else in this matter would work.
I had another distasteful task to perform. One I wasn’t sure I should be performing. Risa had told me about Ben’s daughter because she felt we, the people who lived with him, had a right to know. I didn’t know if I agreed with that. This information fell purely in the category of Ben’s personal business.
On the other hand, this did involve murder. Perhaps something this serious transcended personal business. And Ben might need more time to himself, might want to spend more time with his daughter. If everyone knew why, they would be more understanding. I hoped.
If there was anyone who was the arbiter of correct behavior, at least in his own mind, it was Chris LaMonte. He was the oldest of all the Sources and Shields in High Scape, and he thought that gave him some sort of authority. There was no real hierarchy among Pairs, and if there were, Taro and I would be considered the senior Pair in High Scape because we had been there the longest.
I wanted someone else’s opinion on what I should do with the information I had, and it seemed to me that LaMonte would be the best person to ask. He thought a lot about what kind of conduct was appropriate in what kind of circumstances.
I went to his suite, considering it the first logical place to look for him. He surprised me by opening the door. That was unexpectedly easy.
“Dunleavy,” he said in greeting. Then he squinted at me. “You look like the moon.”
I was pretty sure that was a Source way of saying I looked terrible. “Thanks. Can I talk to you?”
His eyebrows flew up in surprise. I didn’t blame him. I never really wanted to talk to LaMonte. He was so arrogant.
“Please come in,” he said, standing aside and letting me into a sitting room that was surprisingly dark. Dark brown walls, black furniture, deep red carpeting. Very depressing. “Please have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Once we were seated, I went straight to the point. “I learned today that Ben’s daughter has been arrested for the murder of the new mayor. They think she stole his ashes, as well.”
LaMonte was clearly shocked. “Who told you that?”
“Risa. The Runner.”
“She shouldn’t be telling you things like that.”
I kind of agreed with him, but when he said so in that chiding, pompous tone, it made me want to find a good reason to disagree. “She felt we had a right to know because we live with him.”
“That may have been so had Ben been the one suspected of murder, but his daughter has nothing to do with us. His family business is his own.”
“So you don’t feel we should tell the others?”
“Certainly not. I am ashamed of you for telling me.”
All right, all right, I got the point. I was completely in the wrong.
“I hope I can rely on you not to treat Ben any differently because of this.”
“Of course not.” It was nice to know he thought so highly of me.
“Then we need say no more on the subject.”
Fine with me. Gods, he was so annoying. I was so glad I’d asked. Damned waste of time. And it was past time I was in bed.