Casket of Souls

Seregil. “Anyone out of the ordinary?”
    Eirual sank her head into one hand. “Newcomers? Of course, there are always new patrons. Lord Tryis, Duke Moren’s boy Kallen, young Lord Alerin, several well-to-do merchants from Mycena. I can’t recall the names. They were in a week or so ago. And that handsome actor of yours, Master Atre, comes to flirt with her now and then.”
    “He does seem to turn up everywhere,” said Seregil. “Who else? Dressmakers? Perfume sellers? Anyone of that sort?”
    “Well, there’s a new butcher’s boy, but my girls have no contact with him. Arlana did go to a new dressmaker, but the woman didn’t come here, and Myrhichia hasn’t been to her shop. Those are the only new people I can think of.”
    “Who is in and out of here regularly, besides your customers?”
    “Patrons,” Eirual corrected distractedly. “Let me see. The butcher’s boy, the dairyman, the man who delivers the firewood—”
    “Someone who has access to the girls,” Seregil prompted gently.
    “The hairdressers, the cosmetics merchant, jewelers, of course, perfumers, seamstresses, cloth merchants, wine and sweetmeat dealers—” She threw up her hands. “I don’t even know! The girls all have tradesmen they favor, and most of them come and go as they like. It’s never been a problem.”
    “So someone could conceivably have come in without you knowing about them?”
    “Yes, I suppose so.”
    “Who has Myrhichia seen in the past week or so?” asked Alec. “We can at least narrow it down that way.”
    Eirual turned to Hyli, who’d been weeping quietly in the corner by the door. “You spend the most time with her, besides me.”
    The courtesan took the handkerchief from her face. “Mistress Kela came to measure her for some new nightdresses. Master Horrin sold her some rouge.” She paused to wipe her nose. “Master Kharom delivered some jewels she’d ordered from him.”
    “Has she been out of the house much lately?” asked Seregil.
    “To the Three Dragons with Duke Oreus one night, and the theater, and with you, of course. She went to the new play at the Crane a few nights ago, and to the Tirari last night with Duke Carnis.”
    “That just leaves her regular patrons. How many does she have?”
    “At the moment?” Eirual counted silently on her fingers. “Five regulars, and the occasional extra.”
    Alec swallowed hard. He knew what Myrhichia was, of course, and what her trade entailed, but he didn’t spend time thinking about the details. She was his friend.
    “Somewhere among all those is the one who carries this disease, or works the magic, whichever it is,” Seregil told her.
    Eirual looked to Hyli. “You can go, love. If anyone questions you, tell them that she’s indisposed.”
    When the girl was gone, Eirual turned to Seregil. “Will you speak to Brother Valerius for me? He doesn’t approve of me, I know, but I want the best for her.”
    “I’m sure I can convince him,” Seregil assured her, patting her hand.
    More tears came as Eirual looked down at Myrhichia. “I love all my girls, but she’s like a daughter to me.”
    “I’ll go, Seregil. You stay with Eirual.” Alec took the older woman’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll do everything we can to help.”
* * *
    Alec found Valerius in his library, poring over a large book by the window.
    “What are you doing here at this hour?” the man asked, looking up with amused annoyance.
    “It’s Myrhichia. She has the sleeping death,” Alec told him, throat tight as he finally said the words aloud.
    Any levity fled the drysian’s face. “Maker’s Mercy!” He rose and fetched his herb bag from a cabinet and his staff from its place by the door. Striding from the room, he bellowed, “Zala, my horse!”
    At the brothel Valerius had Eirual and Hyli remove Myrhichia’s clothing and unpin her hair; then he inspected her closely. Alec stood by the door, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on the carpet. He’d seen Myrhichia naked, of course, but only that one night, and now it felt strange and uncomfortable.
    “No fever,” the healer muttered to himself. “No lesions. No bruising. No obvious punctures. No aroma of poisons. No discoloration of the tongue or lips … or the nails. Nothing unusual there …”
    Alec heard the rustle of bedclothes as Valerius drew them up to her chin.
    The drysian stood a moment in thought, scratching absently under his beard. “I need a cup of hot water.”
    Alec went out