Page 7 of The Tainted Cup

Hesitation. “It was,” she said.

“Then how so?”

More hesitation. “He left usalonethis time,” she said quietly. “Probably because he never got the chance to try.”

I coughed, snuffed at my vial, and hoped she could not see me blush. “Tell me more about that, please,” I asked.

She did so. From the sound of it, Blas was quite the absolute bastard, pawing at the servants the second he had them alone. She said she wasn’t sure if his advances had been reciprocated by any of the other girls, but she didn’t think so, though all of them got the same treatment.

“What was the nature of his visit here?” I asked her.

Her eyes dipped down. “He was a friend of the Haza family,” she said.

“He’s a friend? That’s the only reason why he stayed here?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it strange for someone to stay at someone else’s house while they’re not here?”

This elicited a contemptuous glance. Her eye lingered on my cheap boots and ill-fitting coat. “It is not uncommon for gentryfolk.”

Even the servants thought themselves worldlier than I, it seemed. But then, they were probably right.

I asked her more, but she gave me less with every question, withdrawing into herself further and further. I made a note of it and movedon.

I asked the next girls about Blas’s advances. While they corroborated the story, all of them claimed they’d never had a relationship with Blas beyond these unpleasant moments, and none of them had much else to say.

“I didn’t hear or see anything before he died,” said the final girl flatly. She was bolder, louder, angrier than the others. Less willing to quietly suffer servitude, maybe. “Not for the whole night. I know that.”

“You’re sure?” I asked.

“I am,” she said. “Because I didn’t sleep much before the guest came.”

“Why was that?”

“Because I was hot. Very hot.”

I thought about it. “Do you sleep near the kitchens?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because the kirpis shroom is dying there. Could that be why you were hot?”

She seemed surprised. “Another one’s died?”

“They’ve died before?”

“They’re very sensitive to water. Too much and they shrivel up and die.”

“What kind of moisture?” I asked.

“Any kind. Rain. Humidity. Leave a window or door open nearby—especially now, when the wet season starts—and they’ll get sick right away. They’re temperamental as hell.”

I leaned back and focused. A fluttering at the backs of my eyes, and I summoned up my memories of searching the house, each image of each room flashing perfectly in my mind like a fly suspended in a drop of honey. No doors or windows had been open that I saw. So how might the kirpis have died?

“Did you or anyone else in the house happen toclosean open door or window before Blas died?” I asked.

She stared at me. “After seeing what we saw, sir,” she said, “we could barely stand, let alone do our work.”