in, plus whatever they give the performer. And the houses have watchmen to make sure the guests don’t get rowdy.”
“Which means he took her from under the nose of someone who was supposed to stop that sort of thing,” Dema added. “You have good instincts for this, Keth, to remember about the watchmen.”
“I don’t think that’s a compliment,” Keth said bitterly. “When was she taken, do you know?”
As they talked, Tris set out the breakfast they had purchased on the way to the shop. Glaki took a honeycake to Dema, who smiled wearily at the child. He was ashen-faced with exhaustion. “Around midnight, between performances. Last anyone recalls seeing her, she was on her way to the privy at the back of the house.”
Heat — temper? magic? he didn’t know — welled up in Keth until he thought he might burst. The courtyard houses were safe, particularly for yaskedasi. There were hazards to performing on the streets, enough that those who could afford to do so and those who had gained some measure of fame thought it worthwhile to pay the monthly fees to those who operated the houses. “Does he walk through walls?” he cried, furious. “Is he invisible?”
Inside the shop two tall vases shattered. Everyone turned to stare at the pieces on the floor until Tris remarked, as sensibly as ever, “The problem with bringing your magic under control is that it gets more powerful. If your control isn’t perfect…” She went into the shop and found the broom. “We’ll work on that today.”
“And the globes,” Keth said grimly. She sounded unmoved and level-headed, but Keth knew her a little better now. He could see the quiver at the corners of her mouth. She was as upset as he was. It startled him to realize that, even though he knew she was upset, her braids remained where they were, without movement, without sparks. For the very first time he wondered at the amount of emotional control it took, for her hair not to give her feelings away.
“And the globes,” agreed Tris as she swept up glass. “You said you have a fallback plan. When does it go into action?” she asked Dema.
“Tomorrow night at the earliest,” he replied, inspecting his honeycake as if he’d forgotten what it was for. “The arurimati have to rearrange schedules. The women, some of them, have families to be looked after. At least Mother isn’t screaming over the expense. She knows how close I am — we are — to disgrace.” He took a bite of the cake and chewed as though it were made of wood. “I wish I could explain how maddening this is!” he cried when he had swallowed his bite. “Nine times out of ten — no, better than that — ninety-four times in a hundred, the victim knows her killer, his killer, whoever. We question the family, the neighbours, fellow workers, and usually it’s one of them. But how do we handle a thing like this? We question those who knew the dead, who saw them before they were taken, but all of the possibilities have turned to lead. We’ve found no one who knew all of the victims, no one at all. And no one who saw anyone suspicious around even two of the yaskedasi.”
Carrying broken glass to the cullet barrel inside the door, Tris saw a prathmun pick up the rubbish from Antonou’s house and carry it to his wagon in the alley. “Have you questioned the prathmun?” she asked, turning to Dema. “Maybe they saw something.”
“Of course we’ve picked up and questioned a number of them already,” Dema replied, suddenly uncomfortable as well as unhappy.
“Did they have anything to do with Khapik, or the victims?” Keth wanted to know.
Dema shrugged. “They’re Khapik prathmuni. And they haven’t admitted anything so far.”
“You’re torturing them,” Tris accused.
“That’s how we handle prathmuni,” replied Dema. “Everyone knows a prathmun lies as easily as he breathes. Since the arurim prathmuni bring them in anyway, it’s easiest to go right to it. If you were Tharian, you wouldn’t even ask about it.”
“So you get the torture out of the way, whether there is reason to suspect the prathmuni you arrest or not,” Tris said angrily.
“That’s how things are done here,” replied Dema. “Our ways aren’t yours. Could we change the subject? It’s not exactly a decent one, particularly in front of a child.” He got to his feet, half of his honeycake still in one hand. “If you create another globe today?”