Saving Solace

'I haven't had a chance to talk with Palin or Argyle Hulsey yet,' she continued. 'Did the healer's examination of Salamon Beach's body turn up anything interesting?'

'Ah, yes, that proved rather intriguing,' Gerard said, warming to the new topic. 'It seems your architect was a member of a secret gambling society.' He described the tattoo on the nape of Beach's neck, lifting the hair on his own neck as he spoke, to show her where it was affixed.

Odila nodded, her mouth tight in a disapprove scowl. 'That explains a lot,' she said. 'He was always disappearing at nights, off doing something mysterious. He must have been gambling somewhere. I'm sorry. It never occurred to me, though it's so obvious in retrospect.'

The Trough would be my guess,' Gerard said with grim conviction.

'Well, he was a good architect, even if a somewhat unpleasant, cold man in many ways,' said Odila. 'May his soul find rest, wherever it has gone. I'm grateful he left us with such a thorough set of plans. Work on the temple will continue and succeed.'

As if waiting for that signal, the dwarf Stonegate, who had walked over to them during their conversation, coughed politely into his fist. Odila turned to him, and he gave a clipped, professional nod.

'Ah, I see the workmen are ready to get busy today,' she said. 'We've held them up long enough. Now it's time for us to get out of their way.' She moved to one side of the temple grounds, drawing the other clerics with her. Again, Gerard was reminded of her official status and felt strangely awed. Lady Odila Windlass had made something of her life since leaving the knighthood, whereas he… all he had accomplished so far was to fill a temporary position as sheriff, prove inadequate at solving or preventing murders, and make himself a laughingstock.

Stonegate barked orders to the workmen, who began swarming over the nearly completed structure, picking up their tools and filling the air with the noise of purposeful activity.

'Have you found out anything more about the two mysterious men who assaulted Salamon that night?'

Odila asked quietly, screening her words from any prying ears.

Gerard shook his head. 'But I'm on the lookout for the one with the thick, copper mustache and the scarred face. He shouldn't be that difficult for anyone to remember or recognize.'

'So do you believe it was an accident or murder?' Odila asked.

Gerard hesitated. 'I'm keeping an open mind,' he said at last, although he was pretty certain it was the latter.

Across the temple yard stood a cluster of clerics, discussing the service and organizing their duties for the day. The sight of all their various robes, each signifying some religious order or level of office, reminded Gerard of the strange cleric he had noticed aboard the ship coming over and then again when the gnomes had demonstrated their invention. Gerard had not seen that particular cleric around the temple and thought to ask Odila about him.

'Do you know all the clerics here?' he asked.

'Well, I either know them, or they inevitably introduce themselves when they arrive and join the activities. So yes, I guess you could say that one way or another I've gotten to know them all. Why?'

'There's one I've noticed, I wonder if you can tell me something about him, or the order he belongs to.' He went on to describe the strange cleric to her, or at least the dun-colored robes the man had worn, for Gerard never had clearly glimpsed the cleric's features.

Odila frowned. 'He doesn't sound like anyone I've seen or met, lately. I don't recall ever having seen anyone wear that particular type of robe. He may not be a cleric at all. It sounds like the kind of robe sometimes worn by outlanders from the area around Khur. I hear sometimes they get mistaken for clerics. Apparently it's a common manner of dressing in that land.'

'Ahem,' said Stonegate, who had again come to stand by Odila's elbow. The dwarf looked about him with apparent unconcern, but it was obvious he desired Odila's attention.

Odila gave Gerard a wan smile. 'I'm sorry, but I really must go. My duties beckon.' She hurried toward the site, plunging deep into discussion with the dwarf.

Gerard looked around for Kaleen, but she too had disappeared. He was sorry to have missed her, for he was hoping for a word with her before she left-all very casual and above board, of course!

He headed for Palin and Usha's house, eager to find sanctuary there. As he walked, savoring the increasing comfort of his new boots, his hair began to prickle on the back of his neck, and again he had the feeling of being followed. Perhaps it was that the birds along the side of the road were falling just a little too quiet as he approached, as though his wasn't the only presence that disturbed them. But though he listened hard, he heard no rustling of the underbrush or other indication that anyone was on his heels. Then, just as he had about lulled himself into a feeling of complacency, of having been needlessly apprehensive, something whizzed past his head and stuck with a bone-chilling thunk in the trunk of a tree, just inches from his face. Gerard had just time enough to register the fact that it was a knife with a piece of paper impaled on the blade.

He dropped to a crouch and scanned the surrounding woods. He eased his dagger from its sheath, feeling very exposed. If the person had been just a little more accurate with his throw, the knife might have been protruding from Gerard's ribs even now.

The forest was silent, as if holding its communal breath against the death struggle that surely must ensue.

Except that nothing happened. Gerard saw nothing, heard nothing else, despite the fact his senses were keyed to full alert. He seemed all alone in the woods. Only the knife protruding from a tree, still trembling with force, attested to things being otherwise.

After a while, he realized the finches and sparrows were again chirping and flitting amid the underbrush. Slowly, Gerard stood and resheathed his dagger. He made a mental note to check with Torren Soljack on the progress of his sword, feeling ridiculously underarmed should real conflict erupt. And apparently that time was fast approaching. He wrenched the knife from the tree and read the appended note. The message was clear enough. Morgoth. Beware! But was the word intended for his eyes to see, or were the townspeople expected to have found the message pinned to his corpse?

He tucked the note away, slid the knife into his belt, then continued on into town, warily now. Nothing further interrupted his progress, and soon he stood at Palin and Usha's door. Palin's eyebrows lifted questioningly as he ushered Gerard inside. When they were seated, Gerard handed Palin the knife and note. Palin's eyebrows rose even higher. Gerard related the incident in the woods.

'I don't like this at all,' Palin said, when Gerard had finished. He turned knife and note over and over, as if willing some further facts to be gleaned from them. 'First Sheriff Joyner, then Salamon Beach, and now a warning you were apparently meant to deliver, dead or alive. It's beginning to look like there's a concerted effort afoot to undermine authority in Solace, inviting anarchy and chaos. I can't help thinking the temple dedication is somehow involved.'

'Perhaps,' Gerard said.

'And I understand you ran into a stone wall with Baron Samuval, too.'

Gerard rubbed absently at the bug bites that still itched all along his arms. 'News travels fast in this town.'

'I'm afraid you can blame Tangletoe Snakeweed for all the local gossip,' Palin said.

'Samuval's a dangerous fellow, to be sure,' Gerard went on. 'But I can't say I feel certain he killed either the sheriff or the architect. In fact, if pressed, I'd have to say my hunch is that he didn't. He didn't have any real reason. Besides, it's hard to figure why he'd-let me go free from his fortress, only to sneak into town a couple of days later and try to aim a knife at my ribs.'

'There is something in that,' Palin said, looking thoughtful.

Silence stretched for a moment between them.

'I was hoping to speak with Usha,' Gerard said at last. 'I wanted to talk to her about Beach's death and see whether there's been any unusual changes in her painting lately.'

'Ah yes, Usha.' Palin rolled his eyes with a dramatic flair and pointed to a poorly made sandwich nearby. 'She's acting very secretive and preoccupied. After learning about Salamon Beach's death, she locked herself inside her studio, vowing not to come out until she's done with the painting.'

'How long will that be?'

Palin raised his hands, palms up. 'Who knows?'