Darkwalker

CHAPTER 22

Lenoir nestled deeper into the collar of his coat. The sky hunkered low over the buildings, shedding its watery burden in relentless sheets. Lenoir’s thinning hair was flattened against his skull, and he cursed himself for being without a hat. That’s what you get for being an uncivilized brute, he thought wryly. He needed to find someplace warm and dry, someplace he could think things through. He turned his horse toward the nearest haven he could think of.

“My word, Nicolas!” Zera exclaimed when he appeared at the top of the stairs. “You look half-drowned!” Turning to a servant, she called, “Brandy! And towels, quickly!”

Lenoir planted himself in front of the fireplace. Steam immediately began to curl off his overcoat. Zera hovered, her eyebrows stitched together in displeasure as she stared at the puddle accumulating at Lenoir’s feet.

“My apologies,” he muttered. “Would you prefer I stand on a carpet?”

“I certainly would not. I would never get it dry in this weather.” She took his coat, shook it out, and handed it to a servant. “Why in God’s name did you let yourself get this wet, anyway? Where have you been?”

Judging the second question more important than the first, he said, “At Castle Warrick.”

Zera could not have looked more shocked if he had suddenly sprouted horns. “Castle Warrick! Whatever for? I thought you were in fear of your life, Nicolas! What happened to all that business about a vengeful spirit? For that matter, what about the boy you were supposed to be finding?” There was something disapproving about her tone, as though she had caught him gallivanting about instead of seeing to his duty. Even as she berated him, however, she dragged a chair to the hearth so he could sit. Being a proper hostess was utterly ingrained in her.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sinking gratefully into the chair. It was the least splendid of her furnishings, he noticed. He could hardly blame her. “It was my business with the boy that brought me to the duke,” he explained as he propped his boots near the fire.

Zera gave him a wary look as she slipped into one of the winged chairs flanking the hearth. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Lenoir grunted. “The duke expressed a similar view.” He paused to accept his brandy from the servant. He took a long sip, rolling the sweet fire on his tongue before he continued. “It is probably too much to explain. Suffice it to say that I think the duke’s tragedy plays a role in all this. I think someone is trying to help the duke replace his lost son.”

Zera let out a humorless laugh. “Replace his son? Don’t be absurd! We are talking about a child, not a pet. One cannot simply replace a dead boy.”

“I know how it sounds.” He took another sip of his brandy. “Tell me, Zera, have you ever heard of necromancy?”

She stiffened, the color fleeing her lips. Anger flashed briefly in her eyes before she mastered herself. “Would you ask me that if I were not Adali?” she asked coldly.

“Probably not. I mean no offense by it. I thought it was the quickest way of explaining my theory.”

“Your theory involves black magic?” she sneered. Lenoir had never seen her so waspish, but then, he had never waved her race in front of her before either. He had not realized her anxiety ran quite so deep. It was as though she considered her place in society to be nothing more than a fragile illusion, a spell that might break at any moment.

“My theory involves people who believe in black magic. And perhaps even some who don’t. For myself, I scarcely know what to believe anymore. After all, I have spoken with a spirit from beyond.”

If possible, Zera’s lips became even paler, parting with terrible awe. “Spoke with it? My God, Nicolas! Never mind the duke—what happened with the green-eyed man?”

Lenoir hardly knew where to begin. “I knew I couldn’t escape him, so I decided to make a deal with him.”

She gaped at him, aghast. “Are you mad? You would strike a bargain with a demon?”

“A demon?” Lenoir echoed thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he is an avenging angel. It does not really matter, does it? Either way, my life is forfeit.” He was surprised at how calmly he spoke the words. “I had nothing to lose by offering myself to the green-eyed man. So that is what I did. I offered to help him hunt down those he wishes to punish, in exchange for his help in finding Zach. And he agreed, if you can believe it.”

Zera sprang from her chair, her eyes glazed with fear. She began to pace in front of the hearth. Lenoir was touched by her concern. There were few people in the world who cared whether he lived or died. “You offered to help him hunt down those he wishes to punish,” she repeated slowly. Her gaze turned on him, and it was accusing. “You offered to hunt down people just like you.”

Lenoir blinked. He had not really thought of it in that light. Even if he had, however, it would not have changed his decision. “Perhaps people like me deserve their fates.”

“How wonderfully convenient your fatalism is,” she snapped. “It excuses your actions as well as your inaction. It lets you condemn others even as you wallow in your own self-pity.” She resumed her pacing. “Why didn’t you flee, Nicolas? Why not leave this place behind, just as you did Serles?”

“There is nowhere I could go that he would not find me.” Lenoir paused, shrugging. “I have accepted this, Zera. I am at peace with it. All I want is to find Zach before my time comes.”

She folded her arms tightly over her chest, as though shielding herself. “And the spirit will help you do that?”

“He has already led me to two of the kidnappers. Neither of them had the boy, but we were close.” So close, but we still left empty-handed. Lenoir stared down into the amber liquid in his glass, fighting to suppress a sudden wave of hopelessness. He had come here to think through his next move, but he was no closer to deciding what to do when darkness came.

“Where will you go next?” Zera asked, as though reading his thoughts.

He gave a despondent little shake of his head. “I don’t know. The spirit will return at dark, and I will have to report on my meeting with the duke. If the spirit is not satisfied that I have made any progress, our deal will expire, I think.”

He looked up at Zera. She was standing over him, scowling. “I still don’t see what Warrick has to do with anything.”

“If the rumors about the duke are true, he murdered his family in a fit of passion, only to bitterly regret it later on. What if someone offered him the chance to restore his son to him?”

“Rumors. Is that what you are reduced to now?”

“It is only a hunch,” he admitted. “But I have grown to trust my hunches. Every good inspector does. Sometimes, to connect the dots, we must make a leap of faith.”

“A leap of faith?” Zera arched a finely sculpted eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound much like you, Nicolas.”

“Perhaps not anymore, but it was once very like me. And it was like Kody too, which is why he drew a connection between the corpse thieves and the kidnappers before anyone else did. He was smarter than I gave him credit for. He saw the pattern, though we had no idea what to make of it at the time.” Lenoir realized belatedly that he was already referring to Kody in the past tense. How quick you are to give up hope, Lenoir.

“And you know what to make of this so-called pattern now?”

Lenoir downed the last of his brandy. He had scarcely swallowed before the servant appeared to whisk his empty glass away. Not for the first time, he marveled at the efficiency of Zera’s domestic staff. They were always hovering somewhere nearby, unseen, waiting for a subtle signal to appear. “As I said before, I am convinced that necromancy is involved. The kidnappers were trying to restore a dead child to life. They failed, but now they are attempting something similar. If I’m right, they are trying to channel the soul of the dead boy into a live host. That’s what they wanted with Zach and that other boy, the one who went mad.”

Zera threw herself into her chair. She stared at Lenoir, her eyes smoldering with something unreadable. “You are listening to yourself, aren’t you? Bringing the dead back to life?”

“I have stopped worrying about how crazy it all seems. The evidence is compelling, and in any case, I have no competing theory.”

“What evidence?” Zera scoffed.

She’s right, he admitted inwardly. What he had found did not really qualify as evidence. It was hearsay and speculation, and though it came from multiple sources, that did not necessarily mean it was accurate. He had no doubt that if he had been talking to the chief, instead of Zera, the reaction would have been even more skeptical. Yet for all that, he did not doubt himself. Perhaps that was because his theory had been corroborated by Vincent. Perhaps perversely, Lenoir considered the word of a supernatural creature to be beyond doubt.

“I am convinced of my theory,” he said simply.

Zera’s eyes narrowed. “Suppose you’re right about the necromancy. What makes you so sure it has anything to do with Warrick? His son died, what—ten years ago?”

“That is the thinnest part of my hypothesis. But it fits with the details provided by Vincent.”

“Who?”

“The green-eyed man.”

She let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “You’re on a first-name basis with a demon?”

Lenoir smiled wryly. “I suppose I am, but I would not say that we are friends. In any case, he has explained much that I did not understand, things that I would never have figured out on my own.”

Zera shook her head, her mouth hanging slightly open. She had been completely robbed of her customary poise. “I’m sorry, Nicolas, but I’m still having a difficult time with this. It seems like every time I see you, you bring a story more incredible than the last. How exactly is it that this . . . creature . . . helps you, anyway?”

“He communes with the dead. You must have heard the stories of him—he occupies an important place in Adali myth, I’m told. He has provided me with quite a lot of useful information. One particularly important fact is that the boy the kidnappers are attempting to resurrect has been dead for a long time. He was murdered by his father, who was a wealthy man. In other words, it all fits.”

Zera regarded him thoughtfully. “All right, supposing the duke really was willing to try dark magic to bring his son back to life—how would he go about finding someone to do it? It’s not as though he could just march into an Adali camp and start asking around, is it? Even if he had a servant he trusted with such an outrageous task, the Adali would throw him out on his ear the minute he so much as hinted at magic.”

“Especially the Asis clan.”

Zera snorted softly, her mouth curling into a smirk. “My, my, Nicolas. I am impressed. You really have learned a lot, haven’t you?”

Under other circumstances, Lenoir might have been annoyed at her apparent surprise. Today, however, he was too preoccupied for pride. “Perhaps Warrick didn’t approach the kidnappers at all. Perhaps they approached him.”

“And how would they do that? I doubt the Duke of Warrick would simply open his gates to a random Adal.”

Now it was Lenoir’s turn to snort. “Indeed I think we can rule that out. Perhaps they wrote him a letter.”

“That is no less ridiculous. Do you honestly think the duke would have responded to an unsolicited message promising to restore his dead son through dark magic?”

She had a point. Lenoir tapped his knee in thought.

“Then there is the question of why anyone would risk himself to help the duke,” she continued. “There’s always money, I suppose, but the proscription against dark magic is strong amongst my people. It’s hard to imagine how much money would have to be on offer to make it worthwhile. Especially since, as you’re no doubt aware, coin is only used for trading with southerners. As soon as the clan headed back north, the value of that money would plummet.”

Lenoir had never heard Zera refer to the Adali as her people before. Perhaps it was not so surprising; she had been raised among them, after all. Their ways had once been hers, even if that was virtually impossible to imagine now.

“The circumstances of the death do sound similar, but then again, I suppose Warrick is hardly the first highborn man to strike down his son. Why, that was a favorite political tactic barely a hundred years ago.”

“The objections you raise are perfectly reasonable,” said Lenoir.

“But?”

Lenoir shrugged. “But a man in my business is skeptical of coincidences. Assuming that another wealthy man in the Five Villages murdered his son many years ago, who would be in a better position than Warrick to reward those who were willing to risk everything? You said yourself that the payment would have to be extraordinary. Warrick is the most powerful man in the Five Villages. He has much more than gold to offer.” An idea began to swim up from the depths of his mind, moving slowly toward the light.

Zera clucked her tongue impatiently. “Come, now. You know his political clout is useless to an Adal.”

“Yes.” Lenoir was barely listening now. His gaze grew unfocused, turning within. The idea bumped gently against the frozen surface of his consciousness, its outlines tantalizingly visible. It’s so close. What am I missing?

“Warrick has absolutely nothing to offer a bunch of half-starved nomads who are too afraid even to go home,” Zera concluded.

The ice broke. The idea surfaced.

“You’re wrong,” said Lenoir, his gaze snapping into focus.

She regarded him coldly. “Is that so?”

“Land.”

“I beg your pardon?”

How could it have taken him so long to see it? “The duchy covers hundreds of thousands of acres. The Asis clan is struggling to survive because they don’t have access to pasture to graze their cattle. Something to do with their status amongst the other clans. If they had title over some of the duke’s lands, or at least permission to graze there, it would change everything for them.”

Zera was shaking her head vigorously. “No, no. The Adali are nomadic, Nicolas. You know that. They don’t own land, and they never stay in one place for long.”

“The Asis do. They are always within a few miles of Berryvine. That’s because they have no access to decent migration routes. Their whole way of life has been compromised. But having their own land would fix that forever.”

Zera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Honestly, Nicolas, now you’re grasping. What you say is possible, it’s true, but there are a dozen other explanations that are just as likely. You are desperate to save the boy, so you’re seeing what you want to see.”

Lenoir was baffled. It was so obvious to him now that he was amazed that he had not worked it out before. Yet Zera was determined to discard his theory entirely. “How can you ignore the connection?” he asked incredulously.

She gave a dismissive wave. “Because it’s imaginary, a product of your own construction. Whether it’s a constellation or merely stars depends on who is looking.”

Lenoir paused. He regarded Zera in silence. Had he ever used that phrase in her presence? He had been drunk too many times in these apartments to be sure, but it seemed highly unlikely. He had mocked Kody mercilessly every time the sergeant trotted it out. To the best of his knowledge, he had never used it himself.

He was certain Zera had never met Kody. They had spoken of the sergeant only a few days ago, and Zera had not known who he was. “That is an interesting analogy,” he said carefully.

She gave him a quizzical look. “About the stars? It’s a common saying. Have you never heard it?” She smiled warmly, the elegant hostess once again.

It was that shift in her expression, so effortless, yet so incongruous in the moment, that betrayed her.

Only a few minutes before, Lenoir had referred to Kody in the past tense. Zera had not picked up on that. Zera picked up on everything.

As though in answer to his thoughts, her smile turned suddenly sad. “What a pity, Nicolas. We get along so well.”

A blow landed heavily against the back of Lenoir’s head. Pain erupted in his skull, and he tumbled out of his chair. He looked up to find a servant standing over him with a fireplace poker. It came down in a humming arc, and Lenoir rolled aside, the heavy iron slamming into the floorboards where his head had been. He hooked the man’s ankles with his foot and swept his feet out from under him. The servant came down hard. Lenoir managed to wrest the poker free, simultaneously driving his knee into the other man’s groin. He struck a blow across the servant’s face with the poker, and the man went still.

Zera backed away toward the windows. Her eyes blazed with defiance, and she made a sharp movement with her hand. Lenoir realized that he had misread her gesture moments before. She hadn’t been dismissing his argument; she had been calling reinforcements. You blind fool, he cursed himself inwardly.

He dared a glance around the room, looking for any hint of movement. Whomever Zera had signaled to was concealed somewhere nearby. He held the poker at the ready, his mind frantically trying to gauge the distance to the stairs.

“Did you kill them?” he cried, surprised at his own anger.

“Who? Your hounds?” She sneered. “What do you care? I thought you despised them.”

“Hardin did not deserve to die. Kody does not deserve to die.”

“Deserve?” She laughed bitterly. “I never thought to hear such naïveté from you, Nicolas.”

The creak of a floorboard alerted Lenoir to movement behind him, and he spun, leading with the poker. The weapon crashed against the side of a man’s face, caving in his cheekbone and sending a spray of blood across the creamy velvet upholstery of a nearby chair. The man slumped to the floor.

“A pity about the chair,” Lenoir said. The comment was rewarded with a shriek and a glass projectile thrown at his head. He ducked as the delicate ornament shattered into a thousand tinkling shards behind him.

Footsteps thundered overhead and on the stairs. Lenoir had no idea how many men might be in these apartments; he was not even sure how many floors there were. He needed to get out. Casting a final glance at Zera to make sure she was staying put, he turned and headed down the stairs.

He met only one servant on his way out, heading the opposite direction on the stairs. Lenoir grabbed the handrails with both hands and swung his boots into the man’s face, sending him tumbling back down to the marble landing. He was still moving when Lenoir got to the bottom of the stairs, but not quickly enough to be a threat. Lenoir ran past him and out the door onto the high street. He swung himself onto his horse with the vigor of a man of twenty. Then, with one final look at the place that had been a haven for him for so long, he galloped off into the rain.