She really shouldn't do this to herself, Zana mused, as she silently jumped off the wall that Vilam had drawn around his premises. Her belly was much better thanks to Dr. Aldo's teas and poultices, but she was still in recovery, and shouldn't climb over other people's fences at night.
She crouched behind a shrub for a moment, to make sure the guard hadn't noticed her.
She was pretty sure that nobody had seen her unauthorized entry - she had sat in a tree for the better part of the evening, until she was sure she knew the guards' routine. But it was better to be safe than sorry, although her definition of 'safe' had changed a bit since her days in the institute. Back then, workplace safety meant wearing gloves when handling toddlers that went through their defiant phase; today, safety meant not being killed by fellow apes.
Especially not while she was sneaking into their kennel section.
Zana wasn't sure what exactly she was looking for, or if the human kennels were the right place to search, but Vilam's mansion was simply out of reach - up in a tree, heavily guarded, and with only one access point at the base of that tree. She just hoped that Vilam kept his incriminating evidence somewhere in the kennels - maybe in a feed room.
It was a faint hope. But she had to try, at least. Her friend had been killed, and now Peet had been attacked, and all she had been doing was digging through old notes... scavenging the results of Felga's investigation, real investigative work. Zana was sure that Felga had trespassed on more than one kennel owner's premises, to expose their abusive treatment of humans. It was only right that she stopped hiding behind scrolls and went out to find some real evidence. Physical clues, not gossip, something that would convince Rogan to arrest Vilam.
That time in the tree had given her a good overview of the kennels' layout, and with darkness rushing up from the valleys, she had to rely on her memory now. In the indigo light, the kennels were fuzzy shadows, long, low buildings that reminded Zana of the shelter's work houses; but inside, there wouldn't be workrooms and community rooms. Just long corridors with doors on either side, leading to small sleeping chambers with a single, barred window.
Cells, not bedrooms. Cages, like in the... like in the institute. Zana paused for a moment at the gate to the first house, struck by that last thought. It wasn't a comparison she had wanted to make.
Getting into the kennel was a matter of moments - Vilam apparently put all his confidence into his guards, because the lock was a simple mechanism that was easy to pick. With a last quick look over her shoulder, Zana slipped inside and silently closed the door behind her.
The corridor was pitch black; as Zana had predicted, a row of closed doors on either side led to nothing more than - hopefully sleeping - humans. She tiptoed to the end of the corridor to peek through the feeding flap in the door at its end, but the chamber behind the door contained yet another human, curled up on its cot.
She sneaked out of the silent building again, into the cool night air that already carried the scent of winter rains. Getting away from the inn had been disappointingly easy - neither Galen nor Peet had been there to stop or question her, and she had sent Alan to his room, claiming she wasn't feeling well and wanted to go to bed early. If all went as planned, Galen wouldn't even be home yet when she returned...
She couldn't brood about the state of their relationship right now. Zana forced her attention back to the next building in her path.
It was smaller than the kennel house she had just left, a plump, boxy building with a flat top that looked strangely out of place. Zana picked the lock and slipped inside, praying that she had found the infirmary, or the feed room, or...
It had both, and a storage room, and a tack room, and an office - it seemed that Vilam had crammed everything that wasn't a racer's cage into this building. Zana allowed herself a moment of cautious celebration - if she would find anything that proved Vilam's involvement in Felga's murder, it would be here. If she didn't find anything...
... if I find nothing, I'll admit defeat. I'm not going to climb into Vilam's tree.
She almost believed herself.
She lit her little lantern and cupped it with one hand, trying to keep its glow from seeping outside. The windows didn't have shutters, and if one of Vilam's guards wandered by, she'd be doomed. Still, she needed to use a lamp - it was a moonless night, and the room was nothing but a collection of velvety shadows.
The feed room revealed nothing, except for boxes with oats, dried beans, turnips, and various supplements. Zana half expected to find Horny Goat weed among the supplements, but the labels just said 'mineral mix', or 'chest relief' - the mixture smelled strongly of mint, and Zana preferred to believe that its contents were as benign as the label promised.
The tack room was equally devoid of murder weapons, although it did satisfy Zana's curiosity about racing equipment - until now, it had seemed to her that a human didn't need more than two strong legs for racing. But now, she marveled at trunks and lockers with racing silks - shorts and jackets -, leather contraptions that she identified after some experimentation as knee braces, cloth pieces with sewn-in lead weights to tie around the racer's ankles or around its waist, and rolls and rolls of bandages, all in the kennel's silver gray.
That last discovery was disappointing. With Vilam attacking the other kennels' racers, he would've had easy access to their racing bandages - he could have stashed away an assortment of every color, and Zana had nursed the faint hope that Levar's blue bandages would be lying around here somewhere.
Of course, that would mean that he had taken one each time he smashed a human's kneecaps, and Zana couldn't think of a good reason for that; Vilam didn't strike her as the type who took trophies. Unlike... Urko, for example...
Or Vilam had planned to kill Felga for some time, and to frame his biggest rival Levar for it, and had stolen a single blue bandage from his kennel when he had attacked one of his racers. Zana frowned at the stack of gray bandage rolls; Levar had mentioned that he had hired security for his racers after the first attacks. It would've been extremely difficult for Vilam to get his hands on one of their bandages then. He could only have stolen a bandage before Levar had introduced his guards.
Would Vilam have planned that far in advance?
With a shrug, Zana closed the doors of the cabinet. She didn't know Vilam well enough to answer that question. It was perfectly possible that he had been planning this crime for years - some people had an obsessive personality.
But if he had stolen just one blue bandage for that purpose, its only trace would be the single blue thread that was tucked away somewhere in the watch house now, as evidence against Levar.
Zana suppressed a frustrated groan, and hurried into the last room, where a reedy desk and several equally shabby cabinets formed some sort of office. Vilam probably just used it to write up his feeding plans, or to track which of his humans was needing braces right now.
She still searched the desk, if only to prove to herself that she hadn't left anything out. As she had predicted, the top drawers contained crumpled scrolls with training plans, receipts and old invoices for food deliveries, and some hastily scribbled notes about breeding matches.
Zana threw the scrolls back and closed the drawer. The bottom drawer was bigger, and felt heavy when she pulled it out; Vilam, like many males of a certain age, was probably stashing a bottle or two of what Peet had called 'moonshine' there...
The glass bottles clinked faintly against each other as she pulled out the drawer completely. Their form was unusual - not the familiar pear-shaped liquor bottle, but long and slim, and cylindrical. Zana picked one up and held it against her lamp to read the label.
Fourteen etka for a male human of twelve stones - do not give to cubs - keep away from light and heat - DO NOT GIVE TO APES
Zana stared at the small, sharp script, refusing to believe that it meant what she thought it meant.
Then she uncorked the bottle and took a cautious sniff.
She recoiled with disgust. Dead ape in rock oil, Peet had called it. A billy goat's musk, mixed with turpentine, Galen had described it. Zana couldn't imagine how anyone, human or ape, would swallow this vile liquid voluntarily, and she didn't want to imagine what it did to the body if it was directly injected into a muscle or blood vessel. How could anyone inflict this on an innocent creature?
But now she had something on the bastard; something physical, like Rogan had demanded. She'd show him the bottles, kick his condescending butt up Vilam's tree to search the mansion from root to crown...
But first, she'd make sure that Vilam couldn't wiggle his way out of this mess she'd push him into. Carefully, Zana tilted the bottle and poured a small amount of Blaze into the compartment behind the drawer. Then she recorked the bottle and put it, and the other bottle, into her bag.
She closed the drawer, cutting off the stench from the spilled liquid, and rose.
"I hope for you that there's a dashing young ape lying under that desk who's too wrung out to stand up - otherwise I'd have to shoot you for burglary."
Later, Zana would reflect on her missing startle reaction - how countless days and nights of being on the run from Urko had trained her to react first, tear up later. Right now, she stared into the pinched, scraggy face of Padraman Vilam, and heard herself say, "That would be the most idiotic thing you could do, but it wouldn't surprise me."
Vilam slowly came closer; Zana noticed that contrary to his bold announcement, he didn't have a gun with him.
"Really," he said. "Looks to me as if the only idiot is the one who breaks into a secured area at night, and doesn't shield their lamp, so that the light wanders through the dark rooms like a drunk lightning bug and alerts the owner."
Zana didn't bat an eye at that; she had known that using a lamp posed a risk, but it had been unavoidable, and she had counted on her sharp ears. Unfortunately, the discovery of the drug had distracted her from listening for steps outside the window.
"No," she said evenly. "The real idiot is someone who thinks he can get away with crippling and killing other people's humans. Well, maybe the other kennel owners really are cowards, or maybe they have enough humans that they can afford to lose some of their racers, but really, Vilam, you shouldn't have attacked my human, because unlike those other owners, I do care for him."
She walked around the desk, and only stopped when she was only a hand's breadth away from the old ape's face. "Did you really think I'd look the other way when you try to cut my human's foot off?"
Vilam took a step back. "What in Cesar's name are you talking about, woman? I didn't attack your human!"
Zana closed up to him again, deliberately getting in his face. "Don't you deny it! Everyone knows what you're doing to the other racers, owners have security prowling the tracks day and night because of you..."
"I have hired security myself!" Vilam protested. "So that this bastard, whoever it is, won't attack my humans-"
"In retaliation!" Zana snapped. "You're afraid that your despicable actions will come back to you one night! Well, here I am! Consider me the axe of the Mothers!" She pulled out one of the bottles with Blaze. "Possession of illegal substances! And I'm sure the owners of the dead humans all still have their pathology reports! And don't think you can escape justice a second time by killing me like you killed poor Felga! My husband knows where I am-"
"I didn't kill anybody!" Vilam shouted. "Great Cesar, will you listen to yourself, woman? You're raving!"
"Oh, really," Zana said coldly. "And those bottles are figments of my imagination, right? Felga was on to you, I read her notes, and I gave them all to the police! They are on to you, too, Vilam. Constable Rogan is already prowling the kennels at the stadium, collecting evidence. You should start thinking about your future, and how to salvage what's left of it. Or does your loyalty to Olman go so far that you're willing to hang for him?"
Vilam stared at her, his mouth slack with shock. "Olman?"
Zana waggled the bottle at him. "Who else has the resources, and the impunity, to produce this vile stuff under the eyes of the prefect? But even he won't be able to protect Olman - or you - once the police has turned your estate upside-down."
She came nose to nose with him. "And they will turn up here, if I'm not back at my room in the next atseht. So better make up your mind quickly. It would be wise to turn yourself in and negotiate a lighter sentence. Your career in the racing business might end, but at least your life wouldn't."
"I didn't kill Felga," Vilam said stubbornly, "and those bottles won't prove that I did it, either, which is all well and good, because I didn't kill her!"
"They prove that you're in possession of the drug that killed the other kennels' racers," Zana said, exasperated. "Which means that you had somehow gotten access to every kennel down at the tracks, which means you had access to their racers' bandages, which means you had access to the murder weapon!"
"So?" Vilam spread his arms. "Have you found that murder weapon here?"
"I've found one murder weapon here," Zana said grimly, and held up the bottle.
"That's not murder," Vilam sneered. "That's just property damage."
For a tiny moment, Zana contemplated smashing the bottle on his head. Vilam must've seen it in her face, because he took a cautious step back.
"Look," he said. "I understand that you're upset about your racer. I would be, too, in your place. But I didn't stretch that wire. Blazes, I put a bet on your human! He's massively overlaid, do you have any idea how much money I'd get if he wins?"
"I thought owners aren't allowed to bet?" Zana said, confused.
Vilam impatiently flapped his hand. "Well, you have people who bet for you, they get a percentage of the win, it's all good."
That explained why Vilam had such a keen interest in fixing races, Zana thought, but this wasn't her main concern now.
"Felga was investigating your shenanigans at the racetrack," she said. "The race fixing, the... property damage, the use of Blaze - judging by her notes, she was about to let it all go up in flames, and knowing her, I bet she planned to time her revelation with that big race that everyone is so excited about. It would've busted you, and Olman, and I'm absolutely sure that Olman isn't the kind of ape who'd take something like this lying down - but of course he wouldn't get his own hands dirty. You can deny it all you want, but the clues all point to you."
"Except I didn't do it, and you can't prove anything!" Vilam folded his arms across his chest, but he didn't look so smug anymore.
Zana smiled. "Have you ever heard of circumstantial evidence?" She doubted that he had; she had only learned it from Galen that afternoon herself. "Levar didn't do it, either, and still he's behind bars, and his gallows are being built on the market square. Are you really so sure that it won't be you who'll be hanging there? You had motive and," she held up the bottle, "opportunity to get the means."
Vilam stared darkly at her, nibbling at the inside of his lip. "I have an alibi..."
One that Galen would hopefully be able to destroy. "I'm giving you the chance to come clean," Zana drove home her last stake. "Go to Constable Rogan, confess to your crimes, and negotiate a deal in exchange for what you know about this whole Mothers-cursed drug business. The constable is an honorable man, Vilam; he may despise you for what you've done, but he'll keep his word."
She carefully put the bottle with Blaze back into her bag. "Think about it," she continued. "Do you really want to take the punishment for another man's crimes, while he goes unpunished? Is he really worth that much loyalty?" She looked up and locked eyes with the Chimp. "Would you protect Olman's dirty business with your life, Vilam?"
He still didn't answer, but he stepped aside when she moved towards the door. Zana had half expected him to attack her, keep her from going back to Sapan, to the police.
But he'd have no way of hiding that crime, as she had taken care to let him know.
"I'll wait one day," she said as she passed him. "If you haven't made up your mind until then, I'll send the town watch to your house."
"You're so sure. You think you've sussed it all out, don't you?"
She turned around in the door a last time. Vilam hadn't moved; he was staring at the wall behind his desk. "What do you mean?"
And now Vilam did turn around, and squinted at her with a strange little smile. "Felga told you that us kennel owners are the bad apes, and now you're on our tail like her good little monkey. Don't you wonder how the killer could get her by surprise? She didn't expect that attack, because it came from someone she thought wasn't a bad ape."
Zana blinked. "So you admit that it wasn't Levar?"
Vilam just huffed, and turned away again.
Zana searched for something she could leave him with - something that would sway this depraved individual's mind towards doing the right thing for once.
"Despair drives us to do reckless things," she said at last. "Things we regret, things we... cannot make right again. But as long as one lives, there's always the chance to at least accept responsibility for our mistakes, and to make things as right as possible. When you're dead, that opportunity will be gone. Then it will be the Mothers who judge you, Vilam. Make sure you have something that speaks for you, when that time comes."
She stepped into the darkness, the bottles softly clinking in her bag.
"It's really kind of you to give me access to Felga's notes, sir," Zana said nervously, as she followed Ugar down the corridor to the archive of the Sapan Sentinel. She had half expected to be turned away - as a private citizen, she was dependent on the goodwill of Felga's former boss.
To her relief, Ugar - a big, soft-spoken Gorilla whose fur had already turned silver - had been delighted by her request. "There's a fire in you, I can see it in your eyes," he had said. "Felga had that same fire in her, poor girl."
"This contains all of her notes," he said now, and waved at a shelf that ran the whole length of the wall, crammed with boxes that were overflowing with bent and crumpled scrolls. Zana remembered Felga's sprawling, messy handwriting, and cursed herself for not taking some nut bread and dried fruit with her. She'd probably sit here all day, and the next day, and maybe even the day after that...
"Are these sorted somehow?" she asked hopefully.
Ugar shook his head with an apologetic grin. "Felga always said that she had to be able to find her stuff again, not we." He threw another glance at the shelf, then at her. "But I have faith in you," he added, and patted her shoulder. "You have that tenacious streak an investigative journalist needs."
And with that, he left her to her own devices.
For a moment, Zana just stood there in the dim light, inhaling the comforting scent of dusty scrolls, and seriously debated going back to the inn. There was just no way of knowing where to start, and there were so many scrolls! They probably went back to Felga's first day at work.
Well, staring at them wouldn't help her finding what she needed. It wasn't as if the right scrolls were going to jump off the shelf by themselves. Zana grabbed the box that was nearest to the door - someone like Felga wouldn't have the patience for sorting her notes by theme, so she'd have gone for the simplest solution: stuff the scroll into the box that was at arm's reach, and shove it back with an empty box as soon as no more scrolls fit into it.
She set to work.
It was tedious work, not just because of Felga's handwriting, but also because the windows were tiny, and she hadn't been allowed to bring a light into a room stuffed with flammable material. That would limit her time to the hours when the sun would still be up. Even so, she had a hard time deciphering Felga's notes in the gray half-light that filtered through the grimy window panes. Apparently, when you were investigating corrupt prefects and abusive kennel owners, mundane things like cleaning the windows were at the bottom of the list of things that urgently needed to be addressed.
She still didn't know what she was actually looking for; but Vilam's last shot had stayed with her through the rest of the night, and the niggling thought that she might have overlooked something significant had bloomed into a fixed idea that had driven her out of bed again before sunrise. She had slept hardly at all, and in this silent, warm, dark room, it was hard not to fall asleep on Felga's scrolls. For a moment, Zana entertained the fantasy of rolling up in one of the crates and disappearing for a few centuries of sleep.
At least her intuition about the timeline had be correct - as with the scrolls Morla had brought her, Felga's scrolls here weren't dated, either, but bits and pieces in the notes themselves gave Zana a rough estimate of the seasons, and the box closest to the door contained the most current scrolls. Zana allowed herself a tiny breath of relief; at least she wouldn't have to dig through all the boxes until she reached the far end of the wall.
She started by sorting the scrolls by the targeted person, as she had done before. The oldest ones, dating back to the beginning of the year, all referred to Olman and his successful attempt to dodge his obligations to plant new trees for the ones they cut down. Zana shook her head; the towns and villages in the valleys were threatened by floods and landslides each winter, and a healthy forest was the best protection against both. That was a fact that should be immediately obvious to the most simple-minded ape, but apparently, Tall Timber's stance was that this was a problem that the community should take care of.
The prefect had raised the taxes recently, to pay another company for something that Olman was actually obliged to do by law; Felga had been trying to prove that this company was somehow connected to Tall Timber, and that Olman had been bribing the prefect, but the notes suddenly broke off.
Zana checked the scrolls again, but there was no time gap; Felga had simply dropped that investigation, because she had gotten wind of another scandal. The rest of the notes were all concerned with the goings-on at the racetrack.
She frowned at that; Felga had gotten some strong leads, and Zana was sure that in the end, she would've been able to expose Olman's shady deal with the prefect. Maybe the abuse of humans was simply closer to her heart. But still, it was unsatisfying.
According to Felga's later notes, the racetrack and its expansion were Olman's pet projects, something he had been investing an inordinate amount of money in over the past twenty years. During all that time, he had been president of the racing commission, as well as the biggest sponsor of every major racing event. He didn't have any racers of his own in those races, as that was forbidden by the racing statutes, and he also wasn't allowed to bet on any of the racers, to prevent fraud.
Not that this was a serious hindrance, as Zana had learned the previous night.
Felga, too, had been convinced that Olman was making money from this purported hobby of his, more money than what he was putting into it, and had set out to prove that theory. Zana dug through heaps of notes listing services and companies that were involved in those events, from ticket sellers, clerks, street vendors - if Melvin had given Galen his recipe for that special sauce, Zana thought, they could've earned money without having to stress out Peet so - and the charity's humans that were hired out for catering, to the photographers who took pictures of the winners and sold them as souvenirs, all the other souvenir shops, which sold everything from miniature trophy cups to miniature dolls of racing humas, and even the veterinarians who had to check on the humans' condition prior to a race, and declare them fit to run.
Each of them had been scrutinized by Felga - when they had been hired, how much Olman had paid them, and in which racing events they had been involved. Rows and rows of numbers - this was all just accounting, Zana realized with a groan. In her former life as a scientist, she'd had to deal with numbers as well, more than she had ever imagined as a student, and it had been the single aspect of her work she had positively loathed - statistics could never transport the fascination and immediacy of live observation, and still it had seemed to be the only thing her superiors had been interested in. She hadn't regretted losing that part of her life, and now it seemed as if she'd have to dig down into numbers once again.
She put that stack of scrolls aside for the time being; maybe Ugar would allow her to take them back to the inn and pour over them at her table, in decent light. Maybe Galen could help her make sense of the numbers; granted, he wasn't an accountant, either, but as a former student of law, he should have a natural inclination for dry assignments. She reached for the next scroll.
"Oh, this is interesting," she murmured as she skimmed it. Vilam's name jumped out at her at once. Felga hadn't named her source even in her own, private notes, just mentioned that she deemed it trustworthy, and the information genuine. According to that mystery informant, Vilam had been doing so badly financially that he had taken a loan from Olman; not long afterwards, racers had confessed to that source that their owners or trainers had told them to hold back during certain races, to let other racers win. The winners changed; it was never the same kennel, but the races were fixed nonetheless.
Zana thought of Felga's notes about owners who didn't play along finding that their humans had mysteriously broken a leg during their sleep. Other racers simply didn't wake up again.
Property damage. That bastard.
Felga hadn't been able to get any of the owners or the racers to talk to her in person - which wasn't surprising, considering her long-held hostility against them - and her informant hadn't been able to get anyone to accuse Vilam by name, but the coincidence was striking, Zana had to agree.
Couldn't find Levar when I went over to his house, so searched the kennels for him, the next scroll read. Zana held it up towards the grimy window to get better light; the script was even wilder than usual. Felga had been excited when she wrote it.
Didn't find him there, either, but found something else, the text continued. Humans were out, maybe for training, went to his tack room, opened some drawers while I was there, wanted to see what he kept in his medicine cabinet for his humans FOUND THREE BOTTLES OF BLAZE THAT BASTARD IS DRUGGING HIS HUMANS HOWLING CESAR IN A TREE!
So it was true.
Zana let the scroll sink and stared dead ahead. Her heart was beating hard against her breastbone.
It was true. Levar had abused his humans, and Felga...
Zana forced herself to read on.
Shoved the stuff in his face, he: didn't use it on humans OF COURSE NOT said it belongs to Vilam now that I believe in a heartbeat said he took it so that he has evidence wanted to alert the racing commission but couldn't explain why he hasn't already
but will look into the Vilam claim need to find out who HE got it from this is BIG
Zana sat back with a frown. She couldn't imagine that Levar had broken into Vilam's kennels, like she had done - he had probably found the drug at the racetracks. But why hadn't he taken them to the police? Had he offered Vilam the same deal she had? Only to have his lover murdered, and himself be framed for it?
Maybe she shouldn't wait; maybe she should go to Rogan right away.
But there were only two more scrolls in that box, so she decided to finish her investigation first. This was probably her only chance to read them.
Neither of the scrolls referenced Levar again, although they were from a later date. Instead, they went into some detail on methods of betting frauds; it looked as if Felga had copied a text from somewhere else. Curiously, she hadn't mentioned her source in those notes.
Zana checked the next box, but the scrolls in there were all older than the oldest scroll in the box she had just emptied - Felga mentioned a session of the town council dealing with yet another landslide that had wiped out a village, right before the winter solstice.
She was done; there were less scrolls connected to this case than she had expected. Trying not to feel discouraged, Zana patted the dust from her robe and went to see Ugar in his office.
"Found something interesting?" Ugar didn't look up from his typewriter, but his voice was friendly.
"Several somethings," Zana replied. "Do you know if Felga had some more scrolls somewhere else - in her desk, maybe? More recent than this one." She held up the scroll with the copy of the betting fraud explanation, trying not to stare at the typewriter. She had applied dozens of times for one, back at the institute, but the Orangutans had shot down every request. Texts were to be copied by hand, efficiency be damned.
"Damn tiny keys," Ugar growled, and reached for a little flask. "Made for tiny Chimpanzee hands. You couldn't have invented something a little more inclusive?" He gingerly dabbed some fluid from the flask on the paper.
"I'm sure they can be adjusted for Gorilla size, if sufficient demand exists," Zana said absently. "Uhm... Felga's scrolls?"
Ugar finally looked up. "Ah... no. We already took all of her stuff to the archive. If it's not in there, it's not anywhere." He squinted at the scroll. "And that one is pretty recent. If she had started another scroll, she maybe had it with her that night."
In which case, her murderer had destroyed it, Zana silently completed the sentence. Whatever Felga had found out about Vilam after her fight with Levar, she had taken it to her grave - as well as anything that could've proven Levar's claim that he had no part in the whole doping scandal.
But there had also been no indication that she had pressed charges against Levar.
I'd really like to see that complaint. I've seen so much of Felga's handwriting by now, I'm sure I could spot any discrepancies.
"Do you know if she planned to meet with someone that night?"Ugar had been Felga's boss, supporting her in her investigative rabble-rousing. Maybe she had told him what she had been up to.
Ugar frowned at the machine before him, and cautiously turned a wheel. "I think she wanted to meet with Halda after work,"he said absently. "She didn't tell me about what, but she seemed a bit..."He shrugged. "But Felga was always mad about something or other. It's what made her such a great reporter. If there was some dirt to dig up, she'd find it."
Well, that confirmed what Halda had told her, except that Felga had never made it to the shelter.
Zana frowned. "Do you think she would've told Halda about her investigations? She didn't even tell her mother..."
Mothers, what if she had wanted to rant to her about me and Peet? After all, Felga had proudly presented her to Halda like a new acquisition, on that first day they had met, too...
"Ah, those two were-"Ugar held up one hand, fingers crossed. "I never understood why, honestly, especially since Halda was doing all the heavy lifting at the shelter, while Felga got to crash the elegant receptions and harass the ladies for donations."He chuckled. "But maybe it worked out for both of them that way - Halda hates the limelight, and Felga loved it."
Zana carefully rolled up the scroll. "I found some scrolls that list a lot of numbers, and it's too dark in the archive to do any calculations," she said. "Is it possible that I borrow them for a day, if I show you which ones I mean? I'll bring them back by tomorrow morning."
Ugar grimaced. "Actually, that's... you know, if that kind of documentation gets lost, or gets into the wrong hands... and I'd be responsible. Not that I don't trust you," he added quickly, "but..."
"I understand," Zana assured him. "It was just an idea... it's really very dark in there, and of course you can't bring a light, with all that paper... Well, I'll better go back in there, as long as there is still a little daylight left..."
"Ah, take them," Ugar growled. "It's not as if anyone would pick up the torch after Felga's gone. She was a bit obsessed with Olman, you know? Made him responsible for her poor father's early death. She was nothing if not tenacious, but she couldn't let go of a grudge, either. Well, I guess if you got one thing, you got the other, too, right? Everything comes at a price."
"Thank you so much, sir," Zana beamed. "You won't regret it, you'll have them all back by tomorrow morning!"
Ugar just waved her away when she returned to show him the scrolls; he was fighting with the typewriter again, muttering curses under his breath as he tried to fit in a new inked ribbon.
One day, Zana vowed to herself, I'll own a typewriter myself. She'd even enjoy smearing ink all over her fingers while the ribbon unspooled.
Right now, though, she had more urgent things demanding her attention. She would task Alan with the accounting; it was a good reading exercise, if nothing else. And it wasn't as if she was dodging an unattractive task, either - while Alan was exercising his reading skills, she would seek out the only logical person who could provide her with an opportunity to look at that complaint, and to talk to Levar again.