“This may not have anything to do with the case, remember,” Tikri reminded her. “And we have half a dozen other chances, if this one doesn’t work out.”
“I know that,” Lady Sarai snapped. “But this man is here, now, and he’s one of the more promising possibilities.” She turned to the guards. “Sit him down,” she ordered. Abruptly, Tolthar found himself seated, on the chair in front of the desk. He stared up silently at the woman. “Do you know who I am?” Lady Sarai demanded. Tolthar blinked and didn’t answer.
“He’s drunk,” Deran remarked. “We dragged him out of a tavern in Northangle.”
Lady Sarai nodded. Tolthar didn’t bother to argue, although he didn’t feel very drunk anymore.
A messenger appeared in the doorway. “You wanted me, Captain?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tikri said. He crossed the room quickly. “You go ahead, Lady Sarai.” He stepped out into the corridor to give the messenger her instructions.
“Close the door, Lieutenant,” Lady Sarai directed. “Let’s have some privacy.”
Senden obeyed. Lady Sarai stepped up close to the seated Tolthar and stared down at him. “You’re drunk?” she asked.
“A little,” he admitted. He was beginning to recover his nerve.
“That might be just as well. Do you know who I am?” “They call you Lady Sarai,” Tolthar said. “I can still hear.” “That’s my name; you know who I am?” “Lord Kalthon’s daughter,” Tolthar answered. Lady Sarai’s face hardened. “I am Lady Sarai, Minister of Investigation and Acting Minister of Justice to Ederd the Fourth, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies and Defender of the Gods, and I am speaking to you now in the performance of my duties and with the full authority of the overlord. Do you understand that?”
“Uh...” Tolthar hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure.”
“That means that I can have you flogged, or tortured, or killed, right here and now, without having to worry about appeals or consequences. And I’ll do it if you don’t cooperate.”
Tolthar stared up at her. He did not see Deran and Senden exchange doubtful glances behind him.
“Now,” Lady Sarai said, “I understand that on or about the fourth day of the month of Summerheat, you received two knife wounds in your left leg. Is that correct?”
“Yes, my lady,” Tolthar replied softly, thoroughly cowed.
“These were both inflicted with the same knife, at approximately the same time?”
“Yes.”
“And that knife was used by a woman?”
“That’s right,” Tolthar admitted.
“How tall was she?”
“Uh... if you want...” Did they think he didn’t know who had stabbed him? “How tall was she?” Sarai shouted, leaning closer. “She’s short,” he said quickly. “I mean, not tiny, but she’s... she’s pretty short.”
“What was she wearing? What color?”
“Black,” Tolthar said, “she usually wears black.”
“What’s the shape of her face like?”
Baffled, Tolthar wondered why Lady Sarai didn’t just ask for Tabaea’s name. He said, “I don’t know...”
“Did you see her face?”
“Well, yes.”
“What shape is it?”
“Let me think for a minute!”
Sarai backed away from him slightly, giving him room to breathe. “Take your time,” she said.
“Thank you, my lady,” Tolthar said, resentfully. He tried to picture Tabaea’s face. “Sort of straight,” he said, “and wide. She has a square chin, almost.”
“Along nose?”
“No, it’s more wide.”
“Brown hair?”
“I think it’s black...”
“Green eyes?”
“I didn’t notice, I thought they were brown...”
“Dark skin?”
“No, she’s pale...”
“Full-bodied?”
“Skinny as a steer in Srigmor.”
“Clumsy?”
“If she were clumsy, do you think I ’d have let her get me with the knife?” Tolthar protested angrily. “I wasn’t that drunk!”
The door opened, and Lady Sarai paused in her questioning. She looked up as a thin, black-haired girl entered.
For a moment, Tolthar thought it was Tabaea herself, and he began to imagine elaborate schemes to blame him for some crime he had not committed, to punish him for making false accusations; then he saw that this person wasn’t Tabaea, that she was taller and generally thinner, though perhaps fuller in the chest. And the new arrival had a long, narrow face that was not like Tabaea’s at all. “Teneria,” Lady Sarai said, “we think this man may have survived an attack by the killer. We want you to check his wounds, if you can, to see if the same knife was used.”
“I’ll try,” the woman Lady Sarai had called Teneria said quietly.
“They’re healed,” Tolthar protested. “My wounds are healed!”
“I’ll try, anyway,” Teneria replied. “Thank you,” Lady Sarai said. “But first,” she added, turning back to Tolthar, “I believe that this man was about to tell us the name of the woman who stabbed him.”
The long-awaited question came as a great relief. “Tabaea,” Tolthar said. “Tabaea the Thief.”
CHAPTER 23
Tabaea was coming dawn the stairs of her current residence, a pleasant little inn called the Blue Dancer, and thinking out her plans for the evening, when she heard the sound of soldiers walking. There was the distinctive slapping of scabbard against kilt, the heavy tread of the boots—definitely soldiers, on the street out front, drawing nearer. She sniffed the air, but with the inn’s door closed she could make out nothing unusual. Dinner had been beef stewed in red wine, and she could still smell the lingering aroma of every ingredient, and of the half-dozen different vintages that had been served to the Dancer’s customers. The chimney was drawing well, so the scent of the hearthfire itself was relatively faint, but its heat was making Beren, the serving wench, sweat as she swept the floor; Tabaea could smell that, too. She could distinguish the moist odors of Beren’s cotton tunic and wool skirt.
Dogs were amazing creatures, Tabaea thought. She had never realized how amazing until she had started killing them. They could all smell all these details.
The booted steps were coming directly up to the door of the inn; Tabaea wondered why. Soldiers were a common enough sight in the taverns and inns of Wall Street, but the Blue Dancer was a quiet and rather expensive place several blocks down Grand Street from the market, and the city guard was not generally found here unless someone had sent for them.
There were other footsteps as well—she hadn’t heard them at first, with the door and the windows closed and the various sounds of the city drowning them out, but someone in slippers was walking with the soldiers, someone wearing a long, rustling garment.
Suddenly nervous, Tabaea hurried down the last few steps. The guards couldn’t have anything to do with her, of course-nobody except the innkeeper and a few strangers knew she was here, no one would have any reason to connect her with any recent disturbances—but still, she didn’t care to be caught in her room upstairs if there was
