"Oh, he couldn't get villagers to work there," the Master said, in answer to Kethry's question. "At least, not after the first couple of weeks. The man's methods are dangerous to his workers, as well as poisonous to the land. He doesn't do anything new, he simply takes shortcuts in the tanning processes that compromise quality and safety. That's all right, if all you want are cheaply tanned hides and don't care that they have bad spots or may crack in a few months -- and you don't give a hang about sick workers."
"Well, he must be getting business," Kethry said cautiously.
Master Lenne sagged in his chair and sighed. "He is," the man said unhappily. "There are more than enough people in this world who only want cheaper goods, and don't care how they're made, or what the hidden costs are. And -- much as I hate to admit it, there are those in my own Guild who would agree with him and his methods. There were some who thought he should take over all the trade here. I only hold this Hall because I've been here so long and no one wants to disturb me." He smiled wanly. "I know too many secrets, you see. But if I were gone -- well, the nearest Master is the same man who erected that disaster outside of town, and no doubt that those others would have their wish."
"So who is doing the work for him?" the sorceress persisted.
"Cityfolk, I presume," Master Lenne said, with an inflection that made the word a curse. "All men, a mixture of young ones and old men, and he works them all, from youngest to eldest. And work is all they seem to do. They never put their noses in town, and my people are stopped at the gate, so more I can't tell you." At that moment, the young man who had brought them here poked his head into the hall. "Master, can we schedule in Trout twenty horsehides?"
"What, now?" Master Lenne exclaimed. "This close to the slaughtering season? Whose?"
The young man ducked his head, uncomfortable with something about the request. "Well ... my father's. Ye know all those handsome young horses he bought without looking at their teeth? Twas like you warned him, within a week, they went from fat and glossy to lank and bony. Within two, they was dead."
Master Lenne shook his head. "I told him not to trust that sharper. He obviously sold your father a lot of sick horses." He heaved himself to his feet. "I'd best get myself down to the tannery, and see what we can do. At least we can see that it isn't a total loss for him. By your leave, ladies?"
Glossy and fat ... glossy and fat ... Tarma nodded absently and the Master hurried out, puffing a little. There was something about those words....
Then she had it; the answer. A common horse-sharper's trick-but this time it had taken a potentially deadly turn. Horses weren't the only things dying here.
"Keth," she whispered, looking around to make sure there was no one lurking within earshot. "I think Master Lenne's being poisoned."
:Poisoned?: Warrl's ears perked up. :Yes. That would explain what I scented on him. Something sick, but not an illness.:
But to her surprise, Kethry looked skeptical. "He doesn't look at all well, but what makes you think that he's being poisoned?"
"Those horses reminded me -- there's a common sharper's trick, to make old horses look really young, if you don't look too closely at their mouths. You feed them arsenic; not enough to kill them, just a little at a time, a little more each time you feed them. They become quiet and eat their heads off, their coats get oily, and they put on weight, which makes them look really fat and glossy. When you get to the point where you're giving them enough to cover the blade of a knife, you sell them. They lose their appetites without the poison, drop weight immediately, and they die as the poison stored in their fat gets back into their blood. If you didn't know better, you'd think they simply caught something, sickened, and died of it."
Kethry shrugged. "That explains what happened to the horses, but what does that have to do-"
"Don't you see?" Tarma exclaimed. "That's exactly the same symptoms the Master has! He's put on weight, I'll bet he's hungry all the time, he obviously feels lethargic and vaguely ill -- his skin and hair are oily--"
Kethry remained silent for a moment. "What are we supposed to do about it?" she asked slowly. "It's not our Guild. It's not our fight-"
Perversely, Tarma now found herself on the side of the argument Kethry-impelled by her bond with Need-usually took. Taking the part of the stranger. "How can you say it's not our fight?" she asked, trying to keep her voice down, and surprising herself with the ferocity of her reaction. "It's our world, isn't it? Do you want more people like Lenne in charge? Or more like that so-called 'Master' Karden out there?"
It was the poisoning of the land that had decided her; no Shin'a'in could see land ruined without reacting strongly. When Master Lenne died -- as he would, probably within the year -- this Karden fellow would be free to poison the entire area.
And if he succeeded in bringing high profits to the Guild, the practices he espoused would spread elsewhere.
It wasn't going to happen; not if Tarma could help it.
As she saw Kethry's indifference starting to waver, she continued. "You know who has to be behind it, too! All we have to do is find out how Lenne is being poisoned, and link it to him!"
Kethry laughed, mockingly. "All? You have a high opinion of our abilities!"
"Yes," Tarma said firmly. "I do. So you agree?"
Kethry thought for a moment, then sighed, and shook her head. "Gods help me, but yes. I do." Then she smiled. "After all, you've indulged me often enough."
Tarma returned the smile. "Thanks, she'enedra. It'll be worth it. You'll see."
By the time dinner was over, however, Tarma's certainty that the task would be an easy one was gone. For one thing, both questioning and close observation had shown no way in which poison could have been slipped to Master Lenne without also poisoning the rest of the Guild. They ate and drank in common, using common utensils, serving themselves from common dishes, like one big family. Tarma and Kethry ate with them, seated at the table in the middle of the hall, and they saw that the Master ate exactly what everyone else ate; his wine was poured from the same pitchers of rough red wine as the rest of them shared.
Each member took it in turn to cook for the rest, eliminating the possibility that the poisoning could be taking place in the kitchen. Not unless every Guild member here hated the Master -- and there was no sign of that.
It could be done by magic, of course. But Kethry was adamant that there was no sign of any magic whatsoever being performed in or around the Guild House.
"In fact," she whispered, as the Guild members gathered beside the fire with their cups and the rest of the wine, to socialize before seeking their beds, "there's a spell of some kind on the Guild House that blocks magic; low-level magic, at least." The fire crackled, and the Guild members laughed at some joke, covering her words. "I've seen this before, in other Guild Houses. It's a basic precaution against stealing Guild secrets by magic. I could break it, but it would be very obvious to another mage, if that's what we're dealing with. That spell is why I've had a headache ever since we came in the door."
But Tarma hadn't been Kethry's partner all this time without learning a few things. "Maybe it blocks real magic, but what about mind-magic? Isn't there a mind-magic you can use to move things around?"