I’D THOUGHT THAT THE case of Commander Blas would change my life in Daretana, but I was quickly proven wrong. The next thirteen days passed in stupefying torpor.

The rains of the wet season came, bringing intolerable humidity. There was no escape from it, unless you were rich enough to purchase a kirpis shroom and find some insulated place to keep it dry. The only moment of interest was when I finally got an answer back from Commander Blas’s secretary.

“Her name is Rona Aristan,” I said as I stood in Ana’s meeting room. I pretended to read her letter aloud just then, but in truth I’d spent twenty minutes squinting at it and memorizing each word when I’d first gotten it from Stephinos at the post station. “She says she was shocked to hear the news of the commander’s murder, that she was aware he had taken personal time to visit Daretana, but claims to be ignorant of the nature of the visit beyond that, ma’am.”

A derisive snort. “Indeed,” said Ana. “Go on.”

“She said she would very much like to come to testify before you regarding his movements, but with the coming wet season…”

“All members of the Engineering Iyalet are ordered to stay put,” said Ana dully. “Is that the measure of it?”

“Correct, ma’am.”

“Typical,” she said. “Roads in the Tala canton get so clogged with traffic when the leviathans approach that I’m sure they can’t afford anyone unnecessary out there.”

“She did send a transcribed copy of the commander’s schedule,” I said, sliding it out. “It covers the last four months of his movements.”

Ana snatched it out of my hand and read it with narrowed eyes. Then she chewed her lip, and spat, “Shit!”

“I’d have thought this would be helpful, ma—”

“It’s helpful in making this damned complicated!” She held up the small red-leather book we’d gotten from Gennadios. “Because if this book is accurate, then I am almost certain the assassin is located in Talagray, or thereabout.”

“How so?”

She slapped down Gennadios’s book, then held up the secretary’s letter like it contained some horrid accusation. “It’s as I thought. Blas was staying in Talagray for the past three months before his death. Which makes sense, of course. A commander in the Engineers should be expected to spend a hell of a lot of time in the city that maintains the sea walls before the wet seasons.” She stabbed a finger into the heart of Gennadios’s open book. “But Blas’s visits to the Haza estate were very erratic. The last trip he made here was the thirteenth through the fifteenth of the month of Egin. I’m guessing he just kept slipping away to go frolic with the dainty maidens. This means you definitely couldn’t know when he was going to be here unless you were very close to him. So the killer must be someone who was observing the commander, in a much larger city that’s about sixty miles to the south of here, along roads we probably aren’t permitted to travel on—even if our investigation is invited to come! Which it might not be! The bastard is clever, I’ll tell you that. They made sure to do this before the wet season began properly, so they could move freely along the roads.”

“Then what’ll we do, ma’am?”

She glowered for a moment. “Well. I guess I better write some damned letters.” She grabbed a parchment and a quill.

“To whom?”

“To the Iudex office of the Tala canton,” she said. “I’ll inform them of what we’ve found here, and ask permission to come interview all witnesses. Though I probably won’t mention Blas playing about with prossies. That would be rather less than tactful. I'll even pay the small fortune to have it sent by scribe-hawk. They'll have to pay attention to it then!”

“You want to send me to Talagray, ma’am?” I said, startled.

“Hell no. For something like this, I’d accompany you. Regardless, I’m not optimistic that we’ll get any response for months. The wet season is simply too chaotic. Nobody’s going to care about one murder, even if it is a goddamn Engineering commander dying to contagion. Not with leviathans sniffing about the sea walls.” She noticed my disappointment. “What’s the matter with you, child?”

“I’d thought, ma’am, that being as we solved a murder, at least something might happen.”

“What were you expecting? An increase in pay, or a promotion? Or that the emperor himself might send you a nice note, along with a troupe of plaizaiers to come balance atop your delicates?”

“A troupe of…of what, ma’am?”

“Plaizaiers,” she said. “Court dancers. Pheromonally enhanced folk whose mere presence drives people mad with arousal. By Sanctum, is this canton really so uncivilized? Either way, Din, we haven’t solved a murder. Rather, we are still solving a murder. And we won’t solve it at all until you send this damned letter!”

She gave me the letter, and I posted it. And that, I thought, would be the end of it for some days.