L. Modesitt - Colors of Chaos

After each factor, he made notes on the sheets of paper.

Midday had neared when Reylerk stepped into the converted hall, bowing as he stepped forward, clearly not recognizing Cerryl. “You summoned me, master of Spidlaria?”

“I summoned all the traders and factors. You are Reylerk?”

“Yes, ser. That I am.”

“And what do you factor?”

“I once factored many things-timber, rare and precious woods, even the spidersilk from Naclos. Now there is little to factor and few who would buy such.” Like the others, Reylerk avoided Cerryl’s eyes.

Cerryl looked at Reylerk. “What do you know of how the mage Eliasar was murdered?”

“I know nothing…” The portly merchant’s words trembled, as if to reinforce his fear-and his lies. He coughed several times, dryly, as if forcing the cough, and his hand went to his mouth.

“Tell me what you know of crossbows.”

“They are weapons, ser.” The factor coughed again. “Save they are little use to a trader. They take too long to reload.”

“That is true. Have you traded in crossbows?”

“No, ser.”

Cerryl could sense that the crossbow subject was making Reylerk nervous, though the man hadn’t lied outright, from what Cerryl could tell.

“Have you met any crossbowmen in the past few eight-days?”

“No, ser.” Reylerk coughed and put his hand to his mouth again.

That had been an outright lie. “Reylerk…I spared you once. You are lying to me. Now…did you help plan the murder?”

The merchant gulped convulsively once more, swaying. Abruptly he collapsed on the stone tiles of the floor.

“Kalesin!” snapped Cerryl, sensing the ebb of both chaos and order that signified death.

The door opened, and the sandy-haired mage walked in. “Darkness!” His eyes went to the contorted figure. “Poison?”

“It would appear so.” Cerryl shook his head. “Have the body removed and dragged out past the others. Then turn it to ashes in the square.”

“Me…in the square.”

“Why not? Announce that he was one of those who plotted Eliasar’s murder. He was, but he wasn’t the only one.” Cerryl gestured for Hiser, who had peered inside the chamber. “Hiser. Kalesin will need an escort. This merchant admitted that he had helped plan Eliasar’s murder. He swallowed some poison before I could discover more. Kalesin is going to announce that in the square and then turn chaos on the corpse.”

“His…family…they will not…like that,” offered Kalesin.

“I’m sure they won’t. But the High Wizard would be most offended if he received an honorable burial after killing one of the most respected mages in Fairhaven.” Cerryl fixed his eyes on Kalesin. “Don’t you think so?”

“Ah, yes, ser.”

“Hiser, have one of your subofficers provide the escort for Mage Kalesin. I would like you to usher the remaining traders in to see me, as Kalesin was doing, while he is occupied.”

“Yes, ser.”

Cerryl waited until Kalesin left with two lancers and Reylerk’s body. Then he nodded at Hiser, and the questions resumed.

As Cerryl suspected, he learned little more about Eliasar’s death but a great deal more about which factors had traded in what-and received continued false protestations that no trading was occurring in Spidlaria.

He finished interviewing the factors Kalesin had rounded up early in the afternoon and retired with a pounding headache to the study. He carried a tray of bread and cheese and wine that one of Hiser’s lancers had gotten for him.

Lyasa was waiting, sitting in the straight-backed chair. She stood and offered a sheepish smile. “I sneaked in. I hope you don’t mind.”

Cerryl closed the study door and looked at Lyasa. The circles under her olive brown eyes were as dark as her black hair. “Sit back down before you fall over.”

“I look that bad?”

“Worse.” Cerryl offered a wry smile. “Tell me about it.” He set the tray on the edge of the desk closest to her. “Have some.”

“Thank you.”

He poured out wine, some into the goblet for Lyasa and some into the mug he used for water for himself. “You were going to tell me how bad things were and why.”

“Eliasar thought you could just ride lancers around and kill peacebreakers and then people would get the idea. It hasn’t been working that way.” Lyasa took a deep breath, then reached for the wine.

“I got that idea. What’s been going wrong?” Cerryl took a swallow from his mug, then broke off a chunk of bread.

“Nothing. Nothing’s going right, either. People are sneaking away along the coast into Sligo, or into the Westhorns through what’s left of Diev, or up the river woods into Gallos. Almost no one comes to the chandleries or the shops here-not during the day. I can see figures at night, but I can’t stay up all the time, and Kalesin doesn’t have the night sight.”

There is much Kalesin doesn’t have . “I am not surprised. He was not pleased when I showed up to take over Eliasar’s job.”

“He wouldn’t have been. He’s a lot like Kesrik.”

Cerryl nodded, recalling the blonde apprentice mage who had held far too high an opinion of his modest abilities-until, played by Anya, he’d run afoul of Cerryl and the High Wizard.

“What were you doing this morning?” Lyasa asked.

“Interviewing traders, asking questions, truth-reading-and getting a terrible headache.”

Lyasa laughed.

“And the feeling that I’d have an even bigger one if I knew what I should.”

“Maybe you know more than you think you do.”

Cerryl refilled her goblet and added some wine to his mug. Then he ate another chunk of cheese. “Do you recall Reylerk?”

“The big old trader?”

“He was involved with Eliasar’s death. I started to get close to asking questions, and he took poison. He died right in the hall.”

“That’s bad.”

Cerryl stood and looked out the open window, blotting the sweat from his forehead. The study felt close. “I hadn’t even threatened him. He knew I was truth-reading him.”

“And he poisoned himself? Why?”

“Why do you think?”

The dark-haired mage moistened her lips. “You want me to guess. Well, I would wager that he knew something and he knew you could find it out and he didn’t want to let you know it.”

“A trader self-willed enough to kill himself? An attack against us?” He eased back to the massive desk.

“I would say someone he feared more than you, perhaps someone who threatened his family,” suggested Lyasa. “As mages, we don’t always understand how strong family can be.”

“Some of us don’t have family, but I can look at Leyladin and see where that might be the case.” He took a sip of wine and used his belt knife to cut several small slabs off the block of yellow cheese. “Have some.”

The black-haired mage took a chunk of cheese and began to eat.

“I have to wonder,” Cerryl mused, “why someone would care enough to threaten Reylerk. Or what he would care enough about to kill himself to keep me from finding out.”

“That shows we have a big problem.”

“We already knew that.” Cerryl turned and looked out at the harbor once more. After a few moments, he turned back. “I’m not very good at intrigue.” But you’re getting better, unfortunately . “Some of this is obvious. The traders know we can tell when they lie. One of the most powerful traders takes his own life rather than let me question him. No one is doing any trading or even buying things in the city.”

“Recluce?” Lyasa finished her water.

Cerryl reached forward and refilled the goblet from the pitcher, then shook his head. “They’ve been used, just as we have. Jeslek and I played right into Rystyr’s hands. I can’t prove the viscount is the one, but it feels right.”