The Snake Stone

67

Yashim flopped down into the old armchair in Palewski’s drawing room. The ambassador sat on a stool, cradling his violin. Now and then he plucked one of the strings and fiddled with the pegs.

“Doesn’t like the heat,” he explained. “Or neglect, for that matter. Gone very dry.” He picked at the four strings.

Yashim grunted. “Lefevre was paying Xani off.”

“Very decent of him.”

“I imagine he had an ulterior motive.”

Palewski bent over his fiddle and started tuning a peg.

“The thought occurred to me. Lefevre could have sidled up to Xani and promised him a fortune to find out if the serpents’ heads were really here. But Xani hasn’t been in the house for weeks.”

“The fortune, as you call it, was already paid. Lefevre wouldn’t have necessarily known that Xani wasn’t around here much. But now Lefevre’s dead-and Xani has disappeared.”

“Do you think he got scared?”

Yashim ignored the question. “Have you checked that the serpents’ heads are still here?”

Palewski looked up at the ceiling. “Do you know, Yashim, the one treasure I possess outright? That’s actually mine?” He picked up the bow, leaned forward on his stool, and tapped the door of the sideboard. The door swung open without a sound. Behind it stood a bottle. It was squat and green and had a wax cap. “My father bought a whole case the year I was born,” Palewski said mistily. “Martell. The last bottle.”

Yashim sighed. “The heads, Palewski.”

“Funny you mention it. I moved them from the armoire just yesterday. Terribly heavy. Put them under my bed.”

“Good idea,” Yashim said.

“I thought so. On the other hand,” Palewski added cheerfully, “I seem to have acquired a guardian angel. Someone who doesn’t want me to lose them. Kills Lefevre. Kills a moldy old bookseller he dealt with. Kills the Jew, who could connect Lefevre with Xani. Xani disappears. Maybe he’s dead, too. And so the trail goes cold. I keep the heads.”

He closed the sideboard with the tip of his bow.

Yashim rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re the killer, Palewski. You have the most obvious motive.”

“Motive, yes.” Palewski smiled and laid the violin down. “But you, Yashim, had the better opportunity.”

“We’re in danger, Palewski. Perhaps Marta, too.”

His friend looked up. “Marta? She doesn’t know about the serpents’ heads.”

“So you say. But they don’t know that, do they? I think you should send her away for a while.”

“I will,” Palewski said doubtfully. Both of them knew instinctively that Marta would refuse. “And your Madame Lefevre?”

“My Madame Lefevre, as you call her, was never involved. Anyway,” he added, glancing at Palewski’s violin, “she’s staying with Widow Matalya. Not with me.”

He reached forward and picked up the violin to miss the expression on the ambassador’s face.

“I should talk to Xani’s people, I suppose. Maybe they know where he is, or where he’s likely to have gone.”

“The watermen’s guild?” Palewski looked doubtful. “They’re very close, from what I gather. Oldest guild in the city, all that. I don’t suppose you can just drop by for a chat.”

“I wasn’t intending to. I do have a few contacts, you know,” Yashim said stiffly.