“A soothsayer?” Sergeant Cale leaned against the doorframe of his apartment, regarding Lenoir with a wary expression. “At this time of night?” It was a not so subtle dig. The sergeant had been startled to find Lenoir at his door, and gave no sign of making him welcome. Over Cale’s shoulder, Lenoir spied a poorly lit space even more cramped and disorderly than his own. “Begging your pardon, Inspector, but I never took you for the type to believe in such things.”
“I do not,” Lenoir said flatly. “But my investigation requires that I speak to a soothsayer. An Adal.”
“There’s dozens of them in town, and they’re almost all Adali. Surely you don’t need my help to find one?” It was borderline insubordinate, but Cale obviously suspected he was being made fun of. It would not be the first time; his occasional patronage of soothsayers had earned him much ridicule at the hands of his fellow hounds.
“That is true, Sergeant,” Lenoir said, putting just enough frost in his voice to warn the junior officer against further evasion, “but my requirements are more specific. I need a soothsayer with a strong reputation, and what is more, I need someone who is also practiced in black magic.”
Cale looked startled. “Black magic? But, sir—”
“I am investigating a series of kidnappings, and I have reason to believe that Adali magic is involved. I need to speak with someone who is renowned for such things. You are known to frequent Adali soothsayers. You must have some idea by now of who they are and what they do. Now tell me what I want to know, Sergeant, or I’ll have you written up.” His impatience was only half-feigned. He gave little credit to the idea of psychic powers, still less to magic and spells, but he was at a dead end, both for himself and for Zach. He was not going to stumble blindly through the streets and settle for the first soothsayer he came across. If he was going to speak to a charlatan, he wanted to speak to the best.
“Merden,” said Cale sullenly. “I’d go to Merden.”
“Where is he?”
“The market district.”
Lenoir frowned. It seemed unlikely that he would find what he was looking for in that part of town. The market district was a high-traffic area, and from what the apothecary had said, Lenoir would have assumed that anyone practicing khekra would wish to remain out of sight.
Seeing his expression, Cale gave a knowing smirk. “You wouldn’t think a soothsayer could afford the rents in the market district, would you? But he has a steady clientele. He’s the best, they say. He’d better be, for what he charges.”
Lenoir nodded; this Merden sounded like his man. As he turned to go, Cale said, “Kody was looking for you at the kennel earlier.”
“I will see him later,” Lenoir called over his shoulder, and Cale shut his door.
“I’m sorry to call at such a late hour,” said Kody, “but I’m afraid a boy’s life is at stake, perhaps more than one.”
“How distressing. Anything I can do to help, of course. Please have a seat, Officers.”
“Thank you. To begin with, can you tell me whether you are acquainted with the Adali clan camped just outside Berryvine?”
“I am not. I rarely travel.”
“I see. Well, I paid them a visit recently, and they seemed to be in very dire straits.”
“The Adali are usually in dire straits, Sergeant, as you have undoubtedly noticed.”
“Yes, but this clan looked to be especially hard up. Not much in the way of livestock, for one thing, and their kids didn’t look very healthy.”
“And?”
“And we have reason to believe they are involved in the kidnapping of at least two young boys.”
“I see. For ransom, I suppose?”
“I don’t think so. I think they have something bigger in mind.”
“Oh?”
“Let me explain.” Kody ran through his theory, patchy though it was, trying to ignore the increasingly incredulous look Sergeant Hardin was directing his way.
“That is . . . quite a theory. Forgive me for being blunt, Sergeant, but you seem to have made a number of logical leaps.”
“I won’t deny that, but it all fits, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
“I guess it depends on how you want to see it. Whether it’s a constellation or just stars depends on who’s looking.”
“And does your inspector see this . . . constellation?”
“I haven’t discussed it with him, but I’m sure he will, once I connect the dots for him.”
“Very well. That’s all I need to know.”
“I . . . pardon?”
“Kody—”
“Just a minute, Hardin. What do you mean, that’s all you need to know? I’m the one asking the—”
“Kody!”
Pain exploded at the back of his head, so sudden and sickening that he nearly toppled out of his chair. He fumbled clumsily for his sword, but his movements were sluggish. Hardin cried out again, wordlessly this time.
Kody blinked furiously, trying to banish the dancing specks of light from his vision. He couldn’t see his attackers clearly, but he could tell that there were three of them, all of them armed.
He never stood a chance.
CHAPTER 17
The shop was improbably located between a butcher and a tailor, though Lenoir would not have known it if Cale had not told him what to look for. The storefront was utterly anonymous, a blank door beneath a blank set of windows shrouded in curtains. There was no signage, nothing even to indicate the presence of a place of business. If Lenoir had not been seeking it out, his eye would have passed over the shop entirely, without even registering its existence. Obviously, Merden was not relying on spontaneous passersby for patronage.
Lenoir hesitated at the door, feeling a strange mixture of dread and embarrassment. He did not really believe this man could help him. Did he perhaps have something to lose after all, some remaining scrap of dignity that he would forfeit in this pathetic attempt? He hovered there for long moments, uncertain. What ultimately prompted him to knock was not hope—for he had none—but the undeniable hunger to know.
“It is open,” came a muffled voice. Lenoir recognized the lilting Adali accent even through the door.
The shop was surprisingly bright inside, lit by dozens of wax tapers in neat rows on either side of the room. Lenoir’s first impression was that of a church. Then his eyes adjusted to the light, and he found himself enclosed in a cave of the macabre. The shop was crowded with . . . wares? Spell components? Lenoir could not guess at the purpose of the items around him. Horns from all manner of beasts dangled from the ceiling like stalactites. Jars filled with mysterious dark shapes lined the walls like veins of ore, warping and bending the candlelight. Bushels of dried matter were clustered about the counter, behind which a tall, gaunt-faced man watched Lenoir with flickering eyes. He said nothing, seemingly waiting for the visitor to announce his purpose.
“You are Merden?” Lenoir called from the door. He had taken only a single step into the shop.
“Plainly.”
“I am Inspector Nicolas Lenoir of the Kennian Metropolitan Police.” The introduction sounded needlessly formal, even to his own ears.
Merden said nothing, waiting for Lenoir to continue. His silence was profoundly unnerving.
“You are a soothsayer?” Lenoir was still hovering in the doorway like a nervous child.
A look of irritation passed over Merden’s face. “Is it your custom to pose questions to which you already know the answers?”
“Yes, actually,” Lenoir sighed, stepping into the shop and closing the door. “I apologize, sir, if I am awkward. Matters of the occult are . . . unfamiliar . . . to me. To be frank, only the greatest necessity compels me to be here.”