Sweep in Peace
Page 61
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The poor inn was trying to make me feel better.
I inhaled the aroma. It washed through me, sweet and delicate. That’s right. I was an innkeeper. I had seen the universe and I survived it. I would survive this too. I would fix this.
I stroked the branch with my fingers and whispered, “Thank you.”
If only all of them were as sensitive as Gertrude Hunt. The inn always felt what I felt…
It hit me like a freight train. George, you bastard. You conniving, manipulating bastard.
He knew. The Arbitrators’ database was one of the most comprehensive in the entire Galaxy. He did his research, figured it out, and then he set about finding an innkeeper he could manipulate into doing it. He must’ve approached some of us straight on, which is why everyone turned him down. No innkeeper would do this unless their back was against the wall and mine was.
Was Gertrude Hunt even strong enough? Was I strong enough?
I needed information. I had only seen it done once in my whole life and that was when my mother used our inn to get a murderer to confess. There had to have been others. I got up and went down into my lab.
Two hours later I had my answers. The good news was that Gertrude Hunt was definitely powerful enough to handle it. The inn’s roots were deep. It was possible. But it would have to go through me. I was the weakest link in this chain. As long as I held up long enough, it was possible. My books didn’t cover the last eighty years, but it did reach back three centuries from that point. The bad news was that four out of six innkeepers who tried it during that time went mad in the process.
Lousy odds.
I tried desperately to find another way. Any other way at all. I came up empty. It was this or failure.
If I did it, I would have to do it fast. The otrokari would leave tomorrow evening and everything had to be ready by then. All of my guests would actively resist it, too. All the favors I collected wouldn’t be enough. I had to restore my influence and authority as an innkeeper, or they would never submit to the process. Right now I was an innkeeper who was poisoned in my own inn, like a bartender who got his ass kicked in his own bar. I had to solve my own poisoning, hit him with it fast, and then dump the rest on them before they had a chance to really think about the possible consequences.
The identity of the poisoner wasn’t the problem. I could assemble all of the Merchants together, turn out the lights, and the guilty party would light up like a Christmas tree. But that wasn’t impressive. I had to figure out who had done it and why, so the big reveal would be an icing on the cake.
Twenty one centuries ago Lucius Cassius, censor and consul of Rome, had asked, “Cui bono?” To whose benefit? Every crime had come to pass because someone had something to gain by it, whether it was money, fame, or emotional satisfaction. I had to figure out who benefited from my death.
I found a pen and a piece of paper and began writing it down.
Guests who wanted peace had nothing to gain. If I died, the negotiations would end. This included the Arbitrator. His ultimate goal was peace as well.
Guests who wanted war had nothing to gain either. The negotiations were in shambles as it was, and my death, while it definitely would put a final nail into the coffin of peace talks, carried risks. It would be investigated and the guilty party would be barred from Earth. Why risk it when the summit had broken down so completely?
The Holy Anocracy had no reason to want me dead either. First, Arland and Lady Isur liked me. I was an instrument of Robart’s punishment shortly after his arrival, but he had much bigger concerns right now. I wasn’t directly involved in the brawl that took place in the dining hall either.
The otrokari owed me a favor, but it wasn’t enough of a burden to risk my death, especially not so obviously, by serving me tea. Not to mention that sharing tea was a scared tradition. Poisoning it spat on one of the cornerstones of their society.
The Merchants owed me a favor too, and more importantly, they wanted Sean to sign away his life. But Nuan Cee had no way of knowing that Sean would offer to trade his life for mine. We had no contact in this past six months, except for that one time at Wilmos’ shop. Sean never reached out to me, never sent me any letters, and never expressed any feelings for me. The only way Nuan Cee would be aware of Sean’s possible motive for sacrifice would be if Sean told him that he cared for me. I didn’t know Sean for very long the few ways that we did spend together put us through a pressure cooker and I knew him well. Sean wouldn’t share his feelings. If he truly loved me, he would keep it secret.
I stopped and squeezed my eyes shut. Sean Evans traded his life for mine. That probably meant he loved me. Okay, I would have to deal with that later. Not now. Now I had to save him.
I looked at my paper. Unless Sean confessed his love for me to Nuan Cee in a heart to heart talk – and Sean just wasn’t that kind of a guy – the Merchant had nothing to gain through my death. Even if Sean did betray his feelings somehow, there still wasn’t any guarantee that putting me in danger would get the Merchants their lifetime contract. If I did die and the Merchants’ involvement would be discovered, the Nuan family would be barred from Earth and that was a hefty price tag. Killing me simply didn’t make financial sense.
I stared at my paper. Nobody had anything to gain from me dying. I was an innkeeper, a neutral party. It’s not like I was some criminal mastermind or a former tyrant with a constellation of bounties on my head…
Oh.
Well. That made complete sense.
***
I walked into the kitchen wearing my innkeeper robe. Beast shot out from under the table and bounced around my feet. She must’ve abandoned Sean, because he was alone in his room. Orro slumped motionless in his chair. He saw me, and then my world turned dark and furry, and powerful limbs squeezed all air out of my lungs.
“Let her go, dear,” Caldenia called out. “You will crush her.”
Orro released me and I sucked in a hoarse breath. Quillonian hugs weren’t for people with weak bones.
“Wonderful to see you moving around,” Caldenia said.
Orro retreated to the chair and turned away, suddenly embarrassed.
“Did you save the kettle?” I asked.
Her Grace raised her eyebrows. “Do you take me for an amateur?”
She stepped to the island, where a cake stand waited covered by a metal hood, and lifted the cover. The kettle still filled with ruby tea waited on the stand.
“Sadly, we are still unable to identify the poison,” Caldenia said. “But the Khanum provided us with another pot and I can tell you that there are definite chemical differences between the two liquids.”
I inhaled the aroma. It washed through me, sweet and delicate. That’s right. I was an innkeeper. I had seen the universe and I survived it. I would survive this too. I would fix this.
I stroked the branch with my fingers and whispered, “Thank you.”
If only all of them were as sensitive as Gertrude Hunt. The inn always felt what I felt…
It hit me like a freight train. George, you bastard. You conniving, manipulating bastard.
He knew. The Arbitrators’ database was one of the most comprehensive in the entire Galaxy. He did his research, figured it out, and then he set about finding an innkeeper he could manipulate into doing it. He must’ve approached some of us straight on, which is why everyone turned him down. No innkeeper would do this unless their back was against the wall and mine was.
Was Gertrude Hunt even strong enough? Was I strong enough?
I needed information. I had only seen it done once in my whole life and that was when my mother used our inn to get a murderer to confess. There had to have been others. I got up and went down into my lab.
Two hours later I had my answers. The good news was that Gertrude Hunt was definitely powerful enough to handle it. The inn’s roots were deep. It was possible. But it would have to go through me. I was the weakest link in this chain. As long as I held up long enough, it was possible. My books didn’t cover the last eighty years, but it did reach back three centuries from that point. The bad news was that four out of six innkeepers who tried it during that time went mad in the process.
Lousy odds.
I tried desperately to find another way. Any other way at all. I came up empty. It was this or failure.
If I did it, I would have to do it fast. The otrokari would leave tomorrow evening and everything had to be ready by then. All of my guests would actively resist it, too. All the favors I collected wouldn’t be enough. I had to restore my influence and authority as an innkeeper, or they would never submit to the process. Right now I was an innkeeper who was poisoned in my own inn, like a bartender who got his ass kicked in his own bar. I had to solve my own poisoning, hit him with it fast, and then dump the rest on them before they had a chance to really think about the possible consequences.
The identity of the poisoner wasn’t the problem. I could assemble all of the Merchants together, turn out the lights, and the guilty party would light up like a Christmas tree. But that wasn’t impressive. I had to figure out who had done it and why, so the big reveal would be an icing on the cake.
Twenty one centuries ago Lucius Cassius, censor and consul of Rome, had asked, “Cui bono?” To whose benefit? Every crime had come to pass because someone had something to gain by it, whether it was money, fame, or emotional satisfaction. I had to figure out who benefited from my death.
I found a pen and a piece of paper and began writing it down.
Guests who wanted peace had nothing to gain. If I died, the negotiations would end. This included the Arbitrator. His ultimate goal was peace as well.
Guests who wanted war had nothing to gain either. The negotiations were in shambles as it was, and my death, while it definitely would put a final nail into the coffin of peace talks, carried risks. It would be investigated and the guilty party would be barred from Earth. Why risk it when the summit had broken down so completely?
The Holy Anocracy had no reason to want me dead either. First, Arland and Lady Isur liked me. I was an instrument of Robart’s punishment shortly after his arrival, but he had much bigger concerns right now. I wasn’t directly involved in the brawl that took place in the dining hall either.
The otrokari owed me a favor, but it wasn’t enough of a burden to risk my death, especially not so obviously, by serving me tea. Not to mention that sharing tea was a scared tradition. Poisoning it spat on one of the cornerstones of their society.
The Merchants owed me a favor too, and more importantly, they wanted Sean to sign away his life. But Nuan Cee had no way of knowing that Sean would offer to trade his life for mine. We had no contact in this past six months, except for that one time at Wilmos’ shop. Sean never reached out to me, never sent me any letters, and never expressed any feelings for me. The only way Nuan Cee would be aware of Sean’s possible motive for sacrifice would be if Sean told him that he cared for me. I didn’t know Sean for very long the few ways that we did spend together put us through a pressure cooker and I knew him well. Sean wouldn’t share his feelings. If he truly loved me, he would keep it secret.
I stopped and squeezed my eyes shut. Sean Evans traded his life for mine. That probably meant he loved me. Okay, I would have to deal with that later. Not now. Now I had to save him.
I looked at my paper. Unless Sean confessed his love for me to Nuan Cee in a heart to heart talk – and Sean just wasn’t that kind of a guy – the Merchant had nothing to gain through my death. Even if Sean did betray his feelings somehow, there still wasn’t any guarantee that putting me in danger would get the Merchants their lifetime contract. If I did die and the Merchants’ involvement would be discovered, the Nuan family would be barred from Earth and that was a hefty price tag. Killing me simply didn’t make financial sense.
I stared at my paper. Nobody had anything to gain from me dying. I was an innkeeper, a neutral party. It’s not like I was some criminal mastermind or a former tyrant with a constellation of bounties on my head…
Oh.
Well. That made complete sense.
***
I walked into the kitchen wearing my innkeeper robe. Beast shot out from under the table and bounced around my feet. She must’ve abandoned Sean, because he was alone in his room. Orro slumped motionless in his chair. He saw me, and then my world turned dark and furry, and powerful limbs squeezed all air out of my lungs.
“Let her go, dear,” Caldenia called out. “You will crush her.”
Orro released me and I sucked in a hoarse breath. Quillonian hugs weren’t for people with weak bones.
“Wonderful to see you moving around,” Caldenia said.
Orro retreated to the chair and turned away, suddenly embarrassed.
“Did you save the kettle?” I asked.
Her Grace raised her eyebrows. “Do you take me for an amateur?”
She stepped to the island, where a cake stand waited covered by a metal hood, and lifted the cover. The kettle still filled with ruby tea waited on the stand.
“Sadly, we are still unable to identify the poison,” Caldenia said. “But the Khanum provided us with another pot and I can tell you that there are definite chemical differences between the two liquids.”
