Robert Asprin - Thieves World 05 by The Face of Chaos

Author:The Face of Chaos [Chaos, The Face of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-15T00:43:26.827000+00:00

THE CORNERS OF MEMORY Lynn Abbey

1

A door that had been obscured by shadows opened to admit a hunched-over figure in dark, voluminous robes. The laboured wheezing of the intruder filled the little room as, with quick, bird-like movements, the winding sheet was opened and the naked corpse revealed. Light entered the austere room from a single barred window high on one wall, illuminating the face of a young woman who lay on a narrow, wooden table, masking her waxen pallor so that it seemed she rested in the gentle sleep of youth, rather than the deeper sleep of eternity.

Ulcerous fingers uncurled from the depths of the shapeless robe sleeves, fingers more morbid and repellent than the corpse they probed. From within the cowl came a sound like a laugh - or a sob - and the grotesque hands brushed the young woman's hair away from her neck. His dark robes concealed her as the crippled creature sighed, sniffed, and bent to her throat. He stepped back, examining a slim phial of blood in the faint light.

Still silent, except for his strained breathing, the robed figure lurched back into the shadows, where he conjured an intense blue light and, drop by drop, emptied the blood into it. He inhaled the vapours, extinguished the light with a gesture, and returned his attention to the corpse. His fingers re-examined every part of her without finding any mark other than the small bruise on her neck from which he had removed the blood.

Sighing, he drew the edges of the shroud together again and carefully rearranged the folds of coarse linen. He smoothed her ash-brown hair over the bruise on her neck and, reluctantly, folded the cloth over her face. There was no doubt, this time, that a sob escaped from the shadowed depths of his cowl. There had been many women when he had been young and handsome. They had pursued him and he had squandered his love on them. Now he could remember no face more clearly than the one he had just covered with the linen.

The mage, Enas Yorl, shuffled back into the shadows, lit an ordinary candle, and sat at a rough-plank desk, his face cradled in his unspeakable hands. She had been a woman from the Street of Red Lanterns; from the Aphrodisia House, where blue-starred Lythande was a frequent guest. Yet they'd brought her to Enas for the postmortem. And now he understood why.

Dipping the stylus in the inkwell, he began his report in a script that had been antique in his own youth. ' Your suspicions are confirmed. She was poisoned by the concentrated venom of the beynit serpent.'

Lythande had most likely suspected as much, but the Order of the Blue Star neither knew nor taught everything. It fell to such as himself, more shunned than feared, to research the arcane minutiae of the eon; to recognize the poison for what it was or was not. Enas Yorl continued: The mark on her neck concealed two punctures -

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