Murder in Tarsis Read online

  These were fine-sounding words, he thought as the councilors departed. But where was he to find such a person? He glanced at the great hourglass that stood at one end of the room. Already a noticeable portion of his five days had trickled through it.

  Chapter Five

  “What day is it?” Ironwood asked.

  Nistur studied his companion’s face. “Either you have a slow-growing beard, or we haven’t been here very long at all,” he replied irritably.

  “Relax,” Shellring advised. “You haven’t been here half a day yet.” She lay on her back with her head resting on interlaced fingers, one knee drawn up and the other leg resting across it. “It’s just that time feels different in jail.”

  “It is not the only thing that feels different,” said Nistur, his hand darting beneath his tunic. “The two-legged inhabitants of this place are tolerable. Even the four-legged ones are at least avoidable. The six-legged sort are another matter entirely.”

  When feeding time came again, Ironwood and Nistur declined to partake. Shellring, far more experienced than they, ate their rations while she chatted with the guards. When she returned to their corner, she wore a thoughtful expression.

  “Is there news?” Nistur asked.

  “Something funny from the palace,” she said.

  “Oh, I see,” said Ironwood skeptically. “You are privy to the secrets of the palace?”

  “You two really don’t know how the world works, do you?” she said.

  “I once thought I did,” said Nistur. “However, I begin to have second thoughts.”

  “Go on,” Ironwood said.

  “Well, all right,” Shellring said, mollified. “You see, the big people like the lord and his councilors and the rich folks talk to each other and they think they’re keeping things private, but there are other people all around them. The higher-ups never pay attention to the servants and guards everywhere.”

  “Remarkable,” said Nistur. “And what have the humble ears of the palace heard?”

  “That murdered nomad our cellmates found is causing big trouble. The nomad chief is outside the gates with blood in his eyes, demanding vengeance. He gave the lord five days to cough up the killers or he’ll invade. I guess it’s more like four and a half by now.”

  “The whole city would have heard that,” said Ironwood. “It must have been going on while we were looking for a band to join. What’s this palace gossip?”

  “The lord’s got a problem,” Shellring said, preening with this inside information. “He has to appoint investigators, and he can’t trust anybody. His constables are good enough to find a pot of ale within arm’s reach, but that’s about all. The other members of the Great Council are likely to do something underhanded just to topple him.”

  “What about the other officials?” Nistur asked. “The judges? Surely there must be efficient persons within the government, else the city would collapse.”

  “Every one of them got his job through patronage,” Shellring said. “They’re all in the pocket of one councilor or another.”

  “This bears pondering,” Nistur said, stroking his beard.

  “How is that?” asked Ironwood. “It’s a palace matter, and we’re here in the dungeon.”

  “Just a passing thought. Shellring, does this grapevine of yours work both ways? Can you transmit a report through the guards and servants and so forth all the way to the palace?”

  She thought about it. “I never tried, but I guess it could be done. The problem is, humble folk are always eager to hear what the great ones are doing. The rich never care what happens to the rest of us.”

  “That presents a difficulty,” said Nistur, “but it should not prove to be insurmountable. There must be reward involved. If, each step along the chain of information transmission, each person were to be promised a consideration, our message should reach the lord’s ear in short order.”

  “Message?” Ironwood said. “What are you thinking?”

  “I am trying to think of a way out of our predicament. A predicament, I might add, to which your unconsidered actions brought us.”

  “You needn’t remind me. What’s your scheme?”

  “A moment. Inspiration comes from the gods, and they are sometimes slow.” The others waited patiently while the ex-assassin cogitated, then said, “It strikes me that we may be the answer to the very problem that so vexes the Lord of Tarsis. Suppose he were to learn that, repining in his own dungeon, were two men whose specialty is the detection and apprehension of malefactors? Might he not wish to secure the services of such men?”

  “He might,” said Ironwood, looking around him, “but where are they?”

  “I know you are only pretending to be dense,” said Nistur. “I rejoice to learn that you actually possess a sense of humor. We must devise for ourselves a sufficiently illustrious and successful past, in some land safely distant from Tarsis.”

  “It might work,” Ironwood allowed. “If he gets word, he’ll have us hauled out for an interview. Do you think he’ll believe us?”

  “You overlook a crucial factor. He will want to believe us. By now he must be desperate for a solution to his problem. This should cause him to overlook questions that at another time would be more than obvious.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Ironwood said. “At least it would get us out of this place, and we could work out a plan of escape once we’re free.”

  “I don’t know …” Shellring said. “Getting word to the palace won’t be all that hard. But getting it from there to the lord’s ear may be.”

  “Even in the loftiest places,” Nistur said, “there are certain servants who have the ear of the highest persons: the aged nurse, the indispensable valet, the steward or majordomo …”

  “The cupbearer!” Ironwood said. “Kings and great lords go in constant fear of poison. The cupbearer would have to be a trusted man.”

  “Excellent!” Nistur commended. “You see, my friend, you are getting good at this detection business already.”

  Shellring looked from one to the other suspiciously. “This is all well enough for you two, but what about me? What do I get out of this?”

  “Rest assured,” said Nistur, “that when we have our freedom, we will secure yours. Now, my young companion, this is what you must transmit through the prison grapevine.” And so they conferred for the better part of an hour. Then Shellring rose, went to the gate, and began to rattle the bars.

  * * * * *

  The Lord of Tarsis realized, with a start, that he was biting his nails, something he had not done in years. The sands were trickling inexorably through the great glass, and he was no closer to a solution for his vexing problem. All through the night he had interviewed petty officials and found none who combined the traits of intelligence and trustworthiness. Also, the brighter ones seemed scatterbrained. The combination of intelligence with a shrewd, analytical mind was rarer than he had expected.

  “My lord?”

  He looked up to see his cupbearer standing by his side. “What is it?”

  “You need something to sustain you, my lord. You’ve not slept or eaten since the barbarian chief arrived. You must not neglect yourself so, my lord. I’ve had the cook make something for you, and I put together something for you to drink.” The old man held a tray of sausages and cakes dusted with seeds surrounding a large cup of heated wine from which came herb-scented steam.

  “You are probably right.” He took the cup and a seedcake and began to alternate bites with sips.

  “You know, my lord, I’ve just heard the most remarkable thing. It’s something that may help you to deal with the savages.”

  “Eh?” said the lord hopefully. “You’ve heard something? Is there a witness? Someone who saw the crime and wants to speak?”

  “No, my lord, not that. But you have, in the jail beneath the Hall of Justice, two men, foreigners, who are famed in several lands for ferreting out murderers and plotters, and criminals of all sorts.”

  “Ridiculo
us! I was down there just yesterday morning, questioning the people who found the nomad’s body. I saw no such foreigners then.”

  “I hear that these two were arrested only yesterday afternoon, for disturbing the peace.”

  “Then send for Constable Weite at once.”

  The cupbearer bowed his way out, and the Lord of Tarsis turned over the possibilities in his mind. This, if true, might be just the solution he needed: trained and experienced investigators, from a foreign land and therefore not the hirelings of his rivals. Yes, this could be just what he was seeking. He did not spare a thought for how his cupbearer came by such remarkable information. He demanded that his servants be competent at their work and loyal to him. Beyond that, he had not the slightest interest in how they thought or what they did. At most times, he was scarcely aware of their presence.

  Minutes later, Constable Weite appeared. “My lord?”

  “There are two foreigners in the Hall of Justice lockup. They were arrested yesterday afternoon for disturbing the peace and are said to be able investigators of crime. Bring them to me.”

  Weite blinked. “My lord? I have heard of no such men.”

  “A Lord of Tarsis has sources of information unavailable to a mere constable. Go and do my bidding.”

  “Yes, my lord!” He saluted, snapped his heels together, and was off.

  An hour later, Constable Weite returned. He had in tow, flanked by guards and draped in chains, a pair of raffish-looking prisoners. One was a big, tough-appearing specimen dressed in remarkable armor. The other looked as if he might have been a merchant or a scholar, except that he had managed to maintain through incarceration a fastidiousness, almost a fussiness, about his clothing and general appearance. In the rear of the little procession was a guard who carried an armload of weapons and personal effects, doubtless confiscated from the felons upon arrest.

  “Here are the foreigners, my lord,” Constable Weite reported unnecessarily.

  “Detective Nistur, my lord, at your service,” said the shorter man, doffing his feathered hat and contriving a graceful bow despite the cuffs, manacles, and leg irons he wore.

  “Detective Ironwood, my lord,” said the other, knuckling his brow in a perfunctory salute.

  “Constable Weite,” said the lord, “you and the others may withdraw. And all this ironmongery will not be necessary.”

  “These are dangerous criminals, my lord!” Weite protested.

  “Just unchain them and carry their weapons outside the chamber. I should be safe enough with you in close call.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” the constable replied doubtfully. Then, to the others, he said, “Unshackle them. And you two, don’t try anything. I’ll be just outside, mind you.”

  “Under such a threat,” said Nistur, “who would dare?”

  Amid much rattling of keys, the chains fell away and the guards withdrew, Weite casting a lingering, suspicious gaze on the two prisoners as he went out.

  “I have little time, so do not waste it,” said the Lord of Tarsis. “Word has reached me that you two are skilled criminal investigators. Is this true?”

  “It is more than true,” said Nistur, curling one end of his mustache. “In certain places, we are quite famous. Why, two years ago, in the great city of Thansut, it was the team of Nistur and Ironwood that exposed the murderous conspiracy of the Temple of the Frog God.”

  “Thansut?” said the lord. “I have never heard of the place.”

  “It is rather far from here. But you have certainly heard of Palanthas?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “Well, a mere half year ago, it was we who discovered the murderer of Jesamyn, chief of the prestigious Mortar-Mixers Guild, and brought him to justice. You need but send there to your fellow sovereign for confirmation. He will recommend us most highly.”

  “It would take weeks to get an answer back from Palanthas, and I do not have weeks.”

  “What a pity,” Nistur said. “Upon my honor as a gentleman, my lord, my colleague and I are unmatched at the art of criminal detection. You have but to give us your commission, and we promise to render complete satisfaction.”

  The lord studied them for long moments; then he came to a decision. “I will chance it. Your first commission is likely to be your last, however. You now have a bit over four days to uncover the murderer. After that, the nomad army will destr—will besiege the city. Here is what I require of you.” He gave them a terse synopsis of the negotiations with the envoys, the discovery of the murdered ambassador, and the demands of Kyaga Strongbow.

  “I quite understand,” said Nistur when he was finished. “We shall place the malefactor, or malefactors, securely in your grasp, alive, within four days.”

  “You had better.” He glanced at Ironwood, then looked back at Nistur suspiciously. “I notice that you do all the talking.”

  “I,” said Nistur, “am the intellectual portion of this partnership. My companion provides the combative expertise so often necessary in our line of work.”

  “Well, anyone can see you’re no sort of fighting man.” The lord opened a wooden chest and drew forth a pair of silver amulets, like oversized coins, bearing his personal sigil. Each hung on a narrow, silver chain. “This is my seal. Wearing it, you can go anywhere and question anyone, including the nomad camp and its inhabitants.”

  “We shall need three, my lord,” said Nistur.

  “Three?”

  “We need a guide, since this is not our city. In the Hall of Justice we met a young woman named Shellring. She seems most knowledgeable about all parts of the city. If you could release her to our custody, we will stand surety for her good behavior.”

  “Constable Weite!”

  The official came in. “My lord?”

  “In the dungeon you have a woman named Shellring?”

  “Yes, my lord. She is one of our regulars.”

  “Bring her here.”

  “Immediately, my lord.” Constable Weite looked as if he no longer had the capacity to be surprised. He clumped away, and Nistur spoke.

  “And now, my lord, there remains one small matter.”

  “I cannot imagine what it might be. You have your commission, and every second you spend here is a second wasted.”

  “Why, sir, there is the matter of our recompense.”

  “Recompense? You mean pay?”

  “My lord is most astute.”

  “You two do enjoy breathing, do you not?”

  “I can scarcely imagine life without that essential exercise,” Nistur answered.

  “Just so. Well, serve me well and I will allow you to continue breathing. Fail me and you will hang. That should be recompense enough. Or perhaps I will turn you over to Kyaga Strongbow. He is far too uncivilized for a simple hanging.”

  “As you will, my lord,” said Nistur, ruefully. “However, we must have some small operating funds. Much of our work will involve passing petty bribes to servants and persons of low degree for helpful bits of information.”

  “Very well. My palace accountant will supply you with funds, for which you will render a strict accounting.”

  “As my lord wishes,” Nistur agreed.

  “Then go and do my bidding.”

  The two bowed their way out. In the hall outside the lord’s chamber they retrieved their weapons and draped the silver seals around their necks while the guards eyed them dubiously.

  “You there,” Nistur said to a guard. “Lead us to the palace accountant.”

  “Who are you to give me orders?” sneered the guard.

  Ironwood thrust his seal in the man’s face. “We are the special investigators appointed by the Lord of Tarsis, fool! Hinder us at your peril!”

  The man’s eyes went wide. “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir. Come this way.”

  Shellring rejoined them before the gates of the palace. “You pulled it off!” she said, grinning.

  Nistur hung the third seal around her neck. “You are now a special investigator for the Lord of
Tarsis. With this, you can question the chief of the nomads himself.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” She hefted the silver seal in her palm. “I wonder how much I can get for this?”

  “Until we formulate a plan, you will keep it with you at all times,” Nistur cautioned.

  “Let’s plan over a decent meal,” Ironwood said. “I’m starving!”

  “A good meal and a bath sound like an excellent idea,” Nistur said. “Shellring, lead us to a decent establishment. I think we can dip into our operating funds to that extent.”

  As she led them across the broad plaza, Ironwood grumbled. “This Lord of Tarsis is nothing but a jumped-up merchant or banker. You can tell by the way he pinches coins until his fingertips are stained with copper. A real prince would have paid us with a lavish hand, not weaseled like a market-hawker.”

  “Alas, this is not a princely city.” Nistur sighed. “The citizenry lacks even a proper appreciation of poetry.”

  Shellring led them to a prosperous tavern called the Three Dragons. Above its spacious portal was hung a sculpture of the great winged beasts, wrought in bronze. Within, its appointments were as lavish as its sign, letting all and sundry know that this was an establishment that catered to a prosperous clientele. At their entry, an aproned man hurried to them, his smile of greeting turning to a look of puzzlement when he caught sight of Shellring.

  “May I help you, sirs?” he said.

  “Mine host,” said Nistur, “you may conduct us to a booth and bring us your best ale and whatever food you have prepared, so long as it be in sufficient quantity. When we have dined, we shall require the use of your bathing facilities.” At the man’s doubtful expression he held up his seal. “We are the special investigators of the Lord of Tarsis.”

  Immediately, the man’s expression changed. “Certainly, sir! Come right this way! Nothing is too good for my lord’s officials!”

  They were conducted to a spacious booth, and, with a speed that was near-magical, servers set pots of ale and great, steaming platters of food before them.

  “These official seals are wonderful things,” Nistur remarked. Then they said little as they fortified themselves against the rigors sure to come.