Lenne seemed confused by the change in subjects. 'Every Master has one; they're given to us when we achieve Mastery.'
Kethry nodded, and Tarma read satisfaction in her expression. 'That at least solves the question of how he knew where the poison was going. If he has the match to that goblet, that gives him a 'target' to match with yours.'
'But that also compounds the problem, Greeneyes,' Tarma pointed out. 'If every Master has one of these, any Master could be a suspect. No, we aren't going to be able to bring Karden to conventional justice, I'm afraid.'
Master Lenne, sick or no, was sharper than she had expected. 'Conventional justice?' he said. 'I assume you have something else in mind?'
Tarma picked up the now-empty goblet, and turned it in her hands, smiling at the play of light on the curving silver surface. 'Just let me borrow this for a day or so,' she replied noncommittally. 'And we'll see if the gods -- or something -- can't be moved to retribution.'
Kethry raised an eyebrow.
'This might not work,' Kethry warned, for the hundredth time.
'Your spell might not work. It might work, and Karden might notice. He might not notice, but he might not drink the wine in his own goblet when he's through playing with it.' Tarma shrugged. 'Then again, it might. You tell me that mind-magic is hard work, and I am willing to bet that a sneaky bastard like this Karden gets positive glee out of drinking a toast to his enemy's death and refreshing himself at the same time when he's done every night. If this doesn't work, I try something more direct. But if it does -- our problem eliminates itself.'
They were outside the protected influence of the Guild House, ensconced in the common room of the closed inn. Just she and Kethry; Lenne was going through his usual after-dinner routine, but this time, he was not using his Master's goblet for his wine. That particular piece of silver resided on the table in the middle of the common room, full of wine. With a spell on the wine....
Not the goblet. Kethry was taking no chances that bespelling the goblet would change it enough that Karden's mind-magic would no longer recognize it. The two of them were on the far side of the room from the goblet; far enough, Kethry hoped, that Karden would judge the goblet safely out of sight of anyone. The inn's common room was considerably bigger than Lenne's quarters.
That was assuming he could check for the presence or absence of people. He might be getting his information from a single source within the Guild House. But Kethry was of the opinion that he wasn't; that he was waiting for a moment when there were no signs of mental activity within a certain range of the goblet, but that there was wine in it. That, she thought, would have been the easiest and simplest way for Karden to handle the problem.
All of it was guess and hope--
Kethry hissed a warning. Something was stirring the surface of the wine in the goblet.
Something tried to drop into the wine. Tried. The wine resisted it, forming a skin under it, so that the substance, white and granular, floated in a dimpled pocket on the surface.
'Ka'chen,' Tarma said in satisfaction. 'Got you, you bastard.'
The pocket of white powder rotated in the wine, as the invisible finger stirred. Quickly, Kethry's hands moved in a complex pattern; sweat beaded her brow as she muttered words under her breath. Tarma tried not to move or otherwise distract her. This was a complicated spell, for Kethry was not only trying to do the reverse of what Karden was doing, she was trying to insinuate the poison back into his wine, grain by grain, so that he would not notice what she was doing.
Until, presumably, it was too late.
It was like watching a bit of snow melt; as the tiny white pile rotated, it slowly vanished, until the last speck winked out, leaving only the dark surface of the wine.
Tarma approached the cup cautiously. The spectral 'finger' withdrew hastily, and she picked the goblet up.
'Well?' she said, 'can I bet my life on this?'
Kethry nodded wearily, her heart-shaped face drawn with exhaustion. 'It's as safe to drink as it was when I poured it,' she replied, pulling her hair out of her eyes. 'I can guarantee it went straight into the model-cup. What happened after that?' She shrugged eloquently. 'We'll find out tomorrow.'
Tarma lifted the cup in an ironic salute. 'In that case -- here's to tomorrow.'
