Dr. Silas Corvain's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The Asterwing waited by the door while Silas tied the herb pouch to his belt. Sundown was four hours off. Three bodies lay across three houses, and no house would open its cellar to a masked stranger asking after poison. Silas had already decided the answer before he spoke it. He would not chase the bodies. He would bring the bodies to him. "Your lady's cousin," Silas said. "Where is he now?" "Laid out in the family chapel until dusk," the Asterwing said. "Two guards at the door. A priest inside." "And the other two?" "One at a merchant's townhouse. One at the Council's own hall." The crow's beak clicked. "The hall is closed to us." "Then we take the two we can." Silas turned toward the back of the shop. "Bring them here. Tonight. Before the diggers come at sundown." The Asterwing did not move. "You want me to steal two noble corpses." "I want you to borrow them for one hour each." Silas pushed open the door to the back room. He knew the space by count of steps. Six to the treatment table. Two more to the sink. The shelf ran the length of the far wall, jars sorted by seal. "This room locks. The window is shuttered. No one comes here without my key." "And if I am caught carrying a dead lord through the lane?" "You are a house physician moving a body for a second rite. Say the family requested it. Say it with the voice you used on the clerk this morning." Silas found the table's edge and pressed his palm flat. "I need one hour with each. That is all." The Asterwing was quiet. Then the buckles shifted. "The cousin first. He is closest." He went. Silas set out what he needed by touch. Lavender at the head of the table. Trained herbs at the right hand. A clean basin of water at the sink. The clock on the shelf ticked against his ear. He counted its beats until the back door opened again. The Asterwing carried the body in wrapped in altar cloth. He laid it on the padded table without a word. Silas locked the door behind him and set his gloved fingers to the dead man's lips. He crushed a stem of the trained thyme and held it under the cold nose. He bent close. Beneath the incense of the chapel, beneath the sweet rot of a day above ground, he found it. Bitter almond. Faint. Certain. "Not plague," Silas said. "Cyanide. In something he drank the night before." The Asterwing exhaled. "Then I go for the second." "Go quickly." Silas straightened. The clock ticked past the hour. "And when you return, tell me who poured his last cup. Someone in that house knows. Someone in that house is next."