Harry Turtledove - Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places)

“That’s an excellent suggestion, freelady zev Pamdal,” Radnal said gratefully. Fer and Zosel nodded.

A distant thutter in the sky grew to a roar. The militia helo kicked up a small dust storm as it set down between the stables and the lodge. Flying pebbles clicked off walls and windows. The motor shut down. As the blades slowed, dust subsided.

Radnal felt as if a good god had frightened a night demon from his shoulders. “I don’t think we’ll need to extend your time here by more than a day,” he said happily.

“How will you manage that, if we’re confined here in this gods-forsaken wilderness?” Eltsac vez Martois growled.

“That’s just it,” Radnal said. “We are in a wilderness. Suppose we go out and see what there is to see in Trench Park — where will the culprit flee on donkeyback? If he tries to get away, we’ll know who he is because he’ll be the only one missing, and we’ll track him down with the helo.” The tour guide beamed. The tourists beamed back — including, Radnal reminded himself, the killer among them.

Liem vez Steries and two other park militiamen walked into the lodge. They wore soldierly versions of Radnal’s costume: their robes, instead of being white, were splotched in shades of tan and light green, as were their long-brimmed caps. Their rank badges were dull; even the metal buckles of their sandals were painted to avoid reflections. Liem set a recorder on the table Dokhnor and Benter vez Maprab had used for war the night before. The circumstances man started taking pictures with as much abandon as if he’d been a tourist. He asked, “Has the body been moved?”

“Only as much as we needed to make sure the man was dead,” Radnal answered.

“We?” the circumstances man asked. Radnal introduced Golobol. Liem got everyone’s statement on the wire: first Evillia, who gulped and blinked back tears as she spoke, then Radnal, then the physician, and then the other tourists and lodge attendants. Most of them echoed one another: they’d heard a scream, run out, and seen Evillia standing over Dokhnor’s corpse.

Golobol added, “The woman cannot be responsible for his death. He had been deceased some while, between one and two daytenths, possibly. She, unfortunate one, merely discovered the body.”

“I understand, freeman,” Liem vez Steries assured him. “But because she did, her account of what happened is important.”

The militiaman had just finished recording the last statement when another helo landed outside the lodge. The instant its dust storm subsided, four men came in. The Hereditary Tyrant’s Eyes and Ears looked more like prosperous merchants than soldiers: their caps had patent — leather brims, they closed their robes with silver chains, and they sported rings on each index finger.

“I am Peggol vez Menk,” one of them announced. He was short and, by Tarteshan standards, slim; he wore his cap at a dapper angle. His eyes were extraordinarily shrewd, as if he were waiting for someone around him to make a mistake. He spotted Liem vez Steries at once, and asked, “What’s been done thus far, Subleader?”

“What you’d expect,” the militiaman answered: “Statements from all present, and our circumstances man, Senior Trooper vez Sofana there, has taken some pictures. We didn’t disturb the body.”

“Fair enough,” the Eye and Ear said. One of his men was flashing more photos. Another set a recorder beside the one already on the table. “We’ll get a copy of your wire, and we’ll make one for ourselves — maybe we’ll find questions you missed. You haven’t searched belongings yet?”

“No, freeman.” Liem vez Steries’ voice went wooden. Radnal wouldn’t have wanted someone to steal and duplicate his work, either. Eyes and Ears, though, did as they pleased. Why not? They watched Tartesh, but who watched them?

“We’ll take care of it.” Peggol vez Menk sat down at the table. The photographer stuck in a fresh clip of film, then followed the two remaining Eyes and Ears into the sleeping cubicle nearest the entrance.

It was Golobol’s. “Be careful, oh please I beg you,” the physician exclaimed. “Some of my equipment is delicate.”

Peggol said, “I’ll hear the tale of the woman who discovered the body.” He pulled out a notepad, glanced at it.

“Evillia.” A little calmer now, Evillia retold her story using, so far as Radnal could tell, the same words she had before. If Peggol found any new questions, he didn’t ask them.

After about a tenth of a daytenth, it was Radnal’s turn. Peggol did remember his name without needing to remind himself. Again, his questions were like the ones Liem vez Steries had used. When he asked the last one, Radnal had a question of his own: “Freeman, while the investigation continues, may I take my group out into the Bottomlands?” He explained how Benter vez Maprab had threatened to sue, and why he thought even a guilty tourist unlikely to escape.

The Eye and Ear pulled at his lower lip. He let the hair beneath it grow out in a tuft, which made him seem to have a protruding chin like a Highhead’s. When he released the lip, it went back with a liquid plop. Under his tilted cap, he looked wise and cynical. Radnal’s hopes plunged. He waited for Peggol to laugh at him for raising the matter.

Peggol said, “Freeman, I know you technically enjoy military rank, but suppose you discover who the killer is, or he strikes again. Do you reckon yourself up to catching him and bringing him back for trial and decapitation?”

“I-” Radnal stopped before he went any further. The ironic question reminded him this wasn’t a game. Dokhnor of Kellef might have been a spy, he was dead now, and whoever had killed him might kill again — might kill me, if I find out who he is , he thought. He said, “I don’t know. I’d like to think so, but I’ve never had to do that sort of thing.”

Something like approval came into Peggol vez Menk’s eyes. “You’re honest with yourself. Not everyone can say that. Hmm — it wouldn’t be just your silver involved in a suit, would it? No, of course not; it would be Trench Park’s, too, which means the Hereditary Tyrant’s.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Radnal said, with luck patriotically. His own silver came first with him. He was honest enough with himself to be sure of that — but he didn’t have to tell it to Peggol.

“I’m sure you were,” the Eye and Ear said, his tone dry. “The Tyrant’s silver really does come first with me. How’s this, then? Suppose you take the tourists out, as you’ve contracted to do. But suppose I come with you to investigate while my comrades keep working here? Does that seem reasonable?”

“Yes, freeman; thank you,” Radnal exclaimed.

“Good,” Peggol said. “My concubine has been nagging me to bring her here. Now I’ll see if I want to do that.” He grinned knowingly. “You see, I also keep my own interests in mind.”

The other Eyes and Ears had methodically gone from one sleeping cubicle to the next, examining the tourists’ belongings. One of them brought a codex out of Lofosa’s cubicle, dropped it on the table in front of Peggol vez Menk. The cover was a color photo of two good-looking Highheads fornicating. Peggol flipped through it. Variations on the same theme filled every page.

“Amusing,” he said, “even if it should have been seized when its owner entered our domains.”

“I like that!” Lofosa sounded indignant. “You sanctimonious Strongbrows, pretending you don’t do the same things — and enjoy them, too. I ought to know.”

Radnal hoped Peggol would not ask how she knew. He was certain she would tell him, in detail; she and Evillia might have been many things, but not shy. But Peggol said, “We did not come here to search for filth. She might have worn out Dokhnor with that volume, but she didn’t kill him with it. Let her keep it, if she enjoys telling the world what should be kept private.”