| Moonshine, Chapter 3 |
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The four-part tale Moonshine continues this month. Klavel, junior partner in one of Mal Nassrin's illicit pitfighting rackets, has stumbled upon two brutal murders in less than a day, and can't seem to find out why the victims were killed or even how they were connected--and he can't quite make himself not care, either. Missed Chapters 1 and 2, or our earlier serial On the Fly? See our complete list of serials here. Moonshine I am halfway to the door when it occurs to me that this might be the only chance I have to get a good look at a few things. I turn back, this time meaning to go through the small lockbox that Larius kept. It takes me a moment to spot it; I've not been in his rooms often. I drop to one knee awkwardly. The box is there, half under the bed on that spotless floor. I immediately know that whatever is in there is mostly useless. The box is far too light. The lock rattles brokenly as the lid opens. Someone has already been up here and gone through it. I glance up at Larius' slack face. Maybe. Or maybe he doesn't--didn't, rather--trust me any more than I do Knock. I quit the room, closing the door behind me. The hall is still empty. If there are other guests, they're keeping to themselves. I go back the way I came. Gillian needs to be told and I need to be shocked. Well, maybe she wouldn't believe shock. Grief? Irritation? I may not like the old man, but I worked with him for fifteen years and that's not nothing. Down the steps. Going down is harder than going up. I don't see Gillian right away and when I reach the bottom of the stairs and walk in to the common room I don't see her at all. I debate keeping the key, but then decide I'd rather not have it. What else would I need in that room anyway? I stick my head into the kitchen at the women lackadaisically peeling whatever misbegotten vegetables will fill out the stew tonight. "Where'd Gillian get to?" I ask. They all look up, at nearly the same time. One shrugs, shaking her head. "Not here, sir," she says, knife in hand poised to go back to scraping what looked like mold off a parsnip. "Yeah, she come through here, though?" I ask. Again, the cook's head shakes a negative and I want to grind my teeth in frustration. Hell, maybe they were telling the truth. I leave them to their work and look around the room one last time. Gillian could be up on the other floor; she could be in the cellar, if the place had a cellar. She could be anywhere. And I'm not at all suspicious that she just happened to be gone after I got back from going to wake a dead man. Well, she can find him herself. I'll be damned if I'm going to shoulder the weight of this. This is still her problem for now. I quit the inn and see with some aggravation that Vijay is loping toward me. His dark face lights up and he lifts a hand in a sloppy salute. "Boss!" he says and grins. Vijay's a good kid, cheery and dumb as a bag of hair. I liked him. I motion him over and then with a hand on his shoulder pull him along with me. "Where've you been?" I ask him and his smile gets bigger. "The brewmistress' daughter," he says, rolling his dark eyes and laughing. "Blue eyes and free ale," he says and nudges me with his elbow. A sharp look backs him off and he quiets, sulking. "You find the old man?" He glances around me, ostensibly looking for Larius. "Knock told me to come find him. He didn't tell me you'd be here. That alright? I don't want to be bothering him an-" "Shut up," I tell him and he nods, putting two fingers on his lips, tapping quickly. "When did Knock send you?" I ask. Vijay stays at the hall. Knock does too, though he makes enough money to take rooms somewhere else. I suspected he was spending it as quick as he made it. "He woke me up and told me to come here," Vijay says. I wait, but that seems to be all he has to say. "When?" We're close to the hall now; I can see the edge of its roofline. "Just after dawn, I think." He stops for a moment, so he doesn't have to talk and walk at the same time, I guess. "About daybreak, yeah, it was still sort of dark." Then shrugs as he walks on. Gillian had said Larius had arrived at dawn. Why would Knock send Vijay over so early? Who cares when the boss gets in anyway? It was none of their damn business. I walk more slowly. I'm not sure if going back to the hall is the best idea now. On the other hand, what would staying away accomplish? I slap Vijay on the shoulder, it's like slapping a beef carcass, but he grins amiably. "Vijay, I need you to go..." I have a problem. I can't send him on to the hall, I can't send him back to the Hind and I certainly don't want him with me. He's waiting, so I'll have to send him somewhere. "Go down to the markets and see if you can find Mateo, the tanner by the fowler shop, the one with the yellow awning. Are you listening?" He nods and I frown at him so he knows I'm serious. "Ask Mateo if he has the glove lining he promised us. Remind him we already paid half." I give him a nudge to start him moving and he goes at a half-run. He's a good kid and that should keep him out of trouble. Mateo died last month. I don't take a single step further toward the hall. I cut right, going the opposite way of Vijay toward the markets, in a more roundabout way. There's a man I know. We were in the army together and he and I left service at about the same time. He left a bit more legitimately than I did and takes mercenary work now when he can find it. Last I knew he'd hired on with the local garrison and I'd seen him around near the streets where Larius and I had gone the night before. I find him eventually, standing by a stall at the edge of the markets, eating a hunk of sausage wrapped in bread and watching the crowd. When he sees me he grins under his mustache, lifting a chin in greeting. Roye hasn't changed much. His hair is thinner, but he's still lean and his eyes are sharp. "Klavel!" He laughs and tosses the crust of his bread away, reaching out to clasp my hand. His grip is firm enough to make me wince. "Klavel, my friend, how are you?" His southern cadence makes each word into a tedious singsong. "I'm good. And you?" I ask him, easing my hand out of his. "Could be better," he says, "but couldn't we all." He tilts his head, regarding me with steady gray eyes. "What brings you around, my old friend," he says. His tone is jovial, almost friendly, as long as you didn't look at his eyes. "Nothing, really." He nods. "You still running fights, Klavel? There's no good in it, my friend. Glory in the pits is like moonshine, nothing but a reflection of the real thing." He points a stern finger at me and I look away. "Me, I don't care what you do. But I do care that the new Prefect cares. Illegal bloodsport and gambling make him unhappy. And his unhappiness is his garrison's unhappiness to bear." "Yeah, not like the Arena I guess," I say. "Forget the Arena! Feh, passion plays for women! I speak of battle, old friend, real battle. Have you so soon forgotten?" The marginal kindness in his voice has gone now and I see the old soldier in his gaze. "We fought under the Empire's standard, you and I, when the fight was worthy and I know--" "Right," I interrupt, "Look, I was wondering if you knew of anything that that happened last night that was odd," I say and bite back a sigh. Time was I could ask a question without sounding like an idiot. "Odd?" Roye repeats. "I can't imagine what you would count as odd, Klavel," and he smiles. I decide to tell him as much of the truth as I'm willing to spend, he's too sharp to waste a full lie on. "Larius and I were up here last night and I think a woman was killed. We were there soon after it happened, I think, and I wonder if there was anything else you could tell me." "Larius, eh? What did the man himself say?" He asks. "Not much. I just think he knew her, maybe," I offer. "Larius always played his cards close." "Larius?" Roye bellowed laughter. "Are we talking about the same man? He couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it." "I guess I'm just used to him," I admit. What he said was true and not true. There was plenty I knew Larius knew, but which he rarely spoke of. Just like there was plenty he never shut up about. "I guess," Roye nods, purses his lips. "I seem to recall hearing something about a dead woman. Beaten pretty badly, that was probably what killed her. The daughter, who lived with her, woke damn near the whole tenement when she found her. I can't quite recall their names," he looks thoughtful for a moment, but his fingers brushing the edge of his mustache are hiding a grin. "But I'm guessing you knew that already, hm?" "Well, we were in the area," I smile, annoyed that he's not telling me anything I don't know. I debate a bribe, but decide against it. The bastard's looking at me with that smug half-smile and I remember why we aren't really friends. "Larius knew her, you said?" He asked, far too casual. "I'm not sure. Maybe he did, or maybe he thought he did. He was pretty drunk. We both were," I look over the crowd, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Thanks, Roye. I'll see you around, eh?" I back away, avoiding another bone-crunching handshake, watching his eyebrows dip quizzically. I glance back once and he's still looking at me. It's irritating, but it was my own damn fault for garnering Roye's attention in the first place. Out of the markets, I backtrack our path from last night until I find the street. In the daylight it's just another tenement row, all high building and narrow street, not too crowded at this hour, most of the inhabitants off to earn their bread. I find the house soon enough and then stand there wondering if this is going to be even more wasted time. I don't know when Larius got in this morning, I know what I was told and I know what I believed. Someone could have followed him from here, I suppose, but it could be more than that. The girl might have seen something, even if she didn't know what it meant. I knock on the door. I hear the low growl of thunder and duck my head as the sky starts to spit down rain. I'm about to give up, thinking that she's gone to temple or is just not answering when the door opens a crack. The girl peers out, shadows dark as bruises under her eyes and she stares at me blankly. She looked much the same as she had last night, and I wonder if that's the way she usually is. "If you've come for my mother then…" she says and then her eyes widen. Her whole body jerks back, and the door is closing fast. I throw my shoulder forward into the door to stop that. I would outweigh two of her, so the door flies open and I stumble in. Maybe it's the acrobatics and maybe I'm just unsettled being back in this place, but I almost lose my feet. I clutch the doorframe well enough to stay aloft. "I need to talk to you," I say and she cracks a nervous smile that has panic written all over it. "I remember you," she says. "Bully for both of us." "I don't know about your friend," she adds. "What do you think I think you know?" "I-I don't know. I mean, I don't know what you think I could know." "You keep saying that, but I disagree," I tell her and she blinks at me confounded. "The man I was with. When did he leave?" I ask her. She shrugs. "I don't know," she whines and her eyes fill with tears. She was winding herself up to get all weepy, but I really don't have time for it. "I know the chorus, birdie, well enough to whistle along. Why don't you just answer my question?" "I don't know. He was here, he was rude and then he left," her lips press together and she shoots me a nasty look. I don't have to read minds to know that she thinks the same of me. "Did you know all the people who were around last night?" I ask her. "Yes, I mean, no… maybe." She's stopped sniffling and just stands there staring at me sullenly. "I didn't see who all was here." I try to recall what I remember how the woman from last night looked. I suppose this girl could be her daughter. I suddenly don't think so. "Was that your ma?" I ask and her eyes narrow. "Of course, sir." Her eyes go wide and watery fast. "How could you ask…" She sucks in a deep breath, precursor to a new fit of weeping and I laugh. I can't help it. She's like glass, this one. "Here's a hint, birdie," I tell her. "Don't overplay it." She scowls. "I didn't recognize anyone," she says finally. Much more composed. "She wasn't my ma, that's true, but I'm not glad she's dead. Your friend knew her, but she never talked about anyone like that to me." "He's dead now," I say to see what she'll do. "Well, not because of me," she says firmly and shrugs. "He had important friends. Not me," I add, when she looks up. "Our employers. They'd be willing to be generous to someone who might know about his death." She bites her lip. "There was a man, I didn't know him. I saw him not long after your friend left. He was tall, that's all I remember. I didn't get a good look at him." She brushed at her skirt in a nervous gesture. "Is that all? I'm supposed to go meet the priests soon. I'm expected." I doubted that, but let it pass. I leave her without further word. Back out in the rain, with the door shut firmly behind me, I reflect on the very little I've learned. I don't like the idea I'm getting. Killing's not just opportunity and will, not when it's like this. It's reasons. I just can't see the reason of it. What would killing Larius accomplish? There's a few other people I should be talking to, people who might have a better idea of why Larius--Larius and his big mouth--is dead. |
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