Chapter 4. A Dead Shelt’s List

Maijha Minor has been a thorn in the side of the High Priestess time out of mind. It is the only place left in Wefrivain where shavier, gazumelle, zeds, and other non-grishnards are allowed to live in relative freedom. It is also thought to be a sanctuary for Resistance pirates. Again and again the wyverns and their representative have sought to have the inhabitants of the island exterminated, but ironically grishnards themselves have prevented the wyverns from doing so. The situation is a political minefield. Maijha Minor is a holding of Maijha Major—arguably the most powerful of the six great island kingdoms. For ages, perhaps since the dawning of grishnard dominance in the islands, the kings of Maijha Major have maintained Maijha Minor as a game park. Like their griffin mounts, grishnards take a deep pleasure in hunting. This pleasure is not totally sated in the tame killing of captive fauns. Wealthy grishnards will pay a high price to hunt free, armed fauns in a natural environment. The risks make the venture all the more exciting. Grishnards disappear every year while hunting on Maijha Minor, but this never seems to stop the flow of traffic, and the island is a source of both income and prestige for the kings of Maijha Major.

—Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns

Gerard followed the guard back through the cells to the entrance of the dungeons. He wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing with the prisoners, but he didn’t think he had the stomach for Silveo’s style of interrogation. His subordinates would have been called in—shelts who did not yet know him—and it would not be wise to appear weak in front them. The Police were often dredged from the lowest reaches of society and might decide to dislike him for his background, just as Lamire seemed to. Besides, Gerard knew that shelts lied under torture. He had an idea that intimidation, if handled correctly, would produce better results.

The guard unlocked a door in the antechamber of the dungeons. “This is the traditional office of the captain of Temple Police. If it is not suitable, other arrangements can be made.”

“I’m sure it’s suitable,” said Gerard. The guard preceded him into the room, lighting lamps. Gerard saw a small, cluttered office, bookshelves, a desk.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Marlo Snale, sir.”

The lamps were burning brightly now, and Gerard stared with dismay at the piles of paper and roles of vellum around the edges of the room. “How long have you worked in the dungeon?” he asked.

“I was recruited as a child of six,” said Marlo, who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties.

Gerard frowned. “Better than starving?” Better than being hanged as a pickpocket, more like. At least you seem to know when to keep your mouth shut, and you aren’t afraid of Lamire.

“As you say, sir.”

“Are you interested in working for me, Marlo?”

Marlo looked momentarily confused. “I already do, sir. All the dungeon guards are part of the Police.”

Gerard nodded. Obviously, I don’t know much about my new command. Hopefully I was right about this one keeping his mouth shut. “What I meant is that I will need a secretary. All this paperwork should be catalogued, preferably by someone who knows the history of the Police better than I do.”

Marlo inclined his head. “I would be happy to assist, sir. As a matter of fact, I did something of the kind for your predecessor on occasion.”

“On very rare occasions by the look of it.”

Marlo smiled crookedly.

“Let me look through the papers first,” said Gerard, “and then I’ll tell you what I want done.”

“Very good, sir.” Marlo withdrew and closed the door.

Gerard went to the desk. Montpir… He would not have even remembered the name of his predecessor, had Silveo not mentioned it. What kind of shelt were you? Just a thug to strike at random? A rumor of fear to keep shelts obedient? Or were you smarter than that? Did you know what you were looking for?

On an impulse, he called Marlo back into the room. “How many captains have you had in the last five years?”

Marlo thought for a moment. “I believe we’ve had six, sir, and more than a dozen since I’ve served in the Police.”

Gerard shook his head. “More than one per year. And how did they all die?”

Marlo considered. “Perhaps half were killed openly in fights with the Resistance. The other half…” He shrugged. “The Police investigate, sir. They go into hostile places. Sometimes they don’t come back.”

“Were any of these captains killed in non-hostile places? I mean, were they murdered?”

Marlo hesitated. “Captain Ranon was shot in the streets of Dragon’s Eye two years ago. Captain Hal died in a brothel on Sern, presumed poisoned, last year. Captain Ando died in his bed in Dragon’s Eye. No one can say what took him, except that he was not ill a few days before.” He paused. Gerard was pacing the room, his black tufted tail twitching. “Am I distressing you, sir?”

“No. What about the Police themselves? Are they dying in unusual numbers?”

Marlo looked uncomfortable. “Being in the Police is a dangerous job, sir.”

“You seem to have survived.”

“I’m…careful, sir.”

“Does anyone leave the Police alive, Marlo?”

“There is Arundel, sir. He was our captain four years ago.”

Gerard was surprised. One of Silveo’s lieutenants. I did not know. “And he was transferred into the Sea Watch?”

Marlo nodded. “Some viewed it as a promotion.”

“What happened to my immediate predecessor, Montpir?”

“He disappeared on Maijha Minor. He was part of a registered hunting party, so no investigation was made.”

Gerard snorted. “Was he really hunting, or was he looking for something?”

Marlo shrugged. “Montpir was a very private person. He did like to hunt. His family was from Maijha Major.”

Gerard nodded and dismissed his new secretary again. He sat down at the desk and began sorting through the stacks of paper.

* * * *

By the time Gerard returned to his room at the inn, it was well past midnight. Thessalyn had waited for him. She was sitting beside the fire in the peculiar stillness that came over her when she was composing music in her head. Her face cleared as he entered.

“You shouldn’t have waited up,” he said.

“I’m a minstrel. We’re supposed to be able to harp all night.”

Gerard stripped off his coat, glad that she could not see the bloodstains. “I’ve been killing shavier. A couple of grishnards, too.”

Thessalyn’s white eyes grew luminous and sad. “You saved them from Lamire, then?”

Gerard sighed. She knew him too well. “I doubt that’s how they saw it.”

“They will see everything on the Shores Beyond the World, and they will understand.”

Gerard shook his head. “I’m not concerned with the Shores Beyond the World just now, only with Maijha Minor and my last predecessor in the Police, Montpir. He disappeared there. I think he was looking for Sky Town.”

Thessalyn strummed her harp thoughtfully. “So you really think Sky Town exists?”

Gerard shrugged. “The Priestess seems to think so. Montpir did, too, I think.” Gerard told her about Marlo Snale and what he’d said. He also mentioned Silveo’s parting words.

Thessalyn shook her head. “What is wrong with him? Doesn’t he see that you’re both on the same side?”

Gerard hesitated. He’d never told Thessalyn all of the rumors about Silveo. “They say he clawed his way up from the slums around Slag on Sern.” He watched Thessalyn’s face. The harbor town of Slag was perhaps the roughest and ugliest in Wefrivain. The town had a reputation for brothels that catered to all tastes, and foxlings were especially prized because of their fine features and child-like proportions. Gerard would have pitied any such creature, except that Silveo had a way of dissipating pity as a summer sun dissipates dew. In Gerard’s experience, Silveo would have been more likely to sell such children than to have been one.

Thessalyn was quiet a moment. “Poor thing.”

Gerard made a face. “No one can say whether it’s true, as he seems to have killed nearly every shelt who knew him as a child.” He hesitated. “However, it might explain his taste in clothes.”

“Gerard!”

“He is cruel, Thessalyn. He hasn’t the honor of a mud leech.”

“And you are intimidating, especially to someone like that.”

Gerard drew a hand across his eyes. “Alsair can talk of nothing but eviscerating him since that business with the Foam. I don’t want to talk anymore about Silveo Lamire.”

She smiled. “Then let’s not. Judging from what Marlo Snale had to say, you’ve taken on a dangerous job, love.”

“Frightened for me?”

Thessalyn stood and walked to him, fearless now that she’d memorized the layout of the room. Gerard took her in his arms. “My dear,” she said, “you could vanquish hydras and cross the deserts of fire.”

Her boundless optimism was one of the many things he loved about her. “You have more faith in me than I do.” Gerard started to kiss her.

“I want to hear about the Police,” said Thessalyn. “What’s got you so curious about Montpir and Maijha Minor?”

They curled up on the bed, and he told her about the office and the stacks of paper. “Something wasn’t right with that office,” said Gerard. “Every document I found was dated at least three red months ago. Montpir only disappeared last month. Judging by what I saw, he kept meticulous records. I even found evidence of a filing system, but nothing was in order.”

“You think someone searched the office?” asked Thessalyn.

“Yes,” said Gerard. “I think someone stole a lot of paperwork. They hoped I’d confuse ransacked with messy. I went through the fireplace, and I think a lot of paper was burned there recently. I found a bit that had fallen under the grate, a list.” Gerard took the charred fragment out of his pocket and read it to her.

Sky Town

Misnomer?

Tea cups—tea leaves?

Who is Gwain? At the center of the web

Cowry Catchers—the winged wolves

Maijha Minor

The diving spiders

Thessalyn grinned. “Cryptic!” Gerard could tell that her minstrel’s mind was already making poetry or prophesy of it.

“Yes,” he said, “but that list meant something to Montpir, and I’m going to find out what.”