“I read Halka’s account of the great siege of Katan last night.” Katan was once an independent southwestern city state, now part of the Talafar Empire, famously attacked by the now-dispersed warrior clans of Bari for three straight months. Halka was a scholar who had survived it and immigrated to Silasta. Thankfully, she had learned our written language and published in it; I would never have made it through the tome with my Talafan. “No weapons broke its walls, but they’d have been starved out if the Empire hadn’t arrived when it did.” The book had been a sobering read, with its tales of internal rioting and disease. The Bari clans hadn’t realized how close Katan had come to destroying itself while they waited outside. “Without the harvests, we don’t have the food to hold out for three months.”
“We won’t have to,” he said. “Aven will be back long before then. Within days, we can hope. We just need to sit tight.”
“And protect Tain,” I added, handing the parcel of prepared food to him as he tied his paluma.
He nodded, grave. “I think this engages Etan’s rules of coincidence. The poisoning and the rebellion are connected; I just don’t know yet whether Tain’s in danger or if it was only an attempt to destabilize us before they attacked. No one poisoned Tain, and he was there at that luncheon right along with Caslav.”
“But he wasn’t meant to be,” I pointed out. “You turned up days early. The Chancellor basically forced Tain to go so he could berate him—no one was expecting him.” To that reassuring thought, I added, “And poison isn’t the only way to get to him. He has servants who can protect him from direct attacks, but can we trust them?”
We shared an uneasy look. We were under siege, apparently from our own people; it was hardly unthinkable that they might have agents working in service roles in the cities.
“Until we figure out what’s going on, we can’t do much about that,” Jov said, but he looked uncomfortable. “One of us should be with Tain as much as possible. Speaking of which, I’d better get to the Manor.”
I let him go, finished my almost-cold tea, then slipped out myself. I too wanted to go to the Manor, but for a different purpose. I couldn’t attend a Council meeting, fight in a battle, or protect Tain from poison, but I had my own skills, and perhaps they were more suited to finding an enemy than even my brother’s. Someone had poisoned the leksot as well as the Chancellor, whether to falsely divert suspicion to the Talafan noble—I stopped suddenly, realizing Lord Ectar was probably still under guard at the Manor; had someone even told him what was happening?—or to disguise the murder as an accident. But Jov had taken the leksot to the Manor straight from the lunch, which meant either the poisoner had dosed the animal earlier as part of a plan, or he or she had gained access to it at the Manor.
Rather than follow my brother’s path up the great drive and to the main entrance, I took the back roads around to the servants’ entrance. The Manor had three wings: the servants’ wing, which contained the kitchens, laundries, and living quarters for the Chancellor’s household staff; the official business wing, containing the Council chambers, library, meeting and entertaining rooms, and the gardens; and the private wing, with the living rooms for the Chancellor and his or her family. The servants’ entrance, normally bustling with deliveries and activity, was closed up, eerily quiet.
The door was latched but opened to my tentative knock. A pockmarked man asked my business, rudely at first and then with greater deference when his gaze caught my tattoos. “Chancellor’s business to the main entrance, Credola,” he told me, confused. His crooked teeth made a whistling sound when he spoke.
“I need to examine all access points to the Manor,” I told him, trying to sound official. I pushed in, channeling someone more confident than myself as I breezed past. “We’re in a siege, man. We need to know how secure every building is if the city is stormed. And we might be facing thefts of food or supplies in the meantime. Who can get in here?”
He scurried after me. “Well, we take deliveries here, Credola. And anyone with a Manor chit could come through, of course. But the Chancellor stood down most of the staff because of the emergency; it’s only the kitchen on today.” A hum of noise and the spicy smell of baking fish wafted out as we passed the kitchen entrance.
“What about access to the other wings? Where’s the internal connection?”
He gestured ahead to a door at the top of a short set of steps. “The connecting passage is through there, Credola. It is always locked. The duty servant for the day only gives keys to staff assigned in the personal and business wings. All keys are returned at the end of the shift.”
I examined the door casually. Locked, as he said; nothing so sophisticated that it would be impenetrable to a skilled lockpick, but nothing that could be done too quickly, either.
According to the head cook in Lazar’s kitchen, none of the staff had been excused for a break all afternoon. Even if someone had slipped out unnoticed, it would have been difficult to come in through this normally busy area unseen, or to get through into the Manor proper without authorization. I supposed it was possible that servants working together, one in the Manor and one in Lazar’s, could have managed it, but if one of the Manor servants with access to the Chancellor’s personal wing was involved, why bother to poison Caslav at Lazar’s? There would have been easier opportunities in his own home.
I thanked the confused servant still trailing me, and retraced my steps back to the road. Stopping beside the gates to rub my aching wrists, I looked up at the main entrance. If the poisoner hadn’t come in through the servants’ wing, there was really only one other option.
* * *
Argo had kept the front entrance of the Manor for the better part of five decades. His heavily lined and folded face seemed perpetually stuck in a solemn frown, and his movements had a slow, fluttery quality that called to mind a moth. He sat at his usual post by the door as if nothing had changed.
“Credola Kalina,” he said. “Have you come to see the Chancellor? The Council meeting is still going, I’m afraid.”
“No,” I said. “I’ve come to see you, Argo.”
His mouth dropped open a little, showing the gaps in his teeth, and his eyebrows rose.
“I was hoping you’d be able to help me. You keep a log of everyone who comes to the Manor, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I record all comings and goings, unless I’m otherwise instructed by the Chancellor.”
“And you always keep it? What about nighttime?” It seemed stupid to ask, but I needed to be thorough. I’d never seen anyone but him at the entrance.
“I’ve a room behind here,” he huffed, gesturing to a door. “If anyone but the Chancellor wants admission after I lock up, they have to ring the bell and wake me.”
A great tome rested beneath Argo’s closed fists. “Do you think I could take a look?”
He stared, hands frozen on the book, dark eyes suspicious. His protectiveness decided me; this was a time for honesty, not deception. “I need to know everyone who was in the Manor the day Chancellor Caslav died,” I said. “You’re the only one who knows that. Please, Argo. It’s important.”