trust that sooner or later you will get to the facts of that incident also.' Gerard felt his face flush.
'But there, I'm forgetting my manners,' Cardjaf said, turning abruptly cordial. 'You brought our daughter safely home to us, and for that, as I say, we are truly thankful.' He hesitated. 'She's been putting in long hours with this temple nonsen-' He broke off, looking embarrassed. 'With this temple business,' he amended, 'becoming a kind of unofficial liaison for that visiting cleric, what is her name? Cordelia? Something like that.'
'Lady Odila,' Gerard said stiffly.
'Odila, yes, thank you. This new preoccupation worries her mother. And, I may as well admit it, the situation worries me, too. We have plans for Kaleen's future, and they don't include her becoming infatuated by empty religious rhetoric. Kaleen has been having many long, soul-searching conversations with this Odila person, and I fear the cleric may be taking advantage of our daughter's emotional vulnerability to plant silly notions in her head.'
Gerard bristled, knowing Odila was far from being the type to take advantage of another person's emotional vulnerability, or to plant silly notions in anyone's head-especially Kaleen's.
'Well,' Cardjaf concluded, 'I for one will be glad when this temple is finally dedicated. It's been good for business here in Solace, but enough is enough. So I hope this unfortunate incident at the temple today won't delay the dedication. The sooner that the necessary observances are over and done with, and all these visiting clerics return to their proper homes, the better. And now, if you will excuse me, I had best be seeing to the welfare of my wife and child. They've had quite enough time for a little mother-daughter heart-to-heart talk, don't you think?' He awarded Gerard a knowing, indulgent smile and strode up to the door of his house.
Gerard climbed back into the wagon, silently fuming.
A few minutes later, the wagon driver pulled up in front of Argyle Hulsey's shop, where a small crowd had already gathered in anticipation of watching as the dead man's body was brought inside. Gerard, still annoyed over his exchange with Cardjaf Duhar, put a couple of the men in the crowd to work carrying Salamon Beach into the shop. The pair had come to the scene wanting a close-up look at the dead man, Gerard reflected sourly; now they were getting a closer view than they bargained for. Of course, they'd probably be bragging about their involvement and making the most of it in the town's taverns and inns before nightfall.
Now the two jockeyed for who would grab the man's legs and who would grab the arms, so close to the bloodied head. They squeamishly took up their burden at last and lugged it inside, depositing the former architect with undignified haste on his back atop the worktable made ready by Mistress Hulsey. Then the two hovered nearby, as if expecting a reward for their meager contribution to the day's drama. One of the pair, who was unusually tall, kept brushing against the clusters of dried herbs that hung from the rafters. In his confusion, he backed up against a counter along the side of the room, where he almost upset the potions Mistress Hulsey had been in the process of making. Indeed, the air in the shop hung heavy with the potent aromas of herbs and minerals, not all of them pleasant. It made the room feel uncomfortably cloistered.
'Thank you,' Gerard said dryly, as he directed the two men toward the door. 'That'll be all.'
'Maybe we should stay a while,' the shorter of the pair said. 'You might need our help with… with something else before you're finished.'
'We'll let you know if we do,' Gerard said, flashing an insincere smile. He closed the door on them as they were still protesting and turned his attention back to the table, feeling a little dizzy from the multitude of thick odors in the room. At least they covered the smell of death, Gerard thought.
'We'll need to undress him,' Mistress Hulsey said, apparently unfazed by the stuffy air and the manner of the two men. Her voice was matter-of-fact. They set about peeling off the architect's clothes, cutting them from his body where necessary to avoid shifting his head any more than they had to. Soon the body lay undressed, and Mistress Hulsey walked slowly around the table, surveying the corpse from every possible angle, occasionally moving in closer to study some feature in more detail, then stepping back and resuming her unhurried examination. When she had completed her slow circuit, coming again to her starting point, she stopped.
'Well, a couple of fingers are broken,' she declared, indicating the left hand of the dead man. 'There's no swelling, so they were probably broken by falling debris at the time he was killed.' She pointed to a large scrape on his right shin. 'That abrasion, too, probably happened at the time of death as there appears to have been little bleeding from the wound afterward. His heart had already stopped beating.' She frowned, pulling the eyelids well back from each eye and peering at them, then closing the eyes and exploring the dead man's mouth. With practiced equanimity, she pulled the tongue this way and that, examining the oral cavity from all vantages.
'What is it exactly that are you looking for now? I mean, in his mouth,' Gerard asked, curious.
'Evidence of poisoning,' she said.
'Poisoning? But surely he was killed by scaffolding when it collapsed.'
She looked at him with a cool, detached gaze. 'We don't know that for certain. We only know it
Argyle Hulsey was a small, birdlike woman, so it took some straining for the two of them to flop Beach over without rolling him right off the table. When they finally had Beach facedown, she made another careful circuit around the table, coming to a stop at the shattered head. Blood and tissue matted the man's hair, and shards of bone protruded from the gaping wound. A portion of the gray, lumpy brain lay exposed, looking crushed and pulpy. Though Gerard had seen his share of dead men in his knightly days, he forced down the bile that rose in his throat.
Mistress Hulsey poked dispassionately at the edges of the wound then lifted the hair to expose the nape of Beach's neck. 'That's odd,' she said, pausing in her inspection.
'What's odd?'
'That.' She pointed with her free hand to a small tattoo that had been hidden by Beach's hair. High up on the neck, just below the hairline, were a pair of stylized bones with a four and a three showing on their uppermost faces.
The shop door opened, then closed again, and over his shoulder Gerard saw that it was Palin who had entered quietly.
'What does it mean?' Gerard asked.
'It's the sign of a secret society,' Palin said, coming to stand beside Gerard and leaning forward for a better look. 'I've seen it before.'
'An evil brotherhood?' Gerard asked.
Palin shook his head. 'Not really. It's an elite gambling society. They have no religion except bones and cards and other games of chance. They're willing to risk everything on their nightly gambling rituals. Generally the members are criminals, but some from all levels of society are addicted to games of chance, and if they can afford to play and lose… well, then they're welcome.'
Mistress Hulsey nodded. 'I've heard of this organization, too. Generally criminals, as you say. That's why it's a hit odd to find this tattoo on a man like Salamon Beach, architect of a temple devoted to Mishakal, the goddess of healing.'
'The tattoo identifies members to each other,' Palin explained.
'It sounds as though I should learn as much as I can about this society and then ferret out its members here in Solace,' Gerard said.
'Yes,' said Palin, frowning. 'Though I can't easily guess what a secret gambling society might have to do with the temple accident, or the architect's death.'
Gerard couldn't guess, either. Nor did he have a clue as to how to go about gaining access to so secretive a fraternity. Maybe if he took up gambling in the evenings, frequenting the various taverns and inns. Then if he spread enough coin around, word would spread about his 'addiction.' Members of the society might then be encouraged to approach him.
Vercleese was busy seeking anyone with knowledge of the two ruffians who had been seen assaulting Salamon Beach. But he had to keep one eye on the individuals he questioned and another on his partner, Blair Windholm. The sergeant of the town guard was acting sullen; he wasn't doing his share of the job. Maybe Blair was simply put out because he hadn't been allowed to accompany Beach's body-and the lovely young Kaleen Duhar-back into town. However, if he had an ulterior motive for his desultory assistance, Vercleese wanted to know.
'I don't think it's likely that the two people we're looking for are the same ones who trampled your garden and helped themselves to some of your carrots,' he said gently to Mora Skein, the plump, angry seamstress they
