The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [31]
“What were you expecting?” She licked her lips, tasted the salt of his hand. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she fought to keep from trembling in the after-math of shock. She’d felt nothing, heard nothing.
Asheris grinned, a pale flash in the darkness. He wore black and the shadows welcomed him. “A criminal foolish enough to return to the scene of the crime, perhaps. I hope that isn’t what I’ve found.”
His hand was warm on her shoulder, their bodies only inches apart. Nearly a dance step. He was only an inch or two taller. “Not a criminal, my lord, only careless.”
He took a step back and Isyllt almost matched him. But this was another sort of dance entirely. “When I offered to take you sightseeing, this isn’t what I had in mind.”
She was glad she had no need to lie. “I was in the market when this happened. I wanted to have a closer look.” She shrugged ruefully. “Habit, I’m afraid. I didn’t mean to interfere in the investigation.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Your investigation?”
“Yes. Forgive me, I neglected to mention it earlier—I’m the Imperial Inquisitor for the city.” He stepped back to give her a shallow bow.
“I hope I’m not impeding you.”
“No, my lady. There’s little here for you to impede. Such attacks are no mystery in Symir. Unless—” Light caressed the curve of his head as he turned. “Are there any ghosts here for us to question?”
“No. They died suddenly—no time to seal themselves to this place. “
“Ah, well. Better for them, I suppose, if frustrating for us. We know who’s responsible, of course, but without witnesses it’s difficult to make a proper case.”
“Have you scried the dead?”
“We have no necromancers on staff—they make the locals very uncomfortable. I’ve requested one, but the Emperor has none to spare.” His eyes flickered toward her. “Unless I could beg your assistance in the matter.”
Isyllt smiled. She trusted him no more than he trusted her, but this dance was far too entertaining to stop now. “I’d be delighted.”
He offered her his arm. “I’m a poor host, to entertain you in a charnel house. Let me take you somewhere more pleasant.” He helped her over a fall of rubble; the moonlight was bright after the shadowed ruin. “And perhaps you should tell your escort in the alley that I have no ill intentions. I suspect he’s rather concerned at the moment.”
Somewhere more pleasant, it turned out, was the police station in Lioncourt. Despite the late hour, the lobby was crowded, every bench full and more people pacing in the corners. Some wept, some cursed and pleaded with the guards at the desk, some stared at nothing with hollow eyes; the air was thick with the heat of lamps and bodies, and reeked of sweat and dust and old tea. As Asheris led her through the press, Isyllt caught snatches of conversation.
“Let me see the body, please—”
“I can’t find my daughter—”
“My wife was arrested at the docks on Sabeth, and I’ve had no word since. Where is she being held?”
She glanced up at the last, saw the man’s angry, desperate expression and thought of the disappearances and work-gangs Zhirin had mentioned. Asheris steered her past the cordons, and she didn’t catch the guard’s weary response.
A haggard-looking sergeant met them near the stairs and saluted Asheris, casting a curious glance at Isyllt. The guards at the desks were local police, but his rumpled sweat-stained uniform was Imperial poppy red.
“I need the morgue key, please,” Asheris said.
“Of course, Lord al Seth.” The man turned away to fetch it, just in time to miss the startled blink Isyllt couldn’t control.
Al Seth—the royal house of Assar. That was a choice bit of information Vasilios had forgotten to share. Much more than a pretty distraction.
They left the noise and close heat behind as they climbed the stairs. The morgue was a narrow, windowless room, sealed by webs of spells to keep out heat and moisture and insects. Lamplight gleamed on metal and tile, everything polished and scrubbed, but neither the lingering tang of soap nor the sachets of incense could drown