Kody doubted the wrongdoers shared that preference. Adali justice was uncompromising, sometimes downright brutal. It was also undeniably effective. The clan elders kept a tight rein on things; contrary to popular belief, crime rates were lower among Adali who remained with their clan than amongst the general population of Kennian. It was the city-dwellers, those who were cut off from their traditions and society, who were responsible for a disproportionate number of crimes in the Five Villages.
They dismounted at the edge of the camp. Already, half a dozen people were staring at them, looking even less welcoming than the North Haveners had been. Understandable, maybe. There weren’t many reasons for outsiders to enter Adali camps, and none of them were good news. People came bearing accusations, threats, and demands. No one wanted an Adali community nearby. They were bandits; they trespassed on farmlands; they attracted wild animals. If a plague broke out in one of the Five Villages, the Adali were blamed for that too. They’d learned to expect hostility from anyone who came looking for them. Especially hounds.
Kody pulled the rolled-up parchment out of his saddlebag and unfurled the sketch. It was crudely done—the nose wasn’t quite right and the charcoal had smudged in a couple of places—but considering that Lenoir had given the scribe only ten minutes to produce the drawing, the man had done a decent job of it. It certainly looked enough like the dead man that anybody who knew him should be able to recognize him.
Lenoir headed for the center of the camp, where a group was coming together to meet him. As poor as they were, Kody couldn’t deny they were impressive. Tall, sharp-edged, with skin the color of strong tea with a jot of milk. Their amber-eyed gazes were fathomless, unfathomable. Elaborately carved jewelry of bone and horn adorned long fingers and graceful necks, and their robes, though worn and faded, were still strikingly colorful in comparison with the drab browns and grays favored by the Braelish.
The elder, who looked to be about sixty, was a classic specimen: small mouth, high cheekbones, and keen, wide-spaced eyes. She wore a severe expression, her thick eyebrows drawn together and her mouth pursed in a thin line.
“We are Inspector Lenoir and Sergeant Kody of the Kennian Metropolitan Police,” said Lenoir, his voice slightly raised for the benefit of the crowd. “We are here to ask a few questions regarding an incident in Berryvine.”
A few of the onlookers sneered, as if to say, Of course you are.
“What kind of incident, Inspector?” asked the imposing woman. Her accent was thick, but she spoke the words clearly.
“We have found a body—an Adali man—and we would like you to identify him, if you can.”
Kody took his cue to hold up the sketch, showing it around at the small crowd. A few more had gathered near to listen, but for the most part the community seemed to be going about its business, pointedly ignoring the presence of the outsiders. It seemed to Kody like an act of defiance, a subtle message that they wouldn’t let their lives be disrupted every time someone showed up at their camp to accuse them of something.
As the Adali studied the drawing, Kody studied the Adali. For the most part they didn’t react, but here and there Kody picked up small cues. A young woman’s eyes flared slightly before going cold. A boy in the center of the crowd stirred before someone shifted in front of him, blocking him from view. A man with his arms folded spat on the ground. Lenoir, meanwhile, was involved in some sort of staring match with the elder. They held each other’s gaze, both of their faces impassive, taking the measure of each other. She had not even glanced at the drawing.
“We do not know him,” the woman said.
Lenoir arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Surprising, considering that he was found dead just outside Berryvine. No more than a fifteen-minute ride away, in fact.”
“And why should that be surprising, Inspector? Are we meant to know every Adal in the Five Villages?”
Lenoir looked over his shoulder at Kody and smiled. “You see, Sergeant—I am not so clever as I sometimes claim. I would not have thought that an Adal who was not a member of this clan would be welcome so nearby.”
Kody responded with a theatrical shrug. “Me neither, sir. Only friends and family of this clan allowed, or so I thought.”
“Obviously we still have much to learn about Adali ways, Sergeant.” Lenoir turned back to the leader, still smiling.
She just stared at him.
“I assume you are aware that withholding evidence is a crime,” said Lenoir.
“I assume you are aware that we do not recognize your jurisdiction over us,” said the elder. She speaks Braelish pretty well for a foreigner, Kody thought dryly. I’ll bet she’s had occasion to use that phrase once or twice before.
Lenoir gave a slow nod, his head bent. Kody could tell he was thinking about bringing her in, wondering if it would be worth making the threat. They couldn’t do it themselves, of course—they’d need all of Crears’s men to help. The clan would never willingly allow one of their own, especially their elder, to be taken by the police; there would be bloodshed if they tried. Lenoir must have concluded that it wasn’t worth it, because he turned and walked away from the group, saying, “Come, Sergeant,” as though Kody were a bloody dog.
Lenoir was right, though—it wasn’t worth it. Kody knew that, but it still burned his blood. These people knew the dead man—it was as plain as the sun in the sky. But they had no intention of remanding him to the law. It would take all day to bring the elder in, and for what? She probably wouldn’t say anything anyway, not without Parliament signing a writ giving them leave to use some of the harsher interrogation techniques. By then, the boy would probably be dead.
“What now?” Kody growled as they mounted their horses. The Adali were still clustered around their leader, staring with their inscrutable amber eyes.
“If we cannot get information out of the Adali themselves, we must try the next best thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“There is an apothecary near the northern boundary of Berryvine. We passed it on the way here.”
Clever, Kody thought grudgingly. The Adali were renowned for their use of potions, poultices, and the like. In bygone days, they wouldn’t have stooped to trading medicinal herbs with townsfolk, but modern Adali were less discriminating. They’d had a taste of the conveniences of civilization, and they liked it. A good apothecary, especially one located at the edge of town, would have almost as many Adali clients as villagers. Maybe the apothecary would recognize the dead man. At the very least, he should be able to tell them something useful about the clans that passed through the area.
Kody drew a deep, satisfied breath as they regained the road. This was how an investigation was supposed to be run. For the first time, he could sense Lenoir’s commitment to the case, and though he had no idea what made this one special, he was grateful for it. He only hoped that they found this Zach boy alive. If they didn’t, there was no telling when—or if—Lenoir would take an investigation this seriously again.
The apothecary was just opening his shop when the two policemen arrived. It looked as though he’d been fetching supplies; each arm was burdened with something. Over his left shoulder was slung a small sack that gave off a spicy scent when he shifted its weight to fumble for his keys. Under his other arm, he carried a bushel of some type of herb that Kody didn’t recognize. It sure wasn’t one of the ones used for cooking, and that was about all the thinking Kody cared to do on that subject.