Sharda … .
Right. They work for the magistrate, Elisar. They investigate crime. Crime important enough to warrant attention from those in power. Therefore, this matter involved the nobility of Sanctuary, in some way, for some reason.
This matter.
What matter?
Who or what could I know that could attract the attention of a magistrate, and was so important the magistrate would enlist the City Watch?
I played my cresca and tried not to speculate.
Presently the door opened, and a fellow with muscles on his muscles, a massive gray-brown beard all over his face, and not too many teeth appeared. “Strip, please.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are to be searched.”
“For what?”
Evidently, he didn’t feel it was his job to answer my questions. I won’t go into detail, but my clothes and even my cresca case were searched thoroughly. He kept me there while he searched, and every time they started searching something, he glanced at my face. It was a little comical, to tell you the truth. In any case, nothing they found was even worth a question. I asked him if he were with the City Watch, or the Sharda, and he didn’t answer. When he was done searching me, he grunted and left me to dress again, after which I did more scales.
It wasn’t too long before a pair of officers appeared.
“I am Sayn,” said the man. “This is my colleague Ixma. We work for the magistrate.” He didn’t bother to add a name.
I smiled at them both and said, “A pleasure. How may I be of assistance?”
Neither of them wore any sort of uniform. Sayn was big across the shoulders, with a bull chest, and a neatly trimmed beard. He might have had some Rankan in him. Then again, maybe not. Ixma was more interesting. Short, tiny, with big black eyes that dominated most of her face, and if she weren’t all or partly S‘danzo, my eyes were failing me. From my first glance at her, I wondered if she were a liesayer, one of those who can hear a lie the way I can hear a missed note. I’d heard of such among the S’danzo, and been told that sometimes the magistrates employed them. The concept fascinated me.
What is a lie, anyway?
If I sang to them of the man from Shemhaza, would such a person hear it as a lie? How about if I claimed not to remember a song that I almost remembered? Would that be a lie? How about an exaggeration? An understatement? I thought about asking if that’s what she was, but thought better of it The oddest thing was that I was filled with the temptation to lie for no reason, to test her. All of my training—control of voice, control of body language, even control of breath, could be a direct challenge to such powers. I wanted to know if I could tell a direct, bald-face lie that she couldn’t detect
And I knew very well that making such a test would be the height of stupidity when dealing with those who have the power of life and death. I sat on the temptation until it whimpered and went away.
Sayn said, “You are Tordin Jardin?”
I smiled. “Tord’ an J’ardin” I agreed.
He stood over me and said, without preamble, “You were seen earlier this evening with a certain Dinrabol Festroon.”
He seemed to be waiting for a response, so I nodded. He still said nothing, just looked at me in that way those in power have, so I added, “He’s a friend of mine.”
“A friend.”
I nodded.
He glanced at the one called Ixma, then turned back to me.
“When and where did you see him last?”
I frowned. “I …”
His lips tightened. That’s something else they do.
I said, “If he’s in trouble, I wouldn’t want to be the one—”
“Answer the question, please.”
I sighed. “It was a few hours ago, before I headed out to Land’s End. I was just headed out of the Maze.”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s where he was found.”
I stared at him. “Found?”
He nodded again, and went back to waiting for me to say something. It’s the way they have, where they’re looking for you to give something away, and even if you have nothing to give away, you feel like you’ve confessed.
I said, “What happened to him?”
“He’s dead. Stabbed. One thrust from under the chin up into the brain.”
I winced. He’d given me a better image than I wanted. “Robbed?”
“Interesting question,” he said. “He had a purse with a few padpols in it, and various personal items. These things weren’t taken. Did he have anything else worth stealing?”
“Everyone has things worth stealing, Sayn. May I call you Sayn? In his case, well, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? How well did you know him?”
“He was my best friend,” I said quietly. “I taught him to play, and to perform. I worked with him on his voice and his stage presence. We’d spend hours together, mostly drinking, or waking around. We—”
“I get the idea. If it wasn’t robbery, who wanted him dead?”
“No one,” I said. “If there was ever someone who didn’t make enemies, it was Din.”
He frowned, and tilted his lead a little, staring at me. I guess it was supposed to make me uncomfortable, and I have to say it did. It doesn’t matter how innocent you are when you’re interrogated by someone who knows how to do so; you still get nervous, uncomfortable, and start feeling like you ought to confess to something, just to stop the ordeal.
He said, “You were the last one seen with him, you know.”
“I know. Well, except for whoever ki—whoever did it.”
“And we only have your word for it that there is such a person. Did you kill him?”
I felt myself flushing. “No,” I said.
He gave an expressive nod. What it expressed was, I don’t necessarily believe you, but I’m not going to push it now. He glanced at his partner, I guess for confirmation. She still had not said a word, and her eyes had never left my face.
He studied me a bit, then said, “You weren’t born here, were you?”
I shook my head. “A place called Shemhaza, a few hundred miles inland.”
“When did you arrive in Sanctuary?”
“About eight years ago.”
“Way?”
“If you’d ever seen Shemhaza, you wouldn’t ask.”
He was polite enough to chuckle, then said, “Seriously. Why here? Why then?”
“I had played all my songs for all six people in Shemhaza. I wanted an audience. I’m not kidding; I need an audience. I need to play for people. It’s what I live for.”
He nodded as if he was willing to believe me for the moment. “Do you have a wife, or a lover?”
“Not anymore.”
“Oh?”
“I had a woman named Mirazia, but she stopped seeing me a few months ago and took up with Din”
He stared at me. “She left you for your best friend?”
I met his stare. “Yes.”
“You know, that does nothing to make me less suspicious of you.”
“I know. But what if I’d said nothing about it? You’d have found out anyway, and then you’d be asking me why I didn’t say anything.”
I was hoping that would get a chuckle and a nod from him. It didn’t.
“How did you feel about that?”
“In truth? It hurt a little. But with Mirazia and me, well, it was never one of the great passions of which ballads are made. I got over it pretty quickly. I will say …” I bit my lip. “I’m not looking forward to having to tell her.”
“You needn’t. I already have. Before I spoke to you.”
“Then you knew—”
“Yes.”
I nodded. “I’ll still need to see her.”
He shrugged. “That isn’t my concern.” He gave me a thoughtful look. “I’m not done with you, J’ardin. But for now, you may go. Don’t stray too far.”