Orm spent the next week or so in a state of blissful calm. It was a wonderful time, and he finally recalled what it was like to serve clients rather than employers. He made a vow that he would never again put himself in this position; from this moment on, he would never have anything to do with people who wanted more than information. He had not realized how Rand's mere presence grated on his nerves until that moment.
But during that pleasant interval, Rand gave him no special orders, issued no edicts, made no outrageous demands, uttered no threats. Part of the reason for that might have been that a reasonably accurate copy of a sketch of Orm's face was circulating among the constables, and even Rand realized that if Orm ventured out before his disguise was complete, Rand would lose his all-important envoy to the outside world. Even Rand would have difficulty in paying the rent or acquiring food in the shape of the Black Bird, and he could not count on being able to find and kill prey to keep him human for very long on his own.
So Orm grew facial hair and altered his appearance. Meanwhile, taking advantage of his temporary human form, Rand spent most of his time away from their lodgings, giving Orm even more peace and quiet. It was wonderful; Orm put on weight by cooking and eating luxurious meals, secure in the knowledge that he could drop the weight as easily as he put it on. The most he heard out of Rand was the sound of footsteps through his ceiling, or ascending and descending the staircase.
Out of curiosity, once his disguise had been perfected, Orm followed Rand to see what he was doing— without his knowledge of course, and it was gratifying to see that the disguise worked so well that Rand didn't recognize him, at least at a moderate distance. Orm now had a jaunty little beard, a mustache trained so that he always appeared to be smiling, and darker, much shorter, hair. He was also some twenty pounds heavier, and he'd darkened his skin to make it look as if he'd been outdoors most of his life. He walked with a slouch and a slight limp, and wore clothing just slightly too big.
In this guise, he followed Rand out into the city, staying about twenty feet behind him. Rand went only two places: one, a tavern, and the other, an ale-house that served only drink, no food. He seemed to be spending most of his time plying off-duty constables with drink and talking to them at length. Now that was actually a very reasonable way to acquire information, and one that Orm had made liberal use of in the past, but was no longer going to be able to pursue. His disguise was a good one, but there were constables with a sharp enough eye to see past the beard, mustache, and other alterations to the things that didn't change. There wasn't much that someone could do about his eye-color or bone-structure, and although Orm had done a few things to make himself look slightly more muscular, anyone grabbing his arm would know that those muscles were made of wadding. He couldn't change his height significantly, and he couldn't do anything about his hairline, receding as it was. Orm would no longer dare to get within conversational distance of any constables unless he was able to ascertain in advance that they were particularly dim ones. And unfortunately, Captain Fenris hadn't hired very many dim constables; he valued intelligence in his men, and rewarded it.
So, while Rand pursued whatever hare
He still had no idea what it was that Rand had arranged to implicate him in the murders. Most probably it was something as simple as a written confession. He spent most of one day in Rand's apartment, looking at everything he could without touching it, and was unable to come to any conclusions.
He couldn't see anyplace where such a confession might be concealed, and Rand would want it to be found quickly after his death, so he wouldn't conceal it all that well. He would probably count on the fact that he had protected such a confession magically to keep Orm from touching it—
Perhaps, Orm thought, as he looked for what, to him, were the obvious signs of secret drawers or other such devices. Then again, once he was taken, he could count on the constables to tear his apartment apart and render the furniture down to toothpicks in an effort to get as much evidence as possible. So he could have decided not to waste precious magic, and hidden the confession without magic.
Rand might not be a thief or have ever fabricated places where small objects could be concealed, but he had money enough to pay those who
Does it matter? I think not. It would be easier to smash things and see if there was anything hidden inside. Quicker, too. He had to chuckle a little. Ah, the advantage of being on that side of the law!
He couldn't see any place where possible papers lay out in the open, and he really didn't want to open any drawers and search them.
The message could be magical in nature, but would Rand waste magical energy that could keep him human in creating a message that could be created in an ordinary fashion? That was a good question.
It might simply be that Rand was counting on other factors to implicate Orm, though it was doubtful that he knew how much Orm had learned about magic from him. Rand could not help talking, boasting about his powers and his plans, especially in the euphoria that followed his transformation back into a human. Orm had picked up quite a bit about the way that magic worked, and he could be implicated simply by the fact that his magical 'scent' would be all over this place. And even though he tried to cleanse the murder weapons, they would also carry his traces. But what Rand would not anticipate was that Orm could solve that little problem easily enough—and possibly render any written or magical confession suspect as well.
