Page 7 of Paladin's Hope

“Can they make a charge stick?”

“On my say-so? Yes. As far as the courts are concerned, a lich-doctor is the last word on cause of death. The White Rat will be left representing both sides, but they’re used to that.” Piper raked his hands through his hair, trying to settle it in something that didn’t look like a bird’s nest. “Fortunately, I’m an honest man, or something like it.” He grimaced at the scrap of mirror. There was nothing to be done about his hair. The polished tin was slightly warped, and he turned his head from side to side, watching his reflection distort. He could just make out the paladin behind him, a pale oval framed by hair the color of…no, don’t start trying to decide what organ at what stage of decomposition is that shade of red. Pick something else. Something that isn’t horrible. Piper wracked his brain for a comparison and finally settled on smoked paprika. He liked smoked paprika. He liked visiting the spice stalls in the market and seeing the rows of jars, the purity of the colors in a dozen shades of orange and umber and scarlet. Yes. Much better.

It was probably a good thing that paladins didn’t have a reputation as mind readers.

“Okay,” he said, giving up on his hair and pulling on a hat. He slung an oilcloth cloak around his shoulders. “Let’s see this latest body.”

* * *

Galen walked a little behind Piper as they made their way to the river. Not many people in this quarter were out at this hour of the morning, and he didn’t need to watch the sidewalk closely. Instead he studied the back of the doctor’s neck, wondering what to make of him.

Doctor Piper was attractive, certainly. The paladin had noticed that the first time they met. Dark hair, cut very short, and a face that looked young until you saw his eyes. There were lines around those eyes that had nothing to do with laughter.

That first moment when he’d opened the door naked from the waist up had been the kind of shock to the senses that would have reduced a much younger Galen to gibbering idiocy. Piper was lean rather than powerful, but every muscle was in exactly the right place, the lines of his arms smoothly defined, his fingers long and deft. He’d always admired that in other men, ever since he was young. Insomuch as Galen had a type, it was “male, with good hands.” His first great love had been another youth at the Saint of Steel’s temple, who had not been conventionally attractive but had possessed quite exquisite hands.

Now, Piper certainly was conventionally attractive. But so pale. Saint’s teeth. Galen had heard poets talk about alabaster skin, but he’d never seen anyone who so closely resembled it. The hollows at Piper’s throat and collarbone were almost blue. Understandable given that he worked underground at all hours, but still. As a redhead, Galen was automatically used to being the palest person in any given room, but Piper made him look ruddy and tan. The only darkness across his skin was the fine line of black hair running down his belly and vanishing under the waistband of his pants.

It was a good thing Galen had a lot of experience controlling his expression.

Based on the few conversations they’d had, Galen already suspected that the doctor also had some experience in that department. Half-awake and hung over was the first time he’d seen Piper’s expression be anything but cool and sardonic and professional.

Then he’d mentioned the dead child and the lines around his eyes had gone tight and grim. The bitterness in his voice hadn’t ended there, either. Fortunately, I’m an honest man, or something like it. Galen wondered what lay at the heart of that bitterness.

Piper turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. “Which way?”

“Upriver,” said Galen, gesturing. Piper nodded, turning down the next street. He set a quick pace and did not often look back. A man used to walking alone, Galen guessed.

A handsome man with a hurt looking to be soothed. Paladin catnip, his friend Clara would say, laughing. No, no. You’re in no shape to go around fixing anybody’s hurts. The world was full of misery and you had to learn eventually that it wasn’t your job to fix all of it. Even when it came in attractively built packages.

They reached the river. Galen took the lead, threading around the piles of fishing nets and jumbled debris on the shore. The Elkinslough flooded now and again, and when it receded, it left all manner of things behind. The mudlarks picked through it for anything valuable, but there was plenty that not even the poorest souls would want. And there, at the end, a small, striped figure with a corpse at his feet.

Earstripe looked up as they approached and put his whiskers forward with clear relief. “A bone-doctor has come,” he said. “A gnole is grateful.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Piper, kneeling down. “But let’s see what we can see.”

Five

Piper crouched down over the body. Cause of death was easy to determine. The man was missing most of his pants and all of his left leg. The right leg had a deep diagonal slash across it, bloodless now, at the same height. Something sliced through here, but he must have had one leg in front of the other. The fish had eaten away at the stump, so Piper couldn’t tell yet how clean the cut had been. They’d gotten the man’s genitals as well. Lovely. Just the thing you want to look at with a hangover. He wasn’t squeamish, of course, but there were proper frames of mind for everything.

He sighed and looked upriver. They were near the edge of the city here, and only a few docks and built-up pilings stood between their position and the land beyond. He watched a mudstilt pick its way along the water’s edge, one of the few birds that didn’t seem to mind the polluted water. It poked its beak between the stones, walked a few feet, poked again, looking for food. Its belly was bright white and looked absurdly clean compared to its surroundings.

Focus, Piper. They didn’t bring you here as a birdwatcher. He dropped his eyes back to the body.

“Same as the others?” asked Earstripe. “Yes?”

“It could be,” said Piper. “This one’s been in the water about the same amount of time as the others, I think.”

“Same kind of death,” said Galen.

“The other one was impaled.”

“It’s still something big hitting him. Only this one was sharp.”

“Mmm.” Piper was glad he was wearing gloves. He pried apart the lips of the wound on the right leg and examined the bone. There was a notch out of it and some minor splintering. “Yes. Whatever hit him was sharp enough to cut bone, and had a lot of weight behind it.”

Galen and the gnole exchanged glances. “A gnole thinks there aren’t many things like that.”

“Axes,” said Galen. “But who can swing an axe and take out a leg and most of the next one like this? And not get hung up on bone?”

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