Bone Priestess Page 2

  “Hello. How can I help you?”

  She said it to a woman she had never seen before. A woman who she could not guess one single thing about based on her appearance. She could have been in her fifties just as well as she could have been a dour-faced twenty-year-old. Her hair color and skin color were both a shade of ambiguous tan—she could have hailed from anywhere on Rosamar. The hard stare of her dark eyes couldn’t even be deciphered. Was she angry? Confused? Far-sighted?

  “Missus Tillie Boyce?” she asked. Her voice was harsh but even.

  “Y-yes ma’am. And you?”

  Even the woman’s clothes left Tillie perplexed. She wore a tall black witch-hunting hat with a thin silver ribbon, a long black coat with silver epaulets, and a polished flintlock pistol at each hip.

  “Lady Cadence de la Croix, Bone Priestess from the Botathora Sanctum. Missus Boyce—” she produced a note from her pocket, “—I am told you wrote this.”

  It was from her trip to the City Watch the night before. “I told them that was anonymous!”

  “And I told them to tell me.” The woman tipped her hat and came inside. “My investigation starts with you.”

  “Investigation?”

  “Please close your front door, Missus Boyce. I must discuss this with you, and I do not intend for the whole world to hear.”

  Tillie grunted, shut the door, and hurried to lead Cadence into the kitchen. “You said you’re from the Botathora Sanctum? What does that mean, exactly? Why are you investigating?”

  The kitchen was as cramped as the front room. There was just enough room for a cutting board by the lit hearth and a small pantry. Tillie poured water from a ceramic jug into her kettle and set it by the fire for tea.

  “Botathora is the Goddess of Death and Time, as everyone knows, and as I am a high-ranking dedicant, the Sanctum employs me to investigate any incidents where the dead have been desecrated. I am to enact justice for the dead and then consecrate them again so that their souls may continue the journey to Botathora.”

  Tillie covered her mouth. “Oh gods, you’re investigating desecration? They really thought what I put in my note was that serious?”

  “Perhaps.” Cadence’s gaze didn’t wander for even a second, yet Tillie was sure she had already observed every detail in the room. “And perhaps the City Watch has no idea how to handle something of this nature. The dead are just as sensitive as the living, but they are completely out of the Watch’s expertise or jurisdiction.”

  Tillie took a deep breath and fetched two tea cups. She kept the chipped one for herself—one that Rowan had dropped once—and saved the nice one for her guest.

  “Alright then Lady Cadence, what would you like to know?”

  When Cadence thought, she didn’t move. There was no pacing or idle fidgeting or bouncing. The woman was like stone.

  “Tillie Boyce, twenty-five years old, born and raised in Riddenholm. Originally Tillie Thatcher.”

  “I thought you came here to ask me questions.”

  “Are you confirming my information?”

  Tillie huffed as she retrieved a jar of loose tea. “Yes.”

  Cadence nodded. “Married Galen Boyce in the early spring of 1130. Gave birth to a son several months later. Fall of 1133 Galen falls ill and perishes.”

  “Perishes.” Tillie grumbled and put a pinch of tea in each cup. “Such a sweet, delicate way to phrase an agonizing death, Lady Cadence. I did not take you for a delicate speaker.”

  “I judged you for someone delicate, yourself. I would not have used the word otherwise.”

  Tillie stood across from her at the countertop. A silence fell over them as they waited for the water to boil.

  “Will you confirm the information?” Cadence asked.

  “Yes! Gods, is that all you want? Do you just want my life story, or did you actually come here to solve a potential crime? I must warn you that my life is not all that interesting.”

  Cadence’s eyes shifted to the ground for only a fraction of a second. “Actually, Missus Boyce, I am here to judge character because my next question is why you thought it necessary to report what you saw. And just what was it that you saw?”

  The water started to simmer. Tillie breathed in deep.

  “Can I ask a question first?”

  “You may.”

  “When a place like the College needs to study, where do the bodies come from? We’ve learned so much about all the races on this world through dedicated study… but how do we come by that material?”

  Cadence folded her arms. “Study is important for medical advancement and survival. The Sanctum knows this. Our goddess knows this. Having your body—your soul’s vessel in life—donated upon your death is something that can be celebrated and honored in a death ceremony or Rite of Crossing. A person of significance must make that choice, however. Perhaps you decide to donate your body on your deathbed. Or you let a loved one decide. Or the Sanctum.”

  “But it must be decided upon and noted in the ceremony?” Tillie asked.

  “Yes. Because even though the soul’s ties to all things mortal are severed with the ceremony, sometimes threads are stubborn and still linger.”

  Tillie went to the kettle, now rattling with boiling water. “And what does that mean?”

  “It means the soul cannot reach Botathora to complete the journey. Sometimes the threads pull the soul back and it winds up in the Ethereal Realm as a ghost, or the Silent Realm as something more malicious. Or worse. It could end up as a daemon.”

  “And these are all things that could happen if bodies are improperly—” she poured the steaming water into the cups, “—oh, what would you call it? Used?”

  “A soul being pulled back is angry. A soul being pulled back to see its old body disrespected is furious. And rightly so.” She pushed the cup away as Tillie slid it to her and took the chipped one instead. “You are a nice person, Missus Boyce. Your sacrifice is noticed and appreciated, but please, take the finer things. You have earned more than a chipped cup.”

  The words brought a ferocious blush to Tillie’s cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “The Sanctum’s drive to pursue perpetrators of desecration and improper use of the dead is not just about preventing a soul from turning into the undead, Missus Boyce, though there is nothing more tragic than when that happens. We also do this because desecrating a body is just rude.”

  Tillie hid her smile in her teacup as she tested the water. Too hot. “That it is, my lady.”

  “Now.” Cadence straightened her already perfect posture. “What possessed you to report to the City Watch?”

  Where could she even start? Tillie’s eyes wandered, looking to bowls and spices and knives for answers. Finally, she shrugged.

  “I guess it was just overthinking. I’m told I do it—”

  Her face went blank and yesterday’s events raced through her head. Cadence waited patiently and blew on the tea.

  “It was that damn grave warden!” Tillie shouted. “What was his name?”

  “You wrote ‘Dane Sheltier.’”

  “Dane Sheltier!” Tillie threw her hands up. “He got this whole thing started. He’s replacing old Brin Colt as the grave warden in Riddenholm.”

  “Now there’s a stubborn soul.” Cadence sipped. “A skeleton wearing skin.”

  “I’ve never heard of a Dane Sheltier in my life.” Tillie wandered the cramped space with her cup. “He’s new to Riddenholm. A stranger! And that old man just hands the job over to him like it’s nothing!”

  “Missus Boyce, hiring a grave warden is no small matter. The qualifications are serious. Not just anyone can be picked. Is perfect timing Mister Sheltier’s only crime?”

  “I suppose so.” Tillie stared into the tea and felt her fire snuff out. “I just can’t believe Brin Colt would overlook so many others native to the town who really could have used that opportunity.”

  “My next question, Missus Boyce, is how this links to the Physician’s College.”

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; “Oh, it doesn’t.” She sighed and shook her head. “My imagination was getting carried away. I was thinking so hard about how colleges and academies require bodies for research that I dreamed up this whole stupid thing about Dane Sheltier supplying them for money.”

  Cadence sipped. “But where did thoughts of the College come from? Missus Boyce, I must understand the entire thought process and how it was logical to you.”

  “Well, every year since my husband’s death I’ve made a donation to the Anatomy Wing at the Physician’s College. My husband, we later found out, had a condition. You see. Something with his stomach. Maybe hereditary. I want to support any research that could lead to a cure. And on this last trip I was told about a possible breakthrough that Lord Deloren is working away at.”

  “I see.”

  “I told you, I’m an overthinker.”

  Cadence sipped again. “It’s not always bad.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, then stood straight. “I will see you again, Missus Tillie Boyce. Thank you for your time.” She finished the tea and tipped her hat.

  “What will you do?” Tillie asked. “Is this going to be taken seriously?”

  “Very.” Cadence made her way back to the front door. “I must pay a visit to Riddenholm’s new grave warden. Have a good day, Missus Boyce.”

  4

  Cadence de la Croix left by riverboat late at night. The crowd was light and quiet, hoping to be somewhere lively when the sun rose. There was a little bit of gambling going on inside, but nothing rowdy. Cadence avoided it easily by standing out on the deck.

  Summers in Central Siopenne were blistering. But at night, along the river, it cooled down and the air soothed what the sun had burnt. If one could tolerate the bugs.

  Cadence did not know the people of Riddenholm. Not like Tillie did. When she arrived, the sun was just climbing over the horizon. The town woke with the sleepy blues, pinks, and yellows in the sky and they promised a hot day. Cadence did not dress any differently. Her long black coat announced her wherever she went, and people kept their distance.

  The cemetery was in sight. She was only five blocks away. As she walked, she seemed to be the only one walking in its direction, as though she were fighting a current. But the people parted for her like she was a shark.

  “Mama, why’s that lady look so mean?”

  A woman pulled her child out of Cadence’s way. “Hush, you. She’s working.”

  Cadence thought to tip her hat to them, but they hurried away from her. What was it? Was it her face? Did she look angry? She wasn’t. She was just determined.

  An elven man strummed a painted mandolin on the corner a couple blocks ahead. Cadence watched his expression change as he decided if she was worth the effort or not. He ducked away as she came near and only gave her a little nod.

  That was for the best, she thought. She was not in the mood to stop, listen, and tip.

  At last she was under the arch of the Silver Lady Cemetery. It was in immaculate shape. She had visited on occasion to make sure it was up to Sanctum standards and it always had been, but it had never been so manicured and clean before.

  Dane Sheltier had a lot to prove, so it seemed.

  Grit had been cleaned out of crevasses in headstones. Spots where engravings had weathered away were chiseled new again. Fenced areas had been mended. Weeds were pulled. Candles were lit at every marker, flickering wildly as they reached the end of their wicks. Walkways were dusted.

  Cadence followed the walkway to the grave warden’s cabin to find a young man applying a fresh coat of white paint. He’d tied a rag around his head to keep sweat out of his hair and another paint-stained rag dangled from his belt. His pants and tunic were dappled with white paint, too. When he saw her approach, he gave her a gap-toothed smile.

  “Good morning, my lady!”

  She tipped her hat. “Mister Dane Sheltier?”

  “That is my name!” He set his brush over a metal paint tin. “How can I help you?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  He shook his head a little and wet his lips. “Oh, this is one of those conversations. Believe it or not, my lady, I come from Vaskio. Um, who are you?”

  “Vaskio?” She stared a hole right through him. “Siopenne’s capitol? Nearly three thousand miles north of here? If I have the choice to believe it or not, Mister Sheltier, I do not.”

  He cleared his throat. “I do hope to remedy that Miss—who did you say you were?”

  “I never did.” She crept around to observe the back of the cabin. “I am a Bone Priestess from the Botathora Sanctum in Beralin. Lady Cadence de la Croix.”

  “Ah, the Sanctum!” Dane threw his hands up and smiled again. “I knew someone would have to come by eventually. Brin told me to expect someone.”

  “For an inspection. You are well prepared.” Cadence rolled her shoulders. “The Silver Lady has never looked better. But please, Mister Sheltier, tell me about your journey from Vaskio City. Is that where you grew up? Why did you leave? Why did you come to Riddenholm of all places?”

  He wiped the quickly forming sweat off his brow. “Can we go inside? Sit down for this, perhaps?”

  “No.”

  “My lady, I need some water.”

  “Sounds like you need a diversion.”

  “No!” Dane waved his hands. “No, gods. Alright. Look, my friends and I did some real stupid things in Vaskio—”

  “Such as?”

  He started to pick the paint out of his nails. “The whole point of me coming here was so I could stop talking about it.”

  “How convenient. How is it that you are qualified to protect the dead with this troubled past? If I am left to fill in the blanks myself, I most certainly will. The reason why you left Vaskio could be none other than necrophilia, which makes you wholly unfit for—”

  “Good gods, it was nothing like that!” Dane shouted. “Okay, okay… my father was an asshole, so I stole money from his shop. And then my friends and I accidentally burned it down. But the arson was accidental!”

  “You keep yelling like that Mister Sheltier and someone will hear about your terrible deeds.”

  He grumbled and wiped his hands on the rag. “Brin did not tell me I’d be interrogated.”

  “Because this is not standard introductory protocol,” Cadence told him. “This is an investigation. How do you know Brin Colt and why did he think you were qualified to be the new grave warden?”

  “I don’t know him!” He opened the front door and beckoned. “Look, you’re making me nervous. Let’s go inside. I’m thirsty. I’m parched. Aren’t you?”

  “Answer the questions, Mister Sheltier.”

  A jug of water waited for him inside the cabin at his desk. The cabin was big enough for several small possessions, a desk, a bedroll, and a bookshelf. An unlit lantern on the floor was ready for nightfall.

  “I met him by accident. All of this was by accident, Lady Cadence. I was originally headed to Dreamer’s End, so you know I had about another two thousand miles south to go when I got here. It looked like a nice place to rest up and resupply, and I specifically wanted to resupply my stock of silver bullets.”

  “Afraid of bloodkin?”

  “I often travel through the night. I am afraid of many things. I was sold a meager supply of silver bullets then told to seek out Brin Colt for the rest. We hit it off because we both had acquired interesting tactics for fending off the undead. That’ll happen when you travel three thousand miles!”

  Cadence waited for him to pour a cup of water, then watched as he drank and spilled it all over himself. She sighed.

  “So, what would you have me believe, Mister Sheltier? That everything has happened to you by accident?”

  He made a futile attempt to wipe away the water on his tunic. “Truthfully, I think Brin Colt was in such a hurry to close this chapter of his life, he was willing to shove it onto anyone in sight. My qualifications were that I was not a familiar face who would come to him with question
s every day. I was a stranger who would feel too awkward to do anything but leave him alone.”

  “If that were indeed his thought, is it a correct one?”

  He drank and then gave a long pause. “It is. With the Sanctum so close, they are clearly the better authority if I need more training, anyway.”

  “A smart answer in your company, Mister Sheltier.” Cadence tipped her hat and walked out. “Good day.”

  Cadence left the Silver Lady Cemetery with a quiet mind. When people looked at her, she could tell that some of them knew. They knew she was with the Sanctum. The ones who didn’t know it before knew it as they saw her walk back out under the arch. They made the connection.

  Her next destination was the Riddenholm Post and Roost. Early in the morning it was a mess of townspeople sending news to faraway places or hoping for a response. She could wait an hour for a lull, but there was no point. The time would be wasted waiting either way.

  The doors were wide open and there was dust and dirt everywhere. There were different lines—one for ponies that delivered around town, one for ponies to nearby towns, one for mail via birds, and still more. Cadence waited and eventually she was seen by an elf with deep bronze skin and emerald eyes.

  “Collecting or sending?” she asked.

  “Sending. To Vaskio. As quickly as possible.”

  The elf’s eyes grew wide. “Are you certain? Vaskio is very far—”

  “Yes it is, ma’am. I am aware. I must send a letter immediately.”

  The Post and Roost sent Cadence’s letter on their fastest bird and it took off almost as soon as the pen had left the paper. Cadence hoped the city would respond to her with just as much haste. Until she could confirm Dane Sheltier’s backstory, her only lead rested with the Physician’s College.

  With Lord Deloren.

  5

  At the beginning of a long, winding trail through the woods, Tillie waited for Lady Cadence de la Croix. She bounced on the balls of her feet trying to catch a glimpse of the woman’s long black coat from between the trees. Instead she saw the busy city of Beralin.