“It must be so. They have not only disobeyed the will of the Death Lord, but the will of the goddess. That is an offense punishable by death.”
Niall was silent; he had no particular desire or reason to defend Skorbo’s murderous associates.
Dravig sensed that the conversation was at an end. “With your permission I will leave you.”
“Wait. I’m coming with you.”
Nephtys was still keeping guard at the door; Niall told her to summon his charioteers.
“Are we ready to go?” Simeon rose to his feet.
Niall turned to Dravig. “I would like you to accompany us to the hospital.” With the equivalent of a human nod, the spider transmitted his acquiescence.
Simeon said: “I think your brother had better come too. I’d like to do something about that thumb.”
“Is it still bleeding?” He saw that the handkerchief around Veig’s thumb was soaked in blood. When Veig removed it, blood welled out of the clean cut. “Why isn’t it clotting?”
Simeon said: “My guess is that there was an anticoagulant on the blade. I’ve got a poultice that should cure it.”
Outside, it was a cold and brilliant night; the moon was almost directly overhead. As they stood waiting for the charioteers, Niall looked across the square to the house where Skorbo had been attacked. To his surprise, it was no longer there; instead there was merely a gap. Dravig followed the direction of his gaze.
“It has been demolished. We regard a house where a murder has taken place as unholy ground.”
Niall asked: “Did the workmen find the leaden seal?”
“I have not been told of it. But I will make inquiries.”
Simeon, who had been able to hear Niall’s part of the conversation, asked: “Do you think the seal is a transmitter?”
“It’s possible.”
The charioteers, muffled in furs, finally arrived. Niall climbed in, followed by Veig and Simeon.
“Take us to the hospital.”
Dravig followed the chariot, walking with long unhurried strides; even when the charioteers were running, it cost him no effort to keep up with them.
Niall looked at his brother, who was sitting between them, and then down at his bandaged hand — Jarita had provided a long strip of cloth.
“How do you feel?”
Veig grinned cheerfully. “Fine.” He held up his hand; the bandage was already stained with blood. “It won’t stop bleeding, but otherwise there’s nothing wrong.”
But as the chariot bounced and jarred on the frozen snow, Niall observed his brother’s face with concern; it seemed unnaturally pale, with a pallor that was more than an effect of the moonlight.
The front door of the hospital building was closed, but opened when Niall pushed against it. Simeon led them down the dimly lighted corridor, which smelled of chlorinated lime and medication. A woman in slave uniform looked out of a doorway, but blanched and hastily retreated when she saw the spider. The door of the maternity ward stood open, and they could hear the heavy breathing of a woman in labor. Simeon turned left at the end of the corridor, and halted in front of a plain wooden door. He shook his head in annoyance.
“I told them to leave someone on guard.” He pushed open the door, then halted. “Great goddess!”
Niall, who was directly behind him, found it difficult to see what had caused the exclamation. The small oblong room, with its white-painted walls, was lit by a single rush lamp which burned in a corner alcove; white gowns hung on the walls. Two benches stood in the center of the room, and a third against the rear wall. On this bench lay a corpse, its feet toward the door. It was only when Niall looked more closely that he saw what had startled Simeon. The corpse had no head. A moment later, Simeon was kneeling beside another corpse that lay between the benches.
Veig peered over Niall’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”
“The caretaker, Jude. Give me a knife.”
Even in the poor light, Niall could see that the dead man’s face was swollen and suffused with blood, and that the lips were drawn back from the teeth in a grimace of agony.
Simeon was sawing with a knife in the region of the man’s throat. He shook his head. “It’s no good. The cord’s tied so tight I’d have to cut his throat to get it off. He’s dead anyway.”
Dravig had followed them into the room, although his enormous bulk almost filled it. He stood looking down at the headless corpse. “This is the man who died this afternoon.”
Niall said: “I know.” He was looking at the cut on the forearm made by the poisoned knife.
Simeon said: “They’ve taken the other body.”
Niall asked: “Are you sure it arrived?”
“Certain. I watched them carry it in before I came to see you.”
Veig voiced the thought that was in Niall’s mind. “Perhaps he wasn’t dead after all.”
Simeon said: “He was dead all right. I’d stake my life on that.”
Niall lit a second rush light from the one in the corner, and held it near the floor.
“Look. Someone carried the head out of the door.” There were splashes of dried blood on the wooden floor.
Simeon said: “Which means there were at least three of them.”
Veig asked: “Why three?”
“A man carrying a severed head holds it by the hair, and he holds it away from himself to avoid the blood. That’s what happened here. So there must have been three — two to carry the body, one to carry the head.”
“But why should they want the head?”
Niall was in the corridor, bent close to the floor. The trail of blood ran diagonally across it to another door. When he opened this he found himself looking into a small yard enclosed by a high wall; it was clearly illuminated by the moon, which was directly overhead. Against this wall lay a pile of chopped logs, and the snow between the door and the logs had been trampled by many feet. But the trail of blood ran across the yard, and out of a rusty iron gate, which stood slightly ajar. The snow in this part of the yard was still deep and untrampled. It showed clearly the single line of footprints that accompanied the trail of blood.
Niall pointed. “Only one man.”
Simeon shook his head. “That’s unbelievable. Unless a dead man can walk.”
Veig said: “Or unless he was still alive.”
Simeon said: “He certainly looked dead.” But his tone of voice indicated that he was beginning to experience doubts.
Outside the gate, the blood trail ceased. The snow here had been trampled, and was too hard to show footprints.
Niall said: “He must have realized he was — leaving a trail.”
Veig said: “But how could he stop it bleeding?”
Simeon grunted. “Turn it upside down and tuck it under his arm.”
The moonlit street was empty, although lights burned in some of the buildings. Veig had dropped onto his knees and was studying the snow; Niall knew him well enough to know that his hunting instinct had been aroused. But after several minutes, he stood up, shaking his head. He pointed down the street.
“I’d guess he went that way. But only because I think he wouldn’t risk going back to the main avenue.”
Dravig asked: “Shall I summon the guard?”
Since the others were unable to hear the question, Niall repeated it aloud.
Simeon shook his head. “If he knew he was being followed, he’d hide in the nearest empty building, and we might never find him.”
Veig was already walking along the street, away from the main avenue, his eyes on the ground; Niall recognized in the bent shoulders the total concentration of the hunter. He was attempting to allow his intuition, like an animal’s sense of smell, to guide him back to the trail. And as he watched his brother, Niall suddenly became as fascinated by Veig’s efforts as by their immediate objective; he recognized the peculiar “inwardness” that he himself knew so well, the inner contraction of the faculties that seemed to awaken some hidden power.
Veig halted at the next intersection, a narrow street that was hardly more than an alleyway. The moonlight caused the houses on the left to throw a sharp black shadow. The snow here was untrampled; the only visible tracks were those of a wolf spider. Yet Veig stood there, his head turning to right and left like a tracker dog that has picked up the scent. Then he disappeared into the shadow of the building.
“Bring a lamp here.”
Niall carried his own lamp, which was shaded by a glass chimney, to the spot where Veig was standing. Veig took it from him and knelt. He gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
“This is it.”
He had, in fact, discovered a line of footprints that ran along the left-hand pavement. Niall was about to ask how he could be so sure, then changed his mind. Veig, at least, seemed to have no doubts. He handed the lamp back to Niall, and hurried forward, his body bent almost double.