{"id":199,"date":"2026-01-03T20:27:17","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T20:27:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-witness-for-the-dead-addisonkatherine\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T20:27:17","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T20:27:17","slug":"the-witness-for-the-dead-addisonkatherine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-witness-for-the-dead-addisonkatherine\/","title":{"rendered":"The Witness for the Dead – Addison,Katherine"},"content":{"rendered":"
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<\/span>In the jumbled darkness of the catacombs beneath the city of Amalo, there was a shrine to Ulis in his aspect as god of the moon. It was thousands of years old, and the carving of the four phases of the moon on the plinth had become almost undetectable, worn smooth by generations of reverent fingertips. Whatever the plinth had supported was long gone, but the shrine remained.<\/p>\n

The shrine was a landmark that every Ulineise prelate in the city knew, and it was frequently used as a meeting place, since it afforded better privacy than the Ulistheileian where formal audiences were held.<\/p>\n

Dach\u2019othala Vernezar, the Ulisothala of Amalo, was an elven man of middle age and great ambition. He had his eye on the Archprelacy, and although the current Archprelate was neither ancient nor infirm, it did not do to forget that Vernezar\u2019s every move was made with political gain in mind. I had thus received his summons with no little dread, for I was a political sore point, directly appointed by the Archprelate to be a Witness for the Dead for the entire city.<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis had gone to the Archprelate and asked that I be assigned to Amalo for an indefinite period of time, for two reasons. One was that the city had no Witness of my type, who could actually speak to the dead. The other was that the religious hierarchy of the city was, as the prince put it, a nest of vipers, and the Ulineisei were the worst of the lot. The Archprelate had not commanded me to accept assignment in Amalo, but I had agreed with Prince Orchenis that my services were needed. I received a small stipend from the Amalomeire to sit in a cramped box of an office and wait for the people of Amalo to come, which they did in a slow, sad, hopeful <\/span>stream. I disappointed them, for my ability was not the magic it was always shown to be in operas and novels. But even though I could not discover answers in dust\u2014even though the answers I did discover were frequently inconvenient and sometimes disastrous\u2014they continued to petition me, and I could not leave them unheard.<\/p>\n

Today had brought three petitioners whom I could not help (one of whom stood and argued with me for three quarters of an hour); the news that two of the cases for which I had witnessed had been judged unfavorably by Lord Judiciar Orshevar; and a lengthy and fruitless search through Ulvanensee, the municipal cemetery of the Airmen\u2019s Quarter, on behalf of a petitioner who believed his sister, and the child with which she had been pregnant, had been murdered by her husband. I had started with the registers, but had ended up walking the rows, reading gravestones, looking for names that the registers did not contain. I was tired and covered in the municipal cemetery\u2019s powdery dirt; when Anora Chanavar, the half-goblin prelate of Ulvanensee, brought me Vernezar\u2019s message, I did, for a weak moment, consider not going.<\/p>\n

Anora came with me, although we argued about that most of the way there. \u201cThou needst a witness,\u201d he said stubbornly. \u201cI know Vernezar better than thou dost.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no need for thee to draw his attention,\u201d I said for the third time.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe cannot harm me,\u201d Anora said. \u201cIf he takes my benefice away, he only makes a greater headache for himself, because then he has to find some other fool to give it to. Do thou watch. He\u2019ll pretend I\u2019m not even there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora was quickly proven correct. Vernezar made eye contact with him for a pained moment, then hurriedly turned away. My heart sank as I took in Vernezar\u2019s companion. Othalo Zanarin was the loudest voice in the faction which objected to my presence in Amalo. She was an elven woman of considerable cold beauty, some inches taller than I was, though not nearly as tall as Anora; she was a member of Vernezar\u2019s staff, and I knew he was afraid of her. She, <\/span>too, was a person of connections and ambition, and she had the Amal\u2019othala\u2019s ear.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood afternoon, dach\u2019othala,\u201d I said. I saw Zanarin wince pointedly at my voice, which was harsh and graveled thanks to my surviving the sessiva when it swept through Lohaiso during my prelacy there. It mostly did not bother me, except when someone like Zanarin made sure it did.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood afternoon, Celehar,\u201d said Vernezar. \u201cI apologize for dragging you down here\u2014not nearly as elegant as what you were used to at the Untheileneise Court, I\u2019m sure\u2014but this really isn\u2019t a matter for the Ulistheileian.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo?\u201d I said, my heart sinking further at his use of \u201cI.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo need for any formality,\u201d Vernezar said with a smile, and I was grateful to Anora for being so stubborn. He was right: I needed a witness. \u201cI just wanted to see if we could reach an accord.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAn accord? About what?\u201d<\/p>\n

Zanarin said, \u201cDach\u2019othala Vernezar has a most generous offer.\u201d Zanarin had taken an instant dislike to me, partly because I had been the one\u2014at the behest of the Emperor Edrehasivar VII\u2014to find the Curneisei assassins of the Emperor Varenechibel IV, partly because my appointment came directly from the Archprelate. By one argument, that meant I outranked all the Ulineise prelates in Amalo except Vernezar.<\/p>\n

Nobody liked that argument, least of all Vernezar himself.<\/p>\n

The other argument was that, as an unbeneficed prelate, I was outranked by everyone except the novices. Zanarin had made that argument first, but others had been quick to back her up. They might have carried the matter, since they were making a much more palatable argument, had it not been for Anora and the other municipal cemetery prelates objecting, for here the relatively trivial question of my rank had crossed a much larger, ongoing contention among the Ulineise prelates of Amalo, that being how a prelate\u2019s benefice should be valued. Some prelates argued for wealth; others, prelates like Anora, argued for size. A third faction argued for age. It was a <\/span>bitterly divisive issue, and I thought the true measure of Vernezar\u2019s worth was his inability to resolve it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted,\u201d said Vernezar, \u201cto propose a compromise. It seems clear that, having been appointed directly by the Archprelate, you are of greater rank than the ordinary prelates, but since you are unbeneficed, you are of lesser rank than the prelates of the Ulistheileian. Does that seem fair?\u201d<\/p>\n

It seemed guaranteed to make everyone unhappy, possibly even more unhappy than they were right now. Anora murmured, \u201cThe prelates of the Ulistheileian are also unbeneficed,\u201d and Vernezar pretended not to hear him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are offering me rank in the Ulistheileian,\u201d I said slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Vernezar.<\/p>\n

Beside him, Zanarin glowered.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut in turn,\u201d I said, \u201cI would have to concede your authority over me.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a pause, as distinct as if it had been measured by a tape.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you deny<\/i> my authority over you?\u201d asked Vernezar.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was appointed by the Archprelate,\u201d I said. \u201cNot by you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you claiming you, a mere Witness for the Dead, are equal with Dach\u2019othala Vernezar?\u201d said Zanarin. \u201cJust because your family married into the imperial house doesn\u2019t\u2014\u201d Vernezar caught her eye, and she did not finish her sentence.<\/p>\n

And there was a third reason Zanarin didn\u2019t like me, although what good it did me to be the kinsman of a widowed and childless empress was not at all clear.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt used to be,\u201d Anora said, deliberately not looking at anyone, \u201cthat Witnesses for the Dead were honored among the prelates of Ulis.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sparked a fight out of a tense discussion, as he must have known it would. Vernezar bristled at the suggestion that I was not being adequately honored in his scenario, and Zanarin objected to the idea that I should be honored at all. There was a deeper theological argument behind Zanarin\u2019s outrage, and that deeper meaning <\/span>was the reason I did not say, as I longed to, that I did not care about rank. Zanarin, who was not from Amalo, had brought with her some of the south\u2019s skepticism. She doubted that Witnesses for the Dead truly spoke to the dead and thus her belief that we should carry no rank.<\/p>\n

Rank was one thing, being called a liar quite another. I could not let Zanarin\u2019s ideas gain more ground than they already had. I found myself arguing for status I did not want because the alternative was to agree with Zanarin that I should have no status at all. Across us Vernezar and Anora were arguing, no less heatedly, about the traditions of the Ulistheileian.<\/p>\n

We ended finally in much the same place as we had begun, nothing resolved, Vernezar\u2019s compromise position neither accepted nor rejected.<\/p>\n

I decided to go to the municipal baths. I felt unclean.<\/p>\n

\n

It was dusk when I got home.<\/p>\n

The lamplighters were finishing their rounds, their long poles bobbing on their shoulders. Merchants were locking the grilles of their shops, apprentices and younger sons assiduously sweeping the pavement. In the courtyard of my building, the women were taking down the laundry that had been hanging on the lines to dry all afternoon. They smiled and bobbed their heads at me shyly; I nodded in return. No one wanted to be too friendly with a Witness for the Dead.<\/p>\n

I stopped in the concierge\u2019s office to check the post. I had a letter, cheap paper and cheap sealing wax, and I recognized the hand.<\/p>\n

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, the iron bannister sun-warm beneath my palm. One of the local cats was on the landing, his white paws tucked up neatly beneath him, the cream and red tabby swirls on his sides making him look like a glazed marmalade bun.<\/p>\n

He said \u201cmraaao\u201d to me as I unlocked my door, and stood up to <\/span>stretch. By the time I came back out, he had been joined by two of his sister-wives and a half-grown tom who wasn\u2019t old enough yet to be chased away. A third sister-wife lurked halfway up the next flight of stairs, too shy to come all the way down to the landing while I was there. Nine bright blue eyes watched me (the deeply sabled queen had suffered some injury that left her right eye cataracted and blind) as I set down the little saucers, each with a fourth of the can of sardines I had just opened.<\/p>\n

I sat in my doorway and watched them eat, amused by how each cat guarded its plate so fiercely from the other three\u2014and the third queen, a dark brown tabby who was probably the biggest of the five of them, watched and waited, one eye seemingly always on me. None of them was entirely tame, but that one had been hurt before.<\/p>\n

I had not named them. Names were too much power, given far too easily to animals who wandered the city and returned to my landing only when they felt like it. I did not give them names any more than I let them in.<\/p>\n

When the half-blind queen had finished with her sardines, she came over and bumped my shin gently with her head. I rubbed behind her sail-like ears and she began purring, a deep throbbing noise like the engines of an airship. The other cats ignored us and disappeared one by one as they finished their sardines.<\/p>\n

Presently, the half-blind queen closed her jaws very gently around my hand to tell me she was done. I watched her go, small and self-possessed, down the stairs, and then went back inside so that the third queen could come down and finish off the remains of the sardines.<\/p>\n

I had hung my black coat of office carefully\u2014it was made of silk and probably cost more than all the rest of my wardrobe combined\u2014and now I put on my favorite of my three frock coats, black with a soft gray embroidery down the placket and around the cuffs. I\u2019d had to re-hem it twice and patch the elbows, but the body of the coat was still sturdy and respectable. When I looked in my palm-sized mirror, I saw that my hair was drying in wild curls; I spent five minutes in combing, braiding, and pinning it back into a sober prelate\u2019s braid, sliding the pearl-headed hairpins in as I had <\/span>been taught to as a novice, so that none of the metal showed, only the pearls, almost invisible against the whiteness of my hair, and tying the tail with a fresh black ribbon. The hairpins were probably the most expensive thing I owned\u2014after my coat of office\u2014even though they were really glass, not pearls. My earrings were all brass.<\/p>\n

Then I opened the letter I had received in the post.<\/p>\n

It did not bother with salutations, merely said, Meet me in the River-Cat tonight.<\/i><\/p>\n

I left my apartment again before it had gotten quite dark enough that I had to light a lamp\u2014the municipal utility metered gas and steam with great severity, and I tried to leave the lamps and radiators off as much as I could. The prelacy of Amalo was obliged to pay me, per the Archprelate\u2019s directive, but they did so parsimoniously, grudging every zashan.<\/p>\n

The Airmen\u2019s Quarter of Amalo was rich in teahouses. There were five within easy walking distance of my apartment: the Red Dog\u2019s Dream, the Circle of Pearls, the Hanevo Tree, Mendelar\u2019s, and the River-Cat. Six if you counted the manufactory-owned Tea Leaf, which I did not. My favorite was the Hanevo Tree; the River-Cat was less a place for quiet contemplation and more a meeting place for families and courting couples.<\/p>\n

The River-Cat was one long room divided up into deep booths; I walked past two nervous young couples, a rowdy family of six (seven? the tow-headed children were hard to count), a venerable man and his even more venerable wife, sitting together on the same side of the booth and passing one cup slowly back and forth\u2014a very old courting ritual that my Velveradeise grandmother had told me about when I was a child. Two women, sisters by the look of it, were both reading the same copy of the Herald of Amalo,<\/i> spread flat on the table between them, one sister reading right side up and one sister reading upside down.<\/p>\n

The back-most booths were the least popular; I liked them because I could lean against the warm-veneered wood and know that no one was coming up behind me. It was easy to make enemies as a Witness vel ama,<\/i> and I did not have a conciliatory tongue.<\/p>\n

<\/span>A very young tea-server brought pot and cups and the tiny sand-clock that marked how long the tea had been steeping. I drank for preference the dark, bitter orchor, but it was stiff enough that if I drank it after sunset, I would still be awake at dawn. This evening I had chosen the more delicate isevren, and I indulged myself with a generous spoonful of honey.<\/p>\n

I put the honey spoon in the second cup (which the staff of the River-Cat could not be trained out of bringing\u2014unlike at the Hanevo Tree, where you had to specify if you wanted more than one) and briefly tormented myself by imagining a companion who would smile across at me and happily lick the spoon clean. Neither of my lovers had had such a sweet tooth\u2014that was the only thing that made my imaginings even remotely safe. A purely made-up lover was foolish; conjuring the dead was something else entirely.<\/p>\n

I reminded myself that Zhemena was not dead, merely far away and uninterested. Oddly, it did not make me feel better.<\/p>\n

Drink thy tea, Celehar,<\/i> I said impatiently to myself, and cease repining.<\/i><\/p>\n

I was halfway through my little pot of isevren, trying to focus on the question of Mer Urmenezh\u2019s dead and missing sister and not on a sweet-toothed imaginary lover, when a shadow fell over the end of the table, and I turned to look.<\/p>\n

Subpraeceptor Azhanharad of the Amalo chapter of the Vigilant Brotherhood was a tall, broad man, half goblin, dark and scowling, his voice thick with the upcountry consonants of the Mervarnen Mountains. He did not like me.<\/p>\n

The feeling was mutual. I thought Azhanharad brutal in his methods, preferring force to subtlety\u2014and at that I had a higher opinion of him than of many of his brethren. The Vigilant Brotherhood served a necessary purpose, both in cities like Amalo and in the long stretches of empty fields and copses where they patrolled, but their recruitment efforts did not attract men of either great intelligence or sensitivity. One was only lucky if one\u2019s local chapter had succeeded in attracting men of integrity.<\/p>\n

Azhanharad was always uncomfortable when he had to talk to <\/span>me\u2014still close enough to his Mervarneise roots to be superstitious about my calling rather than incredulous. Little as I liked him, I had to respect the courage that brought him back to me every time he thought I might be able to help. He said, \u201cGood evening, Othala Celehar.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the emperor\u2019s court, the honorific \u201cothala\u201d was considered hopelessly provincial and out of date. Here\u2014in the provinces\u2014it was common politeness.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood evening, Subpraeceptor,\u201d I said, and gestured him to the other bench. \u201cWe received your note.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sat, eyeing the second cup warily, his ears flicking. \u201cAre you expecting a companion, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Would you like some tea? It\u2019s isevren\u2014though we regret that you will have to accept the honey.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thank you.\u201d He folded his hands together on the table\u2014big hands, with big scarred knuckles. \u201cA patrol pulled a body out of the canal this morning. None of us recognized her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which meant very little, but did provide negative evidence. She wasn\u2019t an inhabitant of the Airmen\u2019s Quarter\u2014or, at least, she wasn\u2019t a troublemaker. The Vigilant Brotherhood was very familiar with rowdy drunks and chronic brawlers, with the prostitutes who could not afford the dues to work in a Guild brothel and with the Guild enforcers who chased them off the streets. The prostitutes ended up dead sometimes.<\/p>\n

Azhanharad sighed and said bluntly, \u201cWill you come?\u201d<\/p>\n

And I said, feeling suddenly less despondent, \u201cYes, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

The Chapterhouse of the Amaleise Brethren was a very old building, probably as old as the mystery of Anmura the Protector, from which the Brotherhood sprang\u2014and which, in all probability, they still practiced. The Church did not recognize the four Anmureise mysteries; I was careful not to ask. The Chapterhouse was built out of massive blocks of stone, carved at eye-level <\/span>with the names of the dead Praeceptors who lay in the Chapterhouse crypt. In the six or seven hundred years since that practice had started\u2014at a time centuries after the Chapterhouse was built\u2014they had filled twenty-nine blocks.<\/p>\n

Azhanharad led me to the alleyside door rather than the grand front entrance on General Parzhadar Square. I followed him down the twist in the areaway stairs, waited at the bottom while he threw his weight against the ancient lock on the basement door.<\/p>\n

The basement of the Chapterhouse had never been fitted out for gaslight; the brethren kept a rack of lanterns hanging by the door. Azhanharad took one down and lit it, his thick fingers careful and precise as he touched his lighter to the waiting wick. The lantern did not provide very much<\/i> light, being what they called in Amalo an owl-light, as it was roughly the size of the tiny screeching owls that nested in the city\u2019s eaves. But it was better than candlelight, and far better than no light at all.<\/p>\n

We descended another flight of stairs, and then another, down to the floor of the Brotherhood\u2019s vast crypt. The Chapterhouse crypt was the only place in the Airmen\u2019s Quarter where a body could be stored for long. This woman had to be identified before anything could be done with her\u2014without identification, no one was willing to prepare the body for a funeral. Unlike the southern and western communities where I had begun my prelacy, Amalo had three main sets of funerary practices and a dozen others with smaller followings. It might well be more; no one could keep track of the splintering sects and hero-cults and the secretive kindreds that came down out of the mountains. Each tradition required the body to be prepared in a different way, and the wrong preparation would, at best,<\/i> offend both kin and congregation. I knew of cases where the luckless officiant had had to petition for a change of benefice.<\/p>\n

The other reason the Brotherhood might keep a body in their cold room was if it took an unusual amount of time to identify the cause of death\u2014a question which often made the difference between unfortunate happenstance and murder. For this body, if she <\/span>had been pulled out of the canal, it was less about cause of death than about where she died, and therefore about who she was.<\/p>\n

They had laid her out carefully on a clean white sheet. Black was better for sanctity, but black dye that would hold through repeated, frequent washings was expensive, and no one would waste it on mortuary sheets. White was almost as good, signifying that this woman, like all the dead, was under the protection of the emperor.<\/p>\n

She was a young elven woman, no more than thirty judging by her hands and face. She showed no signs of childbearing, and her hands were uncallused. Her white hair hung in a tangle over the side of the table and nearly to the floor. She was no kind of cleric, not a liveried servant, not a manufactory worker. She might be the wife of a nobleman or the daughter of a well-off burgher. She might<\/i> be a prostitute, but if so, she had to come from one of the elegant houses in the Veren\u2019malo, to show no signs of poverty or disease in her face.<\/p>\n

Her dress, a ruined mass of dark green velvet, had probably been expensive. The cuffs were stained with dye from the embroidery of flowers that decorated them, but they were silk: second grade probably, although it was hard to tell after the canal had been at them. I investigated and discovered a pocket hidden in the folds of the skirt and inside it, a wad of paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d said Azhanharad.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe do not know,\u201d I said, unfolding it cautiously. There was no need for caution; the ink had run into a purplish gray blot, with no words still legible. \u201cNothing useful.\u201d<\/p>\n

I touched the body on the forehead\u2014cold, helpless flesh, a house condemned but not yet torn down. Not quite yet. The inhabitant had not entirely fled.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you?\u201d Azhanharad said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. The prayer of compassion for the dead was worn and familiar. The woman no longer knew her name, nor who had wanted her dead, nor why. But she did remember her death. She had been alive when the water slammed the breath from her body. She remembered the fall from the dock, though she had been more pushed than fallen and more thrown than pushed. She remembered <\/span>the cold dark water, the way her panicked gasps for air had echoed off the bricks.<\/p>\n

She hadn\u2019t known how to swim. Despite the lake and the canal and the river, most Amaleisei didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

I felt the memory of her clothes dragging her down, heavy velvet getting heavier very quickly. She tried to scream for help, but got a mouthful of foul-tasting water, and before she even had time to realize she was going to die, there was a sudden crushing agony deep into her head and then nothing.<\/p>\n

She had not drowned after all.<\/p>\n

I lifted my hand and stepped back, out of range of the sympathy I had created between the corpse and myself. It would take a moment for it to fade enough that I could touch her again without being dragged back into the memory of her death.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnything?\u201d Azhanharad said, without much hope.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo name,\u201d I said, since that was what he most wanted. \u201cBut this was definitely murder, not suicide. And not<\/i> an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe poor woman,\u201d Azhanharad said, with a ritual gesture of blessing.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was alive when she went into the water,\u201d I said. \u201cBut she didn\u2019t drown. Here.\u201d I felt my way gently around to the back of her skull, where there was a deep divot, and tilted her head so that Azhanharad could see.<\/p>\n

He almost managed to hide his wince, but his ears flattened and gave him away.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a better death than drowning,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He said dryly, \u201cWe will remember not to tell her family that. If she has one. Since we do not know, and time is precious, we make petition to you on her behalf. Can you witness for her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d I considered the alien memories in my head. \u201cWe think that we can find where she was pushed into the canal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Azhanharad nodded. \u201cWe will keep her as long as we can.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even in the cold of the Brotherhood\u2019s vault, they could not keep her forever.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

As I knew they would be, my dreams that night were full of drowning. Sometimes it was I who drowned; dreadful as that was, I preferred it to the other dreams, in which I stood helplessly on the brick bank of the canal and watched Evru struggling in the cold dark water, knowing he would drown and knowing I could not help him. I woke before dawn and was grateful for it.<\/p>\n

I got up in the darkness, dressed by touch. I did not light a candle until I was in the tiny michenmeire I had created out of my apartment\u2019s only closet. There I lit the seven candles one by one, saying the silent devotions I had been taught as a child.<\/p>\n

In the cult in which my Velveradeise grandparents worshiped and into which I was initiated when I turned thirteen, just before I began my novitiate as a prelate of Ulis, we knew that Ulis was not the true name of the god of death, of dreams, of mirrors and the moon. His true name was never spoken aloud, save only for the initiation of each child into the mysteries. We worshiped unspeaking, and for myself, I continued the rituals of silence, kneeling in the light of the seven candles before an altar made out of an old dressing table and a black coat too threadbare to be worn. The only precious thing I owned lay on the old black coat on top of the dressing table, the long silky coil of Evru\u2019s hair, as white as moonstone, which I had shamefully stolen when they cropped his hair for his execution. I had no right to it, but I could not have given it up if the emperor himself had demanded it.<\/p>\n

I had called him Evrin, after the mastiff-sized white deer that foraged in the wheat fields of the south. He had never seen one; I described them to him, their long delicate legs, their wide, lambent eyes. They were not hunted, unlike their bigger cousins, and they were sacred to a goblin sect with a strong following in the border cantons. They were shy, crepuscular creatures, but if one had the patience to remain still, they would eventually come close enough to show the white-on-white dapples of their coats, dipping their <\/span>heads to graze, then looking up again. If startled, they bolted with astounding swiftness, faster than any horse. Evru, shy and long-legged, was in truth very much like an evrin. If only he had bolted when he had the chance.<\/p>\n

I scrubbed my palms up my face and moved through the Devotion of Folded Hands, blowing out the candles and accepting\u2014or trying to accept\u2014that the past was the past and could not be changed.<\/p>\n

I walked to the Red Dog\u2019s Dream for breakfast. Their cook was Barizheise and made traditional oslov, and while they were dreadful at the more delicate teas, their Airmen\u2019s Blend was strong enough to starch a shirt collar. This morning that was what I needed, something to chase away the cobwebs, the dreams, the memory of Evru\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n

\n

After breakfast I decided to eschew the tram and walked up out of the Airmen\u2019s Quarter, cutting across to Bridge Street and climbing up the hill to the Veren\u2019malo, the Old City, and to the hulking government buildings of the Amaleise Court. I had been given an office here, in the Prince Zhaicava Building (in preference to finding space in the cramped underground warren of the Amalomeire), a box of a room where citizens who required the services of a Witness for the Dead could petition me. There were never very many, hence my relief that the Vigilant Brotherhood was willing to seek me out after hours, as it were, for without them I would have been like a becalmed ship, or a beached whale, with nothing to do but read the three Amalo papers from start to finish and then the imported Barizheise novels in their lurid purple covers that were hawked in the Silkmarket at two zashanei each. I had a row of them, the size and shape and nearly the weight of bricks, lined up along the wall behind my desk.<\/p>\n

I had to be in my office and available to petitioners through the morning hours of the Court. After that, I was free to roam the city <\/span>in pursuit of my docket of petitions. I had the matter of Mer Urmenezh\u2019s sister, for whom I could not witness if I could not find her body, and the morning brought, along with an unsigned letter in the post from someone who certainly needed help, but not any help that I could give them, a larger than usual handful of petitions, two of which were questions for the Municipal Registry of Deaths, one a matter which had to go to the Amalomeire before it could come to me, and the fourth, brought by a very angry young elven woman, involved a disputed will, with each side accusing the other of fraud.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow long has your grandfather been dead?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen even if his spirit has remained with his body, he will not remember what you want to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do not know our grandfather,\u201d she said darkly. Her gaze lowered for a moment, then returned resolutely to mine. \u201cAll we ask, othala, is that you try. It is the\u00a0\u2026 the cleanest<\/i> way to end our family dispute.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if what he says is not what you want to hear?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head, frowning. \u201cEven that would be better than this endless squabble. Please, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was not my place to refuse a petitioner. \u201cYes, then, on the understanding that it may be too late.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe understand,\u201d she said. I hoped the rest of her family would agree.<\/p>\n

\n

Her name was Alasho Duhalin. Her grandfather had been the Duhalar of Duhalada and Cedharad, one of the biggest importing firms in Amalo, with arms in several major cities of the south and east. I knew from long and bitter experience that fights over inheritance had nothing to do with the amounts involved, but I also understood why Min Duhalin was so upset. The longer this fight went on, the longer the employees of Duhalada and Cedharad did not know where they stood. (Mer Cedharad lived in Barizhan <\/span>and thus could not be relied on for guidance.) Min Duhalin, a good burgher\u2019s daughter, was worried about the effects on business and the ploys of the company\u2019s rivals.<\/p>\n

We took the Vestrano tramline down the hill to the wealthy neighborhoods north of the Mich\u2019maika. By virtue of the fact that we took the tram together, rather than her returning home in her family\u2019s private carriage, I knew that Min Duhalin\u2019s decision to bring a Witness vel ama<\/i> into the proceedings had either been disputed by or was entirely unknown to her family. It was fashionable among the sons and daughters of the bourgeoisie to take the municipal trams instead of using their families\u2019 carriages. The young women, however, usually traveled in pairs.<\/p>\n

I asked her, \u201cDoes anyone in your family know of your petition?\u201d<\/p>\n

She startled guiltily and I had my answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour family will not thank you,\u201d I said in warning.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least they\u2019ll stop fighting<\/i> about it. Our father and our uncles do not speak together unless it is in argument over Grandfather\u2019s will. And our mother has an undiplomatic tongue.\u201d That, as I knew from my own childhood, was a true curse among the women of a house, who came together not by their own choice. Min Duhalin sighed and said, \u201cWe did not think there was such rancor in our house.\u201d<\/p>\n

We got off the tram at the Dachen Csaivanat, the deepest well in the north of the world, and walked two blocks north to a house within sight of the city wall. The neighborhood was of an age to have been new when Min Duhalin\u2019s grandfather made his fortune, and the brick had aged to a soft pinkish red, meaning that it had been made of local clay. Min Duhalin set her jaw and walked straight up the front steps.<\/p>\n

The house steward opened the door before she could, demanding, \u201cMin Alasho, where have you been<\/i>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have brought a Witness for the Dead,\u201d said Min Duhalin, and gestured me inside.<\/p>\n

The house steward stared at me as if I were a rain of frogs, and the atrium of the house was suddenly full of people: the three Duhaladeise brothers of whom Min Duhalin had told me, and an <\/span>assortment of their spouses, their children, and their children\u2019s spouses; Min Duhalin had not detailed her siblings and cousins to me, but I found, watching, that the Duhaladeise family resemblance was extremely strong, and it was easy to tell a blood relation from a spouse. And the one nervous-looking Barizheise lady was clearly someone\u2019s wife.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlasho,\u201d said the eldest of the men (and therefore her father), \u201cwhat is the meaning of this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe petitioned the Witness vel ama<\/i> to come and speak for Grandfather,\u201d said Min Duhalin, whose forthrightness certainly could not be faulted.<\/p>\n

As I had expected, her announcement was met with a chorus of horrified and angry voices, protesting that there was no need<\/i> and that she had had no right.<\/i> I thought it unfortunate that her father seemed to be even angrier than his brothers, berating Min Duhalin as one would a small and disobedient child.<\/p>\n

Finally, when it was clear that the din was not going to resolve on its own, I stepped forward, finding some sour amusement in how quickly everyone fell silent. They all stared warily at me.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cWe have accepted Min Duhalin\u2019s petition as reasonable and proper. It is futile to remonstrate with her, and you may be glad it is not within our remit to inquire why no one else thought to do the same as she.\u201d<\/p>\n

The horrified silence grew a little more horrified.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cWe understand that Mer Duhalar was cremated, but that you retain his ashes?\u201d<\/p>\n

After a very long pause, the eldest Mer Duhalar still living said, \u201cYes, that is correct. We cannot scatter the ashes until\u2014Our father specified that his heir was to scatter his ashes.\u201d<\/p>\n

And without an heir being determined, that meant that nothing could be done with the ashes. They were lucky that both the real and the fraudulent will had specified cremation. If one had specified embalming, the Duhalada\u2014able then to do neither\u2014would have been in a dreadful mess.<\/p>\n

I was tempted to say, as I had been tempted before, The fastest<\/i> <\/span>way to get rid of us is to cooperate.<\/i> Instead, I said, \u201cWe understand that your house is in a very difficult time, and we do not wish to make it more difficult. It will take us only a moment with Mer Duhalar\u2019s ashes to know if we can even be of help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is a sensible thing to do,\u201d one of the younger brothers said suddenly. \u201cIf you will follow us, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed him, although my heart was sinking. Either he was bluffing\u2014gambling that I would be unable to speak for his father\u2014or he was innocent of fraud. And if the younger brothers were innocent, for Min Duhalin had told me that the two of them were united behind the second will, then Min Duhalin\u2019s father was the one who had presented a false will.<\/p>\n

\n

The family shrine was elaborate with marble and gold leaf, the name plaques each carved with the family\u2019s wolf signet. The Duhalada\u2019s funerary practices\u2014cremating the bodies and scattering the ashes\u2014were considered barbaric in the capital, but it was the best deterrent against ghouls. It was the custom followed by about half of Amalo\u2019s citizens, those wealthy enough to be able to afford it. The others buried their dead with the best gravestones they could.<\/p>\n

The younger brother indicated his father\u2019s box on the altar, surrounded by the michenothas, and then tactfully withdrew.<\/p>\n

I picked up the box\u2014cedar and beautifully carved with an intricate pattern of interlocking circles\u2014and said a silent prayer to Ulis, asking only that I should find the truth. I knew better than to ask for the unobtainable.<\/p>\n

I began murmuring the prayer of compassion for the dead\u2014such a constant companion that some nights it ran through my dreams\u2014and gently, carefully, opened the lid of the box.<\/p>\n

The dead man\u2019s signet ring rested among the ashes. I touched it with one finger, being careful to maintain my grip on the box. Contrary to my prediction, I got an immediate and strong sense <\/span>of Nepena Duhalar, cold and grasping and deeply satisfied that his business would prosper in the hands of his son. His son Pelara.<\/p>\n

That was not the name of an eldest son.<\/p>\n

I warned my petitioners that they might not like the answers I provided, but I had never had anyone heed my warning.<\/p>\n

I closed the box carefully and returned it to its place on the altar. I said the prayer of compassion for the dead once more, bowed to the house gods, and left the shrine.<\/p>\n

The younger brother\u2019s face tightened, his ears lowering, when he saw my expression, but he led me without speaking back to the atrium, where everyone was still standing in fraught and awkward silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell?\u201d said the eldest Mer Duhalar. Now that I knew, I could see the bluff, and I felt some reluctant admiration for his refusal to yield.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich of you is Pelara Duhalar?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are,\u201d said my guide.<\/p>\n

I saw Min Duhalin start to frown; she knew she hadn\u2019t told me her uncles\u2019 names.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe offer our condolences on your loss, Mer Duhalar,\u201d I said. \u201cYou are your father\u2019s heir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I left the Duhalada house more than an hour later, exhausted and hungry. There had been, as there always was, a great deal of arguing. No one who had supported the eldest son\u2019s claim wanted to believe he had forged his father\u2019s will, and I had to reiterate several times that the name the dead man had told me was Pelara, not Nepevis. On the other side, Pelara Duhalar very sensibly got two of the servants to come witness a formal testimony, so that there would be no confusion after I left about what I had said. I told him I would make a deposition, to the same end.<\/p>\n

No one said anything about how they were going to deal with <\/span>Nepevis Duhalar\u2019s dishonesty, but I thought that question would be keeping the younger brothers awake tonight.<\/p>\n

Min Duhalin simply disappeared. I hoped she was not blaming herself, but knew she was. How could she not? She had made her decision, as petitioners often did, based on a belief that she knew what the dead would say. She had been wrong, as petitioners often were. In time, she might find comfort in knowing that she had caused the truth to be revealed. Some people did; some people did not.<\/p>\n

I could not help; I had no gift for comfort, and myself found the truth no comfort at all, only duty.<\/p>\n

I walked back to the Deep Well ostro. Most major shrines in the city were associated with stations, and the Deep Well was no exception; although the station was the size of a wax seal, it did boast a teahouse called the Lady of Rivers, operated by the novices from the shrine\u2019s associated csaivatheileian. I bought a sticky bun and a two-cup pot of orchor and sat in a curtained booth for two people.<\/p>\n

I drank the orchor black, grateful as I usually was for its bite, but also today grateful for its harshness, like drawing a thick black line between me and the Duhalada. I tried not to think about how many miserable families I had left in my wake, and I did strive to remember, as the Archprelate had said to me, that I did not do anything but what I was asked<\/i> to do. Some days that felt like casuistry, but it was another thick black line like calligraphy on good rag paper.<\/p>\n

I took the tram back east to the Dachenostro and changed to the Zulnicho line, which took me straight south to Ulvanensee. Properly, I should have been going to the Ulistheileian to find a panel of three prelates, but after yesterday\u2019s conversation with Vernezar, I was, not merely reluctant, but actually opposed to going there. Fortunately, I knew where to find three prelates, and even a fourth to serve as scribe.<\/p>\n

Anora had three prelates serving under him, Daibrohar, Erlenar, and Vidrezhen. Daibrohar and Vidrezhen were elves from Zha\u00f6, Erlenar a half goblin from Choharo. Daibrohar and Erlenar were in their first prelacies; Vidrezhen had come from a wealthy benefice in Cairado and said she liked Ulvanensee much better.<\/p>\n

I found Anora and two of the three prelates copying register <\/span>entries to send to the Municipal Registry of Deaths; Erlenar was washing windows. They were all glad of an excuse to do something else, even if it was something as dull as listening to me give a deposition. They\u2019d done this for me before, since it had become clear to me very early in my stay in Amalo that the Ulistheileian was not friendly to me.<\/p>\n

Daibrohar settled to be scribe, and I related the incidents of the morning, laying particular stress on the fact that the dead man had remembered his heir\u2019s name. And that the name was Pelara, not Nepevis.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat an unpleasant business,\u201d said Anora when I was done.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m only grateful that this is the end of my part in it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora made a warding sign and said, \u201cLet us hope so. I will deliver the deposition to the Ulistheileian if thou likest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat would be a great kindness,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Anora shrugged. \u201cIt\u2019s easy enough. They won\u2019t obstruct me the way they will thee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, feeling suddenly very tired. \u201cNo, they won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I took the tram from Ulvanensee back north to the Bridge Street ostro, where I got off and walked to the Reveth\u2019veraltamar at the bend in the Mich\u2019maika where it curved around the Sanctuary of Csaivo. The Reveth\u2019veraltamar was where all the bodies that ended up in the canal washed aground. There was a gate in the wall there, and stairs down to the water. I had a key.<\/p>\n

Today I walked down to the water not because I expected to find anything useful, but because one of my duties as a prelate of Ulis was to mourn for the unnamed dead, and to mourn for her meant following the path of her body as clearly as I could. The Reveth\u2019veraltamar was where they\u2019d pulled her out; I sought to remind myself of the gray moss-slimy stones; the slap of the water against the walls of the canal; the smell. The Reveth\u2019veraltamar was an ugly place.<\/p>\n

<\/span>As I was turning to go, something sparkling caught my eye among the stones. I bent and picked up an earring: three clear, faceted glass drops with a broken clasp. There was no guarantee that it belonged to the dead woman in the crypt, but it was not unreasonable as a guess, either. Although inexpensive, it was pretty, and by gaslight the glass might look like diamonds. If I found someone the woman might<\/i> be, the earring would be a way to try for certainty. I tucked it carefully in an inner pocket and climbed back to the city.<\/p>\n

I locked the gate behind me.<\/p>\n

\n

I walked to the municipal ferry dock. In the middle of the day, the ferry was a better way than the tram to get from the middle of town to the Zheimela district. When the manufactories closed at sundown, the opposite would be true, for anyone who wanted something stronger than tea would be going to the bars along the south side of the Mich\u2019maika out toward its eastern end, and so would the prostitutes. And the pickpockets. The ferry was probably how the dead woman had gotten to the place where she died.<\/p>\n

Now the ferry passengers were mostly bourgeois families heading to their tiny bungalows along Lake Zheimela\u2019s western shore, plus the first few bartenders and servers headed out to clean the bars before they opened. I got several curious looks, although no one was impolite enough to ask my business. I pretended to be too abstracted in my own thoughts to notice.<\/p>\n

I left the ferry at the southside docks and walked along the canal, looking for a dock to match the dead woman\u2019s memories. The image was stark and vivid in my mind, as the memories of the dead always were, if there was anything left at all. I saw more than the dead woman had. I knew the way the dock jutted into the canal. I knew there were crates stacked along it, but nothing out at the end, nothing that could have sheltered her or provided a weapon or anything. Whether by luck or by plan, her murderer had chosen his spot well.<\/p>\n

Hulking warehouses lined the canal here, none of them with <\/span>the dock I was seeking. Then a rope-maker\u2019s shop. Then the only bar open during the day, the Canalman\u2019s Dog, a sprawling establishment\u2014built around an ancient shrine to Osreian\u2014that also operated as a teahouse. The city council had passed legislation that said no teahouse could also be a bar, but it was too late to stop the Canalman\u2019s Dog, which had been both for two or three generations at the point the legislation was proposed.<\/p>\n

And behind the Canalman\u2019s Dog, there was a dock. I recognized it at once.<\/p>\n

It was cool and dark inside the Canalman\u2019s Dog, and I wandered for some time along its narrow passages before I found the hearth of the teahouse. There, a young goblin man with his hair in the traditional Barizheise braids\u2014although he wore Amaleise embroidered felt slippers\u2014bowed to me and asked how the house could serve me, the traditional Amaleise words. Then, reading my black coat and thick, untidy prelate\u2019s plait, he added, \u201cothala,\u201d and looked uneasy.<\/p>\n

I said, for my calling forbade deception, \u201cI am Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead. I\u2019m trying to find the last hours of a young woman who was dragged out of the canal yesterday. A blue-eyed elven woman, probably your own height. Her cuffs were embroidered with flowers.\u201d I showed him the drawing that one of the Brotherhood\u2019s novices had made of the dead woman, easing the angles subtly so that she appeared alive again. He studied it dutifully, but shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe looks like many of our customers, othala,\u201d he said apologetically, \u201cbut I will ask Csatha the bartender to come talk to you. He may know the lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

I waited. Csatha was very little older than the goblin boy (who returned to washing teapots at the side of the hearth), but he was elven; he wore his white hair in a thickly braided bun and had enough money for a line of amethyst chip earrings to accent the sweep of his left ear. There was a haze of gold in his gray eyes that suggested Barizheise blood somewhere in his family tree. He looked at the drawing and listened to my description, then said, \u201cShe\u2019s not one of our regulars, othala, but more than that I couldn\u2019t say.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>I hadn\u2019t expected to have any luck on my first try. I got Csatha to draw me a map of the bars in the immediate area, which he did with quick, certain lines. He smiled as he handed me the map and said, \u201cGood luck, othala. You might try the Golden Tea Light. Most of the i\u00f6nraioi drink there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u00f6nraio\u201d was the Amaleise word for an unaffiliated prostitute, just as it was the word for a queen-cat in heat, based on the noise she made as she called her toms. It was a good guess at the dead woman\u2019s occupation. I still wasn\u2019t sure it was correct; she had looked too healthy and too prosperous for the shadowy hand-to-mouth life of an i\u00f6nraio. But at the moment I had no better guess.<\/p>\n

I explored the Zheimela district that afternoon, finding the bars Csatha had marked, along with chandler\u2019s shops and greengrocers, secondhand clothing shops, brothels, photographers\u2019 studios, an array of pawnbrokers, the district\u2019s municipal baths, the livery stable, a shrine to Csaivo (as Amalo\u2019s lifeblood was the Zhomaikora and the Mich\u2019maika, so the city was full of shrines to the goddess of rivers). Just before dusk, I found a street cart near the manufactories west of the municipal ferry dock and bought a tobastha for half a zashan. Then, with dusk, the bars opened, and I began working my way through Csatha\u2019s map.<\/p>\n

It was in the eighth bar, or maybe the seventh, or the tenth, that the half-goblin bartender, in the act of handing the drawing back to me, suddenly frowned and looked at it again. \u201cOh,\u201d he said. \u201cHer.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou recognize her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was in here night before last. Overdressed. Never seen her before. One glass of rice wine and she took up a table for two hours. Alone. She wasn\u2019t an i\u00f6nraio, because I saw her turn down more than one man. And then at half past eleven, she got up and walked out.\u201d He thought a moment and added, \u201cI think Athris said she was an opera singer.\u201d<\/p>\n

My ears dropped with astonishment. \u201cShe was a what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Athris!\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the servers wiping down tables looked up. \u201cMe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnybody else here by that name?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cI guess not.\u201d He came to the bar, a delicately pretty elven boy with wide violet eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were saying you know who this lady is,\u201d the bartender said, and showed Athris the drawing.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh!\u201d His face lit up. \u201cYes, the lady who was here night before last. That\u2019s Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin. She\u2019s the senior mid-soprano at the Vermilion Opera.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes. I saw her in Thormedo<\/i> last spring.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you looking for Min Shelsin, othala?\u201d asked the bartender.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was pulled out of the canal yesterday morning,\u201d I said, and took no pleasure in the way Athris\u2019s face sagged with horror.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no!\u201d he said. \u201cBut how could\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to find out. Did she talk to you at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe said once she was waiting,\u201d Athris said, \u201cbut she didn\u2019t say what she was waiting for.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas she alone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes. She left at half past eleven, and she was as alone as when she came in.\u201d<\/p>\n

So probably her death did not meet her here. But now I knew her name. I remembered the earring and showed it to him, and he said, \u201cYes. She had crystal drops lining both ears and a strand of crystal beads in her hair. It was a marvelous effect.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cYou have been a great help.\u201d<\/p>\n

I left the bar wondering who Min Shelsin had been meeting at midnight the night before last. Where<\/i> almost had to be the Canalman\u2019s Dog, for why else would someone pick that particular dock to throw her off?<\/p>\n

I walked back that way, wondering also why an opera singer from the Veren\u2019malo had come all the way down to the Zheimela to meet whomever her appointment was. It suggested a powerful need for secrecy, and anything that secret was probably also a motive for murder.<\/p>\n

The Canalman\u2019s Dog was raucous now, people in every room, <\/span>Guild prostitutes moving among them, offering cool, alluring looks from under their eyelashes. I started to fight my way toward one of the bars when it occurred to me that the people to ask were the prostitutes. If she had been here, they would have been watching her to be sure she wasn\u2019t an i\u00f6nraio; they would have seen who she met.<\/p>\n

I talked to prostitute after prostitute. They were amused and intrigued to be spoken to by a prelate, and they looked at the drawing carefully. But I had to ask several before an elven woman who called herself Haro said, \u201cYou know, I did<\/i> see her, night before last. She had crystal in her hair, and she was overdressed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cWas she with anyone?\u201d<\/p>\n

Haro bit her lip, thinking. \u201cShe was at a table, and, yes, she was with someone, because I remember the stagey way she laughed at something he said. But I\u2019m sorry, othala, I don\u2019t remember a thing about him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be sorry,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ve been a tremendous help.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled, a sudden, shy smile with no coquette in it, and said, \u201cShe wasn\u2019t one of us, but I don\u2019t think she was an i\u00f6nraio, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before I could say thank you, or ask another question, Haro\u2019s face and body changed, and she was moving away on the arm of a middle-aged goblin man, as graceful and untouchable as a cloud.<\/p>\n

\n

In the morning, it was back to the Prince Zhaicava Building and the post and the papers and the wait for petitioners. No one came, and I used the time to write down everything I had learned about the dead woman.<\/p>\n

Then, with an hour before noon and no petitioners in sight, I went down the hall to one of the other oddities housed in the Prince Zhaicava Building, the cartographers for the Amalo Municipal Tramline Authority, the clerks and mapmakers in charge of knowing exactly where the tramlines ran and of giving exact and accurate directions to the repair crews. Maps, some complete, some half drawn, some still uninked sketches, covered the walls, and there <\/span>were filing cabinets full of written directions on how to get from the Prince Zhaicava building to every major landmark in Amalo. I had overheard an argument one day about changing the starting point to the Amal\u2019theileian, as being \u201cmore suitable,\u201d but Dachensol Orzhimar, the master mapmaker of the Amalo Municipal Tramline Authority, said sharply, \u201cAll that would accomplish is that we\u2019d have to add directions from here to the Amal\u2019theileian to the start of every script.\u201d And there the matter rested.<\/p>\n

The mapmakers were an intense group of young elven men, passionately in love with their work. The clerks were mostly middle-aged elven ladies, efficient and serious and very proud of their abilities. They were also proud of their well-earned reputation for knowing everything that happened in Amalo, since everyone involved in the city or principate bureaucracies (insofar as the two could be separated) came to them when they needed directions to anywhere. It was amazing, Min Talenin had told me, how often the bureaucrats of the court ended up out in the city, inspecting and interviewing and participating in ceremonies.<\/p>\n

Min Talenin and Merrem Bechevaran, the elven clerks who had the office to themselves this morning, were pleased to see me. Although I did not gossip, I did ask for their help if I had a case that warranted it. I had asked them about Mer Urmenezh\u2019s sister, and now I showed them the drawing of Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin.<\/p>\n

Min Talenin said, eyes widening, \u201cThat\u2019s the mid-soprano from the Vermilion Opera.\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Talenin was a good middle-aged bourgeoise elven lady, the daughter of a clockmaker, thrifty and responsible. The only luxury she allowed herself was the opera. If she and Athris in the Zheimela agreed about the woman\u2019s identity, it seemed most probable that they were correct.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you sure?\u201d I said, but I knew she was before she said, \u201cAbsolutely sure. What happened to her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was thrown in the canal three nights ago,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no,<\/i>\u201d said Min Talenin. I realized that I could perhaps have phrased it more tactfully.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWho would want to do such an awful thing?\u201d said Merrem Bechevaran, who was younger than Min Talenin and a widow.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m trying to find out,\u201d I said. \u201cI was hoping you could help me. I need directions to the Vermilion Opera.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019s easy!\u201d said Min Talenin, brightening. She dug in one of the filing cabinets beside her desk.<\/p>\n

Merrem Bechevaran went to the wall and began sorting among the maps. She returned with a map leaf at the same time Min Talenin emerged with a beautifully written sheet of directions.<\/p>\n

Merrem Bechevaran spread the map out on her desk and Min Talenin said, pausing occasionally to let me scribble notes in my notebook, \u201cSo. Starting from here, you take the Mountain Road northeast until it intersects General Baizhahar Boulevard. It will be a sharp turn backwards, for you want to follow the boulevard northwest. You follow General Baizhahar until you come to the Plaza of the Armistice, where seven streets meet. You\u2019ll take Indigo Street, which runs straight north. In one block, it crosses Vermilion Street, and the Opera is on the northeast corner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Merrem Bechevaran came back from another filing cabinet with a drawing of the Vermilion Opera. It was a massive brick building that clearly would be impossible to miss or mistake.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome and tell us if we are inaccurate,\u201d said Min Talenin.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, made my bows, and departed.<\/p>\n

\n

After lunch at an inexpensive Barizheise zho\u00e4n, I followed Min Talenin\u2019s directions. As always, they were as clear as you could ask directions to be, and I found the Vermilion Opera with no difficulty at all.<\/p>\n

The Opera was an enormous building, four or five stories tall and covering an entire block. The great arches of the entrance seemed like gaping mouths waiting to swallow me whole.<\/p>\n

I told myself sternly not to be ridiculous.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I had never been to the Vermilion Opera before\u2014the ticket prices, even for the cheapest seats, were far beyond my meager budget. I was unprepared for the rich vermilion walls of the lobby and could only be grateful there was no one to see me standing there as stunned as a fish. The lobby was vast and its color, combined with its cavernous vault, intensified my impression of being caught in the jaws of some monstrous beast. I started toward the ticket office at one end of the lobby, uneasily aware of the clacking sound of my shoe heels, and a young half-goblin man, pale eyes in a dark face, appeared suddenly in the ticket window and said, \u201cCan I help you, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Thara Celehar,\u201d I said, \u201cand I am a Witness for the Dead. I need to speak to someone about a death for which I am witnessing.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked both alarmed and uncertain. \u201cI\u00a0\u2026 I don\u2019t know. Mer Kalmened is not here, and I don\u2019t know if\u2026\u201d He trailed off, thinking hard. Then an idea came to him, for he said, \u201cI will ask Mer Pel-Thenhior. Excuse me just one moment.\u201d He disappeared from the window.<\/p>\n

I did not have to wait long before one of the auditorium doors swung open, and another half-goblin man came striding out.<\/p>\n

He was several inches taller than I was, though not goblin-bulky, with ash-gray skin and eyes of the luminous gold particular, like the form of his surname, to the Pelanra, the western coast of Barizhan. He had his hair in long Barizheise braids, and there were gold charms hanging from his ears. He was wearing a beautiful fawn-colored suit and an irritated expression. \u201cI am I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior,\u201d he said in a carrying baritone. \u201cWhat can I do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Thara Celehar,\u201d I said again. \u201cI am a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face went through a complicated series of emotions, and he said, not asking, \u201cIt\u2019s Arvene\u00e4n.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cCurse it,\u201d he said, with a strange mixture of anger and sadness. \u201cI knew something had to be wrong. She might skip a rehearsal, but <\/span>she\u2019d never skip a performance. I\u2019ve been waiting for you for two days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt has taken us this long to identify her,\u201d I said. \u201cShe was found in the canal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the canal<\/i>?\u201d His ears showed his genuine surprise. \u201cWhat in the name of all that\u2019s holy was she doing there? Arvene\u00e4n prided herself on never going south of the city wall, and although that wasn\u2019t strictly<\/i> true, she certainly did not venture that far south in the city very often.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe washed up at the Reveth\u2019veraltamar,\u201d I said. \u201cAssuming that our identification is correct\u2014we still need someone who knew her to come see the body.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you?\u201d He grimaced. \u201cI suppose that would be me, then. Just a moment.\u201d He disappeared back through the double doors. When he returned, he was scowling, and his expression did not lighten as we rode the tram south to General Parzhadar Square and the Chapterhouse.<\/p>\n

The novices on duty at the main doors were accustomed to taking people to view the dead. They led us through the public halls of the Chapterhouse and down the great main staircase of the crypt. At the bottom, Subpraeceptor Volar was on duty, and he led us to the cold room, where the woman\u2019s body still lay on the marble slab.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior did the dead woman the courtesy of looking closely. He nodded tightly. \u201cThat\u2019s Arvene\u00e4n. Goddesses of mercy.\u201d He did not seem grief-stricken, precisely, but badly rattled.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know her well?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve known Arvene\u00e4n since we were children,\u201d he said absently. \u201cWe hated each other.\u201d Then he seemed to hear his own words, for his ears twitched violently, making his earrings chime. \u201cOh dear. Should I not have said that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you kill her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you have no reason not to tell the truth, and I appreciate your honesty.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cMy mouth always runs half a minute ahead of my mind,\u201d he said ruefully. \u201cYou said she was found in the canal? What happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was murdered,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know who did it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cbut to witness for her, I must find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

We ended up in a teahouse on General Parzhadar Square, drinking a golden orchor that was not as strong as I liked, but also lacked the harshness of the black orchor I drank for preference. Pel-Thenhior laced his liberally with honey and said, \u201cWhat do you need to know about Arvene\u00e4n?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe last time you saw her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was on the ninth. We argued about the new opera we\u2019re rehearsing and she left with her newest patron, Osmer Borava Coreshar. That was at about six in the evening, since they were just beginning to set the stage for General Olethazh.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd she was last seen alive a little before midnight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior\u2019s ears flattened and he said, \u201cThat\u2019s an awful feeling, knowing that she flounced out of the theater with only six hours to live.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cObviously, I need to talk to Osmer Coreshar\u2014to all of her patrons. Do you know how I can find them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer patrons?\u201d I was surprised that he seemed taken aback. \u201cYou don\u2019t think\u2026\u201d Then he caught himself. \u201cWell, of course, there\u2019s no reason it couldn\u2019t be one of her patrons.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMurder is no respecter of rank,\u201d I said. \u201cBut in any event, I need to speak to them, for she might have said things to them that she would not have said to anyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior snorted. \u201cI can guarantee that much. Arvene\u00e4n with her patrons was an Arvene\u00e4n the rest of us never saw.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she have many?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMost certainly. She and Nanavo, our senior principal soprano, <\/span>sometimes seemed almost as if they were in a competition to see how many young men of means they could bedazzle. Arvene\u00e4n was not interested in young men without means, even though there were several who would have married her without a blink. But only the wealthy men would do for Arvene\u00e4n\u2014she wasn\u2019t as picky about their age.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what was she doing in the Zheimela after dark?\u201d I said, more bluntly than I had meant to.<\/p>\n

His eyes widened. \u201cShe was found in the Zheimela?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was found at the Reveth\u2019veraltamar,\u201d I said, \u201cbut she was thrown off a dock in the Zheimela. I could discern that much from her corpse.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head slowly, clearly distressed. \u201cBut why would she be there? No, I\u2019m sorry, obviously that\u2019s the question you\u2019re trying to answer. But if you want to talk to her patrons, come to the opera tonight. They\u2019ll all be there.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I hesitated, trying to calculate the price of a ticket to the Vermilion Opera against my finances, he said, \u201cOh, don\u2019t worry about that. You can sit in my box.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour box?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m the principal director of the Vermilion Opera,\u201d he said with a tiny mock-bow. \u201cAlso the principal composer. I sit in a box by the stage and terrify the singers by taking notes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose seats are never sold anyway,\u201d he said. \u201cI promise you, no one will mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMost people prefer not to associate themselves with those of my calling,\u201d I said cautiously.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy in the world not? It\u2019s not as if it\u2019s contagious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSome people seem to believe it is.\u201d<\/p>\n

He dismissed such people with a jingling flick of his ears. \u201cNever mind that. Come with me back to the theater now and I\u2019ll make sure the ticket office knows to let you in.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

On the tram ride north, Pel-Thenhior, making up (he said) for previous sullenness, proved to be a lively companion. He told me about the new opera in rehearsal, which was one that he had written, called Zhelsu.<\/i> \u201cIt\u2019s quite a departure from the usual, but I\u2019m tired of operas about emperors and generals. I wanted to write an opera about ordinary people. Manufactory workers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is certainly different,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He grinned. \u201cOh, the expression on your face. I get that reaction quite frequently, but it only makes me more certain that this is a thing that needs to be done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNeeds?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOpera is amazing, but it\u2019s been doing the same thing over and over again for hundreds of years. I think it could do other<\/i> things, and the only way to find out is to try.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd thus you\u2019ve written an opera about manufactory workers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes!\u201d he said. \u201cAnd it\u2019s coming together beautifully. More so now that Arvene\u00e4n isn\u2019t picking fights and complaining, which, you understand, is\u2014was\u2014what Arvene\u00e4n did. That reminds me. I have to find To\u00efno and tell her she\u2019s singing Merrem Chovenaran tonight. She won\u2019t be happy.\u201d He sighed. \u201cAnd then I have to tell everyone about Arvene\u00e4n.\u201d<\/p>\n

I noticed that there was no suggestion of closing the theater that evening and asked him about it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can\u2019t afford to,\u201d he said unapologetically. \u201cOur ticket revenues are barely ahead of our expenses as it is. And our patron\u2026\u201d He made a face. \u201cFinancial discussions with him are always unpleasant. I don\u2019t think<\/i> he\u2019d let the theater fail, but I admit that I\u2019m not sure.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the lobby of the theater, Pel-Thenhior immediately went to the ticket window and told them I was his guest that evening. He then turned to me and said, \u201cIs there anything else you need from me, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know where Min Shelsin lived?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs it happens, I do,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cShe lives\u2014lived\u2014not far from me. In Cemchelarna.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cCemchelarna,\u201d I said. On the Zheimela Road between the city wall and the canal, Cemchelarna had been intensely fashionable about five hundred years ago and was now a mix of manufactory workers and artists. I had chosen to live in the Airmen\u2019s Quarter for Ulvanensee and for the straight shot up the Zulnicho tramline to the Prince Zhaicava Building, but I could easily have chosen Cemchelarna instead.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior thought a moment and then gave me directions as lucid as any cartographer\u2019s clerk\u2019s: \u201cIt\u2019s a red clapboard building with a stone foundation, only the clapboard is so old it\u2019s faded to pink, and it\u2019s directly across from the East Water Works on North Petunia Street. You take the Zheimela Road out the Zheimel\u2019tana to Emperor Belvorsina III Square. The Coribano line will take you that far. Then you turn east on Hawthorne Street. Take the Abandoned Bridge over where the Cemchelarna River used to be, and you\u2019ll find yourself in the confluence of five streets. You walk south on North Petunia for three blocks until you see the East Water Works, which is a hulking brick monstrosity you cannot possibly miss.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s very clear. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

His smile was sudden and dazzling. \u201cYou are welcome. But now, I am sorry, but I must find To\u00efno. I\u2019ll see you tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

He strode away, leaving me for a moment off balance, as if the force of his personality had been holding me upright. Which was a ridiculous notion, and I shook it off, leaving the theater to go in search of Min Shelsin\u2019s home.<\/p>\n

\n

I followed Pel-Thenhior\u2019s directions southeast along the Zheimela Road\u2014I walked to save the tram fare\u2014to the Emperor Belvorsina III Square. Then two blocks east on Hawthorne Street until I came to the Abandoned Bridge.<\/p>\n

The Abandoned Bridge was badly misnamed, for it had never been abandoned. There were still shops and houses all along its length, and many of the buildings that had been erected over the <\/span>buried river had bridges of their own from their upper floors tethered to the wrought-iron railings of the Abandoned Bridge.<\/p>\n

I crossed over the bridge, dodging several hawkers and a troupe of street acrobats, then walked south on North Petunia Street until I saw the brick bulk of the East Water Works looming among the two- and three-story clapboard houses, some with shops on their ground floors. I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the East Water Works; the building directly across the street, faded clapboard just as Pel-Thenhior had described, was clearly a boardinghouse, complete with the green-and-silver flag hanging over the porch railing to indicate an empty room and an elderly elven lady sitting on the porch with a great mass of patchwork spread out over her lap. Resident or landlady, she seemed like a good place to start.<\/p>\n

She watched me come with bright pale eyes, and the closer I got the more clearly I realized how truly venerable this lady was. I said, \u201cGreetings, dachenmaro,\u201d as I came up the porch steps.<\/p>\n

It amused her. Her eyes almost disappeared into her wrinkles and she said, \u201cGreetings, othala,\u201d in return. \u201cCome sit beside me, if you don\u2019t disdain to keep an old lady company.\u201d Her voice was hoarse but still firm, and she had a strong Amaleise accent of the sort the comic operas gave to their villains.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, and took the chair next to hers.<\/p>\n

She showed me her quilt, scraps of fabric pieced together into the pattern called Valmata\u2019s Return. She was now stitching the top and batting and backing together, overlaying Valmata\u2019s Return with a pattern called Scorpion Dance\u2014appropriate to the story of Valmata, who returned from war and poisoned his father in order to take control of the family estates. They sang the ballad in Lohaiso.<\/p>\n

It was a great deal of aggression for one quilt, but I judged it wisest not to say so. Instead, I complimented her on her beautiful tiny stitching.<\/p>\n

She laughed, pleased, and said, \u201cWhen you\u2019ve been sewing for ninety years, othala, your stitching hand will be just as crisp.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNinety years is a lot of stitching, dachenmaro,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t I know it!\u201d she said, laughing again. \u201cBut I am no one\u2019s mother. My name is Rhade\u00e4n Nadin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am Thara Celehar,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat brings you here, Othala Celehar? Are you looking for a room?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ve come about Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t know where she is,\u201d Min Nadin said, \u201cas I told the other young man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Probably someone from the Opera, possibly Pel-Thenhior himself. \u201cNo, not that. I\u2019m witnessing for her. She was killed three nights ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe wondered why she did not come home,\u201d said Min Nadin bleakly, again using the first-person plural. \u201cYou should talk to my niece, who is the landlady. I only know that her name was Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin, and she was an opera singer with the Vermilion Opera. But truly you should be talking to Vinsu.\u201d She raised her voice into an unexpectedly powerful shout: \u201cVinsu!\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

Almost immediately, a stout, hen-like elven woman emerged from the house, saying, \u201cAunt Rhade\u00e4n? What\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA prelate has come asking about Min Shelsin,\u201d said Min Nadin, nodding at me. \u201cThey\u2019ve found her body.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer body<\/i>? Oh no!\u201d She sank into the remaining chair, wide blue eyes on me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m very sorry,\u201d I said. \u201cI am Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead. I am trying to witness for Min Shelsin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what happened<\/i> to her? Oh dear, my name is Vinsu Nadaran, and you are welcome to my house, othala. I will tell you anything I can, but I don\u2019t know very much about Min Shelsin. Some boarders tell me everything about themselves, but Min Shelsin was very secretive.\u201d<\/p>\n

That, at least, was not a surprise. I said, \u201cShe was found at the Reveth\u2019veraltamar. Someone threw her in the canal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no<\/i>!\u201d moaned Merrem Nadaran again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew that girl was going to come to a bad end,\u201d said Min Nadin. \u201cAmbition is one thing, but she was greedy.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cAunt Rhade\u00e4n!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh hush, Vinsu. I\u2019m ninety-seven. Surely that\u2019s old enough to be allowed to speak my mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

Only some of the sects in the city believed that one should never speak ill of the dead. I said, \u201cI\u2019m grateful for any details you can give me, and it would be of tremendous help if I could see her room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no,\u201d said Merrem Nadaran again, though clearly not in refusal.<\/p>\n

Min Nadin sighed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI would not take anything,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019m sure you wouldn\u2019t,\u201d said Merrem Nadaran. \u201cYes, of course. Just follow me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The house was spotlessly clean and stretched back from the street farther than I had expected: eight rooms in two rows of four on each floor, plus the staircase at the rear. We climbed to the third floor in silence, and Merrem Nadaran led me to the second room from the front on the north side of the house. The door was locked, but she had a master key.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a rule,\u201d she said, \u201cthat I don\u2019t use this except in emergencies.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was glad to be ranked as an emergency, but I thought I might offend her if I said so. I asked instead, \u201cDo you know anything about Min Shelsin? Did she have family in Amalo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot to my knowledge, but she was as close-mouthed as a turtle.\u201d Merrem Nadaran opened the door and waved me inside. \u201cAll she\u2019d ever talk about was the Opera. She\u2019d been a principal there for three years, and she was puffed up like a turkey cock about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The room was of medium size, furnished with a bed, a dresser, and a table by the window with one spindly chair. Everything had the distinctive air of secondhand furniture. As many people did, Min Shelsin had used the top of her dresser as a tiny shrine with five michenothas to represent the gods and a token from the Sanctuary of Csaivo to indicate that she\u2019d made at least one pilgrimage in Amalo. The shrine was the only character the room showed until I opened the door of the closet and was ambushed by a riot <\/span>of color: red and blue and gold, a vivid splash of fuchsia, green and blazing yellow and purple. And the fabrics were just as wild, silk and taffeta and velvet and all manner of brocades, gauze and lace and ribbons everywhere. I parted the row of lush and brightly colored gowns and saw that the closet made a right-angle turn with another bar full of hanging gowns, just as peacock-bright as the first row.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow far back does the closet go?\u201d<\/p>\n

Merrem Nadaran looked blank for a moment, then made a gesture indicating the width of the room. \u201cAll the way to the hall,\u201d she said. \u201cAll my lodgers appreciate the closets.\u201d<\/p>\n

Thinking of my own room, I could only nod in agreement.<\/p>\n

Min Shelsin\u2019s room held nothing more of interest. I thanked Merrem Nadaran for her trouble and left, saying good-bye to Min Nadin on my way.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill we see you again, othala?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cVery likely.\u201d I felt no enthusiasm at the prospect, but that closet was a mystery I knew would nag at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you come back often enough,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019ll make you a quilt.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I took the tram to General Parzhadar Square, where the novices on duty at the Chapterhouse thought about refusing me entry and then thought better of it. I knew where to find Azhanharad, for I had been here before, and I made my way through the dark, narrow halls to the tiny room he used as an office. He always looked to me like he was on the verge of bursting out of it, like a bull out of a too-small cage.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala!\u201d he said. \u201cWhat news?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe dead woman is an opera singer named Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin. She lived in Cemchelarna. She doesn\u2019t seem to have had any family in Amalo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Azhanharad sighed and said, \u201cWe don\u2019t suppose they knew which sect she followed.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cShe had the michenothas in her room,\u201d I said, \u201cand a token from the Sanctuary of Csaivo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat does narrow it down,\u201d Azhanharad said, looking marginally more cheerful. \u201cWith any luck we\u2019ll be able to bury the poor woman properly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t look like there\u2019s anyone who will know if we\u2019re wrong,\u201d I said, although I knew that was of no more comfort to him than it was to me.<\/p>\n

\n

I returned to the Vermilion Opera that evening, still wearing my black silk coat of office, for I had no other clothes fine enough for a box at the opera\u2014and I was certainly not attending for pleasure.<\/p>\n

The staff at the ticket office knew me immediately, and a goblin page boy appeared seemingly out of nowhere to lead me to Pel-Thenhior\u2019s box.<\/p>\n

The box was in the first tier, almost on the stage\u2014not an angle the stage was meant to be viewed from, but I understood at once why it was ideal for someone who wanted to watch what the singers were doing rather than to watch the story. It was also one of the least fashionable boxes, being farthest from the prince\u2019s box at the center back of the auditorium. It was not likely that Prince Orchenis would visit the Vermilion Opera, but the best box in every Amaleise theater was called the prince\u2019s box just in case. This evening, the prince\u2019s box held two elven couples, all lavishly dressed, with jewels glittering in hair and ears. Town gentry, most likely, who could be unnoticed at the Amal\u2019opera or could be peacocks here\u2014and not have to pay as much for the privilege, either.<\/p>\n

After one look out at the rapidly filling auditorium, I retreated to the back corner of the box, where my view was of the flounced and tasseled stage curtain. Less interesting, but it could not look back at me and speculate about who I was. From this vantage point, I could also see the almost invisible door set into the box\u2019s opposite wall, and that explained why this of all boxes was the director\u2019s box.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I had not been there long before the door opened and Pel-Thenhior\u2014beautifully dressed again, in an evening suit of dark blue and silver brocade with earrings of lapis lazuli\u2014came through. He smiled when he saw me, his ears lifting, and said, \u201cOh good, you came!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t sure. You seemed a little taken aback.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was true enough. I gave the easiest answer: \u201cI follow my calling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen come sit down and let us see whom I can find.\u201d<\/p>\n

I took one of the seats at the front of the box, and Pel-Thenhior sat beside me. He scanned the auditorium with one comprehensive glance and said, \u201cGood house tonight. The Siege<\/i> always draws them in, old warhorse that it is. And there\u2019s Mer Dravenezh in the Parzhadeise box as usual.\u201d<\/p>\n

The soberly dressed Mer Dravenezh looked out of place but also perfectly self-possessed.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes his employer not attend?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Marquess Parzhadel is an invalid and never leaves the Parzhadeise compound. But Mer Dravenezh is here most nights. I have never been sure if Parzhadel sends<\/i> him or if use of the Parzhadeise box is one of the perquisites of his job as Parzhadel\u2019s secretary. He\u2019s probably the most attentive person in the audience, so I hope for his sake he wants to be here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have never asked him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt would be vulgar curiosity, nothing more. I prefer to leave Mer Dravenezh in peace. So. The people you\u2019re interested in are going to be across from us and above us. Arvene\u00e4n was only interested in men who could afford a box.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was unsurprising; I nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe aimed as high as she could,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cShe allowed burghers\u2019 sons to court her because they have money, but she wanted men like Osmer Elithar\u201d\u2014he nodded across at a fashionably dressed young elven man on the tier above us\u2014\u201cand Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar, who is sitting in the box on the other side of the prince\u2019s from Mer Dravenezh.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>I leaned on the railing of our box, and looked over, easily spotting an older elven man, just as fashionably dressed, who was sitting with an elven woman, very beautiful and half his age.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior to a question I had not asked. \u201cDach\u2019osmer Cambeshar is a patron of many beautiful young women. Arvene\u00e4n wanted badly to oust the others, but she never could. He is far too canny to let her have that kind of power over him. Other men are not so wise.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded at Osmer Elithar again. \u201cShe\u2019s just about ruined him, for all that he maintains the appearance that she hasn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that a reason to kill her, do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

He considered my question carefully, pointing out two more of Min Shelsin\u2019s patrons, Osmer Ponichar and Osmer Isthanar, before he said, \u201cIt could be. But I\u2019m not sure Osmer Elithar is the man who could do it\u2014not that I think murder is in any way a courageous action.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I understand. Are there any of her patrons you think could<\/i> commit murder?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDach\u2019osmer Cambeshar would order it done and not think twice,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I simply can\u2019t imagine him caring enough about Arvene\u00e4n to want her dead.\u201d He pondered a moment. \u201cThe trouble is deciding what makes a man capable of murder. We all might be capable of murder in the right\u2014or wrong\u2014circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which was either a neat evasion of my question or a genuine philosophical conundrum. I didn\u2019t know him well enough to be able to judge which.<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps if I rephrase,\u201d I said. \u201cDid any of them\u2014other than Osmer Elithar\u2014have reason to want her dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know that she\u2019d bled any of the others quite as dry,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cbut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a knock on the door he\u2019d come in by. He cursed in Barizhin and said, \u201cI must go, but I\u2019ll be back as soon as I can.\u201d He gave me a stern look and added, \u201cAnd there\u2019s no reason for you to hide in the back of the box, either. You are far from the strangest guest I\u2019ve entertained.\u201d In a swirl of startling crimson-lined coattails, he was gone.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I kept my seat, pointing out to myself that in fact no one was looking at me at all, and watched the glittering audience, wondering how many of them were like Osmer Elithar and on the brink of penury.<\/p>\n

When the curtain began to rise, I felt a childish thrill out to the tips of my ears, as if I had<\/i> come to the opera for pleasure. I knew the story of the siege of Tekharee; it was the subject of a long poem which I had been required to memorize as a child. The elves on the battlements within, the goblins on the plains without, the failure of the relief efforts, the growing desperation of the elven officers, the deadly patience of the goblins, the final agreement among the elves that rather than watch their wives and children starve, they would kill them and then burn Tekharee to the ground\u2014and then the horror of the goblins as they find the murdered children among the smoldering wreckage. I had seen the opera before, but found myself as absorbed by the terrible dilemma of the garrison of Tekharee as ever. I barely noticed when Pel-Thenhior returned to the box. I did notice that Merrem Elorezho was sung by a goblin woman\u2014who arguably had the best voice in the company. Her duet with Merrem Devatharan (sung by a sweet-faced elven soprano who was probably fifty trying to pass for thirty) filled the auditorium with a twining harmony so exquisite that we all forgot to breathe. Even the scratching of Pel-Thenhior\u2019s steel nib stopped.<\/p>\n

At the intermission, Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cA couple more of Arvene\u00e4n\u2019s boys came in late. That\u2019s Mer Csenivar in the box directly across from us, and Osmer Olchevar is in the box above us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Csenivar must be quite wealthy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo attract Arvene\u00e4n\u2019s attention, you mean? Yes, he has a generous allowance from his very wealthy father, but he\u2019s also incredibly persistent. If any of her patrons was obsessed with her, he\u2019s the one.\u201d<\/p>\n

The young elven man in the unfashionable box was talking to his companion, another young elven man who was obviously his brother. They had the same shape to their faces and went to the same tailor.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cDo you want an introduction to anyone? Not all of them like me, but we certainly know each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cNo, thank you, although I appreciate your offer. This is not where I want to try to get information out of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see your point,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, glancing around at the brightly chattering audience. \u201cThis is a terrible place to try to have a serious conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey won\u2019t even really see me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\n

Perhaps because Pel-Thenhior was sitting beside me, furiously scribbling notes, I noticed things about this performance of The Siege of Tekharee<\/i> that I hadn\u2019t thought about before: the way that the chorus of the goblin army was swathed in black cloaks and helmets rather than painting their faces, the way the battlements of Tekharee were shown just by a low stone pillar and the acting ability of the officers and wives, who never failed in their pretense that on the other side of that imaginary wall was a fatal drop. The costumes of the officers and wives were magnificent, and I thought of the contents of Min Shelsin\u2019s closet.<\/p>\n

After the end\u2014the goblin army lamenting in lurid red light the deaths of their enemies\u2014and after the curtain calls, as I was sitting and watching Min Shelsin\u2019s patrons collect their belongings and prepare to leave, Pel-Thenhior returned to the box and said, a little breathlessly, \u201cOh good, you\u2019re still here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you need something from me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMore that I was wondering if you<\/i> needed anything from me.<\/i>\u201d He gave me an oddly defiant look. \u201cI hated her, but I didn\u2019t want her dead. If she was murdered, I want her killer caught. And if you are trying to catch her killer, I want to know how I can help you.\u201d<\/p>\n

My face must have been as blank as the wall behind me. He said, \u201cIf I offend, othala, of course I apologize, but I thought\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, of course not,\u201d I said hastily. \u201cI am in sore need of help, to be honest. I was just surprised.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurprised?\u201d he said, surprised in turn. \u201cBut does not everyone want killers to be caught and justice to be done?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cMany people would prefer the whole thing just quietly disappear.\u201d<\/p>\n

His ears flattened in disapproval. \u201cSuch people dishonor their ancestors,\u201d he said, the particular phrasing he used telling me\u2014probably without meaning to\u2014that he was a member of a Barizheise sect which included among the gods a figure called the Grandmother of Grandmothers, the Dakh\u2019dakhenmero, who, they believed, watched over the family. Every family\u2019s Dakh\u2019dakhenmero figure was different.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will gladly accept any help you can offer,\u201d I said. \u201cCertainly, I could use someone<\/i>\u2019s help in going through her room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, there you are,\u201d he said. \u201cI can help with that. I knew her probably as well as anyone.\u201d He winced. \u201cWhat a horrible epitaph. For she hated me as much as I hated her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she have any friends? Or only patrons and, um, colleagues?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was friendly with two of the office clerks. I don\u2019t have their names to hand, but I can find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I eyed him cautiously. \u201cI will need to talk to everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe only way to find the person who has the piece of information I need is to ask everyone I can find.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not envy you your work,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cWell, as long as you don\u2019t mind it being rather piecemeal, you\u2019re welcome to talk to people around rehearsals, when they\u2019re not on stage. It\u2019s the best way to be sure of finding them. They\u2019ll all show up here sooner or later.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said. \u201cWhen can you go with me to her boardinghouse?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAny morning you like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMorning?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAfternoons are rehearsals,\u201d he said. \u201cI have to be here. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMornings, I must wait for petitioners in an office in the Prince Zhaicava Building.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds dreary.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sometimes,<\/i> I nearly said, but bit my tongue in time.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWell, I\u2019ll come petition you,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cIt feels strange to be taking the place of her family, but they all died in the i\u00e4rditha epidemic five years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are an honorable man.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAm I? For wanting a murderer to be caught?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor being willing to take action. As I said, most people simply want the problem to vanish. The witnessing for a murder victim can be a very painful thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

He regarded me with his ears at an inquisitive angle. \u201cAnd yet you continue witnessing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is my calling,\u201d I said. \u201cI tried to stop, but that was far worse, a kind of living death. I could not\u2026\u201d I trailed off, unable to find the words to explain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I was fifteen,\u201d Pel-Thenhior offered, almost shyly, \u201cand my voice changed, I went from being an excellent soprano to being a quite unremarkable baritone. I tried to quit the opera entirely\u2014wounded vanity, mostly\u2014and I could not. I could only try to find another way into the Empress Corivero\u2019s garden, if you will forgive a rather overelaborate metaphor. So perhaps I understand a little.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMusic is a calling,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a religious one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, and many prelates would disagree with me. But, to take your metaphor one step further, Ulis is the god of dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n

His ears dipped in surprise, almost alarm. \u201cI had not made that connection. You are a poet, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was unsure whether he meant that as a compliment. He might have been unsure as well, for he said briskly, \u201cThe Prince Zhaicava Building, you said? I will meet you there at ten,\u201d and he was gone like a rabbit down a hole, leaving only the soft click of the door-latch behind him.<\/p>\n

\n

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself wakeful. The moon was approaching full, flooding the world with its cold, beautiful <\/span>light. Some sleepless nights\u2014for this was a problem I was familiar with\u2014I simply lay in bed and thought about whatever puzzle my petitioners had most recently brought; some nights I lit the lamp and reread one of my lurid novels, accepting the expense I was incurring. Often, I went out walking in the local cemeteries\u2014the small ones, the collective and family cemeteries, not the great bleak precinct of Ulvanensee. The paths were as carefully tended as the graves, and the lingering fear of ghouls, more superstition than necessity in a city like Amalo, meant that I did not encounter clandestine lovers or other night wanderers. Since Mer Urmenezh had come with his petition, I had used these walks to look for Min Urmenezhen\u2019s grave, with failure after failure to reward me. Tonight was the cemetery Ulchoranee, a small collective in a neighborhood close to my own.<\/p>\n

Ulchoranee was laid out in a simple pattern, nothing ambitious or artistic. I walked up and down the rows, reading the gravestones by moonlight, noting that the stone-carving was clear and crisp and the stoneworker had some interesting and recognizable idiosyncrasies in the way he formed his letters. Most collectives had a single stoneworker they patronized, sometimes even entering into a contract to ensure that their gravestones received the promptest attention.<\/p>\n

When I found her, I almost walked straight past her, both because I wasn\u2019t expecting to see her name and because I had become accustomed to thinking of her as Inshiran Urmenezhen, but her gravestone read INSHIRAN AVELONARAN<\/small>. Beneath it, there was another inscription, ULANU<\/small>, a suitable name for a dead child of unknown sex.<\/p>\n

I stood stock-still in astonishment for some moments, only now realizing just how much disbelief I had been carrying. I had truly never expected to find her, and I certainly hadn\u2019t expected to find her here.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you come to Ulchoranee?\u201d I said aloud. In a novel, she would have answered me; in truth, no Witness for the Dead could achieve results without actually touching the corpse they spoke to, and furthermore she had been dead far too long.<\/p>\n

<\/span>She and her unborn child, and I wondered if Mer Urmenezh was right about murder.<\/p>\n

Mer Urmenezh, a most respectable bourgeois elven bachelor, had come to me in great distress. He had said that his sister was in her mid-thirties, a lifelong and content spinster, a birdwatcher who spent her spare time (when she was not teaching seven-year-olds the first rudiments of history and mathematics) on Lake Zheimela in an unladylike canoe.<\/p>\n

Then, one day, she had met a man.<\/p>\n

She came home excited as her brother had never seen her, and her conversation was full of this Cro\u00efs Avelonar and what he said and thought for a week. Then, without warning or discussion, she quit her job and eloped, leaving behind a letter that explained nothing, apologized for nothing, and almost seemed to have been written by a stranger.<\/p>\n

Mer Urmenezh and his two other sisters (their parents being deceased) assumed sorrowfully that that was the last they would ever hear from Inshiran. But barely six months later, Inshiran wrote to announce her pregnancy. The Urmenada were elated, for they had thought it most likely that none of them would ever marry, being\u2014as Mer Urmenezh said wryly\u2014a family of recluses. Inshiran\u2019s child might be their only chance for the family to reach another generation.<\/p>\n

They wrote back, assuring Inshiran of her welcome in their house\u2014in fact begging her to visit\u2014but the next thing they received was a brief, brusque letter from Avelonar telling them that Inshiran was dead and buried in the Airmen\u2019s Quarter, and that was that.<\/p>\n

Except.<\/p>\n

Mer Urmenezh was tormented by the timing. Inshiran had just gotten pregnant, she had gotten back in touch with her family\u2014and Mer Urmenezh was convinced, from certain phrases in her letter, that Avelonar had forbidden her to write to them\u2014and then she died. Avelonar did not give a cause of death, nor any kind of explanation; he did not invite them to the funeral (which apparently had already happened by the time he wrote). The letter was so unlike <\/span>that of a grieving widower that Mer Urmenezh had become convinced that he was in fact Inshiran\u2019s murderer.<\/p>\n

One of his sisters, he admitted, thought he was deranged.<\/p>\n

But Mer Urmenezh had come to me because, if nothing else, he wanted to find Inshiran\u2019s body. After that one letter, there had been no further communications from Avelonar, and letters to him had been returned marked UNKNOWN<\/small>.<\/p>\n

I was puzzled by another thing. \u201cDid your sister have any money of her own? Something that would tempt a man like Mer Avelonar into marriage?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mer Urmenezh nodded grimly. \u201cOur mother\u2019s father\u2014for she was an only child\u2014chose to leave his money to her oldest daughter rather than to her family. Inshiran received a monthly allotment, most of which she contributed to the household, but the money remained under her control.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd thus when she left, you lost that income.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened to the money at her death?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have no idea. We do not know if she made a will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe shall have to find out. It also might help you locate Mer Avelonar. If anything was left to him, the lawyers must have some means of communicating with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are wise, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMerely practiced,\u201d I said. \u201cHis behavior throughout has been that of a man who wants something other than a wife from his marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has behaved vilely,\u201d said Mer Urmenezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. But our question is, where would he have had her buried?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWherever was cheapest,\u201d Mer Urmenezh said bitterly.<\/p>\n

\u201cCertainly that seems like a good way to start,\u201d I said, and thus I had begun with the poorest cemeteries in the Airmen\u2019s Quarter and had worked my way slowly through them.<\/p>\n

I had been sure when I reached Ulvanensee, the municipal cemetery, that I would find her there, for municipal burial was cheap. But in their enormous, centuries-old ledgers, where they kept all the <\/span>names of the dead, Anora and his prelates had no record of burial for anyone named Inshiran, and I wandered the entire width and breadth of the cemetery and did not find a headstone for her. She had not been dead long enough to have been moved to the catacombs, for which I was thankful. At that point, finding her would have been impossible.<\/p>\n

But, no, she was not there. She was in Ulchoranee, where Avelonar must have been sure no one would ever think to look for her.<\/p>\n

I felt considerable satisfaction to have proved him wrong.<\/p>\n

\n

I spent the first part of the morning in my cold office writing a letter to Mer Urmenezh, informing him of my findings and giving him what advice I could on how to proceed. It was a grim task, but I felt that I had at least performed the duties of my office to the best of my ability. I told him that he should speak to the clerics at the Sanctuary of Csaivo about an autopsy. They might or might not be able to find evidence of murder this long after death\u2014it would depend on how Avelonar had killed her, if he had, and how the body had decayed. But it was necessary that they look.<\/p>\n

I had no suggestions about finding Avelonar.<\/p>\n

Halfway through the morning, I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior appeared in the doorway. He was dressed with great elegance, this time in dark green with emerald chip earrings.<\/p>\n

I felt intensely shabby, but I set aside my pen and paper and said, \u201cHow may we help you, Mer Pel-Thenhior?\u201d<\/p>\n

He bowed, echoing my formality, and said, \u201cWe have come to petition you to witness for the death of Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin. And again, to offer our help.\u201d<\/p>\n

I got up gratefully and said, \u201cThen let us go examine her room.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

Walking across the Abandoned Bridge with Pel-Thenhior was a different experience. He seemed to know all the performers and street philosophers and most of the barrow-men. We actually stopped for several minutes while he haggled with one of them over a book, a squat duodecimo volume the approximate size of a half-brick. Pel-Thenhior apologized when he came back, but he was too pleased with his purchase for me to be irritated.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s The Complete Operas of Pel-Teramed,<\/i>\u201d he said, as if that would explain everything. Then he laughed and said, \u201cI beg your pardon. Pel-Teramed was a southern Barizheise dramatist who lived about two hundred years ago. There was a fad for his operas in the elven cities when my grandfather on the Thenhior side was a boy, so that there are volumes of his operas floating around the great book\u2014\u201d He paused, searching for a word. \u201c\u2014the great secondhand book market that exists piecemeal across Amalo, one shop here, another barrow there. But it has taken a long time for the Complete Operas<\/i> to circulate to me. Sadly, it\u2019s scripts only, or we\u2019d need a barrow of our own.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you intend to perform one of his operas at the Vermilion Opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt it,\u201d he said cheerfully. \u201cThey\u2019re bloodthirsty old things and full of people swearing revenge over their beloveds\u2019 literal corpses. But now that I own<\/i> it, I can see if perhaps I can adapt something for a more modern sensibility. Or just enjoy them and the memory of my grandfather telling me the plots when I was little. That\u2019s probably what made me want to write scripts as well as music, come to think of it. Because otherwise I\u2019d be stuck writing music for other people\u2019s stories.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you still perform?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can,<\/i>\u201d he said, \u201cbut I\u2019ll never make a principal singer, and in any event I\u2019m temperamentally better suited to telling everyone else what to do.\u201d He grinned, inviting me to enjoy the joke at his own expense, and I was surprised to find myself laughing.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t laugh enough, othala,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cIs it the nature of your calling?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cNot all prelates of Ulis are gloomy by temperament,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you are?\u201d<\/p>\n

I hesitated, Evru so present in my mind that for a moment I could not speak, and Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cI beg your pardon. I should not have asked that question.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is a good question,\u201d I said, \u201cbut I do not know the answer to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

His brows drew together, but he said nothing.<\/p>\n

I said, picking my way through a morass of truth, \u201cI have been grieving for a long time for someone who was very dear to me. And it is only recently that I have been shown that my calling did not die with them. I suppose I simply got out of the habit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is very sad,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

I shrugged uneasily. \u201cIt is in the past.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it? I think I would argue otherwise, but I do not mean to make you uncomfortable. Let us talk of other things. I mostly talk about opera, which is very boring of me, so you should pick the topic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have no gift for conversation,\u201d I said truthfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s just because you haven\u2019t had the right partners. Are you happy here in Amalo or do you miss the court?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hated the court,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior\u2019s eyebrows went up. \u201cYou are frank. Why did you hate it? Most people dream of going to the Untheileneise Court.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was there on charity,\u201d I said. \u201cCharity grudgingly given and grudgingly accepted. And being a member of my cousin Csoru\u2019s household would sour anyone on court life.\u201d<\/p>\n

He eyed me sidelong. \u201cRumor has it that you have spoken with the emperor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is he like? All we get are the lithographs of the coronation, and they don\u2019t do justice to anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is about your height and very thin. His skin is darker than yours and his eyes are very pale. In feature, he rather takes after his father.\u201d I thought for a moment about how to describe Edrehasivar VII. \u201cHe is soft-spoken, patient, honorable.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill he be a good emperor, do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYes,\u201d I said with conviction. \u201cHe is now and he will continue to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

The house on North Petunia Street was as I had left it, venerable lady on the porch and all. \u201cOthala!\u201d she said. \u201cYou are back and you have brought a friend.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Nadin,\u201d I said, \u201cthis is I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior, who worked with Min Shelsin at the Vermilion Opera. Mer Pel-Thenhior, this is Min Rhade\u00e4n Nadin.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior made a formal bow, which pleased Min Nadin greatly. She said, \u201cYou must be here about the closet. Vinsu is at her wits\u2019 end.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe closet?\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Shelsin\u2019s closet is remarkable,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo in,\u201d said Min Nadin. \u201cVinsu will only be relieved to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am agog,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, and followed me into the house.<\/p>\n

Merrem Nadaran emerged from the back, her hands covered in flour, and said, \u201cOh, othala, you\u2019ve come back!\u201d Whereas with Min Nadin it had been a greeting, with Merrem Nadaran it was plainly a cry for help. \u201cWhat am I to do with all those clothes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have brought someone from the Vermilion Opera,\u201d I said, feeling doubly fortunate that Pel-Thenhior was with me, \u201cwho may be able to help. This is I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior. Mer Pel-Thenhior, this is Merrem Vinsu Nadaran.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh dear, and me all over flour. Please go up! I can\u2019t leave my baking.\u201d She vanished again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am even more agog,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

We climbed the stairs and found Min Shelsin\u2019s room. The door was open and it looked as if Merrem Nadaran was starting to clean out Min Shelsin\u2019s things. I crossed the room and opened the closet.<\/p>\n

After a moment, Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cI understand Merrem Nadaran\u2019s despair.\u201d<\/p>\n

The great swirl of color seemed even brighter than I remembered. I said, \u201cI thought perhaps Min Shelsin was borrowing her costumes from the theater.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Borrowing\u2019 is a very kind word, othala, but unfortunately <\/span>imprecise. \u2018Borrowing without permission\u2019 would be closer. \u2018Stealing\u2019 would be closer still.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was afraid that might be the case.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am surprised and a little dismayed that no one ever said anything to me. Here\u2019s Ishoru\u2019s dress from Emperor Edretantivar.<\/i>\u201d He pulled an opulent pearl-white gown off the bar and all but threw it at me. \u201cThis is the dress the chorus wore in The Cavaliers of Zha\u00f6<\/i> five years ago. Anmura give me strength, here\u2019s the Second Maiden from The Castle of Shorivee<\/i> and the Eldest Rose from The Dream of the Empress Corivero.<\/i> I wonder if she was planning to bring it back for our production this autumn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s another bar behind that one,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior made a noise of fury and disappeared into the closet. I laid my armful of finery carefully on the bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe wasn\u2019t even in Calistrana<\/i>!\u201d Pel-Thenhior shouted from the depths of the closet. \u201cThis is one of Ama\u00f6\u2019s costumes. The wardrobe staff is going to have hysterics, joy or fury I don\u2019t know which.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre they all<\/i> stolen gowns?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly the expensive ones,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said sourly.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow could she steal so many costumes and not have anyone notice?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019d seen the Opera\u2019s wardrobe, you wouldn\u2019t ask that question. Osreian have mercy on us, is there another bar behind this one? This closet is like a dragon\u2019s cave.\u201d A pause full of rustling noises. \u201cYes, but there\u2019s nothing stolen on it. Thank goodness. I\u2019m not sure my heart could have taken it.\u201d More rustling and Pel-Thenhior emerged from the closet, his braids awry and dust on his coat. \u201cThe problem is how I get all of these costumes back<\/i> to the Opera. Arvene\u00e4n clearly stole them just by wearing them home\u2014someone<\/i> must have known she was doing it, and I rather want to talk to that someone about what they were thinking\u2014but I\u2019m going to have to hire a carter. There\u2019s just too many of them to carry without dragging them through the muck of the streets.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything else we should look for that she might have <\/span>stolen\u2014or anything that the Opera can use? You said she had no family, and Merrem Nadaran clearly wants none of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGloves,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said promptly. \u201cWe go through gloves at a pace you would not believe\u2014and that\u2019s with<\/i> mending them until there\u2019s simply nothing left to set a stitch in.\u201d After a moment\u2019s reflection, he added, \u201cAlso petticoats in good repair. I am very pleased with the idea of Arvene\u00e4n somehow paying the Opera back for this monstrous theft.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRestitution,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He laughed. \u201cI suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m quite serious. As a Witness for the Dead, it is part of my duties to see that the dead both give and receive restitution.\u201d I started opening drawers, but was stopped almost immediately by a flock of pawn tickets like sleeping moths. \u201cI think I know where all her jewelry went.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior came to see. \u201cOh dear,\u201d he said. \u201cWell, that\u2019s beyond our reach.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said grimly. \u201cBut perhaps the pawnbrokers will at least let me match the tickets.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you need to?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. \u201cWhich means yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

We scavenged through Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin\u2019s room that morning, piling everything that belonged or might be of use to the Vermilion Opera on the bed. Merrem Nadaran was only too pleased to have the proportions of her headache diminished. Aside from the gowns, like the plumage of unimaginable birds, we took gloves, handkerchiefs, petticoats, combs and tashin sticks (many of which were also the property of the Vermilion Opera, recognizable by the tiny letters VO<\/small> scratched into them with the point of a needle), silk stockings, and shoes.<\/p>\n

As we worked, Pel-Thenhior told me more about Min Shelsin in bits and pieces. He talked about her voice, which he said was <\/span>\u201cexcellent but not incomparable. She talked about the Amal\u2019opera, but she could never have been a principal there, and she knew it. And Arvene\u00e4n loved<\/i> being a principal. I don\u2019t think she would ever have forgiven me for giving Zhelsu to Othoro.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Opera must have another principal mid-soprano,\u201d I said. \u201cIt would have been in the papers if you were regularly casting a goblin woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWouldn\u2019t it, though?\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cMerrem Anshonaran is away to have her first child. She stayed absolutely as late as she could. We will welcome her back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot like Min Shelsin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot in the least.\u201d<\/p>\n

A little later, he said, \u201cAll singers are gossips\u2014and I frankly include myself in that\u2014but Arvene\u00e4n enjoyed telling people things that would hurt them. She loved starting fights, although she hated being in fights herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe preferred causing trouble unseen,\u201d I said, thinking of one of my parishioners in Aveio.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a bad way of putting it,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, carefully bringing out from the closet\u2019s second bar a midnight-blue dress made of velvet and layer after layer of gauze dyed to match. \u201cShe hated to be seen for what she was, which was probably why she valued those two little clerks so greatly. They would always think the best of her and she needed that.\u201d He laid the blue dress across the bed and stood staring at it absently. \u201cThis is a costume from The Masque of the Night Empress,<\/i> which we performed to celebrate Prince Orchenis\u2019s wedding. Just before the crash of the Wisdom of Choharo.<\/i> And Arvene\u00e4n stole it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is a beautiful gown,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know why I\u2019m surprised,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cIf she\u2019d had any decency, she wouldn\u2019t have been stealing from the Opera to start with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe might not have meant it to be stealing,\u201d I said, a little hesitantly, for I was not sure if I believed my own argument.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t know Arvene\u00e4n. This is thousands of muranai\u2019s worth <\/span>of costumes, and I guarantee she had no intention of ever returning any of them. She never let go of anything. Not a grudge, not a zashan. She was like a lamprey eel, and to tell you a horrible truth, I am not sorry that she is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you not afraid I will use that truth against you?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stopped and considered me for a moment, then said, \u201cNo. You are honest and you serve Ulis faithfully. If you were merely looking for a convenient person to blame, you wouldn\u2019t have made it as far as the Vermilion Opera in the first place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are wagering rather a lot on your reading of my character.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t a wager,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

\n

When we had the contents of Min Shelsin\u2019s room organized into things the Vermilion Opera could use and things it couldn\u2019t, Pel-Thenhior left to hire a carter. I went downstairs to talk to Min Nadin.<\/p>\n

It was not difficult to get her started talking, and I soon had another portrait of Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin. This one was a good lodger: quiet, polite, always paid the rent on time. But she wasn\u2019t friendly with anyone, not the other lodgers, not Merrem Nadaran, not Min Nadin herself. \u201cAnd we tried,\u201d she said, \u201cbut Min Shelsin wasn\u2019t interested. The only thing you could ever get her to talk about was opera, and then she wouldn\u2019t stop.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was surprised Min Shelsin hadn\u2019t wanted admirers. \u201cWhat did she talk about? Her fellow singers or the operas they were performing or\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe complained<\/i> about her fellow singers,\u201d Min Nadin said tartly. \u201cBut she really liked to talk about her parts and how difficult they were\u2014they were always difficult\u2014and if there were any good duets and the like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she ever sing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, and I never asked. She was a conceited child\u2014there was no need to encourage her.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cShe must have practiced,\u201d I said. \u201cBut not here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot here,\u201d agreed Min Nadin.<\/p>\n

\n

That afternoon, I went back to the Vermilion Opera. This time, the goblin boy in the ticket office said, \u201cMer Pel-Thenhior says you\u2019re to go in,\u201d and pointed to the great double doors of the auditorium.<\/p>\n

I went through one set of double doors and into the foyer, with staircases up to the balconies and passages leading off on both sides to the boxes on this floor. There was another set of double doors in front of me, and when I pushed open one leaf, I heard a woman singing.<\/p>\n

I slipped to one side, letting the door swing silently shut behind me. She was singing, incongruously, about manufactory work, about getting up before dawn and going to bed after dark, about soot and machine grease and how the clothes of a manufactory worker were never clean.<\/p>\n

I could see her now, a tall goblin woman, heavy featured and with granite-gray skin, standing alone on the stage. She had been Merrem Elorezho last night, but had had no solos, and that seemed to me to be a terrible pity. Even singing softly, even singing about ugly things, she had the most beautiful voice I had ever heard. Her voice soared, lamenting, turning a discontent that many might call trivial\u2014especially in relation to the likelihood of maiming or death which was also part of a manufactory worker\u2019s daily life\u2014into a plangent symbol of all the things a manufactory worker would never earn enough to have, starting with clean clothes.<\/p>\n

For a few minutes, I thought she was alone in the auditorium, singing only to the vacant seats and dim gas globes. But then, as her song came to an end, Pel-Thenhior\u2019s voice, instantly recognizable, shouted from the floor of the auditorium, \u201cWhere\u2019s my Chorus of Workers?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a moment\u2019s silence, as if no one was there to answer <\/span>the question, and then an elven man leaned out of the wings and said, \u201cSorry, I\u00e4na, we\u2019ve got in a bit of a muddle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA muddle? What is there to get muddled over? Othoro\u201d\u2014which he pronounced Barizheise-fashion, with the emphasis on the first syllable\u2014\u201csings \u2018cruel clock masters\u2019 and the Chorus of Workers enters from both sides of the stage. I\u2019m sure that\u2019s what I wrote.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that,<\/i>\u201d said the elven man, in a tone suggesting \u201cthat\u201d was exactly what it was.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what in\u2014no, never mind, I\u2019ll just come up there.\u201d Pel-Thenhior bounded across a plank laid from the floor of the auditorium to the stage as a makeshift stair, and vanished into the wings.<\/p>\n

The goblin woman remained where she was, as tranquil as a statue.<\/p>\n

I moved cautiously down the aisle to stand by the row where Pel-Thenhior had been sitting, easy to identify because of the stacks of paper holding one seat down.<\/p>\n

The goblin woman saw me and called, \u201cI\u00e4na, there\u2019s someone here to see you.\u201d She squinted at me past the footlights and added, \u201cI think it\u2019s a prelate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA prelate?\u201d Pel-Thenhior erupted from the wings. He saw me and smiled, saying, \u201cOthala Celehar! Welcome to the madhouse! All right, everyone, give me a moment. Vethet, kindly get your muddle sorted out.\u201d He bounded back across the plank and up the aisle. \u201cHow would you like to do things, othala? I found out the names of Arvene\u00e4n\u2019s two friends in the offices.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat will be very helpful. I would like to speak to the company of singers first, though.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many are there in your company?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe do everything by twos: sopranos, mid-sopranos, altos, tenors, baritones, and basses. Then there\u2019s the chorus, which is another twenty, and the children\u2019s chorus, if you want to count them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cChildren are as observant as anybody,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue enough. So I guess that\u2019s fifty-two all told.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you use them all in every opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cNot hardly,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cMost operas only use half our principals, in different configurations, and only maybe one in five has a children\u2019s choir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how many are in this opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEight principals and both choruses. And my junior principals who don\u2019t have named parts are singing in the chorus, because I wanted to give as much impression of a busy manufactory as I could.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas Min Shelsin the only troublemaker?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTura\u2014Tura Olora, the senior bass\u2014is never satisfied with anything, but I wouldn\u2019t call him a troublemaker. And Nanavo\u2019s a gossip, but she doesn\u2019t mean any harm by it. Not like Arvene\u00e4n. So, yes, Arvene\u00e4n was our only deliberate troublemaker. And there\u2019s another horrible epitaph.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Shelsin made her own choices.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMeaning that if she wanted me to speak well of her, she should have behaved better? Perhaps. Or perhaps I have a malicious tongue.\u201d He raised his voice to a ringing shout: \u201cEveryone out on stage!\u201d<\/p>\n

They came in ones and twos, then in a rush, and then stragglers. The children came in a long line, holding hands. Almost all of the singers had elven coloring except for the goblin woman\u2014Othoro Vakrezharad, I remembered from last night\u2019s program\u2014one man in the chorus, and three of the children.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cFirst, I think you all already know that Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

A murmur ran through the group, but no one said anything loud enough that I could hear it, and there were no immediate signs that the news was painful to any of them.<\/p>\n

\u201cSecond,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, \u201cthis is Othala Celehar. He wishes to talk to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

They all stared at me.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI am a Witness for the Dead. Right now, I am witnessing for Min Shelsin, who was murdered\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMurdered?\u201d<\/i> said someone, sounding both shocked and disbelieving.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cSomeone threw her in the Mich\u2019maika,\u201d I said. \u201cHer skull was fractured before she could drown, but it was clear murder either way.\u201d<\/p>\n

In my memory, a number of my superiors bemoaned my inability to be tactful.<\/p>\n

The singers of the Vermilion Opera all looked rather stunned. Then Min Vakrezharad said, \u201cYou\u2019re the Witness vel ama.<\/i> I have read about you in the papers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m here to try to find out more about Min Shelsin\u2014anything at all that you can tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was friends with some of the office clerks,\u201d said Min Vakrezharad. \u201cThat\u2019s all I know, for she disliked me intensely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was envious,\u201d said another woman. \u201cEnvious of your voice, and then the best mid-soprano role to come along for thirty years and she<\/i> didn\u2019t get it. I tell you, Othoro, if you<\/i>\u2019d turned up murdered, we\u2019d all know who did it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Someone as tactless as me. I made a note of her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe didn\u2019t talk to us,\u201d said the woman standing next to the tactless one.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe clerk she was friends with is named Meletho,\u201d said a man.<\/p>\n

\u201cMeletho Balvedin and Tore\u00e4n Nochenin,\u201d said a woman.<\/p>\n

I glanced at Pel-Thenhior, who nodded. Those were the names he had found, too.<\/p>\n

They were all looking at me, hoping, as people always did hope in my investigations, that if they gave me someone else\u2019s name, I would go away.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cDo you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence. Even the tactless woman said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cThese aren\u2019t all of your singers, are they?\u201d I asked Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, just the ones for this scene and the children\u2019s chorus for the entr\u2019acte. And To\u00efno, who is very kindly helping us with the chorus this afternoon, is Arvene\u00e4n\u2019s understudy.\u201d<\/p>\n

A tall elven woman blushed scarlet and nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything else you can tell me?\u201d I asked the singers. \u201cAnything at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>They looked blankly at each other, shaking their heads. Then one of the children said, \u201cYou should ask Matron. Matron knows everything.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

I gave Pel-Thenhior a questioning look, and he said, \u201cWe have a woman who minds the children\u2019s chorus.\u201d He raised his voice to a shout: \u201cDavelo! I need you on stage!\u201d<\/p>\n

She was a stout middle-aged goblin lady with a kind face. She listened to the news calmly and said, \u201cWhat a terrible shame.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cI have<\/i> to continue this rehearsal. Davelo, will you talk to Othala Celehar? Tell him everything you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the children?\u201d said Davelo.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan stay on stage if they sit quietly.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

The children giggled, obviously knowing better than to be afraid of Pel-Thenhior\u2019s ringing voice, but at once sat down, each child the same distance from the child before and after, as if they had rehearsed it.<\/p>\n

The goblin woman crossed the plank with less \u00e9lan than Pel-Thenhior, but her steps were steady and her balance assured. She said, \u201cGood day, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

I bowed back.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am Davelo Matano,\u201d she said. \u201cI will be happy to help you in any way that I can, othala, but let us go out to the lobby, where we will be able to hear ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

At that moment, Pel-Thenhior shouted, \u201cAll right, back to the beginning of Zhelsu\u2019s aria. Chorus of Workers off stage, Chorus of Ghosts stay put.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cYour suggestion is a good one.\u201d I followed Merrem Matano up the aisle and back out into the cavernous lobby. As the door swung shut behind us, she said, \u201cI don\u2019t know, really, that I can be of any help to you, othala. I was not an intimate of Min Shelsin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I am hoping you will tell me more about\u2026\u201d I groped for the words to explain. \u201cAbout how she fit here.\u201d It was the opposite of stathan,<\/i> but there wasn\u2019t a word for it, for the connections a person created during their lifetime. By studying the connections, you learned a great deal about the person, and <\/span>the more I learned about Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin, the more connections I traced, the more likely it was that I would be able to find her connection to the person who had killed her.<\/p>\n

Merrem Matano seemed to understand something of what I meant, for she said at once, \u201cMin Shelsin was a troublemaker. For her, nothing was ever done right. Her part was never big enough, the other principals were never good enough, her costumes were never flattering enough\u2026\u201d She shook her head. \u201cIf she had not had such a beautiful voice, she would have been dismissed from the company a dozen times over. To\u00efno, who has her parts now, is hardworking and uncomplaining, but she does not have Min Shelsin\u2019s voice. Only Othoro Vakrezharad matched her, and Min Vakrezharad was never going to get the best parts. Not until Mer Pel-Thenhior wrote Zhelsu.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Pel-Thenhior wrote an elven opera with a goblin lead,\u201d said Merrem Matano. \u201cThat\u2019s never been done before. He wrote it for Min Vakrezharad, although he denies it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Min Shelsin was unhappy?\u201d<\/p>\n

She corrected me calmly: \u201cMin Shelsin was livid.<\/i> Tamo was right that if Othoro<\/i> had been murdered, it would be no great feat to find her murderer. Min Shelsin became even more of a fault-finder than usual, and she kept trying to get Mer Pel-Thenhior to increase her part. They had terrible, yelling arguments in the auditorium, in front of everyone, which I think is very bad for the children.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. I wondered, though not out loud, if I had just found a motive for Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin\u2019s murder.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was driving the wardrobe ladies to tears. She hated the costumes\u2014which, I admit, they are all workers\u2019 clothes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDull colors, much mended, and frequently ill-fitting?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes\u2014and even then the costumes are much better than the clothes I had as a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy first prelacy was in Lohaiso,\u201d I said, and she nodded understanding.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Min Shelsin could never be satisfied. She had started <\/span>threatening to go to the Marquess Parzhadel\u2014our sponsor\u2014and tell him that Mer Pel-Thenhior was destroying the Vermilion Opera and shouldn\u2019t be allowed to stage Zhelsu<\/i> and all such poison, anything she could think of. Mer Pel-Thenhior laughed at her, but she swore she was going to do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. Mer Pel-Thenhior said it didn\u2019t matter because the marquess already knew all about Zhelsu.<\/i> He wasn\u2019t stupid enough to put on such an opera without our sponsor\u2019s approval. But Min Shelsin would make trouble if she could. It was her way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she have friends outside the Opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe had no time.<\/i> None of the singers does. They are rehearsing four operas, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t known. \u201cFour?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGeneral Olethazh, The Siege of Tekharee,<\/i> and Seleno<\/i> are in performance\u2014the Opera, of course, only performs every third night, but that is still a rigorous schedule\u2014and when Seleno<\/i> closes, Zhelsu<\/i> opens. Then when General Olethazh<\/i> is done, they start performing The Dream of the Empress Corivero<\/i> and when The Siege of Tekharee<\/i> is done, they start The Hotel Hanaveise.<\/i> All year round, it is like this, and the singers only work harder. They have an eitheiavan.\u201d She used an upcountry word for a religious calling, which was a startling echo of last night\u2019s conversation with Pel-Thenhior. \u201cSome of them have their patrons as well, but by and large they live for the Opera.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded my understanding. \u201cDid Min Shelsin have many patrons?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe so,\u201d Merrem Matano said cautiously, \u201cbut I do not know for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDespite what the children said, I do not expect you to know everything,\u201d I said, and got a flicker of a smile in return. \u201cDo you know of any reason someone would want to hurt Min Shelsin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think we all wanted to slap her at one point or another, but nothing worse than that. I know of no reason someone would want to kill her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She hesitated.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cAnything,\u201d I said. \u201cEven something very small.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDuets,\u201d said Merrem Matano. \u201cShe always preferred her duets with men, and she would be much more likely to confide in a man than in a woman. She was that sort of person.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho were her male duet partners?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Veralis Telonar, the junior tenor, in Zhelsu,<\/i> and Mer Cebris Pershar, the senior tenor, in The Siege of Tekharee.<\/i> She wasn\u2019t in General Olethazh,<\/i> which has no mid-soprano roles, and in Seleno<\/i> she had no duets with a man.\u201d She considered a moment, then added, \u201cYou will probably have more luck with Mer Telonar. Mer Pershar detested her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you. Where might I find the two clerks she was friends with?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s easy,\u201d she said. \u201cThey\u2019ll be upstairs. I\u2019ll show you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

The room to which Merrem Matano led me, by a series of what seemed very much like secret passages, was long and lofty, but very narrow. At each of its arched windows was a desk; at each desk was a woman, most of them elven, but there were a few Barizheisoi. They all had their heads bent over their work. After a minute, a woman at the far end of the room got up and walked briskly to where I stood. \u201cGood afternoon. How may I help you, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cMy name is Thara Celehar. I am a Witness for the Dead. I am here because Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin has been murdered.\u201d<\/p>\n

She made the ritual warding gesture. \u201cThat is distressing news,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I do not quite understand why it brings you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have been told that Min Shelsin was friends with two of the clerks here, and I am hoping that they may be able to help me understand Min Shelsin better, so that I may better understand how she came to her death.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her face had become very still. \u201cWhat are their names?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMeletho Balvedin and Tore\u00e4n Nochenin. It is no reflection on them, merely that I hope for their help.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>She nodded, then turned and called, \u201cMeletho! Tore\u00e4n! Attend, please!\u201d<\/p>\n

Two elven women stood up, nervousness plain on their faces, and joined us by the door. They were both blandly pretty, wearing dark, plain dresses, and without jewelry, save that the taller had a pair of cloisonn\u00e9 bead earrings.<\/p>\n

The first woman said, \u201cMinnoi, I am very sorry to tell you that Min Shelsin has been murdered.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was praying it wasn\u2019t true,\u201d said one. \u201cMurdered,\u201d the other whispered, as if the word were a weight against which she could not breathe.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is Othala Celehar. He is a Witness for the Dead, and he has some questions he wishes to ask you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their eyes widened in obvious alarm.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI do not suspect you of involvement, minnoi. I merely seek a better understanding of Min Shelsin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou may leave the room for your discussion,\u201d said the first woman, \u201cbut I will expect you back promptly when you are done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, merrem,\u201d they said in soft, ragged unison, and they preceded me out the door.<\/p>\n

In the corridor, they looked at me anxiously; one of them was fighting not to cry.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cWhich of you is Min Balvedin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is I,\u201d said the slightly taller of the two. By her accent, she came from Zha\u00f6.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you are Min Nochenin,\u201d I said to the other, who nodded and swallowed against tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you for talking to me,\u201d I said. \u201cWill you tell me about Min Shelsin?\u201d<\/p>\n

They complied willingly, and it was quickly apparent that the Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin they had known had been a completely different person from the one Merrem Matano had described. Their Arvene\u00e4n was kind and generous. They were awed that she even spoke to them, she being a principal singer and they merely office clerks.<\/p>\n

It was hard not to be cynical about the friendship Min Balvedin and Min Nochenin described, for they had clearly worshiped <\/span>Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin, and she did not seem to have been the sort of person who would dislike that. They were uncritical and loyal and perhaps it had been a genuine comfort to her to know that she had people who would always be on her side. Perhaps she had merely enjoyed playing the grand lady in front of these two overawed girls. It did seem that she had treated them well, either out of actual fondness or because she knew better than to drive them away.<\/p>\n

When I asked, they admitted that Min Shelsin had patrons. When I asked about names, they said they did not know.<\/p>\n

I raised my eyebrows, and Min Balvedin blushed. \u201cShe did not talk about them very much.\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Nochenin said, \u201cShe talked about Osmer Ponichar sometimes. She showed us the gifts he gave her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGifts?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJewelry for her to wear in performance,\u201d said Min Nochenin. \u201cHe gave her a beautiful set of gold and turquoise earrings, and a silver pendant set with a moonstone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Balvedin chimed in, \u201cAnd a ring that was gold set with amber, and a choker necklace that was silver with garnet drops.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe had to pawn it, though,\u201d Min Nochenin said. \u201cArvene\u00e4n was terrible with money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust terrible,\u201d said Min Balvedin. \u201cAnd she\u2019d never let us help. She said she\u2019d rather pawn her jewelry than her friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

This was completely contrary to everything else I had been told about Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin, but it was impossible to imagine either of these young women successfully telling a lie.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know what sect she belonged to?\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Nochenin frowned. \u201cI think she said once that she was raised in the Harnavetai, but I don\u2019t know if she still practiced.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. While not definitive, that was enough to be able to bury her without offense.<\/p>\n

Min Balvedin was quick to understand why I asked. \u201cWill there be a funeral? I would like to attend.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. She will be buried in the municipal cemetery of the <\/span>Airmen\u2019s Quarter. I will send you word when the date and time have been set. It will be soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

They nodded solemnly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you very much for your help, minnoi,\u201d I said. \u201cI think I have taken up enough of your time.\u201d<\/p>\n

They both glanced involuntarily back at the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I have more questions, may I come talk to you again?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Min Nochenin.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe want to help,\u201d said Min Balvedin.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, minnoi,\u201d I said, and let them return to their work.<\/p>\n

\n

When I found my way back to the auditorium, I found Pel-Thenhior alone, scribbling madly in his notebook. He looked up at my approach and answered the question he read on my face: \u201cI made them all go rest for half an hour. They\u2019re healthier that way and Merrem Matano doesn\u2019t glare at me quite so much. Have you had any success?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have heard,\u201d I said carefully, \u201cthat Min Shelsin was very unhappy about your new opera.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cShe didn\u2019t understand why a goblin girl should get the best role and she said so. Frequently.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she threaten to go to the Marquess Parzhadel about her complaints?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cI told her it would be a waste of her breath and Parzhadel\u2019s time, but she wasn\u2019t listening. No great surprise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she actually go?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have no idea. If she did, she kept quiet about it, which is exactly what she would do if she didn\u2019t get what she wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there a way I can find out for certain?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. Parzhadel\u2019s secretary\u2014Mer Dravenezh. If you go to the Parzhadeise compound and ask for him, he\u2019ll be able to tell <\/span>you.\u201d He cocked his head at me. \u201cDo you suspect me of murdering her to protect my opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

I managed neither no<\/i> nor yes,<\/i> only a weak \u201cPerhaps?\u201d<\/p>\n

It made him laugh. \u201cI might kill someone over an opera, but it would never be one of my singers. Not even Arvene\u00e4n. I need them all too badly. To be blindingly insensitive for a moment, this is a very bad time to lose a singer.\u201d<\/p>\n

I liked him for being willing to say it outright, rather than leaving it to haunt my investigation unsaid and unknowable. \u201cPerhaps you can tell me where you were when she died?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHere,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said promptly. \u201cWe performed General Olethazh.<\/i> It wasn\u2019t over before midnight, and I have an auditorium full of people who can attest that I was in my box.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is very useful,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really didn\u2019t kill her,\u201d he said, \u201calthough I can see why you might think I did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey would have remembered you in the Zheimela,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t think you were there.\u201d<\/p>\n

He thought a moment, then took my meaning. \u201cI will have to tell my mother that being gaudy has its uses.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I went home, shared sardines with the cats that were not mine, meditated, went to bed, and dreamed nothing that I remembered. I woke in the middle of the night, as I sometimes did, and could not remember where I was. I lay awake for several minutes, slowly reasoning it out. This wasn\u2019t Lohaiso, where I\u2019d never had a room to myself. It wasn\u2019t Aveio\u2014my heart beat more painfully even at the thought\u2014it wasn\u2019t my tiny barren room at the Untheileneise Court. Finally I remembered Amalo, remembered that I was in my own room with my own things, few though they were, and was able to fall back to sleep.<\/p>\n

When I woke again it was daylight, and I lay for a long time <\/span>looking at the slivers of sunlight on the wall before I was able to bully myself into getting up.<\/p>\n

\n

The Parzhadeise compound was in the plains to the northwest of the city, where the nobles had fled as the wealthy merchants began taking over the districts immediately around the Veren\u2019malo. I made a painful calculation of finances against time and physical fatigue and hired a horse from the municipal livery at the Atta stop on the Kinreho line.<\/p>\n

She was a good horse, a pacer from the western plains, and had probably ended up in a livery stable because her owner had been forced to stave off bankruptcy by selling his horses. She carried me smoothly and swiftly from Atta out along the Kinreho Road to a stone wall and a gate with the Parzhadeise crest on it.<\/p>\n

The elderly elven gatekeeper came out to see who I was, and I said, \u201cI am hoping to speak to Mer Dravenezh. Is he here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can see,\u201d the gatekeeper said unencouragingly. \u201cWho should I say is calling?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Thara Celehar, and I am a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

The gatekeeper\u2019s expression did not change. He said only, \u201cI will inquire,\u201d and vanished.<\/p>\n

I waited. I had no means to compel Mer Dravenezh to speak to me, only the hope that either curiosity or conscience would draw him out. As the minutes ticked by, it seemed increasingly unlikely that he would agree to see me. When the gatekeeper finally returned, I fully expected to be told to leave. But instead, the gatekeeper said, \u201cYou are welcome in the House Parzhadada, othala. Please enter.\u201d He swung one leaf of the gate open, and I led my rented horse inside.<\/p>\n

The compound was extensive, but the main house and stables were relatively close to the road. The groom was polite about the livery horse, and Mer Dravenezh was waiting at the door to a covered walkway that led from the stables to the house.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWe are Ema Dravenezh, othala,\u201d he said, leading me to a small, austerely appointed room, \u201cand we will help you in any way we can.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ema Dravenezh was as I remembered from seeing him at the Opera: a young man, with pale elven coloring except for the red-orange fire of his eyes. He was dressed in a sober-colored frogged coat, black trousers, and black, laced boots, and he wore his hair with two plain tortoiseshell combs.<\/p>\n

I said, following his use of the formal first, \u201cWe are Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead. We have come on behalf of Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Shelsin has died?\u201d he said with what I thought was genuine shock. \u201cWe noted her absence from the stage, but did not imagine it was\u00a0\u2026 What happened to her? She had made an appointment to speak to the marquess, and we were quite surprised she did not keep it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen was the appointment for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was already dead. Someone threw her in the Mich\u2019maika on the ninth.\u201d<\/p>\n

He flinched a little and made the ritual warding gesture. \u201cHow horrible. But we do not quite understand why you are here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone was angry enough at Min Shelsin to murder her,\u201d I said. \u201cOne way to find out who is to find out who she<\/i> was angry at. And we know she was angry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe wasn\u2019t angry at anyone here,\u201d Mer Dravenezh said defensively.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not. But she was coming out to talk to the Marquess Parzhadel because she was angry. Did she give you any information?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer note was very brief. Merely a request to talk to the marquess about matters of interest. He said he already knew what she wanted, but that he would see her, that it was the easiest way to head off trouble. But she did not come.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA note? Did you keep it?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWe keep all the marquess\u2019s correspondence,\u201d said Mer Dravenezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cMight we see it?\u201d<\/p>\n

He gave me a suspicious look, but said, \u201cYes, of course.\u201d He was gone for only a few moments, and returned with a plain cream envelope, which he handed to me.<\/p>\n

Min Shelsin\u2019s handwriting was well-educated and assured, the ink she used very black. The contents of the note were as Mer Dravenezh had said. The extravagant curls and swoops of her letters gave me a vivid sense of who she had been, how she had faced the world. I handed the note back to Mer Dravenezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Marquess Parzhadel knew what she wanted. Did anyone else?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo one here. The marquess keeps his own counsel. We do not, of course, know to whom Min Shelsin may have spoken.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d I said. He was still defensive, as if I had made an accusation. \u201cHad she ever made an appointment with the marquess before?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnce,\u201d Mer Dravenezh said with plain reluctance.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you saw her? In person, that is, not performing. What did you think of her?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked startled to be asked, but answered reflexively, as all polite elven children are taught to respond to questions, \u201cOverdressed. Overdressed and bourgeois-vulgar.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought of Min Shelsin\u2019s closet full of stolen dresses.<\/p>\n

Mer Dravenezh thought something over, then surprised me by adding to his answer: \u201cShe was a woman with the worst kind of temper, for she was vengeful. If you angered her, she would not be satisfied until she had found a way to hurt you. The last time she was here, she was trying to get one of the other singers dismissed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow long ago was that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo years. Maybe a little more. The marquess sent her away and told her she was lucky he didn\u2019t dismiss her.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

I reckoned that my chances of getting in to see the marquess <\/span>were nonexistent, but I had to try. \u201cMight it be possible for us to see the marquess? We need only a minute of his time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mer Dravenezh looked horrified. \u201cThe Marquess Parzhadel is a very busy person.\u201d<\/p>\n

That might or might not be true, but it was a clear sign I was not going to get past Mer Dravenezh. I thanked him for his help and departed.<\/p>\n

\n

On the ride back to the livery stable, I tried to assess what I now knew.<\/p>\n

On the tenth a body had been pulled out of the canal at the Reveth\u2019veraltamar. Subpraeceptor Azhanharad and I had determined cause and manner of death: no mistaking that this was murder. I knew the dock she had been thrown off of, behind the Canalman\u2019s Dog, and I had found places in the Zheimela where she had been the night she died; in one of them I learned she was Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin, a mid-soprano with the Vermilion Opera. The Opera had provided a wealth of information, including the fact that at the time of her death, Min Shelsin had been furiously angry about the opera in rehearsal and had in fact made an appointment to speak to the Opera\u2019s sponsor. An appointment she had not been alive to keep.<\/p>\n

But where was the cause of her murder? In the Zheimela district, where her death had found her? Or in the Opera, where she had lived, where she had demanded attention (a conceited child, as Min Nadin had called her)? I would have to ask Pel-Thenhior what kind of salary she commanded, and I wondered if anyone knew how much she had made in gifts and trinkets from her patrons. I wondered if she<\/i> had known.<\/p>\n

Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin had been a troublemaker and a thief, but so bad with money that she had a drawer full of pawn tickets instead of jewelry. She had been infuriated by Pel-Thenhior\u2019s new opera, so infuriated that she had genuinely intended to go to the Marquess Parzhadel, even though her previous experience would have suggested <\/span>it was futile. Did she simply not learn from setbacks? Or had she had some real reason to think that this time Parzhadel would listen? But listen to what<\/i>? Parzhadel already knew about the opera. Was there something else she could tell him, something about Pel-Thenhior or one of the other principal singers, that she might think she could use as leverage?<\/p>\n

I turned the idea around in my head as the livery stable horse and I went from the long stone walls with which the nobles of Amalo defined and defended their property, to farmland, interspersed with the occasional smaller compound, to rows of small, neat houses, brightly colored, and then to the city proper, where the municipal livery and the tram station awaited us. But I gained no new insights.<\/p>\n

\n

The next afternoon, the Vermilion Opera\u2019s auditorium was much busier, not just one woman standing and singing on the stage, but a number of people making entrances and exits; pausing in their singing to argue with Pel-Thenhior; standing just off stage to listen. There was a harried-looking young elven man sitting beside Pel-Thenhior in the auditorium, scribbling notes in a giant bound book that I could just see was full of musical notations.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior saw me and smiled, but continued his argument with a barrel-chested elven man whose voice was a deep grumble, like thunder far in the distance. I could not follow their argument at all. I occupied myself in waiting by watching the other singers. Another elven man and an elven woman were currently on stage; the woman was To\u00efno, who had been given Min Shelsin\u2019s roles.<\/p>\n

Was that<\/i> a motive for murder? No woman could have hurled Min Shelsin off the dock like that\u2014her memory of it still vivid in my mind\u2014but men could be hired or (looking at the bass singer\u2019s massive chest) suborned. However, the young woman\u2019s face did not show any pleasure, but only anxiety. I would have to speak to her, but she did not look at all like someone whose schemes had come to fruition.<\/p>\n

<\/span>The other man, presumably one of the tenors, had what my Celehadeise grandmother would have called \u201cgood\u201d elven features. He was tall, lean, beautifully poised. Most opera singers wore wigs for performance, but this man\u2019s hair was long and thick and glossy white, and would clearly take an elaborate court dressing. Not that that would matter for this opera, given what Merrem Matano had said about manufactory workers. I wondered if that bothered him as much as it had bothered Min Shelsin.<\/p>\n

Finally, Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cTura, we could argue all day, but you\u2019re not going to win this one. My original phrasing stands.\u201d He turned to me and said, \u201cOthala, greetings! How may we help you?\u201d using the first-person plural as if there was no doubt that all the company was equally eager to catch Min Shelsin\u2019s killer.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need to speak to your principal singers,\u201d I said, \u201cas many of them as are here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is this?\u201d said Tura\u2014his last name, I remembered, was Olora\u2014bristling. \u201cWho is this person?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is the Witness for the Dead,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cHe is here because of Arvene\u00e4n\u2019s murder.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mer Olora\u2019s face resembled a stunned carp\u2019s, and he did not protest further.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can do that,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said to me, \u201cbut first you should come meet a young lady who has a very interesting story.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed him into the maze of the Opera\u2014a different route than Merrem Matano\u2019s, ending at a set of double doors painted, in beautiful script, with the word WARDROBE<\/small>.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to know how she\u2019d managed to steal so many costumes,\u201d Pel-Thenhior explained, \u201cso I started asking. And I found Min Leverin.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Wardrobe Department was a stunning experience, Min Shelsin\u2019s closet dozens of times over, racks upon racks of elaborate costumes, silk and brocade and velvet, trimmed with lace and pearls and ermine and bullion, in a bewildering array of colors and fashions. Pel-Thenhior grinned at the expression on my face and said, \u201cYou do get used to it, but it takes a while. But here. This is Min Leverin.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>She was part goblin, with pale gray skin and tip-tilted eyes as red as rubies. And she was distraught. \u201cMer Pel-Thenhior!\u201d she cried, starting up from the chair where she had been hemming a heavy brocade skirt. \u201cI didn\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLalo, I told you,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cyou aren\u2019t in trouble. The only person I\u2019m angry at is Arvene\u00e4n.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut,\u201d she started. I could see that she had been crying.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cThis is Othala Celehar, the Witness for the Dead who is witnessing for Arvene\u00e4n. I need you to tell him what you told me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her gaze turned apprehensively to me. I said, \u201cI seek only the truth, Min Leverin.\u201d<\/p>\n

It did not appear to comfort her, but she sat down again, dragging the skirt back across her lap and anchoring her needle safely beside her last stitch. She said, \u201cI have been a wardrobe assistant at the Opera for five years. Please, Mer Pel-Thenhior, I don\u2019t know what I\u2019ll do if\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLalo,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, \u201cI\u2019m not going to dismiss you. Merrem Adalharad has told me you are indispensable.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her skin showed a blush, but something in what he said seemed to calm her, for she looked back at me and said, \u201cMin Shelsin caught me with one of the milliner\u2019s girls.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew my ears dropped; I could only hope they both took it as simple surprise. \u201cWhat did she do?\u201d I said, and was relieved that my voice was calm.<\/p>\n

Min Leverin\u2019s blush was deepening by the second, but she said, \u201cShe made a bargain. She wouldn\u2019t tell anyone about me, and I wouldn\u2019t tell anyone when she took costumes home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know she wasn\u2019t bringing them back?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Min Leverin said wretchedly. \u201cBut I didn\u2019t know what to do. I didn\u2019t want to get D\u2014my friend in trouble, and I couldn\u2019t afford\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand,\u201d I said. \u201cHow long has this been going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo years,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat were you going to do when someone noticed?\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cYou must have known it would happen eventually.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Min Leverin. \u201cMin Shelsin said it wouldn\u2019t. She said there\u2019s no inventory and nobody knows all the costumes down here. So I just\u2026\u201d She shrugged hopelessly. \u201cHoped.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Min Shelsin come up with her \u2018bargain\u2019 immediately? Or did she have to think about what she was going to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Leverin frowned over that question for several moments. \u201cShe came to me the next day,\u201d she said. \u201cSo I suppose she didn\u2019t have to think very long.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBlackmail would come naturally to Arvene\u00e4n,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she ask your friend for anything?\u201d I said. \u201cOr just you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Min Leverin said. \u201cWe haven\u2019t\u00a0\u2026 we haven\u2019t really spoken since. But I don\u2019t think my friend has anything Min Shelsin would have wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Min Leverin,\u201d I said. \u201cYou have been very helpful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou aren\u2019t in trouble, Lalo,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cAnd your friend isn\u2019t in trouble, either. I\u2019m not about to punish anyone for being in love.\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Leverin put her face in her hands and sobbed.<\/p>\n

\n

As we walked back to the auditorium, I asked Pel-Thenhior, \u201cDo you think she was blackmailing anyone else at the Opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid to speculate,\u201d he said. \u201cCertainly, we have proof that she wouldn\u2019t balk at doing so if there was something she wanted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a question of whether she would,<\/i> but of whether she could.<\/i> I suppose then the question is whether anyone here had anything she wanted. Aside from the role you wouldn\u2019t give her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe couldn\u2019t blackmail her way into that,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cNo wonder it vexed her so.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered my question about Min Shelsin\u2019s salary, and Pel-Thenhior answered without hesitation, \u201cFour thousand muranai a year. She was not the most highly paid of the singers, which galled <\/span>her, but she was really senior principal in name only\u2014just until Merrem Anshonaran can return from bearing her child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs Min Vakrezharad now senior principal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, although that won\u2019t really count until we start rehearsing The Dream of the Empress Corivero.<\/i> Until then, To\u00efno has the senior principal roles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what do you do about the junior principal mid-soprano?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it can\u2019t be To\u00efno,\u201d he said with a grimace. \u201cAnd Merrem Anshonaran can\u2019t come back for at least another three months. We\u2019ll have to hold auditions, and we\u2019ll end up with three principal mid-sopranos where we only need two\u2014although perhaps Ama\u00f6 will be glad to have someone to share the weight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Vakrezharad won\u2019t go back to the chorus?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot while I\u2019m director here,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

In the auditorium, people were standing in small groups, some of them practicing harmonies, some of them gossiping. Pel-Thenhior called, \u201cI need all principals on stage, please.\u201d Several people on stage turned to face him like sunflowers; others emerged from the wings, all elven in coloring except Min Vakrezharad: four men and four women including Min Shelsin\u2019s replacement. She looked nervous; the others merely seemed curious. Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cMerrai and minnoi, if you would be so kind as to give Othala Celehar your cooperation. He is trying to find the person who murdered Arvene\u00e4n.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now they all looked nervous, which was normal. Few people had Pel-Thenhior\u2019s self-assurance, to look a Witness in the face without flinching.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want them one at a time or all at once?\u201d said Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne at a time,\u201d I said, although I winced at the thought. But talking to people in a group allowed an individual to avoid saying anything, and with these singers I knew I could not afford it.<\/p>\n

I much preferred talking to dead people.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior nodded and said, \u201cWe shall manage. Come up to <\/span>the ticket office where there\u2019s somewhere to sit and you can hear yourself think.\u201d<\/p>\n

I spent the afternoon talking to singers, none of whom had liked Min Shelsin any better than Pel-Thenhior had, but none of whom wanted to admit it. Even Min Vakrezharad, who knew that I already knew of the animosity between her and Min Shelsin, was reluctant to speak frankly about her own feelings. Finally, I said, \u201cI suspect you of nothing, Min Vakrezharad. I am merely trying to learn about Min Shelsin by learning how she affected the people around her.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked skeptical, but said, \u201cIt is not a secret that I did not like her, nor that she did not like me. Even when we were not in competition\u2014for I never expected to become a principal, no matter how long I remained at the Opera\u2014she acted as if I had threatened her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd she was very angry about Zhelsu.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was. Even though\u00a0\u2026 it is not as if there are any other<\/i> principal roles where I would be chosen before her. She could not bear that there should be any.<\/i>\u201d She stopped suddenly, looking horrified at herself.<\/p>\n

It was not uncommon for people to say more than they meant when talking to a Witness for the Dead. My teacher, Othala Pelovar, had said that it was because we were taught to listen,<\/i> and that once you had learned to listen to the dead, the living posed no challenge. The elderly Witness for the Dead in Lohaiso said that anyone could achieve a similar result simply by keeping their mouth shut and letting people talk. I was never sure which I believed, but I had seen the effect over and over again. I had only had it done to me once since I first became a prelate of Ulis, and that had been by the emperor himself.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI do not judge. I only seek the truth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe truth about Min Shelsin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe truth about her death. Why do you think someone would kill her? Not why someone might want<\/i> to kill her, but why someone would actually do<\/i> it?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>Min Vakrezharad frowned, an alarming goblin scowl, but her face cleared as she caught the distinction I was making. \u201cShe\u00a0\u2026 Arvene\u00e4n liked secrets. She liked knowing<\/i> things about other people, and it has always seemed to me that this is a very dangerous habit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was fairly harmless within the company\u2014we all knew better than to confide in her\u2014but I do wonder about her patrons and what one of them might have said to her that he then regretted.\u201d<\/p>\n

The women also told me about Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin\u2019s patrons, in particular Osmer Coreshar, Osmer Elithar, and especially Osmer Ponichar, who had spent the most money on her and with whom she had had the loudest fights.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe all pretend not to hear,\u201d said Min Lochareth, the senior alto, \u201cbut we all do<\/i> hear. We can\u2019t help it.\u201d She had another suggestion for why someone might want Min Shelsin dead: \u201cShe was terribly expensive, you know. She always wanted more<\/i> presents and more<\/i> dinners at Hatharanee, and I don\u2019t know that I ever saw a young man successfully extract himself until Arvene\u00e4n was done with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas she so captivating?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was delicate,\u201d said Min Lochareth, who was not, \u201cand doe-eyed, and I saw the way they all looked at her and the way she looked at them. She was<\/i> that captivating, and she didn\u2019t like letting go of anything once she had hold of it. She was an awful person, othala, but even so, no one had any right to kill her.\u201d<\/p>\n

To\u00efno Culainin, Min Shelsin\u2019s luckless understudy, had probably observed her more closely than anyone, for she had to know her movements on stage as well as her singing part. She said, simply, \u201cMin Shelsin did not notice me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you noticed her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI memorized her,\u201d said Min Culainin. \u201cI can walk like her. I can gesture like her. But I cannot sing like her, although I do my best. I\u00e4na will be holding auditions for a mid-soprano soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA junior, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Othoro is the senior mid-soprano now, which Min Shelsin <\/span>would hate. She disliked Othoro very much, because Othoro has the better voice. She disliked Voni\u00e4n\u2014our junior soprano\u2014for the same reason. She saw herself in competition with everybody.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds a very fatiguing way to live.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe seemed to thrive on it,\u201d said Min Culainin. \u201cCertainly, I never saw her tired or defeated. She lost fight after fight with I\u00e4na, and it never seemed to discourage her in the slightest.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought of that appointment with the Marquess Parzhadel that she had not lived to keep. \u201cWas that because of an indomitable nature or just bad judgment?\u201d<\/p>\n

Min Culainin almost smiled. \u201cHer judgment was very bad, to be sure. She never seemed aware that other people disliked her quite as intensely as she disliked them. And she was as greedy as a spoiled child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you say she had enemies among the company?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot enemies,<\/i>\u201d Min Culainin said, horrified.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said she fought with Mer Pel-Thenhior.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo does half the company, at one time or another,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut people disliked Min Shelsin. Who?\u201d<\/p>\n

I had trapped her, though I felt no pride in it. \u201cCebris hated her,\u201d she said after a long silence. \u201cAnd Othoro\u2014but how do you not dislike someone who dislikes you and makes no secret of it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not judging anyone,\u201d I said, \u201cjust trying to understand her connections with the people she saw and worked with every day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t suppose any of us liked<\/i> her,\u201d Min Culainin said, and then put her hand over her mouth as if she could keep in the already escaped words.<\/p>\n

None of them, in other words, had any reason not<\/i> to murder her, except Pel-Thenhior and Min Culainin herself. That was disheartening, both because it made my task as a Witness more difficult and because it was a sign of just how determined Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin seemed to have been to destroy her own life.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Min Culainin,\u201d I said, and she could not hide her relief that I was letting her go.<\/p>\n

The men were not as helpful. Cebris Pershar, the senior tenor, <\/span>was perfectly frank that he had despised Min Shelsin (as Merrem Matano had told me) and tried to know as little about her as possible; the other tenor, the man with \u201cgood\u201d elven features, was twitchy with nerves and gave nothing but vague answers. The baritone seemed earnestly desirous of helping, but he knew as little as Mer Pershar. The bass was sullen and grumbling about losing rehearsal time. A thought struck me, and I asked him, \u201cDo you think someone would kill Min Shelsin to sabotage Mer Pel-Thenhior\u2019s opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

I was expecting, No, of course not,<\/i> and I did not get it. Mer Olora blinked, as if seriously considering the matter, and said slowly, \u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d almost asking it as a question. \u201cThe only person in<\/i> the company who hated it that much was Min Shelsin herself, but the question is the other opera houses. They know Pel-Thenhior\u2019s come up with something new and scandalous, and they know that means their ticket sales will go down. You might inquire, othala, whether any of them is in particularly desperate financial straits.\u2026 Although there Arvene\u00e4n is a strange choice. Her part simply isn\u2019t that big.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t know enough about opera.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked scandalized. \u201cWell, you may take it from me that Arvene\u00e4n\u2019s death, while regrettable, is no serious impediment to the staging of Zhelsu.<\/i> If it had been Othoro\u2026\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

I noted, as I rode the tram home, what a common refrain that had been. Everyone at the Vermilion Opera seemed to think Othoro should have been the one murdered; I wondered for a moment if I should have warned her to be careful and then remembered that Min Shelsin had died in the Zheimela, which was about as far from the Vermilion Opera as one could get.<\/p>\n

And then I wondered if that was deliberate, if Min Shelsin had gone to the Zheimela because<\/i> it was so far, in both the literal and the figurative sense, from the Opera. It occurred to me that if you wanted to meet someone and not have anyone else know about it\u2014especially if you were an opera singer who lived in a boardinghouse and had no privacy\u2014the Zheimela, say, for instance, the warren of the Canalman\u2019s Dog, was exactly the place to go.<\/p>\n

<\/span>But who in the world would Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin want to meet with so much secrecy? That was a question that nothing so far had offered an answer to, and no amount of pondering could provide one.<\/p>\n

\n

The morning brought, just before noon, Mer Urmenezh, who looked as if he had slept no better than I. His sister Inshiran\u2019s fate was enough to make anybody wakeful.<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Urmenezh,\u201d I said, rising.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala,\u201d he said, and remembered his manners enough to nod. He always reminded me of a toy clockwork heron one of my wealthy cousins had had, all bones and long legs, the resemblance helped by his long nose and weak chin and the round glinting lenses of his pince-nez. \u201cThank you for your letter. You have done so much for us already, but we have come to ask if you might do one more thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat can we do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have ex\u00a0\u2026 exhumed poor Inshiran and had a most uncomfortable conversation with the president of the collective of Ulchoranee, and we did as you suggested and petitioned for an autopsy and\u00a0\u2026 and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Urmenezh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Sanctuary answered our petition much more swiftly than we expected. The autopsy is to be this afternoon.\u201d His mouth worked for a moment, and then he blurted, \u201cWe wondered if you would represent the family.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe?\u201d I said, involuntarily abrogating formality in my surprise.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe just\u2026\u201d And then he abrogated formality in turn. \u201cI cannot watch them carve up my little sister. Othala, please.<\/i> I am desperate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, responding more to his pain than to his request; then I caught up with myself and added more rationally, \u201cIt is within the remit of our office, and we quite understand your reasons. Tell us when and where and we will be honored to represent the Urmenada.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>And that was how I ended up attending Inshiran Urmenezhen\u2019s autopsy.<\/p>\n

\n

The Sanctuary of Csaivo fronting the Mich\u2019maika predated the city of Amalo by at least a thousand years. The elesth trees had grown gigantic the walls and walkways were covered with moss. The outer wall blocked the sounds of the Airmen\u2019s Quarter and the canal traffic, so that it was truly a sanctuary. I had gone there often when I first came to Amalo and still walked there from time to time, when the jostling throngs of Amaleisei became too much.<\/p>\n

There was a novice waiting just inside the doors of the main building, goblin dark and elven thin. She bowed to me and said, \u201cAre you Othala Celehar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen please follow me. Dach\u2019othala Ulzhavar is waiting in the autopsy chamber.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you see many autopsies here?\u201d I asked, curious. I knew only that they performed them. My calling had not previously brought me to attend one.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne or two a week,\u201d she said as we started down the stairs. She flashed me an apologetic smile. \u201cNot everyone wants to go to a Witness for the Dead for their answers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are many answers I cannot give,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

The lower floor of the Sanctuary was lit by gas globes. The massive stonework and the nearness of the canal made it cool and somewhat damp. The floor was tiled in mosaics of the sigils of healing, which mitigated the intimidating aspect of the ancient stones. The hallway led to a vaulted room with a colonnade of arches that were both lovely and utilitarian, as they made the open expanse possible, and with a gas globe on each pillar, there was a surprising amount of light\u2014surprising until I looked up and saw the collector at the apex of the vault. In the middle of the room, beneath <\/span>the collector, there was a slab-topped table, on which lay an object wrapped in a shroud. Standing beside the table was a middle-aged elven man in the green robes of a cleric of Csaivo, although I was insensibly heartened to see that beneath them, where he\u2019d kilted the long skirts up to get them out of his way, he wore prosaic trousers and a worker\u2019s heavy boots.<\/p>\n

He looked up at our approach and smiled. \u201cYou must be Othala Celehar. I am Csenaia Ulzhavar.\u201d<\/p>\n

I bowed and said, \u201cThank you for letting me attend, dach\u2019othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout the lady on the slab. Can you tell me about her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe is Inshiran Urmenezhen, also known as Inshiran Avelonaran,\u201d I said, and explained the story of seduction and betrayal. Ulzhavar listened carefully, frowning.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is all very interesting,\u201d he said when I had finished, \u201cand I certainly understand why her family wants her autopsied at this late date. Normally, I would have to tell them that there\u2019s most likely no point, but this young lady is well preserved. Remarkably so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer brother is convinced she was murdered,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, let\u2019s see if we can find out,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cDenevis!\u201d<\/p>\n

A novice came out of the colonnade at the far end of the vault, where I saw there was a row of massive chests of drawers against the wall. He was elven and probably fifteen or sixteen, nearly ready to be sent out as a junior cleric.<\/p>\n

He bowed to me. Ulzhavar said, \u201cDenevis is my apprentice. He\u2019ll be helping today so that you don\u2019t have to\u00a0\u2026 although I imagine you\u2019re not very squeamish?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, answering his wry smile with my own. \u201cI am not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSpeaking of which, do you want to try her before we start?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been too long,\u201d I said, but I did step up to the table and touch Inshiran\u2019s forehead, noting that Ulzhavar was right: she was in remarkably good condition for a woman who had been buried for six months or more.<\/p>\n

As expected, there was nothing of the spirit left. I shook my head and stepped back.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cAh well,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cIt was worth trying. Denevis, you can get the cart now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Denevis ran back to the end of the vault and returned pushing a wheeled cart. As he got closer, I saw the autopsy instruments\u2014the scalpels, the bone saw, and all the rest\u2014laid out neatly on a green cloth.<\/p>\n

\u201cMany people need some warning,\u201d said Ulzhavar.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think Mer Urmenezh was right not to attend,\u201d I said. \u201cHe is already distraught over what happened to his sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWatching this will not help,\u201d Ulzhavar agreed. \u201cAll right, Denevis. Tell me where we start.\u201d<\/p>\n

I watched while the two clerics worked their way down Inshiran Urmenezhen\u2019s body, examining brain, lungs, heart\u00a0\u2026 Ulzhavar spent quite some time looking at her hands. I followed enough of their conversation to know that there was something unusual in what they were finding, but could puzzle out no more than that before Ulzhavar said, \u201cDear goddess, look at her liver.\u201d He turned to me and said, \u201cWell, it\u2019s perfectly clear what killed her. This poor woman has practically been pickled in calonvar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCalonvar?\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a slow poison,\u201d said Ulzhavar with a grimace. \u201cHe could have stretched her suffering out for weeks. The vomiting, the scaly patches on the hands\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered something else. \u201cWas she pregnant?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Denevis.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe might have thought it was nothing more than the early sickness. Until it killed her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe poor woman,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cWhat did you say the husband\u2019s name is?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCro\u00efs Avelonar.\u201d Another horrible thought struck me. \u201cAlthough who\u2019s to say that\u2019s his real name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt most likely isn\u2019t,\u201d Ulzhavar said grimly. \u201cHe cut the sheep out of the flock far<\/i> too effectively for this to be his first time.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded. Their calling, like mine, would inevitably bring them <\/span>in contact with men who were widowed multiple times, women who buried one family member after another, husbands and children and siblings and parents all dying from enteric fever, which poisons like calonvar mimicked so closely. Sometimes one could take one\u2019s suspicions to a Witness who would listen; oftentimes, though, the poisoner moved away to find a new hunting ground. In a city like Amalo, Avelonar wouldn\u2019t even have to move very far, just far enough to find new neighbors, a new cleric, a new prelate, and he could start the cycle all over again.<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Urmenezh never even met him,\u201d I said. \u201cWe have nothing but a name he probably isn\u2019t using.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, but now we know he\u2019s out there,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cI can tell all the clerics to be on the lookout for similar cases.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think you\u2019ll have any results?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d he said. \u201cI admit it is not as simple as I made it sound.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStill,\u201d I said, \u201cI thank you for letting me attend the autopsy. At least I will be able to tell Mer Urmenezh something definitive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Ulzhavar said. \u201cIt will be of no comfort, but perhaps it will allow him to rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d I said sadly, for rest was what Mer Urmenezh most desperately needed and what he would not give himself. \u201cBut I doubt it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Outside the Sanctuary\u2019s main gates, I found Mer Urmenezh pacing back and forth to the detriment and irritation of the passersby. He stopped when he saw me.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was murdered with calonvar,\u201d I said, and his eyes welled with tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew<\/i> it,\u201d he said, clearly not to me. Then, recollecting himself, he took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, then his pince-nez, then said, \u201cThank you, othala. You have done considerably more than your office demands.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>I said, \u201cThe Master of the Mortuary is going to have the clerics of the city watch for similar cases. He thinks this cannot be the first time the man has done this, and it almost certainly will not be the last.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddesses of mercy,\u201d said Mer Urmenezh, as if doubting such beings existed.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll the clerics of the city will be looking for him now, and we do not think he is cunning enough to elude them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe suppose that\u2019s true.\u201d He squared his shoulders. \u201cWe must go give this news to our sisters. We bury Inshiran this evening. Will you come?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you again, othala. The House Urmenada will remember your kindness.\u201d He bowed deeply and left.<\/p>\n

I watched him go and tried not to think about Cro\u00efs Avelonar, out there somewhere in the city looking for his next victim.<\/p>\n

By now he might have found her.<\/p>\n

\n

The Urmenada belonged to one of the city\u2019s collective cemeteries, where a number of families, bourgeois and town gentry, pooled their money in order to avoid the municipal cemeteries. Their prelate was an intense young elven woman, Othalo Bershanaran. Her husband, a broad-shouldered elven man who wore his hair in a braided club as the manufactory workers did in Lohaiso, was the cemetery sexton. It was not an uncommon arrangement for married female prelates.<\/p>\n

There were not many mourners. Mer Urmenezh and his sisters, some cousins, some tired-looking elven women, whom I guessed to be Min Urmenezhen\u2019s fellow teachers. Several of them had been crying, as had the sisters. As had Mer Urmenezh.<\/p>\n

Seeing no reason to spare expense, Mer Urmenezh had paid for a sunset funeral, and Othalo Bershanaran had been a prelate long enough to judge the timing of the ceremony; she said the last words <\/span>of the Ul\u2019izheve, the final blessing, just as the last bright sliver of the sun vanished below the horizon. I offered a small prayer of my own that Min Urmenezhen might finally be left at rest.<\/p>\n

At the gravesite, Mer Bershanar and his assistant placed the new headstone, with the names of both Min Urmenezhen and her unborn child\u2014and I wondered how greatly it must have rankled Mer Urmenezh to be forced to use the name the child\u2019s father had picked\u2014and Othalo Bershanaran said an older, little-used blessing, the one that prayed for the dead child to stay sleeping in its dead mother\u2019s womb.<\/p>\n

I went home, shared sardines among the waiting cats, and went to bed early, although I did not sleep until late.<\/p>\n

\n

In the morning, there was a courier waiting outside my office. I recognized his colors immediately as being those of the Prince of Thu-Athamar; whatever Prince Orchenis wanted to see me about, it was too urgent to wait for the post. I developed a cold hard knot in the pit of my stomach.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar,\u201d he said, bowing. \u201cWe bring you a message from His Highness Prince Orchenis.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said, taking the letter, and broke the seal.<\/p>\n

To Thara Celehar, prelate of Ulis and Witness for the Dead, greetings,<\/i><\/p>\n

It has come to our attention that you are involved in the inheritance question of the House Duhalada. We would speak with you on this matter and request your immediate presence.<\/i><\/p>\n

With all good will,<\/i><\/p>\n

Orchenis Clunethar<\/i><\/p>\n

And the prince\u2019s personal signet of a swan was at the bottom, in case I had had any doubt that the message actually came from him.<\/p>\n

\u201cImmediate?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cThose are our instructions,\u201d said the courier.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said, and kept my hands away from my hair.<\/p>\n

I was grateful that it was only a few minutes\u2019 walk from the Prince Zhaicava Building to the Amal\u2019theileian. The courier took me in a back entrance and along the servants\u2019 hallways. I could not decide if that was a good sign or a very bad one, and the courier said nothing.<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis had two audience rooms, besides the throne room that was only used for the most formal occasions. I had been presented to him in the Azalea Room, which was a beautiful room full of light and the glowing soft azalea pink of the walls. The courier took me to the other audience room, the Cinnabar Room, which was smaller, dark paneled, with cinnabar tiles flanking the fireplace. It, too, was a beautiful room, but far more intimidating.<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis, elven pale, tall, thin, and with a permanent frown line engraved between his eyebrows, was standing by the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing silver-on-gray brocade and was jeweled with diamonds. His secretary, an elven man old enough to be Prince Orchenis\u2019s father, was seated discreetly in the corner by the door. The room was otherwise empty, and the cold knot in my stomach got tighter. This was not a casual interview.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar,\u201d said Prince Orchenis. \u201cWe trust we have not inconvenienced you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d I said, as I was obliged to, regardless of truth. \u201cWe are pleased to attend upon Your Highness. How may we be of service?\u201d<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis\u2019s permanent frown made him very difficult to read, although I did at least know he was not as ill-tempered as he looked. He said, \u201cWe have had a most disturbing meeting with Mer Nepevis Duhalar.\u201d He stopped and for a moment seemed to find it impossible to continue. \u201cHe has suggested the possibility of fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n

I bit down hard on the inner surface of my lower lip, a reflex I had learned as a novice after several blistering punishments for blurting out what I was actually thinking in response to a question. It was <\/span>enough to keep me from simply accusing Mer Duhalar of fraud in turn. There was no point to that\u2014if the solution were that simple, the matter would never have reached the prince. Instead, I said cautiously, \u201cThat is a very serious accusation. Did he explain why he felt we had committed fraud?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe alleges,\u201d Prince Orchenis said, choosing his words carefully, \u201cthat you are in the pay of his brother Pelara in a plot to take over the company.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at the prince. \u201cWhy should we do such a thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe prelates of Ulis and the Witnesses vel ama<\/i> are notoriously poor,\u201d Prince Orchenis said. To my disbelief and horror I saw that he was actually blushing, and the cold knot in my stomach knew what he was going to say before he got the words out: \u201cThere are also allegations of\u00a0\u2026 misconduct.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heartbeat roared in my ears, and for a moment I truly thought that I was going to faint. I had learned the breathing meditations in Lohaiso and I called on the simplest of them, steadying my breath until my heartbeat calmed and I could say in a level voice, \u201cYour Highness, you must know that we would never do such a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis\u2019s frown had deepened, and he was looking past me instead of meeting my eyes. \u201cIt is not a matter of our personal beliefs, othala. Mer Nepevis Duhalar is an influential voice in our government, and we cannot simply ignore his allegations. And he has already threatened to go to the papers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about the allegations that he<\/i> is a fraud? Can you ignore them<\/i>?\u201d<\/p>\n

And then I cursed myself for saying exactly the thing I had sworn I wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis did look at me now, a level and disapproving stare. \u201cWe have asked the Amalomaza to look into the matter of the documents. That is not what is at issue here. We are considering your<\/i> actions, othala. For it is entirely possible that both<\/i> Duhaladeise brothers are frauds. Pelara\u2019s claim is legitimate only upon your testimony.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if they\u2019re both frauds, where is the genuine will?\u201d I protested.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cDestroyed,\u201d Prince Orchenis said, so curtly that I understood he had had such cases come before him. \u201cThe Duhalada have surrendered the entire matter to our judgment. We have not, as yet, said anything to the Amal\u2019othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe will have heard,\u201d I said bleakly.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Prince Orchenis. \u201cBut he will not take notice until he has to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis knew the Amal\u2019othala better than I did; I would trust his judgment on that front. But that left me trying to prove a negative to the Prince of Thu-Athamar.<\/p>\n

My head was full of Evru. Our love had been \u201cmisconduct,\u201d and I knew there were prelates who still thought I should have been barred for life, although the Archprelate disagreed. But in the end I had remained true to my calling, and whether I had thereby betrayed Evru was also a matter of opinion.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cYour Highness, we have committed no fraud. We have not betrayed our calling. Tell us how we may prove it to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The prince said, \u201cMer Nepevis Duhalar demands that you submit to trial by ordeal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Amal\u2019othala will definitely take notice of that,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf<\/i> we concur,\u201d said Prince Orchenis, \u201cthe Amal\u2019othala will be obliged to take notice of a great many things. But we have no belief in trial by ordeal. Nor, we think, does Nepevis Duhalar.\u201d He eyed me for a few moments, then said, \u201cHowever, we think it would be wise if you were\u00a0\u2026 unavailable for a few days, and we would ask of you a favor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA favor?\u201d I said, terrified, infuriated, and now also baffled.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are receiving reports of a ghoul in Tanvero. The local othas\u2019ala seems to be incapable of action, and although the Ulineise prelates in the area are devoted to their parishes, none of them can speak to the dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want us to go to Tanvero,\u201d I said blankly. Tanvero was a mining town high in the Mervarnens\u2014at least two days\u2019 journey from Amalo and those two days not comfortable ones.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know as well as we do,\u201d Prince Orchenis said, \u201cthe problem with ghouls is that they don\u2019t stay satisfied with dead meat.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>I did know. Ghouls, the plague of the northlands, had been a frequent problem in Aveio, where the graveyards far exceeded the reach of any single prelate. And Prince Orchenis was right; sooner or later every ghoul turned from the dead to the living. During the tenure of the prelate in Aveio before me, an entire family had been found, mostly eaten, in one of the far-outlying farmhouses. The reason the othas\u2019ala of Aveio had tolerated me as long as he had was that I was capable of quieting a ghoul by myself. I couldn\u2019t stop them rising, but I could halt their progress before their hunger drove them to living victims. I could listen for their names and have them reburied during daylight with a proper stone. It was repulsive work, for ghouls clothed themselves in the bodies they ate, but there was a grisly sort of satisfaction to it as well.<\/p>\n

Unlike proving a negative, this was something I could do. But I had other obligations.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are witnessing for two women,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey are dead,\u201d Prince Orchenis said bluntly. \u201cThe dead are patient.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery well,\u201d I said. \u201cWhen would you have us leave?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Prince Orchenis was more thoughtful than I had expected. His secretary had found me a place with a caravan taking dry goods to Tanvero. The caravan masters were glad to have me; they had heard about the ghoul and were understandably nervous. They were leaving at first light the next morning, so that I was able to attend Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin\u2019s funeral, which had finally been arranged for noon. Min Balvedin and Min Nochenin were there in shabby, much-dyed black dresses they had most probably borrowed from friends or cousins. Pel-Thenhior was there like an austere and elegant shadow. No one else came.<\/p>\n

The municipal ulimeire of the Airmen\u2019s Quarter was a dreary building, soot-stained red brick on the outside and yellowed, cracking plaster on the inside. Anora, goblin-boned, tall and heavyset, <\/span>and goblin dark except for his pale, nearsighted eyes, said the service for Min Shelsin with simple sincerity.<\/p>\n

I watched Min Shelsin\u2019s assembled mourners, Subpraeceptor Azhanharad looming behind them like a louring storm. I couldn\u2019t imagine Min Nochenin or Min Balvedin as murderers, and while I thought Pel-Thenhior capable of murder, I did not think he had murdered Min Shelsin. For all that she hated Zhelsu,<\/i> she clearly hadn\u2019t intended to threaten not to perform, and beyond that\u2014itself an empty threat\u2014she seemed to have had only the power to exasperate him, not to drive him into a killing rage. And an elaborate, coldly thought-out plan to hire her murder was even more ridiculous. He had wanted her alive and singing.<\/p>\n

After the funeral service was complete, I managed to catch Pel-Thenhior for a moment to tell him I was going to be gone for a few days, but that I was not abandoning the investigation.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did not know yours was a traveling position,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, frowning in perplexity.<\/p>\n

That in itself was a slightly vexed question. I said, \u201cThere are reports of a ghoul in Tanvero, and the most effective way to deal with a ghoul is to get a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior still looked troubled. \u201cIsn\u2019t that, I don\u2019t know, awfully dangerous?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was kind of him to be worried, and an unfamiliar position for me to be in. \u201cIt\u2019s not as bad as it sounds,\u201d I said. \u201cGhouls are very slow, and it usually takes two or three months for them to transition to attacking the living.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour idea of reassurance could use a little work,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, but he looked like he wanted to laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve dealt with ghouls before. I\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was better. May I expect to see you at the Opera when you return?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cI have to talk to your principal soprano, if nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcellent,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, and bowed farewell.<\/p>\n

The same conversation with Azhanharad\u2014who also needed to <\/span>know why I would be disappearing for most of a week\u2014went quite differently. Azhanharad listened, frowning, and said, \u201cWe have heard nothing of a ghoul from our chapter in Tanvero.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe hardly think Prince Orchenis is lying to us,\u201d I said sharply.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not,\u201d said Azhanharad. \u201cWe merely wonder how reliable his sources are. You may end up traveling all that way for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe best outcome with a ghoul,\u201d said I.<\/p>\n

Azhanharad scowled. \u201cA ghoul is not something to be taken lightly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe take ghouls and the duty they represent very seriously,\u201d I said, bowing, and we parted miffed on both sides.<\/p>\n

I talked briefly to Anora, who echoed the other exhortations to be careful.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will be,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t know why everyone is so convinced I won\u2019t be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t take a very long acquaintance with thee to see that thou dost not value thine own life,\u201d said Anora. \u201cI understand their concern perfectly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnora!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not mean that thou\u2019rt careless, Thara, for thou art not. And thou wouldst never endanger another soul. But thou carest not whether thou wilt live or die. I fear for thee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThou needst not,\u201d I said. The blush was scalding in my face. \u201cI have no desire to be eaten by a ghoul. I promise thee I will be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora gave me a dubious look over his spectacles, which as always had slid to the end of his nose. \u201cSee that thou art. And come see me when thou returnest. I should like to hear about this ghoul.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will,\u201d I promised. \u201cLet us hope that my story is very boring.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora smiled. \u201cI admit to a fondness for boring stories. Be safe, Thara.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

I packed as lightly as I could for a trip into the mountains. After considerable thought, I left my silk coat of office hanging in its place by the door. Travel was going to be rough, and there was no telling what hunting this ghoul might entail.<\/p>\n

Well before dawn, I joined the train of Oshenar and Puledra\u2019s dry goods caravan to Tanvero. The caravan guards, goblins all, were flatteringly pleased to see me. They, too, had heard about the ghoul. They asked me if I preferred to ride on horseback or in a wagon, and I was torn, knowing that I was not horseman enough for two days\u2019 ride in bad terrain, but also knowing that the wagons\u2019 progress would be slow and bone-jarring. Honesty forced me into the wagons, where I at least was able to find some cushioning among the bolts of cloth.<\/p>\n

The wagon driver was a middle-aged woman named Csano, who promised she\u2019d give me as smooth a journey as possible. She talked cheerfully and inconsequentially about her family, mostly her married daughter and her daughter\u2019s two small sons. She sounded far more like a family friend than a doting grandmother, but she was a good storyteller. She said when I asked that she had taken over the wagon when her husband died, \u201cand that was when my daughters were only a little older than my grandsons are now. I was fortunate that my sisters were unmarried and were willing to join my household.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t remarried?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have the time,\u201d said Csano. \u201cAnd time is what it would take to find a man who wouldn\u2019t try to assume that my wagon and my money belonged to him. No, I thank you, I prefer to be Widow Tolinbaran and keep control of my house.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid your son-in-law marry in, then?\u201d I said, surprised. That was something that happened occasionally among the noble houses, but not to my knowledge among the working people of Amalo.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was a foundling,\u201d said Csano. \u201cHe had to marry in if he was going to marry at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Foundlings were far less uncommon in Amalo, but they were usually taken in as servants, not as husbands.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cIt was the scandal of the neighborhood,\u201d Csano said, laughing, and proceeded to tell me stories of her daughter\u2019s wedding until I almost felt that I had been there.<\/p>\n

The roads to Tanvero were every bit as bad as I had expected. In the hotel that night, a tiny establishment that existed only because it was halfway between Amalo and Tanvero, I lay in bed and swore I could feel every separate bone throbbing. I was sharing the bed with a caravan guard named Suru. He was from one of the coastal cities far to the south, and his Ethuverazhin, while better than my Barizhin, wasn\u2019t very good. But he was good-natured and apologized for taking up so much of the bed. I said that at six-foot-seven, there wasn\u2019t much he could do about it, and he laughed.<\/p>\n

In truth, there was something pleasant about having another body in the bed. It evoked old, dim memories of comfort. And Suru did not snore. I did not sleep well or deeply, but it was better than no sleep at all.<\/p>\n

Csano waved me back to her wagon in the morning. I settled among the big bolts of calico as best I could and listened with a pleasure I couldn\u2019t define to Csano\u2019s stories of her sisters and her two unmarried daughters, one of whom, it turned out, was a member of the chorus for the Parav\u2019opera in the city\u2019s westernmost district, Paravi. It took only a question to get Csano telling her daughter Soviro\u2019s stories about the Parav\u2019opera.<\/p>\n

The Parav\u2019opera did not have a house composer, and I began to understand why Pel-Thenhior was given so much leeway. He was a valuable commodity, especially since he had produced successful operas before (two of them, as I had learned from the Vermilion Opera\u2019s singers: The Empress of Ravens<\/i> and The Zolshenada<\/i>), and if he chose to go elsewhere, he would be welcomed.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many opera companies have composers? Successful composers, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have no idea, othala. You should talk to Soviro. She knows more about opera in Amalo than any three people. She\u2019s learning the music for as many operas as she can. She says if she ever wants to do better than the Parav\u2019opera, she needs to be prepared.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cDoes<\/i> she want to do better?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe has her eye on the Amal\u2019opera, but there\u2019s nothing she can do about it until there\u2019s an opening, which she says doesn\u2019t happen very often, and then you\u2019ve got all the opera singers in Amalo vying for that one spot. I\u2019m not sure what kind of chance she has, to be honest, but I\u2019m not going to tell her not to try.\u201d<\/p>\n

She went on, but for a few moments, I barely heard her. Min Shelsin had wanted a place at the Amal\u2019opera. Pel-Thenhior didn\u2019t think she had a chance, but what if someone else thought differently? What if some other singer thought Min Shelsin was competition that needed to be eliminated?<\/p>\n

Therefore they decoyed her down to the Mich\u2019maika and threw her in the canal? That seemed overelaborate\u2014unless the competitor was a singer at the Prince Orchena Opera, the new opera theater built in honor of Prince Orchenis\u2019s father (and already being shortened to the Orchen\u2019opera). It was on the northern shore of the lake, where the wealthy bourgeoisie and the lesser nobility had their summer houses, and it was making the area around it extremely fashionable. A mid-soprano there might well be able to persuade Min Shelsin to a meeting on the south bank of the canal.<\/p>\n

But a meeting alone with a mid-soprano was not a meeting that was going to end with Min Shelsin dying in the Mich\u2019maika. I thought again about hired help or a co-conspirator, but it suddenly seemed too far-fetched\u2014this hypothetical mid-soprano hiring someone to kill Min Shelsin for being competition for an even more hypothetical position with the Amal\u2019opera\u2014and my theory collapsed like a gelatin mold disturbed too soon.<\/p>\n

\n

In the late afternoon, we reached Tanvero, where a delegation of concerned citizens waited, having been informed by courier that Prince Orchenis was sending me. Like most of the people of the Mervarnens, they were of mixed heritage, some of their ancestors being the elves native to the mountains and some of them the <\/span>goblins who had come north to prospect for gold and had stayed when they found the trade in furs. Their skin ranged in color from black to white, and their eyes were all hues from gray to brilliant crimson. They were all very frightened.<\/p>\n

They had brought rolls stuffed with cheese and a jug of cider, and they did not mind my eating while we talked. I was too hungry to balk at being ill-mannered, for I found it impossible to eat while the wagon was moving, and breakfast had been at dawn.<\/p>\n

The mayor, tall and stout, ash-gray with muddy brownish-red eyes, said, \u201cOthala, we thank you for coming. The letter from His Highness says you have experience of ghouls?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cOur previous prelacy was in the plains to the west, where ghouls are very common. How long has this one been walking, do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

They glanced at each other, and finally a matron, dark-skinned and light-eyed like Anora, said, \u201cIt\u2019s at least two months since Keveris started finding disturbed graves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

The othas\u2019ala, elderly, elven, somewhat stooped, and wringing his hands in distress, said, \u201cWe have discovered that our cemetery caretaker has been delinquent in his duties.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBlind stinking drunk,\u201d said one of the other citizens, only just audibly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThus,\u201d said the othas\u2019ala, ignoring the interruption, \u201cwe cannot be sure how long it was before he thought to notify anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe trust something has been done about this situation,\u201d I said, ice starting to crawl up my spine. The longer a ghoul was allowed to continue feeding, the likelier it was to start attacking the living, but also the stronger it became and the harder it was to find its name and thus quiet it.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes,\u201d said the mayor. \u201cWe have a new caretaker.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. Have there been any instances of this ghoul attacking people?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was an exchange of uneasy glances. \u201cNot that we know<\/i> of,\u201d <\/span>said the mayor, and I disliked his emphasis on know.<\/i> \u201cBut there are many outlying homesteads and trappers\u2019 camps, and we have no way of checking on all of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that it could have,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

No one answered.<\/p>\n

The ice around my spine was getting thicker. \u201cIs it likely<\/i>?\u201d<\/p>\n

An elderly elven citizen, who hadn\u2019t spoken before, cleared his throat. \u201cAs best we can tell, the ghoul comes from Irmezharharee,\u201d and he pointed roughly east. \u201cThere are any number of trappers who work the forests east of Tanvero, so I think we must say that if the creature has<\/i> developed a taste for living flesh, it would have found easy targets.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOsmer Thilmerezh is a historian,\u201d the mayor said, although he did not sound entirely happy about it.<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh made a dismissive noise and said, \u201cOsmer Thilmerezh is an exile who has taken up history to keep from perishing of boredom. But that\u2019s beside the point. Othala Celehar\u2019s question is, how dangerous do we believe this ghoul to be?<\/i> Unfortunately, I believe the answer is, quite.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t know that!\u201d the mayor said, as if uncertainty made things better.<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh merely rolled his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cHas it been seen?\u201d I asked. \u201cAny sightings at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKeveris says<\/i> he saw it,\u201d said the matron.<\/p>\n

\u201cKeveris would say anything to prove he isn\u2019t a drunkard,\u201d said the othas\u2019ala with unexpected venom.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo one has gone looking for it,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cWe sent a message to Amalo instead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAthru\u2014the new caretaker\u2014has found its leavings,\u201d said the mayor.<\/p>\n

\u201cMay we speak to Athru?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

All of them except Osmer Thilmerezh looked surprised, but the mayor said, \u201cOf course. He\u2019s working in the Clenverada Mining Company Cemetery today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many cemeteries does Tanvero have?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cToo many,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cToo many mining accidents\u2014although Irmezharharee was originally for plague victims.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was a cheerful thought. I said, \u201cMight someone take us to the Clenverada Mining Company Cemetery?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a strange, unhappy silence.<\/p>\n

I said cautiously, \u201cUnless there is something else you think we need to know?\u201d<\/p>\n

This time, the silence seemed almost guilty. Finally, the matron said, \u201cThe Ulineise prelate of Tanvero, Othala Perchenzar, argued very vehemently against sending a message of distress to Amalo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes he not believe the ghoul is a problem?\u201d I asked incredulously.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019s not that,\u201d the matron said, but then seemed unable to explain further.<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh said, \u201cHe believes we have no need for outside help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs he a Witness for the Dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has a book,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cThe author claims that anyone can quiet a ghoul.\u201d<\/p>\n

That seemed an almost suicidal belief, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying so.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe cannot find Othala Perchenzar,\u201d said the mayor, \u201cand we are very much afraid that he is attempting to prove his theory.\u201d<\/p>\n

I censored my reaction carefully. These poor people already knew Othala Perchenzar was an idiot; there was no need for me to say so. I said, \u201cWell, there\u2019s very little damage he can do before sundown, and we think the more important thing is to find and quiet the ghoul. If he succeeds, we will congratulate him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no chance he\u2019s right, though, is there?\u201d said the matron.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe do not believe so,\u201d I said apologetically. \u201cUnless his book can teach him another way to find a ghoul\u2019s name.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cFor we looked at it, when he was making his arguments. It is specious nonsense.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cSo we feared,\u201d I said. Then, more briskly, \u201cWe would speak to Athru first.\u201d<\/p>\n

The mayor nodded and gestured to the two young goblin men talking to the caravan master. One of them came over, and the mayor tasked him with taking me to the Clenverada Mining Company Cemetery to find Athru.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d the young man said.<\/p>\n

The cemetery was a brisk ten-minute walk from the town square. The young goblin man, whose name was Tana, proved to have better sources of information than those who had greeted me. He knew two people who had<\/i> seen the ghoul. \u201cOnly at a distance, mind you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the best way to see a ghoul,\u201d I said, making him laugh. \u201cWas it still in Irmezharharee?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Tana. \u201cIt has traveled south, for they saw it in the Old Town Cemetery along the South Road.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Old<\/i> Town Cemetery?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey didn\u2019t plan for Tanvero to grow as much as it has, and the space in the old cemetery was used up almost fifty years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo people still tend the graves?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes,\u201d said Tana. \u201cOthala Perchenzar is most emphatic about that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d I said, and was relieved that the missing prelate showed at least some sparks of intelligence.<\/p>\n

The Clenverada Mining Company Cemetery was laid out in a neat grid with square, identical gravestones. We found Athru, elven white with goblin red eyes, weeding one of the paths that split the cemetery into quarters. He was profoundly grateful to learn that I was the Witness for the Dead and willingly told me all he knew about the ghoul.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t a great deal. Athru had found disturbed graves in Irmezharharee, and he confirmed, his expression pained, that the graves\u2019 occupants had definitely been mauled by something\u2014something he knew was two-legged, for it left footprints in the freshly disturbed dirt.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t know of any trouble in other cemeteries, but his work took him in a counterclockwise circle around the center of Tanvero, <\/span>first north of Irmezharharee, then west, while if my information was correct, the ghoul had headed south.<\/p>\n

I asked him about what lay to the south of the city; he named several cemeteries and added, \u201cMost of the farms are to the south.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered the isolated farms I had seen from Csano\u2019s wagon.<\/p>\n

I had another question: \u201cHow long do you think this ghoul has been awake?\u201d<\/p>\n

Athru hesitated.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care about Keveris,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI would think three months. It is strong enough to push aside a slab stone. I suspect, othala, that it did not rise in Irmezharharee, but in one of the tiny trappers\u2019 cemeteries further east\u2014the cemeteries that the town of Tanvero doesn\u2019t even know about, much less maintain. Many trappers, too, are Vikhelneisei, and believe that their names are known to the gods and therefore they cannot become ghouls.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded wearily. The Vikhelneisei were uniformly hostile to Witnesses for the Dead, believing that our work was nothing but profanation. \u201cThe grave might not have had a headstone at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Athru said, \u201cIt is possible, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said, and he looked like he wanted to pat me on the shoulder.<\/p>\n

Athru walked back to town with us and told me more about the cemeteries of Tanvero, from the ornate New Cemetery to the tiny family cemeteries that might hold no more than two or three graves. \u201cOsmer Thilmerezh will tell you that this region has a long history of religious independence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStubborn as mules,\u201d Tana said cheerfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo we\u2019ve never had a single, unified ulimeire,\u201d Athru continued. \u201cIt makes Othala Perchenzar mad as fire, and he condemns Othala Dathenchar and Othala Monmara as vagabonds.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a harsh word,\u201d I said, surprised. It implied that they were frauds, without either a genuine calling or a mandate from the Archprelate.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Perchenzar is very harsh,\u201d Athru said feelingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe mayor thinks he has gone to try to quiet the ghoul,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

<\/span>Neither Athru nor Tana seemed shocked by this idea. Athru said, \u201cHe has been saying there is no need for a Witness for the Dead to anyone who will listen. He and Mer Halvernarad nearly came to blows.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI would have paid to see it,\u201d Tana said. \u201cMer Halvernarad is the president of the Blacksmiths\u2019 Guild.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am glad no one listened to Othala Perchenzar,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Perchenzar has never seen a ghoul\u2014or what\u2019s left when one finds a living victim,\u201d Athru said. \u201cI have, when I was a boy in Mesivo, which was a logging camp about twenty miles north of here.\u201d He shuddered. \u201cWe were all Vikhelneisei until that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVikhelno wrote far to the south, where there are no ghouls,\u201d I said. \u201cHe could afford to call them folktales to suit his anticlericalism. But I am always surprised at how popular his teachings are in the north.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou would think people would know better,\u201d said Tana.<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh was still sitting in the town square when we reached it. I could not judge his age well enough to tell if he might have been exiled by Edrehasivar\u2019s grandfather, Varevesena, but most likely he was another victim of Varenechibel IV, who was popularly reputed to exile anyone who annoyed him.<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh waved, and I went to join him on the steps of the stolid brick town hall.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat can we do to help you?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was nice to have someone ask. I said, \u201cIt seems likely that the ghoul is somewhere south of Tanvero. We need a powerful lantern and it would help to have a couple of strong men with shovels. We\u2019ll want to bury it where it falls.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tana, who had followed me over, said, \u201cVera and Valta would help willingly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey assist Athru in digging graves,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cThat\u2019s a good idea, Tana. Will you go ask them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Tana, and loped off.<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh said, \u201cSouth is an unfortunate direction.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo we understand from Athru and Tana. We are hoping that it has not yet tired of carrion meat.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWhy does that happen, othala? Do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head. \u201cWe wish that we did. But none of our teachers could offer a reason, only warnings that it becomes twice as difficult to quiet a ghoul after it has killed.\u201d Anticipating his next question, I added, \u201cWe have never had to deal with a ghoul that has killed, although we have quieted half a dozen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGracious,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe northern plains seem to breed them,\u201d I said. \u201cWe know of Ulineise prelates who tried to turn their parishioners to different funerary practices, simply because of the incidence of ghouls, but we have not heard that any of them had been successful. Everyone believes that their<\/i> cemetery will never fall into disrepair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why Tanvero has a cemetery caretaker,\u201d Osmer Thilmerezh said, somewhat wryly. \u201cAnd really it\u2019s been a remarkably effective precaution. This is the first ghoul in the forty years we have been here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Definitely Varenechibel, then. I did not ask him what he had done to be exiled to Tanvero; it could be a very sensitive subject, even decades later, and I was a new acquaintance, not a friend of intimate enough standing for such a confidence.<\/p>\n

Instead, I asked him to tell me what lay along the South Road.<\/p>\n

He was still engaged in that disquisition when Tana returned with two massive goblin men, each with a shovel and a lantern. One of them had a coil of rope slung over his shoulder, which was the only way to tell them apart.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is Vera and this is Valta,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. Valta was the one carrying the rope. \u201cGentlemen, this is Othala Celehar, who requires your help.\u201d<\/p>\n

They both nodded, and Vera said, using the plural, \u201cTell us what you need, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

I explained the situation again. They listened carefully, and Valta asked, sounding not at all alarmed, \u201cWill the ghoul attack us?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a fair question. \u201cI will ask you to wait on the road until I have quieted it,\u201d I promised. \u201cBut should it somehow get past me, it will be very slow. And a shovel is an excellent weapon.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>The twins considered this, then nodded. Valta said, \u201cIf we leave now, othala, we will have at least some daylight left along the South Road.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said, and Osmer Thilmerezh said a very old luck charm.<\/p>\n

The twins set a less punishing pace than I had expected, being kind to the lowlander. But it still wasn\u2019t long before we reached the south gate and were out in the farmlands.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe should check the Old Town Cemetery,\u201d I said. \u201cTana said it was seen there, and maybe it won\u2019t have gone farther yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was most likely a forlorn hope, but the twins agreed that it was a sensible place to start. We reached the Old Town Cemetery just before the twins had to stop to kindle their lanterns. I could understand, looking at it, with the road on one side and a steep hill rising up on the other (and on the other side of the road a deep rainwater gully), how the town had run out of room. I still found myself uneasy at the thought of any cemetery being abandoned, even with a caretaker, but that was my own experience of Aveio and how quickly a ghoul could rise in untended ground.<\/p>\n

Here, all seemed peaceful. We didn\u2019t even find signs of the ghoul\u2019s passage until we came to the graves farthest from the road, where there had clearly been some digging, and there were old bones scattered, as if the ghoul had not found what it was looking for.<\/p>\n

That was a foolish fancy, I told myself sternly. It was a ghoul. It hadn\u2019t the brain to look for anything. But it was hard to rid myself of the idea that it might have ceased to be satisfied with dead victims, might be planning\u2014not planning,<\/i> Celehar, stop being absurd\u2014might be drawn toward the living.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell Athru,\u201d I said to the twins, and they nodded, grotesque bobbing shadows in the lantern light. Ghoul-disturbed earth became rapidly likely to spawn ghouls itself.<\/p>\n

We continued south, watching for the warm lights of the farmhouses as we went. The next cemetery along the South Road was a family one, but before we reached it, one of the twins stopped and said, \u201cWhere\u2019s Sherzar\u2019s house?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWe\u2019re not to it yet,\u201d said the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut we should be. We passed the Reclavada and the Parsinada on the left, and the Obrevada on the right\u2014Sherzar should be right here.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a pause while Valta\u2014the rope visible across his chest in the lantern light\u2014recalculated his twin\u2019s reckoning. Then he said, \u201cMaybe he\u2019s saving money by going to bed with the sun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSherzar? The man all but bankrupts himself buying candles in the winter.\u201d They both sounded uneasy.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t yet dark enough that the landscape was completely invisible, and after a moment, Valta said, \u201cThere\u2019s the beech copse. If he had a candle lit, we would see it.\u201d<\/p>\n

We were all nervous now. I said, \u201cI think we had best investigate. We can apologize if he was asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Valta, not happily, and led the way past the beech copse, and down a narrow, rutted path. After about twenty yards, a house became visible, very small but squarely built, and entirely dark. Another three yards and we could see the door was open.<\/p>\n

Valta muttered a prayer under his breath and called, \u201cSherzar! Sherzar, are you there?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no answer; I did not think Valta expected one.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cYou can stay here if you\u2019ll give me one of the lanterns.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I thank you, othala,\u201d said Vera. \u201cI think we would be much wiser to stay with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said, though truthfully I myself had no desire to divide our forces.<\/p>\n

When I reached the doorway, I knew it was too late for Sherzar. The thick reek of stale blood was like being struck in the face.<\/p>\n

Vera went inside first, then me, then Valta. Vera said, \u201cGoddesses of mercy,\u201d in a choked voice. Valta stepped back outside and was quietly sick.<\/p>\n

The ghoul had torn Sherzar to pieces. Some of the pieces had been gnawed on, and blood was everywhere: pooled on the floor, streaked across the walls, spattered on the ceiling. There were bloody handprints here and there, clearly Sherzar\u2019s.<\/p>\n

<\/span>At least we did not have to search to be sure the ghoul was not there. Sherzar\u2019s house had only two rooms; neither was cluttered enough with furniture to offer any hiding places\u2014if a ghoul were bright enough to hide, which it wasn\u2019t. I reminded myself again that the ghoul was no longer elf or goblin. It was only dead, hungry meat.<\/p>\n

I said the prayer of compassion for the dead and offered a silent apology to Sherzar that we could not stop long enough for more. \u201cAll right,\u201d I said. \u201cWe have to follow it from here. There should be enough of a blood trail at least to start us in the right direction.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Vera, still choked, but he recovered when we were back in the open air, and Valta was already casting around for traces. It took only a very little searching to find the ghoul\u2019s path, paralleling the road but apparently careful to stay off it, which was not a good sign.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe alert,\u201d I said to the twins. \u201cThis one has been risen long enough to develop some very rudimentary cunning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKeveris should have reported it sooner,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

\u201cMuch sooner,\u201d said Vera.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe glad it\u2019s only one ghoul,\u201d I said. \u201cFrom what Athru and Osmer Thilmerezh told me, it could easily have been more.\u201d<\/p>\n

Two of us walked on the road while the third followed the ghoul\u2019s trail. We traded off regularly, and we hadn\u2019t gone more than a mile, the moon now starting to rise, before Valta, beside me on the road, said, \u201cThere\u2019s the Clestenada cemetery. I can see the fancy fence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said. \u201cAssuming it can\u2019t figure out the gate\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe gate\u2019s open.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vera came out of the ditch, and we ran for the gate of the Clestenada cemetery.<\/p>\n

We were too late again.<\/p>\n

It was immediately obvious that the ghoul had not opened the gate\u2014also that Othala Perchenzar\u2019s book had not been protection enough against a real ghoul.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe must have tried to lay a trap for it and ended up trapped himself,\u201d I said, my own voice shaking. \u201cAnd now the ghoul has killed twice.\u201d<\/p>\n

The twins said nothing, and I said, trying to get my thoughts to <\/span>move forward, not to remain stuck on the grisly mess of the Clestenada cemetery, \u201cTell Athru to watch these graves particularly. The dirt has been saturated with blood, and I\u2019ve been told that wakes ghouls more certainly than anything else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will have to bury Othala Perchenzar,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Sherzar,\u201d said Vera.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet someone to pay for proper gravestones,\u201d I said. \u201cMaybe the town of Tanvero. And maybe they should think about hiring a second caretaker.\u201d I stopped, scrubbed my face with both hands. My thoughts were moving, certainly, but in no useful direction.<\/p>\n

I centered myself, told the twins to start searching around the perimeter of the graveyard for the ghoul\u2019s trail, then moved forward to the corpse. I said the prayer of compassion for the dead and a second prayer, specific to prelates of Ulis. It was as I was turning away from the terrible remains of Othala Perchenzar that I realized two things. First, that the Clestenada cemetery, with its elaborate fence, did in fact make a perfect trap. Second, that this ghoul was smart enough to figure that out.<\/p>\n

It was blocking the gate.<\/p>\n

It did not have a face, only a mouth, and its teeth seemed to be made of bones. I never saw its body clearly, only impressions of blood and bone, fat and raw meat. I wasn\u2019t sure that there was any proper body at all; the ghoul clothed itself in meat, but it clothed itself badly. One thing I had always been told about ghouls\u2014one thing I had seen for myself a number of times\u2014was not true about this one. It was not slow.<\/p>\n

It was not lightning-fast, but it was far faster than any other ghoul I had seen, fast enough that I almost didn\u2019t dodge in time when it rushed at me.<\/p>\n

I scrambled out of the way and ran immediately for the gate, for it took only seconds to understand that I had to get out of the killing pen the ghoul had found and already used successfully once.<\/p>\n

But the ghoul had reasoned that out, too. Even as I bumped hard into the gatepost, its clawing rib-fingered hands clamped on my shoulders. I had only enough time to grab the gatepost with both <\/span>hands before the ghoul started dragging me backwards toward the jagged bone teeth of its maw.<\/p>\n

Wherever they were in the darkness, the twins had the wits to extinguish their lanterns.<\/p>\n

I ripped myself free of the ghoul\u2019s hold and fell hard on the blood-soaked ground. Before I could pick myself up, I felt the ghoul\u2019s hand close around my ankle, and it started to drag me back. I cast desperately for the ghoul\u2019s name. The process was the same as with any dead body, and the ghoul might be cunning and fast, but it did not have a living mind. It had only hunger and rage and there at the center, almost unsalvageable, was its name.<\/p>\n

\u201cHiri\u00e4n!\u201d I gasped, grabbing frantically at the gatepost again. \u201cHiri\u00e4n Balamaran, I know your name!\u201d The ghoul had been a woman. I didn\u2019t know why I was surprised.<\/p>\n

It made a noise, a sort of roaring, sawing sound that I could not imagine how it had produced.<\/p>\n

\u201cVera!\u201d I shouted. \u201cValta! Say the name! Hiri\u00e4n Balamaran!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHiri\u00e4n Balamaran!\u201d a twin shouted from the left, and for the first time I felt the ghoul\u2019s grip loosen.<\/p>\n

\u201cHiri\u00e4n Balamaran!\u201d I shouted again. \u201cI know your name! I know your death!\u201d Hiri\u00e4n Balamaran\u2014who in truth had nothing to do with the ghoul except that it had started with her body\u2014had died in childbirth. She had started bleeding, and there had been no midwife to help her, only her trapper husband. They barely had time to realize something was wrong before Hiri\u00e4n was dead.<\/p>\n

\u201cHiri\u00e4n Balamaran!\u201d shouted the other twin from the other side of the cemetery. That actually distracted the ghoul; I felt its grip loosen a little, as if it couldn\u2019t decide whether to drag me in or to go after this other target.<\/p>\n

\u201cHiri\u00e4n,\u201d I said, trying to soften my voice. \u201cHiri\u00e4n, you have been wrongly woken from your sleep. You must rest again. Hiri\u00e4n, let the darkness take you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The ghoul roared again, but I could feel its grip weakening. This was an old ritual, although it was usually recited over the grave after<\/i> the ghoul had been quieted. I said again, \u201cHiri\u00e4n, you have <\/span>been wrongly woken from your sleep. You must rest again.\u201d The twins were still shouting \u201cHiri\u00e4n Balamaran!\u201d in turn, and as I said, \u201cHiri\u00e4n, let the darkness take you,\u201d I felt one of its rib-fingers fall off. \u201cHiri\u00e4n, you have been wrongly woken from your sleep.\u201d The ghoul let go of me entirely, and I scrambled madly out of the cemetery. \u201cYou must rest again,\u201d I said with all the conviction I had, and, craning over my shoulder, I saw the ghoul\u2019s indistinct shape, half out the gate, slump to the ground.<\/p>\n

The twins let out a ragged cheer.<\/p>\n

\u201cHiri\u00e4n Balamaran,\u201d I said, \u201clet the darkness take you,\u201d and the ghoul collapsed into a pile of rotting meat.<\/p>\n

There was perfect silence for a moment\u2014not even insects singing\u2014and then both twins cried, \u201cOthala! Othala, are you hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n

I wasn\u2019t sure of the answer. I felt filthy, as if I, too, were made of rotting meat, and both shoulders burned and throbbed with pain from the ghoul\u2019s grip. \u201cI don\u2019t think anything\u2019s broken,\u201d I managed as I got to my feet; by then the twins had found me by the light of their relit lanterns.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re bleeding, othala,\u201d said Vera.<\/p>\n

I looked down and saw blood oozing through my torn shirt and waistcoat and coat\u2014long parallel rents that marked the touch of the ghoul\u2019s hands. My trousers were stained with a vile mixture of mud and blood, and the ghoul had pulled off one shoe.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s the ruination of this coat,\u201d I said wearily. \u201cBut come. We must bury this carcass.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe<\/i> will dig,\u201d Vera said firmly.<\/p>\n

I should have argued, but I was too grateful to them to try. Also, I realized as I watched, I would only have gotten in their way. They dug neatly and swiftly, their shovels never colliding, and when the grave was deep enough, they carefully transferred the foul pile of bones and body parts into the earth, returning my shoe to me when they found it. It was in no worse condition than my trousers, and I put it back on.<\/p>\n

The twins filled in the grave as quickly as they had dug it, and by then I had found a stick and wrote HIRI\u00c4N BALAMARAN<\/small> in careful <\/span>letters across the freshly turned soil. I said the prayer of compassion for the dead and added a prayer for rest traditionally said over the graves of ghouls, and then we started the long walk back to town.<\/p>\n

\n

Tanvero had two clerics of Csaivo; I did not ask why the twins took me to one instead of the other. He was a tall elven man, rather stooped, with an abrupt manner and quick-moving hands. He seemed unfazed by the information that my injuries were from a ghoul, merely muttering, \u201cI\u2019d best clean those out thoroughly then.\u201d He washed the gashes on my shoulders and left ankle out with something that smelled like marigolds and stung like hornets. I gripped the edge of his examining table and tried to maintain a decent composure.<\/p>\n

Coralezh raised an eyebrow and said, \u201cNo one will think less of you if you scream.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s good to know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

When he had cleaned the gashes, he smeared them gently with an ointment that smelled of camellias and said, \u201cThey\u2019ve stopped bleeding already, so I don\u2019t think I need bandage them, but you will need a shirt.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said ruefully. Mine was essentially torn to ribbons, and if I\u2019d wanted the bloodstains to come out, I shouldn\u2019t have delayed to bury the ghoul.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot to worry,\u201d Coralezh said. \u201cI have a kind of secondhand exchange in the back here. Sometimes patients come, like you, and need clothes. Sometimes they come, and they will never need their clothes again.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had no objection to wearing the clothes of the dead. Coralezh disappeared for a moment, and came back with a plain calico shirt that proved to be only a little bit too big.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt will do,\u201d I said, and put it on.<\/p>\n

He offered me a pair of trousers, which were fine once I\u2019d rolled up the cuffs.<\/p>\n

\u201cUnfortunately,\u201d said Coralezh, \u201cI have no waistcoats that will <\/span>fit you, and the only coat back there that I think you could wear is mustard yellow. Do you want it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I hesitated. On the one hand, I had no wish to look like a barbarian wandering the streets of Tanvero in my shirtsleeves. On the other hand, I was expected, as a prelate of Ulis, to maintain a suitable palette in my clothes, and mustard yellow was not by any stretch of the imagination suitable. My own coat, the black one with gray embroidery of which I had been particularly fond, was ruined.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me try it,\u201d I said finally.<\/p>\n

It was both bright yellow and quite fashionable, with the off-center line of frogs down the front and the braid in looping patterns at the cuffs. It fit perfectly. And I really couldn\u2019t go out in my shirtsleeves.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a terrible color on you,\u201d Coralezh observed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will remember not to wear it again. Thank you for your help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy calling,\u201d Coralezh said with a shrug. \u201cMake a pilgrimage to the Sanctuary for the people of Tanvero and any debt you may owe me will be cleared.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will do so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, othala.\u201d We bowed to each other over folded hands, and I departed.<\/p>\n

\n

It was dawn before I was able to sleep, on a bed that Valta\u2019s wife Sanaro had made up for me in their winter storeroom, and my dreams were strange and restless. I was fairly sure I did not dream Valta saying sternly to someone, \u201cNo, you do not need Othala Celehar to bury Othala Perchenzar. Is Othala Monmara ill?\u201d<\/p>\n

Someone else said, \u201cBut Othala Perchenzar hated Othala Monmara.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen he shouldn\u2019t have gone out and gotten himself killed by a ghoul,\u201d said Valta. \u201cLeave poor Othala Celehar in peace.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted to protest that I was perfectly capable of performing a funeral service on two hours\u2019 sleep\u2014I had done so before\u2014but by the time I remembered how to form the words, I was asleep again.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I woke up later and emerged from the storeroom to find Vera and Valta playing cards at the kitchen table, while Valta\u2019s elven wife worked around them on a meal that turned out to be supper, their wide-eyed infant watching everything from the sling against Sanaro\u2019s shoulder. \u201cOthala!\u201d she said, smiling welcome. \u201cAre you well?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am, thank you,\u201d I said. \u201cI hope I am not putting you out?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d she said, lying staunchly as she was bound to do, just as I was bound to ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala,\u201d said Vera, \u201cwe have seen Sherzar and Othala Perchenzar safely buried in the New Town Cemetery, and Athru promises he will keep an eye on the graves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey will have gravestones by next week,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cDoes anyone know anything about Hiri\u00e4n Balamaran?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOsmer Thilmerezh did not recognize the name,\u201d said Vera.<\/p>\n

Valta added, \u201cBut he himself says he knows very little about the trappers and the independent miners who choose not to live in town.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we have no way of determining where her grave was or whether her husband was too much Vikhelneise for a marker,\u201d I said. \u201cOr whether there are other graves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone will be racking their memories,\u201d said Vera, \u201cand someone must know something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said, thinking now of Arvene\u00e4n and Inshiran as well as Hiri\u00e4n. \u201cSomeone must know something.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vera hesitated, then said, \u201cOthas\u2019ala Deprena is going to ask you to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI beg your pardon?\u201d I thought I had misheard him.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo replace Othala Perchenzar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a question for the Archprelate,\u201d I said stiffly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe othas\u2019ala said the Archprelate won\u2019t interfere with an agreement that\u2019s already in place,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

I was dubious about that proposition, but said only, \u201cMy calling is not in Tanvero, and truthfully I am not much more politic than Othala Perchenzar was.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe othas\u2019ala thinks that because you quieted the ghoul, people will be more likely to accept you,\u201d said Vera.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s a terrible basis for a prelacy,\u201d I said. \u201cUnless the othas\u2019ala expects there to be a ghoul every year or so\u2014people forget quickly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe<\/i> won\u2019t,\u201d said Vera with a shudder.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t go making Othala Celehar think you want him to stay against his calling,\u201d said Sanaro.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not,\u201d said Vera.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe just wanted to warn you, othala,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

\u201cI appreciate it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

They went back to their card game, a northern variant of pakh\u2019palar whose rules I could not follow. I sat and thought about the irony: this was the first time an othas\u2019ala had ever wanted<\/i> me to stay. The othas\u2019ala in Lohaiso had barely noticed me. The othas\u2019ala in Aveio had hated me long before I disgraced myself. The Amal\u2019othala in Amalo had no use for me. I did not share Othas\u2019ala Deprena\u2019s delusion that I was the solution to his problem. With Vikhelno\u2019s teaching so prevalent in his parish, he needed a strong and charismatic prelate, which I was not.<\/p>\n

Sanaro said, \u201cMove aside, boys. Supper is ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

Valta and Vera both moved with considerable promptness, and Sanaro set a pot of barley and beans and vegetables on the trivet sitting in the middle of the table. She produced a ladle and a stack of bowls and said, \u201cHelp yourselves. Othala, will you join us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, thank you,\u201d I said, for I was starving. Valta ladled me a generous bowlful.<\/p>\n

There was not a great deal of conversation over supper, which suited me very well. We were nearly done when Vera said, \u201cOthala, is there a way to tell if a grave is\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf a ghoul is getting ready to rise?\u201d Valta finished.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot that I know of,\u201d I said. \u201cUntended graves are a danger, and graves without a legible stone are the worst. But there aren\u2019t any signs<\/i> of a ghoul waking\u2014at least, not any reliable ones. Some Ulineise Witnesses claim they can feel the ghoul in the ground, but they\u2019re not really any more accurate than you\u2019ll be if you look at the headstone and make a good guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

The twins looked a little daunted. That was good; it might keep <\/span>them from doing something stupid. If I closed my eyes, I knew I would see the mauled remains of Othala Perchenzar.<\/p>\n

Sanaro said, \u201cThere are many cemeteries around Tanvero, othala, as I\u2019m sure you have noticed, and Athru is only one man. What would you suggest?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMake a list of all the cemeteries you know about,\u201d I said promptly. \u201cGet Osmer Thilmerezh to help. Ask the trappers and the miners. Then you need a roster of volunteers. Make sure every cemetery is being checked regularly and weeded and properly maintained. Make the town pay for repairing and replacing gravestones. It isn\u2019t a matter anyone can afford to be stingy about.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sanaro nodded. \u201cMy grandmother used to say that if you get one ghoul, you know you\u2019ll get more. Like a disease.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a horrid thought. \u201cNot quite that bad,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s more that where one grave has fallen into disrepair, there are likely to be more. And of course a ghoul\u2019s victims are<\/i> more likely to be ghouls in turn. But a legible stone and a properly maintained grave will keep them down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s some comfort,\u201d said Sanaro. \u201cA contagion, we could do nothing about. Weeding, even a child can help with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is very true,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

There was a knock at the door. Valta answered it and said with some surprise, \u201cOsmer Thilmerezh! Come in, please, you honor our house.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, nonsense, Valta,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cWe have come to speak to Othala Celehar, if that is possible.\u201d<\/p>\n

Valta, Vera, and Sanaro all looked at me. I stood up and said, \u201cWhat may we do for you, Osmer Thilmerezh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh hesitated\u2014the first sign of uncertainty I had seen in him.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe storeroom will be private,\u201d said Sanaro.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cPrivacy is desirable.\u201d He followed me to the storeroom, where I lit the lamp before shutting the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat may we do for you?\u201d I asked again.<\/p>\n

<\/span>Osmer Thilmerezh said, \u201cWe would ask you to bear a message.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA message?\u201d<\/p>\n

Osmer Thilmerezh looked even more uncomfortable. \u201cWe are a stranger to the young lady, and we fear she would merely discard the letter if we were to send it through the post.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at him, and he blushed as delicately as any elven maiden. \u201cShe is our granddaughter, but we never knew her mother because we were exiled before she was born, and her<\/i> mother wanted nothing to do with us. She married another man, and Veliso was raised as his child. We kept track of her as best we could, and we thought when she married an airman and moved to Amalo that we might have the chance to write to her. But she died in childbirth with her daughter Amiru. Amiru is nineteen now and old enough to be told the truth and decide for herself. We are determined not to let this second chance elude us.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took me some time to find the words to answer this remarkable story. Finally, I said, \u201cWe will carry a letter. And we will vouch that you are a real person and not, as best we can judge, a liar. But\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is all we ask!\u201d Osmer Thilmerezh said quickly. \u201cWe could not reasonably ask more. We mean the child no harm. She is the only family we have left, and we should like to know her. That is all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will bear your letter,\u201d I said, and he beamed at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cSplendid! Truly, we cannot thank you enough. Here.\u201d It was a fat document, carefully sealed, and as I watched, he wrapped it in oilskin and tied it with a long leather lace.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will not forget?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will not,\u201d I said, choosing to take the question as a sign of his anxiety rather than as an insult. Almost reluctantly, he handed me the packet, which I stowed carefully in the inside pocket of the terrible mustard-yellow coat, where it barely fit.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, othala,\u201d said Osmer Thilmerezh. \u201cYou relieve us of a great burden of indecision.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the kitchen, everyone was trying to look as though they weren\u2019t curious in the slightest. Osmer Thilmerezh wished us all a good evening and departed.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cIt is Osmer Thilmerezh\u2019s business, not mine,\u201d I said into the hopeful silence. \u201cNow, I need to find the caravan master\u2014at least, I trust they haven\u2019t departed already?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTomorrow morning,\u201d said Vera. \u201cI can take you, othala. Valta has a little one to put to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sanaro, nursing the still wide-eyed infant, laughed and said, \u201cThe little one would rather go run around the streets with you. I dread the day she learns to walk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe will be a terror like her mother,\u201d said Valta.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you for your hospitality,\u201d I said formally to them both.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe could do no less,\u201d said Sanaro, which I recognized as a formal Barizheise phrase.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur house is open to you, othala,\u201d said Valta. \u201cI do not like to think about how many people would have died if you had not come.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is my calling,\u201d I said, as Coralezh had said to me.<\/p>\n

\n

Tanvero had no street lights. I was possibly still a little rattled by the ghoul, for I found myself following Vera so closely that I was almost treading on his heels, but he only laughed when I tried to apologize.<\/p>\n

There were two hotels in town, one patronized by caravan masters and one patronized by guards and drivers. Vera took me to Elsanesmee, where the caravan masters stayed, and said, \u201cIf you need anything, othala, ask for me. Valta and I do repairs for most of the buildings in town, so everyone knows us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cIt is kind of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me oddly, then smiled and said, \u201cIf you come to Tanvero again, I hope it is not for ghouls.\u201d<\/p>\n

Inside Elsanesmee, I was recognized immediately and disconcertingly as the prelate who had quieted the ghoul. The desk clerk offered me a chair behind the desk (which I was glad to take, for I was still fatigued) and a boy was sent running to fetch Mer Malhanar. I was <\/span>intensely uncomfortable, especially as I knew I was being watched from the servants\u2019 corridor that ran behind the desk and under the main staircase. The mustard-yellow coat felt like a blazing torch.<\/p>\n

Mer Malhanar appeared with what I supposed was flattering promptness and professed himself delighted to see that I was well and capable of returning to Amalo in the morning. He seemed nervous in my presence, and I suppressed the ridiculous urge to reassure him that I had not torn the ghoul apart with my bare hands. He was also delighted to find me a bed for the night, and I was equally pleased with the tiny single room up under the eaves. It was intended for a merchant\u2019s edocharis, but even if there was some subtle insult intended\u2014which I felt confident there was not\u2014I did not care. The door had a lock and the bed could be slept upon and Mer Malhanar had my valise sent up so that I was able to change into my nightshirt and sleep in comfort.<\/p>\n

Despite my half prediction to myself, insomnia did not plague me, and if I dreamed, I did not remember them in the morning.<\/p>\n

\n

At dawn, when I walked to the town square, the caravan wagons and mule teams were there. So was the mayor of Tanvero.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar!\u201d he cried, seizing both my hands before I knew what he was doing. \u201cWe cannot tell you how grateful we are!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe follow our calling,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have saved Tanvero!\u201d the mayor said.<\/p>\n

That was an exaggeration, although certainly the town would need to build a crematorium in a dreadful hurry.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan we not convince you to stay? Othas\u2019ala Deprena\u2014who is with a sick parishioner this morning, or he would be here, too\u2014would welcome you, and the whole town would be grateful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are not suited to the ulimeire of a small town,\u201d I said, and managed to get my hands back. \u201cBut we thank you for the invitation.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen can we not do something else to thank you? Anything? We would be glad to give you a better coat.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>My face burned, but I was about to say yes when Csano yelled, \u201cOthala! If you\u2019re coming, you\u2019d better come now!\u201d I realized the wagons at the head of the train were starting to move.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you very much for the offer,\u201d I said to the mayor, then turned and ran for the wagon, mustard-yellow coat and all.<\/p>\n

\n

When we reached the Glassmarket, there was another of Prince Orchenis\u2019s couriers waiting for me. I recognized two of the three elven men standing beside him: Goronezh of the Amalo Arbiter<\/i> and Thurizar of the Evening Standard.<\/i> The third had to be a newspaperman for the Herald of Amalo<\/i>.<\/p>\n

I liked Goronezh and Thurizar well enough\u2014they didn\u2019t go out of their way to cast me in a bad light, neither as a fraud nor as a halfwit, and although Goronezh in particular was cynical about the inner politics of the Amalomeire, they were both respectful of the gods.<\/p>\n

This new man was younger, fox-faced, and wore his hair in a sleek knot at the nape of his neck. He made me intensely aware of the mustard-yellow coat.<\/p>\n

In the chaos of unloading, I barely managed to shout good-bye to Csano before I was being unsmilingly helped in a two-wheeled carriage, the courier climbing in after me.<\/p>\n

The newspapermen were shouting questions:<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar, did you find a ghoul?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar, is it true that the prince threatened to throw you out of Amalo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar, is there any truth to the rumors about the Duhalada will?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a good thing I was already sitting down. If the newspapermen knew about the Duhalada, the Amal\u2019othala either did or very soon would. And if it was in the papers, he would be obliged to notice it whether he wanted to or not. I had a terrible feeling about the <\/span>reason Prince Orchenis needed to see me so urgently. I pulled myself together to protest to the courier, \u201cI can\u2019t go before Prince Orchenis like this!\u201d The mustard-yellow coat was practically flaunting disrespect, both for the prince and for my calling.<\/p>\n

The courier barely glanced at me. \u201cThe prince will not be offended.\u201d<\/p>\n

That cold, hard knot in my stomach got worse.<\/p>\n

I was taken to the Cinnabar Room again, where Prince Orchenis and his secretary were waiting. Prince Orchenis\u2019s frown was even deeper, and I bowed to him with my heart pounding and my hands ice-cold.<\/p>\n

The prince said, \u201cThe Amal\u2019othala has been forced to take notice.\u201d<\/p>\n

My knees nearly buckled; it was the thing I had most feared. \u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Nepevis Duhalar,\u201d Prince Orchenis said with the precision of distaste, \u201cin his panic to avoid the judgment of fraud, which he must know is inevitable at this point, took his concerns directly to the Amalomeire.\u201d Even more dourly, he added, \u201cAnd then the newspapers got hold of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

My heartbeat pounded frantically against my ribs, and my ears were down flat. It took an effort to ask, \u201cWhat has gotten in the newspapers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo far, only that there is some irregularity with Nepena Duhalar\u2019s will and that you spoke to Mer Duhalar on his sons\u2019 behalf. They haven\u2019t printed any of the more scurrilous rumors yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was not terrible, although also not good. \u201cWhat has the Amal\u2019othala said?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is most displeased, and he does not like any better than we do being dictated to by Mer Duhalar. Still, as you have observed, it is impossible to prove a negative.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe swear,\u201d I said through numb lips, \u201cwe had never met any<\/i> of the Duhalada before that day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot the point,\u201d said Prince Orchenis, \u201calthough in all fairness we must admit we believe you. The Amal\u2019othala says that, as you <\/span>have been accused of profaning your calling, it must be Ulis who proclaims your guilt or innocence.\u201d<\/p>\n

Incredulity made my voice squeak and break: \u201cTrial by ordeal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrial by ordeal,\u201d agreed Prince Orchenis. \u201cIt is the only way.\u201d<\/p>\n

He would not say that at the Untheileneise Court, but I caught myself before I said anything so obvious and so foolish. I realized my hands were shaking, hopefully not so that Prince Orchenis would notice.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is the ordeal of Amalo?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat,\u201d said Prince Orchenis, \u201cis up to the Amal\u2019othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I insisted and was grudgingly allowed to return to my apartment long enough to change my coat. I left the dreadful mustard-yellow coat in a heap on the floor. I chose a waistcoat and then put on my coat of office. Once properly dressed for an audience with the Amal\u2019othala, I joined the courier in the two-wheeled carriage for the drive south to the Amalomeire where it was carved into the living rock of Osreian\u2019s Spur. We left the prince\u2019s carriage at the foot of the stairs and climbed endless switchbacks, damp with the nearness of the Zhomaikora. The trick, as I knew from my only other audience with the Amal\u2019othala, was never to look down and never to look back, even when one stopped to rest in one of the elaborately carved, copper-roofed turrets.<\/p>\n

Finally, we reached the top of the cliff, where two somber-faced canons were waiting for us. One went one way with the courier; the other bowed to me and said, \u201cCome this way, othala, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed her through the grounds of the Amalomeire. Unlike other palaces and prelacies I had seen, the Amalomeire had no trees, no flowers, just the stark rock out of which the palace was carved. We entered the Amalomeire from its roof.<\/p>\n

Inside, it was a true warren, millennia old, the stone beneath our feet worn smooth and convex with the passage of thousands <\/span>upon thousands of feet. Everywhere there were elaborate stone lattices, carved to look like vines or lace. We passed canons and novices in the halls, all of whom seemed to know who I was; I saw fear in the quick glances they gave me, as if the Amal\u2019othala\u2019s disapproval was contagious. I wanted to ask my guide how many people the Amal\u2019othala sentenced to trial by ordeal, but I didn\u2019t trust my voice and I wasn\u2019t sure she would answer me. I saw Othalo Zanarin in hushed colloquy with two canons, doubtless pursuing some matter on behalf of Dach\u2019othala Vernezar. She glanced up as we passed, but stared straight through me.<\/p>\n

The Amal\u2019othala was at devotions in his private chapel. I sat on the bench carved into the rock while the canon stood in front of me as if she were blocking any attempt at escape.<\/p>\n

The Amal\u2019othala was an elven man of excellent lineage (a cousin of Prince Orchenis, though not on the house side). He was short and rather stout, and although his eyes were weak, he refused to wear spectacles, making his canons serve as his eyes instead. He dressed always in the bullion-stiff robes of his office (unlike the Archprelate, who wore his robes of office only when strictly necessary, most times being content with a canon\u2019s frock coat), and his elaborately dressed and jeweled hair was almost certainly a wig.<\/p>\n

When he came out of the othasmeire, he looked at me blankly for a moment, then scowled. \u201cCelehar,\u201d he said. \u201cWe have not been hearing good things about you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is not true, Holiness,\u201d I said, hearing desperation leak into my voice.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s as may be,\u201d said the Amal\u2019othala, \u201cwhen we have Mer Duhalar telling everyone who will listen that you are a fraud.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHoliness, you must know\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, do be quiet, Celehar. What we<\/i> know is not the question. It is all the people who have trusted you. Those are the people who will doubt and who must be given proof. That is the purpose of a trial by ordeal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Horribly, I understood his reasoning, and I could not argue with <\/span>it. My petitioners needed to trust me, or what good was it to speak to the dead? A trial by ordeal would naturally be in all the newspapers. If I passed it, Mer Duhalar would be silenced.<\/p>\n

If<\/i> I passed it.<\/p>\n

\u201cTraditionally,\u201d the Amal\u2019othala said, \u201cthe trial by ordeal has been a concoction of asteli\u00e4r.\u201d<\/p>\n

Women wore asteli\u00e4r in their hair to rebuff an importunate suitor. If the dose was small enough, a person might survive swallowing the distillate of its flowers, but only after days of vomiting. And it would be terribly easy for the dose to be just that fraction too large.<\/p>\n

\u201cHowever,\u201d said the Amal\u2019othala, \u201cwe do not approve of the use of asteli\u00e4r. It is far too crude. We prefer a trial that in fact involves the favor of Ulis.\u201d<\/p>\n

I did not know whether to be encouraged or dismayed. Before I had to decide, he continued, \u201cWe set your trial, Thara Celehar, as a pilgrimage tonight to the top of the Hill of Werewolves, there to stay until dawn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey say the dead walk the Hill of Werewolves,\u201d I said, uncertain if I had understood the Amal\u2019othala\u2019s intention correctly.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes,\u201d said the Amal\u2019othala. \u201cIt\u2019s quite true. But that shouldn\u2019t bother a true Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the wolves?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre a folktale,\u201d the Amal\u2019othala said with serene confidence. \u201cPeople don\u2019t turn into wolves, Celehar. Don\u2019t be ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you think Mer Duhalar will agree this is a sufficient trial?\u201d<\/p>\n

He gave me a stern, undecipherable look. \u201cThere was a man who failed, about five years ago, one of those frauds who claim Ulis\u2019s direct blessing without even having been so much as a novice. He was found at the foot of the hill in the morning, weeping uncontrollably and with his clothing torn to rags. It is a sufficient trial.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted to argue several points. I said the only thing I could: \u201cThank you, Holiness.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

I was kept in the Amalomeire all afternoon\u2014the Amal\u2019othala suggested that I might like to practice my devotions, and even without the command semi-hidden in the suggestion, I decided he was right. I was glad to retreat to the Amalomeire\u2019s chapel to Ulis, dark and quiet and deep in the rock of Osreian\u2019s Spur.<\/p>\n

The chapel was itself a relic of a much older tradition in the worship of Ulis, in which one had to earn the honor of worshiping Ulis in a sacred space; the chapel could only be reached by descending a long, dark shaft, a natural chimney made into a ladder by means of handholds and footholds carved out of the rock. Such chapels were not uncommon, and there were still ascetics who spent their devotional hours in desolate places, carving ladders in rock, providing such chapels for those who felt they had to go even farther out of their way before Ulis would listen to them. For my part, I no longer believed it mattered whether Ulis listened to me. What was important was that I had to listen to him.<\/p>\n

It took me a few moments after I had reached the floor of the chapel to quiet my heart rate and breathing. The tall lanterns burned steadily in their sconces, carved elaborately with night creatures like bats and cougars. It was the job of one of the junior canons to climb down here every day at sunset and refill the lanterns and trim their wicks. In theory, they never went out, but sometimes the canon might have to make the climb by the light of only one lantern. Very occasionally, they might get halfway down and discover that there was no light at all in the chapel. That was not considered an excuse to turn back and was why the job was given to a canon rather than a novice.<\/p>\n

There was no altar; the space itself, hollowed from the great weight of the rock, was altar enough. I did not kneel, not wanting the bruises on my shins and kneecaps, but stood barefoot in the center of the chamber, between the two lanterns and in front of the shaft leading up to the kitchens, and did my best to quiet my mind so that I might hear Ulis if he was inclined to speak to me waking. Thus far in my experience, he had spoken to me only in dreams, but that might only mean I had not been listening carefully enough.<\/p>\n

I moved through the Devotion of the Moon\u2014appropriate to any <\/span>nighttime undertaking\u2014trying to let go of any thoughts besides the long-familiar prayers, a task which was significantly harder than usual. Every time I dragged myself away from wondering about the Hill of Werewolves, I found myself thinking about Mer Duhalar and the rumors he was spreading. How had he known? For he couldn\u2019t have hit upon the scandal at random. Had it been talked about in Amalo? Surely not\u2014Aveio was far away and isolated, and the Duhalada was not one of its houses. But he could not have known simply by looking at me that I had once had an affair with a married man.<\/p>\n

Here, I caught myself and returned my attention to the Devotion of the Moon. But the next time my mind wandered, it picked up right where it had left off. He could not<\/i> have known. Even the fact that I was marnis was not visible on my face or clothes. If it had been, I would have suffered even more greatly as a novice, and the othas\u2019ala of Aveio would never have let me stay long enough to prove that I could quiet ghouls. But then I remembered I was well known in Amalo for having caught the Curneisei who had killed the emperor. Who was to say what stories had not trickled north from the Untheileneise Court? Who was to say the whole city did not know my past?<\/p>\n

Here, I caught myself again, leading my mind like a wayward child back to the prayers of the devotions. But within minutes, my mind went back to the Hill of Werewolves and the stories I had heard about it.<\/p>\n

The dead walked there at night, but it was also a place of disappearances: a child runs ahead of his nurse on a twisting path and can never later be found; a young man is dared to spend the night there alone and is never seen again; a gardener, long accustomed to tending the public lawns at the foot of the hill, fails to return home one night.\u2026 And that was without even considering the stories of werewolves, the hulking half-elven monsters that guarded a fabulous treasure and that were said to go hunting in the streets around the hill on moonless nights. I had heard many different stories to account for them and the treasure they guarded\u2014a curse, an ancient people driven underground by the advent of elves, even an <\/span>experiment by a university student gone terribly wrong. I had never been able to decide how much or how many of the stories to believe, but I found I remembered every one.<\/p>\n

I returned my vagrant attention to the Devotion of the Moon, knowing it would not stay there.<\/p>\n

By the time the canon came climbing down the shaft like a blot of shadows, I was glad to see him. He bowed to me nervously, opened a hidden cupboard, and began to refill the lamps. I stayed a moment longer, trying to find some tiny measure of tranquility, then climbed back up to the kitchens, where another canon was waiting for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar,\u201d she said, bowing. \u201cWe are Canon Varlenin. The Amal\u2019othala has assigned us to witness your trial.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurely His Holiness does not intend you to accompany us,\u201d I said, a little horrified.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not that. Here,\u201d she said, and pointed me to where someone had thoughtfully left some cold chicken and generously buttered sourdough bread that would do very well as dinner. \u201cWe are to wait at the gate to the Hill of Werewolves with the key. There is only one gate.\u201d<\/p>\n

I ate quickly and drank two cups of water from the kitchen spigot.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe regret that you are in for a long and uncomfortable night,\u201d I said to Canon Varlenin as I put on my shoes.<\/p>\n

She was too well bred to shrug and too well trained to smile. She said, \u201cIt is no matter. Please follow me, for the Amal\u2019othala wishes your trial to begin at moonrise.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed her back up through the Amalomeire, buzzing with canons and novices and prelates like a wasps\u2019 nest. The climb down the face of Osreian\u2019s Spur was, if anything, worse than the climb up, since it was harder to avoid the dizzying view; I stared grimly at Canon Varlenin\u2019s back and did not fall, despite the puddles and slick stair-treads that said it had rained, and heavily, while I was too deep in the rock to hear it.<\/p>\n

Another two-wheeler, this one marked with the Amal\u2019othala\u2019s signet, and we rattled across Amalo in fine style and at top speed. The <\/span>Hill of Werewolves was in the northern corner of the Veren\u2019malo, and I wasn\u2019t sure we could make it by moonrise. Our driver, though, by consistently choosing less-traveled roads\u2014and with a preternatural ability to predict and avoid road blockages\u2014delivered us to the gate before the first sliver of the moon rose over the horizon.<\/p>\n

Canon Varlenin got out of the two-wheeler with me and unlocked the gate. \u201cWe will wait,\u201d she said. \u201cThe Amal\u2019othala has instructed us to open the gate at dawn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe understand,\u201d I said, trying not to sound as grim as I felt. None of this situation was Canon Varlenin\u2019s fault. \u201cWait. Let us leave this with you.\u201d I shrugged out of my coat of office; it was too valuable to wear for climbing a great stone hill in the middle of the night.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Canon Varlenin, accepting the coat and folding it neatly across her arm.<\/p>\n

I walked through the gate, and she closed it behind me. \u201cGood luck, othala,\u201d she said, softly enough that we could both pretend she hadn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

\n

The land around the Hill of Werewolves was a public park, beautifully laid out and beautifully maintained. Despite the stories, the Werewolf Gardens were in fact a very popular promenade, although people were careful to go in pairs and everyone left well before dusk.<\/p>\n

I shivered and wished for the terrible mustard-yellow coat.<\/p>\n

The Amal\u2019othala had specified the top of the hill, and I knew there was an ancient ulimeire up there, where once the soldiers of the Warlord of Amalo had received their burials. Some stories said that those soldiers were the dead who walked, although I had never heard a story that explained why.<\/p>\n

The moon was near full and provided plenty of light, at least down here on the public paths. My first task was to find the path to the top of the hill. I walked the long curves of the public pathways, looking for breaks in the ornamental hedges that ringed the hill like fortifications. I thought at first that there was no break, that I was <\/span>going to have to force my way through the hedge, but then my eye was caught by a trickery of shadow, and I saw that the gardeners had done their best to both leave the way to the path open\u2014for people made pilgrimages to the Ulimeire of Werewolves and it was illegal to block a pilgrim\u2019s path\u2014and to hide it so that no one not actively seeking it should stumble across it. I slipped through the opening and started up the hill.<\/p>\n

The path, paved in ancient flagstones, meandered a good deal; I resisted the impulse to try to take a shortcut, even in places where it looked reasonable. I was halfway up the hill before I encountered the first ghost.<\/p>\n

Ghosts were not as common as folktales and novels would have had one believe. In fact, it was surpassingly rare to have a spirit of the dead who could be seen by laypersons; I had never encountered one before, although I had seen a few walking spirits. But this was a ghost. I knew it as such, and I could never have mistaken it for anything else.<\/p>\n

It was clearly a man who had died in war. He was streaked and spattered with blood, and he wore the leather kilt of the ancient Amaleise soldiers. He was staring at his bare and empty hands and screaming soundlessly as he walked along the path. It seemed to be the same path I was using. I got out of the way, crawlingly certain that I did not want him to touch me\u2014and that was a feeling I had never had about the dead before, not once in my entire life.<\/p>\n

He walked past without registering my presence; I told myself it was much too early in the evening to become hysterical and continued up the path.<\/p>\n

The next ghost was crouched in the middle of the path. He was covered in blood because his entrails were falling out against the desperate pressure of his hands. He might have been screaming, too; I never saw his face. I edged past him, almost shuddering with the conviction that he was going to reach out and catch my ankle, even though it was readily apparent that he was preoccupied\u2014and that was if he could even sense my presence, which was a question I had never thought to ask before and had no answer to.<\/p>\n

The next two ghosts were not directly on the path, but in a stand <\/span>of trees off to the right. They were locked in combat, trading tremendous blows with their short swords. Both were badly wounded, but neither seemed to have noticed; I saw nothing but hatred on their faces, animal snarls that made them look almost like twins.<\/p>\n

I got past them only to be confronted by another pair, a soldier dragging a Ulineise prelate. The soldier looked identical to the others I had seen, but he was clearly the enemy; he had what had to be an excruciating grip in the prelate\u2019s hair and was jerking him along the path as if he were tugging the lead rope of a recalcitrant donkey. The prelate, scrabbling to keep off his knees, was pleading with the soldier\u2014I could see his desperate expression and his mouth moving although I could not make sense of the words\u2014but it had no effect. I stayed frozen a moment too long, and the soldier dragged the prelate directly through me.<\/p>\n

I lurched off the path and was violently sick in the bushes. I stayed there for some time, gasping for breath, before I wiped my face with my handkerchief and got to my feet. It took an intense effort to make myself regain the path, and my heart was hammering when I did.<\/p>\n

The path was empty of ghosts.<\/p>\n

I proceeded gingerly, as if the earth might open and swallow me with my next step. I knew I was being ridiculous, but it was simply beyond my capacity to stride confidently ahead as if there were no ghosts at all. And anyway, I said bleakly to myself, I had all night.<\/p>\n

I traversed two switchbacks and found myself at the foot of a set of stairs carved into the hill. The stairs were very steep and the treads very narrow, so that the effect was almost more like a ladder than a flight of stairs. The middle of each step was deeply bowed, which did not make them easier to climb.<\/p>\n

I struggled up the stairs, cursing the slick soles of my shoes. Even court shoes as plain as mine, with no tooling and buckles instead of ribbons or laces, were not meant for this sort of exercise (which was precisely why I had taken them off before descending to the chapel in the Amalomeire). Once I nearly fell and had to clutch at the stairs, scraping my palms raw. Between fear and exertion, I was panting by the time I achieved the top.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I had gone no more than five steps from the stairs when I was suddenly surrounded by ghosts. There were dozens of them\u2014or perhaps it was more accurate to say that there was one ghost and that the ghost of a battle. Everywhere I looked men were killing each other. The fighting was terrible, made worse, much worse, by the complete silence. I did not wonder at the man who had been found weeping at the foot of the hill.<\/p>\n

I certainly preferred this trial to asteli\u00e4r and it was by any fair measure an ordeal. But the Amal\u2019othala was wrong. These ghosts had nothing to do with my calling or the favor of Ulis. Anyone could see them and no one could talk to them, and whether one made it through the night without going to pieces was purely a matter of courage and steady nerve. The ghosts were caught in their repeated motions, this same agony played out over and over again. Or perhaps the Amal\u2019othala was more subtle than I thought, and the trial was not getting<\/i> to the ulimeire, but staying there the entire night, surrounded by death and unable to do anything about it, unable either to ease the suffering these men had gone through or to stop the endless performance of their deaths.<\/p>\n

I watched the path, not looking up, and only twice had to stop to avoid walking through a ghost. Much as I tried not to notice anything about them, I saw that both sides wore the same style of armor, so that there was no way even to guess at the identity of the aggressor. My knowledge of the history of Amalo was not sufficient to provide any clues, and I had no idea what victory would mean\u2014had meant<\/i>\u2014for either side.<\/p>\n

I reminded myself that whatever this battle had been about, and whoever had won, it had happened centuries ago. I could not change what had happened, could not stop the brutal slaughter surrounding me.<\/p>\n

I watched my feet and presently came to another set of stairs, these broad and shallow and curving in a slow spiral toward\u2014I dared a glance up\u2014the top of the Hill of Werewolves.<\/p>\n

I was too exhausted to run, but I climbed the stairs as fast as I could.<\/p>\n

<\/span>The ulimeire that had stood at the summit of the hill was in ruins; the ghostly battle going on around me was probably why. It had been round and almost as small as a chapel. If there had ever been an altar, it had been torn down so thoroughly that no trace of it remained. There was just the rocky, mostly barren crest of the hill and a circle of stumps where the columns had been. It would have been a desolate place even in daylight, even without the ghost of a dying man lying across the threshold.<\/p>\n

I slowly skirted the perimeter\u2014unable to convince myself that it was safe to cross the open space\u2014looking for the pilgrim\u2019s cache, where the tokens of pilgrimage would be kept. It wasn\u2019t uncommon for the cache to be concealed as a last station on the pilgrim\u2019s journey; usually I would have enjoyed the challenge, but tonight I kept turning to look at the ghosts, as if they might be reaching for me, even though I knew full well the idea was ridiculous.<\/p>\n

I found the cache finally by tripping over it\u2014a short, square pillar with a hollowed-out top. The tokens were square glazed tiles painted with the sigil of Ulis in his aspect as the god of dreams, which I found perhaps inappropriately gentle for this grim hilltop. I chose a tile and put it carefully in my inside waistcoat pocket.<\/p>\n

Now all I had to do was to get through the rest of the night without going mad.<\/p>\n

\n

When I reached the gate at dawn, the canon was not the only one waiting for me. The newspapermen were there, Goronezh, Thurizar, and the new man, and not only was I in my shirtsleeves, but I was also muddy from head to foot and, having lost its ribbon sometime in the night, my braid had completely unraveled. I looked, no doubt, like the Wood Man\u2019s Child from Ischanhadra.<\/i><\/p>\n

Canon Varlenin opened the gate, wide-eyed.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, canon,\u201d I said wearily.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, othala,\u201d she said. \u201cThese gentlemen wish to hear about your experiences on the Hill of Werewolves.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>No doubt they did. I said, \u201cGentlemen, we regret to disoblige you, but we must speak to the Amal\u2019othala before we speak to anyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Othala Celehar for you,\u201d Thurizar said to the new man. \u201cYou\u2019ll never meet better court manners, not even from Prince Orchenis.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was a lie, but Thurizar was an inveterate exaggerator, always the man to go to if you wanted a story twisted away from the truth. I did not trust the things I read in the Evening Standard.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t you tell us anything?\u201d Goronezh said plaintively. \u201cWe got up at the very breaking point of dawn for you, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe cannot prevent you from doing foolish things, Mer Goronezh,\u201d I said, and surprised all three of them into a yelp of laughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar,\u201d said the third man, \u201cmy name is Vicenalar, from the Herald of Amalo.<\/i> Is it true that there are ghosts on the Hill of Werewolves?\u201d<\/p>\n

I was sorely tempted to say yes, but the Amal\u2019othala was already annoyed enough with me. I said, \u201cWe cannot speak to you now,\u201d and followed Canon Varlenin to the two-wheeler.<\/p>\n

As we rattled away in the carriage, Canon Varlenin said, \u201cA messenger came just before midnight, summoning us to the palace.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUs?\u201d I said, for she had used the plural.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are your witness,\u201d she said. \u201cDo you have a token?\u201d<\/p>\n

I showed her the tile I had chosen. She smiled, her ears tilting up, and said, \u201cVery good, othala. Thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then, on a belated thought, I said, \u201cWe are hardly presentable for the palace.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt matters not,\u201d said Canon Varlenin.<\/p>\n

Rather desperately, I finger-combed my hair, finding twigs and dried bits of mud. The Wood Man\u2019s Child, indeed. Without a ribbon, there was no use in braiding my hair, but at least I only looked like a madman, not like a frenzied cstheneisa.<\/p>\n

When we got out of the two-wheeler in one of the palace\u2019s small side yards, Canon Varlenin helped me brush the dried mud off my trousers and held my coat of office so that I could put it on.<\/p>\n

<\/span>She knew her way around the Amal\u2019theileian and led me swiftly and surely to the Azalea Room, where aside from Prince Orchenis and his secretary, the Amal\u2019othala, two canons, Dach\u2019othala Vernezar, Othalo Zanarin, and several members of the House Duhalada were waiting. I very nearly balked on the threshold. I had expected to report to the Amal\u2019othala; I had been resigned to report to Prince Orchenis as well. And I supposed it was reasonable to report to Vernezar. But the Duhalada were another matter entirely.<\/p>\n

It was already too late; Prince Orchenis had seen me. I followed Canon Varlenin into the Azalea Room, bowed to the Amal\u2019othala, bowed to Vernezar, bowed to Prince Orchenis, tried to pretend the Duhalada weren\u2019t there.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Celehar,\u201d the Amal\u2019othala said. He sounded irritated; I could only hope it wasn\u2019t at me\u2014or at least wasn\u2019t especially<\/i> at me.<\/p>\n

I took the tile out of my pocket and handed it to one of the canons, who gave it to the Amal\u2019othala. He examined it closely, probably enjoying the tension in the room, then gave it to the canon, who handed it back to me. The Amal\u2019othala said, \u201cIt is sufficient. Othala Celehar has passed the trial.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt my ears lift fractionally and only then realized how flat they\u2019d been.<\/p>\n

There wasn\u2019t anything as loud as a murmur from the Duhalada, only a sort of whisper of breath. Prince Orchenis said, \u201cWe hope you are at last satisfied, Mer Duhalar. Or will you now accuse the Amal\u2019othala of fraud?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man addressed, who I thought was Nepevis Duhalar\u2019s eldest son, said, \u201cNo, of course not. We see that we were wrong. We apologize to Othala Celehar.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted, very badly, to lose my temper.<\/p>\n

I wanted to scream at them for doing something so thoughtlessly malicious. I wanted to howl about the invasion of my private life. Above all, I wanted to tell them exactly what I\u2019d gone through, both in Tanvero and in Amalo, as a result.<\/p>\n

I said levelly, \u201cThe apology is accepted.\u201d<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis\u2019s ears seemed dubious, but he said, \u201cThen we trust <\/span>this will settle the matter. Furthermore, now that it has been ascertained that Othala Celehar is not a fraud, we expect Nepevis Duhalar to present himself to the Judiciary for judgment. Tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Duhaladeise spokesman winced, but said, \u201cOf course, Your Highness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery well.\u201d Prince Orchenis stood, said, \u201cCelehar, we would speak to you in private,\u201d and swept out of the room.<\/p>\n

I followed him obediently. In truth, I was grateful to get away from the Amal\u2019othala, who still looked like irritation searching for a target. And I had no wish to speak to Vernezar or Zanarin.<\/p>\n

I followed with his secretary in Prince Orchenis\u2019s wake to the Cinnabar Room, where the prince sat and said, \u201cBe seated, Celehar. You look exhausted.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat down and wondered what I\u2019d do when I had to stand up again. \u201cIt was not a restful night, Your Highness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen it is true that the Hill of Werewolves is a place of ghosts?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery true.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything to be done? Can they be quieted as ghouls are quieted?\u201d<\/p>\n

I was surprised that the prince was asking\u2014rather than, for instance, the Amal\u2019othala\u2014but could only tell the truth: \u201cThere\u2019s nothing to quiet. They aren\u2019t spirits, or even remnants of spirits. They\u2019re just\u2026\u201d I struggled to find the right word, remembering my own unreasoning horror of them. \u201c\u2026 they\u2019re memories. Terrible memories.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut who is doing the remembering?\u201d said Prince Orchenis.<\/p>\n

I shook my head. \u201cThe land? The clouds? We do not know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis sighed. \u201cWe had hoped that you, as a Witness for the Dead, would have some insight that had eluded us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Many people had hoped the same. I had disappointed most of them.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe regret that we do not. But we know of nothing that can be done to clear a place of ghosts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh well,\u201d said Prince Orchenis. \u201cThe massacre of the Wolves of Anmura will just have to continue to play out. The city\u2019s nightmare, we suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cIs that what\u2019s happening?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. One of our ancestors\u2019 less creditable moments. When the mysteries of Anmura were proscribed two thousand years ago, the Warlord of Amalo used it as an excuse to loot and burn the Wolves\u2019 compound on the Hill of Werewolves, then killed everyone they found.\u201d<\/p>\n

I reflexively made a warding gesture I had learned as a child. No wonder it had been so difficult to tell one side from the other.<\/p>\n

I knew the mysteries of Anmura had been proscribed for good reason. They had become greedy and corrupt, arrogantly assuming themselves above the rule of the emperor, above the rule of the Archprelate. And there were darker stories, as there always were in such cases. When the Archprelate Vinvedris revoked his protection, the Amaleise prince was not the only one who had responded with violence. The Anmureisei had been filling up that ledger book for decades.<\/p>\n

But still I thought of the Ulineise prelate being dragged to what was surely his death, and shuddered.<\/p>\n

Prince Orchenis said, \u201cWe have kept you too long, Othala Celehar. You must be exhausted.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could hardly deny it.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur driver will take you to your apartment,\u201d said Prince Orchenis.<\/p>\n

The prince\u2019s carriage would stand out in my neighborhood like a black horse in the snow, but I wanted to go home too badly to care. I said, \u201cThank you, Your Highness,\u201d and the interview was over.<\/p>\n

But Vernezar and Zanarin were waiting for me in the hall with Canon Varlenin.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet us walk with you,\u201d said Vernezar, falling in beside me. \u201cYou need not stay, Varlenin.\u201d<\/p>\n

She hesitated, but he outranked her. She bowed and left; I hoped the Amal\u2019othala wouldn\u2019t be too angry at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow may we serve you, dach\u2019othala?\u201d I said wearily.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s interesting that you ask that question now,<\/i> Othala Celehar,\u201d said Vernezar. \u201cShouldn\u2019t you have asked it several days ago?\u201d<\/p>\n

I offered up a brief hopeless prayer to Osreian, goddess of earthquakes. \u201cWe were not aware that we had to get permission from you to leave the city.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>The silence was ugly. Zanarin said, \u201cDo you claim that you outrank the Ulisothala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe make no such claim, Othalo Zanarin,\u201d I said. \u201cBut our mandate is from the Archprelate, not\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot Prince Orchenis,\u201d Vernezar said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe did not think we had the right to refuse the Prince of Thu-Athamar,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you did not think to consult us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you have advised us to defy the prince?\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, Vernezar wouldn\u2019t have. We all three knew that.<\/p>\n

Zanarin said, \u201cIt would have been a welcome gesture of respect.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut surely our comings and goings are of no interest to you, dach\u2019othala,\u201d I said. \u201cIt has never been our impression that we are much in your thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a pause, while Vernezar failed to deny the indifference bordering on hostility with which the Ulistheileian had greeted my arrival in Amalo. \u201cWe would have liked some warning,\u201d he said thinly, and I thought we were finally coming to the heart of the matter, \u201cbefore the Amal\u2019othala demanded to know what you were doing to upset the Duhalada so greatly.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was a completely different matter. \u201cThat has nothing to do with the Ulistheileian,\u201d I said. \u201cWe accepted a valid petition from a valid petitioner, as is our calling and our purpose. You have no authority over our work as a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Zanarin\u2019s breath hissed in.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Vernezar said with the briskness of anger. \u201cWe suppose that answers the question of your rank quite definitively.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt can only mean you have none,\u201d said Zanarin.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are not a member of our hierarchy,\u201d Vernezar said, \u201cand we will tell the Amal\u2019othala so.\u201d He turned and stalked off.<\/p>\n

Zanarin lingered only long enough to say, \u201cWe hope you do not regret this,\u201d before she followed him, but I knew she was lying. That was exactly what she hoped, and if she could make it happen, she would.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

I changed my mind. Instead of going straight home, I had the driver take me to Ulvanensee so that I could talk to Anora. He was pleased to see me but said, \u201cThou lookst dreadful, Thara. What hast thou been doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

I gave him the best summary I could, which made him scowl. \u201cThe Amal\u2019othala should know better. Thou\u2019rt no fraud, with no need of proving it. No fraud could do what thou dost.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s better this way,\u201d I said, although his defense warmed me. \u201cNo arguing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe House Duhalada should not be arguing with the Amalomeire,\u201d said Anora. \u201cI am surprised at the Amal\u2019othala for countenancing it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo support me, he would have to have believed me innocent,\u201d I said, more bitterly than I intended.<\/p>\n

Anora looked at me over his spectacles. \u201cPerhaps I am old-fashioned to feel that it is the duty of an othas\u2019ala to support his prelates until such time as there is evidence<\/i> of their guilt brought to him. And, no, rumors bruited about by a man with every reason to wish thee discredited do not constitute evidence. They constitute gossip.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThou\u2019rt fierce,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI, too, am one of the Amal\u2019othala\u2019s prelates,\u201d said Anora. \u201cHis treatment of thee is surely a presagement of how I may expect to be treated.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThou art no vexation to him,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that how we are to measure probity?\u201d Anora said in great mock-surprise.<\/p>\n

\u201cThou know\u2019st that was not my meaning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thy<\/i> meaning was that there is no reason the Amal\u2019othala should<\/i> defend thee,\u201d Anora said. \u201cBut thou hast done nothing wrong, Thara. Thou shouldst be able to have confidence that thine othas\u2019ala will champion thee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the Amal\u2019othala\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs<\/i> thine othas\u2019ala, even if he seems disposed to forget it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cBut I do not mean to browbeat thee,\u201d said Anora. \u201cFor it remains no fault of thine. And I am glad thou\u2019rt safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thank thee,\u201d I said. I had no one else to be grateful for my safety.<\/p>\n

\u201cI admit, I am not<\/i> surprised that Vernezar turned on thee,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have been a burr under his saddle since I came here,\u201d I agreed. \u201cIt is in some ways a relief to be cast out of the Ulistheileian once and for all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt leaves thee woefully unprotected.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVernezar was no protection,\u201d I said. \u201cNo, though I would not have wished it, I do not regret it, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what wilt thou do now? Wilt finally write to the Archprelate? He<\/i> will champion thee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cThis is nothing to trouble the Archprelate with.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora gave me a dubious look. \u201cSomeday thou wilt judge something worth troubling the Archprelate. I only hope thou wilt not be dead first\u2014eaten by ghouls, for example.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing. We\u2019d had this argument before, and neither of us enjoyed it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said I would not browbeat thee,\u201d Anora said apologetically. \u201cMay I suggest that thou shouldst get some sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

It was a good suggestion, but ill-timed. I knew that if I slept now, I would find it all the harder to sleep tonight, and would wake the next morning in even greater exhaustion. I had followed that cycle before and knew better than to follow it again. That day I walked.<\/p>\n

I walked south for several blocks before my mind cleared enough to tell me what I wanted to do. I had been on one pilgrimage in the night; let me make another pilgrimage in the day.<\/p>\n

South and west of the city, along the River Road, there was a sanctuary of Orshan, where they kept a corn maze in the old way, with a great procession to celebrate when they harvested the corn, which then went to the city\u2019s poor. It was too late in the season for corn, of <\/span>course, but the maze was marked out by the weight of thousands and thousands of feet, plodding, dancing, marching, and it was permissible to walk the corn maze even when the corn was not there.<\/p>\n

I followed the River Road out of the city, walking through quiet bourgeois neighborhoods, rows of shops, a strip of competing dance halls and gambling houses, though nothing to compare with the Zheimela, and then more houses, poorer, shabbier, and then out into the farmers\u2019 fields.<\/p>\n

The Sanctuary of Orshan was not far out of the city, not anymore, as the city slyly edged closer every year, but it was still peaceful, a low rambling building, always looking surprised when it produced a second story. The man at the door was sitting on the porch steps, whittling a block of wood into an Orshalvero, a doll given to farmers\u2019 daughters to hold them close to Orshan as they grew.<\/p>\n

He looked up, a thickset middle-aged man at least half goblin, and smiled at me. \u201cCan I be of help, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019d begged a ribbon for my hair from Anora, so that at least I looked marginally respectable again. I said, \u201cI wish to walk the corn maze in search of the blessing of Orshan\u2019s wisdom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d he said, getting up. The block of wood he left where it was; the knife he put carefully into a sheath at his belt. \u201cI am Brother Cenethis.\u201d<\/p>\n

All of Orshan\u2019s prelates named themselves in this way, renouncing their houses for the family they made for themselves, or some such rhetoric. It always made me slightly uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI am Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

The friendliness of his expression did not change at all. He said, \u201cBe welcome here, Othala Celehar. You know, of course, that the maze currently has only the memory of corn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said, though I knew my ears flicked at the word \u201cmemory.\u201d<\/p>\n

He led me through the sanctuary\u2014itself a maze of white-walled rooms with braided rugs\u2014and out onto another porch that looked out over the cornfields in the sanctuary\u2019s care. \u201cFollow the path,\u201d he said, and surely it was only my tiredness that made the connection with the path of the night before. \u201cYou are welcome to spend as long <\/span>in the maze as you like, though we would ask that you come back by sundown.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you will be welcome to share our evening meal,\u201d Brother Cenethis said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are very kind,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He smiled at me. \u201cTo Orshan, we are all brothers. I hope the maze brings you what you seek.\u201d<\/p>\n

He went back into the building\u2014and I was thankful that he wasn\u2019t disposed to watch\u2014and I followed the path, a slow, lovely meandering trail that brought me eventually to the edge of a cornfield, where it became the path marked out in pebbles of the corn maze itself.<\/p>\n

I had walked Ulineise mazes, but I knew the corn maze was a different thing. Outside under the vivid blue sky, for one\u2014Ulineise mazes were always underground. And in an Orshaneise maze, no one could become lost, which was even more unlike the Ulineise mazes. Novices got lost all the time; frequently a junior prelate had to be sent in to get them out again. My ears burned at the memory of some of the things those junior prelates had said.<\/p>\n

In the summer, of course, the experience of walking the corn maze would be very different, and I had always avoided it. But now I needed to walk to stay wakeful, and I needed wisdom, if Orshan cared to offer any. And in these empty fields, if it became too much or too wrong, I could always simply walk back to the sanctuary. It was plainly visible and there was nothing to stop me.<\/p>\n

\u201cFear not, Celehar,\u201d I muttered to myself, \u201cand walk the maze.\u201d<\/p>\n

I set my foot carefully over the perimeter of the cornfield and began walking, following the line of milky white pebbles and the broader path of bare flat earth.<\/p>\n

I walked slowly, knowing that hurrying was considered an affront to Orshan. And I did not need to get through this quickly. The white line of pebbles twisted and curled, and I followed it doggedly, even though I had to stop periodically to look at the cornfields around me until I stopped feeling dizzy. I didn\u2019t know any of the Orshaneise meditations, but after a while I found I was saying an old <\/span>Ulineise prayer under my breath, a prayer that asked for quiet\u2014for peace and for silence\u2014and itself twisted and turned around the line strength in tranquility and tranquility in strength.<\/i> I\u2019d always understood \u201cstrength in tranquility\u201d and taken \u201ctranquility in strength\u201d to mean that if one was strong, one could make the tranquility one needed. But now, twisting and turning through the corn maze, I began to see it differently, that \u201ctranquility in strength\u201d meant having the strength to keep one\u2019s tranquility of mind, no matter what the world brought. It meant being tranquil\u2014peaceful\u2014even when one was strong, not bullying or picking fights. It meant, I thought with a flash of asperity, not being irritated with one\u2019s prelates for things they had not done and could not help.<\/p>\n

I would never be able to bring myself to say it to anyone, but I knew the Amal\u2019othala had been wrong to call a trial by ordeal.<\/p>\n

I came to the center of the maze, where the pebbles made a cross, and over the cross was a four-legged bowl containing a great heap of the milky white pebbles. I chose one carefully and put it in my pocket alongside the tile from the Hill of Werewolves.<\/p>\n

And then I began carefully to follow the pebbles along the twisting path out of the maze. A glance at the sky told me Brother Cenethis had judged correctly. I should be stepping out of the maze again around sundown.<\/p>\n

\n

Dinner with the Orshaneisei was a strange combination of my memories of family dinners among the Velverada and my memories of the long, echoing refectory in which we ate at the sanctuary where I had undergone my novitiate. The tables were long, and people sat on benches, handing platters of food down the row and each taking what he or she needed, but the conversation was general, sometimes loud, and frequently punctuated by laughter.<\/p>\n

Strength in tranquility and tranquility in strength,<\/i> I said to myself and did my best with the conversation along my part of the table. Although I was guarding my tongue, the elven woman next to me <\/span>managed to box me into the admission that I had not slept the night before.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes that happen to you often?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Thankfully, no,<\/i> I thought, imagining for a second having to go back routinely to the Hill of Werewolves at night. \u201cI rarely sleep well,\u201d I said instead.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoodness,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m no Csaiveiso, but I\u2019ve often found that warm milk before bed helps me sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t listen to that milk nonsense,\u201d the goblin man across the table said cheerfully. \u201cMy father swore by brandy.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then somehow the whole table was offering remedies for insomnia, a bewildering array of things I\u2019d tried and things I\u2019d never heard of. The man across the table laughed at the look on my face. \u201cWelcome to Orshaneise hospitality,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

The others laughed, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut we do hope you sleep well tonight,\u201d said the woman next to me, and somehow I was sure it was true.<\/p>\n

\n

The walk back from the Orshaneise sanctuary to my building seemed endless, but when at last I could drag myself into bed, I did sleep well. In the morning, after meditating, I went to my office in Prince Zhaicava. The newspapermen, Goronezh, Thurizar, and Vicenalar, were there waiting for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, gentlemen,\u201d I said, as placidly as I could. Strength in tranquility and tranquility in strength.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, othala,\u201d said Goronezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow will you tell us about the Hill of Werewolves?\u201d said Vicenalar.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the ghoul,\u201d said Thurizar.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, definitely the ghoul,\u201d Goronezh agreed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will tell you what we can,\u201d I said, \u201cas long as you agree to print it without\u00a0\u2026 inflation.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWe never inflate,\u201d said Thurizar, who was the worst of the lot.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are seekers after truth,\u201d Goronezh said solemnly.<\/p>\n

\u201cBesides,\u201d said Vicenalar, \u201cwe have a feeling your story will not need exaggeration to appeal to our readers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is most likely true,\u201d said Goronezh. \u201cCome on, othala. Tell us what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will do our best,\u201d I said, unlocking my office. \u201cCome in, please. We regret that there is only one chair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeniority,\u201d said Thurizar, and claimed it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all right,\u201d said Goronezh. \u201cWe stand around for a living.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour story, othala, please,\u201d said Vicenalar.<\/p>\n

I told them as best I could about the ghoul of Tanvero, although I could not find words that truly expressed its grotesque and terrifying presence. Thurizar wanted me to show them the gashes in my shoulders, but I refused. The Hill of Werewolves was no easier to convey, although there at least I could tell them about the Wolves of Anmura and what happened to them that left their ghosts so indelibly printed on the hill.<\/p>\n

The newspapermen were there, asking their prodding questions, for an hour and a half. When they were finally gone, I read my post, read the papers\u2014cringing at every mention of the Duhalada and feeling more and more exposed as the articles discussed my success at the trial by ordeal and went into horrible detail about the reasons for it. None of them was vulgar enough to say it directly, but there really weren\u2019t very many ways to get that allegation of \u201cmisconduct\u201d wrong.<\/p>\n

At noon, I went to the public baths, where no one looked at me twice. Afterwards I went to the Hanevo Tree for the indulgence of a plate of steamed buns.<\/p>\n

Then back to my apartment, where I changed my coat for the dark green one with the mostly picked-out embroidery of verashme blossoms, swept the floor, and turned to my next responsibility: delivering Osmer Thilmerezh\u2019s letter. He had written the address on the <\/span>outside of his package, and I unwrapped the oilskin to read it carefully:<\/p>\n

\n

MIN AMIRU CHONHADRIN<\/small><\/i><\/p>\n

GENERAL TARAVAR STREET<\/small><\/i><\/p>\n

3rd house west from the corner with Summer Street, north<\/i><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

I recognized General Taravar as being a street near the Amal-Athamareise Airship Works; the stop at which one got off, if one was visiting the company, was in fact Taravar Ostro. That was a good starting point.<\/p>\n

On my way to the tram stop, I took the mustard-yellow coat to Estorezh\u2019s secondhand clothing shop. I had no use for it as it was, and I suspected that it would not dye well. That mustard yellow looked all too likely to streak through even the best black dye\u2014and the best would cost me more than the coat was worth. But Estorezh would take it and no doubt sell it, and in return, although he did not currently have any frock coats that fit me, I could procure a shirt and trousers to replace the ones ruined in Tanvero, plus, as it turned out, another set of smallclothes to replace the set so threadbare I was embarrassed to give them to Merrem Aichenaran, who did my laundry. I also bought five new handkerchiefs and restrained myself from wondering whose signet had been picked out of them.<\/p>\n

I left my purchases to be picked up on my return and headed for the tram stop to start on this errand I had perhaps unwisely agreed to undertake.<\/p>\n

I rode the tram south to Taravar Ostro and began looking for Summer Street. This not being an official matter, it would have been incorrect to consult the cartographers\u2019 office. And in any event, Summer Street was not difficult to find. The first hawker I approached was able to tell me it was only three blocks west.<\/p>\n

The problem was that it wasn\u2019t houses along General Taravar. It was workers\u2019 barracks. The third building from the corner was identical to its neighbors on either side, and there was no way to tell <\/span>which room belonged to Min Chonhadrin, except by asking for her, and she might not thank me for the gossip that would spread like fire in dry grass.<\/p>\n

There was no good option. I took a deep breath and started knocking on doors.<\/p>\n

It took me five doors to find someone at home, but that young elven woman, a filing clerk, was able to tell me that Min Chonhadrin was fifth floor back. I climbed the central staircase, narrow and twisting, to the fifth floor, where the landing had two doors, one to the front, one to the back. The back half of the building, which had eight rooms around a lightwell, seemed deserted. I knocked on the door nearest me, and a young elven woman answered. She had dressed her white hair in cable-thick braids around her head. She wore airmen\u2019s trousers tucked into heavy boots, and a patterned calico shirt under a laced leather vest.<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Chonhadrin?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Her eyebrows went up. \u201cYes. How can I help you, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a letter for you,\u201d I said, and offered her the package.<\/p>\n

She looked at it dubiously. \u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is not my business and not my story to tell,\u201d I said. \u201cI will answer your questions to the best of my ability, but please read the letter first.\u201d<\/p>\n

The same dubious expression was directed at me. \u201cYou don\u2019t look<\/i> like a prank.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI swear that it is not a prank.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, all right. Come in and sit down and I\u2019ll read your letter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot my<\/i> letter,\u201d I protested, but feebly, and I sat where she directed me, one of two chairs at a small table. Chonhadrin sat in the other, broke the seal on Osmer Thilmerezh\u2019s letter, and began reading. I noticed that she kept her nails brutally short and that her knuckles were dark with engine oil.<\/p>\n

She read quickly, surprise shifting into a baffled frown. \u201cWhat is<\/i> this?\u201d she said. \u201cWho is this man claiming my grandfather is not my grandfather?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI expect he has told you more in the letter than I know,\u201d I said. <\/span>\u201cHe is an exile living in Tanvero and serving\u2014semi-officially, as it seems\u2014as its historian. I know no more than that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou agreed to bear his letter,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe asked me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think what he says is true?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am certain that he is not lying,\u201d I said. \u201cOnly you know whether he has found the right person.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her scowl deepened. \u201cWhat am I supposed to do? My grandfather is still alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need not do anything. It is Osmer Thilmerezh\u2019s hope that you will write back to him. But it changes nothing about your childhood and the people who raised you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcept that they were lying to me,\u201d she said bitterly.<\/p>\n

I had no answer to that. \u201cI am sorry,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have no reason to be sorry, othala. You have done a kindness for an old man, but that does not make you responsible for the results.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoesn\u2019t it?\u201d I said. \u201cI knew what the letter contained.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou certainly had no right not<\/i> to deliver it,\u201d she said, almost indignantly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose not,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll forgive you for the one,\u201d she pointed out. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t for the other.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am glad of your forgiveness,\u201d I said truthfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cProperly,\u201d she said, \u201cI should thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need not. I was glad to do Osmer Thilmerezh the favor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are a very bad liar,\u201d she said, amused. \u201cBut if you do not wish to be thanked, I shall refrain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoing this thing for Osmer Thilmerezh involved no hardship,\u201d I said, being this time more careful of the truth.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are a good man, othala,\u201d said Chonhadrin. \u201cWill you give me your name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, for I should have done so to begin with. \u201cI am Thara Celehar, a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe new Witness? The one who\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYes,\u201d I said without waiting to find out what she had heard. \u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I am honored that you have judged this small story worth your time. If you do not wish to be thanked personally, is there something I can do to thank Ulis for this kindness?\u201d<\/p>\n

She had quite a turn of phrase on her for an ashenin, an airship girl. And her question was a fair one.<\/p>\n

I was groping for a suitable answer when the explosion happened.<\/p>\n

It rattled the windows in their frames, and Chonhadrin and I both grabbed at the table. \u201cMerciful goddesses,\u201d she said, \u201cthat came from the A3 Works. Othala, will you come with me? There may be people there who\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll come.\u201d<\/p>\n

A3 was what the airmen called the Amal-Athamareise Ashenavo Trincsiva, and indeed I could think of nowhere else such an explosion could have come from. I followed Chonhadrin out and down the stairs and through a tangled snarl of alleyways with other people coming to their doors and saying, \u201cWas that\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

To which Chonhadrin replied breathlessly, \u201cYes, it must have been, please come help!\u201d<\/p>\n

As we drew closer to the airship works, the air got steadily smokier. I said, \u201cSomething\u2019s on fire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it would almost have to be,\u201d Chonhadrin said, and coughed. \u201cConsidering that the entire compound is made of metal scaffolding and flammable materials and nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n

When we reached the gates of the compound (flung wide open with no guards in sight), it became painfully easy to see where we were going. The thick plume of smoke was rising from a building much like a barn, only bigger. I knew it to be the main hangar, where the Empire line of airships were built.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt must be the Excellence of Umvino,<\/i>\u201d Chonhadrin gasped, and set off again, this time at a dead run toward the point where the smoke was thickest. I followed her. Near the hangar, we found men frantically organizing bucket lines. Chonhadrin joined them <\/span>immediately. I saw a goblin man lying on the ground and went to him.<\/p>\n

He was terribly burned, and there was no doubt he was dying. \u201cOthala,\u201d he whispered, panting with pain.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m here.\u201d I would have taken his hand, but both his hands were raw with burns. I put my hand on his shoulder instead. I began to say the prayers of hope for the dying. I kept saying them, carefully, attentively, as his breathing grew more and more labored and eventually stopped.<\/p>\n

I sat back on my heels and looked around. The bucket lines had been joined by people making teams to go in and search for those trapped but still alive. There were other people laying the wounded and the dead in rows on the ground. Already there were more than a dozen.<\/p>\n

I said the prayer of compassion for the dead and the prayers of hope for the dying over and over, dozens of times, while people in agony clutched at my hands, sobbing; while people near them screamed, for there is no pain like the pain of burns; while other people lay still and silent as their bodies began to cool. Bits of information floated around me, being denied, being confirmed, and gradually as I worked, I began to piece together the story of the disaster.<\/p>\n

They were \u201cfloating\u201d the Excellence of Umvino,<\/i> which was what one did to an airship before one launched her, and something had happened. Someone had been careless or clumsy or horsing around\u2014and since that someone was now among the burned and mangled dead, some people were speculating freely while others were unwilling to speculate at all. But it was terribly simple to ignite eisonsar. And surely no one could deliberately wish on themselves such a terrible death.<\/p>\n

Surely this was an accident.<\/p>\n

The explosion had started fires in at least three different places. Many people not instantly killed by the explosion had been trapped by the fire. Some of them had been rescued and lay, now, sobbing on the muddy ground, but some could not be saved. Sometimes when I came to one of the dead, I would recognize them, for I had worked <\/span>among the airmen for a time. Sometimes when I came to one of the dead, the widow would already be kneeling by the body, and then I had to do my best to be of comfort, although the idea seemed nonsensical surrounded by the dying in the choking gloom of the fire still destroying the Excellence of Umvino.<\/i><\/p>\n

Finally, hours later, a voice at my elbow said, \u201cOthala?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around. Chonhadrin, covered in soot from head to toe and with an ugly scorched patch on one sleeve, was regarding me with some anxiety in her bloodshot eyes. I wondered how many tries it had taken for her to get my attention.<\/p>\n

\u201cMin Chonhadrin,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome have a cup of tea,\u201d she said. \u201cYou need to rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

At first the words seemed incomprehensible, but she waited and finally the sense of what she was saying reached me. \u201cAll right,\u201d I said. There were other prelates of Ulis working up and down the rows, and a number of Csaiveise clerics, although I could not remember when they had come; I could be spared for a few minutes.<\/p>\n

I followed Chonhadrin away from the lines of the wounded, across the open quadrangle that would usually make the A3 compound seem airy and pleasant, but that was now rapidly becoming a bog, to a long, low building that I recognized once we were inside as the A3 Trincsiva teahouse. It was called the Red Ruby Fox after something in a mountain folktale, and was itself quite pleasant when not filled with the smell of burning and death. It was crowded, though not quite to the point of discomfort.<\/p>\n

I sat at the only small square table that was empty and watched Chonhadrin get two cups of tea from the young goblin woman minding the giant samovars. Chonhadrin came back to the table and said, \u201cI apologize for the tea. It\u2019s what they call their A3 Blend, meaning that it\u2019s made out of the leftover bits and pieces of all their other teas, I wouldn\u2019t ordinarily touch it.\u201d<\/p>\n

The tea was bitingly bitter and tasted like the dregs of an old woman\u2019s tea cabinet. But it was hot and strong, and at the moment that was all it seemed reasonable to ask for.<\/p>\n

We were silent for a long time, Chonhadrin no more inclined <\/span>than I was to talk about the disaster of the Excellence of Umvino,<\/i> wrecked before she ever left the ground. Around us, people were either silent or all but babbling, depending on how tragedy took them. Finally, Chonhadrin said, \u201cHow many people do you think\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many people would have been in the hangar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLots of people will come by for a floating,\u201d she said, and swallowed hard. \u201cAnd all the people who were just working. A couple hundred?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least half of them are dead,\u201d I said, and wished I could say it gently. \u201cAnd probably half of those who are left will be dead by morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddesses of mercy,\u201d she said. \u201cHave you seen many disasters, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was a manufactory fire when I was in my first prelacy. It was worse than this.\u201d She looked like she wanted to argue; I said, \u201cNo one got out.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was almost as if I\u2019d spoken a cue in an opera; an elven Ulineise novice came up to our table, his shaved scalp streaked with the same soot that covered Chonhadrin and me. He clasped his hands and nodded politely and said, \u201cPardon, othala, but are you Thara Celehar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you come with us? Othalo Zanarin has need of a Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

That boded ill. I said, \u201cOf course,\u201d gulped the last of my tea, and said, \u201cThank you, Min Chonhadrin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t at all know what for,\u201d she said, \u201cbut you\u2019re welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n

The novice and I went back outside, where matters had not improved. He led me to an area quite near the still burning hangar, where Zanarin was standing over a line of bodies so burned they were almost unrecognizable as bodies.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthalo,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She gave me a cold, dismissive look. \u201cWe think one of these men caused the explosion,\u201d she said. \u201cWe need to know what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes it matter?\u201d I said. \u201cIt was a terrible accident. Surely that is enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>She glared at me. \u201cWe had heard that you were inclined to take your duties lightly, Mer Celehar, but it is one thing to be told and quite another to see for oneself.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was all but daring me to take offense at her rudeness, but I knew she wanted to make me start the argument about rank again\u2014an argument she could then sanctimoniously chide me for starting in the face of a tragedy like this one. \u201cVery well,\u201d I said. \u201cWe will try.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knelt down in the mud, trying futilely not to breathe in the scent of burned flesh, began the prayer of compassion for the dead, and touched the forehead of the first man in the line.<\/p>\n

A second later, I all but fell down scrambling back away from him and the memories of his death. \u201cIt\u2019s too close,\u201d I said, and disliked the hitch in my own voice. \u201cHe\u2019s only been dead a matter of hours. It\u2019s too close.\u201d<\/p>\n

Othalo Zanarin stared at me, her mouth a close, flat line and her eyes bright with disgust or anger or disbelief. I realized, with the detachment of a lunatic, that my hair was coming out of its braid, as it always did; between that and the mud and soot on my shabby clothes and the way I was crouched there, trembling, I thought I must look<\/i> like a lunatic, newly escaped from the Csaiveise hospice in the Tenemora district.<\/p>\n

I stood up, got out my handkerchief, which was already streaked with soot and blood, and began carefully cleaning the dead man off my fingers. \u201cWe are sorry,\u201d I said to Othalo Zanarin, \u201cbut we cannot help you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCannot?\u201d she said. \u201cWill<\/i> not, more like. We expected very little from you, Mer Celehar, but we certainly did not expect that you would run away like a cowardly little boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I kept my attention on my handkerchief until I was sure I would not yell at her. Then I looked up, meeting the bright hatred in her eyes, and said, \u201cIt was foolish of us to try. Now, our duty lies with those who are not yet dead, and we think yours does as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

I went back to the rows of the wounded, where there were more Csaiveise clerics working. One of them said, \u201cOthala, you come in good time. Will you help me here?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYes,\u201d I said, and knelt down beside him. Where Othalo Zanarin went, I neither knew nor cared.<\/p>\n

\n

I made it home, lurching like a drunk with exhaustion, sometime well after midnight but before the sky started to lighten toward dawn. I did not try to sleep, but folded down in front of my michenmeire and prayed. I prayed for the dead and for the living. I prayed for the acceptance of death and grief. I even selfishly asked Ulis to guard me against the dreams I knew I would have, old dreams of the Carlinar Manufactory fire, new dreams of the Excellence of Umvino.<\/i> I did not expect Ulis to answer this prayer\u2014he never had before and I knew what my masters from my novitiate would have said about personal weaknesses\u2014but I still felt better for having asked.<\/p>\n

At dawn I went to the public baths to wash the soot and smoke and stench of death out of my hair. Then I went to the Hanevo Tree and ordered the strongest tea they had, a kolveris that could be used to strip paint. I even, though reluctantly, managed to eat a scone. Thus fortified, I went to the Prince Zhaicava Building and my cold office and my post and the howling chaos of the newspapers.<\/p>\n

Goronezh had found me, sometime after I left Zanarin. He was covered in soot and one hand was wrapped in a rough bandage; he had not been there merely<\/i> to ask questions. I liked him better for it, and when he said, \u201cOthala, what happened here?\u201d I noticed that he wasn\u2019t holding his notebook, pencil poised for my answer. He was just asking.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cNobody knows for sure, but I think it was an accident. Eisonsar is dreadfully easy to detonate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen this could happen to any airship? Blessed goddesses, how horrible.\u201d And then he affirmed my good opinion of him by asking, \u201cOthala, do you need any help here?\u201d<\/p>\n

I did not, but I had no difficulty in pointing him to someone who did.<\/p>\n

The Arbiter<\/i>\u2019s story on the Excellence of Umvino<\/i> was the most <\/span>rational of the three, although all of them were laced through with the wildest of speculations. Everyone was thinking of the Wisdom of Choharo<\/i> and the Curneisei and, like Zanarin, looking for evidence that this was more of the same.<\/p>\n

But it wasn\u2019t. The Curneisei\u2014even if there were any of them left who knew how to build their exploding devices\u2014wouldn\u2019t have set one of them to kill only<\/i> workers. They would have had a target, and there weren\u2019t any in that hangar. Just people, many of whom were probably Curneisei themselves.<\/p>\n

All three papers printed lurid stories, better suited to cheap novels than real life, about me \u201ctaming\u201d the Hill of Werewolves (stories I could only pray that no one believed), but none of them was on the front page, and I could hope that readers would overlook them.<\/p>\n

My morning brought two petitioners I could not help. It was not conversations<\/i> that I had with the dead; it was a fading series of images of the things they had valued in life. I could form a question. Where is the will?<\/i> was the most common, but I had heard everything from Who is the baby\u2019s father?<\/i> to What are we to do about Grandmama?<\/i> But anything more complicated than that\u2014any time more than a week or two after the death\u2014and I was useless. At noon, because I had no better answer, I went home, and there I found a letter waiting for me in the post.<\/p>\n

It was addressed to THARA CELEHAR<\/small> in a crisp, impatient hand, and the first thing I did when I opened it was to look at the bottom for the signature.<\/p>\n

Ediro Zanarin.<\/i><\/p>\n

My hands went cold, and I reluctantly began to read the letter. It was brief, as crisp and impatient as her handwriting. It said that the bodies from the Excellence of Umvino<\/i> had been laid out in the Amal-Athamareise Ashenavo Trincsiva\u2019s Second Production Hangar, where she required my presence as soon as I received this letter. Her authority, shown by her signet, came not from the Ulistheileian, but from the Amalomeire. Unless I wanted to try to argue that the Amalomeire had no authority over me\u2014an argument I would never win\u2014I had to comply. I remembered seeing her in the Amalomeire, <\/span>and now I wondered if she had been there on her own business, not on Vernezar\u2019s. Certainly, she had gained the Amal\u2019othala\u2019s favor in some manner\u2014and persuaded him that this investigation was necessary.<\/p>\n

I took the tram south again to the A3 Works stop. From there, it wasn\u2019t difficult to find the Second Production Hangar\u2014it loomed over the surrounding buildings like a captive moon\u2014and as I got closer I saw signs of some of the same grim activity as yesterday. At the incongruously small door in the side wall of the hangar, a nervous Ulineise novice stopped me. I showed him Othalo Zanarin\u2019s letter, and he immediately and with some alarm directed me to the far end of the hangar, where Othalo Zanarin was arguing with one of the judicial Witnesses vel ama<\/i> about jurisdiction.<\/p>\n

It was a very long walk, although I knew it could have been worse. The hangar wasn\u2019t quite half full of bodies, making this a smaller disaster than some I had seen in Lohaiso (so much smaller than the Carlinar fire), and every corpse had been laid out cleanly and wrapped in linen so that the terrible evidence of burning was hidden as one passed. But there were still too many of them, and the linen could do nothing about the smell.<\/p>\n

As I started between the rows of bodies, Zanarin looked around and saw me, and she and the judicial Witness watched in silence as I approached them.<\/p>\n

I had lived in my cousin Csoru\u2019s household and had survived audiences with the emperor. I was proof against efforts to stare me out of countenance. Also, I realized as I came closer that I knew the judicial Witness, Zhode\u00e4n Parmorin, and respected her, which made me feel that it might not be two against one after all.<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Celehar,\u201d said Zanarin. \u201cWe appreciate your presence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOthalo Zanarin,\u201d I said. \u201cWe have come as asked.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her close-set eyes were hard granite gray. She said, \u201cThe Amal\u2019othala insists that you truly speak with the dead, and if that is true, we have need of your skills.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Amal\u2019othala is right,\u201d said Witness Parmorin, and they glared at each other, ears flat against their skulls.<\/p>\n

Witness Parmorin turned to me, bowing slightly, and said, <\/span>\u201cOthala Celehar, we are the Witness for the Excellence of Umvino.<\/i> We will help your investigation in any way we can.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOur<\/i> investigation,\u201d said Zanarin.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe do not entirely understand,\u201d I said hastily, \u201cwhat you are investigating. The Excellence of Umvino<\/i>\u2019s destruction surely does not need\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou persist in the belief it was an accident,\u201d Zanarin said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar is most likely correct,\u201d Parmorin said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t know that yet,\u201d said Zanarin.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot for certain, but we know how airship accidents happen,\u201d said Parmorin. \u201cThis is not the first airship we have witnessed for.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was an awful thought. \u201cHave you found anything to suggest it wasn\u2019t<\/i> an accident?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Parmorin.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour investigation is hardly complete,\u201d said Zanarin.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich is why we are continuing to investigate,\u201d Parmorin said. \u201cBut we do not think it is necessary for the Amalomeire to send a Witness for the Dead unless we find something that suggests one of the dead might have answers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have no wish to intrude on your investigation, Witness Parmorin,\u201d I said, since it was clear Zanarin was doing exactly that.<\/p>\n

Zanarin turned on me, as fast and sharp as a snake striking and with such cold, scornful anger that I nearly went back a pace. \u201cWe would have thought that you of all people would understand the necessity of investigating such \u2018accidents.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

I could hear envy, that gnawing rat, in her voice; she was one of the many who thought that a disgraced prelate was not a suitable person to uncover Varenechibel\u2019s murderers. I had seen that look repeatedly when I first came to Amalo\u2014I believed it was the root of Subpraeceptor Azhanharad\u2019s dislike of me\u2014but it never failed to dismay me.<\/p>\n

I stammered a little, but managed to regroup. \u201cBut\u00a0\u2026 but surely it would make more sense to wait for the results of Witness Parmorin\u2019s investigation?\u201d<\/p>\n

Zanarin said, \u201cYou are assuming that the evidence will be something Witness Parmorin can find.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>Behind her, Parmorin was glaring cold murder, but said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome,\u201d Zanarin said impatiently. \u201cWe have a great deal of work to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Zanarin stood over me all afternoon as we moved up and down the rows of linen-wrapped bodies. She insisted that we stop at each one, that we interrogate each body with the same questions\u2014and I supposed, under a drearily pounding headache, that I might have admired her persistence were it not that Parmorin and I had both told her it would be better to wait, and she refused to believe it. She refused to believe anything that contradicted the idea that the explosion had been deliberate and purposeful, and perhaps more importantly, that she could find answers where Parmorin could not.<\/p>\n

I could guess why. Zanarin was ambitious\u2014that much was plain to be seen\u2014and she had made a bold move in going over Vernezar\u2019s head to seek power directly from the Amal\u2019othala. If she was to keep that power, she had to make this investigation worthwhile. And to make this investigation worthwhile, she had to find evidence of malice. She had in fact placed herself in an ugly bind, for if we did not find evidence of malice (and I thought it almost certain we would not), she would have alienated both<\/i> the Amal\u2019othala and<\/i> Dach\u2019othala Vernezar, and her power would have crumbled to nothing like ashes in her hands.<\/p>\n

I was grateful when Parmorin came over to argue with her and I could rest for a moment. I paid little heed to their argument\u2014for I knew already the sides and rhetoric\u2014merely stood and tried not to think of the horrible deaths these poor workers had died. The smell of burned flesh was in my hair and clothes, and I knew it would follow me into my dreams, if I could sleep at all.<\/p>\n

Zanarin and Parmorin\u2019s voices were rising. I shook my head sharply and said, \u201cWe gain nothing by arguing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are not arguing,\u201d Parmorin said hotly. \u201cOthalo Zanarin is questioning our scholarship.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>Something only a fool or a zealot would do. By the cold scowl on Zanarin\u2019s face, she was no fool. \u201cWe do not question your scholarship,\u201d she said. \u201cWe question the scope of your investigation.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are chasing shadows, and so our report will say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will look a fool when the truth emerges,\u201d Zanarin said, openly scornful, and Parmorin began to turn a slow, deep, brick red. \u201cWe will not turn aside so lightly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOthalo Zanarin\u2014\u201d I started, but she talked right over me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will examine every body<\/i> and we will find the truth your witnessing cannot.\u201d<\/p>\n

Every<\/i> body? We were less than halfway done, if that was her goal.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou will find nothing,\u201d said Parmorin, turned on her heel, and walked away.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthalo Zanarin,\u201d I said again, more forcefully. \u201cThe Witness is right. If she finds no evidence of malice, we will not find any in this endless questioning.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned her scowl on me. \u201cWe are well aware of your opinion. We do not share it. We think there is every likelihood that one of these corpses holds an answer that Witness Parmorin\u2019s wreckage does not.\u201d Her mouth crimped, although I could hardly call it a smile. \u201cWe progress more slowly than we had anticipated. Come down here, and we will question these bodies before nightfall.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was so relieved that she intended to stop at sundown that I followed her willingly, although I faltered a little when I saw she was walking toward the row of bodies that were most badly burned, the ones that had been closest to the explosions. The ones she had tried to make me read when they were still smoldering from the fire.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome,\u201d Zanarin said impatiently, and I knelt down beside the first body in the row.<\/p>\n

But all I could get from any of those seven blackened, twisted bodies was death. Nothing before the explosion, nothing to answer Zanarin\u2019s question. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t know,\u201d I said again and again. \u201cIt\u2019s no use asking, othalo. The answer isn\u2019t there.\u201d<\/p>\n

From the expression on her face, I was afraid she did not believe me, but at least she did not accuse me to my face of lying. Instead, <\/span>she said with false patience, \u201cIt is late. We should stop for the night.\u201d And try again tomorrow,<\/i> was the implied threat, but I was so grateful for the word \u201cstop\u201d that I did not care.<\/p>\n

I fled from her\u2014I could call it nothing else\u2014down the length of the hangar and past the novice still standing guard at the door. I did not see Chonhadrin until she said, \u201cOthala Celehar?\u201d<\/p>\n

I stopped and stared at her. \u201cMin Chonhadrin? Were you looking for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was,\u201d she said, \u201cbut they wouldn\u2019t let me in the hangar. Do you have a moment?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said reflexively, as I would have said to any parishioner who asked to speak to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was wondering,\u201d she said, but then stopped, frowning, and her ears dipped. \u201cAre you all right? You look\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine,\u201d I said. \u201cI have\u00a0\u2026 a headache.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHeadache\u201d was a kind word for a sensation like someone pounding roofing nails into the left side of my skull, one after the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need tea,\u201d said Chonhadrin decisively. \u201cCome. We will go to my teahouse and have proper tea, and when was the last time you ate?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis morning,\u201d I said, and my stomach lurched at the thought of food. \u201cBut, Min Chonhadrin\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone just calls me Chonhadrin,\u201d she said. \u201cComes with being an ashenin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou may call me Celehar,\u201d I said. I would be glad not to have to listen for a title, for \u201cmer\u201d or \u201cothala\u201d (or the \u201cosmer\u201d I was technically entitled to, or had been before I was disowned). Just a name.<\/p>\n

\u201cCelehar,\u201d she said. \u201cCome. The Pearl Dragon isn\u2019t far, and their aikanaro is very good.\u201d<\/p>\n

Aikanaro was not a tea I usually drank, but its gingery bite sounded suddenly terribly appealing. \u201cAll right,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d She gave me a smile, although it looked like an effort.<\/p>\n

She led me through the growing dark to a teahouse with white fish scale clapboard. Inside I was startled by the mural of a white dragon that wrapped all the way around the room, both because it was extremely well-drawn to be a teahouse mural and because <\/span>the dragon\u2019s eyes seemed fixed on me in a most predatory manner. Dragons were popular in Amaleise folktales, supposed to have lived among the high peaks of the Mervarnens until they were killed for the veins of gold and silver that they guarded. It was a more heroic beginning than the Mervarneise mine companies deserved, with their greed and corruption and callous indifference to miners\u2019 deaths, but I could certainly understand the desire for a better story.<\/p>\n

The Pearl Dragon was obviously the gathering place of the ashenoi. The women outnumbered the men by three to one at least, and several of them called greetings to Chonhadrin as we came in.<\/p>\n

She answered them cheerfully but was not diverted from her path to an empty table in one of the oddly shaped niches along the back of the room. \u201cSit down, Celehar,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ll get the tea.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sat, finding the spindly wooden chair shockingly comfortable. I closed my eyes against the lamplight and did not open them until Chonhadrin said, \u201cAnd here we go,\u201d setting a tray down not quite with a thump. She dropped into the chair across from me and said, \u201cI ordered stuffed rolls, as well. They\u2019ll be out in a moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

I hesitated in reaching for the tall, rough pottery mug, trying to think how much money I had in my pockets, and Chonhadrin rolled her eyes. \u201cWe can divide the bill, or I can pay. I have to eat dinner, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very decisive,\u201d I said, and she laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe word is \u2018bossy.\u2019 But at this point, I don\u2019t think I\u2019m likely to change.\u201d<\/p>\n

I took a cautious sip of tea. Its strong ginger bite seemed to wash some of the dreadful taste out of my mouth, though it could do nothing for the headache.<\/p>\n

Chonhadrin said, \u201cI\u2019m also nosy. What were you doing in that hangar that they wouldn\u2019t let anybody in?\u201d<\/p>\n

I had not been sworn to secrecy. I said, \u201cOthalo Zanarin believes that the explosion was not an accident, and she is seeking evidence for her theory from the dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chonhadrin\u2019s eyes widened, and her ears flattened a little. \u201cOh. And you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cI am a Witness for the Dead,\u201d I said with a shrug and took another sip of tea.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow awful,\u201d she said. \u201cOr does it not bother you anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt will always bother me,\u201d I said. \u201cI can\u2019t follow my calling if it doesn\u2019t. If you numb yourself to the horror of it, you can\u2019t talk to the dead at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her ears were even flatter. \u201cAre there many old Witnesses in your calling, Celehar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe burn out,\u201d I said, \u201clike a candle wick drowning in a pool of wax. I probably have five years or so before I can\u2019t hear them any longer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill that be a relief?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was glad that the stuffed rolls arrived then, and not only because I was ravenously hungry. They were very good, soft rolls stuffed with ham and tangy white cheese and then heated just enough to make the rolls crispy on the outside and to melt the cheese on the inside. They were impossible to eat tidily, but the staff brought a stack of napkins to the table with the plate, and the rolls went very well with the aikanaro. My headache began slowly to abate.<\/p>\n

We were silent for several minutes, and then I said, \u201cYou wanted to speak to me about something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Chonhadrin. \u201cI did. Although\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps it is an inappropriate time for personal concerns.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is not wrong to wish for a distraction,\u201d I said. \u201cI would frankly welcome one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose,\u201d she said, but she hesitated a long moment before saying abruptly, \u201cYou know, of course, that it is about the letter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am at least not surprised. What troubles you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything!\u201d she said, with an exasperated gesture that nearly knocked over her mug. \u201cI do not wish to be unkind to Osmer Thilmerezh, for he seems very lonely and in truth unhappy, but I am afraid that if I answer his letter, I will break my grandfather\u2019s heart. My Deleneise grandfather, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cThe man who raised your mother as his child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you spoken to him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe lives near Cetho. And I have tried to start a letter to him<\/i> six or seven times.\u201d Her ears drooped sadly. \u201cI do not know what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said cautiously, \u201cDo you feel you need your grandfather\u2019s permission?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cIt isn\u2019t that. It\u2019s just\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must be unkind to either Osmer Thilmerezh or your grandfather, and naturally you wish to be unkind to neither.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she said, sounding relieved. \u201cI don\u2019t\u2026\u201d I finished eating while she thought hard for several minutes. A very old prelate in Lohaiso had taught me that people often solved their own problems, if you simply listened to them well enough.<\/p>\n

Finally, Chonhadrin said, decisively, \u201cI must write to my grandfather first. I cannot spring it on him later.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded and poured more tea into my mug.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I think I must also write to Osmer Thilmerezh,\u201d she said, \u201ceven if my grandfather disapproves. For in fact, since he was exiled, he is not truly to blame for deserting my grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne assumes she could have gone with him,\u201d I said. \u201cMany wives did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut she didn\u2019t even marry him, and from his letter, he sounded as if he very much wished she had.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe must have been a\u2026\u201d I hesitated. \u201cA lady very strong in her purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a lovely way of saying she was a stubborn old pickaxe,\u201d said Chonhadrin. \u201cBut, yes. Once my grandmother had made up her mind, nothing could sway her. And she was afraid of nothing that I ever saw.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought of the young Osmer Thilmerezh, banished to Tanvero and discovering his lover did not love him enough either to fight for him or to follow him. No wonder he had chosen to become town historian rather than marrying.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cThere,\u201d said Chonhadrin, with satisfaction. \u201cThank you. You are a good listener, Celehar.\u201d<\/p>\n

I smiled at her, although the expression felt stiff and strange on my face. \u201cI am a Witness,\u201d I said. \u201cIt is my nature.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

That night I slept soddenly and woke feeling still heavy and slow. I had several petitioners (they came sometimes in flurries), two of whom did not need my<\/i> help in particular and could be directed to their district ulimeire, two of whom I could not help at all, and one who allowed me to leave my office, however briefly, to find out from his dead wife whether her death was accident or suicide. All morning, I dreaded the afternoon, knowing that if I did not go back to the Second Production Hangar, Othalo Zanarin would merely send a novice to find me. I could not face lunch again, though I knew I would regret not eating.<\/p>\n

It was a beautiful day, sunny, with great billowing white clouds sailing grandly across the sky. Anora would be busy all the afternoon burying the victims of the explosion, and one reason I had to go back was so that the remaining bodies could be buried tomorrow. The families\u2019 grief deserved that much from me.<\/p>\n

Othalo Zanarin looked grim and exhausted. We did not speak to each other. I knelt beside each of the bodies in turn, saying the prayer of compassion for the dead, and touched the forehead. Each body gave me the same answers of pain and terror. None of them had any guilty knowledge. None of them had intended what had happened. After the last body, my head full of noise and burning, I sat back on my heels and said, without looking at Zanarin, \u201cIt was an accident. An honest accident, no matter how dreadful.\u201d<\/p>\n

Othalo Zanarin said, \u201cDo you know how many people died, Mer Celehar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo many,\u201d I said. \u201cBut it makes no difference. A terrible result does not always have a terrible cause.\u201d It still wasn\u2019t worth insisting <\/span>on my proper rank, especially since my guess was that Zanarin would welcome a fight.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what happened<\/i>?\u201d she snarled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is a question for Witness Parmorin,\u201d I said. \u201cThe dead have no answers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Mer Celehar,\u201d she said, her voice colder than ice. \u201cWe have no further need of your services.\u201d She walked away, toward where Parmorin was standing surrounded by twisted fragments of airship. Instead of leaving, I followed her.<\/p>\n

Parmorin saw Zanarin approaching and stopped what she was doing to stand, arms folded, and wait, scowling ferociously. \u201cWell?\u201d she said when Zanarin was in earshot. \u201cDid you find your malice worker?\u201d<\/p>\n

Zanarin ignored the question. \u201cWhat have you found?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing that suggests a mechanical device,\u201d said Parmorin. \u201cAnd without such a device, no one could have ignited the eisonsar without being caught in the explosion. And we gather\u201d\u2014she cocked her head inquiringly at me\u2014\u201cthat no one caught in the explosion bore any responsibility?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shook my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was a leak in one of the eisonsar tanks,\u201d said Parmorin, \u201cand then there was a spark. It takes so little to ignite leaking eisonsar that we hesitate to guess what that spark might have been. The explosion tore the Excellence of Umvino<\/i> apart, sent bits of metal flying in every direction, and started three fires.\u201d<\/p>\n

Zanarin said nothing for a long time, long enough that Parmorin stopped looking angry.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cNo one intended harm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Parmorin, \u201cairship work is dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally, Zanarin said, although she sounded as if it hurt her, \u201cSo we shall say in our report to the Amal\u2019othala.\u201d She bowed, barely, to Parmorin, and stalked away.<\/p>\n

Parmorin and I stood, looking at the wreckage around us. \u201cSometimes that is all you can<\/i> say,\u201d said Parmorin.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes there is no malice to be unmasked,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cNo,\u201d said Parmorin, \u201cthere is no evil at work here. We are sorry it took Othalo Zanarin so long to accept that.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shrugged. \u201cWhat if she had been right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Parmorin said, \u201cShe wasn\u2019t right, and she knew it yesterday. She was just too proud to admit she was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sighed and pushed my hair back from my face. \u201cAnd your investigation, Witness Parmorin? What will you say in your deposition?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe truth,\u201d said Parmorin. \u201cIt was an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Although Zanarin seemed to have forgotten about the matter of depositions, Parmorin and I went together to the Amal\u2019theileian and gave depositions before Judiciar Erimar, Parmorin having formally asked me to make a supporting deposition. All that negative evidence Zanarin had amassed was, on its obverse face, important supporting testimony for Parmorin\u2019s findings. Afterwards, she thanked me, saying, \u201cWe believe that your part in this investigation was even more unpleasant than our own.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is our calling,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She gave me a stern look. \u201cThat nonsense had nothing to do with your calling and everything to do with Othalo Zanarin being a fanatic. Don\u2019t play word games with her part in this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is no matter,\u201d I said uncomfortably.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d said Parmorin, with a Witness\u2019s gift for asking the worst possible question. \u201cBecause you were the only one suffering?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe weren\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have eyes,\u201d she said sharply. \u201cWe were convinced more than once yesterday that you were going to faint. Your proper calling isn\u2019t meant to be used like that, and you know it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said reluctantly, \u201cit isn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should make a complaint to the Amal\u2019othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t need to,\u201d I said. \u201cZanarin\u2019s failure will hurt her prestige enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cMaybe we<\/i> should make a complaint,\u201d Parmorin said.<\/p>\n

The idea was horrifying. \u201cWe beseech you, do not.\u201d<\/p>\n

She gave me a long, measuring stare, and finally said, \u201cAll right. We will let it go. But only because the idea seems to distress you so greatly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe want the Amal\u2019othala to notice us less,<\/i> not more,<\/i>\u201d I said, with more truth than I had intended.<\/p>\n

She laughed. \u201cWe can understand that. Good day to you, Othala Celehar, and be well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She went left; I turned to go right and walked straight into a knot of newspapermen: Goronezh and Vicenalar and two others whom I did not know.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar!\u201d Goronezh said, plainly delighted to have a target. \u201cWhat can you tell us about the Excellence of Umvino<\/i>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe explosion was an accident,\u201d I said. Erimar had ruled it as such before we even left his office. \u201cNothing to do with the Curneisei or the Wisdom of Choharo.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you sure?\u201d one of the other newspapermen said. He sounded disappointed.<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite sure,\u201d I said. \u201cThe investigation was most thorough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it likely to happen again?\u201d asked Vicenalar.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is a question for the Amal-Athamareise Ashenavo Trincsiva,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

We all knew the answer was yes.<\/p>\n

\n

The next morning brought\u2014along with the newspapers and the varying degrees of skepticism with which they regarded the verdict of accident\u2014an elven family who wanted to bury their great-grandfather according to the old forms, but it had taken all their money to buy him a burial plot in a cemetery with the proper consecrations. They could not afford the prelate\u2019s fee, even for a burial at noon.<\/p>\n

I was paid by the Amalo prelacy. I cost my petitioners nothing.<\/p>\n

<\/span>This petition was not strictly within the scope of my mandate, but there was nothing that forbade it, either. And I wanted to do something that was simple and straightforward. I agreed.<\/p>\n

With great relief, the new patriarch of the Selimada told me that as the prelate was the only thing lacking and his great-grandfather had now been dead several days, they were prepared to hold the funeral that evening. I said truthfully that I had had no plans, and therefore could not be inconvenienced. He drew me a careful, well-labeled map of how to find the cemetery from the nearest tram stop. I thanked him, we bowed to each other, and I was left with the afternoon free.<\/p>\n

It was a chance for which I was grateful, as I had wanted for some time to talk to the president of the collective of Ulchoranee and find out how Min Urmenezhen had ended up in their cemetery. After eating lunch at the Red Dog\u2019s Dream, I walked to Ulchoranee, where the placard at the entrance told me the president of the collective was one Mer Ozeva Trathonar. I set out in search of him.<\/p>\n

It did not take long. An inquiry at a neighboring shop gained me the information that Mer Trathonar was a butcher two streets over, and his shop was in fact impossible to miss, for the sign emblazoned TRATHONAR AND SONS<\/small> was nearly the same size as the shop window and painted in cream and scarlet, which I thought perhaps a slightly untactful reminder of the bone and blood that were Mer Trathonar\u2019s livelihood.<\/p>\n

Inside the shop, I found a tired-looking elven woman, her hair escaping its pins, and her attention clearly divided between the front of the shop and the back room, where a child was crying. \u201cGood afternoon, othala,\u201d she said. \u201cHow may we help you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Thara Celehar, and I am a Witness for the Dead. I am looking for Mer Trathonar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe isn\u2019t here,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019s probably in the Bramblepony, if your business is urgent.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt my eyebrows go up, and she blushed rose-pink. The Bramblepony was a teahouse notorious for also being an illicit gambling house. The rumor was that the proprietor paid the Vigilant Brotherhood not to investigate too closely.<\/p>\n

<\/span>I said, \u201cActually, you might be just as able to help me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe?\u201d she said, taken aback.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m interested in a young woman named Inshiran Avelonaran. She was recently exhumed from Ulchoranee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said the elven woman. \u201cOzeva\u2014that is, Mer Trathonar was very upset. I\u2019m sorry, othala, just a moment, please.\u201d The child\u2019s crying had suddenly reached a new intensity; she disappeared into the back room. I heard an exchange of voices over the crying, which slowly began to taper off. Then Merrem Trathonaran\u2014for she could be no one else\u2014said, \u201cNo, it\u2019s not your fault,\u201d and reappeared with a white-haired elven toddler on her hip, and an older elven child, maybe five or six, following her, although he stopped at the doorway. The toddler\u2019s breath was still hitching, but his blue eyes were wide with interest, and he had clearly forgotten what he had been crying about.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour sons?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She smiled shyly and said, \u201cOzevis and Panezhet. And I am Mevizho Trathonaran. I can tell you about Inshiran, at least a little bit.\u201d She hesitated, then seemed to make up her mind to something. \u201cWould you like some tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

She closed the shop and led me up the tiny corkscrewing staircase at the back to a cramped flat, slightly chaotic in the way that any residence of a small child is chaotic. She put a five-zashanei coin in the gas meter and lit her single burner, then filled the kettle at the tap and put it on to heat.<\/p>\n

We sat down at the small table, Merrem Trathonaran with the toddler on her lap and Ozevis standing hesitantly behind her, watching me as if I might prove to be a danger. I said, \u201cI am witnessing for Merrem Avelonaran on behalf of her family, and they are naturally anxious to learn what they can of how she died and how she ended up in Ulchoranee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Merrem Trathonaran. \u201cI do not know very much, for they did not live here for very long before she died.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cHow long?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThree months? Maybe four? And she was sick for most of that time. She said it was the early sickness, and it may have been, for women do die of that.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a moment before I decided how to answer her, but I was witnessing for Inshiran Urmenezhen, and that meant not telling lies about her. \u201cActually, she was murdered.\u201d<\/p>\n

And Merrem Trathonaran said instantly, \u201cMer Avelonar killed her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are very certain,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did not want to think it,\u201d she said, \u201cand indeed it is terrible to think that she could be murdered so slowly and no one do anything to stop it, but he was very callous, both about her illness and about her death. He arranged her funeral as quickly and cheaply as he could, and he haggled with Mer Cremorezh, the stoneworker, about the cost of adding the child\u2019s name to the stone.\u201d She was clearly still shocked by this.<\/p>\n

I found it shocking myself. \u201cHow did she come to be buried in Ulchoranee?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe stipulated it in her will,\u201d said Merrem Trathonaran. \u201cMer Avelonar was angry about it, for of course it meant he had to pay for her burial. He and Ozeva had an argument about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Avelonar seems to be a miserly sort of man,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes,\u201d she said. \u201cMy grandmother would have said he was a man to charge his own shadow for the right to stick to his heels.\u201d<\/p>\n

The kettle sang, and Merrem Trathonaran was very busy for a couple of minutes with teapot and tea leaves and cups and saucers, and when she returned to the table, she had a plate of the hard Amaleise ginger biscuits, called venevetoi, that never seemed to go stale. She gave one to each of her sons.<\/p>\n

I had developed a weakness for venevetoi in my time living in Amalo. I took one while the tea steeped and asked, \u201cDo you know where Mer Avelonar went?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, only that the funeral was at noon and he was gone by sundown.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cNoon?\u201d I didn\u2019t know why I was shocked. Mer Avelonar had already proved there was no depth to which he would not sink, and murder was far worse than skimping on the funeral arrangements.<\/p>\n

Merrem Trathonaran nodded, her eyes wide. \u201cIt was the cheapest funeral either Ozeva or I could ever remember seeing. Poor Merrem Avelonaran. She deserved better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer family gave her proper burial,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank the goddesses,\u201d she said, and obviously meant it.<\/p>\n

I asked a few other questions, but Merrem Trathonaran had told me all she knew. We drank cups of boronat, and I let her tell me about her family. Ozevis lost his shyness enough to chime in, and Panezhet fell asleep on his mother\u2019s lap.<\/p>\n

\n

When I left, Merrem Trathonaran gave me the next pieces of information I needed: the name of the neighborhood cleric and where to find him.<\/p>\n

His name was Radora Husavar, and he lived and worked in the back rooms of his wife\u2019s tea shop on Winter Street. He was elven, short-statured; judging by the thickness of his spectacle lenses, he was nearly as myopic as Anora.<\/p>\n

I explained myself again. \u201cHer family is naturally anxious to learn whatever they can about how she died.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNaturally,\u201d agreed Husavar. \u201cBut I do not think you will want to give them many details of her death. In truth, othala, she suffered horribly, vomiting until there was nothing left in her stomach and then being racked with cramps. I tried every remedy I know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was being murdered with calonvar,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Behind their thick lenses, his eyes went wide. \u201cCalonvar?\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cMost likely by her husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was cold enough for it,\u201d Husavar said grimly. \u201cHe never turned a hair the entire time\u2014which of course he wouldn\u2019t if he was the one causing it. I try neither to like nor dislike my patients and their families\u2014as I\u2019m sure will sound familiar to you, othala\u2014but <\/span>him I disliked very much. But there was nothing that made me suspicious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you think it was?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was pregnant. Some women, the early sickness just takes over their bodies and wrenches them and wrenches them until they die of it. Her symptoms matched that all too closely.\u201d He sighed. \u201cShe was so worried about her baby that I\u2019m not sure she ever really understood that she was in danger of dying herself. But Mer Avelonar cared about none of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was he like? Can you describe him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was a young elven man, not much taller than I am. I did not notice his features particularly, although I think I would recognize him if I saw him again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat might be very important,\u201d I said. \u201cWe believe this is not the only time he has murdered a wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow dreadful,\u201d said Husavar with obvious sincerity. \u201cHe kept to himself\u2014she was much friendlier, even though she was dying. He seemed to resent every zashan he had to pay me. I don\u2019t think he ever asked me what was wrong with her, or why I couldn\u2019t help her, or any of the questions that a husband usually asks. I heard that he kept his funeral arrangements as cheap as possible, as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is my understanding,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd it seems likely that he murdered her for her money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDreadful,\u201d<\/i> Husavar said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMerrem Trathonaran told me that Merrem Avelonaran stipulated in her will that she be buried in Ulchoranee. Do you know why?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know they fought about it. He wanted to bury her in Ulvanensee, and she had a horror of it, while she wanted to be buried in her family\u2019s cemetery, and he would not stand for the expense. She chose Ulchoranee as a compromise, and he was still<\/i> unhappy about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo she stipulated it. If she had a will, she must have gone to a lawyer. Do you know who that might be?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have no idea,\u201d Husavar said apologetically. \u201cI knew that she had a will, but nothing more than that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose it was too much to hope for,\u201d I said. \u201cThank you, <\/span>othala, you have been very helpful. If we find this man, would you be willing to come confirm that he is the man you knew as Cro\u00efs Avelonar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Husavar. \u201cI only regret I cannot do more to help. As I have regretted not being able to help Merrem Avelonaran. But without knowing it was calonvar, truly I do not think there is anything I could have done. Even if I had known\u00a0\u2026 no, in that case I would have proceeded in a completely different manner, starting with demanding that the Brotherhood arrest him. I imagine her symptoms would have cleared up remarkably quickly after that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cI think you are right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

There was time in the afternoon for one more thing. I had promised Coralezh that I would make a pilgrimage to the Sanctuary of Csaivo for the people of Tanvero, and it had been nagging at me that I had not had time to do it. It had been my intention to make that pilgrimage after I delivered Osmer Thilmerezh\u2019s letter, but that had become manifestly impossible.<\/p>\n

I could, however, do it now. From Ulchoranee to the Sanctuary was a suitable distance for a minor pilgrimage, and it was a lovely day. I followed Winter Street to Beryl Road, then walked north to Princess Havaro Square and west, through the bustle and clamor of the Greenmarket, and thus over to Bridge Street, where I kept to the Zulnicho tramline past the Marigold Rookeries, then cut east again, walking past the great bulk of the Chelim\u2019opera, the largest opera house south of the Mich\u2019maika, and following the curve of the road around until I came to the gates of the Sanctuary. There, rather than either going to the main building entrance or wandering in the gardens, I climbed the stairs that wound around the outside of the central building, stairs that had been mended and replaced and mended again and replaced again in a nearly constant process for longer than the Sanctuary had had written records\u2014at least three thousand years. It was not a wide staircase, and the bannister was an obvious <\/span>afterthought, probably no more than four or five hundred years old. I was grateful for it, as I was not fond of heights.<\/p>\n

The top of the central building did offer a stunning panorama of the Airmen\u2019s Quarter\u2014full of apartment buildings and warehouses and manufactories, the enormous domes of the Amal-Athamareise Airship Works visible to the south\u2014and up to the wall of the Veren\u2019malo. I did not approach the edge to look down at the Sanctuary gardens or the dark water of the Mich\u2019maika. Instead, I followed the spiraling path laid out in white and black marble tiles to the center of the rooftop. There, as Coralezh had asked me to, I said prayers for the people of Tanvero, with particular reference to ghouls. Then I knelt and took a pilgrimage token from the recessed pit, a gilded elesth leaf. I put it carefully in an inside pocket and started back, with no little dread, toward the stairs. My only other option was to stay up here until I starved to death; moreover, I had a funeral to conduct.<\/p>\n

On my way home to change, I stopped by Estorezh\u2019s and picked up my purchases from the day the Excellence of Umvino<\/i> exploded. Estorezh himself, a tall, elderly elven man, was behind the counter. \u201cI thought you had forgotten, othala,\u201d he said mildly as he fetched the neat parcel of my new belongings.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ve just been\u00a0\u2026 busy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat yellow coat sold the first day I put it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not surprised,\u201d I said. \u201cIt was of no use to me, but it was a fine coat.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me, sharp blue eyes under tufted white eyebrows. \u201cNext time I get a black coat in, I\u2019ll put it aside for you to look at.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s very kind of you,\u201d I said, surprised. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He brushed it aside with a flick of his ears. \u201cYou do a great service for our city. I can do a small service for you in return.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said again and left, so flustered that I almost forgot my parcel.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

The Selimada lived in a part of the city I had visited only infrequently\u2014north of the Old City toward the mountains\u2014but the young man\u2019s map was good. I reached the cemetery at the appropriate time.<\/p>\n

The family gathered around the gravesite ranged in age from three months to nearly ninety years. They were all somewhat shabby, but I recognized the air of intense and determined respectability from some of my own neighbors. Everyone was properly dressed in black, even the baby, and Merrem Selimaran, the new patriarch\u2019s wife, had some onyx mourning beads wound in her hair. I was probably the most out of place thing in the entire scene.<\/p>\n

The family seemed pleased enough, however. After the Devotion of Fours had been performed, and the new patriarch and his brothers had filled in the grave, they invited me back to their house for the traditional vigil dinner. It still wasn\u2019t as if I had anywhere else I was expected to be. Besides which, this hospitality wasn\u2019t offered as lightly as that of the Orshaneisei; I knew I would offend them all if I refused. I accepted with gratitude.<\/p>\n

The vigil dinner wasn\u2019t quite the same as a wake, although the two practices had much in common. Whereas a wake involved dancing and sometimes singing and was intended to help the dead person\u2019s spirit find rest, the vigil dinner was simpler and quieter and had begun as a vigil to be sure the dead person didn\u2019t rise as a ghoul. Unlike the people of Tanvero, the Selimada didn\u2019t have to worry about that literally<\/i> coming true\u2014in that sense, the wakes held in other neighborhoods of Amalo and the vigil dinners were exactly the same. I thought some of the younger members of the Selimada might have preferred a wake, but the elderly aunts and uncles were very pleased. I got buttonholed by a pair of them\u2014sisters, I thought, although I might easily have been wrong\u2014who wanted to tell me how many Ulineise prelates these days didn\u2019t even know what the Devotion of Fours was. It was in desperation that I turned the conversation to suspicious or surprising deaths.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t have chosen a better topic. I was still trapped between <\/span>them, but now only as an audience, as they collectively went back through\u2014as best I could tell\u2014every funeral that either one of them had ever attended. I had learned early in my novitiate how to listen attentively to parishioners, no matter how much I longed to be doing something else, and that training was rewarded by a litany of deaths\u2014illness, accident, childbirth, murder\u2014but all of the murders they related were simple affairs: drunken brawls; a man who had beaten his wife to death found standing over her body, weeping; a woman who went mad and killed her infant. Nothing like Avelonar\u2019s careful isolating of his victim, his subtle method of murder. I did not know whether I was disappointed or not.<\/p>\n

A little later, young Merrem Selimaran came by and rescued me, and a little after that, someone started to sing.<\/p>\n

\n

In the morning, back in my office, I thought owlishly that the Orshaneisei were right: I did need to do something about getting more sleep. With no petitioners, I dozed all morning, horrified at myself and knowing it would serve me right if someone walked in, but no one did.<\/p>\n

That afternoon I decided I could do no better than to track down the items Min Shelsin had pawned and see if they could tell me anything. I had taken the whole collection of tickets with me when Pel-Thenhior and I and all those stolen gowns had left Min Shelsin\u2019s rented room, and I had organized them as best I could into a series of packets, each for a different pawn shop.<\/p>\n

They were all shops in Cemchelarna except for one ticket that belonged to a shop in the Zheimela. It was interesting proof that Min Shelsin had been in the Zheimela before the night she died, and I was sorely tempted to ignore the others and just go haring after that one. But I had learned to be wary of coincidences and that one seemed far too good to be true.<\/p>\n

I wanted to ask Pel-Thenhior to come with me, since he might at least recognize some of the pieces and possibly remember who <\/span>gave them to her, but I remembered what he\u2019d said about rehearsal beginning after lunch. I debated the matter while I ate and finally decided that I could do no harm by asking. Therefore, after lunch I went to the Vermilion Opera, that being the only place I knew to find him.<\/p>\n

Either he truly was there every day, or I was lucky, for I found him in the lobby, arguing with Mer Olora again. Relief lit up his face when he saw me, and he broke away from the disgruntled singer.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala Celehar!\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, striding across the lobby to meet me. In a bare, uncarrying whisper, he added, \u201cPlease tell me you need me for something. Anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted to laugh. I said, \u201cI was hoping you might be able to visit some pawn shops with me this afternoon, to see if we can find Min Shelsin\u2019s jewelry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course!\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, his voice cordial but not nearly as effusive as his face. \u201cToday is all costume fittings and memory practice, and Thoramis can take that as easily as I can. Just a moment!\u201d<\/p>\n

He bounded away into the auditorium, and Mer Olora followed with a sour look at me.<\/p>\n

I waited, grateful not to have Mer Olora\u2019s company, and Pel-Thenhior returned after a few minutes, shrugging into an overcoat. \u201cWas that true or were you just taking pity on me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it was quite true,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcellent,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cLet us go forth, then, and investigate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I soon discovered I had been even wiser than I expected to bring Pel-Thenhior, for he was known and liked in all the pawn shops we visited in Cemchelarna, and no one objected or grumbled about bringing out the pawned items, even knowing we weren\u2019t going to redeem them.<\/p>\n

Although all of the pawned jewelry was expensive, it varied widely <\/span>in quality, from painfully ostentatious diamond rings (inscribed on their inner surface to my Arvene\u00e4n, from her Milparnis<\/i>) to a lovely, delicate choker necklace of faceted emeralds. Pel-Thenhior kept a tally of the prices in the flyleaf of the book he happened to have in his pocket, and when we reached the end of Cemchelarna\u2019s Pawnbrokers\u2019 Row, he said, \u201cWhere was all this money going<\/i>? She had at least a year\u2019s salary in pawn\u2014maybe more, since I\u2019m quite sure she did not get the value of some of those items\u2014and we know it wasn\u2019t on clothes or lodging.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had several theories, but the most likely was the simplest. \u201cDid Min Shelsin gamble?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have no idea,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cShe didn\u2019t bring it to the Opera if she did, which was wise of her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t approve of gambling?\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior made a complicated face. \u201cWell, I don\u2019t see the point of it. But it causes bad feelings, and what exactly do you do if one of your tenors bankrupts the other between acts? So I don\u2019t allow it in the Opera, but I can\u2019t control what people do when they\u2019re not there, and of course if she was<\/i> gambling, she wouldn\u2019t have told me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cWho might know? Min Balvedin and Min Nochenin? The clerks?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt it.\u201d Pel-Thenhior thought for a moment. \u201cShe might have told Veralis. They didn\u2019t like each other, but I know he does<\/i> gamble.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe might have told him or he might have seen her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, and added sourly, \u201cshe must have worn those gowns somewhere.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

I went through my packets of pawn tickets. We\u2019d accounted for all of them except the one that had come from the Zheimela. I said, \u201cAre you willing to go farther afield?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course! Where?\u201d<\/p>\n

I showed him the ticket. \u201cA pawn shop in the Zheimela.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior\u2019s eyebrows shot up. \u201cHow intriguing,\u201d he said. \u201cI wonder if they remember her.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

As it turned out, they did.<\/p>\n

The proprietor was a young elven man, ferret-faced as elves often were. He lived in the back of his pawn shop, and stayed open from sundown to sunrise, providing his services to the gamblers who were preyed on by the nearby gambling houses, and he remembered Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin distinctly.<\/p>\n

She had come in with an elven man, he said, both of them the worse for drink. He remembered her because of the eye-catching quality of her pledge and because she was so rude.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds like Arvene\u00e4n,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said.<\/p>\n

She had unclasped a necklace, gleaming silver and sapphires, and pawned it, all the while flirting with the man who accompanied her. The pawnbroker brought out the necklace, which I thought rather gaudy, and said, almost apologetically, \u201cShe could have had a better price if she\u2019d been paying attention.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you remember anything about her companion?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, othala. I\u2019m sorry. But\u201d\u2014he brightened\u2014\u201cI know they came from Tivalinee.\u201d He nodded across the street.<\/p>\n

Tivalinee was a famous gambling house, patronized by the Ponichada and the Alchinada. \u201cPlay must be very steep,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, frowning.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said the pawnbroker. \u201cMost of my business comes from over there. They don\u2019t accept pledges or stakes in kind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo steep for Arvene\u00e4n,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe she was only there the once,\u201d I said, though not very hopefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cAnd maybe they let her walk into the trap before they sprang it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

By the time we emerged from the pawn shop, the afternoon was fairly over, the shadows lengthening into dusk.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cThe Opera does not perform tonight, and I\u2019m starving. Let me buy you dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDinner. You have to eat, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes, but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe won\u2019t go anywhere fancy. But I hate to eat alone, and I flatter myself I\u2019m not bad company.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face was so hopeful that I did not refuse as I had intended to. I said, \u201cAll right,\u201d and Pel-Thenhior\u2019s answering smile was almost blinding.<\/p>\n

We took the tram back to the Veren\u2019malo, and then I followed Pel-Thenhior through a succession of courts and alleyways until we came to a teahouse called the Torivontaram, after a kind of helpful talking animal in Barizheise folktales.<\/p>\n

Inside, it was clear\u2014as I had not been able to see in the dark outside\u2014that the teahouse had been built in the ruin of some much older building, and a row of flying buttresses were the ribs of the roof. Someone had turned the buttresses into a mural of trees along the wall.<\/p>\n

Immediately as he came in, Pel-Thenhior was involved in a voluble exchange of Barizhin with a rail-thin and rail-straight Barizheise lady who barely came up to his shoulder. Her hair was iron gray, several shades lighter than her skin, which it had probably matched in her youth, and her round, slightly pop eyes were honey-gold, the same color as his.<\/p>\n

I spoke some Barizhin, enough to conduct a service for the dead, but certainly not enough to follow that conversation. It didn\u2019t help when they both started laughing.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cOthala Celehar, this is Nebeno Pel-Thenhior, my mother. Mother, this is Othala Thara Celehar, who is trying to find out who killed Arvene\u00e4n.\u201d<\/p>\n

Merrem Pel-Thenhior\u2019s eyebrows rose slightly, but she said, \u201cBe welcome, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know Min Shelsin?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew her when she was a child, and have seen her occasionally since. But it was no more than a passing acquaintance.\u201d She smiled <\/span>at me and said more kindly, \u201cCome sit down. I\u00e4na says you have not eaten yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m still buying,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, \u201cand Mother won\u2019t overcharge us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are a dreadful child,\u201d Merrem Pel-Thenhior said in Barizhin. She herded us gently to a table for two in one of the back corners, where I would have preferred to sit in any event.<\/p>\n

We sat down, and Merrem Pel-Thenhior brought a teapot and two glazed pottery cups. The tea was a Barizheise green, smoky and deep. Pel-Thenhior poured carefully.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cMany of the Opera come here, so don\u2019t be shocked if you see someone you recognize. They won\u2019t bother us.\u201d<\/p>\n

I choked on the words Are you<\/i> courting me?<\/i> and by the time I had recovered, had thought better of asking. If he said no, I would have embarrassed myself beyond bearing. If he said yes, I would be trapped into having to insist that he had made a terrible mistake and having to leave. But I still needed his help and his goodwill if I was to have any hope of answering the many questions about Min Shelsin\u2019s death. And I liked Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

I liked Pel-Thenhior, and I was lonely.<\/p>\n

His mother returned, bearing a tray with two bowls of soup and a plate of brown rolls. The soup was thick with noodles and vegetables and pieces of chicken, and the smell told me how hungry I was.<\/p>\n

Merrem Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cYou bless our house, othala,\u201d in Barizhin, and I answered in the same language, \u201cYour kindness is a blessing on me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou speak Barizhin?\u201d she said in delight.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly a little,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNevertheless,\u201d she said, and added to Pel-Thenhior, \u201cI like this one.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blushed as if my face were catching fire, and Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cMother, don\u2019t torment Othala Celehar.\u201d<\/p>\n

She laughed. \u201cI beg your pardon, othala. Please enjoy your dinner.\u201d <\/span>She added something sharp in Barizhin to her son and went back to the kitchen.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cShe said not to drive you away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes that happen often to the people who dine with you?\u201d I said, as if I were a courtier and could play the game of elegant conversation.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have had some spectacular arguments,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, which was not entirely an answer.<\/p>\n

We ate for a while in silence. The soup was as good as it smelled, and the rolls were crisp and chewy, served with soft white Barizheise cheese.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said abruptly, \u201cI\u2019m really not angling for anything more than company. You are far more restful than most of the people I know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRestful?\u201d I said doubtfully. And was that denial the truth? Had he recognized my alarm? Or was he denying preemptively so that he didn\u2019t have to admit the truth, either?<\/p>\n

\u201cOpera singers,\u201d he said, and rolled his eyes. \u201cEvery splinter is a five-act tragedy. And most of them talk and talk and talk.\u201d He mimed jabbering with one hand and laughed. \u201cI\u2019m just as bad, as I\u2019m sure you\u2019ve noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing, and he laughed again. \u201cThat was your cue to deny it, but I am glad you are an honest man.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt that I had to offer something, and said, \u201cI have found your conversation illuminating.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI choose to take that as a compliment,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said, but his smile was brilliant.<\/p>\n

\n

When I got home that night, my hands were shaking so much that I was barely able to get my key in the lock.<\/p>\n

I went inside, hung up my coat, and sat down on the bed, where the shaking enveloped my entire body like an ague. I fought the tremors long enough to take my shoes off, so that I could huddle <\/span>against the wall. I swallowed hard, curled up as tight as a dormouse, and then I did my best to sit quietly and wait it out. Eventually, I fell asleep and dreamed that all the ghosts on the Hill of Werewolves had Evru\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

\n

I woke up with a pounding headache, and my eyes were as bloodshot as if I\u2019d been awake all night.<\/p>\n

I washed my face and braided my hair back severely, and walked to the Hanevo Tree for breakfast, including a two-cup pot of strong orchor. It wasn\u2019t enough, but it was the best I could do.<\/p>\n

The goddesses were merciful, although I did not deserve it: I had no petitioners that morning. I could not face food at noon; I thought about going to the Opera, but I did not know what to say to Pel-Thenhior, and in truth I did not know what questions to ask anyone else. What I needed to know were Min Shelsin\u2019s gambling habits: How often and how much? Was that the explanation of all those pawn tickets? It seemed likely, but still left me short of being able to explain the murder, much less identify the man who had committed it.<\/p>\n

But perhaps her patrons knew.<\/p>\n

I had been avoiding the task of talking to them, hoping that it might not be necessary, that I could find out who had killed her without intruding on the world of wealth and blood. It had been a vain hope from the outset; at the very least I needed to talk to Borava Coreshar and find out what he knew about what had happened on the last night of Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin\u2019s life.<\/p>\n

\n

I knew from previous witnessing in Amalo that my best chance of talking to Min Shelsin\u2019s patrons was to find them away from their homes and guardians like Mer Dravenezh. I also knew that the best places to find them away from their homes were the fashionable teahouses along General Shulihar Street: the Pig of Good <\/span>Fortune, the Curling Vine, and of course the empress of teahouses, the oldest teahouse in Amalo, Sholavee. I could not afford Sholavee\u2019s prices, but I often wished I could.<\/p>\n

Even my silk coat of office looked shabby in Sholavee. I walked from table to table, looking for Min Shelsin\u2019s patrons. Eyebrows rose and ears twitched, but no one demanded to know my business or called for the staff to come throw me out, and at a table far in the back of the ground floor, I found Borava Coreshar, playing bokh with an elderly elven man whose rings were gold and emeralds.<\/p>\n

I could see that the game was nearly over (Osmer Coreshar was losing); I found a vacant table and sat down to wait.<\/p>\n

An elven server approached, smiling as if threadbare prelates were her usual customers. When I said I was waiting for Osmer Coreshar, I saw his ears dip, although he did not turn around.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, othala,\u201d said the server. \u201cAre you in need of anything while you wait?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I thank you,\u201d I said. She smiled and bowed and went to the next table to see if they needed more hot water.<\/p>\n

I waited no more than a quarter of an hour before Osmer Coreshar had to concede defeat, tipping over his bokhrat with a rueful laugh. I had been curious to see whether he would admit he knew I was there, but after a few moments\u2019 conversation with his opponent, he got up and came over to me, saying, \u201cI am Borava Coreshar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy name is Thara Celehar,\u201d I said, rising, \u201cand I am a Witness for the Dead, witnessing for Min Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin.\u201d<\/p>\n

His ears dipped, but he stood his ground. \u201cHow may I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are the last person I know to have seen her alive,\u201d I said, and watched to see how he took it.<\/p>\n

It clearly staggered him; his eyes widened and his ears went flat. But after a moment, his chin came up, and he said, \u201cI assure you I did not kill her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t believe you did,\u201d I said. \u201cBut I need to know anything you can tell me about that night. Please, sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sat as if he was grateful for the chair. He said, \u201cWe\u00a0\u2026 we went first\u2014 Do you want all<\/i> the details?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe went first to her boardinghouse, where I waited in the carriage while she changed her clothes. We always did that; she would never go out in the evenings in the clothes she wore to rehearse.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought it was more likely the other way around: she couldn\u2019t wear to the Opera the gowns she stole to wear in the evenings. But I said nothing.<\/p>\n

Osmer Coreshar continued, \u201cI will grant her that she was extremely efficient in the matter. She said it was the result of doing costume changes in a tearing hurry. When she came back\u2014the dress was green velvet with embroidery of flowers on the cuffs\u2014we went for supper at Haramanee. She was\u00a0\u2026 very much in her usual spirits. Afterwards, we went to Bonashee.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was at least informative. Bonashee was the gambling house closest to the Canalman\u2019s Dog\u2014at least, the closest of the sort of gambling house to which Min Shelsin would be interested in going. \u201cHow long did you stay there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI<\/i> stayed until midnight. I don\u2019t know about Min Shelsin. I lost track of her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas that unusual?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged one shoulder. \u201cI play pakh\u2019palar at Bonashee, and all my attention is on the game. It has to be. Usually she was there when the game was over, but sometimes not. It depended on how her<\/i> night had gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you weren\u2019t surprised?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I looked for her, but when I didn\u2019t find her, I went home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas that an early night for you?\u201d I was a little surprised; gambling houses like Bonashee stayed open until dawn.<\/p>\n

He colored faintly. \u201cI suffer from sick headaches, and I invariably have one if I stay out too late. I always go home at midnight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Making him, I thought, the perfect escort down to the Zheimela for a young woman who had, perhaps, a midnight meeting at the Canalman\u2019s Dog. He wouldn\u2019t notice when she left, and she could rely on him not to invest too much time in searching for her.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cDid you see anyone that you knew? Anyone who might know when she left or where she was going?\u201d<\/p>\n

He considered the matter. \u201cI know Danila Ubezhar was there. She would have spoken to him if she saw him. But predicting what Min Shelsin will do is\u2014was always difficult, and I do not know whom else she might have known.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA fair answer,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat else can you tell me about Min Shelsin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d he said warily.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe more I know about her, the more likely I am to be able to find her murderer,\u201d I said. I had learned over the course of many witnessings to be patient with the reflexive fear most people felt when questioned about a murder victim. \u201cYou need not tell me anything private. I merely want to see her from a different angle.\u201d<\/p>\n

He considered again; either he was weighing his answers to me very carefully or he was a person who habitually thought through his words before speaking. He said, \u201cMin Shelsin was very beautiful and very accomplished. She was ambitious\u2014she wanted to be principal at the Amal\u2019opera. She was very lively.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which could mean almost anything. \u201cDid she gamble often?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe often went to gambling houses, but I was not with her always. I do not know what she did on other nights.\u201d He hesitated, then added, \u201cShe lost a great amount of money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know of anyone who might want to kill her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior,\u201d he said promptly. \u201cThey hated each other with a passion.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior had admitted as much, but it was still discomfiting to hear.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Osmer Coreshar,\u201d I said. \u201cYou have been very helpful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope you find the man who did it. Arvene\u00e4n will be much missed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I noticed that he did not say he<\/i> would miss her and gambled with a tactless question: \u201cDid you love her?\u201d<\/p>\n

He was visibly taken aback. \u201cNo. Not love.<\/i> I enjoyed her company, and of course I admired her singing.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cDid you give her many gifts?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was another long pause, long enough that I thought he was going to refuse to answer, but then he said, \u201cI knew of her habit of draining her patrons dry, and I did not intend to be another of them. I gave her gifts of a quality and at a time of my choosing. She had not yet grown impatient, but my friends assured me she would soon enough.\u201d His ears flattened, and he said, \u201cBut now, of course, she won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think any of the men she ruined were angry enough to seek revenge?\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought it unlikely; Osmer Coreshar considered the idea politely, but said, \u201cNo. Of the three that I know of, two were shipped off to other family branches, and poor Elithar still believes he can come about with enough luck at the gambling table.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Osmer Coreshar. Is there anything else you can think of that might help me find her murderer?\u201d<\/p>\n

He considered that question for a long time, and finally said, \u201cIf it is not Pel-Thenhior, and I gather from your questions that you do not think it is, then the only reason I can think of that anyone would murder her is that she liked to find out\u00a0\u2026 I suppose one would call them secrets. Things she wasn\u2019t supposed to know and that one had not confided to her. And she was not\u00a0\u2026 if she knew a secret, she gloated. And some secrets are<\/i> enough to drive a man to murder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue enough,\u201d I said. We bowed to each other, and I retraced my steps to Sholavee\u2019s entrance.<\/p>\n

Osmer Coreshar\u2019s assessment matched with that of Min Shelsin\u2019s colleagues; her love of secrets might be enough to have gotten her killed. I thought of Min Leverin. She had acquiesced to blackmail when Min Shelsin discovered her secret, but who was to say others would react the same way? Or might someone have chosen a different method to protect their secret?<\/p>\n

The question was: what<\/i> secret? Or, perhaps more trenchantly: whose<\/i> secret?<\/p>\n

I remembered that piece of paper in Min Shelsin\u2019s pocket, illegible and falling apart with canal water. Had that been someone\u2019s <\/span>secret? Had it gotten her killed? That was nothing but speculation; it did, however, make sense of the midnight meeting in the Zheimela, and why Min Shelsin might have agreed to such a thing.<\/p>\n

I wondered if there was any way to figure out how bad her gambling debts had been.<\/p>\n

And then there was the other option. Even if Pel-Thenhior hadn\u2019t killed Min Shelsin himself\u2014his whereabouts would be easy to prove\u2014there was nothing to say he hadn\u2019t hired someone else to do it. You could find men in the Zheimela who would do anything if you could meet their price, and they wouldn\u2019t talk about it, either. I didn\u2019t think Pel-Thenhior would have any difficulty in finding such a man.<\/p>\n

But I also thought the reason he gave for not<\/i> murdering her was persuasive. He had needed her voice, and if I had assessed his character correctly, that was far more important to him than any personal hatred of her.<\/p>\n

I could admit to myself that I did not want Pel-Thenhior to be responsible, and I knew better than to trust my own judgment. Evru had sworn to me that his wife\u2019s disappearance was not his doing, and I had believed him.<\/p>\n

I had believed him and had been proved most grievously wrong. My personal feelings were of no evidentiary value; whether I liked Pel-Thenhior or hated him made no difference to my witnessing. The question was only, how much truth could I dig up?<\/p>\n

\n

I found Mer Csenivar in his father\u2019s place of business. He was haggard, as if he had not been sleeping, and when I told him my errand, he was almost pathetically pleased to have an excuse to talk about Min Shelsin.<\/p>\n

He had adored her; he had asked her to marry him more than once, and she had managed to refuse without offending him. She had obviously never tried to blackmail him. He listed the gifts he had given her; they were all familiar from my foray through Amalo\u2019s pawn shops. He could not have known about her gambling debts or <\/span>he would almost certainly have offered to pay them, and I wondered why she had not taken advantage of him in that way when she clearly had no qualms about accepting\u2014and using\u2014his gifts.<\/p>\n

Perhaps, like Osmer Elithar, she had believed she could still fix the situation by her own efforts.<\/p>\n

Mer Csenivar did not tell me anything new about Min Shelsin, nor had I expected him to. He did tell me the best places to find her other patrons, since he seemed to have watched them almost as obsessively as he watched her.<\/p>\n

This alarmed me, and I said, \u201cWhere were you that night?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen I should have been saving Min Shelsin\u2019s life?\u201d he said bitterly, completely missing the implication that he might be a murderer. \u201cI was right here, helping prepare for the annual audit. The auditors arrived the next morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were very busy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery. My brother and I didn\u2019t reach our beds until dawn\u2014we sent the clerks home at midnight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which strongly suggested he had not been in the Zheimela at midnight murdering Min Shelsin.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you think of anyone who would have wanted to kill her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow could<\/i> anyone have wanted to kill her? She was so beautiful and so gifted.\u201d Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them away. \u201cShe had terrible arguments with Osmer Ponichar. Screaming matches, really. I asked her why she continued to accept him, but she just laughed and said they understood each other. She hated I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior, though. They were always fighting about something, and she\u2019d stay mad at him. She wouldn\u2019t at Ponichar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think Pel-Thenhior would murder her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Mer Csenivar. \u201cShe<\/i> hated him,<\/i> but I don\u2019t know how he felt. Min Shelsin could be very\u00a0\u2026 dramatic about her feelings for people.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought \u201cdramatic\u201d was probably a tactful word, but I had gathered that part of what drew Mer Csenivar to Min Shelsin was the intensity of her emotions and the somewhat overwrought pitch at which she lived her life. For a merchant\u2019s dutiful son, she was <\/span>exciting. I wondered if he would have eventually come to find her exhausting.<\/p>\n

That, too, was something that would never be discovered.<\/p>\n

Using Mer Csenivar\u2019s advice, I was able to find Osmer Ponichar without difficulty. He, however, refused to speak to me about Min Shelsin or anything else. All he would say was, \u201cI know nothing about her death.\u201d Since I had no evidence of any kind to suggest that he was lying, I had no grounds to insist that he answer my questions\u2014or at least no grounds that the Amal\u2019othala would find impressive if Osmer Ponichar complained of being harassed. And from his flat stare and the angle of his ears, I thought he would<\/i> complain.<\/p>\n

I was not going to jeopardize my witnessing for Osmer Ponichar\u2019s information, especially when\u2014unless he suddenly confessed to the murder\u2014it was so unlikely to be useful. I went in search of Osmer Elithar instead.<\/p>\n

I found him in a gambling house near the Vermilion Opera. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands restless, and although he spoke to me quite willingly, I never had his full attention. He told me nothing except how beautiful Min Shelsin had been and how charming. He did not seem to see her as the author of his downfall, and I left wondering if she had in fact bled him dry or if his own extravagance was to blame.<\/p>\n

That left Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar, whom I could not find among the teahouses and gambling dens. His town residence was in a block of flats carved out of the old Brenenada compound, and the gate was guarded. No one could go in without permission, and if the page came back and said, \u201cDach\u2019osmer Cambeshar cannot see you today,\u201d there was nothing to be done about it.<\/p>\n

But when the page came back, he said, looking more than a little surprised, \u201cDach\u2019osmer Cambeshar can spare you a few minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n

The compound was as beautifully maintained as if the Brenenada still lived there, and each door we passed bore a different signet. Members of the Zhivenada, the Tativada, the Rohethada\u2014Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar was in high company. I felt even smaller <\/span>and shabbier than I had felt in Sholavee. The liveried servants we passed looked as surprised as the page.<\/p>\n

Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar\u2019s flat was on the second floor of the south wing. We crossed a broad rooftop courtyard to get there. It had probably served as a ballroom in the spring and early summer; I had heard that the old Amaleise nobility had had a penchant for such things.<\/p>\n

Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar\u2019s flat fronted on this tiny plaza. The first room was airy and light and full of lovely wall hangings and beautiful elesthwood furniture. Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar rose from a chair by the bank of arched windows and said, \u201cOthala Celehar, we understand that you wish to speak to us.\u201d<\/p>\n

The weight of his attention made me feel cold. He was tall, intensely elegant, with green eyes which he wore jade in his ears to accentuate. His hair was dressed with amber and gold, but it did nothing to make his presence warmer.<\/p>\n

I knew immediately, as one sometimes knows things that cannot be proved, that if he had killed Min Shelsin, her body would never have been found and I would never have come to this jewel-like room.<\/p>\n

\u201cDach\u2019osmer Cambeshar,\u201d I said, \u201cthank you for agreeing. We will not take many minutes of your time.\u201d<\/p>\n

He raised his eyebrows, whether skeptically or encouragingly I could not tell.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are witnessing for Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin,\u201d I said, \u201cand we are speaking to all of her patrons. Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cBut we know very little of Min Shelsin save the beauty of her singing. She did not confide in us.\u201d The dryness of his voice said he preferred it that way.<\/p>\n

I considered him a moment, trying to think past my instinctive aversion. \u201cDo you know anything of her gambling debts?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she have them?\u201d he said with another unreadable lift of his eyebrows. \u201cWe are not surprised to hear it. She was\u00a0\u2026 reckless.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a condemnation; Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar was not a man who did reckless things, nor would he sympathize with someone who did.<\/p>\n

He sympathized with no one. Despite the warmth of the sun, I <\/span>felt cold, and despite the light in the room, I felt as though I were groping in the dark. I said nothing for a moment, then decided I had nothing to lose and asked, \u201cDid she ever try to blackmail you?\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughed. \u201cWas that<\/i> her game? No, we keep our secrets far more carefully than that.\u201d<\/p>\n

I believed him. But I thought of one other question. \u201cDid you attend the Vermilion Opera\u2019s performance of General Olethazh<\/i> on the ninth?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe night she died? As it happens, we did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior there?\u201d I had to ask someone, and I had no fear that Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar would lie, as a singer might.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was,\u201d said Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar, and did not ask why I was asking.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cThank you for your time, Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar. We appreciate your assistance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have hardly given any,\u201d he observed. \u201cBut you are welcome, othala. We are sorry we could not offer you more information.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven a lack of information tells us something,\u201d I said, and he rang the bell for a page boy to see me out.<\/p>\n

\n

I had at this point, I thought, a relatively well-rounded picture of Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin. She was an ambitious woman\u2014ambitious professionally, financially, socially. She was, as Dach\u2019osmer Cambeshar said, reckless, unheeding of the consequences of her behavior. Hence the gambling and hence the alienation of her colleagues. Only with Min Nochenin and Min Balvedin had she seemed to care what they thought of her on a personal level. I wondered if she had sought out the two clerks to be her friends because<\/i> she had alienated the singers, or if she was one of those people who could not see colleagues as anything but competition.<\/p>\n

She gambled recklessly, she was bad with money, and she had a wild hunger for more\u2014more beautiful clothes, more prestige, more everything. More secrets. Although I had only the one blackmail <\/span>victim (so far), I had a general agreement that she would not draw back from blackmail, and I thought it was the most likely explanation for the circumstances of her death: the midnight meeting in the Zheimela, the murderer\u2019s use of the canal. He might not have come intending to kill her; that rush in the darkness, that sudden burst of force, might have been an explosion of overwhelming anger. Certainly she had had no idea that she might be in danger.<\/p>\n

But then, she was reckless and bad at considering other people\u2019s reactions. Maybe he had planned it. Maybe her death had been his goal from the beginning.<\/p>\n

That question was unanswerable. More to the point was a more basic question: who was he?<\/p>\n

Not Pel-Thenhior, whose whereabouts I knew, and presumably not anyone who had performed in the opera that night. There at least was a question I could find the answer to, and with some reluctance I returned to the Vermilion Opera.<\/p>\n

\n

It was late afternoon. Pel-Thenhior and the singers were rehearsing Zhelsu<\/i> while Thoramis took frantic notes. I found a seat in the row behind him and watched.<\/p>\n

They were rehearsing the final scene, in which Zhelsu, rather than submit to the caresses of the lecherous overseer, throws herself into the machinery of the manufactory. Min Vakrezharad seemed to be dubious about the jump; I heard Pel-Thenhior saying, \u201cA stack<\/i> of mattresses, Othoro,\u201d from the stage piece which represented the catwalk over the machinery of Zhelsu\u2019s manufactory, while Mer Olora, playing the overseer, stood center stage and glowered.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior and Min Vakrezharad came down from the catwalk stage piece, and Mer Olora and Min Vakrezharad walked through the movements of the overseer stalking Zhelsu across the stage and up the stairs that would put Min Vakrezharad in the right place to jump at the right time. It seemed to be a complicated maneuver, requiring careful timing, and of course they would be singing as well.<\/p>\n

<\/span>They went through the sequence three times, with Pel-Thenhior shouting words at specific points, which I presumed were the words they would be singing. Then they went through it once singing themselves, although softly. And then Mer Olora started a fight with Pel-Thenhior.<\/p>\n

I could hear enough of the words to know it was about something technical, and I could see by their ears and posture that they were both genuinely angry, but why the matter enraged them so I could not tell.<\/p>\n

They were soon standing almost nose to nose, shouting at each other, Mer Olora\u2019s voice booming through the auditorium, and Pel-Thenhior\u2019s, slightly higher, not far behind.<\/p>\n

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over, Mer Olora stalking into the wings and Pel-Thenhior coming down to the plank bridge, his expression like a thundercloud.<\/p>\n

When he saw me, his ears lifted and he smiled as if he was truly glad to see me. \u201cOthala Celehar! What brings you here today?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe night Min Shelsin was killed,\u201d I said, \u201cwho was performing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe top half of the adult chorus. General Olethazh<\/i> is a small cast for principals\u2014not like The Siege of Tekharee,<\/i> with a part for everyone and then some. Just Nanavo and Cebris and Shulethis. We wouldn\u2019t perform it if it weren\u2019t so tiresomely lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. That left more people unaccounted for than I had hoped. \u201cCould I speak to the singers?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, then shouted, \u201cEveryone on stage, please!\u201d<\/p>\n

A surprising number of people came flocking out of the wings; I was lucky in my timing. I crossed the plank onto the stage and asked straight out: \u201cHow many of you knew Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin was a blackmailer?\u201d<\/p>\n

After a long hesitation, hands started to go up. About half the company raised their hands, shame-faced, including Mer Telonar, the junior tenor. Almost all the women had known.<\/p>\n

I wanted to ask why none of them had told me, but I knew the <\/span>answer. Either they were keeping a secret for a friend or they were keeping a secret for themselves.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d I said. \u201cI have no wish to expose anyone\u2019s secrets. How many of you knew that she gambled?\u201d<\/p>\n

This time a much smaller array of hands went up. Mer Telonar again and Min Vakrezharad and four or five women from the chorus. \u201cShe told us all about Tivalinee one afternoon during fittings,\u201d said Min Vakrezharad. \u201cI think she regretted doing so later.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes anyone know the extent of her gambling debts?\u201d I was looking at Mer Telonar, and he shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe talked about playing pakh\u2019palar,\u201d he said. \u201cShe wasn\u2019t very good, so if she played often, she must have lost a great deal of money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cYes, she must.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then someone\u2014one of the chorus members whose name I did not know\u2014called a question back: \u201cIs it true that you spent the night on the Hill of Werewolves?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it true the Duhalada offered you mortal insult?\u201d asked somebody else.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? No, that\u2019s not true at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey did<\/i> insult you,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes, that part is true. But Mer Duhalar apologized.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat and a zashan will buy you an apple,\u201d someone said from the back.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre all the stories exaggerations?\u201d said Min Vakrezharad. \u201cYou did really find the Curneisei who were plotting against the emperor, didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, that story is true,\u201d I said. \u201cBut it was much more boring than the newspapers made it sound.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior laughed. \u201cWe\u2019re embarrassing you horribly. But did<\/i> you prove the Duhaladeise will false?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did,\u201d I said. \u201cThe deceased Mer Duhalar remembered who his heir was.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>That unsettled everyone enough that I was able to take a step backward and say, \u201cDoes anyone know anything else about Min Shelsin that might help to explain her death?\u201d<\/p>\n

They were silent; I bowed and took my leave.<\/p>\n

I was on my way out of the auditorium, feeling that I had made no real progress, when Telonar came panting after me. \u201cOthala! May I speak to you for a moment?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said, and stepped out into the foyer.<\/p>\n

Telonar followed me and looked around nervously before he said, \u201cWhat you said about blackmail\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s true. She was blackmailing me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much did you pay her?\u201d<\/p>\n

His elven complexion showed a deep blush. \u201cI couldn\u2019t pay her. Gambling debts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what was she blackmailing you for<\/i>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSecrets. Other people\u2019s secrets. I hated\u00a0\u2026 but if she went to I\u00e4na with what she knew, I would\u2019ve been out and the door locked after me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Here was another possible motive. I said, \u201cWhere were you the night she died?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe?\u201d<\/i> His voice squeaked with surprise and horror. \u201cI could never\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not saying you did. But if you can tell me what you were doing, it makes things easier for both of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a long pause before he said, reluctantly, \u201cPlaying pakh\u2019palar at Indamura\u2019s\u2014it\u2019s a gambling house about five blocks from here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s good,\u201d I said. \u201cThat means there are people who can confirm your story. How late were you there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he said. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t dawn yet when I went home, but it was close.\u201d<\/p>\n

Well after Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin had died. \u201cWho were you playing with?\u201d<\/p>\n

He gave me four names, still reluctantly, and said, \u201cIndamura <\/span>himself was seeing someone out when I left. He can tell you what time it was.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s very helpful,\u201d I said. The owner of a gambling house might be more or less likely than fellow card players to lie for Telonar, but if their stories all matched, it would be a good sign that he was telling the truth. \u201cNow, can you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

But at that moment, a member of the chorus poked his head out between the auditorium doors and said, \u201cVeralis, I\u00e4na says you should\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVERALIS! ARE YOU OUT THERE?\u201d Pel-Thenhior\u2019s voice rolled out through the open door like thunder and retribution, and Telonar clearly took it as such.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, othala, I must go. I\u2019ve told you all I can,\u201d he said hastily, and disappeared into the auditorium.<\/p>\n

I thought about going after him, but decided against it. I would not get him to tell me anything more either by getting him in trouble with Pel-Thenhior or by calling attention to the fact that he had spoken to me privately. Perhaps next time I came to the Vermilion Opera, he would be willing to speak further.<\/p>\n

\n

The post waiting for me at my office in the morning included a letter from Dach\u2019othala Ulzhavar saying that he had news of \u201cAvelonar,\u201d and would I come to the Sanctuary at my earliest convenience.<\/p>\n

That afternoon, after confirming Telonar\u2019s alibi with Mer Indamura, who seemed, if anything, amused to be asked, I returned to the Sanctuary of Csaivo. The first thing I did was to walk around the central building to one of the many tiny shrines hidden in the gardens. There I knelt and said prayers for Coralezh and the other cleric of Tanvero and for the clerics I had met at the Amal-Athamareise Airship Works who had been following their calling with such determination and grace.<\/p>\n

The shrine was exquisitely lovely, a filigree of stone around a jade <\/span>michenotho of Csaivo, and the gardens were full of peace. It was with some reluctance that I got up again and walked back around the central building to the doors.<\/p>\n

I felt vulgar and encroaching, but the novice on duty seemed to think nothing of my asking for the Master of the Mortuary. Ulzhavar himself seemed sincerely pleased to see me when I found him in the vaulted autopsy room, watching Denevis finish the autopsy of a drowned child. \u201cOthala Celehar! Come in! I regret immensely that there are no chairs. I don\u2019t need one and if the novices sit down, they either fall asleep or they forget I can still see them and, well, they\u2019re still young enough to get distracted. But you\u2019re here about Min Urmenezhen. Merrem Avelonaran, I suppose I should say, but it feels disrespectful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer family would definitely prefer that you call her Min Urmenezhen,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd, yes, I got your letter this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, good,\u201d he said. \u201cOne of my clerics has discovered something.\u201d He went to one of the chests of drawers and fetched out a sheaf of palimpsest pages. \u201cHis name is Temet Golharad, splendid fellow, he\u2019s been the cleric of Aishan\u2019s Grove for twenty years at least.\u201d<\/p>\n

I recognized the name of the district. It was at the far western end of the city, where I rarely had cause to go.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe had a most remarkable story,\u201d Ulzhavar said, \u201cabout a man named Segevis Michezar, who came to Aishan\u2019s Grove with his newly married bride Drachano. He was polite but unfriendly. She was shy and clearly very much in love. And then she died.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAn illness. Short and very violent. Temet said the poor woman was racked with cramps and bouts of vomiting. Her death, when it came, was a mercy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I made a warding gesture in reflexive horror.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe odd thing, Temet says, was Mer Michezar\u2019s reaction.\u201d<\/p>\n

He waited, eyebrows raised, until I said, \u201cWhich was?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cNo grief, no horror, not even anger\u2014which I\u2019m sure you know is very common.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. I had been called a ghoul and a vulture and all sorts <\/span>of terrible things, and I knew it was worse for Csaiveise clerics, who were often blamed for deaths they were helpless to prevent.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut nothing of the sort from Segevis Michezar. He organized Drachano\u2019s funeral as quickly\u2014and cheaply\u2014as he could, and then he vanished.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVanished.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCompletely. Temet never saw or heard of him again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow long ago was this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlmost five years.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think it\u2019s the same man?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think it very likely,\u201d said Ulzhavar.<\/p>\n

I hesitated. \u201cDo you think you could learn anything from Merrem Michezaran\u2019s corpse?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI certainly intend to try. Do you want to come with me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cYes, I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Merrem Michezaran had been buried in the precinct of the municipal ulimeire of Aishan\u2019s Grove, in the paupers\u2019 quarter, a wide, flat, barren stretch of ground, as desolate as the people who were buried here. Her headstone, a flat square, said only DRACHANO<\/small>\u2014the bare minimum allowed. The prelate of the ulimeire, a tired-looking middle-aged elven man, who recognized me immediately although I had no memory of ever seeing him before, was somewhat skeptical of the idea that Merrem Michezaran could have been poisoned, but he also recognized Ulzhavar and bowed to his greater authority. He even came with us to dig up the grave himself. \u201cMy sexton,\u201d he said, \u201cis the biggest gossip in Aishan\u2019s Grove. I would certainly prefer to keep this quiet, and I\u2019m sure you feel the same.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cIt would defeat our entire purpose if Mer Michezar read about this in the papers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe vulture-eyed old people will complain,\u201d Othala Bonshenar said. \u201cBut the poor girl had no family that we know of, so there\u2019s no <\/span>one who will be truly distressed. She barely lived a week after they moved here. Not long enough to make friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith two Ulineise prelates and a cleric, we can hardly be more respectful,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cAnd I must believe that Merrem Michezaran wants her murderer caught.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you sure it\u2019s murder?\u201d Bonshenar said plaintively.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe won\u2019t be until we look,\u201d Ulzhavar said.<\/p>\n

I took off my coat and helped Bonshenar dig. It wasn\u2019t long before our shovels struck wood. Mer Michezar had paid for only the shallowest of graves.<\/p>\n

\u201cSuch prudent economy,\u201d Ulzhavar murmured darkly, then shook himself. \u201cWe may not need to do more than open the coffin. If he used calonvar, we\u2019ll be able to tell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d said Bonshenar. \u201cLet\u2019s find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

The grave was shallow enough that Bonshenar had no difficulty in prying the coffin open. He and I said the prayer of compassion for the dead, and we lifted the coffin lid and set it aside. The woman inside was beautifully preserved, looking, as Bonshenar said, as if she\u2019d only died yesterday.<\/p>\n

\u201cCalonvar,\u201d Ulzhavar said simply.<\/p>\n

Only her face and hands were uncovered by her winding sheet, proving that she had been buried according to the rites of the Ploraneisei, one of the two most prominent sects in Amalo. She was sallow and gaunt, but it was something of a toss-up whether that was the result of death or of the sickness that had killed her.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d said Ulzhavar, \u201clet me look at her hands. Then we can be certain.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood back from the horse-faced young woman in the coffin, wondering grimly if Mer Michezar made a specialty of the plain ones, for Mer Urmenezh had admitted once, as if it pained him, that his sister had been as plain as a doorknob and that she had despaired of ever finding anyone who wanted to marry her. Were they grateful, Mer Michezar? Did that make it all the easier for you to woo and win and kill them?<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cThose scaly patches along the fingers. <\/span>They\u2019re small, probably because he killed her so quickly, but they\u2019re definitely there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCalonvar?\u201d said Bonshenar.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo doubt about it. It must have been a terrible dose.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe she was the first,\u201d I said, feeling sick. \u201cMaybe he didn\u2019t know how much he needed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ulzhavar looked up at me, pale gray-green eyes sympathetic. \u201cIs there anything else you need here, Othala Celehar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI think the signs of calonvar poisoning are clear enough, and the other parts of Merrem Michezaran\u2019s story sound all too much like what happened to Min Urmenezhen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas there a will?\u201d Ulzhavar said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Bonshenar, surprised. \u201cThey went to Mer Chelavar the first day they were here. He was the only person who attended her funeral, and he was very distressed that she had died so soon after she made her will. Distressed, too, at how cheaply Mer Michezar chose to bury her. In truth, it made him indiscreet. He was fuming, later, that she should have left all her money to her husband and he repay her in such base fashion. She had stipulated no more than that she be buried according to Ploraneisei rites, you see, and he did that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he did,\u201d Ulzhavar said in a grim aside.<\/p>\n

Bonshenar\u2019s ears dipped, but he continued. \u201cAnd Mer Chelavar never said anything to indicate that he suspected murder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he say how much<\/i> money was involved?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cA lot,\u201d said Bonshenar. \u201cEnough to surprise Chelavar, and he was pretty much unflappable after all those years as a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMight we speak to Mer Chelavar?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe died two years ago,\u201d Bonshenar said apologetically. \u201cBut if he had suspected murder, he would most certainly have done something about it.\u201d He hesitated, then added, \u201cEnteric fever is very common in the part of Aishan\u2019s Grove where they were living. There was nothing surprising about her death, merely sad that she had been married such a short time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf Merrem Michezaran had money,\u201d said Ulzhavar, \u201cwhy were they living in such a poor quarter of Aishan\u2019s Grove?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cThey were saving,\u201d Bonshenar said. \u201cOr, at least, that was what Mer Michezar told me at the funeral, that they had been saving to purchase a house.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPresumably he told her the same thing,\u201d Ulzhavar said, and shook his head as if to dislodge a biting fly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand about murder,\u201d Bonshenar said as we filled in the grave, \u201cbut the cruelty of it!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe calonvar is the only poison he knows,\u201d Ulzhavar said. \u201cIt\u2019s certainly easy enough to come by.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was true. Calonvar was used in all kinds of preparations, from hand lotion to hair tonic, and pure calonvar was readily available as rat poison. It would come easily to an intending murderer\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

We finished filling in the grave, and Othala Bonshenar\u2014probably glad to see the last of us\u2014pointed us in the direction of the tram stop.<\/p>\n

As we walked, I asked Ulzhavar, \u201cDoes any of this get us closer to finding him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt depends,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cIf either Michezar or Avelonar is his real name\u2014and I think Avelonar almost certainly is not\u2014or if he\u2019s used one or the other again, we may be able to find him that way. Or someone who knows him. Otherwise, all we can do is keep collecting stories. Knowing the pattern won\u2019t hurt our chances.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt the moment,\u201d I said grimly, \u201cit seems to be the only chance we have.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

I returned to the Sanctuary with Ulzhavar, in order, as he put it, to round up a panel of clerics so that we could give sworn depositions about what we had discovered in examining Merrem Michezaran\u2019s body.<\/p>\n

The first three senior clerics we found\u2014two in the Sanctuary\u2019s library and the third in a workroom with the half-dissected corpse of a pig\u2014grumbled at being dragged away from their work, but none <\/span>of them seemed genuinely resentful, and they listened attentively as Ulzhavar dictated an account of his findings to the junior cleric he\u2019d collared to serve as scribe. Ulzhavar clearly had had a great deal of practice in giving depositions; he spoke at a steady pace, pausing regularly to let the scratching steel nib catch up, and marshaled his facts in logical order. When he had finished, the panel asked questions, but not many. Then Ulzhavar read over the junior cleric\u2019s transcription, while I in turn deposed before the panel. My deposition confirmed Ulzhavar\u2019s, and the clerics\u2019 questions all concerned the investigation in Min Urmenezhen\u2019s case that had led us to Merrem Michezaran.<\/p>\n

The junior cleric wrote a tolerable secretary hand, and he was an accurate scribe. \u201cThey all have to take a turn at it,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cWe give depositions nearly as frequently as Witnesses do. It saves any number of nightmares later, when the family decides there was something suspicious about the death.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

I signed the deposition, and the clerics signed as witnesses. I walked out of the Sanctuary into the waning gray-gold of an autumn afternoon.<\/p>\n

I found a canalside teahouse, the Splinter of Stonanavee, and sat in the back corner with a scone and a pot of green tea, appropriately enough from the same canton as Stonanavee itself. The tea was smoky and denser than I usually liked, but today it suited my mood.<\/p>\n

After the first cup of tea and half a scone, I felt able to take stock of the situation.<\/p>\n

First, I was officially separate from the Ulistheileian, which gave me some of the same relief as having a headache go away. The Amal\u2019othala had authority over me, but he did not have the authority to dismiss me from my post. Only the Archprelate could do that, and I had confidence that he would support me if someone from Amalo complained of me. And behind him,<\/i> I knew that the emperor would listen if I wrote to him\u2014which I had no intention of doing, but it was good to know that last resort was there.<\/p>\n

Second, I had fulfilled my promise to Osmer Thilmerezh. <\/span>Whether, in Chonhadrin, he got what he desired was not a problem I could solve.<\/p>\n

In the case of Min Urmenezhen, I had another probable victim, but still nothing that seemed likely to be the murderer\u2019s real<\/i> name, and nothing I could think of at the moment to do.<\/p>\n

That left Min Shelsin and the Vermilion Opera. And Pel-Thenhior, who had frightened me badly through no fault of his own.<\/p>\n

Irrelevant, I told myself. The issue was finding Min Shelsin\u2019s killer, not my personal feelings, and the Opera was still the most likely place to find someone she had confided in. Gambling was clearly where all of Min Shelsin\u2019s money had gone, and it seemed fairly clear that blackmail\u2014an ugly word for an ugly practice\u2014was where at least some of it had come from. Thus, the question was, how much she might have admitted and to whom?<\/p>\n

Not to her friends. Min Nochenin and Min Balvedin had admired her too deeply. They would have been the last<\/i> people she would have told about something so sordid. And, of course, maybe she had been one of those rare people who felt no need of a confidante. Maybe the answers were all dead with her.<\/p>\n

Maybe I was of a melancholic disposition and prone to despair.<\/p>\n

I finished my scone and drank tea slowly, watching the teahouse custom bustle around me. A tableful of adolescent elven girls, flushed with excitement at being grown-ups without nannies or governesses or parents to supervise, were doing their best to suppress their giggles and behave appropriately, but I thought they were fighting a losing battle. At the next table, a middle-aged elven woman sitting alone was looking wistful, as if remembering her own girlhood. Two courting couples were sitting by the window, an elven man and a half-goblin woman leaning over the table to talk together intently, and a goblin pair who were having a lighthearted conversation in Barizhin.<\/p>\n

I drank my tea and finished my scone and acknowledged that I did not know how to solve any of my problems.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

That evening, in desperation, I sought Azhanharad out in his preferred teahouse, the Vedriveise Gambit. As the name suggested, it was a haunt of bokh players. I did not know if Azhanharad himself played bokh; my suspicion was that he merely liked the intense quiet to be found in most of the rooms.<\/p>\n

He did not look pleased to see me, but I did not expect him to. \u201cOthala,\u201d he said, getting up. \u201cLet us go to a room where we will not disturb anyone with our conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed him into a long, narrow room that had obviously started as a corridor. There were several doorways and a number of patrons and servers walking in and out, so that although the two-person tables were perfect for bokh, there was no one playing.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit,\u201d said Azhanharad. \u201cWould you like tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d I said. Common politeness made him ask, but accepting would have implied a social quality to this meeting that we both knew was lacking.<\/p>\n

He had brought his cup and teapot with him, and I waited while he poured tea into the cup and took a first cautious sip. Then he said, \u201cWhat can we do for you, othala?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are witnessing for a woman who was murdered by her husband,\u201d I said, \u201cand there is more and more evidence to show that she was not his only victim.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is very alarming,\u201d said Azhanharad.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe changes his name,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Azhanharad made a ritual gesture of aversion. \u201cThen how do you expect to catch him? For we assume he is not in your custody.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, he is not. We were wondering if the Vigilant Brotherhood might help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen you have found him, we will arrest him. What more can we do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCould you not ask your brethren if they know of cases of young women, recently married, dying of what looks like enteric fever?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at me. \u201cThat is not within our remit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you could do it,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cCelehar, do you know how many people die of enteric fever in <\/span>this city every day? And it is not within the remit of our brotherhood to go poking about in people\u2019s private lives. We arrest criminals and hold them until their case can come before a judiciar. And we carry out the sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou patrol the streets,\u201d I argued, although I knew it was hopeless.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe streets, not people\u2019s homes.<\/i>\u201d He sounded sincerely scandalized. \u201cNo, if you find your murderer, we will arrest him so that you may take your case before a judiciar. More than that, we cannot do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood evening, Subpraeceptor,\u201d I said, and left him to drink his cooling tea.<\/p>\n

\n

The next afternoon I went back to the Sanctuary of Csaivo to tell Ulzhavar that we would get no help from the Vigilant Brotherhood. As I came in the door, Ulzhavar was coming up the stairs from the autopsy room. He said, \u201cOthala Celehar, you come in good time! I am just on my way to meet a cleric who has what sounds like a most interesting story. Do you want to come along?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

The meeting place was only two tram stops away, a teahouse called the Rose Minuet. \u201cWhy here?\u201d I said. \u201cWhy not come the rest of the way to the Sanctuary?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMmm,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cOthalo Darnevin has a somewhat checkered history, and she was reluctant to come to the Sanctuary, which for her is full of bad memories. And it does me no harm to get out.\u201d<\/p>\n

With that introduction, I was not sure what to expect from Othalo Darnevin, but she proved to be a perfectly unremarkable elven woman, middle-aged, with crow\u2019s feet around her pale blue eyes and laugh lines bracketing her mouth. I liked her on sight.<\/p>\n

She stood when she saw us and said, \u201cOthala Ulzhavar, thank you so much for coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNonsense, Aisharan,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cThis is Othala Celehar, who started us after this hare.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cOthala,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthalo,\u201d I said in return.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit,\u201d said Ulzhavar, sitting down himself. \u201cAisharan, tell us your story.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt happened maybe five, maybe seven years ago,\u201d she said. \u201cA young couple, just gotten married, and the woman got sick. Vomiting and purging and racked with cramps. She\u2019d have an episode, and then she\u2019d get better for a day or two, and then she\u2019d be horribly sick again. I couldn\u2019t figure out what was wrong with her, and I was trying every remedy I knew, and nothing seemed to help. The poor woman\u2014girl, really\u2014was scared as well as most miserably ill, but the strange thing was that her husband didn\u2019t seem worried at all. \u2018It\u2019s just his way,\u2019 the girl told me, but I thought then and think now that it was a very strange way to behave when your wife was dying.\u201d<\/p>\n

The server approached us and Ulzhavar ordered a pot of kolveris for the table, and a family plate of steamed buns. \u201cI forgot to eat lunch,\u201d he said, \u201cand I hate to eat alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remembered I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior saying the same thing and pushed the memory away.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are very kind,\u201d said Othalo Darnevin.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is nothing that says I can\u2019t be kind if I want to,\u201d Ulzhavar said unanswerably. \u201cGo on, Aisharan.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was dying,\u201d said Othalo Darnevin, \u201cand nothing I tried made the slightest difference. It took almost a month, and I have never felt so incompetent, so helpless.<\/i> She turned seventeen the week before it finally killed her, and she might have died of simple exhaustion. And again, her husband behaved so strangely. He made all the funeral arrangements as efficiently as a secretary, saw his wife buried without shedding a tear, and disappeared like a mirage the next day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ulzhavar raised his eyebrows at me, and I nodded. It sounded like the same pattern. \u201cWhat was his name?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBroset,\u201d she said. \u201cBroset Sheveldar. I will never forget it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

The tea and the steamed buns arrived, and we shared our information with Othalo Darnevin. I told her about Min Urmenezhen and Ulzhavar described the exhumation of Merrem Michezaran. Her eyes got wider and wider as she listened. \u201cThen you think Mer Sheveldar murdered<\/i> his wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt seems unpleasantly likely,\u201d Ulzhavar said. \u201cDid the thought of poison never cross your mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI asked Merrem Sheveldaran about what she ate, of course,\u201d said Darnevin. \u201cBut she and her husband ate from the same dish, drank tea from the same pot, and he was perfectly healthy. I couldn\u2019t see how it could<\/i> be poison.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Sheveldar must be very deft,\u201d Ulzhavar said. \u201cOr perhaps he was in the habit of bringing his wife a hot drink at bedtime, and she never thought to mention it to you. She<\/i> must not have been suspicious at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was very much in love,\u201d said Darnevin. \u201cShe would never have believed it of him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you do,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know how he did it,\u201d said Darnevin, \u201cbut if he is in truth this man you are hunting, I admit it does not surprise me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was seventeen,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cWas he much older?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe might have been twenty. Not more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo this might have been his first,\u201d said Ulzhavar.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas there any money?\u201d I said. \u201cDid he gain anything by her death?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot that I know of,\u201d said Darnevin. \u201cShe was a manufactory worker, so there can\u2019t have been much money between them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis was his first,\u201d I said. \u201cHe killed her because he wanted to. He figured out it could be profitable later.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow horrible,\u201d said Darnevin.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut probably accurate,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cAnd thus Broset Sheveldar might be his real name.\u201d<\/p>\n

I understood at once what he meant. \u201cDo you know a maza who can do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs it happens,\u201d said Ulzhavar, \u201cI do.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

The maza was an elderly elven man named Lenet, and he and Ulzhavar were clearly friends of long standing. He listened to our convoluted story attentively and said, \u201cWell, it is certainly worth trying.\u201d<\/p>\n

Among the arcana of the mazei, the specialty of name-magic was particularly arcane. Lenet Athmaza wrote the name \u201cBroset Sheveldar\u201d on a slip of paper the length and width of my little finger, folded it, and put it in a filigree silver ball on a long silver chain.<\/p>\n

He spread out a beautiful map of the city of Amalo, each district neatly labeled, then began swinging the silver ball back and forth over the map, murmuring under his breath. Little by little, the arc of the ball changed and narrowed, until finally it was perfectly still over the district of Penchelivor.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo,\u201d said Lenet Athmaza. \u201cFrom here we must walk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Penchelivor was south of the Zheimela, a quiet, law-abiding district full of artisans and legal clerks and manufactory managers. Lenet Athmaza and Ulzhavar and I made a strange trio amid all that respectability, Lenet Athmaza in his blue robe, swinging that little silver ball on its chain; Ulzhavar with his green robe kilted up as usual to allow him freedom of movement; and me in my black coat of office and my hair escaping from its braid. People stared politely, sidelong\u2014and I reminded myself that Broset Sheveldar could have no idea that we were hunting him.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cDo you believe the Vigilant Brotherhood will listen to us when we have found him?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ulzhavar laughed. \u201cThey\u2019ll listen. Whether they believe or not is a different story, but they will listen to a maza. Once the gentleman is in jail, we can assemble a great many witnesses to identify him, whether as Sheveldar, Michezar, or Avelonar. And we should <\/span>exhume poor Merrem Sheveldaran, though I have no doubt what we\u2019ll find.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBest to be thorough,\u201d Lenet Athmaza agreed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cBut I want this vanishing gentleman in a place where I know he\u2019s not wooing another wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr poisoning her,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d said Ulzhavar.<\/p>\n

The trouble, we found, with the dowsing ball was that it wanted to move in straight lines and the streets of Penchelivor twisted and forked and dead-ended, so that it took us a disproportionately long time, given that Lenet Athmaza knew exactly where we were going, to get there. It turned out to be a boardinghouse, flying the green-and-silver banner and with a boldly lettered ROOMS TO LET<\/small> sign in one front window.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe should have brought Othalo Darnevin,\u201d I said, realizing. \u201cNone of us knows what he looks like, and we don\u2019t know what name he\u2019s using.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will know him,\u201d Lenet Athmaza said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but we don\u2019t want to confront him,\u201d I said, then realized how nervous I sounded, although I was quite certain we had nothing to fear from a man who worked by poison. \u201cAnd we\u2019ve no idea where the Penchelivor watchhouse is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThese are all surmountable problems,\u201d Ulzhavar said. \u201cLet\u2019s walk on before we make anyone in that boardinghouse nervous, and we can work out a plan.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour excursions are always interesting, Ulzhavar,\u201d said Lenet Athmaza, \u201cbut seldom very well thought out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

After discussion, we all took the tram to General Parzhadar Square and the one member of the Vigilant Brotherhood who I knew would listen to our outlandish story and might allow himself to be persuaded by it. After all, he had told me he would arrest the murderer if I could find him.<\/p>\n

<\/span>Azhanharad listened carefully to our story. At the end, he said, \u201cIf we understand correctly, the only thing you can prove is that this man is Broset Sheveldar, which so far as we know right now he isn\u2019t denying.\u201d<\/p>\n

Put like that, the entire thing sounded like a nightmare Ulzhavar and I had dreamed up between us.<\/p>\n

Ulzhavar said, \u201cWe have witnesses who can also identify him as Segevis Michezar and Cro\u00efs Avelonar. We can prove that Merrem Michezaran and Min Urmenezhen died of calonvar poisoning. And we expect we can prove the same thing for Merrem Sheveldar, if we can find her grave. And the one thing the three of them have in common is Mer Sheveldar. We think he merits a judicial examination.\u201d<\/p>\n

I did not think Azhanharad entirely believed us, but he knew the remit of his brotherhood, and he had no desire to offend Ulzhavar, who outranked him much as a star outranks a streetlight. \u201cAll right, dach\u2019othala. We will come arrest Broset Sheveldar for being Broset Sheveldar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt will do,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cThe rest will come quickly enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

We returned to the boardinghouse: Ulzhavar, Lenet Athmaza, and I, accompanied by Azhanharad and two watchmen, both of them half goblins built like brick walls. Clearly Azhanharad believed enough not to want to take chances.<\/p>\n

Azhanharad sent one of his men around to the back of the boardinghouse, in case our quarry tried to escape that way. The rest of us clattered up onto the porch, and Ulzhavar was about to knock when the door was opened by a middle-aged half-goblin woman who was at a guess the landlady.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood afternoon,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cI am Csenaia Ulzhavar, and I am looking for a man named Broset Sheveldar. I have reason to believe he lives here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, othala,\u201d she said in a strong Barizheise accent. \u201cNo one by that name among my boarders.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019s possible,\u201d said Ulzhavar, \u201cthat he is using another name.\u201d<\/p>\n

She had taken in the sight of Azhanharad and the watchmen. \u201cIs he a criminal? I don\u2019t want anything like that in my house.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ulzhavar considered her for a moment, either genuinely debating whether she could be trusted with the truth, or pretending to, before saying, \u201cHe is a murderer.\u201d<\/p>\n

She made a warding gesture and said, \u201cThen I hope you catch him. The only one of my boarders who is home is Mer Nilenovar. I will fetch him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure he\u2019s here,\u201d Azhanharad said to Lenet Athmaza.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf he weren\u2019t, we wouldn\u2019t be here, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

The landlady returned with an elven man, young, slightly built, with his hair in a single, sober bun. He was good-looking, though not dramatically so, and did not look like a murderer, as murderers generally did not.<\/p>\n

\u201cMay I help you gentlemen?\u201d he said politely.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the man,\u201d Lenet Athmaza said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs your name Broset Sheveldar?\u201d said Ulzhavar, and we all saw the name hit him like a blow.<\/p>\n

But he stood his ground. \u201cNo, I\u2019m sorry, you gentlemen must have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo?\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cHow about Segevis Michezar? Or Cro\u00efs Avelonar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many men do you think I am?\u201d he said, still trying to deflect.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat depends,\u201d said Ulzhavar. \u201cHow many men have you been?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sheveldar took a step back, turning, and Azhanharad said, \u201cYou\u2019ll run straight into one of my men at the back door.\u201d<\/p>\n

For a moment, it looked as though he was going to try it anyway; then his shoulders slumped and he said, \u201cI suppose you\u2019re here to arrest me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn suspicion of murdering Min Inshiran Urmenezhen,\u201d said Azhanharad, \u201cand at least two other women.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cYou can\u2019t prove it.\u201d But he allowed Azhanharad to shackle his wrists.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cMer Nilenovar,\u201d said the landlady, \u201cwhat should I tell Min Tavalin?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou might as well tell her the truth,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

But what kept me from sleeping that night was the casual evidence that he\u2019d already started again, that in arresting him we were almost certainly saving Min Tavalin\u2019s life.<\/p>\n

I lay awake wondering how many brides Broset Sheveldar had had, how many women we hadn\u2019t been fast enough to save.<\/p>\n

\n

The next day, Chonhadrin came to the Prince Zhaicava Building to find me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t have a petition,\u201d she said. \u201cAre you going to throw me out?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cNot unless a petitioner shows up, and I doubt they will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour job seems miserable,\u201d she said frankly.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is not,\u201d I said, \u201calthough I understand why you say so. I get a few petitioners a week, sometimes several, and in the meantime, I have plenty of reading material.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded at my row of novels, and she laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you must have come to find me for a reason.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wrote to both my grandfathers,\u201d she said, \u201cand I have received letters back. My grandfather Delenar is horrified that I have found out the family scandal, so I must write back to him and assure him again that I am not angry. It would have ruined my mother\u2019s life, but it has little meaning for mine.\u201d She shrugged her shoulders, like a woman shrugging off a heavy coat. \u201cI am ashenin, and no one cares if my grandparents were married.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Osmer Thilmerezh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy grandfather Thilmerezh,\u201d said Chonhadrin, \u201cmissed his calling as a novelist. He has written me pages<\/i> about Tanvero and the people there. He told me all about the ghoul.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUm,\u201d I said, and she laughed.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cYour ears tell me you don\u2019t want to talk about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t,\u201d I said, \u201cbut if you have a question, I will try to answer it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow likely do you think it that another ghoul will rise in Tanvero?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt depends,\u201d I said. \u201cIf they organize themselves to tend their cemeteries, it\u2019s unlikely. Did he say if they found Merrem Balamaran\u2019s grave? Her original grave, I mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey did. He says it wasn\u2019t even in a cemetery, just a clearing in the woods.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVikhelneise. They don\u2019t believe cemeteries are necessary.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think I understand Vikhelno\u2019s teachings at all,\u201d said Chonhadrin.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was a goblin,\u201d I said, \u201cand lived far to the south, where ghouls do not rise. And he was quite legitimately angry at the corruption that had crept into the Barizheise priesthood, particularly among the prelates of Ulis. But he came to see priests, all priests, as a kind of excrescence, both unnecessary and harmful. When the goblins came north in the gold rush, they brought his teachings with them, and there are apparently a lot of people who would like to do without priests altogether.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut how can they think ghouls don\u2019t exist?\u201d she said, almost plaintively.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t explain belief,\u201d I said. \u201cI can\u2019t explain why anyone listened to Vikhelno, except that they, too, were angry at their priests. And once you decide your priests are parasites and their teachings are worthless\u00a0\u2026 the Vikhelneisei are proud of not believing in anything that they haven\u2019t seen themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey aren\u2019t atheists, are they?\u201d she asked, almost whispering.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Vikhelno didn\u2019t go that far. He was quite clear that the work of the gods is visible all around us every day. But anything that was a reason you might need a priest, he dismissed as so much pernicious falsehood. He said that corn mazes should be uprooted and that pilgrimages were ridiculous. And of course he didn\u2019t believe in ghouls. Most people don\u2019t, south of Veshto.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cAnd I suppose that once you actually see a ghoul, it\u2019s too late to change your beliefs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMostly they\u2019re very slow-moving, and it takes them several months to go from eating the dead to eating the living. So, assuming you were alert, you\u2019d have time to rethink your philosophy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many people did the ghoul in Tanvero kill?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo that I know of\u2014unless Osmer Thilmerezh says they found more bodies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe didn\u2019t mention it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d I said. \u201cThen probably those two were its only victims.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey<\/i> didn\u2019t have time to rethink.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think that ghoul had been risen too long. It had gotten faster and more cunning than they usually do. Certainly far faster than any of the other ghouls I have quieted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many is that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFive,\u201d I said, \u201cand a sixth that we caught as it clawed its way out of its grave.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/i> she said, eyes wide.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell west of here,\u201d I said. \u201cA town called Aveio, where the population had been shrinking for generations, so that they had more people in their cemeteries than they did in the town. And the stone they had for headstones was too soft. It wouldn\u2019t hold a name properly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow horrible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not miss Aveio,\u201d I admitted.<\/p>\n

She nodded, then briskly changed the subject. \u201cBut what I wanted to ask is, do you think it\u2019s safe to travel to Tanvero? My grandfather Thilmerezh has invited me to visit him.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could not help my eyebrows going up. \u201cEven for an ashenin, that is a long journey to make alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn\u2019t bother me,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd my grandfather has a housekeeper, Merrem Olharad, so there is nothing improper in my visiting him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you are worried about ghouls.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am concerned,\u201d she said, a little stiffly.<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cI do not think you need to worry,\u201d I said. \u201cThe new cemetery caretaker seems most conscientious, and I believe the citizens will be taking other measures to ensure the cemeteries are maintained. Tanvero should be as safe as anywhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is a relief. Thank you, Celehar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope you will give Osmer Thilmerezh my greetings,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course. He spoke very highly of you in his letter\u2014he said the othas\u2019ala wanted you to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe did. But Tanvero is not my calling, and Othas\u2019ala Deprena was\u00a0\u2026 mistaken in his assessment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour judgment of yourself is very harsh.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, just honest. Othas\u2019ala Deprena needs a prelate with skills I do not have. I am much better suited to this office and the people of Amalo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you think you are suited to this office,\u201d she said, with a wave of her hand indicating our surroundings, \u201cthen your judgment of yourself is harsh indeed.\u201d<\/p>\n

She surprised me into laughing. \u201cNo, no one is suited to this office. But the work that I do in Amalo is rewarding to me and makes full and proper use of the skills I have.\u201d I almost said, I would rather talk to the dead than to the living,<\/i> but bit it back in time.<\/p>\n

Chonhadrin looked as though she had heard my thought. She said hesitantly, \u201cMay I come tell you about my visit when I return? No one else will understand or care.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cI would be very pleased.\u201d And it was even the truth.<\/p>\n

\n

I received a note from Dach\u2019othala Vernezar, asking me to meet him at the shrine in the catacombs. Although I had denied that he had any authority over me, it seemed both imprudent and spiteful to refuse. This time I went alone.<\/p>\n

Vernezar was also alone, although I was sure there was at least <\/span>a novice waiting for him somewhere just out of earshot. \u201cOthala Celehar,\u201d he said. \u201cThank you for coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDach\u2019othala,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe, ah, we trust that you were not\u00a0\u2026 that is, we hope you will not\u00a0\u2026 We bear you no ill will, Celehar, and we hope that you bear us none.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood, good,\u201d Vernezar said, not meeting my eyes. \u201cIt\u2019s only natural that there should be some confusion. After all, there\u2019s never been a post quite like yours\u2014appointed directly by the Archprelate\u2014before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I agreed.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd we would hate to think that any such confusion<\/i> should be misinterpreted as\u00a0\u2026 as anger. Or hostility.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe did not make that interpretation,\u201d I said warily. There had been no interpretation necessary.<\/p>\n

\u201cOthalo Zanarin is\u2026\u201d He hesitated for long enough that I began to think he would be unable to continue. Finally, he said, \u201cIntemperate. We have suggested to her that perhaps she needs to spend a season in isolate devotion in the Chapel of Floods.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hypocrisy, from a man like Vernezar, but Zanarin\u2019s reach had exceeded her grasp, and retaliation was inevitable. Power was a dangerous game. And I had to admit I felt a surge of relief, that at least for a season, I would not need to worry about encountering Zanarin, either in the Amalomeire or simply on the streets.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cIt is very cold in the Mervarnens in winter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIsolate devotion is not a punishment.<\/i> We have told her to wait until spring.\u201d<\/p>\n

Isolate devotion was exactly a punishment\u2014except for those few who were called to it\u2014but I had no desire to argue with the Ulisothala of Amalo about that or anything else. I said nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn any event,\u201d said Vernezar, \u201cwe hope for nothing but peaceful relations with your, ah, office.\u201d<\/p>\n

As if I were a foreign country. I said, \u201cThere is no reason for anything else.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cVery good,\u201d said Vernezar. \u201cAnd you won\u2019t\u2026\u201d He eyed me sidelong.<\/p>\n

Here was the matter he actually wanted to discuss with me. A pity that I had no idea what it was.<\/p>\n

I waited, and he said, \u201cWe would hate for the Archprelate to gain an\u00a0\u2026 inaccurate<\/i> picture of matters here in Amalo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe are not in communication with the Archprelate,\u201d I said blankly. \u201cWe have no reason to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh come, Celehar,\u201d said Vernezar, sounding almost annoyed. \u201cThere\u2019s no need to pretend you don\u2019t report to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t,\u201d I said. \u201cWe do not expect the Archprelate to take an interest in our very mundane dealings.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at me as if I\u2019d told him I could hear fishes singing.<\/p>\n

I still had no way to prove a negative. I sighed and said, \u201cWe will not tell the Archprelate anything injurious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Celehar,\u201d said Vernezar, who now of course believed all the more firmly that I wrote reports for the Archprelate about the religious goings-on of Amalo.<\/p>\n

\u201cDach\u2019othala,\u201d I said, and was grateful to make my escape.<\/p>\n

\n

Lord Judiciar Erimar was given the case of Broset Sheveldar. It took him a week to read all the depositions, plus the statement from the lawyer Mer Sheveldar had hired (doubtless with the money he had inherited from his victims), and quite a crowd gathered in the Amal\u2019theileian when he announced he was ready to pass judgment. I was there, and Ulzhavar, for once in his formal robes, Othalo Darnevin, Othala Bonshenar, and a number of other people whom I did not know and whose connection to the case, if any, I could not guess. Some of them might be family of the murdered women, for I saw the glint of Mer Urmenezh\u2019s pince-nez near the back.<\/p>\n

Lord Erimar was an elven man in his sixties, very erect of carriage and needle-sharp of mind. He looked at all of us, his eyes lingering for a moment on Mer Sheveldar, who was attending shackled <\/span>between two massive goblin Brothers, then said, \u201cThis case is quite unlike any other we have ever judged. We have read depositions from Witnesses for three women, each of them murdered with calonvar in the weeks or months following her marriage to this man, who has called himself Broset Sheveldar and Segevis Michezar and Cro\u00efs Avelonar and we doubt not other names besides. The statement presented by Mer Sheveldar\u2019s lawyer notes that in each case there is no proof that Mer Sheveldar is the murderer, but either he is guilty or someone else is following him from name to name and marriage to marriage and poisoning his wives just when it is most advantageous to Mer Sheveldar that they die. We find this unlikely to the point of absurdity, and the Witness for Mer Sheveldar has been able to find no proof, not even a hint, that this story might be true. We find that Broset Sheveldar is guilty of murdering Livano Sheveldaran, Drachano Michezaran, and Inshiran Avelonaran and her unborn child Ulanu. Sentence will be pronounced tomorrow by Prince Orchenis.\u201d<\/p>\n

But we all knew already what the sentence would be.<\/p>\n

Mer Urmenezh said to me afterwards, \u201cHe is truly an evil person.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cWe are sorry he was not what your sister thought him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe wanted it so badly to be true,\u201d he said. \u201cWe are sure it was the same for the others.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcept perhaps for the first Merrem Sheveldaran,\u201d I said. \u201cShe might have known him\u2014or thought she did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe only hope Inshiran did not know<\/i> before she died,\u201d said Mer Urmenezh. \u201cThat is the thought that wakes us at night.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was unanswerable. Only Sheveldar knew, and he refused to admit his guilt. Never mind the three wives under three different names, all of whom had died in the same way; never mind the vial found when the Brotherhood searched Sheveldar\u2019s room, a quarter full and the yellowed label reading CALONVAR<\/small>. Never mind the deposition of the Witness for Min Chinevo Tavalin, his bride-to-be, which showed clearly the pattern testified to by the Witnesses for his victims. He put forward no explanation, not even of why, if his wives continued <\/span>to die horribly, he had not quit marrying<\/i>; he would not discuss any of the dead women. He merely insisted on his innocence and declared himself a martyr, although to what was never exactly clear.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut we wanted to thank you,\u201d said Mer Urmenezh. \u201cFor you persevered when a dozen other men would have given up. And without your perseverance, Min Tavalin might already be married.\u201d<\/p>\n

Depending on how fast he worked, Min Tavalin might already be dead. But I did not say so.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cIt is our calling, Mer Urmenezh. You need not thank us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNonsense,\u201d said Mer Urmenezh. \u201cIn Inshiran\u2019s memory, we must<\/i> thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That, too, was unanswerable. I bowed to him and said, \u201cThen we accept your thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled and said, \u201cTruly it is an accomplishment to have bested one so stubborn. Thank you, Othala Celehar.\u201d He bowed to me, lower than I deserved, and left.<\/p>\n

This time, when a newspaperman caught me\u2014Goronezh on his own\u2014I had no hesitation in answering his questions. Mostly what he wanted to know were things such as, how had I found Min Urmenezhen, and had the bodies of the victims told me anything. Which, of course, they had not. He was also very interested in the name-magic that had found Broset Sheveldar, and even more interested in, and horrified by, the list of Sheveldar\u2019s names. \u201cHow could he do such a thing?\u201d he muttered.<\/p>\n

I was not sure if that was meant as a question. I said, \u201cHe does not acknowledge that he has done so, except to point out that it is not a crime.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Goronezh said, \u201cbecause no one thought it necessary to make a law against it. What an insane thing to do!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo more insane than murdering three wives,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, we suppose not.\u201d His ears twitched, their tiny peridot studs glinting in the sun from the tall windows. \u201cPerhaps we should be grateful we do not understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d I said, and Goronezh darted away to catch Ulzhavar, <\/span>stiff in his formal robes. I could speak to Ulzhavar later, back in the autopsy room where we were both more comfortable.<\/p>\n

I went instead to talk to Anora.<\/p>\n

I found him in the catacombs beneath Ulvanensee, engaged in the endless task of arranging bones in revethmerai and making sure each had its correct name, as the prelates of the municipal cemeteries had been doing for thousands of years. I had followed his bright yarn clew through the windings of the catacombs, the owl-light illuminating the incised names of the long dead. The clew was somewhere between a sensible precaution and a dire necessity, for the catacombs were vast and the maps of them partial, difficult, and sometimes wrong. If one were to become lost, there was no guarantee that one would ever<\/i> be found.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that thou, Thara?\u201d Anora called when I could only just see the light of his lantern. \u201cFor I know of no one else who would come so far into the catacombs to find me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I called back, \u201cYes, it is Thara.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora said, \u201cThe judiciar must have reached a decision, then.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Sheveldar will be condemned to death tomorrow, for I cannot imagine Prince Orchenis making any other judgment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cArt thou pleased?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was an odd question. \u201cI\u2019m certainly pleased that the monied and unmarried women of Amalo will be safe from him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d said Anora, as I rounded the final corner and found him kneeling beside a row of empty revethmerai, carefully taking long bones out of a linen bag and putting them one at a time in the fifth one along. He\u2019d completed four before I found him. \u201cBut art thou pleased with thine own part in the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI followed my calling,\u201d I began, but Anora cut me off.<\/p>\n

\u201cThara,\u201d he said sharply. \u201cThat isn\u2019t what I asked.\u201d<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cIt\u2019s ridiculous to feel guilty. The man is a murderer three times over.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least,\u201d Anora agreed. \u201cBut thou feel\u2019st guilt?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cMer Urmenezh pointed out to me today that my stubbornness has gotten a man killed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora sat back on his heels to look at me. \u201cI would wager that is a very free interpretation of what he said.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Mer Sheveldar does not admit his guilt,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd thus thou\u2019rt concerned,\u201d Anora said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI should not be. I know he\u2019s guilty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is thy nature. Thou\u2019rt conscientious to a fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThy praise is unstinting,\u201d I said dryly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThou wilt worry thyself to flinders,\u201d said Anora. \u201cAnd thou needst not. No innocent man would change his name four times. Even the barbarians of the steppes only change their names once.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe could not offer an explanation,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not. What will they put on his headstone to keep him from rising before he comes to bone and dust?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose it will have to be all four names,\u201d I said, though the idea seemed both ludicrous and utterly monstrous.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly a monster would value his name so little,\u201d Anora said in an eerie echo of my thoughts. \u201cWilt thou be comforted, Thara?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, what didst think of him? Dost think him innocent? Really?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said without any need of pondering the question. \u201cI think him guilty beyond a doubt. But\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will not grieve for him,\u201d I said. \u201cBut there are other murderers I have grieved for and were they not also monsters?\u201d<\/p>\n

Anora considered the question. \u201cArt thou positing that all murderers are monsters?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre they not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe act<\/i> is monstrous. But one may commit a monstrous act and not be a monster. Unless, like Mer Sheveldar, one allows oneself to be consumed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I said nothing, and Anora continued, \u201cIf thou grievest not for Sheveldar, it does not make thee a monster, either. But in grieving <\/span>for a murderer, thou art not grieving for the monstrous. Thou grievest for the man who failed to reject the monstrous act.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had never asked Anora if he knew about Evru, so that I did not know if he knew how much meaning was in his words. But I felt a burden lifted that I hadn\u2019t fully realized I was carrying. \u201cThat is a better way of thinking about it,\u201d I said, and was glad the shadows kept him from reading my expression.<\/p>\n

He probably saw more than I wanted him to, anyway. \u201cCome,\u201d he said. \u201cEnough talk of murderers. Come do thy duty as a prelate of Ulis and help me sort out these decent and virtuous bones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGladly,\u201d I said, and set my owl-light so that it would illuminate our task.<\/p>\n

\n

The next morning, my first petitioner was a familiar one. I rose, more than a little startled to see Min Alasho Duhalin again. She was accompanied by an older woman, both of them grim-faced. Min Duhalin said formally, \u201cWe bring a petition to the Witness for the Dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is your petition?\u201d I said, that being the only allowable response.<\/p>\n

Min Duhalin\u2019s ears were flat, and she would not meet my eyes. \u201cBecause of the forgery, our lawyers insist on following all the old forms for the reading of the will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. The old forms, which had fallen out of fashion during the reign of Varevesena, stipulated that the testator have a Witness present to speak for him or her should the need arise.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have already witnessed for our grandfather,\u201d Min Duhalin continued doggedly, and I realized she was embarrassed as well as angry, \u201cand Mer Ondormezh says that means legally you must witness for him again.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was true, if intensely unfortunate in the circumstances.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I said again, because I could say nothing else. \u201cWhen is the reading to take place?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

That evening, I returned to the Duhaladeise compound. I was accustomed to being an unpopular guest\u2014a Witness for the Dead rarely visited for congenial reasons\u2014but the Duhalada actually drew back from me slightly, as if I were poisonous. I bowed politely and did not approach.<\/p>\n

The will was to be read in the receiving room, and as the old forms demanded, the entire family was present, including Nepevis Duhalar, standing between two elven men from the Vigilant Brotherhood. Prince Orchenis had not yet pronounced his sentence; therefore he remained in the Bereth, the jail in the Veren\u2019malo where prisoners of good family were kept.<\/p>\n

The lawyer, Mer Ondormezh, was hunched with age, but his eyes were bright and sharp. He did not recoil from my presence, but said, \u201cOh good. We are glad you agreed to attend, othala.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOur calling obliges us,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYe-esss,\u201d said Mer Ondormezh, \u201cbut not all prelates would see it that way. The House Duhalada offered you a considerable insult.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cBut that does not change our duty. And we admit to a natural curiosity.\u201d<\/p>\n

That amused him. He said, \u201cWe are astonished to hear a prelate of Ulis admit to anything so ordinary as curiosity.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have as much as any man,\u201d I said, \u201cand we have come to have some stake in Mer Duhalar\u2019s proper will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing like a personal interest,\u201d murmured Mer Ondormezh.<\/p>\n

His clerk distracted him then with a question, and I stepped back, not wanting anyone to think I was encroaching on Mer Ondormezh\u2019s time. The Duhalada continued to skirt wide around me.<\/p>\n

It was only a few minutes later that Mer Ondormezh said, \u201cVery well, merrai and merroi. Let us begin.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took a long time to read a properly drawn-up will, and Mer Duhalar had had a number of very finicky arrangements about his real estate and his share of the company before we reached the question of the money. And then he became even more finicky. I was <\/span>thinking that this will provided an unflattering but probably accurate portrait of Nepena Duhalar when Mer Ondormezh said, \u201cAnd to our grandson, Tura Olora, child of our favorite child Daleno, we leave five thousand muranai.\u201d<\/p>\n

The little susurrus of indrawn breath told me that I had not misheard. Tura Olora, the senior principal bass at the Vermilion Opera, was Mer Duhalar\u2019s grandson. Also that my immediate conclusion was correct, and was the reason Mer Olora was not here. Daleno had almost certainly been illegitimate, and thus this bequest, phrased as it was, was a deliberate insult to Mer Duhalar\u2019s legitimate Duhaladeise children.<\/p>\n

It was also a significant sum of money, more than an opera singer would make in a year, and I could not help wondering if Mer Olora had known of his grandfather\u2019s bequest, and if he had known, who else had known? For this would make him a very tempting target to a money-hungry blackmailer like Min Shelsin.<\/p>\n

I wondered even more bleakly what secrets Mer Olora might have been keeping that Min Shelsin could have found.<\/p>\n

I barely heard the rest of the will\u2014a series of increasingly small bequests to people whose names I did not recognize but who were probably servants\u2014my mind racing as I reassembled the story with this new information.<\/p>\n

I had read of Mer Duhalar\u2019s death in the newspapers two weeks before Min Shelsin was murdered; that was certainly enough time for her to approach Mer Olora in whatever manner she did so, to make an appointment in the Zheimela, to keep it, and to be killed. I thought of Mer Olora\u2019s temper, of him shouting at Pel-Thenhior. I did not know if he could plan murder, but I did know he could be goaded to fury. And if the paper I had found in Min Shelsin\u2019s pocket was Mer Olora\u2019s secret, whatever it was, it was safe now.<\/p>\n

When the will-reading was finally over, I left the Duhalada to the several thorny problems Mer Duhalar\u2019s death\u2014and Mer Duhalar\u2019s will\u2014had caused them, and then, having taken the tram to the Amal\u2019ostro, walked to the Vermilion Opera, running over this new <\/span>truth, wondering if I was mistaken. This story required Min Shelsin to know something I was sure Mer Olora would not have told her\u2014two things, actually: the fact that Mer Olora would inherit a substantial amount of money on his grandfather\u2019s death and then the secret.<\/p>\n

Tonight was the premiere of Zhelsu.<\/i> At least I knew exactly where to find Mer Olora, even if it would be several hours yet before I could talk to him.<\/p>\n

At the Opera, the ushers recognized me and let me into the dim, narrow hallway that ran behind all the boxes. Pel-Thenhior\u2019s box, being the last before the hallway ended, was easy to find.<\/p>\n

I decided I would cause him greater disruption by knocking than not. I opened the door just wide enough to slip inside.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior twisted around; when he saw me, he beckoned for me to come sit beside him.<\/p>\n

When I did, he leaned over and said very softly, \u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re here, although you may not be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey haven\u2019t decided what they think yet,\u201d he said, then went back to his notes, leaving me to puzzle out his meaning.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t take long. Unlike my first time here, the audience was stonily silent; everyone was focused on the stage in a way that was either flattering to Pel-Thenhior or alarming. I was afraid it was the latter.<\/p>\n

A few minutes later, while Zhelsu and Tebora were singing about their dream of escaping the manufactory, Pel-Thenhior leaned over again and said, \u201cI owe Othoro my firstborn child. She\u2019s holding the whole thing together.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, I thought. The singers would be able to read the audience as well as Pel-Thenhior and I could. They would have discerned this ominous silence, so much worse than the half attention most of the audience had paid to The Siege of Tekharee.<\/i> And Pel-Thenhior was right. Min Vakrezharad was singing superbly, almost daring her fellows to fail her. Thus far, apparently, no one had.<\/p>\n

It was nerve-racking to sit and watch the opera with that silent, judging audience. During the shocking duet between Zhelsu and <\/span>her mother, in which her mother tells her she should sleep with the overseer and use his favor to her advantage, I realized my palms were clammy. Pel-Thenhior seemed not to notice at all, except that every so often he would look out over the audience, and his ears would lower another fraction of an inch.<\/p>\n

When the end of Zhelsu<\/i> came, it came quickly. The overseer gets her alone and starts pressing his case again. It becomes clear that he will rape her if she doesn\u2019t yield willingly. She backs away and away\u2014and I remembered watching them rehearse this, how matter-of-fact and straightforward it had all seemed, nothing like the panic on Zhelsu\u2019s face now, the increasing terror in her words\u2014until he has her pinned against the catwalk, and then instead of submitting, she turns and jumps. There is a scream from off stage as the overseer stares in blank astonishment at the place where Zhelsu had been. And the curtain comes down.<\/p>\n

The silence held for a long moment while I found my hands clenching. Then someone in the auditorium started clapping, and as other people joined in\u2014I heard one shout of \u201cGenius!\u201d\u2014I thought maybe we had skirted the storm. Then a voice yelled, \u201cThis is an outrage!\u201d<\/i> and the entire theater erupted in pandemonium.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said something obscene and heartfelt in Barizhin, then grabbed my wrist and shouted over the rising din, \u201cCome with me! Right now!\u201d<\/p>\n

I perforce followed his iron grip on my wrist as he dragged me through the backstage door, turning to bolt it behind us as he yelled at the stagehands, \u201cDon\u2019t open the curtain!\u201d<\/p>\n

The singers were clustered on stage. The still-increasing chaos in the auditorium was audible, though muffled by the curtain. Min Vakrezharad, a little disheveled from her leap onto the stack of mattresses, called to Pel-Thenhior, \u201cWhat should we do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGo change,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cBut I think you\u2019re safer backstage than trying to leave. I could be wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow comforting,\u201d Mer Olora said dryly.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior shrugged, although his ears were still too flat for it to come off as casual. \u201cIt\u2019s a riot, Tura. I can\u2019t predict what it\u2019s going <\/span>to do.\u201d At that, several of the chorus made protesting cries, and Min Rasabin said, \u201cAre they really rioting?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cI am going to have a very unpleasant discussion with the Marquess about the cost of repairs. Assuming, of course, that I live \u2019til morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u00e4na!\u201d protested Min Vakrezharad.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least half of the people out there are howling for my head, Othoro. I don\u2019t intend to present it to them, but if they find me\u2026\u201d His voice trailed off and his shoulders hunched for a moment.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m going to get out of this awful costume,\u201d Min Rasabin said practically.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have to go warn Wardrobe,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said. \u201cOthala Celehar, do you want to come with me, or do you want to take your chances with leaving the theater?\u201d<\/p>\n

I needed to talk to Tura Olora, who had already vanished into the backstage darkness. But I wanted to talk to Pel-Thenhior first. \u201cAll right,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

He went swiftly through the maze. I followed, trying to make some sort of mental map, but I was soon hopelessly turned around again.<\/p>\n

In the Wardrobe Department, we found that they were already alarmed. The stagehands were spreading the word, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019re safe here, Ulshe\u00e4n,\u201d he said to the wardrobe master, who was close to panicking. \u201cBut don\u2019t try to leave until someone comes and tells you it\u2019s safe.\u201d He smiled at her and said, \u201cI\u2019m sure you have ways to occupy your time.\u201d<\/p>\n

That made her laugh, although it was a choked, hiccupping sound. \u201cI\u2019m sure we do,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Outside the Wardrobe Department\u2019s double doors, I stopped Pel-Thenhior and said, \u201cI need to talk to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d he said, puzzled but willing. \u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know Mer Olora is Duhaladeise on his mother\u2019s side?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, of course,\u201d he said, still puzzled. \u201cTura makes no secret of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you know his grandfather was going to leave him five thousand muranai?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201c\u2026 No,\u201d he said, frowning, \u201cbut what of it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Olora\u2019s grandfather died two weeks before Min Shelsin was murdered.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior was no fool. He made the connection quickly. \u201cYou don\u2019t think Tura\u2026\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI think I have to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

We found Mer Olora alone in the cramped dressing room shared by the male principals. He had removed the mask-like maquillage that the singers wore in performance and was in the middle of taking off his costume.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u00e4na,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cTura,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. \u201cOthala Celehar needs to talk to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOthala,\u201d Mer Olora said, politely enough although he was beginning to frown. \u201cHow can I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I said, \u201cI was at the reading of Mer Nepena Duhalar\u2019s will this evening,\u201d and watched with no pleasure as his face changed and his ears flattened. \u201cDid you know of his bequest to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but I don\u2019t see\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid anyone else know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d But he was lying.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Min Shelsin know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI certainly didn\u2019t tell her,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not the same thing. Did she know<\/i>?\u201d<\/p>\n

He exhaled a hard, slow breath and said, \u201cYou can\u2019t prove anything. No judiciar in the city will listen to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d I said, \u201cbut the Amal\u2019othala will.\u201d I was bluffing; the Amal\u2019othala was no more likely to listen to my story, with all its holes, than any of the city judiciary. But Mer Olora had just told me I was right. You can\u2019t prove anything<\/i> was very different from I didn\u2019t kill her.<\/i><\/p>\n

Mer Olora had continued changing while we spoke and was now, <\/span>in trousers and shirtsleeves, buttoning his waistcoat. He was still in stocking feet; Pel-Thenhior and I were both caught completely off guard when he said, \u201cYou\u2019ll have to excuse me a moment,\u201d and bolted out of the room\u2019s back door. After a stunned second, we ran after him.<\/p>\n

Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cI don\u2019t know where<\/i> he\u2019s going. There\u2019s no way out back here, even if he wanted to take his chances with the rioters.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mer Olora clearly had a destination in mind, though, for we could not catch him. He neither slowed nor hesitated nor ran into any dead ends. When we found a narrow open door and could hear feet on the treads of a twisting spiral of stairs, Pel-Thenhior gasped, \u201cThe roof!\u201d<\/p>\n

If we could have climbed those stairs faster, we would have. But Mer Olora stayed ahead of us all the way to the top and out onto the roof. By the time we caught up to him, he was already standing on the parapet.<\/p>\n

\u201cTura, no,\u201d Pel-Thenhior said imploringly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know how she knew,\u201d Mer Olora said. \u201cI only ever told Veralis and Shulethis, one night when we\u2019d all drunk too much. I swore them to secrecy. But she found out. I know she stole the letter because she told me so, the brass-faced bitch. I made the mistake of sleeping with her once, and she used the opportunity all too well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMer Olora,\u201d I said, \u201cplease step down.\u201d<\/p>\n

He continued as if he hadn\u2019t heard me. \u201cMeeting at the Canalman\u2019s Dog was her idea. An intrigue,\u201d he said bitterly. \u201cAs if we were characters in a novel. She showed me the letter and said I could have it back for a thousand muranai.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, though he might not have been aware he said it out loud.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t the money,\u201d Mer Olora said earnestly. \u201cIt was knowing that even after she gave the letter back\u2014if she really did\u2014she would still have me under her thumb. The letter contained my\u00a0\u2026 my lover\u2019s name.\u201d His voice broke. \u201cI would never be free of her smirks and knowing looks, and she would always have the means to make me pay again. She would always be a threat to\u00a0\u2026 to my lover.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>\u201cSo you killed her,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was the only way out. The only way to keep my lover safe. And that\u2019s why I have to do this.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stepped sideways off the roof.<\/p>\n

\u201cBlessed goddess,\u201d Pel-Thenhior half sobbed as we both ran to the parapet. Looking down, I saw Tura Olora\u2019s broken body and around it a widening circle of stillness as the rioting opera-goers realized what had happened. The members of the Brotherhood trying to restore peace were suddenly successful.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have to get down there,\u201d I said to Pel-Thenhior. He looked at me blankly, as if my words made no sense to him. I said, \u201cMy duty lies with the dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior. Then he blinked and seemed to come back to himself. \u201cYes, of course. This way, othala. We can take a different way down.\u201d He winced at the double meaning. \u201cThat is, there\u2019s an easier set of stairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed him, as I had been doing all evening, and we descended by a staircase around a square lightwell. At the bottom, Pel-Thenhior had no difficulty in leading me to the front of the Opera and Mer Olora\u2019s corpse.<\/p>\n

The watchman standing guard was glad to see me. \u201cOthala! We don\u2019t know if he fell or jumped, but his neck\u2019s broken, either way\u2014along with most of the rest of him.\u201d<\/p>\n

I went down on one knee beside the body and began saying the prayer of compassion for the dead. This part, ironically, was easy. It was everything else that was hard.<\/p>\n

\n

The newspapermen\u2014Goronezh, Thurizar, and Vicenalar\u2014found me at some hour between midnight and dawn as I emerged from Ulvanensee, where I had gone with Tura Olora\u2019s corpse. The municipal cemetery of the Veren\u2019malo was much smaller than Ulvanensee and had no room\u2014hadn\u2019t had room for new burials for fifty <\/span>years, so hopelessly behind were they in transferring their charges to the catacombs. Anora was rightfully asleep, but Vidrezhen, the prelate assigned night duty, was calm and competent, and I was feeling as if at least I had gotten one thing done correctly when I heard Goronezh calling, \u201cOthala Celehar!\u201d<\/p>\n

I wanted, very badly, to turn on my heel and go back into Ulvanensee\u2014and lock the gate behind me as well\u2014but I knew they would just wait until I emerged again.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Mer Goronezh,\u201d I said, and tried not to say it tiredly. \u201cWhat may we do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it true that Mer Olora committed suicide?\u201d Goronezh asked.<\/p>\n

Vicenalar, right behind him, said, \u201cIs it true he jumped off the Vermilion Opera?\u201d<\/p>\n

Thurizar, coming around to my other side, said, \u201cDo you know why he did it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I did<\/i> know, of course, and as the Witness for Arvene\u00e4n Shelsin, I would tell Azhanharad the whole ugly tangle of the truth later that morning, but while my calling forbade lying, it did not require me to cause unnecessary pain. Telling the newspapermen would shout Tura Olora\u2019s shame to the entire city, and neither the Duhalada, the Olorada, nor the Vermilion Opera would be made better thereby. I could not deny the suicide\u2014even if I\u2019d wanted to try, no one was going to believe he\u2019d accidentally gone all the way up to the roof\u2014but I could say, truthfully, \u201cHis reason died with him,\u201d for Pel-Thenhior and I had agreed it should. Azhanharad would record the matter in the Brotherhood\u2019s record book, but that book was kept strictly secret. I wasn\u2019t even supposed to know it existed.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome now, othala,\u201d Thurizar said reproachfully. \u201cYou must have some<\/i> idea.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis reason died with him,\u201d I said again. \u201cWe regret, but we cannot tell you anything more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are a sore trial to a newspaperman, othala,\u201d said Goronezh.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe do not know about you gentlemen,\u201d I said, \u201cbut we would like to be in bed before dawn. Good night.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/span>They would probably have preferred to shake the truth out of me, but they let me go.<\/p>\n

\n

Tura Olora was buried in the great municipal cemetery in the Airmen\u2019s Quarter, just as his victim had been. None of his Duhaladeise cousins attended the funeral, nor any Olorada. The mourners consisted of me and I\u00e4na Pel-Thenhior, who looked as if he was not sure he was doing the right thing.<\/p>\n

Once Olora was safely buried and his headstone blessed\u2014for suicides are the most likely to turn ghoul\u2014I said to Pel-Thenhior, \u201cMay I buy you a cup of tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said, and dragged a smile out from somewhere. \u201cBut I will gladly go have tea with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

We went to the Chrysanthemum, which was the teahouse Anora favored, and settled with a pot of eladri\u00e4t. Pel-Thenhior scrubbed both hands up his face and said, \u201cThank the goddesses that\u2019s over.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did the right thing in coming,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid I? He was a murderer. He murdered one of my singers. Two of them, if we call suicide self-murder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was a man under intolerable stress,\u201d I said. \u201cHe did what he thought he had to do to keep his secret\u2014and his lover\u2014safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, he succeeded in that. I\u2019ve sorted through all his papers and I don\u2019t have the least idea.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone highly placed and vulnerable to scandal, at a guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. And I admit, I don\u2019t want<\/i> to know. Tura died to keep this secret. It feels wrong to try to uncover it\u2014but that reminds me. I was going to tell you I know how Arvene\u00e4n found out about the money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was blackmailing Veralis.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, for secrets,\u201d I said. \u201cHe told me that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe told her about Tura\u2019s money. He said he was desperate to keep her quiet, and he didn\u2019t think she could do any harm with it. <\/span>I didn\u2019t ask him what his<\/i> secret is, and I\u2019m trying not to learn any more. It makes me angry, and being angry is pointless because Arvene\u00e4n is dead. And there\u2019s no way to fix the damage she did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cbut at least it is at an end.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose,\u201d he said, although he sounded doubtful. \u201cAnd meanwhile I\u2019ve got to find a new principal bass and<\/i> a new principal mid-soprano. To\u00efno is doing her best, but she really doesn\u2019t have enough voice. Hathet is doing his<\/i> best, but he really was the junior<\/i> bass. This is only his second year with us.\u201d<\/p>\n

We sat in silence for a few moments, drinking eladri\u00e4t. Then Pel-Thenhior said, \u201cYou are welcome to share my box any time you want to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is very kind of you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou needn\u2019t sound so surprised. I enjoy your company, and I hate the thought that your last memory of the Opera should be Tura\u2019s death.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I said, and decided there was no point in mentioning the nightmares I\u2019d been having. \u201cI would like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d said Pel-Thenhior, and finally managed a real smile. \u201cNow let me bore you to tears by telling you about my new opera.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/section>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

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Book Preview \u00a0 In the jumbled darkness of the catacombs beneath the city of Amalo, there was a shrine to Ulis in his aspect as god of the moon. It was thousands of years old, and the carving of the four phases of the moon on the plinth had become almost undetectable, worn smooth by … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":198,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[10],"class_list":["post-199","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-katherine-addison"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=199"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/198"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=199"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=199"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=199"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}