“Hezhelta, which is lovely and grows wild in the Mervarnens, has a flower excellent for dyers and a root that is as poisonous as you could wish. Its effects are indistinguishable from a thunderclap coronary.”

“How would you detect its use?”

“There is a quite characteristic scent when you open the abdominal cavity.”

“After three months?”

“I have no idea. If you have an exemplar, I’d be happy to find out.”

“I don’t know if my petitioner would be willing, but if it comes to that, I will certainly remember your offer.”

“Of course,” said Ulzhavar. The novice returned with the water jug, and I saw the shift in Ulzhavar’s attention. “Was there anything else, Celehar?”

“Not at the moment,” I said and saw myself out.

After Ulzhavar, I decided I would try to talk to Osmerrem Ganatharan. The Ganathada did not have a town residence, but their estate was near the last tram stop on the Kinreho line. Just as they couldn’t afford a second residence, they couldn’t afford to live farther out.

Their compound was small compared to others I had visited, small enough that there was no gatehouse, merely a walled approach to the front door. I rang the bell, and the door was opened by a goblin woman in livery of pale blue and gold on black.

“We are Thara Celehar,” I said, “a Witness for the Dead. Is Osmerrem Ganatharan at home?”

She looked alarmed and murmured something about going to find out, before shutting the door and leaving me standing on the doorstep. At least it wasn’t raining.

When the door opened again, it was Osmerrem Ganatharan herself, an ordinary-looking elven woman probably in her thirties wearing a pale green afternoon dress with dark green embroidery. “We do not understand,” she said, almost plaintively. “Why do you wish to speak to us?”

I explained my errand. She looked even more bewildered. “But that was years ago. Why would anyone…?”

“We do not know,” I said. “But do you remember anyone being especially angry at the marquise?”

“They were too pleased with themselves to be angry at her,” Osmerrem Ganatharan said tartly. “It was a nine-person board, and there were only three of us who didn’t vote yes. The marquise protested the most loudly, but none of them was listening to her. We don’t think anyone was angry enough at her to commit murder. And certainly not all these years later.”

“Not even when the school failed?”

“They were far too busy trying to find someone to blame,” she said, and then looked a little shocked at her own bitterness. “Truly, othala, if the marquise was murdered, it was not by a member of the Cemchelarna Foundling School Board.”

“Was there anyone in particular she argued with?”

She shook her head. “Not that we remember. But it was five years ago.”

“All right. Thank you for speaking to us.”