‘An early winter is a bitter winter. This nightmare was the strongest I’ve ever had, as if it had been building up all week, waiting for the right time to get to me.’ He paused, walked back and forth. ‘And the voice was back in my head.’
‘What voice?’ said Tobry sharply. ‘You’ve never mentioned a voice before.’
‘Too ashamed,’ said Rix quietly. ‘And too afraid.’
‘That noble Tobry, fresh from presiding over the ruination of his own house, would judge you?’
Rix flushed. ‘It seems stupid now, but at the time … last week seems like half a lifetime ago.’
‘How long have you been hearing the voice?’
‘Years and years, and it’s getting stronger all the time.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I can never remember the words. But …’ The shame was burning him. And the terror that it might come true. Rix choked, then gasped out, ‘It’s always got to do with taking her down and cutting it out.’
‘Taking who down?’
‘Her. Just her. But it’s obvious, isn’t it?’
‘It’s beginning to look that way,’ Tobry said grimly. ‘Cutting what out?’
‘I’m not sure it’s ever been specified.’ Rix looked down at his big hands as if expecting to see blood there. ‘I feel sick.’
He brought out the whited-out sketch and perched it on its easel.
‘I can see every line and dab in my mind’s eye,’ said Tobry. ‘I dare say you can, too.’
They stared at the blank surface.
‘I can’t stop seeing it,’ said Rix. ‘No need to wonder who the faceless man is at the end of the bench, then.’
Tobry attempted to speak but nothing came out.
‘It’s me,’ said Rix. ‘I’ve divined myself murdering Tali.’
Tobry stirred, as though to deny it, but again failed to speak.
‘Do you wonder that I think I’m going mad?’ said Rix.
‘You’re not going mad.’
‘But you can’t gainsay what I’ve divined, can you?’
‘It’s just a bloody sketch, Rix!’ snapped Tobry. ‘We all think bad thoughts from time to time, but we don’t carry them out.’
‘Then why do I feel so sick inside? Every nightmare tells me that I’ve committed some atrocity and I’m going to do it again.’
‘Have you committed any atrocities lately?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rix cried out. ‘But I’ve felt this way for years, and it’s getting worse. It can’t come out of nowhere, can it?’
Tobry shrugged and avoided his eye. ‘You wouldn’t hurt Tali, or any woman. You’ve always looked after the small and the unfortunate. It’s preposterous.’
‘I think so too,’ said Rix. ‘There’s just one problem.’
‘What’s that?’
‘In my nightmares, the voice always beats me.’
‘It must be the wrythen.’
‘And it always forces me to do what it wants.’
‘Then you’d better do the sketch again,’ said Tobry. ‘But this time, don’t let the divination control you — you’ve got to control it.’
‘What if I can’t?’
CHAPTER 70
The boy’s memories hidden inside Rix were Tali’s most important line of evidence. She remembered the horror in his eyes and the vomit splattered down his front. He might have followed the killers to the cellar in innocent curiosity. Then, when they began their terrible work, he would have been afraid to move in case they killed him too. No wonder he had blocked everything out.
After groping her way around under the tub she discovered rungs running down a round shaft. Should she go down, or back? She needed to question Rix before it was too late, but the chancellor’s searchers could still be here. Tali went down.
After descending twenty-four rungs she came to a side passage that smelled of stale sweat, bad food and damp bedding. Thinking that it probably led to servant’s quarters, she continued past and shortly encountered a cross tunnel. To the right, an air current carried a hint of cinnamon and musk that reminded her of the chancellor. Not that way.
The other direction smelled of mouldering stone. No glimmer of light penetrated these spaces but Tali’s nose and fingers could read stone in ways no one from the surface could understand, and this stone spoke of great age. She must be in the ancient, inner section of the palace, perhaps within one of its walls.
She climbed several steps, went along a horizontal passage and after some minutes caught a strong, ointment odour mixed with the reek of spilled wine and spirits — Lord Ricinus. She was feeling along the wall when her fingers encountered a small round plug standing proud of the surface. She wiggled it out and a thread-like beam shone onto her forehead — a peephole.
Going up on tiptoes, she peered into a large chamber decorated with arrays of spears, swords and shields, and other weapons. A coloured map of Hightspall covered one wall. Another held the stuffed heads of a great boar, several kinds of deer, one with curly horns, and other animals not covered in her Cythonian education. Clearly, a man’s room.
The centre contained a canopied bed so huge it would have taken four housemaids to change the linen. Lord Ricinus lay in the middle, head bandaged. He was paler than before, save for his nose, which glowed as if he had a lighted candle up each nostril.
Did he not share a bed with his wife? On Genry’s visits home, he and Tali’s mother had clung together so desperately that a piece of paper could not have been slipped between them. But who would want to spend the night with such a disgusting creature as Lord Ricinus?
She continued and discovered other peepholes, and through the third saw Lady Ricinus. It had to be her; the thin-lipped, sharp-chinned, heavily powdered face matched the voice perfectly, and so did the talon-like red nails.
She was sitting at a small, curvy-legged desk, writing a series of notes. Each was inserted in an envelope along with some small coins that had the appearance of gold, and the envelope sealed with hot black wax.
Was she settling wages? More likely, judging by the conversation Tali had overheard earlier, Lady Ricinus was paying bribes. She stacked the letters and handed them to a uniformed orderly, who gave them to a messenger with instructions Tali did not hear.
Lady Ricinus locked a strongbox beside her desk and an orderly took it away. Now she stood up, grimaced as though she had to do something distasteful and left the room.
Was she going to see Lord Ricinus? Tali went back to his peephole. Shortly Lady Ricinus came across to the bed and drew up a chair.
‘Ricinus?’
He did not move.
She shook him by the shoulder, her mouth tight. ‘Ricinus, I know you’re awake.’
He sat up. Apart from the bandage around his head, she saw no evidence that either last night’s drunkenness, or the blow to the head, troubled him.
‘Then get me a drink,’ said Lord Ricinus.
She took a small bottle from her bag and handed it to him. He sank the lot in one gulp and tossed the bottle over the end of the bed. ‘What do you want?’
‘Lord … Ricinus … we’re in trouble.’
‘We, or you?’
‘The chancellor has demanded the Pale girl and we can’t find her.’
‘So?’
‘Ricinus, I … I need your help.’ She stretched out a bony hand, drew back, reached out again and took his. He did not look at her, but he did not pull away either.
‘First time for everything,’ said Ricinus. ‘What have you done this time?’
‘I–I — ’ She bit her lip, rubbed her free hand over her face. ‘I may have overreached myself.’
Ricinus’s mouth twisted into a gleeful grin. ‘Can my all-commanding lady be admitting a mistake?’
‘I’ve only ever had the interests of this House at heart.’
‘The only interests you advance are your own.’
‘But to rise to the First Circle — ’
‘I never wanted to rise.’
‘And seldom did!’ she snapped.
‘If you want a favour, Lady Ricinus, you’ve an odd way of asking for it.’