Fanuilh Read online

  After Liam had satisfied Coeccias that Tarquin was indeed dead, the Aedile had drawn him out into the entrance hall and nodded to Mother Japh, who began her work.

  "We mustn't disturb the witch while she searches for spirits," he whispered.

  "How does she do it?" Liam whispered back, wondering. The Aedile shrugged and spoke nonchalantly, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his shortsword. "Truth, I don't know. But if Tarquin's sprite's here, angered or hot on revenge, she'll feel it, and it may be she can learn something from him."

  Liam had never heard of a ghost witch, and the idea interested him. If she could speak with Tarquin's ghost, she might be able to find his killer. He studied the witch closely whenever she appeared.

  The two Guardsmen stayed on the stone veranda despite the chill wind off the sea, which the watery sun did nothing to relieve. Coeccias had grumbled irritably when they silently took up their posts, but he did not argue with them.

  "And as no ghosts haunt the pile," the witch went on, "and no sprites linger, angry or the like, it follows that the killer's not here."

  When the witch had rendered her judgement, she suddenly offered Liam a warm smile, and Coeccias scowled. Liam started and flushed red. He turned on the Aedile.

  "You thought Idid it? You thought Ikilled him?" Coeccias scowled fiercely at the old woman, who offered him a placid smile. "I suspected, but—"

  Liam cut him off angrily. "Then why would I fetch you? Why would I tell you, if I did it?"

  "Easy, man, don't rate me. Many's the man's covered his deed thus, and I was only making sure. And y'are Liam Rhenford, are you not?"

  "So?" He could not believe the man had suspected him. He prepared to revise the friendly opinion he had devised of the Aedile.

  "Truth, it's known that you had traffic with the wizard, more traffic than anyone in Southwark ever had, and who else was there to suspect? And you'd never've known what I thought, if this foolish old woman had kept a still tongue!" He scowled again at the witch, and Liam stalked away, fuming.

  A touch on his arm brought him around, and he glared down into Mother Japh's wrinkled, beaming face.

  "Take no affront, boy. I thought you'd done it, too. You've an innocent visage," she said, "and that's the worst mark against a man that I know."

  Liam did not reply; Tarquin had once said something like that to him. They had been discussing a question of history; Liam had made a point he felt was particularly telling, and the old wizard had begun to laugh. "Get you a beard, Rhenford," he had said. "None'll believe so innocent a face."

  "And now, Aedile Coeccias, it likes me to go home, if you can spare one of your frightened soldiers to take me there."

  Coeccias shook his head and dispatched one of the Guardsmen to escort the ghost witch back to Southwark. When he returned to the entrance hall, Liam was still thinking over what Mother Japh had said, and how it echoed Tarquin's words.

  "She hit the mark, Liam Rhenford. Y' are too innocent for your good."

  "Perhaps if I got a hideous scar, or lost an eye and wore a patch I'd be better off, eh?" he asked sarcastically.

  Coeccias laughed and clapped Liam on the shoulder, and his anger slowly dissolved. He gave a small smile.

  "A scar, a patch! Aye, those'd serve!" The Aedile laughed a little more and went on, still amused. "Unfortunately, Mother Japh's rare wrong, and I can't clap you in for the murder. Which means there's nothing for it but to try and find the killer. We'll search the house."

  He led the way with Liam trailing curiously in his wake, eager to explore more of the house. The Aedile questioned him as they went, gleaning details of his relationship with the wizard.

  "And you've no idea who might have wanted him dead?" "None. I didn't really know him well—only from swimming off his breakwater, and the occasional talk. No clues there, I'm afraid."

  They stood in Tarquin's library, just beyond the parlor. Books lined every wall; there were no windows in the walls, though a small glass cupola in the roof let in a dim light. Coeccias gave Liam an incredulous look when he mentioned swimming.

  "You swam? In the sea?"

  "Yes," Liam said.

  "No one swims in the sea!"

  "I do," Liam said simply, offering no explanation, and the Aedile shrugged in disbelief.

  For a moment they stood quietly and marveled at the innumerable books, each impressed in his own way. Liam paced along the shelves, running a finger down leatherbound spines, checking the titles inscribed or painted there. Coeccias stood directly beneath the cupola, turning around in a circle and taking it all in.

  "And when did you say you found him?"

  "Last night. I—"

  "Last night?" the Aedile snapped. "Why didn't you fetch me then?"

  Liam goggled for a moment and started to tell about Fanuilh. A thought stopped him.

  I was drunk ...

  "I was drunk, you see," he finally said, embarrassed. "And when I saw him, I, well, I fell, and hit my head."

  Show him the bump.

  "I have a bump, you see." He fingered the back of his head, and noticed for the first time a distinct swelling at the back of his head. "I didn't wake up until early this morning."

  "Cupped, eh?" The Aedile smiled and Liam relaxed, though his face was still red with embarrassment. "I suspect that's the only thing that'd make a man bother a wizard in the night."

  He left the library, and went across the hall and down the corridor to the bedroom. Liam followed, angry, wondering if the dragon had known they would suspect him.

  I thought they might, came the response, hard in his mind. He stopped in the corridor. That is why I told you to bring the ghost witch.

  Coeccias paused before the door to the workroom, looking back at Liam.

  "Will y'attend me?"

  Liam shook himself and hurried down the hall. The Aedile was looking at the table where Fanuilh lay, its slitted yellow eyes staring balefully back at him.

  "Now whatever's this? The wizard's pet?"

  He stepped lightly over to the table and slowly extended his .hand towards the dragon's neck, trying to appear open and friendly. Fanuilh followed the Aedile's hand, swiveling its head as Coeccias reached for its neck, fingers bent to scratch. At the last moment the dragon snapped weakly, and Coeccias withdrew in shock.

  "Little beast!"· he exclaimed, rubbing his hand as if the dragon had bitten him, though Liam knew it had missed.

  "It's a shame the little creature can't speak. He might tell us everything."

  "Aye," Coeccias muttered, then threw a cursory glance around the room. "Naught disturbed here," he said, and left abruptly. Liam stayed a moment, looking at the dragon. Slowly, as the Aedile had, he extended his hand; Fanuilh let him scratch, arching its back in pleasure against Liam's nails. The softness of the scales was still strange to him, and he rubbed them curiously for a moment. No thoughts came, so he patted it once more and left.

  There was only one other room, with a cupola like the library but wide windows as well. Motes danced in the weak beams pouring in.

  "Anything missing?" Coeccias asked.

  "I don't know. I've never been in here before." Strange objects filled the white-plastered room, hanging from the walls and arranged in free-standing cases of dark, polished wood with glass tops. A collection of thin, elaborately carved wands on a bed of felt in one case; coins with inscriptions Liam could not read in another; jewelry of strange design—rings, bracelets, phylacteries—in another. On the walls, a small tapestry the size of a hearthrug, depicting a stylized eagle soaring powerfully over purple mountains; a stringless, round-bodied lute hung by its neck; a sword and shield, simple and battered, beside a horn chased in silver.

  "Truth," the Aedile said, turning to go, "it seems there's naught stolen, so I needn't bother the fences."

  Liam reluctantly followed him. "Eh?"

  "I needn't bother the fences." Liam's questioning look remained, so Coeccias went on. "Naug
ht stolen, Liam Rhenford. So checking the fences won't discover the murderer."

  "Oh, yes, yes. I see." His mind was still on the strange objects on the walls and in the cases, and he wished the Aedile had stayed there longer.

  "So, with no thievery, we've only personality. Did anyone hate him? Hate him enough to stick him, that is?"

  Liam shook his head. "I wouldn't know. I don't think he knew many people in Southwark— except me, that is."

  "Oh, I think many people knew of him, if you see, and there's tales enough of some having dealings with him. I'll see about that, and see if he has a testament."

  "A testament?"

  "A will." Coeccias instantly supplied the synonym, interpreting his hesitation as confusion over the southern dialect. "He might have left one, registered with the Duke's clerk. Some do, you know."

  Liam said nothing; he did not think Tarquin was the kind to leave a will.

  "And then there's the interring. Someone'll have to bury him." The Aedile looked expectantly at him.

  I will take care of it.

  "I'll take care of it," Liam said suddenly, paling at the intrusion. "We spoke of how he'd want it once. Theoreti, cally, of course. I never thought ... "

  The Aedile's expectation turned to puzzlement, and Liam fidgeted. The dragon was arranging things in a way he did not understand, prompting him along paths he couldn't follow. But Coeccias misunderstood his reaction.

  "How old are you, Liam Rhenford?"

  "Thirty," he responded.

  "Thirty," the Aedile mused. He was easily ten years older than Liam, and the harsh lines around his eyes softened. "And never seen a corpse ere this?"

  Liam frowned. He had, many times. More times, he guessed, and deaths far worse, than the Aedile had.

  Go along.

  "No," he said shakily.

  "Shall I leave my man to help you?"

  No.

  "No, I think ... " He paused, with a convincing gulp. "I think I can manage."

  "Well enough," Coeccias said at last. "I'll be about my business, then, if y'are sure."

  Liam nodded briefly.

  The Aedile nodded as well and went for the door, stopping to ask where Liam was lodging.

  "In· case I hear anything, or need to speak with you, if you see."

  When Liam told him, the Aedile took his leave, collecting the other Guardsman. Liam went out onto the veranda and watched them wend their way up the narrow path. When they had topped the cliff, he went back in.

  Fanuilh still lay on the table in the workroom, looking up at him serenely.

  The scratching was good.

  "And I suppose you'd like some more?" Liam asked sarcastically, but he put out his hand and scratched the clothlike scales. "How much of that did you know would happen?"

  I anticipated a great deal of it.The dragon stretched pleasurably, if stiffly, underneath his hand, the simple, happy motion at odds with the cold thoughts.

  "Why did you make me lie about hitting my head?"

  You know.

  Liam was surprised to find he did know. Coeccias had called the dragon Tarquin's pet; he did not understand about familiars, and if Liam had tried to explain he would have presumed that—

  "You didn't want him thinking we'd killed him together, you and I."

  It would undoubtedly have occurred to him, and it would have made things difficult.

  "So now he thinks I'm a weak fop, a man who turns squeamish at the sight of blood. One who's never seen a corpse before."

  Do you really care?

  Wordlessly, Liam shook his head, and pulled his hand away from the dragon, struck by a thought. He imagined Fanuilh, a dagger stuck in his claws, hovering over Tarquin's sleeping body.

  A thought crashed down on the image, blotting it out.

  That is foolishness. I could do no such thing.

  "Of course not," Liam said hastily, stepping away from the table. It was foolishness, after all. The dragon could not have known he would come along, that there would be another soul for it to share.

  There are things to do. You must fulfill our bargain.

  "Yes." He shook his head, scattering the shards of his image. "You'll teach me how to keep you out?"

  Yes, and more.

  "And all I have to do is nurse you to health?"

  And the other.

  "The other," Liam repeated blankly, then remembered:

  "The one you said you'd tell me when they'd gone?"

  Yes.

  "What is it?"

  You must find whoever killed Master Tanaquil.

  "Find the killer? That's what Coeccias is for," he said doubtfully.

  You do not think the Duke's man can do it.

  "I don't think he can, no. But if he can't do it, how could I? That's foolishness." He straightened and walked over to the model, his back to the dragon.

  You knew Master Tanaquil better than the Duke's man. I knew him better. Between us, we can imagine who might have done it, and find the person. Besides you have done this before.

  "Only a few times, and ... " Liam whirled. "How did you know that?"

  We are one. Your memories are mine, and mine would be yours, if you knew how. I know your thoughts everywhere.

  There was no special emphasis on the last, but Liam imagined it, and blushed.

  "You know what I was thinking, in the city?"

  Of course.

  He shook his head, trying to drive the thought out. "No matter. Those were a long time ago, and the circumstances were different. I was very lucky."

  Nonetheless, you have searched out murderers before. And you think you carry Luck with you.

  That much was true, and that was how he thought of it Luck, personified, like a deity who watched over him. And he had, once or twice, unraveled mysteries.

  "Even granting that I thought I could find the killer, why? Why do you want me to? Why bargain for that?"

  For the first time, Fanuilh's thought swirled, shapeless. It took what seemed a long time to form.

  I do not know.

  "What would we do when we found out?"

  Again, the thought coalesced slowly.

  I do not know.

  "Give the murderer to the Aedile?"

  I suppose so.

  Liam wondered if the dragon was harboring dreams of vengeance, and blushed again when Fanuilh responded.

  I do not think so. It is simply something I feel must be done. Master Tanaquil was good to me.

  Liam sighed, turning back to the model of Southwark, losing his gaze in the intricate details. He thought of Tarquin, and their all too few conversations. The man had been interesting, if somewhat reserved. Pleasant in his way, seemingly harmless, an eccentric recluse claiming wizardry. But he had made the Teeth disappear, and he had a room filled with strange artifacts that Liam wanted to explore.

  I can show you how they all work. They can be yours. Is it a bargain?

  He sighed again, leaning forward, resting his hands carefully on the edge of the model.

  "See if you can't stay out of my head for a few moments, will you?"

  He had already decided to do it, he realized. If for no other reason than that the old man had let him swim off his breakwater. And if the dragon was lying, in any way, about anything, well, then ...

  But he did not finish the thought. He simply let it swirl away, broken off, unsure of what he would do.

  "Very well, it's a bargain. I'll need to know everything you can remember about Tarquin."

  Four hours later, as the pale sun sank down towards the horizon, Liam rode the muddy track back to Southwark. His stomach was queasy again, and though the ache in his ankle had not returned, he found the lump on the back of his head throbbing.

  He had questioned the dragon closely for a long time, dredging up every detail of anyone who visited Tarquin. He was surprised at how many people besides himself had made the trip out from the city and down the cliff
path, and, at the same time, how little Fanuilh knew about his master's business. The dragon could remember some names and most faces, and snatches of conversation, but apparently Tarquin had made a practice of excluding his familiar from his thoughts and his dealings. It seemed strange to Liam, to hide yourself from one you had voluntarily chosen to share your soul, but Fanuilh had not thought it out of the ordinary.

  It had taken very little time to bury the wizard. He and Tarquin had never discussed their preferences for interment, but Fanuilh assured him that the old man had had no preference, and that simple burial would be enough.

  Liam had gone up the beach and found a spot close by the cliffs where the sand was heavier and more like dirt. Using a board, he scooped a deep narrow hole, cursing as the sand ran back into the grave. Finally, sweating through his tunic despite the cold wind off the sea, he decided it was deep enough and returned to the house for the body.

  He wrapped it in the scarlet blanket and gingerly put his hands beneath it. Though the old man had been scrawny, his corpse was far heavier than Liam expected, but the stiffness was familiar from several battlefields. He managed to get the body to the grave, cursing his stupidity in choosing a site so far from the house.

  When he finally had Tarquin in his resting place, he stood for a moment, looking down at the red-wrapped bundle. It looked pitifully small at the bottom of the sandy trench, like a bright toy lost or forgotten by a careless child. The smell of brine and rotting seaweed filled his nostrils, stinging and cold.

  Liam had spent so long among strangers, peoples with strange gods and alien rites, that he could not think of whom to pray to, or how to pray. Undecided, he thought of nothing, listening instead to the slap of waves against the breakwater, and the rumble of the sea beyond.

  "I suppose I can only ... " he finally said, and left the sentence unfinished.

  It did not take as long to shovel the sand back in.

  He went back to the house only long enough to take his leave of the dragon.

  You do not have to go back to the city, the dragon thought as he stood in the doorway of the workroom.