Merden regarded him dispassionately. “And what necessity is that?”
Lenoir cast about for words. Even though he had related this tale once already, it still sounded ridiculous, even to him. “I am haunted by some sort of malign spirit,” he said, choosing simplicity. “It seeks my death, and it has nearly succeeded. I need to know what it is, and whether I can be rid of it.”
“Interesting.” Merden spoke with the detached curiosity of a philosopher examining an intriguing specimen. He gestured to a small table. “Have a seat, Inspector, and tell me more.”
Lenoir repeated much of what he had told Zera, though he spared the soothsayer the sight of his wounds. Strangely, he felt more emotion in the telling than he had at Zera’s, as though he were confessing to a priest. Could this be hope after all, or was he merely relieved to tell someone who could truly understand?
When he had finished, Merden remained silent, considering him. The soothsayer’s golden eyes were slightly narrowed, his lips pursed behind a steeple of long fingers. The prominent points of his cheekbones were brushed in candlelight, casting his angular features in stark relief. There was something strangely comforting about that face, calm and exotic and profoundly wise.
Merden stood. “This tale of yours sounds familiar,” he said, returning to the counter to search for something.
Lenoir felt his mouth drop open in surprise. “You know of this creature?” He leaned forward eagerly, his skepticism temporarily forgotten.
“Perhaps. There are many spirits who have the power to haunt us from beyond the veil, and vengeance is a common motive for them to do so. No doubt a man in your profession has many enemies in the spirit world. Cases unsolved, perhaps, or justice undelivered.”
Lenoir winced inwardly. It was painfully near the mark.
“I will prepare a tea for you. It should help us to see the truth of things.”
“A tea?”
“You will sleep,” the soothsayer explained, “and you will dream. When you are in the proper state, I can direct your inner eye. Together, we shall see who, or what, this spirit really is.”
Merden put a pot of water on the hearth to boil. Then he made a brief tour of the shop, fetching various jars from the shelves and pinching off bits of dried . . . things. It reminded Lenoir that there was another purpose to this visit, a distraction for which he was profoundly grateful.
“I am told you are also skilled in khekra,” Lenoir said in what he hoped was an offhanded way.
There was the faintest pause in Merden’s movements. A less perceptive man than Lenoir would have missed it altogether. “I thought you were unfamiliar in the ways of the occult.”
“As you see, I have been forced to learn quickly.”
“And what have you learned, Inspector?” Merden fetched a mortar and pestle and began grinding something that looked like horn. Lenoir tried not to watch, but there was nowhere comforting to rest his gaze; everything his eye fell upon invited morbid speculation as to its origin and purpose. At one point he found himself staring at the stuffed corpse of a monkey. Decoration or ingredient? He supposed he did not want to know.
“Not much,” he admitted. “I am investigating a series of crimes that I have come to believe involve khekra, but beyond that I have few leads. Whoever is behind these acts is using children, but I do not know for what purpose.”
“How are they using children?” Merden’s tone was businesslike, that of a physician diagnosing an ailment.
“I have no idea. We recovered one of the children that had been taken, and he was whole, but quite mad.”
Merden paused in his work, his brow furrowing. “Odd. And disturbing. You say he was taken?”
“Kidnapped.”
“What makes you think khekra is involved? I have never heard of it being associated with kidnapping. Why would anyone go to such extremes? Making medicine need not cause harm. Often as not, the child is a loved one. I helped my father make medicine as a boy. I was proud to serve my clan.”
“At the outset, they were using dead bodies. But now they have progressed to kidnapping children.”
Merden’s frown deepened as he tipped the crushed horn onto a growing pile of ingredients. “That does not make sense. Children are used because they are pure, the dead because they are impure. You would not use them both; one cancels out the other.”
This was better information than they had gotten from the apothecary. Lenoir sensed that so long as he did not imply Merden was a suspect, or press him into admitting outright that he practiced dark magic, the soothsayer would answer his questions. “Perhaps they are inexperienced?” he suggested.
“That is likely, for using the dead is deeply unwise. It invites retribution from beyond. Every Adal knows this.” Merden glanced up and looked as though he might say more, but instead he pressed on with his work. He was chasing the pile of ingredients onto a small square of cheesecloth, which he tied into a bundle. The tea was nearly prepared.
“For what purpose might one use the dead?”
Merden fetched the boiling kettle. “Although dead flesh is a powerful ingredient, there are very few spells that are worth the risk, and all of them are difficult to accomplish. My guess is that your kidnappers began with one spell and have now moved on to another. Perhaps they failed in their first attempt. The madness of the child you recovered is an important clue, Inspector. I am not sure what to make of it, but all the signs point to some sort of necromancy.”
“Necromancy? What does it mean?”
“Broadly speaking, it means meddling with the souls of the dead.” Merden set a steaming mug in front of Lenoir and sat down. “Don’t touch it yet, Inspector. It is steeping. Most necromancy is fairly innocuous—communing with spirits, and so forth. It is a staple of what I do here, for example, and can be accomplished with or without magical means, depending on one’s gifts. But more powerful spells are rumored to exist, including those that can animate the dead for a brief period, or even restore someone to life. I have never heard of anyone succeeding at such things, but the world is full of people foolhardy enough to try.”
“I am not sure I follow. If someone were trying to restore the dead to life, what would he need a live child for?”
“That I cannot tell you,” said Merden, indicating that Lenoir should take the mug, “and so it is time to drink, Inspector.”
The odor emanating from the mug was so putrid that Lenoir’s stomach turned over, but he did as he was told. He tried to ignore the grit in his teeth as he swallowed, and could only be thankful that the bulk of the ingredients had been strained through the cheesecloth. He would not have been able to swallow anything solid without vomiting. He emptied the mug, gratefully accepting a swallow of water afterward. It did little to cleanse his traumatized palate, but at least it chased away the grit.
While he waited for the tea to take effect, he thought aloud. “Let us assume that you have failed in your attempt to restore a dead child to life. You must now accomplish the same aim using different means. Your new strategy involves using a live child.”
“You left out an important detail in your account,” Merden chided. “You did not say the corpses were also children. Is it not obvious? Having failed in their attempt to resurrect dead children, your kidnappers are attempting to channel the departed souls into live hosts. That explains the madness of the child you found. The poor boy probably has a second soul, or a fragment of one, competing with his own for control of his body.”
Lenoir stared, speechless with horror. It was easy enough to imagine someone attempting dark magic. Lenoir had encountered plenty of religious fanatics and superstitious fools in his day. It was another thing entirely to witness actual evidence of the magic working, albeit imperfectly. There could be some other explanation for the boy Mika’s condition, of course—something infinitely more plausible—but Lenoir could not deny that Merden’s speculation made sense. Nor could he deny the evidence of his own scars: some of the supernatural world, at least, was terribly real.