Jade Mouse

Chapter 9

Cyrus, Theodore and myself sat in our respective chairs in the exercise hall the next morning. The map had been relocated to the shallow table that sat between the three of us. Cyrus was looking apologetic, and Theo was looking concerned. Nobody had said anything for at least ten seconds.

“Could you please run that by me one more time, Cyrus?” I said, my voice fraught with skepticism. “I'm afraid that with this cold I might have some sort of problem affecting my ears this morning.”

“His mother, Milord,” repeated Cyrus, even more apologetically than the first time. “The thief apparently made off with Blackstaag's mother.”

There was another round of awkward silence.

“Well, okay. Someone's having us on,” I sniffed. “That's ridiculous. Granted, while I did once manage to steal both Lord Marcsun and his bed from the bedchamber he was sleeping in, it required considerable help to pull off. I don't quite see how the thief might have possibly concealed an entire woman from view while making good his escape. Those rags scarcely looked adequate to the task of covering one body, never mind two.”

“I know it sounds . . . well, ridiculous. That's what Randav told me, Milord,” Cyrus said. “He seemed agitated in the extreme when I spoke with him. Clearly, whatever he's talking about, it means a great deal to Blackstaag, and he's evidently been taking it out on his staff.”

“I think I know what Cyrus is talking about,” said Theo.

“Are you sure?” I gave a frustrated laugh. “From the sounds of it, Cyrus doesn't even know what Cyrus is talking about!”

“Garmuth is quite small, and its cities crowded. Space is at a premium, and you'd be considered a spendthrift maniac if you chose to inter a relative's body into something as ridiculously valuable as an eight-foot patch of ground.” Theo sat back and looked over his clasped fingers at us. “When someone dies, I believe the tradition is for bodies to be burned until nothing but ash remains, and for the ashes to be mixed with blood taken from all their living relatives, the mixture then ensconced within something meant to represent the deceased individual.”

I was beginning to grow accustomed to the awkward silences that now plagued our discussion.

“That's, err . . . awfully strange,” I said. “And strangely awful. And more than just a little macabre. Are you positive someone wasn't pulling your leg as well?”

“This is Garmuth we're talking about, Vince,” Theo said. “They're a strange, morbid, macabre sort of people. All of their plays and poetry focus on death and the futility of existence. They think laughter is a sign of mental illness. They have no word for 'cute'. The idea of a Garmuthian keeping some sort of ancestor ash paste on a shelf isn't exactly a difficult one to swallow.”

“That does sort of make sense,” Cyrus nodded. “Randav was very upset, and lapsed into his native tongue many times during our last conversation. I didn't think it polite to ask for clarification at the time, despite how little sense I thought he was making. However, if what Lord Haundsing says is true, and the thief made off with some token object meant to honor Lord Blackstaag's mother-”

“It's a little more serious than that, Cyrus,” Theo said grimly. “This fellow you were talking about probably said exactly what he was thinking. They talk to their deceased relatives . . . ask them for advice, things like that. For all intents and purposes, the object that was stolen was Blackstaag's mother. At least, to Blackstaag it was.”

Yet another lengthy pause.

“Geeze, could this get any more bizarre?” I shook my head sadly. “I'm already feeling a nostalgic longing for a time when this was simply about someone trying to frame me. Now we're chasing an impossibly elusive guy dressed like a wraith who can float down from high walls and disappear at will . . . one who's recently stolen human remains from a Lord who apparently thinks that a mixture of blood and ashes is somehow alive and capable of giving advice. Cyrus, remind me never to visit Garmuth.”