Murder in Tarsis by John Maddox Roberts

lord?”
    He looked up to see his cupbearer standing by his side. “What is it?”
    “You need something to sustain you, my lord. You’ve not slept or eaten since the barbarian chief arrived. You must not neglect yourself so, my lord. I’ve had the cook make something for you, and I put together something for you to drink.” The old man held a tray of sausages and cakes dusted with seeds surrounding a large cup of heated wine from which came herb-scented steam.
    “You are probably right.” He took the cup and a seedcake and began to alternate bites with sips.
    “You know, my lord, I’ve just heard the most remarkable thing. It’s something that may help you to deal with the savages.”
    “Eh?” said the lord hopefully. “You’ve heard something? Is there a witness? Someone who saw the crime and wants to speak?”
    “No, my lord, not that. But you have, in the jail beneath the Hall of Justice, two men, foreigners, who are famed in several lands for ferreting out murderers and plotters, and criminals of all sorts.”
    “Ridiculous! I was down there just yesterday morning, questioning the people who found the nomad’s body. I saw no such foreigners then.”
    “I hear that these two were arrested only yesterday afternoon, for disturbing the peace.”
    “Then send for Constable Weite at once.”
    The cupbearer bowed his way out, and the Lord of Tarsis turned over the possibilities in his mind. This, if true, might be just the solution he needed: trained and experienced investigators, from a foreign land and therefore not the hirelings of his rivals. Yes, this could be just what he was seeking. He did not spare a thought for how his cupbearer came by such remarkable information. He demanded that his servants be competent at their work and loyal to him. Beyond that, he had not the slightest interest in how they thought or what they did. At most times, he was scarcely aware of their presence.
    Minutes later, Constable Weite appeared. “My lord?”
    “There are two foreigners in the Hall of Justice lockup. They were arrested yesterday afternoon for disturbing the peace and are said to be able investigators of crime. Bring them to me.”
    Weite blinked. “My lord? I have heard of no such men.”
    “A Lord of Tarsis has sources of information unavailable to a mere constable. Go and do my bidding.”
    “Yes, my lord!” He saluted, snapped his heels together, and was off.
    An hour later, Constable Weite returned. He had in tow, flanked by guards and draped in chains, a pair of raffish-looking prisoners. One was a big, tough-appearing specimen dressed in remarkable armor. The other looked as if he might have been a merchant or a scholar, except that he had managed to maintain through incarceration a fastidiousness, almost a fussiness, about his clothing and general appearance. In the rear of the little procession was a guard who carried an armload of weapons and personal effects, doubtless confiscated from the felons upon arrest.
    “Here are the foreigners, my lord,” Constable Weite reported unnecessarily
    “Detective Nistur, my lord, at your service,” said the shorter man, doffing his feathered hat and contriving a graceful bow despite the cuffs, manacles, and leg irons he wore.
    “Detective Ironwood, my lord,” said the other, knuckling his brow in a perfunctory salute.
    “Constable Weite,” said the lord, “you and the others may withdraw. And all this ironmongery will not be necessary.”
    “These are dangerous criminals, my lord!” Weite protested.
    “Just unchain them and carry their weapons outside the chamber. I should be safe enough with you in close call.”
    “As you wish, my lord,” the constable replied doubtfully. Then, to the others, he said, “Unshackle them. And you two, don’t try anything. I’ll be just outside, mind you.”
    “Under such a threat,” said Nistur, “who would dare?”
    Amid much rattling of keys, the chains fell away and the guards withdrew, Weite casting a