Which meant they were usually poisoned.
Ripka held her hands out to her sides and raised them, slowly, her fingers spread.
“Move forward three steps and hold,” the woman said, her voice calm and without the slightest hint of accent.
Ripka obeyed, gaze flitting around the room to find some sort of reflective surface that might give her a hint of the woman’s position. There was nothing. And even if there was, it would be dulled in dust by now.
Steps shuffled after her, only discernible from the sighing wind because Ripka now knew what to listen for. The door shut with a soft catch, cutting off half of the room’s already pale light.
“Is this your work?” Ripka asked, tipping her head toward the spilt wine.
“Yes.”
A chill reached up Ripka’s spine and stilled her hammering heart. For a moment, she had hoped this was just some random street thug taking advantage of a woman on her own. Those she knew what to do with. But this? She should have known no random thug would approach her, not while she wore her blues.
“And have you returned to admire your work?”
The woman laughed. Not the maniacal whoop of the truly insane, but the sudden snort-chuckle of someone genuinely taken by surprise. Ripka bit her lip to keep from clenching her fists. If only she could get this woman worked up enough to attack her hand to hand, then the poison would be taken out of the equation. She just had to get her cudgel up, and then…
“No, there’s nothing to admire in here,” the woman said.
“On that we can agree.”
“I’ve not come to harm you, watch captain, so please stop eyeing that chair. You couldn’t throw it at me before I could fire. And I will fire, you understand. If I must.”
She scowled into the faceless dark, breathing deep to still her irritation. “You have my compliance, for now. What is it you want?”
“I’ve come to warn you.”
The murderer’s steps picked up again, but did not draw closer. Ripka strained, trying to discern her location, and failed. Frustrated, she snapped, “I will not stop hunting you.”
“I know, and I don’t mind. Ultimately, however, your obsession with discovering me has left you blind to other little civic matters. The ex-commodore, you see, is not quite so ex. She is deep in Valathea’s pocket.”
“And why should I care? Valathea supports the Watch. If anything, Thratia’s allegiance is good news.”
“Ah.” The woman clucked her tongue. “You do not quite see. Allow me to explain. She has been in constant contact with Valathea regarding the goings-on of Aransa. Yes, yes, I know that so have your people – but, tell me, did you mention to your handlers that there was a suspected doppel involved in the warden’s murder, or only the one found meddling with Mercer Agert’s affairs?”
“I would not report mere speculation to my superiors.”
“And yet, Thratia would. And Valathea is coming to her call.”
She swallowed, tried to keep her voice firm. “We are doing our best to hold the city in safety. The Watch is spotless, and Valathea would not dare enact a purge on such a productive mine.”
A gust of warm air brushed Ripka’s shoulder as the woman sighed. “They are not coming to punish you, though your concern for your fellow watchers is admirable. But to… destroy. Deviants, as we’re called, have gone missing lately, captain. A purge is inevitable. Or haven’t you noticed?”
She bit down, splitting her barksap in two. “You’re the only deviant in this city, creature. So, no, I haven’t noticed.”
The doppel tsked. “Whatever your prejudices, do not let them blind you. When Valathea comes, they’ll take a long hard look at the wolves they’ve left to mind their sheep. What do you think they’ll find?”
“I’m a law-abiding citizen, I welcome their visit. They have no reason to meddle in Watch affairs.”
“If you catch me, Ripka Leshe, then they will have it. Proof of two doppels in one city within such a short time is all they need to initiate a purge.”
Her fists clenched in the air. “You’re lying. I am turning around now.”
“You won’t like it.”
Ripka turned on her heel, slow and crisp, and stared into the dark, her mind refusing to process what her eyes were seeing. The mirror image of herself stood across the room, slightly taller, a tad narrower of hip and shoulder, with a blackened wristbow pointed straight at her heart. The creature was even wearing a replica of Ripka’s blues, right down to the stamped brass buttons. It smiled. She wanted to vomit.
“Why me?”
It shrugged. “Convenience, I’m afraid. Do not worry, Faud knew the truth of what I was in the end. And I haven’t made your watchers perform any task too untoward.”
“Where did… Who made you that uniform?”
“Your tailor was most upset to hear that your coat was thoroughly befouled while arresting a group of fighting drunkards.”
Ripka took a step forward before she realized it, reaching not for her cudgel, but for her blade. The creature’s smile vanished and she steadied the wristbow, readjusting her aim. Ripka froze, swallowing a roar of outrage.
“I suggest you do not find me.”
“Shit on you,” she rasped.
“Yes, well.” The creature sniffed and took a step backward. “Consider yourself warned, Leshe. For the sake of Aransa’s sel-sensitives, and your own job.”
“You expect me to believe you actually care about Aransa?”
The doppel’s expression shifted so quickly there was a hint of shimmer about her eyes, the iridescence of the selium used to make her mask shining through. “The sensitives. I care about them.”
The creature turned and bolted. It must have half-opened the door while Ripka had her back turned, for the thing slipped right through it and slammed it behind her. Cursing, Ripka tore it back open and sprinted into the rock garden, her breath harsh with anger.
All around her, the night was silent. Empty. The gate hung open as she had left it, a mingling of the borders of the multi-hued rocks the only sign anyone had passed in haste. She forced her breath to steady, her heart to slow its thudding, so that she could hear.
There was nothing, not even the crunch of grit beneath a boot.
Ripka swore, and slammed the gate behind her as she left.
Chapter 16
“I cannot guarantee it will hold up under the tightest of scrutiny, sirs, but it is the best I can do on such short notice.”
Detan peered at his face in the steward’s proffered hand mirror, and scarcely recognized himself. His hair had been run through with oil and grit, twisted all askew. Mottled red welts contrived of lady’s rouge covered his skin, made to look all the more sinister by a liberal application of jade leaf oil, a viscous distillation of yellow hue.
“I don’t know, sirra. Looks the same to me.”
“Shove it, Tibs.”
Detan ignored his compatriot’s self-indulgent smirk and addressed New Chum. “Are you quite certain that the salvage men will be amenable to our needs? I’d hate for old Tibs here to actually have to do some work beyond passing a few choice grains of silver along.”
“I can assure you that Master Tibal will have no trouble in convincing them. In fact, from long experience I can attest that the application of silver may not be required. A simple offering of liquor and the evening off will suffice.”
“Fantastic.” Detan clapped his hands, sending up a little cloud of the dust they’d used to make his clothes look two-days slept in. “You see, Tibs?” he said as he threw an arm around the steward’s shoulders. “I told you New Chum here was a regular rake!”