Jaqueramaphan nodded. "I understand, sir. But you are wrong in one detail." He pointed past the security chief. "You can't see it through all this fog, but on the harbor side of the castle there is a single spot that has a line of sight on your turret."
"So? Who could see much from — ah, the eye-tools you brought from the Republic!"
"Exactly." Scriber reached into a pocket and brought out a telescope. "Even from across the yard, I could recognize you." The eye-tools could have made Scriber famous. Woodcarver and Scrupilo had been enchanted by them. Unfortunately, honesty had required to him to admit that he bought the devices from an inventor in Rangathir. Never mind that it was he who recognized the value of the invention, that it was he who used it to help rescue Johanna. When they discovered that he did not know quite how the lenses worked, they had accepted his gift of one… and turned to their own glass makers. Oh well, he was still the best eye-tool user in this part of the world.
"It's not just you I've been watching, my lord. That's been the smallest part of my investigation. Over the last ten days I've spent many hours on the castle walks."
Vendacious's lips quirked. "Indeed."
"I daresay not many noticed me, and I was very careful that no one saw me using the eye-tool. In any case," he pulled his book from another pocket, "I've compiled extensive notes. I know who goes where and when during almost all the hours of light. You can imagine the power of my technique during the summer!" He set the book on the floor and slid it toward Vendacious. After a moment, the other reached a member forward and dragged it toward himself. He didn't seem very enthusiastic.
"Please understand, sir. I know that you tell Woodcarver what goes on in the highest Flenser councils. Without your sources we would be helpless against those lords, but — "
"Who told you such things?"
Scriber gulped. Brazen it out. He grinned weakly. "No one had to tell me. I'm a professional, like yourself; and I know how to keep a secret. But think: there may be others of my ability within the castle, and some might be traitors. You might never hear of them from your high-placed sources. Think of the damage they could do. You need my help. With my approach, you can keep track of everyone. I would be happy to train a corps of investigators. We could even operate in the city, watching from the market towers."
The security chief sidled around the parapet; he kicked idly at stones in the rotted mortar. "The idea has its attractions. Mind you, I think we have all Flenser's agents identified; we feed them well… with lies. It's interesting to hear the lies come back from our sources up there." He laughed shortly, and glanced over the parapet, thinking. "But you're right. If we are missing anyone with access to the Two-legs or Dataset… it could be disastrous." He turned more heads at Scriber. "You've got a deal. I can get you four or five people to, ah, train in your methods."
Scriber couldn't control his expression; he almost bounced in enthusiasm, all eyes on Vendacious. "You won't regret this, sir!"
Vendacious shrugged. "Probably not. Now, how many others have you told about your investigation? We'll want to bring them in, swear them to secrecy."
Scriber drew himself up. "My Lord! I told you that I am a professional. I have kept this completely to myself, waiting for this conversation."
Vendacious smiled and relaxed to an almost genial posture. "Excellent. Then we can begin."
Maybe it was Vendacious's voice — a trifle too loud — or maybe it was some small sound behind him. Whatever the reason, Scriber turned a head from the other and saw swift shadows coming over the forest side of the parapet. Too late he heard the attacker's mind noise.
Arrows hissed, and fire burned through his Phan's throat. He gagged, but kept himself together and raced around the turret toward Vendacious. "Help me!" The scream was a waste of speech. Scriber knew, even before the other drew his knives and backed away.
Vendacious stood clear as his assassin jumped into Scriber's midst. Rational thought dimmed in a frenzy of noise and slashing pain. Tell Peregrine! Tell Johanna! The butchering continued for timeless instants and then — Part of him was drowning in sticky red. Part of him was blinded. Jaquerama's thought came in ragged fragments. At least one of him was dead: Phan lay beheaded in a spreading pool of blood. It steamed in the cold air. Pain and cold and… drowning, choking… tell Johanna.
The assassin and his boss had retreated from him. Vendacious. Security chief. Traitor-in-chief. Tell Johanna. They stood quietly… watching him bleed to death. Too prissy to mess their thoughts with his. They'd wait. They'd wait… till his mind noise dimmed, then finish the job.
Quiet. So quiet. The killers' distant thoughts. Sounds of gagging, moaning. No one would ever know…
