Author's note: And you all thought this fic was dead :P
7 – Nor Hell a Fury
It was a bright morning and Keto trilled a soft tune as she strolled through the Bridge's sunny main market square. She smiled at the busy merchants bustling away as they laid out the day's wares on trestle tables and swept the evening dust from the thresholds of their shops, and at the light breeze that carried with it that odd palate of river water, fish and freshly baked bread that so characterised the Bridge District of a morning. Across the river, she could hear the joyous chime of the bells from the temple of Lathander, calling its faithful to morning prayers. Although she found it to be a little strange in a city of so many faiths, Keto had learnt that you could measure the rhythm of activity in Athkatla by the bells of the major temples. The mournful bells from the austere cathedral dedicated to Helm always rang at dawn, signalling the beginning of the day. The Lathanderites and Llirrans did not summon their followers until after the sun had fully risen above the horizon, and the church bells of the Waukeenar chimed with the opening and closing of the Promenade. For most peddlers and shopkeepers, you awoke with the first bells and were ready for business by the second.
Her smile became a little rueful as she leaned against a low stone wall, realising that she must have been in Athkatla for quite some time if she could tell the pulse of the city by when it called its denizens to prayer. In truth, she realised that she had actually been more or less living in the Bridge for almost two months. It was a long time for her to have stayed in one place and part of her wondered if she would still have been living out of her tiny apartment in Sam's inn had it not been for her fateful meeting with Isabel's company. Or would her itching feet have carried her off some place new and far away once again?
She thought she would feel different, now that she part of a mercenary group. A tenday ago, she had been a solitary bard, scraping just enough of a living with her songs and her stories to keep a roof over her head and wine in her glass. It was a lonely life at times, but not a terrible one. Hells, she'd seen enough of the world to know one could do a good deal worse. Still, when she had met Isabel that evening in the tavern, she had felt something. A phantom tug on her heart, drawing her toward Isabel. Keto didn't know if she believed in fate or destiny, but she had known in that moment that they were meant to meet. It was a certainty that she could feel right down to her bones and when she had found herself signing on with their rat tag company, she had been sure that her life was never going to be the same again.
Only the thing was, nothing felt changed. Yes, her bills were now paid from group funds and yes, she now worked alongside other adventurers, but Keto still felt as alone as ever. Was it the fact that her companions were so much more experienced than she that made her feel like such a fraud? Even Isabel, who couldn't have been more than twenty two, maybe twenty three summers, carried herself like a seasoned veteran. Jaheira obviously thought as much of her – what was it she had said? 'Playing at adventurer' that was it. Keto sighed. And perhaps there is some truth to that, too.
Or perhaps it was simply the history they all shared with one another. Yoshimo was less a part of that, but Isabel, Jaheira and Angelo seemed mired in the past – whatever that past might be. Keto did not belong to that story, dying as she was to know it, and maybe that was why she felt like such an outsider. It was like opening a book in the middle.
But whenever her thoughts turned to the possibility of striking out on her own, she remembered that rush of certainty. She just needed to hold onto it a little longer.
One of the merchants waved her over, pulling her from her thoughts. Bel Dalemark was a portly, affable man of middling years. He had once run his business out of the Promenade, but in the last few years had shifted away from the large, overcrowded bazaar to the smaller market in the Bridge. He peddled a little bit of everything, but Keto knew that the most valuable goods he had, he often gave away for free. The man was an unabashed treasure trove of local gossip. The pair got along like a house on fire.
"Hello Bel, you great old sod, how are you?" she greeted him cheerfully.
"Just dandy, love. I haven't seen your face about here in an age! Been hiding away in Sam Thunderburp's cellars, aye?"
"Such a question to ask a lady!" she pretended outrage. "Is this how you greet all your best customers?"
"Ha! When was the last time you bought anything here?"
"It certainly won't be today with that attitude!" she rejoined and Bel grinned and raised his hands in truce.
"Aye, aye. I'll behave myself," he chortled. Keto returned his smile and idly looked over a collection of Calishmite beads he had displayed.
"How has business been lately, anyhow?" she inquired. The old merchant shrugged indifferently.
"Same as ever. Less traffic stemming in now from the other districts with all these rumours running rife of the Skinner, but most of my customers are local anyhow." He broke into a wide grin when he saw her eyes linger on a long dagger. "What do you suppose you'll be needin' that for love? Fending off unwanted suitors?"
Keto snorted at that observation, but still felt a little embarrassed as she eyed the blade, almost like she had been caught out in a deception. It was well-made, sharp with a comfortable leather grip that fit surprisingly well in her hand. "Is that a protection rune carved into the blade?" she asked, peering closer at it.
"Aye, a minor one – just an enchantment to ensure that it keeps its edge, isn't as susceptible to rust and wear and tear. They were popular during the iron crisis, but that one is my last." His eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question love."
She tried to look nonchalant, but she had a sneaking suspicion it didn't quite come off. "Well, I joined a mercenary group this past tenday."
Bel looked as if she had just told him she had plans to join a troupe of dancing bears. "You lass? A mercenary?"
Keto bristled a little. "What of it?"
"It's just a difficult image to conjure. I mean, you're not exactly the type."
"Wow, please, don't spare my feelings by any means."
"Now love, I always knew you were a bit of traveller. You've got the wanderlust in you, and you can spin a tale like no other bard I've met, but darlin'..." Bel touched her arm lightly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Forgive me Keto, but every story I've ever heard from your lips that you were actually a part of has ended with you running away from something."
"Well maybe I'm sick of running, Bel," she snapped at him before looking away. Damn it, even her friends thought she was a joke. She heard him sigh deeply.
"And now I've gone and hurt your feelings. Confound it, I'm sorry love, I meant nothing by it, truly." Keto jerked her head up, but there was nothing but sincerity and concern in Bel's face, and her own expression softened.
"It's alright. I know I'm not the most stalwart adventurer to ever walk the earth."
"Ah, you'll find your feet soon enough," he replied reassuringly. "Now tell me lass, which company has been graced with yon lovely presence?"
"Flatterer," Keto chuckled. "They are a new company actually, well new to Athkatla anyhow. A northerner by the name of Isabel Wren."
Bel frowned. "Not the same Wren girl Aegisfield has running all over the Bridge investigatin' the Skinner murders?
"The very same," Keto replied, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. Not that they had solved the murders by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt good to be working toward something other than her next meal for a change. Bel surprised her however, when he threw his head back and let out a roar of laughter. "What is it?" she asked, blue eyes narrowed on the chortling merchant.
"Blimey Keto, you sure know how to pick them!" he laughed gleefully. "That is, I assume it's true about her?"
"What's true?"
"That she's Isabel of Candlekeep o'course!" Keto felt the blood drain from her face.
"Isabel of Candlekeep... as in the one who –"
"– who slew Anchev not three months past. The hero of Baldur's Gate." His smile faded as he registered the shock on her face. "Unless she's not... I mean, it was only a rumour after all..."
Keto struggled to clear her throat. "I, ah, honestly couldn't tell you Bel."
"Hmm. Oh well, either way, I'm sure they're a good, honest bunch of people to be travelling with. They'll be doing this community a world of good if they rid us of the Skinner, that's for damn sure. Here," he sheathed the blade she had admired and pressed the hilt into her hand. "Take it love."
"Oh, I couldn't – not without payment –"
The merchant shook his head firmly. "Nay, I won't hear a word against it, and I want you to forget what I said before. You've a good heart, girl, and you should follow it, wherever it leads you."
Keto accepted the blade and looked up at the old peddler, groping for the words to thank him for such unexpected kindness. Finally she threw her arms about him in an impulsive hug. She heard his warm chuckle against her ear as patted her back affectionately.
"I don't know what to say," she whispered.
"Say nothing, love. Just promise me you'll make sure this Isabel Wren knows Bel Dalemark's prices are the best in the city, aye?
They bid their farewells shortly after, and Keto idled back in the direction of the inn, her mind mulling over the morning's revelations. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Bel had gotten it right about Isabel's identity. It made sense – the accounts spoke of an auburn-haired young swordswoman, and at least one of her companions had been a half-elven woman. And hadn't Isabel mentioned one of her fallen friends had hailed from Rasheman? She wasn't sure where precisely Angelo fit into the picture, obviously their paths had crossed before but she could not remember hearing his name before their meeting. But she was now almost positive there was no mistaking the others, as she mentally pieced together stray comments and conversations over the past days.
What a fool she had been! She had even been in the Gate not even two tenday after the mysterious Isabel of Candlekeep had killed Sarevok Anchev. How could she have been so blind?
And why had Isabel not mentioned it herself? Keto's brows were knitted together as she cut through a narrow laneway. They're all so damn secretive, she thought with more than a little resentment. It wasn't that she didn't like them – or most of them at least – but they were just the same as each other. Isabel, Jaheira, Angelo, even Yoshimo on occasion – all of them kept their own counsel. She supposed she couldn't exactly begrudge them for not confiding in a relative stranger, but it still smarted to have been left so completely out of the loop.
No wonder they all look at me like I'm a child at this, she thought glumly. I might as well be one to them. They're not just veteran mercenaries; they're gods-damned heroes!
She sighed. Well, they couldn't believe her to be completely useless – after all, something must have compelled Isabel to offer her a job in the first place. Desperation probably, a nastier voice answered.
Lost to her thoughts, Keto didn't even notice anything out of the ordinary until the toe of her boot caught on something lying in the middle of the alley. She made an audible yelp as she fell, landing flat on her face in a heap of blue skirts on the dirty cobblestones. Then she screamed.
Keto had quite literally tripped over the Skinner's latest victim.
xxx
The truly troublesome thing about trying to catch a murderer, Isabel decided, was that more often than not, the murderer in question had a maddening habit of not wanting to get caught. It was not enough to be faster or stronger than your quarry – it was not even enough to be smarter than him. Ultimately there came a point at which all that was left to do was to wait for him to slip, make that one little mistake, give you that one little inch of rope that you could then pull into a noose about his neck.
But you couldn't hang a ghost and a ghost was what she hunted. She sighed, rolling her shoulders in a vain attempt to relieve the tension built up there. The common room was deserted at so early an hour, although she did catch the occasional glimpse of a scullery maid ducking in and out of the kitchens. But for the most part, the inn was still asleep. Lucky them. Isabel had seated herself at the bar in that forest of upturned stools, leaves of parchments containing Inspector Aegisfield's details of his investigation spread haphazardly out before her. She leafed absently through the Inspector's small, neat script though there was no real need to actually read the words. Isabel suspected by now she could recite his notes by heart. He was a meticulous man. Whatever he might have lacked in instinct, she had to give him credit where it was due – every scene, each interview was carefully and scrupulously documented in minute detail. Too bad it was all for naught - it had been a tenday and she was still no closer to knowing the identity of the Skinner, let alone arresting him, than she had when she had asked – no, begged – Aegisfield for the task.
As per usual, inspiration proved to be an elusive creature. Isabel's frown deepened, the same lines she had read over and over again dancing before tired eyes. Mocking her. Aegisfield was a frustrating man, she had discovered. Whilst he had noted the particular and unusual brutality of the murders, he tended to dismiss anything that didn't fit with his theory that the victims were just another unfortunate byproduct of the city's recent guild war. Narrow minded fool, she thought with annoyance. Of course, were it not for his want of insight there would likely not be a case for her to solve – but it was so much more preferable to blame Aegisfield than herself for their lack of progress.
Burying her face in her arms, Isabel suppressed the scream rising in her throat. Why did everything have to be so damned difficult? From the near-massacre at de'Arnise to the Skinner, from Sarevok to Irenicus, from losing Imoen to Angelo to Jaheira – where did it end? Why did it feel she was always in a constant, up-hill slog – and if the incline of that path wasn't demoralizing enough, there was always some unknown laughing Fate above ready to throw a few boulders her way, just to keep things interesting.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the cathedral bells, marking another new day. Almost involuntarily, Isabel cocked her head to one side to listen better. It was a strange, surreal sort of feeling – an echo across time – but the chiming so reminded her of her childhood she wondered if she closed her eyes whether she would find herself back in Candlekeep again. See Bels? Hear that? It's the temple of Oghma, calling us to the morning service. Up, up now! You know how Ulraunt fusses when you're late. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. How she had hated attending the morning service! It was dull and dour and far too early in the morning and of course, the sages had all been mad for it. Even Gorion, usually the one personage in the keep you could count on to go against the grain was in rare agreement with the Keeper on this particular score. Attendance was mandatory, no ifs, buts or maybes. She shuddered to think how many extra hours of punishment duties in the archives she might have suffered were it not for Imoen, each morning, ready to rouse her from sleep either with a friendly nudge or a bucket of ice water.
The chiming ceased and Isabel opened her eyes, smile fled with the memory.
How simpler things had been back then.
A friendly tap on her shoulder drew her from the melancholy that threatened. The smile that blossomed on her lips this time was not one borne of indulging in the bittersweet nostalgia of a memory, but one of warm gratitude as Yoshimo set down a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Deftly, he flipped down one of the stools off of the bar and took his seat beside her.
"I thought you might like the pick-me-up," he explained with a smile of his own. "How long have you been down here?"
Isabel rubbed her eyes before lifting the cup to her lips. The tea smelt so good. "Who knows? A couple of hours maybe?" She took a sip. It was a good blend, a strong Kara-turan flavour sweetened with honey.
Yoshimo tutted, as a parent might to a wilful child. "You have been up since nearly dawn? Isabel."
"No, before dawn. I went for a run before I settled down with this mess. Needed to clear my head." Before the thief could open his mouth she held up a hand. "Do not ask me why I could not sleep, Yoshimo," she said quietly. His mouth thinned slightly and he nodded in understanding. Neither had any trouble guessing as to what nightmares might keep Isabel awake in the small hours of the morning.
"And how does this morning's ministrations fare?" he asked, glancing down at the scattered papers. "Any luck with our fellow?"
"If only. No, our boy is as elusive as ever." She tossed aside the parchment in her hand with disgust. "There's nothing here, Yoshimo. I cannot think of any more leads to follow, no threads to tug. He leaves no witnesses to his crimes. Leaves nothing of himself behind save his handiwork. This case – it's nothing but false leads and dead ends." And dead victims, she thought but did not say aloud.
Yoshimo's features grew grim as his long brown fingers traced the edges of the parchment. "I fear I cannot offer you any consolation on that score."
"Aren't you supposed to be some sort of bounty hunter?" she smiled wanly at him over her cup. "How would you approach a mark like this?"
"Ah Isabel, it is not so simple as that. For one thing, I have never accepted a contract in which I was not given at least the name of my quarry. Knowing your enemy often makes all the difference."
"And for another?"
"And for another," he said slowly, "you must understand, hunting is a game. There are turns – you make yours, you follow your leads, you collate information, you prepare, and then you wait. You wait for him to make his move. You wait for him to slip." He took a quick sip from his own cup, eyes still downturned. "Don't worry overmuch, Isabel. Our fellow is accomplished at avoiding the authorities; that much is clear, but at some point, he will slip. They all slip in the end."
Isabel sighed heavily. "So basically, you are telling me that I am just supposed to wait around until he mutilates another innocent person and then cross my fingers that the next death is more illuminating than the last?"When Yoshimo didn't answer she cursed under her breath. "Gods above, this life is a real bitch sometimes." She turned toward him. "Do you remember when it used to be simple?"
He smiled at her crookedly. "Not really, no."
She returned his smile with a rueful one of her own before nodding over his shoulder as Angelo descended the stairs and spotted them. Here, she thought as he made his way toward them wrapped as usual in an air of casual nonchalance, is living proof of the fact. There was quite simply nothing that was not complicated about Angelo Dosan.
"Good morning," he greeted them politely, ducking his head briefly at Isabel. Whether the action signalled some sort of imparting of respect or merely acknowledgment, she wasn't sure. He glanced down at the bar and then back up at her with a frown.
"Really?" he sighed. "Again?" She threw him a dark look. One which rolled off him like water off a duck's back. "I'll assume from that then, that today has thus far been about as productive as yesterday was."
"I'm missing something, I'm sure of it."
"Well," he shrugged philosophically, "you're not likely to find it in those papers. How many times have you been over them this week? The answer won't lie with Aegisfield's investigation; it will lie within our own."
"And ours has come to dead end, hasn't it? Forgive me, but I don't fancy sitting on my hands waiting for this bastard to kill again."
"Oh. Well then. My apologies. I didn't realise this was an exercise in making yourself feel better."
Isabel resisted the temptation to throw something at his head. Sometimes that smug bastard is a little too perceptive, she thought irritably. And she had a feeling he knew it too.
"Do you have anything of value to add, Angelo? Or have you dispensed with your two cents?" she asked tartly.
"You're the chief."
"Damn right I'm the chief," she muttered under her breath and just managed to catch his grin before he schooled his features to neutrality.
"So what do you propose we do now, Isabel?" Yoshimo asked.
"I don't know. Go over old ground I guess, until something else happens. Perhaps it is as you say and we must simply wait for his move, but we can at least make sure we have covered every inch of our own bases." She looked pointedly at Angelo, daring him to challenge her again. He refused to take the bait.
"My money is still on the necromancy angle," he said with a shrug. "I just can't see it playing any other way. He's too careful, too smart. And arrogant. It takes a special kind of arrogance to leave the bodies out in the open, knowing full well the Watch will find them. And knowing they probably won't care overmuch." He tapped the side of his jaw, whiskey eyes thoughtful. "Yes, our boy is arrogant. That will be his fatal flaw, mark my words."
Isabel considered this carefully. "Wizards aren't the only profession prone to hubris. And we've followed that lead – no one knows anything of a mage operating in the area."
"We all know that doesn't mean there isn't one, though."
"All we know is that he takes pride in his work. His arrogance is borne out of his skill – be those skills magical or mundane."
"Perhaps we could use some fresh eyes." Yoshimo hesitated. "Have you asked Jaheira?"
The room was all of a sudden very still. There was no other topic Isabel would rather have not discussed than that of her prickly druid guardian. Jaheira's sudden departure after their fight had cut her to the quick, and although she had returned days ago, the sting from her leaving in the first place was still all too fresh. Jaheira was supposed to be her rock, her constant. Instead, she had walked away. That she had come back did not lessen the pain any. It was an action that tasted bitterly of betrayal.
"Do not start, Yoshimo." She levelled her near-black gaze at him. Anger simmered and sizzled at a slow burn within that dark look. Angelo had to credit Yoshimo with it – he was a brave man.
"She came back, Isabel."
Angelo coughed delicately. "If you'll both excuse me, I think I'll fetch myself a cup of tea," he said and quickly extricated himself from the brewing situation. Isabel watched him leave and then turned back to the thief at her side.
"See, look what you did. You've made Angelo uncomfortable." They were the first words to come to her head and she cringed inwardly as soon as they left her mouth. Yoshimo raised an eyebrow as if to say "Really? Is that the best argument you can come up with?" She shook her head. "Forget I said that. I don't know why I said that. Look Yoshimo, I really don't see how Jaheira is relevant to the discussion we were having."
Yoshimo rolled his eyes, his vexation with her plain. "You don't, do you? She is more a part of this company than any other, save yourself. She is your oldest surviving friend, save Imoen. No, I cannot possibly see how she is relevant either."
Isabel raked her fingers through her hair with unmasked annoyance. "Oh for the Gods' sake, Yoshimo!"
"She came back, Isabel. She came back. She didn't forsake you. Why can't you two get past this?"
"Ask her. I wasn't the one who walked away."
The thief hissed in frustration. "You are both so alike. Stubborn as mules, the pair of you."
"Oh yes, aren't we just a perfect pair of asses!" She stood up, prowling the room in circles, almost full to bursting with restless, angry energy. "This business between myself and Jaheira – whatever that business is, it is certainly none of yours."
"You are wrong. You are absolutely wrong, Isabel." Yoshimo matched heat with heat. "This... feud... or whatever you wish to call it, it affects us all. Beyond the feelings of friendship I share for you both, this pettiness –"
"Pettiness?"
"Yes, pettiness. To call your behaviour anything but would be an offence against my honour. It is pure pettiness to continue to punish her for leaving."
"Damn it, Yoshimo! Does no one think of the punishment she has visited upon me? All because I stood up and led this group when she refused. Now she chooses to resent me for her decision. And you call me petty!"
"Tell me, how would you characterise the leadership qualities of a woman who refuses even to speak to her second?" Isabel's eyes were hot as Yoshimo continued. "I trust you to lead this company, Isabel. We all trust you. You are our captain in this maelstrom we have found ourselves caught in. That we remain alive and together is to your credit. But this conflict with Jaheira – do not mistake me, Isabel, it will tear us apart. And it will destroy you both." When she still did not speak, Yoshimo stepped forward and laid a hand upon her shoulder. "She lost her husband," he said more quietly now. "She is still grieving. Have a heart, Isabel."
"And I suppose I crawled out of that place intact and whole, did I?" Isabel's voice was soft and fierce in her own ears. "I know something of loss too, Yoshimo."
"What is going on?" Isabel and Yoshimo both spun around. Jaheira stood at the foot of the staircase, a mix of confused, turbulent emotions swirling in her cool grey-green eyes.
"Nothing," Isabel answered with a firm warning look directed at the thief before her. She tried to quell the guilt she felt, like she and Yoshimo had been caught out for some reason. Yoshimo's lips were drawn in a thin, tight line, complementing the frown of disapproval perfectly. But they remained closed. Jaheira's gaze flickered between them both, but whatever she thought of the tense silence she chose to keep it herself.
"Very well." Jaheira approached them slowly, almost unsure of how her movements might be received. When she appropriated a chair it was as far from where Isabel stood as was possible to not be considered rude.
She stared at the woman, her heart going through the motions of a hundred different feelings – anger, resentment, sadness, regret, longing. And a part of her really did want nothing more than to mend fences and bridge that awful, yawning silence that stretched between them. But she couldn't see how to do it. There were too many words said in anger, too many things that once said, could not be unsaid. Too many choices made and now they could do nothing but live with the consequences.
Yoshimo didn't understand. Couldn't. He had not lost the things she had lost. In her short life (Ha! Short! She was not even one and twenty, and she had lived through more than most ever would in an entire lifetime!) He had not watched as his foster-father was murdered. He had not knelt before that tiny, worn angel in the graveyard and made so many offerings for so many friends. He had not seen, before his very eyes, his sister snatched from his hands in a flash of white light and reek of ozone.
He had called her petty. He couldn't understand what it had meant when Keto told her that evening that Jaheira was not coming back.
Over the woman's shoulder, she noticed Angelo reappear in the doorway. She watched as he and Yoshimo shared a loaded look, and her scowl deepened.
"Where is Keto?" she snapped at the group. "She should be here by now."
Yoshimo shrugged. "I have not seen her this morning."
"Why not? Aren't you supposed to be sleeping with her?" she rounded on the thief before she could stop herself. Even as the words left her mouth she knew she had let her temper run too far. His eyes glittered dangerously and she felt her face go hot.
Interruption thankfully came swiftly, as the bard in question swept through the front door.
Keto was obviously in a bad way. She was pale, her skirts were muddy, her coppery locks in complete disarray and her blue eyes were wild and unfocused. Completely ignoring the faces of her fellow companions which ranged from irritated surprise to mild concern, she was behind the bar in six long strides, uncorking a bottle of dark liquid and pouring herself a shot. She downed it in seconds before pouring another. The glass trembled between her white, white fingers.
"A little early isn't it? Even for you," Jaheira remarked coolly, although if one looked hard enough you could see genuine concern lurking behind her eyes.
"Special circumstances," she replied in an uneven voice, not looking up. Yoshimo placed his hands over her shaking ones, steadying the precariously wobbling glass. His voice was gentle, like he was speaking to a cornered animal rather than a mercenary.
"Keto, what happened? What ails you?"
Her eyes stayed fixed on the glass. "The Skinner. He killed someone else."
"The Skinner? How do you know?" Jaheira and Isabel both demanded immediately and in unison.
Keto looked up for the first time, a dark shadow crossed over her pretty face. "Because I met the poor sod in the gutter, that's why!"
Everyone was quiet as Keto related what had passed earlier that morning. When she had finished, some of her colour had returned and her voice was not quite so shaky, but that haunted look in her eyes refused to go away.
"I knew him," she said finally. "I mean, not knew knew him, but I recognised him. He was one of Sam's regulars. Sat in this room at least twice a week. He was a poor tipper." She let out a watery laugh. "He was such a poor tipper. I used to think that every time he came to one of my performances. Anyone that cheap ought to be lying in a ditch somewhere. And now he is."
"It wasn't your fault," Isabel murmured.
"I know it wasn't. But now, whenever I close my eyes and see his face I'll remember that."
"He was here every week?" Angelo had not spoken up until now, his tone thoughtful. Keto nodded. "And he spent money? On drinks? Dinner, that sort of thing?"
"Yes... I mean, he wasn't overly generous, but he could afford to drink here, certainly. Why?" Her voice was puzzled, but Isabel could see the wheels turning behind his whiskey eyes. His gaze flickered to hers briefly and her breath quickened. She knew that look, the one a hound gets in his eye when he catches the scent of a hare. Their hare had slipped.
"Keto," she said, following Angelo's lead, "did he ever bring anyone here? Or have friends or certain company he preferred to drink with?"
"Sam would probably know better than I, but yes, I think he sometimes had a young woman accompanying him. I remember because she once asked me if I was ever part of the acting troupe that sometimes plays downstairs. She had wanted to be an actress when she was a little girl." Keto frowned up at both of them. "I'm not sure I understand... why are you asking me..." her voice tapered off as comprehension dawned on her. "Oh."
"Not quite so careful this time, was he?" Angelo murmured, a wolfish gleam in his eye.
"Okay, this changes the game." Isabel rubbed her hands together. "He's broken his pattern. This wasn't some lonely, forgotten pauper on the streets. This man had connections, had people in his life. And if we're lucky, someone might be able to tell us where he was when the Skinner found him. Would Sam know his name, know if he had any family we could chase down?"
"Sam knows just about everything that happens in this part of town." Keto replied and then thought of Bel Dalemark and she smiled genuinely for the first time since she had stumbled in the alley. "And if he doesn't, I know just the fellow who might."
"Brilliant." Isabel turned to Yoshimo. "I'll need you to speak to Aegisfield. He needs to be updated on the break, but more importantly, you need to ensure he knows to play this dumb. If the Skinner doesn't know yet that he made a mistake, I don't want a guard crowing about it in a tavern to tip him off."
"I agree. Angelo and I will apprise the Inspector of the situation."
Isabel frowned. "You can't have Angelo."
"Why not?" She felt her skin heat at the flat, uncompromising challenge in his eyes.
"Because."
He lifted his eyebrows gracefully whilst she floundered. Her flush deepened and she felt all eyes in the room on her, waiting for her to scramble for any sort of explanation other than the truth no one wanted to say out loud.
"Because it would mean working with me," Jaheira answered icily. All but one, it seemed. Jaheira stared at her pointedly, arms folded. "I thought I might save us all the awkwardness by addressing the proverbial elephant in the room."
Right, because this is less awkward, Isabel found herself thinking rebelliously.
"Is my company that deplorable to you that you cannot stomach the notion of my company?" she pressed.
"Oh that's rich!" Isabel snapped, equal parts embarrassed and furious. "Coming from the person who skipped off for three days without bothering to tell anyone where you were going or even if you intended to come back! Evidently, I am the one whose company cannot be stomached."
Jaheira flinched. "You made it more than clear that you did not need me here." Her voice hardened. "Just as you do now."
"That is the biggest load of bull–" she forced herself to stop, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple. When she opened her eyes, she was glaring at the thief responsible for orchestrating the entire scene. "Angelo stays with me."
"He will be more useful with me than with you. He is the only person in the group, aside from yourself, who has a relationship with Aegisfield," Yoshimo replied mildly, but his face was hard.
"Actually, Yoshimo is probably right," Angelo added. Of course he would make things difficult. "The meeting will go over more smoothly if I talk to him. It will not flatter his ego to speak to one of your lackeys."
"You are my lackey."
He smiled crookedly. "Yes, but he doesn't know that."
"You see Isabel? This arrangement will work out the best for everyone." Yoshimo interjected smoothly. As he turned to leave, she gripped his arm and drew him close enough to whisper in his ear.
"Yoshimo," she warned in an undertone. "You don't want to do this."
"I do not," he replied softly. "But it is high time you summoned the maturity to deal with this matter. Consider this exercise a nudge in the right direction."
Isabel watched the retreating backs of her two men, quietly seething at the minor coup Yoshimo had just won at her expense. She glanced back at Jaheira. Well, she could say this much for the thief – he had at least succeeded in uniting them insofar as judging by her expression, she wanted Yoshimo to suffer a painful and undignified end almost as much as she did.
xxx
His name had been Remy and his wife lived only three streets away from where his corpse had been left for the crows. Isabel stared at the quiet, unassuming house with its characteristic red bricks and tried to paint a picture of the kind of man who used to live there. He had children, a boy and a girl. A family man, maybe?
"His wife is in there?" Keto asked. She stood on her right side, shading her eyes against the sun's glare.
"I suppose so."
"Do you think she even knows she's now a widow?"
"If not, she is about to find out," Jaheira answered grimly. "This is not a task I will relish," she added, almost to herself. One widow to another, Isabel thought bleakly. She steeled herself and knocked.
A woman, who had likely once been considered beautiful though time had not been so kind to her recently, opened the door. She looked each of them up and down and planted her hands firmly upon her hips.
"Are you a whore?" she demanded of Isabel.
Isabel was flabbergasted. "Umm... excuse me?" she stammered, completely taken aback. The woman harrumphed and turned her glare toward Keto.
"What about you, hmm? You're a pretty one, ain't you? Look at those big blue eyes! Bet the fellas love bouncing around on top of you, aye? And you," she pointed now at Jaheira whose mouth was slightly ajar. "You're a mean looking woman, but there are them that pay extra for that aye? The ones looking for a bit of 'discipline'? Oh I bet you're good with a whip, I just bet you are."
"I beg your pardon!" Jaheira spluttered, trying – and failing – to maintain her composure in the face of such an accusation.
"You may beg all you please, you shall not have it," the woman replied. "So these are Remy's whores. Tell me, which one of you is Rose?"
"We are not whores." Isabel said firmly.
"Fine, 'working women' then," the woman rolled her eyes in derision.
"Madam, I assure you –"
"Your husband is dead." Surprised, Isabel glanced back at Keto. Her features were sombre – it was an unusual look for someone Isabel had grown accustomed to see smiling.
"Damn right he is if that lousy, loathsome excuse for a husband dares to show his hide on this street again –"
"Remy is dead," Keto repeated. She looked Remy's embittered wife dead in the eye. The woman paled slightly.
"I don't understand."
"I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings, madam, but Remy's body was found a few streets from here," Isabel supplied quickly. "We believe he was murdered last night by the perpetrator of several recent murders in the Bridge, a man known as the Skinner."
"The Skinner? The Skinner killed my Remy?"
"Yes, I'm sorry madam." Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh, my Lord Helm! I cannot believe this!"
"I am sorry," Isabel repeated again. How hollow those words were.
Then she surprised them all by throwing back her head and roaring with laughter.
"Ha ha ha! If this isn't divine justice, I know not what is!" she cackled. She was all but weeping from mirth, although Isabel couldn't fathom just what was so hilarious.
"I am not sure I follow," she began. Remy's wife continued to chuckle.
"Don't you see?" she insisted gleefully. "That rotten bastard was out last night, gallivanting about with that cheap little slut of his and lo and behold! He gets done in by the Skinner! Ha! Tonight I'm lighting a candle for this saviour, this man who has finally, finally freed me from my wretched excuse for a husband!"
"Ah, if I might ask, do you know the name or where we might find the –" Isabel groped for a word that wouldn't encourage the woman's impressive ire "– working woman your husband was with?"
"Why on earth would you want to talk to that slattern for?" she demanded. "Oh never mind, I don't care. Her name is Rose. Would you believe, he used to spout her name in our bed? And then tried to cover it up by calling me 'his rose.' Bah! Good riddance to him! And good riddance to you!"
And with that she slammed the door in their collective stunned faces.
"Well," Isabel struggled to find the words to describe the encounter. "Well." It was all she could come up with.
"Who knew a person could hold such rage in her heart for one she once loved?" Jaheira wondered aloud.
"I suppose not everyone's marriages are to be envied," Isabel replied.
"'Heaven knows not a rage, nor hell a fury,'" Keto murmured. Her blue eyes were sad. "If you will both excuse me a moment," and she turned back to the house and knocked on the door.
"What do you want?"
Keto's hand dipped into her pocket and pulled something out. The woman snatched the tiny object from her outstretched palm, her face cracking slightly, for the first time yielding an emotion other than sheer, boundless anger and resentment.
When Keto returned, Jaheira asked her what she had given her. Keto smiled sadly.
"It was his wedding ring. After all, she couldn't hate him so much if there wasn't still a part of her that loved him too."
xxx
Angelo found her outside, attempting to beat a sand bag bloody in the courtyard behind the inn's kitchen. Though the evening air was cool, a sure sign of the season, Isabel had stripped off her jacket and wore little more than leggings and a loose shirt, the sleeves pushed up above her elbows as she pummelled away her frustrations. She fought the same way she seemed to approach everything else in her life – swiftly, capably and driven by a sheer bloody-mindedness that some might argue bordered on madness.
A man could admire that brand of spirit, he thought to himself as he watched her right leg lash out in a vicious scissor-cut, snapping the bag clean off its hook. But he damn well better be sure he was wary of it too.
"No need to ask how your day was then I take it?" he remarked dryly. Though she kept her back turned to him, Isabel grinned ruefully as she stared at the bruised and battered bag in front of her.
"Guess not," she replied. Angling her head over her shoulder, she asked, "Are you going to stand there or come over here and give me a hand with it?"
Angelo obliged, stooping down to help lift the heavy weight of it as she worked at reattaching it to the iron clip that suspended the sandbag from a rope looped around a beam.
"Yoshimo send you out here to check on me?" she asked, her brown eyes fixed on the task at hand. Angelo grunted under the weight of the sack.
"I'm not your nursemaid. I just stepped outside for some air."
"Hmm." With a faint click, the clip locked into place and Angelo let the bag go gently, testing its strength. It held. She caught him studying her from behind it, and a familiar frown creased her features.
"I thought today went well?"
"I suppose that depends on what you define as 'well'. We managed to find the last person who was with him – the Skinner jumped our victim in an alley while he was with one of the local prostitutes."
"How did she get away?"
"I'm not sure, she was... less than coherent when we spoke to her. Just kept muttering about solik berries and mumbleberry pie. I'll take another pass at her tomorrow."
"It sounds like a solid lead, though." Angelo said as he watched her. "And yet, you appear less than thrilled."
Isabel rubbed her eyes tiredly. "We spoke to his wife. His wife, not his whore. She was so... bitter. Just bitter and empty, it was awful. How can anyone carry around that much hate for someone?" She shook her head. "I don't know why it's eating at me so. Keto said something earlier... she said 'Heaven knows not a rage –"
"– Nor hell a fury like that of a woman scorned," Angelo finished. "The Mourning Bride. Not a half-bad play, actually." He caught her incredulous stare and she saw amusement glimmering in his own.
"Since when can you quote playwrights?"
"And here you thought I was just a pretty face." Isabel scowled in reply.
"Angelo, you are a constant study in confounding expectations," she informed him, ushering a quiet chuckle from her former adversary. "What does it mean?"
Angelo shrugged philosophically, but something in his face shifted slightly. Distance, she thought. But distance from what? "It means the people we love are the people who can hurt us the most." His expression was shrewd when he finally met her eyes. "Apt."
One word that was loaded with meaning, she thought. And Isabel had an uncomfortable feeling she knew exactly what meaning too. She held that look for a long time, and felt her ire rising in the back of her throat when what she saw in Angelo's face confirmed her suspicions.
"Yoshimo did send you out here to check on me, didn't he?" Angelo opened his mouth in denial, but seemed to think better of it and instead shrugged an apology. Isabel hissed, pushing the sandbag away from her with a force that surprised the mercenary behind it. "You work for me, damn it Angelo! What the hell are you doing taking orders from Yoshimo?"
"He didn't order me, it was a request," Angelo replied mildly. "In my defence, I did tell him you probably wouldn't appreciate it."
"Well thank you very much for arriving at that stunning conclusion." She glared at him. "I don't need a handler."
"He was simply concerned, Isabel," Angelo said. He's not the only one, either, he thought to himself. Although his concerns might be less than altruistic, he could admit.
"After that stunt he pulled this morning, I shouldn't be surprised! Gods!" She was pacing, frustration, anger, grief – she could feel it boiling inside her veins. It was like a bubble in her throat, and all her pent up feelings were just feeding and feeding it and if she didn't let it burst she was afraid it would suffocate her. And like a bubble, all it took was one tiny prick of the needle for it to explode. "Tell him he can shove his concern, I am fine."
Angelo raised his hands in truce. He didn't say it, but Isabel could almost hear the words he kept locked behind his lips. And that somehow pissed her off even more. Whether it had been Sarevok or some other before him who had trained Angelo to keep what she now knew to be a sharp tongue locked behind his teeth, it drove her insane to know she was being silently weighed and measured.
"If you have something to say, say it." The challenge was out of her mouth before she even realised it.
"He wasn't wrong." Angelo's head had snapped up. "Yoshimo wasn't wrong to force your hand this morning. And you are not fine. None of this is fine."
Isabel folded her arms over her chest to keep them from shaking. "Excuse me?"
"You were refusing to deal with Jaheira. It's a problem, for you, for her, for everyone in this party and you wouldn't deal with it. Instead, you are both hell bent on digging your heels in and frankly, it makes for shoddy leadership."
"You know what? I take it back. Go back to not talking."
"Don't you see, this is exactly your problem. Stop behaving like a –"
"A what? Go ahead; Yoshimo has already called me an ass once today."
"I wasn't going to say 'ass.' I was going to say stop behaving like a child," he retorted.
"A child?" Isabel repeated, raising her eyebrows at his audacity.
"Yes, a child!" he snapped. "Grow up, Isabel. Swallow your pride and your stubbornness and do what needs to be done. You're either a leader or you're not."
Isabel stood quietly for a long moment. Angelo wondered if he had stepped too far – oh Hells, what was he thinking, he knew he had. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He berated himself inwardly. What the hell happened to keeping your head down and mouth shut, Dosan? What the hell ever happened to that? The arms that she had wrapped around herself were probably the only two things in the world that were standing between him and a short, brutal death. Well, he was in it now.
"You do realise, I could probably resolve this entire thing right now if I went upstairs right now, knocked on her door and told her I had changed my mind about you." Her voice was dangerously low. "You stand there and lecture me about not dealing with the problem, but you forget that you are the problem here."
"No," Angelo replied, his throat was bone dry. "No, I'm not. I might have believed that before, but not now. My presence here might be a fault line, but I am not the cause of your fighting. This goes deeper than me. And if you were of that mind, if you believed for even a second it was that simple to fix things with her, I would have been dead long before now." He snorted. "I'm hardly worth it."
"The hypocrisy of this conversation is almost unimaginable," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "What the hell are you doing here, Angelo?"
"I... What?" The question caught him completely by surprise.
"I do not understand you. You wish to play counsellor, compel me to make peace with a woman who would see you dead. Why?"
"I have no desire to play counsellor, Isabel. This situation benefits no one, least of all me. As you so blithely pointed out, Jaheira of Tethyr is hardly my biggest fan. If you cannot control her, what is to stop her from slitting my throat in my sleep?"
"Just looking out for number one, are you? No," she answered her own question softly. "No, I don't quite believe that either. Why are you here? Why of all the mercenary companies in Athkatla did you seek mine out? Why?"
He did not answer. She snorted softly, as if this surprised her not one bit. "You were right before. I won't send you away. We both know I need you too much to do something so... childish. But do not, do not for one second mistake that for having my trust."
She turned on heel and walked back toward the warm, yellow light of the inn. Angelo watched her leave, a familiar sickness curled in the pit of his stomach. He would have to find answers for her questions soon. As the door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the gathering darkness, he slumped down onto the low stone bench and let his head fall into his hands. Very soon.
xxx
Rose Bouquet sat before the cracked mirror and brushed her cheekbones with a soft, pastel pink blush. She pretended she didn't notice the slight trembling of her fingers, or the red rims that framed her big brown eyes. She pretended, desperately, that the past two days had never happened.
She jumped at the soft knock on her door and tried to quell the rapid hammering of heart against her ribcage when she realised it was simply one of the Madame's girls, informing her that her next customer would be arriving in a few minutes. Business, she told her reflection firmly. She needed to focus. She couldn't think about the previous night, about Remy, about dark men in dark alleys with dark purposes.
But heaven help her, how could she think of anything but? She closed her eyes. She was right there in that alley again. Remy had often told her he loved her, whispered promises of a life far away from the Madame and the brothel. He had vowed to marry her, time and time again. They had been sweet lies, she thought, even though she had known better than to believe them. A man did not drop down on one knee for the woman he asked to get down on hers in some dirty, forgotten backstreet.
She remembered kneeling before him, soft moans turned to muffled screams when a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. She could see the whites of his eyes wide with terror when that hand dragged him backwards. A curse uttered, when its owner realised she was there, staring helplessly up at them from the cobblestoned ground. That strange, sweet, sickly scent of berries.
She remembered running for her life.
Rose wiped her eyes, trying not to smear her heavily made-up porcelain face. Berries, she found herself thinking. Such an odd thing to remember. Like the mumbleberry pie her mother had once baked for her sisters when she was a little girl.
No, she thought absently, rising to answer the second knock at her door. Not quite like the pie of her childhood. Similar, but not the same. Actually, thinking about it now, it reminded her a little bit like the scent she would occasionally catch from the local tannery. Maybe she would mention it to the Wren woman who had questioned her earlier that afternoon.
"Hello there, handsome," she purred, opening the door for her client. She slipped into her business persona with an ease that surprised her. Habit, she supposed. The man bobbed his head in acknowledgement and closed the door behind him. It was a polite gesture, probably borne out of shyness, Rose thought. He was still wearing his cloak and his hood was up, obscuring his face. Rose allowed herself a relieved sigh. This evening would be simple at least. First-timers were often the easiest marks.
"Why don't we take that big cloak off you, honey?" she cooed, moving toward him, lips curving into a sly little smile. "Must be awful warm in there. Let Rosie get a look at you, tall, dark and handsome."
"Hmm." His carefully manicured fingertips glided over her face, tracing the contours of her cheek, unexpectedly warm when they lingered at the base of her throat. Suddenly they were fisted in her hair. "I don't think so. You have already seen far too much, little girl." He shoved her violently onto the bed. It was punctuated by a sickening crack as her head hit the corner of the bed post.
Rose was dizzy, dazed. Blood trickled down from the cut on her head. She opened her mouth to cry for help, but no sound came out. Panicky, she tried again. And again. The dark man chuckled, a deep, throaty, dreadful sound. He perched on the edge of the bed, stoking her face in a parody of tenderness.
"It is nothing but a simple silencing spell, Rose." He had a soft, slightly accented voice. It might have been considered lovely had it not been filled with such a quiet menace. "It is unfortunate it turned out this way. You were never chosen. Had you not been in that alley..." He cupped the side of her terrified face and watched intently as the light in those wide, brown eyes winked out. Folding his hands in his lap, the man surveyed the young girl staring lifelessly back at him with something akin to regret. "Such a waste," he murmured with a tiny shake of his head. "Such a waste."
Extra points if someone can name the oft misquoted writer Keto an Angelo both reference in the chapter.
