JК
The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 187 из 216He studied the jordain's chair, which was fashioned of elegantly carved teak and deeply cushioned in the new fashion-removable cushions stuffed with downthat could be removed and fluffed. The imprint that Cassia left upon the seat was there to see, but he thought he perceived a smaller, deeper imprint within it. Cassia was a tall woman, and although not heavy, she could hardly be considered small. This second imprint had been left by someone very small, someone nearly as slim-hipped as a boy. Someone like Tzigone.
Then there was the matter of the silver brush. He recalled what Tzigone had said the day they probed her memories. She remembered her mother brushing her hair. That had seemed important to her. Perhaps this brush was important as well. If so, why had she left it behind?
Matteo searched the room again, more thoroughly this time. He found a small basket under the writing table, and in it a single piece of parchment. He smoothed the sheet flat and read a message from Cassia to the wizard Sinestra Belajoon. On the parchment was the seal of King Zalathorm. Apparently Cassia, with little use for writing materials, had taken a sheet from her patron's store.
He quickly took from his bag the notes he had received from Cassia and compared the script. The writing was not from the same hand. Since Cassia, like all jordaini, didn't send written messages, no one would be expected to know her handwriting. No one, that is, except Cassia herself.
Suddenly he understood the pallor on Cassia's face as she read the note. Someone else had written these notes, someone who wished to lure first Tzigone, and then him. Someone who had left clues, like the markings that rangers carved into the trees to mark the path for those who followed.
Matteo studied the two messages. The letter to Sinestra Belajoon had been written in deep indigo. The notes he had received were enscribed in a rare green ink. But by whom?
A fresh quill lay on Cassia's blotter, its tip stained the color of liquid emeralds. Likely the quill had been used but once, otherwise, the ink at the tip would be darker from many immersions. He tested the quill and found that the ink was dry, then took a new quill and dipped it into the bottle. He would test it at intervals and see when the ink fully dried. That would give him some idea of how long ago the note had been written.
Matteo turned his attention to the flower. It was a gentiola, a rare green blossom twice the size of his hand. He had never seen one except in sketches of Halruaa's exotic plants, for it grew deep within the swamps.
He turned the flower over and regarded the stem. A bit of dried sap sealed the cut stem, keeping in moisture so that the blossom would last several days.
Then there was the matter of the silver brush. He recalled what Tzigone had said the day they probed her memories. She remembered her mother brushing her hair. That had seemed important to her. Perhaps this brush was important as well. If so, why had she left it behind?
Matteo searched the room again, more thoroughly this time. He found a small basket under the writing table, and in it a single piece of parchment. He smoothed the sheet flat and read a message from Cassia to the wizard Sinestra Belajoon. On the parchment was the seal of King Zalathorm. Apparently Cassia, with little use for writing materials, had taken a sheet from her patron's store.
He quickly took from his bag the notes he had received from Cassia and compared the script. The writing was not from the same hand. Since Cassia, like all jordaini, didn't send written messages, no one would be expected to know her handwriting. No one, that is, except Cassia herself.
Suddenly he understood the pallor on Cassia's face as she read the note. Someone else had written these notes, someone who wished to lure first Tzigone, and then him. Someone who had left clues, like the markings that rangers carved into the trees to mark the path for those who followed.
Matteo studied the two messages. The letter to Sinestra Belajoon had been written in deep indigo. The notes he had received were enscribed in a rare green ink. But by whom?
A fresh quill lay on Cassia's blotter, its tip stained the color of liquid emeralds. Likely the quill had been used but once, otherwise, the ink at the tip would be darker from many immersions. He tested the quill and found that the ink was dry, then took a new quill and dipped it into the bottle. He would test it at intervals and see when the ink fully dried. That would give him some idea of how long ago the note had been written.
Matteo turned his attention to the flower. It was a gentiola, a rare green blossom twice the size of his hand. He had never seen one except in sketches of Halruaa's exotic plants, for it grew deep within the swamps.
He turned the flower over and regarded the stem. A bit of dried sap sealed the cut stem, keeping in moisture so that the blossom would last several days.