"Hunh?"
"There is a tree, sometimes called the Bhodi Tree, in the village of Semchi. It is a very old and highly honored tree. The Bhodi Enlightened One made his reputation loafing in the shade of this tree. The Bhodi consider it their most holy shrine. Tell them I will make kindling wood out of the Bhodi Tree unless the man who rigged that prayer wheel reports to me. Soon." Soulcatcher employed the voice of a petty, vindictive old woman.
Murgen made a mental note to send Sahra a suggestion that the guilty man be prevented from reaching the Protector. Destruction of a major holy place would create thousands of new enemies for Soulcatcher.
Willow Swan started to speak but Soulcatcher interrupted. "I do not care if they hate me, Swan. I care that they do what I tell them to do when I tell them to do it. The Bhodi will not raise a fist against me, anyway. That would put a stain on their kharma."
A cynical woman, the Protector.
"Get on with it, Swan."
Swan sighed. "Several more of those smoke shows appeared tonight. One was much bigger than any seen before. Once again the Black Company sigil was part of all of them." He brought forward another Shadar witness, who told of being stoned by the mob but did not mention the demon Niassi.
The news was no surprise. It was one of the reasons the Council had been convened. With no real passion, the Radisha demanded, "How could that happen? Why can't you stop it? You have men on every street corner. Chansdra?" She appealed to the man who knew just how much it cost to put all those Greys out there.
Gokhale inclined his head imperially.
As long as the Radisha did the questioning, Swan's nerve stood up. She could not hurt him in ways he had not been hurt before. Not the way the Protector could. He asked, "Have you been out there? You should disguise yourself and go. Like Saragoz in the fairy tale. Every street is clogged with people. Thousands sleep where others have to walk over them. Breezeways and alleyways are choked with human waste. Sometimes the press is so thick you could murder somebody ten feet from one of my men and never be noticed. The people playing these games aren't stupid. If they're really Company survivors, they're especially not stupid. They've already survived everything ever thrown at them. They're using the crowds for cover exactly the way they'd use the rocks and trees and bushes out in the countryside. They don't wear uniforms. They don't stand out. They're not outlanders anymore. If you really want to nail them, put out a proclamation saying they all have to wear funny red hats." Swan's nerve had peaked high. That was not directed at the Radisha. Soulcatcher, speaking through her, had issued several proclamations memorable for their absurdity. "Being steeped in Company doctrine, they wouldn't be anywhere around when the smoke emblems actually formed. So far, we haven't even figured out where they come from."
Soulcatcher unleashed a deep-throated grunt. It said she doubted that Swan could figure out much of anything. His nerve guttered like a dying lamp. He began to sweat. He knew he walked a tightrope with the madwoman. He was tolerated like a naughty pet for reasons clear only to the sorceress, who sometimes did things for no better reason than a momentary whim. Which could reverse itself an instant later.
He could be replaced. Others had been. Soulcatcher did not care about facts, insurmountable obstacles or mere difficulties. She cared about results.
Swan offered, "On the plus side there's no evidence, even from our most eager informants, that suggests this activity is anything but a low-grade nuisance. Even if Black Company survivors are behind it—and even with tonight's escalation."
Soulcatcher said, "They'll never be anything but a nuisance." Her voice was that of a plucky teenage girl. "They're going through the motions. They lost heart when I buried all their leaders." That was all spoken in a powerful male voice, by someone accustomed to unquestioning obedience. But those words amounted to an oblique admission that Company members might, after all, still be alive, and the final few words included in a rising inflection betraying potential uncertainty. There were questions about what had happened on the plain of glittering stone that Soulcatcher herself could not answer. "I'll worry when they call them back from the dead."
She did not know.
In truth, little had gone according to anyone's plan out there. Her escape, with Swan, had been pure luck. But Soulcatcher was the sort who believed Fortune's bright countenance was her born due.
"Probably true. And only marginally significant if I understood your summons."
"There are Other Forces Afoot," Soulcatcher said. This voice was a sybil's, rife with portent.
"The Deceivers have been heard from," the Radisha announced, causing a general startled reaction that included the disembodied spy. "Lately we've had reports from Dejagore, Meldermhai, Ghoja and Danjil about men having been slain in classic Strangler fashion."
Swan had recovered. "In classic Strangler work, only the killers know that it happened. They aren't assassins. The bodies would go through their religious rites and be buried in some holy place."
The Radisha ignored his remarks. "Today there was a strangling here. In Taglios. Perhule Khoji was the victim. He died in a joy house, an institution specializing in young girls. Such places aren't supposed to exist anymore, yet they persist." That was an accusation. The Greys were charged with crushing that sort of exploitation. But the Greys worked for the Protector and the Protector did not care. "I gather that anything you can imagine can still be found for sale."
Some people blamed a national moral collapse on the Black Company. Others blamed the ruling family. A few even blamed the Protector. Fault did not matter, nor did the fact that most of the nastier evils had existed almost since the first mud hut went up alongside the river. Taglios had changed. And desperate people will do what they must to survive. Only a fool would expect the results to be pretty.
Swan asked, "Who was this Perhule Khoji?" He glared over his shoulder. He had a scribe of his own recording the meeting back there in the darkness. Plainly, he wondered why the Radisha was familiar with this particular murder when he was not. "Sounds like the guy got something he had coming. You sure it wasn't just his adventure with the little girls gone bad?"
"Quite possibly Khoji did deserve what happened," the Radisha said with bitter sarcasm. "He was Vehdna, so he'll be talking it over with his god about now, I would imagine. His morals don't interest us, Swan. His position does. He was one of the Inspector-General's leading assistants. He collected taxes in the Checca and east waterfront areas. His death will cause problems for months. His areas were some of our best revenue producers."
"Maybe somebody who owed—"
"His child companion survived. And he did call for help. The sort of men who handle troublemakers in those places arrived while it was happening. Stranglers did it. It was an initiation killing. The Strangler candidate was inept. Nevertheless, with the help of his arm-holders, he managed to break Khoji's neck."
"So they were captured."
"No. The one they call Daughter of Night was there. Overseeing the initiation."
So the strong-arm guys would have been scared witless once they recognized her. No Gunni or Shadar wanted to believe the Daughter of Night was just a nasty young woman, not a mythic figure. Few Taglians of those religions would find the courage to interfere with her.
"All right," Swan conceded. "That would mean real Stranglers. But how did they recognize the Daughter of Night?"
Exasperated, Soulcatcher snapped, "She told them who she was, you ninny! ‘I am the Daughter of Night. I am the Child of Darkness Forthcoming. Come to my mother or become prey for the beasts of devastation in the Year of the Skulls.' Typically portentous stuff." Soulcatcher's voice had become the mid-range monotone of an educated skeptic. "Not to mention that she was vampire-white and a prettier duplicate of my sister as a child."