“Go get dressed,” he said waving a hand toward the covered doorway to her room. “I expect this is going to be a long night and you might as well be warm.”
Sham ducked under the tapestry again and opened her trunk. She saw no need to wear a dress, so she pulled out her second-best working clothes and put them on. She pulled a brush through her hair and washed her hands.
Just before she splashed water on her face, she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed. She must have run her hand across her cheek after stabbing the golem—a swipe of blood as wide as her palm covered her from ear to chin. She was impressed anew by the mildness of Dickon’s reaction when she had knocked at his door.
Clean and dressed, Sham reentered Kerim’s room carrying his tick, to find Kerim asleep. She set the bedding on the floor and quietly found another chair near the wardrobes. She slid her rump to the edge of the seat, propped her feet on a convenient bit of furniture, and settled into a comfortable doze.
A soft knock on the door aroused her, but before she could get up, Kerim called out, “Enter!”
Dickon came in, followed by an anxious-looking Talbot. They stopped just inside the door and took in the chaos that neither Kerim nor Sham had taken the time to clean up. Chairs, tables, and broken glass lay scattered across the floor. Talbot knelt by a dark stain and ran a finger through it.
“Blood,” he commented thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers on his pant leg.
“Pull up some chairs, both of you,” ordered Kerim shortly. “Dickon, I would look upon it as a favor if you would clean my sword and set it back in its sheath. I’d clean it myself, but I doubt that I’d do a good job at this point.”
“Of course, Lord,” replied Dickon.
He handed Kerim a neatly folded bedrobe before picking up the sword and wiping it down with a square of cloth he removed from a drawer. Talbot pulled a pair of chairs near Kerim’s and sat in one, while Kerim struggled into Dickon’s robe.
“I hate to admit it, Talbot,” began Kerim heavily, once everyone was seated, “but you were right; we needed a mage.”
Dickon stopped polishing the sword and gave the Reeve an appalled look before turning his accusing gaze to Sham. She grinned at him and motioned to herself to indicate that she was the mage in question.
Kerim turned to his valet. “Dickon, have you noticed any change in my brother’s behavior in the last few days?”
“No, sir,” came the immediate reply.
Kerim nodded, and rubbed wearily at his temples. “I thought not, but couldn’t be sure. I haven’t been as attentive since I found myself confined to that chair.”
Talbot and Dickon followed Kerim’s gaze to the fireplace where the metal remains of his wheeled chair sat forlornly in the middle of the flames.
Kerim cleared his throat, “Yes, well, that doesn’t seem to be a problem at the moment, does it? Let me start from the beginning so that Dickon knows as much as everyone else. You all know that I’ve been concerned with the random murders that have taken place over the past months. Once the killer began to concentrate on the courtiers, it became obvious that he was comfortable in the court—otherwise someone would have noticed him wandering through the halls.”
“I thought your selkie stable lad had more to do with that determination than the killer’s habits,” commented Sham.
Kerim smiled tiredly. “Yes, I suppose it was good we listened to him, don’t you? Talbot suggested it might be beneficial if we could search the nobles’ houses as well as the apartments in the Castle itself. Although I could have done so in an official manner, it would have caused needless panic and resentment. Talbot suggested that we bring in a thief. I agreed, and he went to the Whisper of the Street to find a skillful thief who could be trusted to do no more than look.”
Sham stood and bowed solemnly.
The Reeve smiled tiredly and continued. “According to the Whisper, Shamera had a personal grudge against the killer. One of the victims was a close friend and she was looking for him on her own. We decided to give her the role of my mistress to allow her easy access to me as well as the court. Both Shamera and Talbot were of the opinion the killer was a demon. Not the things we fought in the Swamp, Dickon—but a magical creature.”
Dickon snorted and shook his head sadly.
Kerim smiled, “That was my thought as well. The second night we were here she was attacked by the killer, but she didn’t get a good look at him.”
“The cuts I sewed up were caused by a knife or a sword; there was nothing magical about them,” commented Dickon briefly.
Sham lowered her voice dramatically. “Demons are wholly evil, highly intelligent, and better magic users than most wizards. They do not age. They hunt humans for sustenance and pleasure, though they have been known to kill other animals as well. They come from another world, akin to the one the gods inhabit, and can come here only if summoned by a mage—and the pox-eaten thing attacked me with a knife.”
“Thank you,” said Kerim with a touch of sarcasm. “I’m sure you’re trying to be helpful, but Dickon might find this more palatable if you keep the dramatics to a minimum.”
Sham tried to look repentant.
“At the time of the first attack,” continued the Reeve. “I also thought it was a human that attacked Shamera. I saw only knife wounds and surmised that the killer had chosen his victim—it fit the pattern of one killing every eight or nine days.”
“Tonight, however, Shamera found proof that convinced me that she and Talbot were right.” Kerim paused, but other than that, there was no emotion in his voice as he continued. “She found the body of my brother, Lord Ven. I examined him myself, and he has clearly been dead for several days.”
“But that’s impossible,” Dickon broke in. “I saw him this evening when I retrieved Lady Shamera.”
“Nonetheless,” replied Kerim, “his body is in the meeting room next to Shamera’s room. Dickon, you and Talbot have both seen enough battle to know how long a body has been dead; after we are through here you are welcome to examine it yourselves.”
He drew in a breath. “After I saw Ven, I thought that Sham and Talbot might be closer to the truth than I thought. When the man who wore my brother’s face attacked later this evening, I was convinced. Sham thinks the thing that attacked us is a simulacrum—a creature animated by the demon that can assume the identity of its victims. Between us, Sham and I managed to drive it off.
“Regardless of the nature of the killer, we are left with several problems. The first of these is my brother’s body. We are not the only ones who have recently spoken to Lord Ven. If we turn his body over to the priests as he is, they will certainly discover the discrepancy between the time of his death and his last appearance. Last year’s riots in Purgatory will be a faint echo of the witch-slaying that will take place if word gets out that there is a killer loose who can look like anyone.”
“Can the priests be reasoned with or bribed to keep the secret?” asked Sham.
Kerim shook his head, but it was Talbot that explained. “Our little priest, Brother Fykall, could keep it a secret if it were anyone but the Reeve’s brother who slipped his rope ... er, died. As it is the High Priest himself will want to prepare the body, and he has bilge to bail with Lord Kerim. It would please him immensely to get the Prophet to remove Lord Kerim from office and replace him with someone more devoted to Altis. A large riot might just put wind in his sails.”
Kerim leaned forward in his chair. “We need some way to conceal how long Ven has been dead.”
“We could stage a fire,” offered Dickon.
Kerim shook his head. “Where? My brother seldom went into the city and I doubt that there is a place inside the castle that can burn hot enough to destroy his body without hurting someone else.”
“We could leave him for a few days,” offered Talbot.