Betharad was not hiding in her office this morning, not precisely, but it felt like a safe haven.
The town gathering yesterday was far harder than she had expected. She’d known it would be one of the most challenging things she’d done in her career, to stand in front of the people she was supposed to be looking after, and reveal they were facing the same peril that had resulted in so much destruction and heartbreak before.
It was perhaps illogical, but Betharad was unable to stop feeling she was in some way accountable for her parents’ failures. It was immaterial that none of the stewards or councillors over the last twenty years had been aware of Urzed was still alive—their authority had been passed down to her, and it was up to her to deal with it.
She had no time to feel sorry for herself. The pile of papers before her proved she had plenty of work to get on with, and although she was hampered by a lack of experience, that would not stop her striving until she found a way to keep the town and its people safe. She was fortunate to be surrounded by people who made up for her own weaknesses, such as Caldos, Ilparad and Kavilas…
Kavilas.
Was it true, what the woman had shouted at the gathering? Betharad tried to look back with objectivity at her interactions with the marshal over the last months, but it was hard to come to any firm conclusion with those words bouncing around in her head.
She liked his company, and when she examined the feeling more closely, she concluded it was more than the respect she’d have towards any person who carried out their duties with the same level of diligence and skill. And now she was looking at it from this angle, there had been things he said, ways he looked at her that hinted he held similar sentiments towards her.
When it came to considering reasons why he might find her attractive, she only came up with a small list. She was open to learning, did her best at whatever she attempted, and disliked unnecessary hysteria. All ideal traits in a work colleague, but that was as far as it went. As for the rest of her—plain, aloof, and hampered by a weak leg, she was far from the ideal match he could make. No, she was putting more meaning into their interactions than they really had.
Besides, while they were all confronted with much more pressing matters to deal with, any further consideration of this had to wait.
Feeling restless, she opened her office door to see what she could help with.
Out in the lobby, Marico had a small queue of residents making demands in strident voices. As soon as they caught sight of Betharad, they directed their complaints and petitions at her, so at least she was enabling her assistant to get on with his own work.
Not that she could assist these people in any immediate or practical way, because their concerns were about the safety of their families or property. All she could do was promise to speak to the marshal, and wonder if the woman had been right to accuse her of being useless.
Kavilas himself was nowhere to be seen, out organising the repairs to the town walls and the myriad of other tasks that fell within his duties. Being called away much of the time was part of his job, and while it was frustrating when she needed to talk to him, she was relieved to be spared having to face him today.
She almost succeeded in calming the residents down when the outer door burst open, and a girl of about ten years entered, calling out that she had an urgent message for the marshal.
“He’s not here,” Betharad said, going over to where the girl had paused, wide-eyed at the sight of the crowded waiting room. “But you can tell me the message and I’ll pass it on.”
The girl paused, looking confused and overwhelmed, so Betharad took her into the quiet of the office and closed the door.
The message itself, when the girl blurted it out, shocked Betharad to the core.
“My father—he’s found a dead body!”
What? “Where?”
“Close to our house. Near the north gate—it was outside the town wall.” She was now more excited than worried, giving Betharad a small stab of envy. Someone else had died on her watch, and she’d only been in the role for a few days.
“Do you… does your father know who it is?”
The young girl shook her head and pouted. “A man. He wouldn’t let me look properly, but I could see he was skinny and had dark hair.”
Betharad’s heartbeat started to accelerate. The description could fit quite a few people, she reminded herself. She had no reason to believe it was her brother.
But in the light of Urzed’s abrupt note and remarks to Jessa, Sarnd was a target of the Enjeb leader. Had Urzed decided it was time to go beyond mere kidnapping?
Her mind raced. Sarnd should have been at work, but as usual she had left home before he emerged from his room. The school was in the opposite direction to the north gate, and he had no reason to go that way. But these days she was learning to take nothing for granted.
First, she needed to think, to be sensible. Deep breaths helped. More so, recalling the smell of her mother’s hair, and the sound of her father laughing. Of someone who was there to protect her.
As soon as her heartbeat slowed, she was ready to act. Pulling the door open, she asked Marico where Kavilas was.
“I think he was going to check the water supply. Shall I send him a message?”
“Tell him he needs to come here as soon as he can. And I need to send a message to the school.” She was speaking too fast, almost babbling, and she forced herself to slow down. “Oh, and please take this brave young girl to get some water.”
“Of course.” Marico was already rising to carry out her orders.
She sat back down at her desk to compose a quick note to Sarnd. It was a challenge to put her concerns into words without making him wonder if she was losing her mind. She had to be content with: I need to know you’re safe, will explain tonight. Send me a reply as soon as you receive this.
She wished she could set off for the north gate now and put mind at ease about who the victim was, but that would only result in delays and confusion. She needed to be here in case Sarnd or Kavilas sent her a message.
It was not long, and also an eternity, before Marico returned. “The marshal has sent word he’s already been informed of the situation near the gate, and wants you to meet him there.”
“Thank you... and the other message?”
“No word yet, but—oh, here’s the fellow I sent to the school, coming in now. I’ll send him through.”
The news the messenger bore was not at all what Betharad wanted to hear. “I’m sorry, Steward, but the headmaster says your brother never arrived at work today. They just assumed he was ill.”
A floating sensation came over her, and speckles danced in her vision. All she could do was clutch the arm of her chair until her knuckles went white. Her mind was cleft in two—in one half she was a frail leaf being buffeted along by a hot, merciless wind, while the other half admonished her for getting carried away and not waiting for the facts. For a short time, even her hoard of memories failed to come into focus.
Marico’s presence made all the difference. He brought her and the messenger more water—she would have appreciated wine—and offered to ask the protectors to search for Sarnd. He created an environment of calm and efficiency, exactly what her brain needed to slow down and clear.
Assuming the victim was Sarnd without any other details was irresponsible, absurd. Quite a few men in Naerun were slim and dark-haired, and there had to be an unremarkable explanation for his absence from school. He was probably at home, feeling unwell; he’d been complaining about headaches since the day of the Deliverance Ceremony.
Marico had already thought of that. “I’ve received a reply from your grandmother—I hope you don’t mind me contacting her. My note was worded so as not to cause any alarm, but she’s let me know Sarnd has been out all day at work.” He chewed his lip, a habit Betharad detested, but she lacked the energy to care.
“Ah, thank you Marico, I should have thought to ask that before.”
“Should we find out if your sister knows where he is?”
Betharad closed her eyes. Jessa had refused to listen to her suggestion to stay at home and rest, asserting she needed to be active. In the end, the Open House was probably as good a place as any for Jessa to be; the other volunteers and the onsite caretaker were well used to dealing with any problems that arose there. She thought Urzed and his Enjeb were not yet so bold as to go to the place. But their audacity was growing all the time.
“No, there’s no need to worry her. I’m going to meet Kavilas now, but please send word immediately if you hear from Sarnd, or there’s any news about him.” However awkward she might feel around the marshal, he was the one who could sort this terrible mess out. How could she wait here, not knowing?
She walked as fast she could, refusing to curse her bad leg and her walking stick for slowing her down. At least the clouds offered some respite from the scorching sun, through the growing humidity sapped her energy.
By the time she came through the gate and reached the empty strip of land alongside the wall here, Kavilas had the situation well under control. With his usual air of calm intransigence, he was directing the curious onlookers back to repairing the town walls or attending to their own business.
She could see the deputy marshal standing off to one side near a pile of discarded fabric. Pavena was another of those efficient and capable people who sprang from the same mould as Kavilas, and although she was at least twenty years his senior, she followed his lead without question. Pavena nodded in her direction and Betharad returned the solemn greeting.
Betharad waited, not wanting to interrupt Kavilas, although she was yearning to find out more about the victim, and lay her personal concerns to rest. If she could.
It can’t be Sarnd, she told herself. Some other poor soul.
There must have been a way to announce her presence without sounding like she expected them to drop what they were doing; that was not the type of steward she intended to be. She was saved from her dilemma when Kavilas caught sight of her and came over. As he approached, he nodded to her. She nodded back.
“Where’s the body?” she asked before he had a chance to speak; it was far from the most intelligent question, or the most pressing, but her mouth was running ahead of her brain.
Kavilas pointed towards Pavena, and it dawned on Betharad that the heap of cloth was in fact a shrouded human figure.
“Who is the victim?” she asked, trying to sound detached, like a real steward should be. She braced herself to hear the name she most feared, because who else could it be? Urzed had made his intentions clear, and the marshal had asked for her presence here.
Breathe now...
“Nobody knows,” Kavilas said, shaking his head. “I don’t recognise him, and I’ve been unable to find anyone who does. It’s likely he was visiting the town, or possibly a new refugee. I’ll arrange for the ferry captain to see the body, in case he recognises it as someone who’s come across in recent days.”
Betharad hardly listened to all of that. She let out her breath as relief and a kind of shivering happiness flooded through her. It was not long before guilt took over; another family had lost a loved one. “I’d like to see him, if I may.” Now she knew the victim was not her brother, she could be more objective. It was part of her duty to see and understand such momentous episodes in the town’s history.
Kavilas showed no surprise at her request, but he replied, “Are you sure? It’s quite gruesome.”
She straightened her back and arched an eyebrow at him until he looked a little embarrassed. “I’m quite sure,” she replied, “I’m not a child.” Although I possibly just sounded like one. “What do you mean, gruesome?”
“Well, if you insist on seeing it, it’s worth being prepared. His throat was cut.”
All the blood in Betharad’s face drained away, but she nodded. She’d only ever seen one dead body before, her grandfather, and he’d been prepared for burial and looked at peace. This was different, and it was likely she would see more in the not too distant future.
Pavena stepped away, allowing Kavilas to crouch down and pull aside the wrappings. His touch was gentle, which surprised Betharad for some reason. At first, it appeared the victim was lying there asleep, but then she took in the slackness of the muscles of his face, and how his skin resembled wax or clay instead of flesh. Then as she bent a little closer, not quite sure what she was looking for, her eyes latched on to the brutal wound across his neck. It was cleaner than she expected; someone had done a good job of washing it, and as far as she could see, no blood was visible on his clothing. The skin on each side of the cut looked a bit like a second mouth, smiling at her.
She crushed the handle of her walking stick between her fingers until she felt a sharp ache in her fingers. Her breakfast threatened to reappear, so she stood up and breathed deeply. Kavilas’ light touch on her elbow steadied her through its warmth and vitality, and the feeling of nausea retreated.
“I’ve sent for Mirul to come and inspect it,” Kavilas told her. “It’s one of the less pleasant duties of the physician. And the body will need to be placed in the infirmary—it’s fortunate it’s now empty of the patients who were injured when the platform exploded.”
“Do you think it was the Enjeb who did this?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence not to be, and we’ve already seen Urzed has no qualms about committing murder. It’s my impression the fellow was left here, to be found sooner rather than later.”
“Another message, then. I wish we knew what they want to tell us.”