"Th' Aedile's to be back soon," the Guardsman said, and left him alone. As he waited, he thought through what he had found, and how he would present it to Coeccias.
If the hooded woman was Necquer's mistress, then he had gotten her pregnant. It would make sense, in a way, for her to want to get rid of his child—it would not do for a prominent merchant to have an illegitimate child in the Warren. Therefore the santhract, which Viyescu had presumably sold her, though he denied it. There was nothing, however, that tied the affair to Tarquin's death, except the fact that the woman had mentioned his name and had, perhaps, visited him.
What did the virgin's blood mean, and the second spell for invisibility instead of total disappearance? It seemed as though he had stumbled on a separate mystery altogether, in which Tarquin's death was only a secondary event. There were too many extras for them all to revolve around one set of circumstances. The hooded woman, he feared, would tum out to be nothing more than a pregnant mistress, and worse, a dead end.
For a moment, he thought about ignoring Necquer's appointment and letting Lons stand guilty. The player's knife and the motive were enough to damn the young man, and Liam could explain to Rora, if he had to, that there was nothing he could do.
He rejected the idea at last, though not because of any debt he felt he owed to the dancer. He admitted he owed her the effort, but the real reason he was interested was because he wanted to know who Necquer' s mistress was. He wanted to compare the hooded woman with Lady Necquer, and even more with his own image of her.
When the Aedile tramped grumpily into the antechamber, soaking wet, Liam had figured out what he would tell him.
"The very sky's cracked, and the gods weep themselves dry in wetting the earth," Coeccias complained, spraying sheets of water from cloak, hair and beard, and taking Liam's presence for granted. "You were not at home when I called. Should you be walking, after your heavy exercise of the afternoon?"
"It didn't tum out to be as bad as it felt," Liam replied, standing up. "I found something interesting."
"Truth, I've news as well, if you'd hear it."
Liam nodded over-graciously for Coeccias to precede him.
"Come in first," the Aedile said. "I've need of something, for it's cold and wet."
Liam followed him into the headquarters of the Guard. It was essentially a barracks, with a couple of rough cots and a number of pegs on the wall, some holding cloaks and hats. Halberds huddled in every comer, and there was a huge keg in the center of the rush-strewn floor. A door in the far wall, bound in iron and barred by a thick wooden beam, hid the jail proper. Two cavernous hearths flanked the room, and the Guardsman who had kindly allowed him to shiver in the anteroom was busy building a roaring fire. He barely nodded at Coeccias, who nodded back and went straight to the keg, catching up two tin cups from one of the cots. He filled them at the keg, and handed one to Liam.
Expecting beer, Liam drank deeply. It was some kind of hard liquor, and he almost coughed it up before it burned out his throat. Coeccias sipped appreciatively, and his eyes twinkled at Liam's distress.
"You'd be wise to drink small, Rhenford."
Liam coughed and spluttered his agreement.
"Now, for what's been discovered to me. Herione relates that Viyescu had indeed been to her house, perhaps twice, but it was long since, perhaps two years. She did not remember what he wanted, or what he did—she sees the whole book and catalogue of vice there, so the sins of a wretched apothecary would not impress themselves strongly on her mind."
"Still, even a single visit would impress itself strongly on a fanatic prude like Viyescu. Particularly if he enjoyed it, or maybe went somewhere else afterwards. Herione's women are expensive, aren't they?"
"To bed a princess or a queen should be," Coeccias laughed, but he was following Liam's thoughts avidly. "Y' are thinking he found out a form of entertainment less dear, and the memory plagues'm?"
"Anyone who knew would be able to hold it over his head. It would destroy his little part as Uris's prime lay worshipper, wouldn't it? At least in his own head, and that's where his devotion carries the most weight."
Coeccias laughed again, this time in half-mocking wonder at Liam's conclusion. "Y'are a seer, Rhenford, better than a bloodhound. Y' are an eagle, peering down into the puny souls of men, and reading their hearts like open books. So, we've some proof that Viyescu may be led by the hooded woman—what of it?"
"Nothing, yet. We have to know what she wanted of him, other than santhract, and why. And we'll know that when we find out who she is." He paused, he admitted to himself, for effect. "And I think I know how we can do that."
With the cocking of a bushy eyebrow, Coeccias invited him to explain how.
"I may be wrong, but I think the woman will be meeting her benefactor tonight. I'd like to be there." He did not say how he had guessed at the rendezvous. If there was no connection between the hooded woman and Tarquin' s death, there was no reason for anyone to know of Necquer's infidelity.
"To peer deep into her soul and pry her inmost secrets to light? You'll want company, then, I'd guess."
"No," Liam said slowly. "As I said, I may be wrong, and I'd rather be wrong alone, with no one to see."
Coeccias laughed hard and walked over to the Guardsman, who was still tending the fire. "Truth, well said, Rhenford, well said! 'I'd rather be wrong alone,' that's well said. Withal, the Warren at night in a storm's no place for even a bloodhound. You'll take Boult here with you," he
