A Murder of Mages (13 page)

“Exciting day, isn’t it?” Miss Pyle asked her.

“So far,” Satrine said.

“Is there anything you need from me, Inspector?” Miss Pyle asked. At the same time she asked this, she passed a folded paper to Welling.

“Not at the moment,” Satrine said. Was Miss Pyle trying to smokescreen her, or just do multiple things at once? The warm smile seemed genuine, and there did not seem to be any attempt at subterfuge in passing her note.

“Well, please let me know,” Pyle said. She went back to her desk.

Welling read his note, a sour look passing on his face. “I’ll catch up with you.” He went back down the stairs.

“Something up?”

“Old business. I’ll meet you at the desk.” He hurried off. Satrine was tempted to follow after him, but then decided she could use a few minutes at her desk to actually clear it off and make it her own.

Nyla’s note sent Minox down to the back alley entrance, by the horsepatrol and wagon barn doors. “Rencir is waiting for you” was all he needed to know. Rencir would wait in only one place, out of sight. For more than one reason, if Captain Cinellan spotted the man, there would be trouble.

Rencir leaned against the brick wall, beady eyes on the door. “Inspector.” Despite his unkempt hair and beard, Rencir was of good character.

“It’s a busy day, Mister Rencir,” Minox said. “I can’t spare you much time.”

“Busy day, indeed.” He pulled a notebook and a charcoal pencil out of his pocket. “Dead body at Jent and Tannen. Your case?”

“Mine,” Minox said.

“Victim is a mage, can you confirm?”

“Confirmed.”

“Don’t suppose you could give me a name, or at least an affiliation?”

Minox considered it. There was value in letting Rencir publish privileged information in the
South Maradaine Gazette
. More than one killer had been smoked out using the
Gazette
. “Not at this time.”

Rencir nodded. “Fair enough. How about the sewer murders?”

“Inspectors Kellman and Mirrell are handling that.”

“Pff. No fun. I hear it’s salacious though. Two old hands in the business, working together for fifteen years. Hints of one of them rolling the other’s wife.”

“Not my case, Mister Rencir,” Minox reminded him.

Rencir held up his hands. “Fair enough. Thought you might like to know. Now what I really need to know is about the new set of hair that’s been spotted next to you. Hear she’s quite a stir.”

“My new partner is Inspector Satrine Rainey,” Minox said.

“Rainey? Connected to the spec who ended up knocked out of his senses across the swim?”

“She’s his—” He paused. “Let’s keep her details out of the
Gazette
, at least for a while.”

“How do you mean, Inspector?”

“I would appreciate it, Rencir, if you didn’t make news of her or her name.”

Rencir’s eyes narrowed. “If anyone else was asking, I wouldn’t even consider it.”

“I understand. I won’t ask you to lie or omit. Simply do not make her a subject you focus on.”

Rencir nodded. “I can do that. Until she really becomes news.”

That should help. The
South Maradaine Gazette
was the larger newsprint on the south side, and certainly in Inemar. If the lesser papers made noise about Inspector Rainey, it wouldn’t be taken as seriously. “What else?”

“I haven’t asked you about the case with my son in some time,” Rencir added.

“And I have not forgotten it,” Minox said. “I consider it among the most crucial of my unresolved cases.” The boy’s mysterious and sudden death was perplexing, and Minox was convinced it was part of something greater. “There have been several disappearances of boys of a similar age in Dentonhill in the past two months.”

“Connected to my son?”

“I think it’s worth further consideration. I have a lead that will, I hope, bear some fruit regarding poisons that leave more subtle signs on their victims.”

“If you need anything, Inspector . . .”

“For now, only my issue.”

Rencir reached into his coat and pulled out a copy of the
South Maradaine Gazette
. “Always appreciate your time, Inspector.”

“And I your discretion, Mister Rencir.”

Rencir went off down the alley. Minox scanned through the day’s news. Nothing leaped out at him as being of interest, but it deserved deeper study. Inspector Rainey was surely waiting for him, and further delay would only bring about more questions.

Satrine found her chair occupied by a sneering man with long fingers and salt-and-pepper hair. He was bent over the desk, digging through papers and scribbling notes. The oddest thing about him was his suit—it looked expensive and well cared for, but it didn’t fit him right, and with its large brass buttons and high-necked collar, it was several years out of style.

“You’re at my desk, sir,” she said.

He glanced up at her, his eyes dark and beady. “Then they have given the Jinx a new partner.” He shook his head, clicking as if the idea was distasteful. “And a
woman at that.” Educated accent. Private schools and Royal College of Maradaine, most likely.

“Is that a problem?”

“Far as I know, you might be the first woman to get an inspector rank. To get killed right away would be a horrible shame.” He bent back down to his notes.

“Who the blazes are you?”

“Language, Madam Inspector,” he said, putting down his pen. He extended his hand to her. “Zebram Hilsom, with the City Protector’s Office.”

A lawyer.

Satrine took the offered hand. “Satrine Rainey. Inspector.”

“Related to . . .” He let it hang.

“Loren Rainey, yes. His wife.”

“Condolences,” he said with a crisp nod.

“Why are you at my desk?”

“Because it’s the best way to force the Jinx to actually have a conversation, which really must happen. Though I suppose I must force the same thing upon you as well, mustn’t I?”

“I’m not sure,” Satrine said.

He shuffled through some papers. “Did you or did you not arrest one Missus Jaelia Tomar? For assault and disruption of the peace?”

“Inspector Welling and I both did, yes.”

“Excellent. I’ve already had several petitions to expedite this case in court, which is always tricky when magic is involved. Can you answer a few questions?”

“Of course,” Satrine said.

“Was this ‘disruption of the peace’ involving the applied use of magic?”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

Hilsom shook his head. “Trouble, trouble. We may not be able to prosecute that charge with any success.”

“The woman let out a blast of magic that shattered every window on the street,” Satrine said.

“So there were tangible effects of disruption of peace?”

“Absolutely.” Satrine wasn’t sure what to make of the question. Her confusion must have been apparent.

“You see, Inspector Rainey—you’re new to this, else you would understand.” He shook his head with a look one would use with a poor student who hadn’t learned their lessons. “There is a long-established habit of filing a complaint of ‘disruption of peace’ against a mage for doing little more than being a mage. The complaint has been so misused, and therefore challenged by Circles in courts, that the legal standard for the charge is almost impossible to meet. If the Justice Advocate doesn’t tear it to pieces, the Circle’s lawyer certainly will.”

“What other charge should we use?”

“That’s immaterial, Inspector Rainey. The prudent thing to do would be to focus on the assault charge. Whom did she assault?”

“Me.”

Hilsom’s face brightened. “Now that is something we can have better luck prosecuting.” He dug through the papers on Welling’s desk until he came up with a blank sheet. He sat and took Welling’s pen out of the inkpot. “Please tell me how she assaulted you.”

“She struck me with a magic blast.”

Hilsom put the pen back in the inkpot. “A ‘magic blast’?”

“I’m really not versed on a more technical term, Mister Hilsom.”

“Surely,” Hilsom said, giving her a withering look. “Please, elucidate for me, Inspector Rainey. What injuries did you suffer as a result of this . . . ‘magic blast’?”

“Well, none, but that wasn’t from a lack of trying on—”

“No injuries.” He shook his head and scribbled a note on the sheet. “So we’re clear, you are attesting that she attacked you, magically, but through some sort of miracle, you escaped unscathed.”

“I wouldn’t say a miracle.”

“Then what would you say, Inspector? How did you survive?”

Satrine pulled the spike out of her coat pocket. “I think because of this.”

Hilsom raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is that your good luck charm? One of those trinkets that the swindlers by the bridge sell?”

“No, it—” Satrine stopped herself. Hilsom was already predisposed against everything she was going to say, there was no need to sound crazier than necessary. “The murder case that Inspector Welling and I are working involves a mage.”

“Oh, so the mage is a murderer.”

“No,” Satrine said. She was getting very tired of Hilsom’s attitude and the condescending smirk on his face. “The mage was the victim. He was pinned to the ground with this spike. We believe that the spike has the ability to disable magic.”

Hilsom’s smirk melted off his face. “You’re serious.”

“It’s a theory.”

“A strangely convenient theory,” he said.

“How is it convenient?”

“Do you know what is the biggest cause of headaches in the Protector’s Office?”

“Is ‘your voice’ too obvious a choice?”

Hilsom’s jaw hardened. He was not amused. “Unsubstantiated claims of magic attacks.”

“You’ve already said, Mister Hilsom. The charge has proven near useless.”

“Disruption of the peace is the charge that is nigh impossible to prove. Perhaps I might be able to get some traction on property damage, but I can assure you that the Circle will have a lawyer who will do their damnedest to cast doubt on the fact that Miss Tomar was the source.”

“She screamed and glass shattered.”

“Coincidence. How many other mages were present?”

Satrine considered. “At least three. Maybe more in the house.”

“So that’s out. It’ll be argued it might be any one of them, so I can’t prove which one it was.”

“But—”

“Brush up on the particulars of laws regarding Circles, Orders, Guilds, and Leagues. They are ridiculously complex, especially when it comes to proof regarding application of magic and its origin.”

Satrine nodded. “To make—let me see if I have the
language right—‘spurious’ arrests of mages more challenging.”

“Exactly,” Hilsom said. “You know that from your husband?”

“Something like that,” Satrine said. She had worked with a couple mages in the service, and her husband had had a few challenges that he had griped about at home.

“But let’s allow that I pursue your ‘assault.’ Given your status as an officer and inspector, your testimony has weight, and your description of her actions would make it challenging for an advocate to argue it came from any other mage.”

“I would hope so.”

“And I am presuming that the Jinx would back up your claim.”

“I don’t know why he wouldn’t.”

“I can easily see why it’s in his interest not to. You don’t see it?”

Satrine shook her head warily.

“Of course you don’t. Then let me break it into simple ideas for you. Let us presume this spike does what you say. And you testify at trial to that effect. Are you following me?”

Satrine’s fist was about to follow its way into his nose, but she held back the bile and nodded.

“Then, if we convict Missus Tomar, we have established a legal precedent. A mage could be charged with assault with no actual injuries. Do you see how that would let sheep out of the yard yet?”

“You think these unsubstantiated claims would increase?”

“Yes!” Hilsom said, apparently jubilant at getting through to her. “Anyone could claim they had a protective device in their pocket when they were attacked. ‘Oh, thank the Saints I wasn’t hurt when that mage blasted at me, but I had my sacred spoon behind my ear!’”

“I get your point.”

“It would do wonders for the charlatans and junk peddlers, though.”