Tegeus Droit’s house was small by Parkside standards, but it was in a good neighborhood, tucked next to the city gardens. I wondered how much the local property values had plummeted the day he moved in.
The grounds looked pretty innocent, once you got past the razor-tipped iron gate. The lawn was smooth and featureless, rolling up to a small whitewashed villa. No trees, no hedges. No place for an assassin to hide. I took the white stone walk, reminded of the walkway to Lily’s club. The villa was two stories tall, with small windows. When I got close I stepped onto the grass and walked over to one of the first-floor windows, intending to peer inside. I didn’t want to interrupt Droit if he was nailing someone to the kitchen door or anything, and I meant that entirely literally. The camouflaged bear trap under his window just missed ripping off my leg. I scrambled back to the safety of the walkway, swearing a blue streak.
Deciding not to risk any more of my limbs, I knocked on the door, then cussed again and used the giant brass knocker. The bastard’s door was solid metal painted to look like wood. I supposed the decorative lancet grille over the door would make a dandy opening for spilling burning oil, too. Villa as siege castle — nice architectural conceit.
I was expecting a sneery butler like Aronson’s to answer the door, but what I got was Droit himself. He was dressed pretty normal for a notorious killer: house slippers, plain black trousers, and a white silk shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Pale scars criss-crossed his arms.
He gave me a cool look but stepped aside.
“Come in, Captain Lorencz.”
I walked past him, feeling jumpy and hoping he couldn’t tell.
The foyer was simple, and the rooms beyond it almost bare. Quite a change from Aronson’s aristocratic clutter. A rack on the wall by the door was filled with weapons — souvenirs from Droit’s time as a general, I presumed. They ran the gamut from swords to rifles. I was surprised by the latter. Cislunar has prohibitive laws concerning firearms ownership.
“You got cartridges for those?” I asked. Droit gave me a thin smile but didn’t answer. I looked behind me at the door’s decorative grille. No pulley and funnel, but it did have an inset crossbow pointed at the porch. He didn’t have any cartridges, then, or he would bother with a crossbow. My faith in Cislunar’s legal system was restored.
“I’m usually attacked on the street.” He walked deeper into the house, his slippered feet noiseless on the bare wooden floor. “But there’s no point in being careless.”
“I set off one of the bear traps under your windows.”
“The gardener will reset it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “All the shutters and frames are iron. The windows are double-paned and don’t open.”
“Did you see me coming?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t point anything sharp at me when you opened the door, so you must figure I’m pretty harmless.”
“Does that bother you?”
“A little.”
“Tea?”
“Got anything stronger?”
“No.”
“How about some tea, then?”
He walked into the kitchen. I followed, curious. It was as clean and orderly as the rest of the house. A set of knives was racked on the wall, close to hand. A few of them didn’t look like they’d been made for kitchen use. A kettle already sat on the iron stove, chuckling to itself.
While I watched, he poured hot water from the kettle into a strainer poised over the opening in the porcelain pot. Leaves swirled and then subsided. He closed the strainer and let it drop into the pot, covered it with a lid, and put the pot on a tray, along with two porcelain saucers and cups, a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher of cream. His porcelain was wafer-thin and plain white.
I trailed him out to a small table next to a window that overlooked the gardens, trying not to laugh. Who’d expect Yzyrche’s Hound to be so domestic?
“Did you drink a lot of tea between battles?” I asked at last, unable to help myself.
“Yes. I always found it very soothing.” He sat down and shook his head as I reached for a cigar. I picked up a silver teaspoon, instead, to keep my hands occupied. Watching the Tyrant of Ankham brew a pot of tea like my granny had been amusing, but now it was time to get down to business.
“I got some bad news,” I said. “At least, I think it’s bad. Maybe it won’t be so bad for you. You want it before or after you pour?”
“Before. I like these cups, and I don’t always manage my temper well.”
“Right.” I pushed my chair back in case I needed to get out of the way fast. “Someone nixed Ban Jaspin last night.”
He got to his feet. I got ready to call a balewall between us, but he didn’t come for me. He just clasped his hands behind his back and stood before the window, staring out at the rosebushes. They were mostly stem and thorn, this time of year.
His knuckles were white. His left hand had a puckered, circular scar in the center, like something had been driven through it once. The scar wasn’t as old as the ones on his arms. I imagined him catching an assassin’s bullet or stiletto with his bare hand and stopped myself from reaching for a cigar again.
“Was he hurt?” he asked at last.
“Physically, no. But he doesn’t have a mind anymore.”
“How did it happen?”
“Found him in a pub. I figure someone spiked his drink at a meet-up of some sort.”
“And you don’t know whom to blame.” His voice was tight. Controlled.
“Nope. But I’m looking. Figured I’d invite you along, if you’re interested.”
“Why should I be interested? Jaspin was a perpetual annoyance.”
“Yeah, but maybe you respected him for it.”
“I’ve often respected my opponents. It’s never stopped me from killing them.”
“Takes some of the fun out of life after they’re dead, though, don’t it?”
“You haven’t asked me whether I nixed him.”
“You think I should?”
He turned, his green eyes cold.
“I don’t like your flippant attitude, Captain Lorencz.”
“So slip another reprimand into my personnel file.” I was sweating, but I tried not to show it. Mad dogs and psychopaths — never let ’em smell your fear. “Look, the way I figure, you got no motive. I’m guessing you put up with Jaspin for the same reason you put up with Lily — ’cause he was willing to talk to you. I don’t imagine you get much company, do you? Mad-dog killers ain’t exactly popular dinner guests around town, and your curiosity value’s long since worn off. Anyway, from everything I’ve read about you, if you’d nixed him, you woulda put him on display, afterwards. Thrown a leash on him and walked him around town like a dog or something like that.”
He waited. I couldn’t tell if I’d scored any hits or was shooting into the wind.
“So,” I finished, hoping for the best, “do you want to come crack some heads with me, or would you rather sit around drinking tea and watching your roses die?”
“I like drinking tea. I also like watching things die.” His eyes were flat as he looked at me. “But I admit that roses are beginning to bore me.”
“Nice. Look, Jaspin getting nixed makes this case high-profile, and if I don’t work it, they’re gonna put some lazy bum on the job who’ll cuff the first suspect and call the case closed. Lily and Jaspin deserve better than that. But I don’t want to get nixed or knocked off, so I need a hardcase to watch my back and scare off the bad guys. You like hurting people. I’m giving you the chance to do that, legal and with good press attached.”
“But?”
“But we both gotta live in this city. Only bad guys get hurt, and we ruffle as few feathers as possible.” I set the teaspoon down. “And I call the shots.”
“I give orders, Captain. I don’t take them.”
I steeled myself. “That’s the deal, pal. Take it or leave it.”
“What if I decide to pursue this case on my own, for the amusement of it?”
“I can’t stop you,” I admitted. “But the Vigilance can.”
“The tea should be ready.” He walked to the table and poured. He took his tea black. I added cream and sugar, wished I could smoke, and waited for him to make up his mind. The silence was nerve-wracking.
“I’ll agree to listen to your advice about how to handle a problem,” he said at last. “You get that much in exchange for the possibility of sanctioned bloodshed. But I’m not your subordinate, and I don’t touch paperwork.”
“Fair.”
“I also need a permit to carry a weapon.”
I shrugged, wondering what he called all those knives hidden under his clothes.
“I can probably swing a sword permit,” I said, “but the Ministry ain’t gonna let you walk around with Might.”
“Any sword would be fine. It doesn’t have to be Might.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do.” An unarmed Droit wouldn’t be much good to me, anyway.
“Very well.” He sipped his tea, studying me. “I don’t work with women very often.”
“Good. Makes me feel safe.”
“That is, I assume you’re a woman. It’s a little hard to tell under those shapeless clothes.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe. What is under those shapeless clothes?”
“Don’t make me rescind the offer.”
“Why? Do I make you feel threatened?”
“Hell, yes.”
His eyes glittered as he set his teacup down.
“Good. Then we’ll get along just fine.”
Droit insisted we submit his request for a sword permit first, and then he wanted to see Jaspin. I didn’t like it and the Ministry of Justice didn’t like it, but at last we talked our way into a pass and took a glim at the poor sap, who was in a secured room in Blackstone Hospital’s loony bin. Droit only took a minute or two to observe him.
“Yes, it’s nix,” he said, like there’d been any doubt. “What a waste. What’s the Ministry going to do with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he have any family?”
“I don’t know.”
“Too bad if he does.” He shook his head as we left the asylum. I stopped on the street, a queer feeling turning in my gut. Droit turned a split-second later. “What?”
I was looking at a dead pigeon on a hopscotch board. It was lying right inside the tombstone-shaped mark at the top, on top of a series of numbers: 123456789.
“I don’t know. Nothing.” I shrugged and turned my back on the marks. I couldn’t let some kid game spook me. “We’ve lost Lily and Jaspin, and I don’t have any more leads than when I started. It’s obvious why Jaspin was nixed, but I still can’t figure out why Lily was killed.”
“Because you talked to her. What did you say?”
“Just that her club had come up in connection with the drug.” I frowned. “She said she didn’t have anything to do with it, and I didn’t push. But I wonder — what if she confronted someone after she’d talked to me? Someone she thought might be using her club as a front?”
“Did you find out who entered the room after you?”
“The constables took down a report, but Jaspin had it.” I shook my head with frustration. “Let’s hope he left his notes in his office.”
He had. Droit and I scanned the report. Witnesses agreed that hostesses had come and gone several times to get loans and lines of credit approved and to cash in chips. Lily had specifically called in two people after me: her house dick, Ezery Shaze; and a guest, Arlin the Knave.
“That’s right … Shaze said something about that,” I recalled. “But he’s got an alibi — people saw him walking around about the time the murder must have happened.” I shrugged. “And Arlin’s not a sentinel, not as far as I know. He doesn’t belong to the Vigilance.”
A look of disgust passed over Droit’s face. “He doesn’t belong anywhere. Liselle enjoyed having odd characters in the club; she said it provided atmosphere. But he’s not interesting; he’s just drunk.”
“Right.” I wondered if Droit realized he’d been one of Lily’s ‘odd characters.’ “Let’s go brace Shaze first. He’ll be easier to find.”
The Gilded Lily was closed until after the funeral, which was scheduled for the next day. I knocked, flashed brass, and got sent back to Shaze’s office. He was going over some files — house accounts, it looked like. Funny thing for the house whistleup to be doing. I said words to that effect. He shrugged, reaching for a flask.
“I’m compiling a list of small-time debtors. The Ministry already took a list of the big spenders.” He took a swig and tilted the flask toward me.
“Yeah, I saw,” I said, waving the flask away. He didn’t offer it to Droit. “You said Lily talked to you right before she died. What’d she say?”
“It’s in my statement.”
“Tell me again.” He didn’t need to know that I hadn’t been allowed to read that statement.
He leaned back in his chair, his thick face nettled. Droit leaned on the end of the desk and picked up the account books, paging through them with interest. Shaze shot him a dirty look but addressed me.
“She told me who you were, said security could stop watching you. Asked if everything else was quiet. I said it was. That was before his little dust-up, of course.”
Droit ignored him.
“That’s all?” I pressed.
“Yeah.” Shaze reached for the bottle. “Just what I said in the report.”
Droit laid down the folders, leaned over the desk, and grabbed Shaze’s chin. Shaze tried to jerk back, but Droit’s grip was ruthless.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice soft. I bit my tongue and watched. I don’t much like seeing another sentinel strong-armed, but I was willing to live with my discomfort for another minute or two.
Shaze jerked his head again. This time Droit let him go. His fingers left dark red marks on Shaze’s jaw.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Shaze demanded, flushing and standing up. “I don’t have to take this from you — from either of you.”
“Yes, you do.” Droit swung himself up to the desk and sat cross-legged on top of it, facing Shaze. “Because I’m not giving you a choice.”
Shaze tried to throw a punch, but he signaled it a mile off and Droit caught it with one hand. Then the Red General grabbed Shaze’s shirt front and pulled him over the edge of the desk and up close, until his lips were near the house peeper’s ear.
“What did Lily tell you, when you talked to her?” His voice was little more than a whisper.
Shaze, stretched awkwardly over the desk, looked over Droit’s shoulder at me. I shrugged.
“Better tell him what he wants to know,” I said. “He’s itching to kill someone.”
Shaze licked his lips. “I told you already.”
“Step to your left, Lorencz,” Droit said. Confused, I did, moving closer to the door. Droit’s free hand snaked between Shaze’s legs and closed around the man’s balls. With a heave, he hauled the house dick by shirt and groin all the way across the desk and sent him smashing into the wall close to where I’d just been standing. I made a mental note — the Tyrant of Ankham was stronger than he looked.
Before Shaze could start to whimper, Droit slid off the desk and kicked him in the chest.
“Easy now,” I warned. “He might be telling the truth.”
“He isn’t.” Droit watched as Shaze writhed. “A man who’s telling the truth doesn’t bluster and get defensive when he’s questioned.”
“He only started blustering when you grabbed him. Tell the truth, that might make me start blustering, too.”
“Well, now you know better.” Droit prodded the man with the toe of his well-polished boot. “Talk before I break your ribs.”
“Fuck you,” Shaze wheezed.
“Droit, don’t!”
He ignored me. Shaze screeched as a steel-toed boot slammed into his ribcage, lifting him back into the wall. I pushed off from the door and grabbed Droit’s shoulder.
“Dammit –”
Shaze whispered something and I shut up, snatching my hand away. Droit’s lips twisted in a cold smirk.
“Speak up,” he ordered.
“Nix,” Shaze whispered, arms wrapped around his chest. “She asked me about nix. Told me to look for anyone dealing it in her club.”
I knelt, angry at Droit, angrier at Shaze, angriest at myself.
“Then what?” I demanded. “You panicked and killed her?”
“No!”
“Who did you warn?”
He groaned. Droit pulled back his foot. I shifted so that Droit couldn’t get in another kick without hitting me. It wasn’t a very smart thing to do, but I got lucky. He restrained himself.
“My pal’s impatient, and as you can see, I don’t have much pull with him. You found out Lily was wise. Who’d you talk to after that?”
“Nobody! You want Arlin — go ask him who he talked to!”
Yeah, maybe. I changed tack.
“Why were you looking through her accounts?”
“I told you,” he groaned.
“Payoff,” Droit suggested. “He’d promise to destroy the gamblers’ IOUs in exchange for a percentage of each debt. The individual amounts would be small, but when you begin to add them up….”
The flicker in Shaze’s eyes indicated that Droit had guessed right.
“Shit. I oughta let him kick you again,” I said, disgusted. I stood. “Don’t leave town or I’ll have Carel yank you back by the brainstem.”
Shaze shook his head, looking sick. I walked out, wondering if Droit was going to follow or kick the guy around a little more. He followed, carrying the account books in one hand.
“What are you going to do with those?” I asked.
“Give them to the Ministry.”
“Heh. Awful civic-minded of you.”
He slapped the folders against his leg. “I’m vicious, Lorencz, not obstructionist.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, suddenly tired. “Whatever you say.”
“Have you ever killed anyone, Lorencz?”
I closed the club door behind me and stood on the steps, lighting a cigar. I needed it.
“Yeah,” I said at last.
“How did you feel about it?”
I gave him a hard look through the line of smoke. “Most the bastards I killed deserved it.”
“The people who died in that warehouse fire last summer — how’d you feel about that?”
“Fuck you,” I said, turning away. He grabbed my shoulder and turned me back, flicking the cigar from my lips. I glared.
“You felt sick about it, didn’t you? Guilty?” He ground the butt under the toe of one of his shiny black boots. I flashed back to my days as a skinny Ankham street rat and wondered if my ribs were going to be next.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “So what?”
“So that’s normal. Normal people hesitate before they hurt or kill because they don’t like feeling guilty. I don’t. I don’t hesitate, and I don’t feel guilt.”
“Oh, you’re special, huh?” I sneered. “You and every other nutcase the Watch has to run down and lock up.”
“I’m not a nutcase, Lorencz. But I’m not like you. I don’t think anybody’s life or comfort is more important than my own. That’s why I’m still alive. And that’s why you need me. I can do the things you can’t. You know that; that’s why you asked me along. So stop questioning my methods. You wanted them, and you need them.”
“Maybe I don’t want or need them as much as you think.”
“I got you the information you wanted.”
“I don’t like the way you did it.”
“Then don’t watch.” He patted my cheek. I jerked away and he let me do it. Maybe he wanted to make me feel good. “And don’t rough up Arlin. Lament likes him.”