Barb Hendee - In Shade and Shadow

Unsubstantiated or not, withholding this was the second time Rodian broke the law. And the very act forced him to remember the day of his acceptance into the Shyldfälches, as well as his promotion to captain, when he'd stood before the high advocate with his sword hand upon an old wooden box.

Within that vessel was the Éa-bêch —Malourné's first book of the law. Over centuries, the rules and regulations of society had grown until they filled a small library. But the Éa-bêch was still the core of it all. Rodian swore by it to uphold the law of the people, for the people.

When Rodian left the inquest that final day, his sword hand ached.

Moral reasoning had told him no good could come from repeating rumors at the inquest. But truth meant everything to him, by both his faith and his duty. He went to temple that same night and prayed—not for forgiveness of the omission, but for relief from doubt in his reasoned decision.

"If he comes back, I wasn't hereig I wasne."

The old woman scoffed, but pocketed the coin as she shuffled on.

Rodian mounted and headed northwest. Strangely, Selwyn Midton's home was a good distance from his shop and the Graylands Empire. And he hadn't been to work in two days.

Eventually Rodian entered a residential sector where the main businesses consisted of food carts, eateries, or bread and vegetable stalls—all the things sought on a daily basis near homes. He was surrounded by small, modest houses, but all well kept, as if the inhabitants took pride in their neighborhood. The farther west he traveled, the larger the domiciles became, until he pulled up Snowbird before a two-story stone house crafted in the cottage style, with a wrought-iron fence across its front. He double-checked the address as he dismounted.

How could a Graylands Empire moneylender afford a home like this? Such parasites fared better than those they fed upon—but not this much better.

A young woman in a slightly stained apron came around the house's side carrying two large ceramic milk bottles. As she tried to shift both to one arm, Rodian pulled the gate open for her.

"Thank you, sir."

He waited until she placed the empties in her cart and moved on before he stepped through the gate.

"Snowbird, come," he called.

She followed him in, pressing her nose into his face. He steered her aside off the front walkway.

"Stay."

He closed the gate and approached the house.

A fine brass knocker hung upon a stout mahogany door. He grew more uncertain that this was the correct home—Selwyn Midton might have given the court a false address. He clacked the knocker, and moments later the door opened. He found himself facing the least attractive proper lady he'd ever seen.

Tall as himself, she was neither plump nor thin, but rather blockish from her neck to her hips. A two-finger-width nose hung over a mouth no more than a slash above her chin. Her skin was sallow, and her hair, once dark, was prematurely harsh gray. Even worse, some unfortunate lady's maid had tried to dress those tresses upon her head. The result was a mass of braids like coils of weather-bleached rope.

However, she wore a well-tailored velvet dress of chocolate brown. Small rubies dangled from her thumblike earlobes. And she peered at him through small, hard eyes.

Rodian realized that his revulsion had less to do with her appearance than the cold dispassion she emanated.

"Yes?" she said, and her hollow voice left him chilled.

"Matron Midton?"

"Yes."

He had the right house.

"Captain Rodian of the Shyldfälchiv he Shyles. I've come to speak with your husband."

"Why?"

He thought the mention of his division might melt her ice with a little concern, but she remained unimpressed.

"It's a matter of city business," he returned. "Is he at home?"

The simple annoyance on her face told him this woman knew nothing of her husband's court summons. She stepped back and grudgingly let him in.

The foyer was tastefully arranged with a thick, dark rug and a mahogany cloak stand. Squeals of laughter rolled down the hall as four children raced out of what appeared to be a sitting room—three girls and a small boy, all well dressed. They stopped, struck dumb at the sight of him.

Rodian remembered his cloak was open when one of the girls stared at his sword.

"Go back and finish your game," their mother said, shooing them down the hall, but she stopped at a closed door and knocked loudly. "Selwyn… a captain from the city guard to see you."

Barely a blink later the door jerked inward.

A handsome man holding a brandy snifter leaned out with wild eyes—not at all what Rodian expected. He'd met moneylenders before, and the ones at the bottom of society all tended to be small, spectacled, shifty, and wheezy.

Selwyn Midton was tall and slender, with peach-tinted skin and silky blond hair. He wore black breeches and a loose white shirt. He recovered himself quickly and smiled at his wife.

"Thank you, dear. Please come in, Captain. Has there been a neighborhood burglary?"

Rodian advanced, backed him into the study, and shut the door. Then a wide-eyed Selwyn Midton quickly turned on him.

"I have one more day!" he hissed in a low voice. "The advocate already checked that I'll make my court date. He doesn't need to threaten me again!"

His light brown eyes were bloodshot, and his breath reeked of brandy.

"Why have you been away from work for two days?" Rodian asked.

"Why have I…?" His eyes cleared slightly. "You went to my shop?"

Rodian gestured at the polished maple desk resting on an indigo Suman carpet. "Hardly a fitting place of business for someone who lives here."

Midton backed around his desk and settled in his damask chair.

"I've been preparing documents for my court appearance. What a shame that our legal system puts so much effort into persecuting me. All I do is provide much-needed service to people the banks won't even speak to."

"Service?" Rodian repeated.

"Who else, if not me, gives them enough coin to improve their lives?"

Rodian took a breath through his teeth. The only shame would be if this hypocrite were found innocent tomorrow, and that wasn't likely. There was no charter on record allowing the Plum Parchment to engage in moneylending. But regarding Rodian's visit, there was also no clear proof that Selwyn Midton had a hand in the death of two young sages.

Rodian realized he wanted Midton to be guilty of that crime as well.

It was possible that, to keep Jeremy silent, Midton had killed the young sage and his companion, and then taken the folio to make it look like a theft. Perhaps the break-in at Master Shilwise's scriptorium was unrelated. Stranger coincidences had happened. At the moment it even seemed more likely than Wynn's mention of a minor noble's son making threats.

Rodian wanted to solve these murders today, and sending this parasite to the gallows would be so much the better. But he checked himself. Such a course went against duty, let alone reason, and hence his faith.

"When you say 'preparing documents, " he began, "have you been waiting for a young sage named Jeremy Elänqui?"

Midton's mouth went slack. "I beg your pardon?"

"He was helping you alter your ledgers."

"If that boy's been telling lies, I'll raise charges on the guild!"

Rodian focused intently on Midton's face in this crucial moment. "Jeremy can't tell lies. He was murdered two nights ago."

Midton dropped the brandy snifter.

It hit the carpet and rolled under the desk, likely spreading brandy all over that expensive carpet. But Rodian sank—no, fell—into sudden disappointment.

Midton's bloodshot eyes widened in complete shock; then shock faded, replaced by fear.

"Dead? But that's not…" Midton began. "You cannot think… I had nothing to do with it!"