"Perhaps if I got a hideous scar, or lost an eye and wore a patch I'd be better off, eh?" he asked sarcastically.
Coeccias laughed and clapped Liam on the shoulder, and his anger slowly dissolved. He gave a small smile.
"A scar, a patch! Aye, those'd serve!" The Aedile laughed a little more and went on, still amused. "Unfortunately, Mother Japh's rare wrong, and I can't clap you in for the murder. Which means there's nothing for it but to try and find the killer. We'll search the house."
He led the way with Liam trailing curiously in his wake, eager to explore more of the house. The Aedile questioned him as they went, gleaning details of his relationship with the wizard.
"And you've no idea who might have wanted him dead?" "None. I didn't really know him well—only from swimming off his breakwater, and the occasional talk. No clues there, I'm afraid."
They stood in Tarquin's library, just beyond the parlor. Books lined every wall; there were no windows in the walls, though a small glass cupola in the roof let in a dim light. Coeccias gave Liam an incredulous look when he mentioned swimming.
"You swam? In the sea?"
"Yes," Liam said.
"No one swims in the sea!"
"I do," Liam said simply, offering no explanation, and the Aedile shrugged in disbelief.
For a moment they stood quietly and marveled at the innumerable books, each impressed in his own way. Liam paced along the shelves, running a finger down leatherbound spines, checking the titles inscribed or painted there. Coeccias stood directly beneath the cupola, turning around in a circle and taking it all in.
"And when did you say you found him?"
"Last night. I—"
"Last night?" the Aedile snapped. "Why didn't you fetch me then?"
Liam goggled for a moment and started to tell about Fanuilh. A thought stopped him.
I was drunk ...
"I was drunk, you see," he finally said, embarrassed. "And when I saw him, I, well, I fell, and hit my head."
Show him the bump.
"I have a bump, you see." He fingered the back of his head, and noticed for the first time a distinct swelling at the back of his head. "I didn't wake up until early this morning."
"Cupped, eh?" The Aedile smiled and Liam relaxed, though his face was still red with embarrassment. "I suspect that's the only thing that'd make a man bother a wizard in the night."
He left the library, and went across the hall and down the corridor to the bedroom. Liam followed, angry, wondering if the dragon had known they would suspect him.
I thought they might, came the response, hard in his mind. He stopped in the corridor. That is why I told you to bring the ghost witch.
Coeccias paused before the door to the workroom, looking back at Liam.
"Will y'attend me?"
Liam shook himself and hurried down the hall. The Aedile was looking at the table where Fanuilh lay, its slitted yellow eyes staring balefully back at him.
"Now whatever's this? The wizard's pet?"
He stepped lightly over to the table and slowly extended his .hand towards the dragon's neck, trying to appear open and friendly. Fanuilh followed the Aedile's hand, swiveling its head as Coeccias reached for its neck, fingers bent to scratch. At the last moment the dragon snapped weakly, and Coeccias withdrew in shock.
"Little beast!"· he exclaimed, rubbing his hand as if the dragon had bitten him, though Liam knew it had missed.
"It's a shame the little creature can't speak. He might tell us everything."
"Aye," Coeccias muttered, then threw a cursory glance around the room. "Naught disturbed here," he said, and left abruptly. Liam stayed a moment, looking at the dragon. Slowly, as the Aedile had, he extended his hand; Fanuilh let him scratch, arching its back in pleasure against Liam's nails. The softness of the scales was still strange to him, and he rubbed them curiously for a moment. No thoughts came, so he patted it once more and left.
There was only one other room, with a cupola like the library but wide windows as well. Motes danced in the weak beams pouring in.
"Anything missing?" Coeccias asked.
"I don't know. I've never been in here before." Strange objects filled the white-plastered room, hanging from the walls and arranged in free-standing cases of dark, polished wood with glass tops. A collection of thin, elaborately carved wands on a bed of felt in one case; coins with inscriptions Liam could not read in another; jewelry of strange design—rings, bracelets, phylacteries—in another. On the walls, a small tapestry the size of a hearthrug, depicting a stylized eagle soaring powerfully over purple mountains; a stringless, round-bodied lute hung by its neck; a sword and shield, simple and battered, beside a horn chased in silver.
"Truth," the Aedile said, turning to go, "it seems there's naught stolen, so I needn't bother the fences."
Liam reluctantly followed him. "Eh?"
"I needn't bother the fences." Liam's questioning look remained, so Coeccias went on. "Naught stolen, Liam Rhenford. So checking the fences won't discover the murderer."
"Oh, yes, yes. I see." His mind was still on the strange objects on the walls and in the cases, and he wished the Aedile had stayed there longer.
"So, with no thievery, we've only personality. Did anyone hate him? Hate him enough to stick him, that is?"
Liam shook his head. "I wouldn't know. I don't think he knew many people in Southwark— except me, that is."
"Oh, I think many people knew of him, if you see, and there's tales enough of some having dealings with him. I'll see about that, and see if he has a testament."
"A testament?"
"A will." Coeccias instantly supplied the synonym, interpreting his hesitation as confusion over the southern dialect. "He might have left one, registered with the Duke's clerk. Some do, you know."
Liam said nothing; he did not think Tarquin was the kind to leave a will.
"And then there's the interring. Someone'll have to bury him." The Aedile looked expectantly at him.
I will take care of it.
"I'll take care of it," Liam said suddenly, paling at the intrusion. "We
