She stared at me.

I said, “I have been petitioned to witness for a woman who died three months ago. We are exhuming her body to find out if she was murdered, as her husband believes.”

“Do you do this kind of thing often?”

“No, this is only the second time. Mer Osthonharad is much more typical of my petitioners.”

I led her into the Sanctuary and along the path to the main entrance, where the elven novice on duty smiled at me and said, “Dach’othala Ulzhavar is expecting you, othala.”

“Thank you,” I said and was grateful she did not ask about Tomasaran.

We went down to the mortuary, where Ulzhavar said, “Good afternoon, Celehar. Who is your companion?”

“Dach’othala Ulzhavar, this is Othalo Tomasaran. She is a Witness for the Dead.”

Ulzhavar looked from me to Tomasaran and back again. “A Witness vel ama, I gather, for why else would she be dogging your heels?”

“You are astute,” I said, and he laughed.

“You needn’t make that sound like an insult. But come. Othala Veltanezh is waiting for us in Paravi.”

Unlike the Amal’othala, who kept a liveried carriage, Ulzhavar traveled by tram. We took the Zulnicho line up to the Dachenostro, then transferred to the Pomadro line for the long trip out to Paravi and Ulmavonee.

Ulzhavar settled himself and his satchel as comfortably as any old grandmother with her shopping and said, “Have you told Othalo Tomasaran the story?”

“No,” I said. “We’ve had a busy morning.”

“I know most of it,” said Ulzhavar.

“You probably know more than I do,” I said. “Tell us about the Marquise Ulzhavel.”

“She married my great-uncle when they were both sixteen, and they were married for fifty-eight years. There were no children, which grieved them both greatly, but otherwise they had a remarkably harmonious marriage. The marquess became more and more hermit-like as he aged, but the marquise remained extremely active.”

“Charitable works,” I said.

“Yes. She always said that she could not donate money—for the Ulzhavada fortune was almost entirely squandered by my great-great-grandfather—but she had all the time anyone could ever need. But then she died. It was very sudden and very unexpected, and I suppose those might be suspicious circumstances, but she was also seventy-four, so that I admit I don’t quite understand what makes the marquess so sure she was murdered.”

“He found an unsigned, threatening note among her papers,” I said.

“Ah,” said Ulzhavar. “Yes, that makes sense.”

“Do you think she was murdered?” said Tomasaran.

“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s part of why we’re performing an autopsy. I admit I have not found anyone yet who seems terribly likely to be a murderer, but then, of course, I’ve only been looking for two days. Who knows what I may find tomorrow?”