Guld nodded. He walked slowly to the door. “Your manservant’s a stubborn man, Bauchelain. He was prepared to give his life, protecting your privacy.”
“Had I known,” Bauchelain said, glancing over at Reese, “I would have added a cautioning provision to my request, Sergeant, regarding those who do not take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Guld grunted. “Good idea. You almost lost yourself a good man.”
“That would have been unfortunate indeed. Thank you for your concern. Is that all you wish of me?”
“For now,” Guld said. He stopped at the door. “You’ve paid for this room in advance?”
“Until week’s end, Sergeant. Why?”
He opened the door, hiding his wry grimace. Suddenly dense, are we? “Good evening, sir.” He stepped out into the hallway, closing the door. The corporal and Obler waited outside, their eyes wide and fixed on the sergeant’s face. Guld headed down the hallway. Both men followed.
“He says they’ve paid for the week,” Guld said to Obler.
The hostelier nodded. “Aye, sir.”
“Four more days.”
“Aye.”
“Corporal?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Remain outside this building until you’re relieved. Obler, is there a back door?”
“Aye, but it’s thrice-bolted.”
“Meaning?”
The scriber tapped below his left eye and grinned. “All very loud to draw back. Wakes me up, sir, every time.”
“Used lately?”
“No, sir. Not in weeks, sir. Not since before they arrived.”
“So this Korbal Broach left by the front door?”
Obler paused at the landing. “Which one be him, sir?”
“The eunuch-the one who’s out right now.”
“One’s out right now? You’re certain, sir? I ain’t seen but the one of them out of that room since they arrived, sir, and that be the one you just seen, sir. That other one, he’s in there, sir, ’cause he ain’t never left.”
Guld’s frown deepened. “You’re mistaken, Obler.”
But the scriber just shook his head.
“Well, does the man eat?”
“Uh, no sir, he don’t.”
The frown became a scowl.
Obler’s eyes darted, and he licked his lips. “Come to think on it, sir, that’s kind of odd. Unless they share the meals, sir. Fasting, like.”
Guld moved on down the steps, the corporal on his heels. “The eunuch,” he said over his shoulder to Obler, who crowded behind the corporal, “what did he look like?”
“Big, sir. Huge. Didn’t say anything I don’t think. Just smiled a lot, sir. Clammy as a dead whale, sir, that’s how he looked. Never knowed he was a eunuch, but now that you’ve said it, it’s plain. Aye, a eunuch.”
“Have some wine,”Bauchelain said, pouring two goblets full and handing one to Reese, who took it gratefully.
“I’m sorry, Master-”
“Not at all. As the guard implied, it would have been unfortunate-and undesired-if you had come to any harm.” He turned an inquisitive gaze on the old man. “Why so stubborn? You seem a wise man, Mister Reese-to assault and defy a sergeant of the Watch…”
“Well, I didn’t want to fail you, Master. I, uh, I like this job.”
“You feared losing it? Do not be concerned on that account, Mister Reese. We find you ideal.”
Emancipor looked around. We?
“And besides,” the sorceror continued, sipping his wine, “I have foreseen a long acquaintance between us, Mister Reese.”
“Oh? Oh.”
“Although your mind still holds its mysteries.”
“It does, Master?”
“Mmhmm. For example, your wife of thirty years…”
“Subly? Well, I gripe a lot, Master, ’tis true, but she’s stayed by me all this time, and sometimes she’s been all I had to hold onto, sir, if you understand me. I love her dearly-”
“I know. It’s not that, Mister Reese. In your mind I can hear her voice, yet I cannot find an image-I cannot see her within you, and that is what I find so peculiar…”
They stared at each other over their gold cups, neither blinking, for a long moment, then Bauchelain downed the last of his wine, cleared his throat and turned away.
“I have work for you tomorrow, Mister Reese.”
“Master?”
“And…” Bauchelain refilled his goblet. “Book us passage. Eastward, as far as a ship will take us.”
Emancipor’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Master. Should I get a refund from Obler?”
“No, leave that be. But I want us out of Moll in two days hence. Is this likely?”
“ ’Tis the turning of the season, Master. I can guarantee it.”
“Excellent. Oh, and Mister Reese?”
“Yes, Master?”
“Be circumspect.”
“Of course, Master.”
“You’ve met this sergeant before, Mister Reese?”
Emancipor nodded. “Twice. Once, a year back, when my employer was assassinated, and then when Merchant Baltro was murdered.”
Bauchelain nodded thoughtfully. “He seems a sharp man.”
“In every way, Master. He’s famous. The King himself commands that Sergeant Guld conduct investigations. Certain ones, that is. Murder, mostly. Guld’s never failed.”
“I take it he is the man investigating this night-killer haunting your city.”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
Bauchelain smiled. “Well, then, I suppose it was a matter of course that we, as foreigners, be sought out and questioned.”
“I’d guess, Master,” Reese made his tone flat.
“Even so,” Bauchelain continued, his gaze on the wine in his goblet. “I am a private man, and so dislike official… attention. Hence my decision to leave early, Mister Reese. I would not wish to unduly alarm the sergeant, however…”
“He’ll not hear a word, Master.”
“Excellent. Now, take to your bed here-I’ll need you sharp for your efforts tomorrow.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” Emancipor went to the bed and laid down on it. Unduly alarm Guld. Of course. Who me, a necromancer? Really, sir. Huh. He was exhausted, but he didn’t expect to sleep well. Not well at all.
Guld stepped through the entrance to Squint’s. He paused in the unlit threshold, eyes already smarting with the thick, heavy wood smoke layering the crowded, low-ceilinged main room, a murky tide of noise washing over him.
The soldier he’d sent to trail the foreigner emerged from the press and stepped close. “He’s at the back, sir. We can get a better look at ’im from the bar.”
“Lead on,” Guld grunted.
Voices fell away to either side as the sergeant and his guardsman pushed their way to the long, sagging bar running the length of one side, voices that then rose again behind them with evident relief. Squint’s rated among the seediest establishments in Lamentable Moll. Had he wished-and had he another thirty guardsmen-Guld could have arrested everyone present, just on principle.
They reached the bar. The young soldier turned and gestured toward the tables at the back. “There, sir.”
Seated alone with his back to the rear wall was a grey-hooded figure, face hidden in shadows. The grey cloak covering his shoulders was threadbare. From Guld’s position the man’s right leg was visible from the knee down, moccasin-clad, a large hunting knife sheathed alongside the calf. The man’s lean, long-fingered hands, wrapped around a tankard, were deeply tanned and scarred. An unstrung longbow leaned against the wall behind him.
Frowning, Guld stepped forward, but was brought up short by the guardsman’s hand. “No, not him. That one.”
“Ah.” Was wondering about the sudden change of attire… The foreigner he’d noted at the last two murder scenes sat at the table next to the hooded man. Still armoured, his back to the room, he was eating, noisily-for even at six paces away and through the reverberating cacophony of the denizens, his lip-smacking, grunting and snorting was audible. “Wait here, soldier,” Guld ordered, then made his way toward the man.
A local was sharing the foreigner’s table, was talking nonstop. “-so I says to myself, self I says, ‘this ain’t my house! Least, I don’t think it is!’ The roof, y’see, started at barely my chest, and I ain’t a tall man as you can see. Were you here for the rains? Two weeks back? A deluge! So, anyway, what happened? Well, the house’d been sitting atop a barrow-no surprise there, not in Lamentable Moll, right? But a drain had blocked, and the water carved another way down to the sea-right through the barrow under us! The whole damned thing slumped, taking the house down with it! And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was my wife, in bed, but not alone! Oh no! Not my beloved, treacherous Mully! Four-count ’em, four — damned ghosts was in there wi’er. Minor ones, of course-that’s all y’ever get from those barrows-but powerful enough to tickle and poke and nudge and stroke and my, wasn’t they having fun with moaning Mully! And she whimperin’ and beggin’ f’more! ‘More!’ she cries. ‘More!’-”