Tzigone stared at the carnage, her face pale and still.
Matteo slipped a steadying arm around her shoulders. "This must be reported to the officials."
She started to protest, then sighed. "I never thought the day would come when I went looking for the law instead of the other way around."
"I will see to it," he promised.
Tzigone's first response was a quick, grateful smile, quickly chased by a frown as her nimble mind danced ahead. "Someone might have seen them grab me. You'll have to tell the militia something."
"These thugs seized a young woman. I followed and fought them. She escaped."
She snorted. "Is that the best you can do? It's not very interesting."
"One of the benefits of telling simple truth," he said dryly, "is that you don't have to remember interesting details. That said, I've learned one very interesting detail this night: I'm making more progress than I thought."
Tzigone looked at him incredulously, then her eyes cleared and she nodded. "Someone doesn't like the questions you're asking, which means that you're probably doing something right."
He walked with her toward the back door. "The next question will be who owns this building. A working icehouse does not lie empty and idle during the afternoon. This attack might not have been instigated by the owner, but he or she would know who had the authority to send the workers away."
"Why don't we just get someone to ask him?" She pointed to one of the dead men.
Matteo's first instinct was to protest. Powerful clerical magic was required to speak with the dead. The jordaini were not to have any magic worked on their behalf.
He never got the chance to remind her of this. Before he could speak, the corpses and the injured changed to rapidly fading mist. In an instant, he and Tzigone were alone in the icehouse.
She let out a long, slow whistle. "You've been asking the right questions, all right. I don't think we're going to like the people who've got the answers."
"All the more reason for you to go. I will pursue this matter and tell you all I learn when next we meet."
She nodded and disappeared-not out the door but up a wall. Climbing nimbly on crossbars and ropes, she melted into the shadows that lurked about the high ceiling.
Matteo went into the street to alert the city militia. He was spared the trouble, for the thunderous crash of falling ice had drawn the notice of a nearby fish market. The vendor stood nearby with a long, curving horn held to his lips, winding a raucous but effective alarm. A small crowd of fisherfolk had already gathered around the building. They parted to allow the city militia to pass through.
Matteo quickly explained what had happened, not identifying Tzigone by name but saying only the abducted girl had escaped. The city guards lifted their eyebrows and exchanged incredulous glances when Matteo told them that their assailants had also disappeared. None of them dared to challenge the veracity of the queen's jordain, but Matteo understood the path their thoughts must be taking. Why would several men flee from a single jordain? If Matteo defined the word «disappeared» in its literal and magical sense, the guards would accept his story with a nod. After all, this was Halruaa, and strange magical occurrences were the norm.
Strange magical occurrences were also closely examined. And as Tzigone had pointed out, it was unlikely that the answers would be reassuring.
An hour later, Matteo strolled into the pink marble palace that housed the city officials. Several of the guards and scribes recognized him, nodding respectfully as he passed. He walked unchallenged into the lord mayor's suite and made his way down the corridors to the domain of Procopio's head scribe.
As he expected, he found the man at a writing table. His duties involved summarizing each of the lord mayor's missives into a single line so that Procopio could scan the day's news and decide how best to order his time.
"Greetings, Shiphor," Matteo called softly.
The scribe glanced up, startled. A pleased smile crossed his face. "Matteo! Please tell me you've been demoted to our level!"
Matteo acknowledged the jest with a chuckle and glanced around Shiphor's small, paper-clogged room. "Your level? This is the heart of the city. Its lifeblood flows through your hands."
"At least one man recognizes my importance," the scribe said dryly. "Because you show such remarkable intelligence, I will save you the necessity of further flattery and simply tell you whatever you wish to know. Not that I'm not enjoying this, mind you."
The jordain grinned, noting that Shiphor's cynical tone was offset by the twinkle in his eyes. "May I see your summary notes for the past several days? As well as today's missives?"
Shiphor promptly drew several sheaves of papers from various stacks, as unerringly as a mother hen might pick her own chick from a barnyard crowded with yellow peepers. Matteo glanced at the summaries and started in on the new messages. He leafed through until he caught a glimpse of Kiva's name. As he read, his already dark mood turned a deeper shade of black.
Kiva had already been declared traitor, but apparently Procopio had not deemed that sufficient. She had been excommunicated by the church of Azuth. Matteo repeated one of the oaths he'd recently heard Tzigone employ.
The scribe looked up sharply. "Problems?"
"Halruaa is full of them, it would seem," Matteo said grimly. "With your permission, I would like to bring a particularly troublesome one directly to Lord Procopio's attention."
Shiphor took the page Matteo handed him and scanned it. His grasp of politics was far better than his employer credited, and he caught the implication at once. "The lord mayor is going to be highly displeased with this news and, no doubt, with the person who brings it." He handed it back with a wry smile. "I won't fight you for the privilege, but perhaps it would be best if Lord Procopio learned this news along with the rest. There is no shortage of ill tidings with which to pad it."
"Why pad it?" Matteo demanded. "Procopio has earned a hit or two."
The scribe sat back and regarded the angry jordain. "You'll get no argument from this quarter. Go with my blessing-though you'd be better off with Mystra's."
Matteo was already gone, too furious to consider either the warning or the possible consequences.
This writ of excommunication meant that contact with Kiva was proscribed. Any questions asked about her would be viewed with an extremely jaundiced eye. Matteo could think of no more effective way to squelch inquiries into the magehound's whereabouts.
He brushed past the guard at Procopio's door and burst into the room. The wizard waved away the guard.
"Your troubles must be great, jordain, to urge you into such imprudent behavior," he observed with measured calm.
"What have you done about Kiva?" demanded Matteo.
"Kiva?" Procopio echoed blandly.
Matteo took a steadying breath. "We are neither of us fools, but treating with me in such fashion casts shadows of doubt upon us both."
Procopio acknowledged Matteo's words with a curt nod, motioning Matteo to a chair. The jordain shook his head and remained standing-yet another lapse of protocol.
"I can see this matter is of some importance to you," began the wizard.
"Kiva," Matteo cut in pointedly, for he knew well the wizard's skill at wandering from the matter at hand.
Procopio smiled faintly. "To the point, then. What have I done about Kiva? In a word, nothing."
He held up a hand to cut off Matteo's indignant response.
"I will admit that my negligence is pure selfishness. Surely you realize that as Zephyr's patron, I was tainted by the elf's treachery."