Masquerade in Lodi Read online

“Briefly, and two nights ago. Ah, perhaps we should return to my cabinet and sit down for this.” Linatas was still looking at his visitor with medical concern, though Pen was sure his color was coming back.

  By the time they’d gone back downstairs, Linatas had parked Pen on a stool, pressed a beaker of tepid tea upon him, and watched to make sure he drank, the pigeons began to settle. Bird the first…

  “Just where was he found, did they say?”

  Linatas sat in his chair with an unhappy grunt. “About five leagues out to sea. Too far, really, to be a swimmer carried off by the currents. We guessed he must have been swept or fallen from the deck of a ship, although no returning vessel has so far reported a missing man.”

  “Was he a sailor, do you think?”

  “No. He’s very fit, or he wouldn’t have survived his ordeal, but he doesn’t have the hands of a laborer.” Linatas held his up and clenched and unclenched them by way of illustration. “Deckmen’s and fishermen’s hands are very recognizable.”

  Working here for long, Linatas would surely have seen many such, right. “An officer? Seems too young.”

  “Lodi shipmasters apprentice young in their trade, but I think more likely he was a passenger.”

  Penric glanced down at his own writing callus and ink stains on his fingers. “Any sign of being a clerk or a scholar…?”

  “Hm, not strongly marked, no. Perhaps a reluctant writer. When we can make out his speech, it’s neither rude nor high.” Linatas glanced at Pen with return curiosity. “Why did he scream so when he saw you?”

  “Ah, not me. He saw my demon. Desdemona. Here, I’ll lend her my mouth, and she can introduce herself. Des? Please be demure, now.”

  Des grinned; Pen could feel the set of his face change as she took charge. “Demure? Who do you think you’re talking to? But I shall be properly polite, as befits a tame Temple servant. How do you do, Master Linatas? Thank you for looking after Pen, who tends not to do it for himself. Ah, perhaps that’s demonstration enough, Des,” Pen ended this before she decided it would be droll to embarrass him.

  Spoilsport. But she settled back, gratified with her brief outing. And acknowledgement.

  Linatas’s thick eyebrows had climbed. “That… was not a jape. Was it?”

  “No, though many people think it is.” Pen sighed. “You may speak to her directly any time you wish. She hears everything I hear.”

  “…She? I mean, demons have no bodies.”

  “Very long story. About two centuries, so best not delay for it here. But getting back to your patient. Uh, how much do you know about Temple sorcerers? Or any sorcerers?”

  “None have come my way as patients. I’ve seen them about town on rare occasions, or at ceremonies for their god.”

  Though if they were not in their whites and braids, Linatas could have passed such men and women unknowing in the market any number of times. For such a rare calling, the Lodi Temple was relatively well-supplied with sorcerers; Pen knew the Mother’s Order here had more than one sorcerer-physician in its service, if not at this poorer hospice. Pen’s duty directly to the archdivine was outside the usual chapterhouse hierarchy.

  “At a minimum, I need to explain how ascendance works, then,” said Pen. “As a creature of pure spirit, a demon requires a body of matter to support it in the world of matter. The question then becomes who shall be in charge of that body. A person can either possess or be possessed by their demon—rider or ridden is the usual metaphor—and demons in their untutored state naturally desire control. But as creatures of chaos, most aren’t exactly fitted for it. If a wild demon ascends, it’s more like being taken over by a destructive, overexcited drunk.” With supernatural powers.

  You were doing all right till that last bit, Des said dryly.

  “The other thing you need to know,” Pen went on, ignoring the interpolation, “is that elementals, the bits of the Bastard’s chaos leaked into the world, all begin as identical blank slates. Their ensuing personalities are acquired from and though their succession of hosts. Imprinting is a, hm, not-wrong way to envision it, like ink pressed down from a carved plate. Adding subsequent learning and life experience like any other person, but anyway. So every demon is different from every other demon just as every person is different from every other person, d’you see?” Pen looked up hopefully. This was a key point in his basic-demon-lecture where he often lost his listener to their prior more garbled beliefs. He’d also learned not to try to fit in all the fine points and exceptions at this stage, though the simplifications pained him.

  Linatas gave him a go-on wave of his hand; if not exactly convinced, seeming willing to wait for it.

  “Which brings us back to this demon.” Unnamed, much as its possessor, or possessee. “It’s very damaged. First, it came into being somewhere in the Roknari archipelago, which is, um, due to the Quadrene heresy not a healthy place for sorcerers or servants of the fifth god generally. The first animals it occupied were a couple of chance-encountered birds, nothing unusual there. But a demon, when its host dies, always tries to move up to a stronger—actually, more complex—host. The now-bird-imprinted spirit next went to a servant boy of maybe ten who, because Quadrene, would have known nothing about what was happening to him nor had any access to help or counsel. But someone else around him, a grown man, I think another servant, figured it out, and coveted what he imagined would be magical powers. Which, in his oppressed state, must have seemed worth the risk. He lured the boy out and secretly murdered him to steal those powers.”

  Linatas’s head went back in surprise. “That’s done?”

  “It’s tried. By the same sort of person who would commit murder and theft anywhere, I suppose. It… generally does not go as the assailant imagines it will.” Pen cleared his throat. “His career as a would-be hedge sorcerer was evidently short, but long enough to attract the attention of the Roknari Temple authorities, who have rather different methods than us Quintarians to deal with problem demons. But effective enough in their way. He was put out to sea to drown. This prevents the demon from jumping to any other human. If no other large-enough creature is around in range to possess, the demon, um, well, dies is as good a term as any.” Evaporates was another, but, fine points.

  “Except this time, there was another creature, a curious dolphin. But when a demon is forced back to a lesser host, the effect on the demon’s growing personhood is highly destructive. I’ve only seen one case where the demoted demon could be saved, afterward, and in that one the demon was unusually stable.”

  “Save a demon?” The Whyever? hung implied.

  Des seemed a bit offended by the bafflement in Linatas’s voice. Pen touched his shoulder braid, and put in on her behalf, “They give us great gifts, if they can be educated, and treated with understanding and respect. Like any other complicated thing of power and danger, which can kill you if misused. A water mill, a sailing ship, a hunting dog, a forge, a foundry—a human being. A pity and a waste when they are ruined.”

  Linatas, Pen had no doubt, had seen his share of pitiful waste in his line of work. By the twist of his lips, he was following the argument well enough for now.

  “This demon seems to have been ruined twice over, once to be sure by its fall from human to animal, but more from its imprinting by the murdering servant. The apparent madness you are seeing in your patient is from moments of ascendance by aspects of this shattered demon. I suspect some of his gibberish is Roknari. I can’t guess at the language of dolphins.”

  “That is the strangest part of all this, to me,” said Linatas. “How he was saved by the dying dolphin, if that’s what happened.”

  “Mm, maybe not so odd. Demons are the property, if you like, of the very god of chance and mischance. He looks after them, in His own way. The mark of His white hand seems all over this.” And not for the first time, in Pen’s experience.

  “You’re claiming a miracle?” Linatas’s voice rose in pitch, as well as volume.

  “In a sense. They say the
gods are parsimonious, but I think a better term might be opportunistic. Your drowning patient doubtless prayed to any god listening for succor—I certainly would have, in his position—but the Bastard might merely have seen a good chance to recover His demon for proper disposal.”

  Now Pen was getting That Look, which he won so often when trying to explain his god’s peculiar theology. He wasn’t spinning fables, blast it. Or at least his was informed speculation.

  “What I’m beginning to wonder more is how your fellow was parted from his ship in the first place. Since I don’t imagine the god pushed him overboard. Not to mention who he is. Though once he is, ah, de-demoned by the saint, he should come back to his senses fairly quickly, and be able to tell us for himself what happened to him. So that’s a set of problems that will solve themselves. The sooner, the better, I suppose.”

  Pen climbed to his feet. “I’ll be back, or send a message. The demon will be struggling to stay on top, but it’s possible your fellow may gain ascendance himself from time to time. You may be able to get more out of him then—he’ll be speaking Adriac if he does. Probably.” He wondered at the advisability of his next caution. It might cast an unfortunate doubt upon his own authority. Nevertheless. “Although demons can lie.”

  So can humans, muttered Des. And rather more often.

  Linatas placed a hand on his desk preparatory to rising. “I’ll call for Tebi to escort you back to the curia, Learned.”

  “No need. I know the way now.”

  “When will you return?” A tinge of anxiety colored Linatas’s voice.

  “Not sure. But I promise I won’t delay. This has become the day’s most urgent task.”

  Quick footsteps sounded from the hallway. A man in a green tabard whom Pen recognized as the orderly from upstairs stuck his head through the doorway, his gaze raking the room. “Not here,” he muttered.

  “Gnade?” said Linatas. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, sir. The madman got out when I went to empty the chamber pot. Only a moment—I’m sure he must still be in the building.”

  “Get Tebi to help you look.”

  “Right, sir.” The orderly galloped off.

  But Linatas did not relax back into his chair.

  “Has your patient done this before?” asked Pen.

  “He rattled around the ward obsessively yesterday, but he was pretty unsteady on his feet. He can’t be far.” Linatas’s worried frown reflected no such certainly.

  “Des?” said Pen aloud. “Is he still in the hospice?”

  A dizzying roll of demonic perception stretched in three dimensions, dotted with the colorful glows of souls still in their bodies. Pen ignored the faint signatures of ghosts, gray and drifting and fading; all such old buildings had them, hospices more than most. The aura of the fractured demon would be a glittering beacon by comparison.

  “No,” said Desdemona through his mouth. Linatas glanced up sharply. “He’s got out. That was fast.”

  Had Pen and Des triggered this very flight?

  Likely, conceded Des. The demon must have realized we’re a danger to it, if not precisely how. That would depend on how much its hosts, past and present, understand Temple procedures. The mad Lodi boy may know more than the Roknari, and either would know more than the dolphins. Or the birds.

  An insane ascendant demon of disorder, loose in Lodi… The possibilities were daunting. Pen thought bad words in Wealdean.

  Linatas pushed up from his desk.

  “I’ll help you look,” sighed Pen.

  * * *

  They quickly found from the porter that the runaway patient had not fled by the front door. Of the three other ground-level doors, two were locked from the inside. That narrowed the choice nicely. Pen, trailed by Linatas and Tebi, stepped out onto a side street and looked up and down. It would have been much too lucky for the man to still be in sight.

  “If the demon is being dominated by the dolphins, it might actually try to get back to the sea. If by the one drowned and one near-drowned man, anything but.” Pen bit his lip and pointed toward the harbor. “You two take that way. If he’s jumped into the water, somebody should have seen him, this time of day. One of you could follow the shore in each direction. Look for a fuss. I’ll head into town.”

  This logical plan was adopted without argument, seeming well to Pen till he came to the first cross-street. He halted in frustration.

  “Des, if you were an insane demon, which way would you go?”

  The sense of an offended sniff. I am not insane. And I would do something much cleverer.

  Pen looked upward at the band of blue sky in vague futility.

  This won a scoff outright. As we have several times established, I can’t fly, and neither can he.

  Might the distraught boy try to go home, wherever that was? Would that demon be organized enough to pretend to be him? Well enough to fool people who know him? It would be the most ready camouflage.

  A doubtful pause. It could submerge, let him take over and take them both home. But that would risk not being able to regain ascendancy.

  If the mad fellow was indeed a Lodi native, he would know this maze of a town. That knowledge would become increasingly available to the demon as it put down its roots into him, but not instantly. Pen remembered his confusion when he’d first contracted Des—more in the sense of a disease than a legal agreement, though there had certainly been negotiations later.

  If, on the other hand, the demon was trying to get as far from the sea as possible, it, he, they had to head for the big causeway from the lagoon city to the mainland. The man had been bathed and shaved and fed in the hospice, but—how far could he bolt dressed only in a loose shirt and trews, barefoot and without money?

  This was not getting them forward. He set his teeth and strode right, extending Des’s perceptions to the limit of her range. Which was curtailed, in congested places like this, by the many distracting live souls around them. They came to another square where a canal intersected the street, small boats tied up supplying another busy local marketplace, loading and unloading: men, women, and children buying and selling bright vegetables, fruits, flowers, and more miscellaneous goods. The noise in his ears was merely cheerful. The glut in his Sight was near overwhelming.

  Des, how can you bear it? All of us together?

  A shrug. I’ve never known anything else.

  There were good reasons why the very first thing Pen had sought, when this gift of Des’s had come to him in full, was how to turn it off again. And it wasn’t due to the poor sundered ghosts, much as they’d unnerved him back then. Nowadays, the worst part was when his trained brain started to diagnose. He really didn’t want to know anymore which random strangers he met were dying.

  All of them, eventually, Des observed.

  I suppose in two centuries you’ve earned your long view.

  The hard way, aye.

  The Lodi madboy must be equally spirit-assaulted about now, if without the fine discernment Pen possessed. This suggested he might seek less peopled places, not that there were many in Lodi. Which pointed back to a break for the mainland, again.

  Blast it, they needed to assign their quarry a name. Two names, as there were two agendas in play. He couldn’t keep thinking of them as Lodi Madboy and Deranged Demon.

  We could nickname them Mad and Dee, like Pen and Des, Des quipped. Pen rolled his eyes.

  He circled the area, coming back to the front door of the hospice in time to meet Linatas and Tebi returning from their search of the shore. Alone.

  At Pen’s anxious look, Linatas shrugged. “No luck our way. Any from yours?”

  Pen shook his head. “I covered about half of this island.” After centuries of development, Lodi was still cut up into island-based neighborhoods, for all that some had been built out on pilings and dredgings to join up with each other. “Due to the demon, the problem of your patient has shifted from the Mother’s Order onto the Bastard’s.” In other words, into Pen’s lap. “He’ll
be leaking dangers far beyond his madness that can only be handled by a sorcerer or a saint. But please send his description at once to the causeway gate guards to be on watch for him.” Which, given the fellow’s common appearance, was going to be less than useful, but Pen could only work with what he had. “Tell them not to approach him, but to send a runner to…” Pen, ideally, but if he was out combing the city, he would be as hard to locate as his quarry. “Archdivine Ogial’s office. Send there too if you learn anything more.”

  Which meant he needed to report in at the curia next, and warn them of their task as his message depot. Among other things.

  Pen bade Linatas farewell with a cursory gesture of blessing, and hurried back over the five bridges. He made the return journey with his Sight at full stretch, just in case. It was like trying to rapidly skim a densely written book where paragraphs kept snagging and tripping his eye. The only thing he needed to discern of passersby was that they did not bear the demon, which was pretty instantly apparent. Unexpectedly exhausting; drawing Des’s senses back in when he reached the curia, on the reasonable assumption that Madboy would not have come here, was a relief.

  He scuffed up the stairs to the office on the second floor belonging to the archdivine’s secretary, Master Bizond. At the doorway, he almost collided with a middle-aged woman in the trim black robe of the Father’s Order. The black-and-gray braids of a full divine upon her shoulder were threaded with purple, marking a specialty in law. She carried a stack of papers and documents; reflexively, Pen held the door for her, which won him an abstracted nod of thanks. It inadvertently put her in line ahead of him at Bizond’s desk.

  Bizond was lean and gray and with the air of a permanent fixture in the curia, like the marble staircases. He looked up at the lawyer with something as close to approval as his stony features could unaccustomedly produce. “Learned Iserne.”

  The woman nodded crisply. “Here are the copies of the wills and documents for the Vindon lawsuit, together with my precis.”

  “Oh, good, we were waiting for those.” His bony hands darted for them. A pause, while he sifted through in some preliminary assessment.