Point of Sighs by Melissa Scott

Author:Melissa Scott [Scott, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lethe Press
Published: 2018-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

It was another hour or more before the cart arrived, though Rathe was pleased to see that Fanier had sent a closed carrier, the sort they used for the respectably dead. Sawel saw her brother’s body into the back with jealous care, wrapped in thick blankets for futile cushioning, and withdrew again into her sorrow. Bellin watched her go, then gave Rathe a morose nod.

“That’s good, to tell them to show respect. I’ll go with him, if you’d like.”

Rathe shook his head. “No, I want to be there myself. Philip?”

“I’ll come, too,” Eslingen said, and Bellin frowned.

“How’s it the Guard’s business? No offense meant, of course.”

“Better not have been,” Rathe said. He waited until her gaze dropped before continuing. “It might have to do with bes’Anthe’s death. There are indications. No, you stay here and get a proper statement from Dr. Bael.”

Bellin nodded and turned away.

“Are you sure you want to visit the deadhouse?” Rathe asked, and Eslingen gave him a crooked smile.

“Don’t you know that’s the very zenith of my day? I’m curious about that tea, too.”

“Yeah.” Rathe touched his purse reflexively, where he’d stowed a borrowed bottle filled with the tea that had been left in the pitcher. Eslingen had the box that the leaves had come from: surely that would be enough to tell them where the poison had come from, if not who had placed it there. Chills and vomiting, followed by weakness and pain and trouble breathing: he could think of two or three poisons that might cause that, but hemlock was most common among them all. That wouldn’t be much help, hemlock grew like a weed along half a dozen streams just outside the city’s bounds and could be purchased from any number of apothecaries, but it was at least a starting point. “Let’s go.”

They crossed the Hopes-Point Bridge again, the crowds diminished by the thickening clouds overhead. By the time they reached the deadhouse, the wind had risen, driving dust and leaves in swirls across the paving, and the air tasted of rain. The first drops were falling as he lifted the knocker, and beside him he heard Eslingen’s martyred sigh.

“Tell me we can take a low-flyer home.”

Not at that price, Rathe thought, but swallowed the words, remembering Eslingen’s bruises. “Let’s see.”

The door swung open to reveal a girl apprentice, brass-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose to magnify bright brown eyes. “Oh. Fanier said I was to bring you back directly.”

“You don’t need a name?” Rathe asked, shaking off the raindrops as Eslingen crowded in behind him, and the apprentice gave him a disbelieving stare.

“Who else would you be?” she asked, closing the door, and started down the hall without waiting for an answer.

Eslingen snorted, but softly. “Good to know we’ve made an impression.”

“Pity it’s because we keep bringing them bodies,” Rathe answered.

The workroom was, as always, spotless and scentless and cold, mage-lights glimmering in globes suspended above each of the tables. Only one was occupied at the moment, a strapping journeyman folding

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