“Oh. Yes. I had better speak to him myself. Although the next-of-kin may need to come first. Tell him to look for me tomorrow.” Oswyl blew out his breath. “I hope he will be pleased with our success.”
“Ah. Hm.” Pen wasn’t sure if he should speak this thought aloud. “Best you keep Hamo separated from Halber and Treuch, too. For a few days, till he calms down.”
Oswyl’s brows flicked up. “Really?”
“Hamo’s a smart man. I suspect the stupidity of this entire revenge escapade is going to enrage him beyond measure.”
“…How far beyond?”
“He’s a man with responsible authority.” And a chaos demon. “Just don’t… bait him. Tempt him.”
Oswyl took this in, thoughtfully. After a moment, he murmured, “I am advised.”
“Thank you.”
Tilting his head, Oswyl asked, “And how tempted were you?”
“Less than Hamo would have been, I’m sure. But there were difficult parts.”
Oswyl glanced after the retreating litter. “I shall like to hear more about that. When there is time. But Penric…”
“Hm?”
“Subduing a criminal who violently resists always has elements of risk. For everyone. It comes with the task. Things can happen too fast, and no one is in control. It’s understood, in my Order.”
“Some risks”—Pen scratched absently at the drying scabs on his arms, palpated the throbbing bruise—“are different than others.” He looked up. “Are all your cases this awful?”
“No. Well, some.” Oswyl’s gaze at him was less than reassured. “We’ll talk later,” he promised, and hurried after his charges.
“So.” Pen looked up to Inglis. “We have a lost demon to shepherd.”
“Aye.”
Sometimes, Inglis’s gloomy silences could be quite soothing. They walked together toward the stable.
The fox family was loaded into pannier baskets, one pair carried over the haunches of Pen’s horse and the second on Lunet’s. The young passengers whined for a time, restrained under closed lids, but then settled down to sleep. The vixen was granted the courtesy of being allowed to ride behind Lunet in her own basket with the top fastened open. Pen tried to persuade himself that her cynical expression, as she was trundled along, was merely the usual one for a fox. It was nearly dark by the time they’d transported their furry charges to the menagerie of the Royal Fellowship.
A spare stall was swiftly readied, the animals bedded down for the night with small protest. Pen made promises to the vixen to return on the morrow, with as little assurance that they were understood as that he could keep them. The tired shamans could at last depart to find their own beds, with Pen’s repeated thanks.
And Pen could crawl atop his horse one more time—he used the mounting block—and make his way up through Kingstown to Templetown and the chapterhouse of the Bastard’s Order, for what he prayed would not be too difficult a report.
The night porter, recognizing Penric, let him in without demur despite his bedraggled appearance. Pen found his own way to Hamo’s workroom. The candles were burning late as before, although Hamo had put down his quill and sat with his elbows on his writing table, his face resting in his hands. He jerked up at Pen’s knock on the doorjamb, blinked reddened eyes, and said in a blurry voice, “Ah. Good. You’re back at last.” Had he been waiting up?
Pen fetched his own chair and dropped into it.
Hamo looked him over. “Five gods. Were you dragged by a horse?”
“I feel like it,” admitted Pen, running his hand over his grimy face. Yech. “Not quite. But let’s have your tale first.”
Hamo pursed his lips but complied, shoving a thin stack of papers across his table to Pen. “I found four accounts from Svedra that looked promising. As she grew older, they tended to become more laconic, which was not as much help as you’d think, since they required more cross-checking. Her most difficult cases from the past five years, that may have left someone angry but not confirmed dead. I can look back farther if needed.”
Pen took them up and squinted through them. He puffed relief at finding Halber’s case second in the sheaf. “Locator Oswyl will wish to see all of these. If only for his own reassurance. He means to call on you tomorrow.” He forced himself to at least look at the other three, but set them down when he realized that Oswyl would be better able to evaluate them, and that he was just stalling. “But he has former baron Halber kin Pikepool in custody, and his confession.”
Hamo went stiff in his chair. Pen could feel his demon stirring from where he sat. Dark, with red flashes like heat lightning.
“Halber had been in hiding up at his old forest manor, where we flushed him out. Not being a man who does things by halves, Halber also tried to murder his nephew Wegae. Crime of opportunity, as nearly as I could tell. Caught in the act, fortunately for both Wegae and for Oswyl’s case. He also had a try at me. I don’t think we need count me. I’m redundant to need.”
Hamo’s fists curled into tight balls. “Did he shoot Mags?”
“Yes. Had his thrall lure her with some tale of a badger possessed by an elemental. Up to his home woods, where he laid an ambush. His aim was to destroy her demon. Magal was just… in his way. He said.”
A little silence, broken by a growl. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t actually know,” said Pen, glad he could answer, or not-answer, that question honestly. “Wherever the Grayjays usually take dangerous suspects in Easthome.” Not that Hamo couldn’t find out, but anything to slow him down…
As Hamo’s tight-lipped silence thickened with menace, Pen went hastily on, “He’s not going anywhere. Can’t. His back is broken, and both his hands. If your heart wishes him pain, I promise you he has it. If you wish him dead, well, the magistrates of Easthome will accomplish that task for you as well. Magal’s family and friends may not even have to endure his trial, if they decide to execute him for the murder of his wife, for which he’s already convicted. The wheels of justice will grind him fine, and soon.” Pen hesitated. “No need to… compromise yourself.”
Hamo looked up, the peculiar list of injuries perhaps penetrating whatever red haze his mind was lost in. His voice rough, he asked, “Are you compromised, Penric?”
“Mm…” Pen shrugged. “Possibly a little. Oswyl seemed to think that the fact I injured Halber in the course of his resisting arrest would pass unquestioned. That it was by… more-than-physical means might not, if it were looked into by a hostile inquiry. I’ve never done anything like this before. Well, there was that time with the kin Martenden brothers, but I only set them on fire—never mind,” Pen ran down before his mouth did him more harm than good.
Hamo unclenched his teeth. “Should anyone ask,” and now his voice went soft, which was somehow not less alarming, “you may say you acted under my authority, Learned Penric.”
“Thank you,” said Pen. He was fairly sure the princess-archdivine’s cloak would cover him, but more layers wouldn’t hurt, and it gave Hamo a straw of usefulness to clutch. Useful to us, at least, Des murmured, a trifle sardonically. Time for the next diversion: “And also, with welcome help from some shamans Inglis brought from the Royal Fellowship, we located Magal’s lost demon. It was indeed in a fox.”
Hamo sat up, his tension thinning like slate-gray clouds shredding in a wind. Des’s attention upon her internal counterpart eased. “Oh! You took it alive? Is it here? What condition—”