A Murder of Mages (14 page)

“So you’re not going to pursue the complaints, Zebram?”
Captain Cinellan asked the question, having come around the slateboards to the desks.

“Of course I’ll pursue them. I’ve got a dozen people swearing about the broken windows, I can’t ignore that. But I can tell you now that the Firewings will bring in their counsel and Circle Law will get cited and in the end the Circle itself will pay a fine—admitting to no actual culpability—that won’t even cover the expense of keeping her here overnight.”

“Hmm,” Cinellan said. “So what should we do? The boys down in the holding pen aren’t too keen on keeping her overnight.”

“I can imagine. We might have a solid case here, but to pursue it, we’re going to have trouble with Circle Law.” He sighed. “As much as it frustrates me, the laws regarding mages, magic, and Circles have a purpose. There are plenty of towns out in the country where a tolerant attitude about a mage would be ‘Let’s only throw
just enough
rocks at him to chase him out of town.’”

Cinellan shrugged. “Everyone’s afraid of being stabbed by the Unseen Knife.”

Hilsom groaned but didn’t say anything else.

“So what do we need to do?” Satrine asked. Cinellan gave her a questioning look. “It’s my first arrest. I can’t let it fall.”

Cinellan grinned. “That’s good. I’ll tell you what you need to do, Hilsom. Kick it up.”

Hilsom winced slightly. “You’re asking me to give up my claim.”

“Does it really matter if your name is on the case, as long as the conviction holds?”

“Especially if the conviction holds,” Hilsom said.

“Sounds like you can’t get it to hold,” Satrine said. Hilsom’s eyes narrowed on her, but Cinellan put a hand on his shoulder.

“Justice, Zebram, not glory. Kick it up to the Archduchy Court.”

Satrine remembered her husband talking about this sort of thing. The archdukes—and by extension their courts—had the authority to lay a charge against the
Circle as a whole entity. Doing that meant handing the claim over, which any city official worth their ink would hate doing. More than once she had heard Loren rant about Archduchy Sheriffs or King’s Marshals trampling over his investigations.

Hilsom didn’t look pleased, but he nodded. “I’ll have it done. But that means you’ll have to transfer Missus Tomar over to Eastwood tonight.”

“Fair enough.”

Hilsom picked up his papers and gave a glance over to Satrine. “You’re picking up a cinder with this one, Brace.”

“I got tough hands,” Cinellan said. “Send a page over with the transfer orders.”

Hilsom nodded and stalked off.

“Thanks for that,” Satrine said.

“Eh,” Cinellan said. “He knows it’s right.” He turned and looked straight at her for the first time. “That vest works pretty well on you.”

“Thank you, sir.” That was more compliment than she was expecting to get from the captain today.

“One murder, one arrest, and one bloody nose on the inspectors’ floor. Blazes of a first day.”

Satrine couldn’t get a read on the captain, if he admired or admonished her for knocking Mirrell down. “Just doing what I can.”

“Let’s try more arrests and less bloody noses tomorrow, hmm?”

“Right,” Satrine said. She couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

Cinellan looked over Welling’s desk, running his fingers over a few of the pages. “I hate the nickname, by the way.”

“Mine or Welling’s?”

“Welling’s.” Cinellan gave her a quick wink. “Yours is almost a badge of honor. But Minox, he . . . he doesn’t deserve that.”

“Good to know,” Satrine said. That made one thing clear: Cinellan hadn’t stuck her with Welling as some form of hazing. “I’m still trying to figure out how an Uncircled mage ended up in the Constabulary.”

“He told you already?”

“I deduced it.”

Cinellan gave an approving nod. “It’s one of those things that’s not exactly a secret, but not exactly public. Most people are more comfortable not talking about it at all. Including Minox.”

“I gathered that.”

“The question is, Rainey, do you have a problem with it?”

Satrine sat down at the desk. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the idea of an untrained mage didn’t make me nervous. There is a reason why Circles were established in the first place.” The mages she had known often spoke of training and Circling as an absolute necessity.

“True,” Cinellan said, his tone completely neutral.

“But as for Welling himself, he’s clearly a brilliant investigator. And with this case in particular, we wouldn’t have accomplished what we did without all of his unique gifts.”

“Good,” Cinellan said. His shoulders relaxed, and he sat on the edge of her desk. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is your husband now? Ward of Saint Alexis?”

“Blazes, no,” Satrine said. “He’s at our home, where he belongs.”

“I had gotten the—well, we had all heard that he’s . . .”

“He’s awake,” Satrine said. “But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move, except his eyes. He’ll eat if you put food in his mouth, but . . .” She trailed off. There wasn’t much need to say anything else.

“So he’s like an infant?” Cinellan asked. His face blanched. “I’m sorry, Satr—Rainey. That was—”

“Pretty accurate, actually,” Satrine said. “And there’s nothing to be done for him at the ward that couldn’t be done at home.”

Cinellan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got people, right?”

“Our landlady. Her own husband was sick for years before he passed, so she knows what to do here.”

Cinellan shook his head, eyes on the desk. “It’s just . . . I can’t imagine what that’s like for him.”

“Had you ever met him?”

“Never had the pleasure,” Cinellan said. “Not a lot of our business crosses the river, after all.”

That was a point Satrine was counting on.

“He was brilliant, you know. I want to believe that his mind is still alive in there, some spark of it. But then I think, if it was, if he was aware, then . . . that would be even more horrible.” She felt tears welling up at the corner of her eyes, and she be damned if she was going to let herself cry in front of the captain.

“Well,” Cinellan said, standing up. “Shift is just about up. You’ll be able to head back to him soon.”

That was good. She had told Missus Abernand that she’d probably be back home before four bells. That estimate had been based on the idea that her whole plan would fail and she’d spend the rest of the day scrounging up money however she could.

Welling came around to the desks. “Any news?”

Cinellan’s face went back to all business. “You missed Hilsom.”

“Shame,” Welling said, sitting down and pulling his journal out of his pocket. “Did he say anything worthwhile?”

“Your arrest is getting kicked up to the Archduchy Court,” Cinellan said.

“Missus Tomar? What for?”

“Hilsom thinks the assault charge will hold better if it’s brought at that level,” Satrine said.

Welling’s face screwed up. “The assault charge hardly matters. Not that assaulting an inspector is immaterial, but you weren’t even injured. Her value as a source of information on our current case is far greater than that conviction.”

“She hasn’t said a word since she was brought in,” Cinellan said. “On that, Welling, you know better than to send in a charge with the lockwagon unaccompanied.”

“We had pressing matters,” Welling said. “Further people to question for our investigation.”

“And how did that pan out?” Cinellan asked.

“Less than ideal.”

“Do you mean it got you no further?”

“The case is not yet resolved,” Welling said.

“Fair enough,” Cinellan said. “Well, you better go question her, since in about two hours, you and Mirrell will be doing a transfer escort over to Eastwood.”

Satrine didn’t like the sound of that. “Welling and Mirrell, sir? Shouldn’t I be doing that with him?”

“Against protocol, Rainey.”

“What protocol?” she asked, though she had no hard time believing that there was a rule against women doing escort duty.

“She’s charged with assault of a Constabulary officer, Inspector,” Welling said. “With such charges, the assaulted officer is forbidden from escort, guard, or interrogation duty.”

“Ah,” Satrine said. “So I can’t go question her either?”

“No,” Cinellan said. “It’ll have to be Welling. You’ll have to listen in from the transcription gallery.”

Welling frowned. “I don’t think I’d get much from her.”

Cinellan shrugged. “The clock is clicking away, Inspectors.” He rapped his knuckles against Welling’s slateboards. “This isn’t going to solve anything this time. I’ll have her sent to Interrogation. And I want a report on your other case, Welling.” He left their desks. Welling opened his leather notebook and started writing.

“Where did you go?” Satrine asked once Cinellan was out of hearing. “Miss Pyle gave you a note?”

“Something that involved one of my unresolved cases,” Welling said. His attention was almost completely in his notebook.

“What about it? A new lead?”

Welling looked up, annoyance flashing on his face. “No, it remains unresolved.”

“Then what—”

“Inspe—” he spat out, then stopped. He put his pen down. “I apologize. The case in question involved a young boy who died a few months ago.”

“Murdered?”

“Not that we could discern,” Welling said. “No injuries, no signs of sickness or poison. As far as Leppin
could determine, the boy just fell over and died. The captain decided it bore no further investigation.”

“So then . . .”

“I did not find it plausible that a healthy boy would simply drop down dead in the middle of the street for no reason. Nor did his father.”

Satrine understood. “His father was here to talk to you. And since the captain considers the case closed, Nyla—Miss Pyle kept the matter discreet.”

Welling closed his journal. “As I said this morning, I have twenty-five cases which I consider to be unresolved. And if I wasn’t clear earlier, most of these cases are, as a matter of official record, closed to further investigation. My cousin has extended a fair degree of courtesy in assisting me when matters like this arise.”

“That’s probably not a courtesy she extends to everyone.”

“I could hardly say what she does for every person on the inspector floor. She is a highly efficient woman, however.”

Satrine turned that over in her head. “Hilsom said something that surprised me. I’m not the first woman to be made inspector, am I?” The last thing she needed was publicity or special notice.

Welling smirked. “Hardly. Hilsom has no sense of history. It’s true they are uncommon, but . . . look over there.”

He pointed to a framed sketch on the wall near his desk. A dozen men and seven women in old-style inspectors’ uniforms, from the last century. Scrawled on the bottom it said, “Inemar Inspectors, 1164.”

“Height of the war,” Satrine said. “A lot of able-bodied men across in the islands.”

“And therefore many women rose up in the ranks.” He pointed to two of the faces, a man and woman standing together. “Fenner Welling and Jillian Timmsen. Later Jillian Welling.”

“Your grandmother?” She looked closer at the sketch. There was something of Welling’s eyes in his
grandfather’s face. And now that she was looking carefully, she could see a lot of Miss Pyle in Jillian. They had the same smirk. “That’s amazing.”

“They were both—” He stopped himself. “They are both quite brilliant. I have to admit, I’ve gone down to the archives and read through every file they wrote.”

In the distance, the bells of Saint Limarre rang out. Three bells already.

“Come on,” Satrine said. “Like the captain said, the clock is clicking. You need to question Missus Tomar.”

Chapter 8

T
WO MEN STOOD in quiet argument outside the interrogation room. One of them was Zebram Hilsom. The other was a thin man in a rich green vest with a half cape and rings on almost every finger. Satrine noticed a hint of rouge applied to his pallid cheeks. His shirtsleeves ended just below the elbow, showing a tattoo on his left arm: two letters surrounded in flame.

“Miss Tomar’s Circle counsel?” she asked Welling in a low voice as they approached the two lawyers.

“One would gather,” he replied. “Mage?”

“Lord Preston’s Circle if I recall correctly,” she said.

“You’re familiar with them?”

“They dominate the University system. Tend to be well educated, cooperative, and relatively neutral in Inter-Circle affairs.”

“And moneyed,” Welling added. “Or at least he is.”

“And very good ears,” the mage lawyer said. “Quentin Olivant. And you must be Inspectors Welling and Rainey, arresting officer and victim. I was offering my dear colleague here the opportunity to release Madam Tomar now and save himself the embarrassment and expense of a failed trial.”

Hilsom scoffed. “A solid case with a Constabulary officer as witness and victim? You’re chasing an empty wagon, Quentin.”

Olivant shrugged. “It’s your trouble. I, for one, would enjoy a trial. I so rarely need to go to court.”

“Is Missus Tomar in the interrogation room?” Welling asked. “We have some questions for her.”