The Ink Master's Silence Page 28

  "Perhaps I can help. What are the symptoms?"

  A flicker passed through his eyes but I couldn't determine what it meant. "You said your father is an expert on poisons. Are you?"

  "Poison! I, er, have some knowledge, but there isn't much call for poison expertise in Mull. Has someone ingested something noxious?"

  "I believe so."

  "Is it the king?"

  "A lady." He eyed the closed door again. "He needs to come with me now. She's very ill."

  He strode off but I rushed past him and knocked on the door. "Father! Father, we have an urgent situation," I called out. "It's the palace."

  The door jerked open and Father stood there. He took one look at Hammer and slipped past me. "Josie, see to Peter while I gather what I need."

  I glanced at Peter, a regular patient with a bad back. He usually only needed to replenish his ointment supply. I tucked a bottle into his hand.

  "You have to go," I said to Peter. "This emergency requires us both." I caught a glimpse of the captain, standing just beyond the doorway, his brows raised at me.

  He turned away when my father called out some questions about the patient's symptoms from the depths of the larder where we stored more medicines than food.

  "What about a massage?" Peter asked me.

  "Not today," I said. "The ointment is free."

  I saw him out then assisted my father. Based on Hammer's answers, he'd gathered what he hoped would be the right ingredients to ease the pain.

  "Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day, Josie," he said as he strode for the front door. He never looked more in command, more energetic, than when he was racing off to a medical emergency.

  I grabbed the sign hanging from the nail on the outside of the door and flipped it over. GONE FISHING it read. Everyone in the village knew my father didn't fish, and that it was his way of telling them we were both out.

  "Done," I said. When he gave me a stern look, I added, "I'm coming with you. What if you don't have the right medicine? You'll need an assistant to fetch ingredients for you. This job is far too important for just one."

  "You get more and more like your mother every day."

  "Thank you. Oh, look, it seems we're going to the palace in style."

  A carriage blocked the street. The coachman and footman both wore crimson and gold livery. Another footman held a horse's reins which he handed to the captain. He opened the carriage door and I climbed in, followed by my father. We were away the moment the door closed.

  I smoothed my hand over the crimson velvet covered seat and matching door with gold embroidered LL, the king's initials, repeated in a regular pattern. I blew out a breath and watched the streets of Mull whisk past, the people I'd known all my life staring with open mouths. And suddenly the reason for their shock hit me too.

  I was going to the palace of King Leon, a man whose origins were as mysterious as those of the captain of his guards and the palace itself.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  I caught my first glimpse of the palace as we drove along the tree-lined avenue that led to the main gate. The symmetrical building was built from the same warm pale stone as much of Mull, but that was where the resemblance ended. The palace was three levels high with one wing stretching south and the other north. The entire length of gray slate roof was capped with gold, and gilded balustrades edged the roofline in an opulent statement. It was so bright in the sun that I couldn't stare at it for more than a moment. There was more to see, anyway. Much more.

  The trees lining both sides of the avenue suddenly gave way to buildings fronted by columns and arches. Servants dressed in royal crimson and gold lead horses in and out of the right building, while a carriage drawn by two black horses rolled through an arched entrance of the building to our left. These grand structures must be the coach house and stables.

  "The horses live better than we do," I murmured.

  Father didn't answer. He was too busy peering through the front window. The overwhelming sight of the palace up close was almost too much to take in. I didn't know where to look first. The gold-capped roof? The pink marble columns? Or the vast forecourt beyond the gate with its towering central fountain? Quentin was right. The palace did look tiny from Lookout Hill. Up close, it was enormous. The entire village of Mull could fit in it, with space to spare.

  The captain rode ahead, and the guards manning the gate opened it for him. The gate itself was painted gold and topped by a golden statue of a warrior riding a chariot, brandishing a sword with a shield strapped to his arm. The House of Lockhart's coat of arms, featuring a key and a prancing deer, were picked out in gold relief on the shield, while the king's initials of LL made an impressive centerpiece on the gate.

  My father gazed up at the statue and snorted. "He didn't win the kingdom through battle. I'd wager he's never lifted a sword in his life."

  "Don't say that out loud around here," I warned. "Besides, we don't know if he has fought or not. We know nothing about him."

  "Precisely."

  We passed through the gate at a slower speed and into the expansive paved forecourt. Two identical long pavilions, fronted by high colonnades, faced each other across the area. They were not attached to the palace, but they seemed to guide visitors ever closer to it. Steps from the forecourt led to a smaller one paved in red, white and black marble. Water sprinkled from the fountain in the court's center. Beyond, the palace's main entrance was set back behind more pale pink marble colonnades.

  It was not the only door, however. Others were dotted along the central part of the palace, between the statues set into the façade and the high windows of sparklingly clean glass. The upper levels sported more doors opening onto balconies.

  I was so stunned by the palace that I almost missed the lady dressed in lustrous sage green silk climbing into a sedan chair carried by two burly men. An attendant closed the door and off she went across the larger forecourt toward the palace. It was quite some distance from the gate to the palace door, but surely she could walk?

  Instead of heading toward the palace, we drove past one of the pavilions. It was bigger than the new customs house would be and just as grand. We did not stop there, however, but continued to a square building south of the pavilion, hidden from the forecourts. Smoke billowed from the chimney pots high above us and cooking smells blended into a miasmic stew in the air. Servants bustled in and out of the building, some dressed in palace uniforms, others in the colors associated with their house, and again others in maids' uniforms, kitchen garb or gardening clothing. I even recognized two Deerhorn servants.

  We'd hardly stopped when a palace footman opened the carriage door. "This way," Captain Hammer said as his horse was led away by a groom.

  Ogling servants stepped aside to allow him to pass. Father and I trailed behind, despite walking quickly to keep up. The servants watched the captain in eerie silence then turned those curious gazes upon us. One of the Deerhorn servants whispered to the other, nodding at Father and me. They knew who we were, and if the rest of the servants didn't, they soon would.

  The captain led us along the breezeway separating the square servants’ building and the pavilion. We entered the palace through a service door and wove our way down dimly lit corridors before ascending a flight of stairs. We emerged into another corridor through a door that, when closed, blended into the wall so well that one had to know it was there to find it. This must be part of the palace seen by the lords and ladies. Where the walls in the servants' stairwell and corridors had been unadorned stone, these were plastered and painted in a vivid shade of green. Vases on pedestals filled with white lilies flanked each of the doors along the corridor. I counted five doors, separated by long expanses of paneled walls. We finally stopped at the sixth, manned by two guards holding long pikes.

  They stepped aside and Captain Hammer held the door open for us. The room beyond wasn't a bedroom, as I expected, but a sitting room with elegant furniture arranged around a black marble fire
place and gold leaf gilding the cornices. A portrait of a man dressed in furs hung above the mantel, one hand resting on his hip, the other holding a scepter. His dark eyes seemed to follow me as we hurried across the thick carpet to a door on the far side that led to the bedroom.

  Hammer nodded at Sergeant Max, who stood by the wall, trying and failing to look inconspicuous between a spindly-legged chest of drawers and a dressing table topped with small bottles, a jar of cream, and hair combs.

  I smiled at him. He gave me a nod then flicked his gaze toward the four post bed where my father now stood, inspecting the patient. He was more professional than me. Where I'd been distracted by the awe-inspiring palace, and the men I'd met some weeks ago, Father had immediately focused on the deathly pale woman throwing up into the porcelain bowl held by a maid. Another man and woman had moved aside to allow my father closer to the bed. Both were in middle age and looked on anxiously. They wore long richly brocaded gowns and slippers, and the man held one of the woman's hands between both of his. These must be the patient's parents.

  Father placed the palm of his hand to the girl's forehead then checked the pulse at her wrist. I dipped my fingers into the basin of water on the bedside table. I touched the back of the patient's neck and she sighed from the coolness.

  It wasn't a hot day but the room felt stifling, thanks to being higher up in the palace. Sweat dampened the woman's blonde hair and her nightdress clung to her curves.

  "Open the windows," I said. The captain nodded at Sergeant Max to follow my orders. "Do you have a fan?" I asked the maid.

  The patient had finished throwing up but the maid still held the bowl ready. I took it from her and she disappeared into the sitting room. She returned a moment later with a large fan. Under my direction, she stood on the other side of the bed and flapped it at her mistress.

  "How long ago did the vomiting start?" my father asked the patient.

  "Last night," the woman whispered through cracked, colorless lips. "I went to bed after midnight and woke up with terrible cramps." Her hand fluttered weakly at her stomach. "I thought it would pass."

  "Did you raise the alarm?" I asked the maid.

  She nodded quickly. "My lady was like this when I brought in her breakfast. I fetched Lady Claypool straight away."

  Claypool. I knew that name. The Claypools were a noble family with an estate near Coldstream. Lord Claypool had come to Mull once, years ago, to inspect a fishing vessel. I'd not met him but had heard about him from those who had. Looking at him now, anxious about his ill daughter, he did not seem like the same man that Meg had called both masculine and graceful in the same awed breath.

  "She has been like this all morning," Lady Claypool said.

  Going by the contents of the bowl, the patient had long since thrown up her last meal and now discharged only liquid. Someone had emptied the bowl.

  Father asked the patient questions as he peered into her eyes, down her throat, and at her fingers. I didn't know what he was looking for, but I would certainly ask later and make notes. I hated having gaps in my knowledge.

  I did know one thing he would need, and while he was tied up investigating the patient's symptoms, I could be of use elsewhere. "Have you disposed of the other contents?" I asked the maid and indicated the bowl.

  She chewed on the inside of her lip. "I emptied it into the bathtub."

  "And where is the bathtub now?"

  "The bathroom."

  The palace had a bathroom! What a luxury.

  I followed her through another door near the back of the bedchamber into a large room painted yellow with a pink marble tiled floor. An unlit furnace squatted in the middle of the room beside a bathtub raised on a dais. The tub was large enough for me to stretch my legs out if I sat in it. Not that I would want to sit in it with the remnants of the patient's stomach pooled at one end. There didn't seem very much, however, and I realized the rest had disappeared through a hole in the bottom of the tub.

  "Is that a drain?" I asked, looking closer. "Where does it go?"

  "I don't know." The maid held up a plug then peered into the bath. She pulled a face. "I didn't know it hadn't all gone down. I didn't look. I just wanted to get back to Lady Miranda. Will she be all right?" She blinked back tears. "She's been so good to me. She's such a lovely lady, so beautiful and kind. It's no wonder the king has fallen in love with her already. I wouldn't be surprised if they wed before the summer is out. If she… If she doesn't…" Her lower lip wobbled but she managed to keep control of her tears.

  I squeezed her shoulder. "You're a good maid to her. She's very lucky to have you. Don't worry. My father is the best doctor in Glancia, and he's an expert on poisons."

  "Poison! You think she's been poisoned? Oh, dear Hailia, no."

  "I—er…that is, we're not sure. She probably just ate something that didn't agree with her." Damn. The captain hadn't told her he suspected poison, and I'd just blabbed as if it were common knowledge. I hoped the Claypools didn't know.

  The maid gasped. "Do you think someone fed her the poison deliberately?"

  "No! Of course not. She most likely ate the wrong kind of salad leaf."

  "But she didn't eat anything that the rest of them didn't. And she had no late night snack before bed, just the food at dinner that the others also ate. Even the king ate the same as my lady." She gasped again. "Do you think it was meant for him?"

  Merdu, she had a macabre imagination. I had to reel it in before she accused someone of murder. "Do all the bedchambers in the palace have their own bathroom?"

  She blinked rapidly at my sudden change of topic. "Not all. Most of the nobles have to share. We servants have a communal bathroom. Only the king's apartments and these ones are grand enough to have their own. Lady Miranda and her parents only moved down here two days ago from the attic rooms allotted to them when we first arrived." She drew in a breath and her chest swelled. "These apartments are supposed to be for dukes and duchesses, not for the lower nobles like Lord Claypool. He's only a baron, so the family shouldn't be here at all. But King Leon insisted on them moving out of the attic once he took a shine to Lady Miranda, even though Lord and Lady Claypool insisted they were comfortable where they were." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "The higher up families are so jealous. You ought to hear what they say about my lady. Vile things." She shook her head. "Seems jealousy isn't just for the likes of you and me, miss."

  I asked her for a towel and used it to pluck up partially-digested remains of Lady Miranda's last meal. Back in the bedchamber, I stuffed the towel into one of our empty jars.

  It was then that I noticed a newcomer in the room. Another guard wearing a uniform with identical gold braiding on his shoulder and chest to Max's. He was of medium build with brown hair and the sharp cheekbones of a Vytill native. He stood by the door, his hands at his back, and stared straight ahead.

  I turned to my father as he spoke, but not before I noticed Hammer watching me.

  "Note the color of the fingernails, Josie," Father said, indicating the dark half moons on Lady Miranda's fingernails. "And tell me what you see in her eyes."

  "The whites are milky," I said. "And the pupils are dilated. Her breathing is erratic too. Does your stomach still hurt?" I asked her.

  My father nodded his approval of my question, but I guessed he'd already asked it while I was in the bathroom. He began to pack away his things.

  Lady Miranda nodded and winced. She was putting on a brave face, but I could see by the way her jaw tensed that she was in pain. I touched her arm and gave her a reassuring smile.

  "Don't worry," I said. "You're in the best hands now."

  "Do you know what ails her?" Lady Claypool asked.

  "Direweed mixed with traitor's ease," Father said. "Two poisons blended—"

  "Poison!" Lord Claypool cried.

  "Dear Hailia," Lady Claypool whispered, clasping her daughter's hand. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Lady Miranda lifted a hand to wipe them away but it fell to her side. She wa
s too weak.

  "Is there an antidote?" Captain Hammer asked.

  My father nodded. "I'll make one up."

  "Will it take long?"

  "An hour once I get back to my surgery." An hour for an antidote was too long. He was holding something back, but I couldn't fathom what.

  "Then go!" Lady Claypool said through her tears. "Go now, Doctor, please. Hurry back."

  "Captain…" Lord Claypool began, casting a look toward Hammer.

  The captain nodded. "He'll have an escort the whole way and our fastest horses."

  "Continue to give her liquids," Father told the maid. "We need to flush it out of her system as much as we can before I give her the antidote." He had hardly finished speaking before he was out the door.

  I hurried after him, the captain and the Vytill sergeant on my heels. Max remained behind. We caught up to my father.

  "Does she have an hour, Doctor?" the captain asked.

  "She has two," Father said without breaking his long strides. "If she's strong and healthy."

  "She seemed to be, before this."

  "Are you a god-fearing man, Captain?"

  The sergeant grunted a harsh laugh.

  "Pray to the goddess Hailia that she lives. Come. We must hurry."

  ***

  Captain Hammer's silent presence was a distraction. He stood inside the front door, his arms crossed, legs slightly apart, and watched us through the open door of Father's workroom as we tested and re-tested the contents of Lady Miranda's stomach. Without a sample of the poisoned food or liquid, we had only the evidence of her discharge to go by. It should be enough.

  Father clicked his tongue. "Too much riverwart." He used the tongs to remove the small dish from the grill over the low fire and threw both dish and liquid into the pail near his feet. It was a terrible waste but we couldn't risk reusing a dish the poison had touched. "Damnation." He pressed a hand to his lower back and stretched. "Another, Josie."

  I handed him a clean dish and scooped a coin-sized chunk of Lady Miranda's regurgitated meal onto it with a spoon. We had precious little left. "Should I halve the quantity of riverwart this time?"