The Tainted Cup (Shadow of the Leviathan, #1)(84)

“But much of the passageways are unlit,” said the engraver. “Servants and porters usually carry lanterns with them while attending to their duties. I’m sure they would have noticed if one of the guests was running about in the servants’ passageways with a lantern.”

I gazed into the darkened passageway. “I’d like to see for myself, please.”

They had a servant with a lantern lead me through the passageways, which were often tight and cramped. I couldn’t imagine how the Haza servants maneuvered within them carrying bundles of linens or trays of food. Yet though I moved slowly, descending always down to where the party had occurred, I could spy no sign of any trespasser’s passage—or at least, any sign that was distinguishable from the servants’ own.

The servant finally led me to the vast halls on the ground floor, where I found Fayazi and her coterie waiting for me.

She cocked an eyebrow at me as I exited. “Well? Did you find any evidence indicating how this was done? Or how that damned poison was smuggled into our home?”

I dusted myself off and tried to think. It seemed unlikely that the poisoner would have been able to improvise that trip through the passageways—which would mean they’d have to at least have known the passages existed, and where they exited.

“Signum?” Fayazi said. “Are you listening?”

“Still tracing it, ma’am,” I said. “Tell me—were these doors locked during the party?”

“Not the ones down here, no. It would have been tremendously awkward if the servants had been forced to lock and unlock doors as they went.”

“So anyone could have slipped into one?”

“Yes,” said the engraver. “But there were guards stationed in the halls. And the servants, as we’ve pointed out, would have noticed someone navigating the passageways with a lantern.”

I frowned, peering along the long, cavernous halls, studying the near-invisible forms of the servants’ doors built into the walls.

“You mentioned a fire occurred during the party,” I said. “Please take me to where it happened.”

They brought me to yet another of the many halls, this one featuring a tremendous stonewood fireplace that still smelled of old soot. A few square spans of the rug before it were black and crusted, and crunched underfoot as I approached.

I knelt before the fireplace, studying the hearth and the ash pit cover. There were whitish scorch marks all along the back left corner of the firebox. Strangely patterned, almost like pale flower blossoms. I touched them and found they were not residue: the brick itself had been burned.

Then I caught a faint aroma, acrid and unpleasant. I was reminded of horse urine or something similarly foul. I leaned closer to the scorched corner and sniffed again. The scent was much stronger there.

“What is it?” said Fayazi.

“Not sure, ma’am,” I said. I clambered back out of the fireplace and sniffed my vial to engrave the memory properly. “But I don’t think the ember that popped was natural.”

“Meaning someone threw some…some device into the fireplace?” asked the engraver.

“Yes. With the intention of causing a diversion. This started the fire, the guards came running—along with you—and someone slipped into the servants’ passageways and made it up to the bathhouse and back without anyone noticing.”

Fayazi stared at me, shaken. “How could they have maneuvered throughout the servants’ quarters without being spotted?”

“Don’t know, ma’am.”

“And how did they get the damned contagion in here in the first place?”

“Calm, mistress,” said the axiom quietly. “Calm…”

“Don’t know, ma’am,” I said again.

“There must have been some way!” Fayazi snapped, suddenly riled. “I thought you Iudex people were supposed to be clever!”

“You must be calm!” said the axiom. “Breathe deep the airs of this place and be calm!”

Again, the axiom held her mistress’s arm, yet this time she gripped her so tight her fingers disappeared into Fayazi’s robes. I could think of no one less calming and reassuring than this needle-eyed creature. Yet I sensed an opportunity.

“I don’t think the poison was brought in during your party, ma’am,” I said, thinking rapidly.

“Then how?” Fayazi demanded.

“I think it came earlier,” I said. “I think it was already here, waiting to be used. The murderer simply had to come to the party, pick it up, and bring it to the appropriate place. And it wouldn’t be hard to sneak something the size of a blade of grass into your estate.”

I paused. All I’d said thus far were things I truly believed; but now I would have to lie. And that had never been my greatest talent.

“Then how?” Fayazi demanded again.

“It could have come over the walls somehow,” I said slowly, “or, possibly, it was carried in by some small animal.”

“Like what?” said the engraver. “The killer used a trained mouse to sneak the blade of grass into the boiler?”

“Or a trained bird,” I said. “The estate does have a rookery, doesn’t it? For scribe-hawks?”

Fayazi paused, considering this.

“That place,” said the axiom softly, “is not for you.”