“I will do what I can to find out.”
“Your help will be invaluable, I know,” Valentine said.
“You will also want to enlist the aid of our khivanivod,” Vath iimeraak said. “He is not among us tonight. He has gone off on a spiritual retreat into the farthest zone of the city to pray for the purification of the soul of the killer of Dr. Huukaminaan, whoever that may be. I will send him to you when he returns.”
Another little surprise.
A khivanivod was a Piurivar holy man, something midway between a priest and a wizard. They were relatively uncommon in modern Metamorph life, and it was remarkable that there should be one in residence at this scruffy out-of-the-way village. Unless, of course, the high religious leaders of the Piurivars had decided that it was best to install one at Velalisier for the duration of the dig, to insure that everything was done with the proper respect for the holy places. It was odd that Magadone Sambisa hadn’t mentioned to him that a khivanivod was present here.
“Yes,” said Valentine, a little uneasily. “Send him to me, yes. By all means.”
As they rode away from the laborers’ village Nascimonte said, “Well, Valentine, I’m pained to confess that I find myself once again forced to question your judgment.”
“You do suffer much pain on my behalf,” said Valentine, with a twinkling smile. “Tell me, Nascimonte: where have I gone amiss this time?”
“You enlisted that man Vathiimeraak as your ally in the investigation. You treated him, in fact, as though he were a trusted constable of police.”
“He seems steady enough to me. And the villagers are terrified of him. What harm is there in asking him to question them for us? If we interrogate them ourselves, they’ll just shut up like clams—or at best they’ll tell us all kinds of fantastic stories. Whereas Vathiimeraak might just be able to bully the truth out of them. Some useful fraction of it, anyway.”
“Not if he’s the murderer himself,” said Nascimonte.
“Ah, is that it? You’ve solved the crime, my friend? Vathiimeraak did it?”
“That could very well be.”
“Explain, if you will, then.”
Nascimonte gestured to Aarisiim. “Tell him.”
The Metamorph said, “Majesty, I remarked to you when I first saw Vathiimeraak that I thought I knew that man from somewhere. And indeed I do, though it took me a little while more to place him. He is a kinsman of the rebel Faraataa. In the days when I was with Faraataa in Piurivayne, this Vathiimeraak was often by our side.”
That was unexpected. But Valentine kept his reaction to himself. Calmly he said, “Does that matter? What of our amnesty, Aarisiim? All rebels who agreed to keep the peace after the collapse of Faraataa’s campaign have been forgiven and restored to full civil rights. I should hardly need to remind you, of all people, of that.”
“It doesn’t mean they all turned into good citizens overnight, does it, Valentine?” Nascimonte demanded. “Surely it’s possible that this Vathiimeraak, a man of Faraataa’s own blood, still harbors powerful feelings of—”
Valentine looked toward Magadone Sambisa. “Did you know he was related to Faraataa when you hired him as foreman?” She seemed embarrassed. “No, majesty, I certainly did not. But I was aware that he had been in the Rebellion and had accepted the amnesty. And he came with the highest recommendation. We’re supposed to believe that the amnesty has some meaning, doesn’t it? That the Rebellion’s over and done with, that those who took part in it and repented deserve to be allowed—”
“And has he truly repented, do you think?” Nascimonte asked. “Can anyone know, really? I say he’s a fraud from top to toe. That big booming voice! That high-flown style of speaking! Those expressions of profound reverence for the Pontifex! Phony, every bit of it. And as for killing Huukaminaan, just look at him! Do you think it could have been easy to cut the poor man up in pieces that way? But Vathiimeraak’s built like a bull-bidlak. In that village of thin flimsy folk he stands out the way a dwikka tree would in a flat meadow.”
“Because he has the strength for the crime doesn’t yet prove that he’s guilty of it,” said Valentine in some annoyance. “And this other business, of his being related to Faraataa—what possible motive does that give him for slaughtering that harmless old Piurivar archaeologist? No, Nascimonte. No. No. No. You and Tunigorn between you, I know, would take about five minutes to decree that the man should be locked away for life in the Sangamor vaults that lie deep under the Castle. But we need a little evidence before we proclaim anyone a murderer.” To Magadone Sambisa he said, “What about this khivanivod, now? Why weren’t we told that there’s a khivanivod living in this village?”
“He’s been away since the day after the murder, your majesty,” she said, looking at Valentine apprehensively. “To be perfectly truthful, I forgot all about him.”
“What kind of person is he? Describe him for me.”
A shrug. “Old. Dirty. A miserable superstition-monger, like all these tribal shamans. What can I say? I dislike having him around. But it’s the price we pay for permission to dig here, I suppose.”
“Has he caused any trouble for you?”
“A little. Constantly sniffing into things, worrying that we’ll commit some sort of sacrilege. Sacrilege, in a city that the Piurivars themselves destroyed and put a curse on! What possible harm could we do here, after what they’ve already inflicted on it?”
“This was their capital,” said Valentine. “They were free to do with it as they pleased. That doesn’t mean they’re glad to have us come in here and root around in its ruins. But has he actually tried to halt any part of your work, this khivanivod?”
“He objects to our unsealing the Shrine of the Downfall.”
“Ah. You did say there was some political problem about that. He’s filed a formal protest, has he?” The understanding by which Valentine had negotiated the right to send archaeologists into Velalisier included a veto power for the Piurivars over any aspect of the work that was not to their liking.
“So far he’s simply told us he doesn’t want us to open the shrine,” said Magadone Sambisa. “He and I and Dr. Huukaminaan were supposed to have a meeting about it last week and try to work out a compromise, although what kind of middle ground there can be between opening the shrine and not opening it is hard for me to imagine. In any event the meeting never happened, for obvious tragic reasons. Now that you’re here, perhaps you’ll adjudicate the dispute for us when Torkkinuuminaad gets back from wherever he’s gone off to.”
“Torkkinuuminaad?” Valentine said. “Is that the khivanivod’s name?”
“Torkkinuuminaad, yes.”
“These jawbreaking Shapeshifter names,” Nascimonte said grumpily. “Torkkinuuminaad! Vathiimeraak! Huukaminaan!”
He glowered at Aarisiim. “By the Divine, fellow, was it absolutely necessary for you people to give yourself names that are so utterly impossible to pronounce, when you could just as easily have—”
“The system is very logical,” Aarisiim replied serenely. “The doubling of the vowels in the first part of a name implies—”
“Save this discussion for some other time, if you will,” said Valentine, making a chopping gesture with his hand. To Magadone Sambisa he said, “Just out of curiosity, what was the khivanivod’s relationship with Dr. Huukaminaan like? Difficult? Tense? Did he think it was sacrilegious to pull the weeds off these ruins and set some of the buildings upright again?”