Sarai hesitated before saying any more, but finally spoke. "Lirrin," she said, "you're Serem's heir, and that means you're responsible for his funeral rites. But before you build a pyre, I have a favor to ask, a big one."
"What?" Lirrin was clearly on the verge of tears.
"Could you summon a necromancer to see if someone can speak to Serem's ghost? His soul won't be free to flee to Heaven until his body is destroyed; if we can question him, ask who stabbed him-he must have seen who it was. He might not know a name, he might not remember everything-ghosts often don't-but anything he could tell us might help."
Lirrin blinked, and a tear spilled down one cheek. "You said there were others…"
Sarai sighed again.
"There were," she admitted, "but with the first few we didn't know it would be necessary until it was too late, until after the funeral. We did finally try with the demonologist; her soul was gone without a trace, probably taken by some demon she owed a debt to. We hope to do better with Serem. With your permission."
"Of course," Lirrin said weakly. "Of course."
The smoke from the pyre drifted lazily upward; the weather was starting to turn cooler again, and the air was clear, the sky a dazzling turquoise blue.
"Damn it," Sarai muttered.
Captain Tikri glanced sideways at her, then across at Lirrin. The apprentice seemed oblivious to everything but the burning remains of her master. The handful of friends and family in attendance were lost in their own thoughts or talking to one another.
"Troubled, Lady Sarai?" Tikri murmured.
"Of course I am!" she said in reply. "It's all so wasteful and stupid! Even this funeral-it's just empty ritual. His soul isn't even in there; there's nothing to be freed!"
"You're sure?"
"The necromancer was sure, anyway, or at least he said he was."
Tikri didn't reply for a moment; when he did, it was to ask, "Which sort of necromancer was it?"
"A wizard," Sarai answered. "Does it matter, though?" Tikri shrugged, showing her an empty palm. "I don't know," he said. "It might. My Aunt Thithenna always used a theurgist to talk to Uncle Gar, after he died-at least, until the priest said she should leave him alone and let him enjoy the afterlife. Worked fine."
Sarai sighed. "Your Aunt Thithenna was lucky," she said. "Half the time theurgical necromancers can't find the one you want, even when there isn't any question of other magic. And demonological necromancers are worse-unless the ghost you want is a dead demonologist; they're lucky to contact one out of ten. Sorcerers and warlocks don't do necromancy at all- they're probably smart. It's a messy business. And as often as not the ghost doesn't remember anything useful."
"What about a witch, then?" It was Sarai's turn to shrug.
"It's a little late now," she said. "I know theurgists and de-monologists don't need the body, but witches do, even more than wizards. I did have a witch look at him, though-Kelder of Quarter Street. You know him, don't you?" Tikri thought for a moment, then nodded. "Well, he's not a real necromancer," Sarai said. "But he couldn't see anything."
"Too bad." Tikri hesitated, and said, "There's news, though. I was going to wait until after the funeral to tell you, but maybe I should mention it now."
"Oh? What is it?"
"It's not good news."
Sarai sighed again. "In this case, I wasn't expecting good news. What is it, another body?"
"No, no," Tikri hastily assured her. "Not that bad."
"Not even a dog?" Tikri shook his head. "Well, then?" Sarai demanded.
"Well, it looks like we have more than one killer. Mereth and her apprentice were studying the traces in Athaniel's shop-the actual break-in was done by warlockry."
Sarai frowned. "But it wasn't warlockry that killed him. Mereth was sure of that."
Tikri nodded. "So if our killer is a wizard, he has a warlock working with him," he said.
"Maybe it's a warlock who's gotten hold of an enchanted dagger somewhere," Sarai suggested.
"Maybe," Tikri conceded. "But why would a warlock be doing any of this? A warlock can stop a man's heart without touching him; why cut throats?"
"Why would anybody do all this?" Sarai retorted.
"A demonologist making a sacrifice, maybe? Or a wizard collecting the ingredients for a spell?"
"And how would a demonologist or a wizard do warlockry?" Sarai started to take a deep breath to say more and accidentally caught a lungful of smoke from the pyre; she lost whatever she had intended to say in an extended coughing fit. Tikri stood silently by, waiting.
When she regained control of herself, Sarai was no longer thinking entirely about warlocks or motives; the coughing had reminded her of her father's failing health and poor Kalthon the Younger with his fits. Her family was not exactly robust or numerous anymore. She had to face the possibility that any day, she could find herself the new Minister of Justice permanently, not just filling in-and she would still be Minister of Investigation, as well.
As a girl, she had never expected to have this sort of responsibility; her father and brother were supposed to handle the Ministry of Justice, and back then there had been no Minister of Investigation yet. By rights, she shouldn't have had a government job at all; she should have been married off years ago to a wealthy merchant, or to some noble not too closely related to her. She should be raising chickens and sewing clothes and tending children, not standing here watching a murdered friend burn and worrying about who killed him instead of remembering his life.
The idea of being the overlord's investigator had sounded intriguing four years ago, but the idea of spending the rest of her life at it, at hunting down demented criminals and sadistic thugs, or worse, failing to hunt them down…
It was beginning to wear on her. She wondered how her father could stand going on being Minister of Justice, year after year.
But of course, maybe he couldn't stand it, maybe that was why he was dying.
And here before her was the body of a man who could have saved her father, and had refused. Maybe, Sarai thought bitterly, she should be applauding, instead of mourning.
Then she blinked, startled.
Could that be the killer's motive?
It wasn't at all likely that all the victims had wronged any one person by their actions, but might they have done so by inaction? Was there something the killer wanted that all of them, the warlock, the soldier, the theurgist, the demonologist, the wizard, had failed to provide?
It seemed like a reasonable -possibility. It didn't explain the almost ritualistic throat-slashing, or the use of both warlockry and wizardry, though.
Sarai remembered that Tikri thought there was more than one killer involved. That made sense-the man who threw Athaniel and Karitha around had clearly been immensely strong and must have been large and muscular, while Inza's killer appeared to have slipped in through a window open only a few inches. Deru's killer had been big enough to kill him while he was awake, without leaving signs of a struggle, but had done so from the back-and an experienced old brawler like Deru would not have turned his back on anyone he considered a threat. That called for someone strong, but not big and burly.
But if there was more than one killer, why? Why would a group want to commit these murders? It seemed even less likely than an individual-unless it was some sort of conspiracy or cult at work.
Was there, perhaps, a secret conspiracy of magicians? Had Inza and Serem and the others been offered a chance to join, and been killed to insure their silence when they refused?