Bronze Gods (16 page)

“Yes, ma’am.”

A constable nearby called out and pointed to the crowd. One of the younger men tried to leave the line before Ritsuko stopped him with a barked command; it was dangerous to send armed constables into a furious throng. She looked over, trying to spot what had caught their attention.

Her partner had made some headway. The crowd parted for a short distance around him—when one of the bravos stood his ground and confronted Mikani with an inaudible challenge, her partner snarled, then lashed out. Most went down with a single blow, but occasionally Mikani came up against someone big enough to take the hit, then strike back. The men nearest surged and cheered, before pulling back when her partner invariably, stubbornly, pulled to his feet and waded in deeper. His lip was split, and he took an elbow to the back as he shoved past. She noticed that he wasn’t using a weapon, though, just bare fists.

“What’s he doing?” she muttered. “He’ll get killed.”

She hadn’t been talking to Clemmens, but the officer tracked Mikani’s movements with his gaze, then said, “Looks like he’s earning the right to speak with the patriarch.”

“By getting knocked arse over teakettle?”

Clemmens shrugged. “It’s their way. I’ve worked the Landing Point a long time. You pick up a few things.”

All around the perimeter, Summer Clan tribesmen shoved, shouting invective to the officers holding the line with truncheons out and shoulders braced. Though she’d never used it, Ritsuko got out her club, just in case. She hefted it, offering a warning glare at a dark-eyed, wild-haired man who got too close. Inwardly, her stomach churned with terror. This situation was a pile of kindling with a tinderbox on top, just waiting for the proper spark.

“Why are they so angry?” a constable asked Clemmens. “She’s just one girl.”

Ritsuko leaned in, as she wanted to know, too.

“See the tall, white-haired man over there? Inspector Mikani’s nearly to him now.” As Clemmens spoke, her partner came up against a towering wall of a man with a chest as broad as an ox, hands like anvils. He had a hard, scarred face, and he wore a multitude of necklaces around his neck, charms and tokens, trophies, perhaps. Her throat tightened, and in reflex, she moved toward Mikani.
He’s
not
fighting that brute alone.

But Clemmens grabbed her arm. “If you help him, you’ll ruin everything.”

“Better I should let him be beaten to death?”

Ritsuko hardly noticed when someone shoved her from behind. She was too busy watching the prizefight. The Summer Clan giant might be strong as a great oak, but he wasn’t quick. Mikani danced around to the side, rabbiting blows into the man’s ribs. He ducked a couple of hard, slow swings, but the third one clipped her partner in the temple. Mikani shook like a wet dog, then went back in, his face bloody, his blue eyes ferocious with determination. The match went on for at least five minutes, while the rioters grew more violent. A glass smashed to the ground at Ritsuko’s feet, the shards nicking the wool of her split skirt.

“Don’t hurt him,” she shouted to the enormous tribesman. “I’ll marry you!”

Somehow, he heard over the roar of the crowd; and it was such a ridiculous, inappropriate thing for her to say that it stole his focus for a few seconds.

Mikani took full advantage with a fierce hit to the man’s chin, and he fell. Beside her, Clemmens guffawed. “That wasn’t completely fair, but the headman’s bodyguards didn’t give him a clean run, either.”

Standing beside the tall, regal-looking elder with his dark, weathered skin and golden ropes around his neck, Mikani beckoned. Ritsuko didn’t wait for Clemmens to approve her movement; she just pushed forward, and, to her surprise, the crowd parted. Nobody touched her. There was an odd stillness, like the eye of the storm. Farther out along the docks and warehouses, the madness still raged, but here? Watchful silence, as if one wrong move could alter everything. Mikani took her arm as she reached him, a pointed claim. The Summer Clan leader’s dark gaze ran up and down her body, but it wasn’t a lascivious look, more an assessing, speculative one.

“That was a tricky strategy,” the patriarch finally said. “I don’t believe your champion would’ve beaten mine, otherwise.”

Is he? My champion?
The words sounded oddly right. But she knew enough about Summer Clan culture not to speak.
Best to let Mikani handle this.

Mikani gave a lazy smile through split lips. His right eye was swollen to the point that she could see only a thread of blue between the tangle of his sweat-stained locks. “I have bruises from where your men took some underhanded shots.”

The Summer Clan leader etched an ironic bow. “I am Luca Bihár, Patriarch of the Summer Clan. And my people are angry. As am I.”

“For good reason,” Mikani said.

“Tell me, Inspector, why was this monster permitted to murder my niece? You’ve had sufficient time to catch him.”

His niece. Burning hell.
Ritsuko hoped her partner didn’t mention they’d almost caught him . . . and let him get away. But she suspected even if they had apprehended Toombs at Dinwiddie’s apartment, it still would’ve been too late for Electra.
No consolation there.

“I swear to you we’ll get him,” Mikani said grimly.

“That’s not good enough. I want a blood vow from you both. In exchange, I will calm my people, save your grim city. But there will be
no trade
, no caravans, no food or supplies in or out of Dorstaad until you keep your word.” His face was hard as bronze, his eyes obsidian.

There could be no negotiation, only agreement. In Bihár’s ebon gaze, she saw a glimpse of the whole city burning.

“It’s a fair trade,” Mikani agreed.

In reply, the patriarch barked at his underling, who produced a knife. Before she hardly knew what had happened, she had a slice on her palm and she’d promised to catch a killer. That was her job, but it gained new weight when repeating the words beneath Bihár’s pitiless gaze. Then the Summer Clan chieftain gestured to his cohort, speaking in a guttural tongue, what she presumed to be orders to get the mob to stand down.

“Don’t break this promise,” the patriarch warned. “Or perhaps I’ll make you keep what you pledged before. Rudo”—he nudged the groggy giant on the ground—“would enjoy a bride. For a time.”

Bronze gods.
As dread washed over her, Ritsuko curled her fingers against her injured palm, feeling the blood drip through.

CHAPTER 15

S
HUTTING DOWN A RIOT DIDN’T HAPPEN INSTANTLY.
I
T TOOK
hours of argument and negotiation, all of which tried Mikani’s patience. Ritsuko didn’t appear to be her usual serene self, either. A few paces distant, she was exchanging heated words with a uniformed officer whose name he didn’t know. The side of his face throbbed, and he had a number of sore spots up and down his side, but it had been worth it.

The Summer Clan were withdrawing.

Carrying the headman’s orders, Bihár’s people scattered in groups, slipping into alleys and boarded wagons parked nearby. Even so, there was a lot of muttering, a few scuffles, and the occasional pissing contest that the CID forces broke up before things escalated. Mikani knew there would be trouble when they got back to HQ, but possibly it could be softened by the fact that he and Ritsuko had been instrumental in keeping the peace.

When the Summer Clan reached the edge of Landing Point District, constables trailing to ensure they returned to their caravans, Mikani let out a long groan and sat on the curb, cradling his head in both hands.
Gods and spirits, that’s going to leave a mark. Or ten.
He was starting to suspect he’d cracked a couple of ribs, again.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered when Ritsuko bent down. “Much as I believe you’d be too much for Rudo to handle, I promise that I’ll smuggle you away on a ship before you have to attend that particular wedding.”

“That’s not funny. You could’ve been killed . . . and this could’ve ended with half the city in flames.”

Mikani didn’t need to read Ritsuko to sense her frustration and fear, mingled with the warmer caress of relief. “I’m hard to kill. Like a weed, but more charming.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered. “I would probably do better with Rudo.”

“He’s not your type. Too sensitive. A would-be musician, from the way he tried to play a symphony on my ribs.”

He stood with a barely muffled groan of pain, rolling his shoulders with some effort and glancing around. At the least, the beating had helped assuage the guilt he felt over Electra’s death, momentarily eclipsing heartache with aching bones. “We need the good doctor here as soon as possible.”
I need Electra out of that thing and with her family at once, too. Not just for their sake, either.
“Let’s see if he can get anything useful out of this damned machine, then I’ll gladly tear the thing apart myself.”

Dr. Byfeld and his team arrived a half hour later, along with a dozen constables fresh from HQ to help secure the area. Mikani stayed on the periphery while Ritsuko and the doctor worked, pacing a broad circle around them and trying to block the lingering echoes of the girl’s death from his conscious mind. Ritsuko was methodical, as ever, though she kept directing gimlet stares that he caught from the corner of his good eye. She took thorough notes and prevented the others from bothering him, which he appreciated. As he watched, she took more samples, as there was ash circling the site, just like the other killing. If Mikani had to guess, he’d predict the lab would find it to be herbal—acanthus and hyacinth—like before. He wondered why the design had changed; this was a death by drowning instead of fire.

What’s the purpose? But I suppose if I could work that out, I’d be as mad as the murderer.

He looked up when Ritsuko nodded his way. The doctor was gathering his team and tools, all evidence collected. Mikani went to the device, shouldering his way past the two constables struggling to open the thing. “Get me a cruiser, and a sheet.”

They responded with gratifying alacrity.
I could get used to that.
Mikani fumbled with the ropes holding the top of the cylinder in place before tearing them loose with a hard jerk. He slowly laid the cylinder down, the scummy water spilling over him, and reached inside. He freed her as gently as he could from the restraints, taking Electra’s body in his arms. He could’ve asked for a stretcher to make the going easier, but he wanted to carry her. A constable dashed up with the requested sheet, draping Electra to preserve her dignity.

Mikani signaled Ritsuko, watching from nearby. “Let’s get her home.”

She stood to the side so he could pass with his melancholy burden. The way felt endless as he marched out of that forsaken place, conscious of the creaking beneath his feet and the weight in his shaky arms. The day had definitely taken a toll, more than he’d admit to Ritsuko. She expected a laugh and a quick retort, but keeping up that facade might do him in before the evening ended.

Out on the street, Landing Point was scarred in the uncertain light: shop windows hanging in jagged glass teeth, charred patches on various buildings from where lit bottles had been smashed. It was a miracle Dorstaad wasn’t burning;
nobody
pursued a vendetta like the Summer Clan, not even the great Houses. Mikani didn’t know if he’d done the wisest thing by agreeing to the blood vow. His palm throbbed a question. But he did know there wasn’t a better alternative.

When the patriarch and his bodyguards strode from the corner where they’d been keeping watch, Mikani paused. Bihár inclined his head before resuming his slow progress toward them. Their eyes met as Mikani handed Electra’s body into the older man’s care.

“We’ll find him.”

“See that you do, Inspector.” His voice was hoarse, grief throbbing in sharp pulses—and Mikani wasn’t trying to read him. The emotion was just too strong to be blocked.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ritsuko said softly.

They were only words—and from a woman as well—but Bihár acknowledged them in the spirit they were intended. Then he turned with his honor guard and led the procession down to a wagon decorated in high mourning. They would carry her out of the city, and for a moment, Mikani felt like offering to accompany them out of respect. It took Ritsuko’s touch to his shoulder to remind him that the best way to honor her was to keep their vow.

Your time’s running out, Toombs. And when we catch you, maybe we’ll introduce you to her family before taking you in.

“Let’s head in, partner.”

“Want me to drive?”

He handed her the keys with an unsteady hand. “You need the practice.”

“Obviously. I still can’t take it up on two wheels.” She skirted the remaining spectators, those ghouls who fed on tragedy, and led the way back to the cruiser, which had sustained some damage during the riot. Nothing that rendered it inoperable, just dents and scrapes.

The ride back to HQ passed in a blur; he had too much on his mind, too many aches and pains to maintain a conversation. By the time they got in the lift, he needed some chemical relief. Oddly, the CID building seemed so quiet by comparison to the docks, eerily so, even though there were still normal noises, the usual number of officers going about their routines. Mikani would rather start a trash fire than do his paperwork, tonight of all nights.

He paused at his desk, toying with the idea of writing the report and heading out for a drink or six.
Not the best use of time, though. We need to get Toombs pinned down, and only Gunwood can help with that.
But he had a quicker, quieter solution. While his partner was busy, he dug into his jacket pocket, produced a pair of Dreamers. This time, he downed them in one swallow. Chewing made them dissolve faster, but it was important not to fill the air with the scent of apples; Gunwood was angry enough without adding this to the list of complaints.

Then Mikani beckoned Ritsuko with a weary gesture. “Let’s go make his evening, shall we?” Navigating the duty room required some care as he was compensating for the loss of depth perception from his swollen eye. He rapped the doorframe before barging in. “Commander. We ran into some trouble.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement, wouldn’t you?” It was obviously a rhetorical question, as Gunwood didn’t wait for a response. “I gave you two this case with the full confidence you’d wrap things up before it turned into a big circus. But today, instead of a killer in custody, we have a second body, and the Summer Clan means to starve us to death. To say nothing of the riot!”

“Sir,” Ritsuko began, but the old man held up a peremptory hand.

“No. Earlier, I said forty-eight hours, but that was before . . . well. Circumstances are entirely different now. You’re off this case, effective immediately. I’m turning it over to Shelton and Cutler, and I pray
they
achieve better results.”

“What?”
Until that point, Mikani was only half paying attention, braced for the usual round of recriminations and maybe a writ. “You can’t do that. We’re closing in, Gunwood! Give us a day, some men, and we’ll have the bastard. You can’t just yank us off the case for those two idiots.”

“The word came down from Council,” the commander said. “It’s out of my hands, so I’m ordering you both, go home. Take a few days off. You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. I’m sure by the time you report in, Shelton and Cutler will have Toombs in custody.”

Mikani slammed his fist on the commander’s desk. “You’ll be lucky if they don’t drag in the first beggar they stumble over just to call it a night!”

Gunwood stood, bellowing to match Mikani’s volume. “And you’ll be lucky if the Council doesn’t ship you off to Cliffside to guard the sheep!”

“Sheep are smarter than those two!” He was just getting warmed up; he had a host of things to say about Shelton and Cutler, most of them four-lettered.

“Very well, sir,” Ritsuko interjected. “Two days off.”

Though someone who didn’t know her well might think that was a level tone, Mikani could tell she was about to explode, too. Her jaw was clenched tight, and she wrapped her fingers around his forearm. She didn’t offer a polite farewell as she dragged Mikani toward the door; he suspected it was beyond her.

Gunwood snapped, “A week, no pay, after the crack about the sheep! Just get him out of here.”

•   •   •

I
N RETROSPECT,
R
ITSUKO
wasn’t sure how it happened. But at HQ, it had made perfect sense to go back to Mikani’s place, for two reasons. One—she was afraid of what he’d do, left unsupervised, after the day he’d had, and two—somebody had to look at his injuries. The chances were slim to none that she could persuade him to see a doctor, particularly in this mood. So an hour after the blowup in Gunwood’s office, she was rummaging in Mikani’s bathroom for basic first-aid supplies.

She filled a basin with warm water, located some towels and antiseptic. This wasn’t her usual purview, but it was better than going home to an empty flat.

His cottage, in all areas but the kitchen, had a cheerfully careless atmosphere. Things remained wherever he dropped them, and she fought the urge to tidy up. He was sprawled in the armchair before the window, staring moodily out at the dark sky. It was a breathtaking view, though more rustic than she would’ve imagined. Not that she’d ever spent any time wondering where Mikani lived.

“I think I’m ready,” she said, after assembling the supplies on a nearby table.

“We can’t let the trail go cold.” He sat up with evident effort and gave her medical preparations a dubious look. “I’ll be fine. Just need some rest. And maybe some ice. And a drink to go with that ice.”

She folded her arms. “Have you
ever
known me to lose an argument once I made up my mind?”

He frowned and met her gaze. “I figured this would be more a matter of your agreeing with me than an argument, really.”

“This isn’t about the case. It’s about
your face
. Which is quite bad enough already.”

His undamaged eyebrow shot up. “What the hells is wrong with my face?”

“Nothing, provided you let me attend to it. Otherwise . . .” She trailed off, wondering if he was really that vain.

He opened his mouth and shut it again. Sullenly, he touched the swelling and cuts along his jaw and cheek. “Fine, fine. If it’ll stop your fretting.”

“You’re doing me a tremendous service.” Ritsuko dipped the cloth in warm water and blotted away the blood on each wound, her touch gentle.

Then she cupped his chin, leaning close to inspect the damage. The split over his cheekbone likely needed stitches, but she didn’t imagine he’d heed her advice, difficult man. So she opened the antiseptic and folded a clean linen square. “This might sting.”

“I swear, you’re enjoying this.”

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to have you at my mercy.”

He flinched at the first burn of antiseptic on open wounds. “I knew you had nefarious designs on my virtue, Ritsuko, from the first night they threw us together.”

His tone was lighter, teasing, and that was a relief. Mikani in a rage was impressive, but fairly hard to handle. But his words made her heart give an unruly kick . . . because they weren’t as far off the mark as he imagined. She offered what she hoped was an inscrutable smile.

“No, it wasn’t the first night. I’ve only had designs for a little while.”

Let him make of that what he would.

She opened the pot of salve, which was supposed to minimize soreness, swelling, and bruising, at least according to the bold-printed claims on the side. Ritsuko bent her head, sniffed; it wasn’t disagreeable, just green-smelling, as if from a mixture of herbs. At least it lacked the raw medicinal stink of the astringent.