A Murder of Mages (29 page)

“Saints and sinners,” he whispered. “Really, Satrine, what is that?”

She held it up to his eye level. “Something that was used to kill two mages so far. Two each, hammered through their hands.”

Dresser set his jaw with grim determination and grabbed the spike. He held on, despite his face turning pale and sweat starting to pour down his face. The veins in his neck bulged out, large and pulsing. Finally he screamed and released it.

Minox had counted fifteen seconds.

“I can only presume,” Minox said, “that you feel drained, weak, and sickly.”

“Not to mention ravenous,” he said, reaching shakily for a pastry. “I’ve never . . . I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

“It’s not like the mage shackles we have at the station,” Minox said.

“Mage shackles?” Dresser raised his eyebrow and then nodded. “Right. Steel manacles with bit of dalmatium mixed in. Uncommon, but effective in dampening a mage’s power. But this . . .”

“It’s a mystery,” Rainey said with a wry smile.

“Which is your job, I suppose,” Dresser said. He looked at the spike more closely. “No markings that I can see. It looks so blasted ordinary. But this is something very rare, indeed.”

“And yet our killer has left four behind,” Minox said.

“I’m stumped,” Dresser said, sitting back. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Or even heard of it.”

“I’ve stumped you,” Rainey said. “I can cross that off my list.”

“You really have no idea?” Minox asked, even though he was rather certain the man was being honest.

“I’m more than a little put out about it.”

“Good,” Minox said, getting to his feet.

“Trini.” Dresser fluttered his hand in her direction. “If you can, leave that here. I’d like to get some further opinions on it, if possible.”

Rainey gave a glance over to Minox, as if for approval. “This is evidence in an ongoing investigation.”

“We have three others,” Minox said. “Any opinions we do get wouldn’t hurt.” As much as he would like to deny Major Dresser, he had to admit it would be useful to allow him his own investigation.

Rainey nodded and left the spike on the table. “Thank you for your time, Major,” she said with a nod.

“Always a pleasure to help the Most Honorable Quia,” Dresser said. He turned back to Minox. “Keep your head up, son. Pay attention to what your body tells you, hmm?”

Minox held his tongue for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he let himself say, “It has been a very . . . instructive experience.” That was as honest as he could be without falling prey to stronger emotions. Nothing good would come from that. “Let’s be off, Inspector Rainey.”

Satrine followed Welling down the stairs to find the shirtless boy holding a pile of newssheets and two steaming strikers.

“Way I figure, stick,” the boy said as soon he spotted them, “you owe me one crown six and four.”

Welling fished into his pocket and produced a crown and a half-crown. “Well-earned with extra,” he said, passing the coins and taking one striker. “I am quite grateful.” He bit greedily.

“Welling, I am so sorry,” Satrine said. Despite the pastries he ate inside, he was eating the striker voraciously. The ordeal may have affected him more than he wanted to let on. “I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but I thought he would at least . . .” She paused, at a loss for words. She wanted to say that Dresser had been an unmitigated ass, acting like a petulant child because he sat in the same room as an Uncircled mage. Though clearly there was more happening between the two of them than she could perceive. It didn’t matter, Dresser was completely inappropriate. Finally she shrugged and said, “Behave professionally.”

“It’s fine, Inspector,” Welling said. “I was aware that any expert we might consult would react to me in a . . . less than cordial manner. I was not prepared for how uncordial it could become, of course.”

Satrine sighed. She knew Dresser was Red Wolf
Circle—Red Wolf being a sizable Circle with a fair amount of capital because of their connections with the government. Officially, Red Wolf had a statement of cooperation with the Druth government as part of its charter. Unofficially, from what Satrine had always understood, Red Wolf Circle acted as a recruiter for mages who would serve well as Intelligence agents. Usually this took the form of paying for their education and pledging them to services upon completion. That’s how it had gone for Dresser.

Was that what he was doing? Sizing Welling up for his recruitment potential?

“Here, skirt,” the boy said, offering up the other striker. Satrine looked at both of them in askance.

“Go ahead,” Welling said. “It’s worth it.”

Satrine took the other striker and cautiously bit into it. “Oh, saints, that’s good,” she said.

“Best meal I’ve had today,” Welling said.

She took another bite, for once allowing herself to enjoy the savory flavors of lamb, onion, beer, and potato.

“We didn’t even learn anything,” Satrine said, returning to the previous subject.

“On the contrary,” Welling said, before noting the shirtless boy was still looking at him expectantly. “Another task for another half-crown?”

“Listening,” the boy said.

“Deliver those sheets to 418 Escaraine, up in Keller Cove.”

“Up in the Cove?” The boy’s voice almost screeched.

“That’s why half a crown. Else I’ll carry them myself.”

The boy grumbled but nodded.

Welling produced another coin. “Take it straight to the stable in the back. Tell the man it’s from Minox. You understand?”

“’Stood,” the boy said, snatching the coin away. He took the pile of newsprints and headed away.

Satrine shook her head. “You paid that boy two crowns, plus his hitch fee. Which was probably a hustle.”

“And he’ll remember at least one stick who paid him
generously for honest errands,” Welling said. “Consider it an investment in this neighborhood.”

Satrine leaned against the hitchpost and took another bite. “Who’s in the stable?”

“My cousin, Evoy. He . . . shares my enthusiasm for researching newsprint articles.”

“You’re a very interesting person, Minox Welling.”

He paused in his eating. “Your husband. Inspector First Class, stationed out of the High Commissioner’s Office, over in Trelan. All correct?”

“Correct.” Satrine wasn’t clear where Welling was going with this.

“Attacked on the West Hetrick docks, specifically outside the customhouses, at nearly midnight on the evening of Maritan the fourth.”

“Correct again.” Was this punishment, bringing up something unpleasant for her? If so, she’d bear it.

“Maritan the fourth was Fenstide. So the docks were shut down. No legitimate freight was coming in.”

“Which may have been the very point of his investigation.”

“You don’t know what he was specifically investigating.” This wasn’t a question from Welling.

“No,” she said. “We had a small celebration, just the family and Missus Abernand—”

“Your landlady, who lives above you.”

“How did you—” She was sure she had never mentioned her.

“Obvious deduction. Continue.”

“We aren’t particularly traditional or religious, so after dinner, Loren left. Said he had something to investigate. I didn’t press or pry.”

“Or think it was strange he did that on a holiday?”

“The job is every day,” she said, repeating Loren’s usual mantra.

“I’m familiar with that.” Welling unhitched the horses. “I happened to have read some of the official reports, newssheet articles, and such. Before I met you. Are you familiar with what they claim he was working on?”

“I wasn’t paying close attention, frankly,” Satrine said. She finished her striker, though her appetite had soured.

“It says he was investigating a smuggling operation. Investigating alone.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Though she had to admit, it was a bit odd that he was working alone that night.

“I’m not as sure,” Minox said. “Onali was full on the fourth. And the sky was clear. Bright night, minimal legitimate traffic for cover. Poor conditions for smuggling. It is also atypical for an inspector of your husband’s rank and stature to be investigating crimes of that nature.”

“You know a lot about that sort of thing?”

“My cousin Thomsen works river patrol.”

She mounted her horse. “What exactly are you driving at, Welling?”

“If you allow, Inspector Rainey. Another point, which may be uncomfortable.”

“By all means,” she said. He was definitely punishing her.

“Your husband was beaten severely, and supposedly left for dead in the water. By all rights, he should have drowned.”

Should have, indeed. It might have been easier for her if he had. Then they couldn’t deny her the widow fund. “If you have a point—”

“I am approaching it. He should have drowned, but was rescued, in the loosest sense of the word. In the water just long enough that his mind was lost, but not dead. The window of that rescue is very narrow.”

“He was lucky that river patrol happened to be—”

Welling pulled himself up on his horse with surprising grace. “
Lucky
and
happened to be
are terms I find troubling, Inspector Rainey. In my experience, coincidence rarely occurs naturally.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“The points of record on your husband’s case do not add up.” Taking up the reins, his face screwed up in thought. “Therefore, I believe my count of unresolved cases is now twenty-six.” He kicked his horse and started riding east, back toward Inemar.

Chapter 18

M
ISS PYLE WAS DOWN in the stables when they returned. “You better watch yourselves,” was the first thing she said.

“Are we in trouble?” Satrine asked.

“Hilsom is up there, raving mad. I think you really burned his hair, Minox.”

“Does it matter?” Satrine asked.

“It would be ill-advised to build too adversarial a relationship with the City Protector’s Office,” Welling said.

“He can make our lives difficult if he wants to,” Miss Pyle added. “Don’t hide from him this time, Minox.”

“So you were hiding last time,” Satrine said.

Welling shook his head defiantly. “I was engaging in other activities elsewhere. That they occurred during his last visit to our office is merely a coincidence.”

“I thought you don’t believe in coincidence,” Satrine said.

“I said it was rare.”

Miss Pyle smirked. “His belief in coincidence changes when it conveniences him.”

“I take great exception to that, Nyla.” His effect was so flat, Satrine couldn’t tell if he was joking with his cousin, or actually offended. Miss Pyle laughed, so Satrine took it to be jovial.

“Come on, Welling. We can’t put off facing him too long.”

Welling nodded. “Then shall we, how do they say, ‘step on the beach’?”

Satrine grinned, remembering “The Ballad of Benson’s Best.” “And thus we stand, we hold, shields aloft; each inch we claim, we claim with blood and bone.”

Welling raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that poetry?”

“You should read more, Welling. Let’s go.”

Hilsom stalked across the inspectors’ floor, pacing back and forth in front of Cinellan’s office. He had deep circles under his eyes—Satrine realized hers must look the same—and his fingers twitched like they wanted to get around someone’s neck.

“Welling!” he shouted across the floor as soon as the two of them reached the top of the stairs.

Welling didn’t break stride, walking past the man. “There is no need to shout, Mister Hilsom.”

“A writ of search on a Circle house! You bully your way into another! And you make a Riot Call! And how many arrests did we make from all of this?”

“So far none,” Welling said calmly. “The day is not over yet.”

“My neck is out, Jinx!” Hilsom snapped.

“Your neck, Mister Hilsom?” Satrine asked. “Welling is the one on the line here.”

“As am I,” Hilsom said. “The Circles will file a suit, and Justice Review is already screaming at my office over the Riot Call. When they look into the original writ—”

Welling waved Hilsom off, walking past him to the desks behind the slateboards. “Nothing will be out of order, Mister Hilsom. Are you calling into question the grounds for which the original writ of search was justified?”