The floor was covered with broken bits and pieces of what were once Nigel’s personal possessions. I gave a low, impressed whistle for Janek’s benefit, then scanned the floor between the bed and shattered windows for the white stone box.
Nothing. I tried not to make my disappointment too obvious. Fortunately, Janek was talking to a young watcher posted by the door and didn’t notice. The compartment concealed in the headboard was open, the contents strewn across the bed.
No white stone box.
The bed had been moved at an angle and searched. It was massive, so I knew Quentin hadn’t moved it, and that left only the Khrynsani and their temple guards. They knew that Quentin had taken the amulet, so the object of their search could only be one other thing. The same thing I was looking for. And from the absence of that thing anywhere in the room, I’d say they found it. Damn.
A gleam of blue metal caught my eye next to the bed. I walked over and knelt next to it, but was careful not to touch it. Things were looking up. Maybe I could tell Janek who his culprits were without incriminating myself.
“What did you find?” Janek asked.
“Your house wreckers left a calling card,” I told him.
Janek knelt next to me. “It’s a medallion. Nigel has a lot of those.”
“Not one like this.”
“Like what?”
“This is goblin.”
He started to reach for it.
“Khrynsani,” I said.
Janek’s hand stopped midreach. My friend didn’t get to where he was by being stupid.
“You’re sure?”
I could feel the malice oozing from it—and so could the amulet around my neck. I was also treated to some sibilant goblin chanting. I could hear it. Janek couldn’t. I knew goblin. I knew what they were saying, and it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear. That particular piece of jewelry had been worn by a very bad goblin while he did some very bad things. And recently. My guess was Sarad Nukpana’s Gatekeeper. Or Nukpana himself. The chain was broken—maybe Quentin had helped him remove it.
“Unfortunately positive,” I said.
“Someone was careless.”
Janek turned to the watcher who remained steadfastly by the door. For the most part, Janek’s people were either sorcerers themselves or sensitives, those who were acutely aware of the presence of sorcery, but without talent themselves. From his clear desire to be elsewhere, I’d guess the young human was the latter. I didn’t blame him in the least. Khrynsani magical leftovers gave me the creeps, too.
“Willem, go downstairs and have Riggs bring up a containment box.” As the young man left, Janek lowered his voice so only I could hear. “So, you think I should pay a visit to the goblin embassy this afternoon?”
His words said one thing. His tone said something else entirely. Janek wasn’t asking my professional opinion. He was asking my opinion based on what I had seen when I was here last night, or my close association to whoever had. I glanced at him. He was wearing his best fess-up look.
“You wouldn’t happen to have an opinion on why the Khrynsani would bother to rip a Gate into this house, would you?” he asked.
I indicated the wreck of a bedroom. “They seemed to be looking for something.”
“Know what it was?”
“I have no idea what the thing was, or why they want it.” That definitely wasn’t a lie. Other than an amulet, I didn’t know what it was, what it did, or why they wanted it. But finding out had become my new life’s goal.
Janek took a small sealed envelope out of his cloak’s inner pocket. “Considering who sent this, I thought you might.”
I took the envelope from him. There was no return address and the seal had the outline of a dove in the center. That told me who it was from. Markus Sevelien. No one who knew Markus would ever equate him with a dove. Maybe that’s why he used it; maybe it was just his twisted sense of humor. My vote was for the latter.
“That red-headed messenger of Markus’s brought it,” Janek said. “Wonder how he knew to bring it here?”
I cringed inwardly and broke the seal and opened the envelope. “You know Markus is good.”
“Yeah, he’s good. So good he knew where you were going even before you got here.”
From what I’d told him in the note I’d sent from the safehouse, Markus had to have known I’d come back to Nigel’s. I’d be willing to bet an identical note had been delivered to the senior-ranking watcher working the crime scene at Stocken’s warehouse. Markus liked to be thorough.
I tried to ignore the scowl that had taken up residence on Janek’s face and scanned the note. After a quick read, my face must have been a perfect match for his.
Those few words scratched on parchment made me officially homeless. There were no safehouses available as of this morning. They were all being used by elven diplomats and their retinues arriving in town for the goblin king’s masked ball. No doubt Phaelan and Quentin had been asked to leave if they hadn’t already cleared out. For his sake, I hoped Bertran had asked Phaelan nicely. I sighed. The pack that hung over my shoulder was small, but it had suddenly gotten a whole lot heavier.
Janek drew breath for the question I knew was coming. Just then we heard someone running up the stairs. It was Riggs.
“Sir, come quick. They’ve found a body in the canal.”
I blew out my breath. Saved by the corpse.
The corpse in question was Nigel Nicabar.
The watchers had collected the bodies found in Nigel’s house, garden, and canal, and put them in the greenhouse located at the back of the garden. The necromancer’s talents weren’t with living things, so the greenhouse’s tables were pretty much empty—at least of plants. Dead goblins lay under sheets and tarps. I couldn’t help but feel that Nigel would have approved. What he wouldn’t have approved of was being included among them. Nigel wouldn’t have been caught dead surrounded by goblins, yet that’s exactly how and where he was. I don’t think he would have appreciated the irony.
Apparently the watch had run out of things to cover bodies with. From what I saw in that greenhouse, our fight with the temple guards was a lovers’ spat compared to what the goblins had done to each other after we left. Part of me wanted to run out of there screaming, but the other part couldn’t help but notice that while elves turn light gray after death, like living goblins; dead goblins turn pale, like living elves. Interesting. Also interesting was that all of the bodies wore Mal’Salin house badges on their armor, a detail I couldn’t see last night. That confirmed that I’d stepped in the middle of a bad case of sibling rivalry.
“They’re all Mal’Salin.” I tried to sound surprised. Act ignorant, get information. It’d worked for me before.
“Yep,” Janek said.
“I know the Mal’Salins aren’t exactly one big, happy family, but isn’t this a bit excessive?”
He ran his hand over his eyes. “Yep.”
The weariness evident in that one little word told me that something else had just been dumped on Janek’s already overflowing plate.
“Care to elaborate on that ‘yep’?” I asked.
“Rumor has it the king’s little brother is in town.”
Crap. Sometimes I hated it when I was right. So much for it being just the prince’s allies acting on his behalf. Looked like Prince Chigaru had decided to make a personal appearance. The goblins have a saying about their royal family: blood is thicker than water, and Mal’Salins aren’t shy about drowning each other in either.
“You think half of the dearly departed belong to the prince?” I asked.
“That’s my theory. Like I need an assassination attempt this week. Though if Prince Chigaru is in town to take down his big brother, at least he’ll probably do it in the Goblin District.” Janek flashed a grim smile. “Not my jurisdiction. Unfortunately their guards brought their feud across the canal into Nigel’s garden, which is my jurisdiction.”
When Sathrik Mal’Salin took the goblin throne after his mother’s death, one of the first things he did was clean house. That cleaning involved exiling anyone and everyone who could possibly pose a danger to his rule. His younger brother Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin was at the top of the list. The prince hadn’t been pleased to be swept out with the trash.
Janek pulled back the tarp covering the necromancer and we both blew out our breath at the stench. I looked over his shoulder at the corpse and was glad I hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. Nigel hadn’t been much to look at on his best days, and soaking in a canal hadn’t helped him any.
“That’s Nigel, all right,” I said, trying in vain to breathe through my mouth.
Janek put on a pair of healer’s examination gloves. He peeled back what remained of Nigel’s collar to look at the throat. “Who found him?” he asked Riggs.
“A silk merchant by the name of Eleazar Adlai,” the watcher replied. “Apparently Nigel bobbed to the surface about an hour ago.”
That earned Riggs a sharp look from his superior. “Why wasn’t I notified before now?”
Riggs tried not to grin and failed. “It took the merchant that long to recover from the sight of Nigel popping up next to his dock, sir. We just found out ourselves. Master Adlai had just arrived to open his shop and was tying off his boat. He was still screaming when we got there.” The grin grew. “I didn’t know a man could scream like that. He’s heavily sedated in his shop at the moment. I could question him later if you’d like.”
“Were there other witnesses?”
Riggs nodded. “And they all corroborate his story.”
“Then I think we can leave Master Adlai alone,” Janek said, still intent on the dead man’s throat. “Raine, what do you make of this?”
I bent to look where Janek indicated. “It looks like he was strangled, but the windpipe wasn’t crushed. But then it also looks like a severe burn.”
