THE YEARGROUP’S BARRACKS were divided, one large room for the boys, one for the girls. Shironne walked up and down the girl’s quarters room several times, trying to create a map of it in her mind. This was a place where Mikael’s knowledge of the Fortress didn’t extend, so she couldn’t pick it out of his mind. She had to do this on her own. The long room had two doors, one at the far end and one in the middle of the room. Tabita’s bunk was the farthest from either door, in what they called the dead zone because not as much air circulated there. It smelled a bit stale in that part of the room, tired wool and many bodies. Not too unpleasant, though. “Why are you so far from the door?”
Tabita spun out a hint of vexation, not aimed at Shironne. “New girl doesn’t get much choice.”
Tabita’s bed was only three away from the back wall, and all of those three were empty—save for the one that was now Shironne’s. “Even though you’re the Second?”
“I could push for a bunk closer to the door,” Tabita admitted, “but balance within a yeargroup is important. More important than having a shorter walk to the toilets. Something for you to keep in mind.”
In other words, don’t cause problems.
Shironne hadn’t missed that Tabita assigned her the bunk one closer to the wall. That put her even farther from the door, but also left Tabita between her and anyone who might want to play pranks on her. Possibly because Tabita was also an outsider here, she seemed inclined to protect Shironne.
Shironne wasn’t going to take that for granted.
The others were all currently in a history class, for which Shironne was grateful. It would give her time to get used to these surroundings without the distraction of two dozen curious minds around her. Even Family-trained minds could be wearing. Tabita, whom Shironne suspected was a strong sensitive, understood that.
Once Shironne had a basic grasp of the shape of the dormitory room, she went back to her bunk and felt the shelves above them. “What goes here?”
“Books, which you don’t have, and personal items that you’re not too concerned about losing. Things that are on the shelves tend to be passed around. I would suggest keeping uniforms or anything precious in your chest.”
Things left on the shelves were vulnerable; Mikael knew that. Shironne tucked away that bit of information. There was a chest at the end of the bed already, feeling of pine and sawdust. It was newly made. Shironne could feel the hands of the maker on it, though, as well as those from several people who’d handled it already. She didn’t have much property now, as most everything was back at the house on Antrija Street, but she could stash her crystal in there, since she didn’t seem to need it now.
“So, the toilets,” Tabita said briskly. “Let’s do that next, and then I’ll take you to our commons.”
That promised to be a trial of its own.
* * *
Mikael met Kassannan at the old hotel’s doorway. The surgeon had brought a pair of orderlies with him to take charge of the body and transport it to the army hospital’s morgue. “Why send for me?” Kassannan asked bluntly.
Mikael gestured toward the sticky stairwell. “When asked, I’m going to state that the army is allowing me to use its more convenient facilities to aid in the Daujom’s investigation of the attack on Madam Anjir’s household.”
Kassannan regarded Mikael with narrowed eyes. “Did you tell Dahar that?”
Dahar was walking Madam Anjir through the legal aspects of adding her to the rolls of the House of Valaren. He could have left that to a legal advisor, but Mikael was sure Madam Anjir appreciated Dahar doing it himself. “Dahar is busy trying to get his sister’s family settled in the palace, working out the legal end of adding them to the Valaren.”
Since Madam Anjir was currently a Larossan citizen, the male members of her family could force her to return to their control and even to marry someone of their choosing. From what Mikael understood, while they had earlier agreed privately not to do so, now that the Royal House of Valaren had become publicly involved, they wanted a share of that house’s wealth in return for raising a Valaren cuckoo among them. To save face, was how Mikael understood it.
“I’ve heard they’re forcing negotiations.” Kassannan shook his head, eyes rolling. “And are they moving Shironne to the Fortress?”
“Already done,” Mikael said. “Miss Anjir will be available to the army upon request but won’t be allowed off palace grounds without quarterguards accompanying her.”
“She’ll love that,” Kassannan said sarcastically.
Mikael didn’t argue. Shironne valued her independence.
After asking the orderlies to wait in the building’s small foyer, Kassannan followed Mikael up the stairs. “Do you plan on bringing her down to the morgue to look at the bodies?”
“I can’t request a brown’s help on an investigation,” he reminded Kassannan. “You do have the other body—Karemen—don’t you?” He’d figured the army had collected that body. Speed usually trumped the fact that the police held jurisdiction in a death instead of the army.
“Yes, but I heard we were just holding it for the Daujom,” Kassannan said with no hint of sarcasm now. One of the nice things about Cerradine’s people—most had been raised by the Family and, like Messine and Pamini, were trained to keep their emotions off their face. That made it easier for them to lie if needed. “It’s pretty straightforward what happened to him, though.”
“You’ll find this one interesting,” Mikael told him.
When Kassannan stood next to the displaced bed and gazed down at the body in question, he did look intrigued.
“Any thoughts?” Mikael glanced back at the doorway, wondering if his second witness had arrived yet.
Kassannan let out a huff of air, irritation seeping out around him before he stifled the reaction. “You and I both know what this is, Mr. Lee. We just can’t be sure who did it.”
The surgeon had the knowledge of how to create such injuries and had been a melee fighter once, but Mikael couldn’t sense any guilt in his reaction. “Pamini thinks the message is meant for Faralis, with the killer counting on the police picking up this body.”
Kassannan’s lips pressed together. “Probably correct. Problem is, do we want the police commissioner to get this message?”
“Yes,” Mikael said. “I want him to be scared. If he’s looking over his shoulder for whoever did this, then he won’t be watching for the Daujom to come after him.”
Kassannan swept one hand toward the body. “So we leave him here?”
Mikael shook his head. “No. I’d like to know if Miss Anjir can tell us anything about this killer, so we need to take it into custody.”
“And therefore you need me to request her assistance. And how do you propose getting the news to the police commissioner if the army has the body?”
Mikael sensed a wave of curiosity and urgency, heralding the approach of a newcomer. “Mr. Lee, what have you got for me?”
A young Larossan man with medium brown skin and eyes so dark they seemed black, Joio Dimani had worked with the Daujom before, but his main source of income came as a writer for the Seychas Weekly. Over the last few years, he’d been extremely helpful to Mikael, who’d given him some excellent leads on stories in return. “Something that might be a little dangerous,” Mikael told the Larossan man. “A favor for the Daujom, for which we’ll offer a favor in return.”
Dimani gave him a quick smile. “I want an inside lead on what happened at the Anjir household, and an interview with Madam Anjir.”
While some writers might see this as a chance to make money, Dimani’s writing usually came from a desire to foster justice, and Mikael trusted the man to be discreet when it came to the Anjir family. “I can’t promise the second, but I’ll give you the first. What tipped you off that the Anjir household is involved here?”
Dimani let out a bark of laughter and raised three brown fingers. “One, the Daujom is involved. Two, it’s being whispered all over the city that Madam Anjir and her children have been removed to the palace. Three, old women are claiming that Madam Anjir is one of the prior king’s by-blows, which would neatly explain the Daujom getting involved.”
Since that was all true and soon to be very public, Mikael didn’t hesitate to verify it.
“So what do you need me to do?” Dimani asked.
“I need you to interview the police commissioner.”
The writer’s lips twisted upward in a cautious line. Faralis loved to be interviewed, so that wasn’t the problem. “Regarding?”
“A body that we’re about to show you. I need you to ask Faralis specifically about the note left on the man’s chest.”
Dimani’s mouth pursed, his eagerness dimmed. “Is it blood magic again?”
Dimani had been Mikael’s inside voice on the murders the previous month and had published several articles over that series of deaths, introducing the fact that the deaths were part of a blood magic ritual. That ritual had involved carving the proper word on the chest of the victims, followed by cutting them deeply enough to ensure that they bled out. “Nothing like that this time,” Mikael promised. “This is far more mundane.”