“We found poison in your rooms,” Tain said, and I watched for the man’s reaction. He winced, swallowed, opened his mouth as if to protest, then shook his head, pressing his lips back together. “Do you deny it?” Tain asked.
“Yes, of course!” The words burst out, and Hasan let go his death grip on the bars for a moment to clutch at his face. “I mean, I know some people call it that. But it’s not … it’s not meant to hurt anyone.”
Tain struggled to conceal his anger. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It … we don’t use it often, and it’s not for the compositions, I swear,” Hasan said. “Please, Honored Chancellor. We didn’t mean … Please don’t let anyone know about this. It just got out of control.”
Tain stared at him, baffled, but my face grew hot as things fell together in my head. The powder in his room. Varina and Hassan’s apparently drunken demeanors. Varina in Council, wan, constantly sniffing, red-eyed.… I’d assumed it had been tiredness and stress. Just as we had assumed the foreigner bribing the sewer guard had been Batbayer. How many more false assumptions had we made?
“Honor-down, Hasan,” I said, any remaining energy dropping from me. “What were you using?”
He licked his lips, gaze darting between us. “It was a new cut,” he said. “Our supplier calls it mist. We had … stronger … stuff we were trying, but we were mixing it to make it milder.”
Tain blew out his breath, catching up. “You were mixing hallucinogens?” He swore. “And your supplier?”
“Batbayer,” Hasan said. He frowned. “You said you knew that.… Credo Jovan—and his sister—they saw us. The lunch. And Branno’s.”
I rubbed my forehead, fighting the urge to pace, and shifted my weight between my feet, left and right, sets of eight. “The powder we took from Varina’s chest. It was the drug?”
“Of course. Listen, please—”
“For the love of … why, why did you not say something when we arrested you?” Tain kicked the wall, shouting. “We thought you were bloody poisoners! If you were only using drugs, why would you think we’d haul you to jail?”
Hasan pulled at his hair. “For the selling. I thought you knew we were selling, it’s—”
“It’s a crime.” It was, just not a common one. Decades ago, as trade was exploding in the city but the Guilds were not yet properly equipped to police imports, Silasta had been inundated by a range of narcotic substances from around the world: hallucinogenic smoke, powders, creams made from certain insect shells, even atrapis tinctures, which were medicinal in certain circumstances but toxic in large quantities. The medical and criminal consequences had been significant, and the Council had outlawed recreational drugs in an attempt to stop the problem. It had worked; in our lifetime, drugs had never been common in Silasta. I’d certainly never heard of anyone arrested for selling them, and I’d had no idea a new one had found its way to Silasta. “But Varina’s a Councilor. And a Credola. Did you not think it strange that we’d come storming in like that? Why didn’t you object?”
“It’s not just that it’s a crime,” Tain said suddenly. “It’s your Guild, isn’t it?”
Hasan nodded. “If word got out we’d been using, our music, our performances, my reputation, it would all be discredited. You can’t let people know, Honored Chancellor. Please. I never composed using it. It was just for fun. And then it got harder and harder to resist … and people want something to take their minds off things these days.”
The stupidity of it almost made me laugh. All these two idiots had been worried about were their precious reputations in the Guild. They’d been frightened and incoherent when we arrested them and none of us had realized we were at cross-purposes. A new cut of some experimental hallucinogen; no wonder I hadn’t been able to identify the damn powder.
Varina gave us the same story. Though less pathetic than her companion, she confessed to using the substance—though not to selling it—and admitted she’d been afraid it would affect her reputation and position. Even sniffling and red-eyed, her skin damp and face drawn, she retained her imperious air.
“If I had not been affected by the mist—in a private home, no less—I would never have allowed you to treat me this way,” the Theater-Guilder said, chin high and voice hoarse but chilly. “I am a Councilor. You cannot throw us in these mangy holes and expect no repercussions.”
Tain gave a humorless bark of a laugh. “The Chancellor was poisoned, Varina,” he said. “And we were attacked while our army is skirmishing with Doran. And here you were, cozying up to a Doranite man, accepting strange powders from him in dark corners. We confronted you, said you’d betrayed Silasta, and you didn’t disagree. What did you expect us to do? You’re lucky Marco or, fortune favor you, Aven, wasn’t there—you’ve heard what they think about crimes in time of war, and you’d have been lucky to get out of your room with your head.”
“A meaningless threat, since justice in this country isn’t run by the military,” she retorted. “Much as their pathetic Guild might wish it were.”
“Well, maybe if it was we wouldn’t be in the middle of a damn siege,” he snapped back.
“I wouldn’t say that near dear Credola Aven,” Varina said, “or you’ll be giving up your chancellery before you know it. Violent, power-hungry creatures they are, I—”
I couldn’t even participate in the conversation. It was all I could do to keep any of my attention focused on them; while my brain whirled with the new information and tried to sort and reconcile it, my feet carried me back and forth, back and forth, and the insistent rhythm played out in my head. The longer this situation went on, the more the compulsions built up, so by the time Tain was satisfied with his questioning, there were five different patterns: pacing, hands squeezing, toes scrunching, thighs tensing, and teeth clicking. Counting sets of eight for each muscle group took all my concentration. If I didn’t get a handle on it soon I’d end up stuck down here all day, trapped by my escalating madness. I hated myself for my lack of control, but I could no sooner stop the patterns now than grow wings and fly out of there.
“Jov,” Tain said, touching both his hands to my shoulders in a firm, gentle grip. “Jov, come on.”
He led me back down the corridor toward the main chamber. Walking, I concentrated hard on four of the patterns until my jaw could relax, then three, until my thighs went the same way, then two, until my poor crushed toes were able spread out in my shoes again. By the time we entered the main chamber, I was down to counting steps and hand squeezes, a manageable level.
Used to my limitations, Tain waited, patient, as I circled the room. Getting frustrated didn’t help, but the compulsions had never before been so desperately inconvenient.
Eventually the pacing urge abated. Without judgment, Tain spoke as if no time had passed. “I’ll get the guard to release those two,” he said. “Honor-down, we’re barely holding off the rebels. What are we going to do?”
We headed up the long staircase, and the count in my head with each step lacked the frenzy from below. “I wonder,” I began, then stopped.