Dragon Precinct (14 page)

Hawk shoved one of the parchments into Dru’s face. “Will you
look
at it?”

Angrily, Dru snatched the parchment from Hawk’s hands. “I don’t see what the big—”

Then he saw it.

The topmost portion of the parchment had the image of a male face with leaves and branches growing out of several orifices: the symbol of the Brotherhood of Wizards. The words on the page were in the stylized script that all spells were composed in.

Dru turned the parchment over—no sign of a seal, no wax residue. “Shit—this is the motherlode. Unsealed spells.” He looked up. “Least now we know how he afforded all those spells. They were on his damn shelf.”

“We gotta be gettin’ Boneen down here right damn quick.”

“Way ahead of you,” Dru said. “I sent one of the kids to fetch him, and to get Dragon to put the eyes out on Torval.”

Hawk was, at this point, grabbing parchments at random off the shelves. “Good. ’Cause we just be gettin’ him on a lot more than jus’ some rapin’. Look at this. Illuminate. Floor Sweep. Laundry. Flavor. Entrap Woman. Entrap Man. Entrap Troll.” His face broke into a massive grin. “We gonna be the heroes’a Cliff’s End by sunup for this.”

Dru shook his head. “Like hell. This jackass was probably supplying half the city with bootlegged spells—and probably cheaper’n the Brotherhood was sellin’ ’em. You think the people ’round here are gonna
thank
us for taking that supply away? Nah, all we did was make the Brotherhood’s job easier—and you can for damn sure bet that they’ll take all the credit for this. Or worse, brush it away, so no one knows that there ever was a bootleg spell seller. Shit, they’ll probably raise their prices, too.”

“You too damn cynical, Dru.”

“Maybe.”

Then Dru thought about the kid whose mother was raped. Now they had a name, a confirmed face, and a place of residence. Not only that, but with this new evidence, they’d probably have the full resources of the Brotherhood to track this guy down. That was why he expected the Brotherhood to downplay Dru and Hawk’s own role in the whole thing.

But if it gets that kid’s mother’s rapist off the streets…

“Come on,” Hawk said, “let’s be goin’ through these, see what kinda stuff our boy been up to.”

Dru smiled. “Right with you, partner.”

“C
halmraik the Foul was killed over a decade ago.”

That was the first thing that Lord Ythran said when Danthres entered the mage’s office, Torin by her side, before either even had the chance to sit down. The local official in charge of Brotherhood affairs for the region including Cliff’s End, Ythran maintained this office in his mansion on the outskirts of the city-state. Despite Danthres carrying the Lord and Lady’s seal (generously provided by an obsequious Sir Rommett and a frightened Bertram), she and Torin had been kept waiting almost two hours before Ythran deigned to see them this morning.

Talking to the Brotherhood was not a step Danthres was eager to take, but Osric insisted it had to be the next one, even before speaking to Genero and Ubàrlig (whom Jonas had sent away with apologies after Bogg’s interrogation the previous night). After all, the Brotherhood
did
regulate magic in Flingaria—in fact, the organization was formed after the overthrow of Chalmraik specifically to avoid someone like him coming to power again. If the Foul One was still alive, they needed to know about it, Osric said. Somewhat reluctantly, Danthres agreed, as did Torin. And so, first thing in the morning—when Torin finally showed up to work—they proceeded through Unicorn to Ythran’s mansion.

“Didn’t Chalmraik come back from the dead once before?” Danthres asked as she took her seat on the sofa opposite the wizard’s plush reclining chair. Ythran’s office was an elegant affair, appointed with what Danthres assumed to be the finest furniture—including a small, overly decorated stone scrying pool—and several art objects. The east wall’s centerpiece was a bas-relief of the Brotherhood’s seal, and the rear wall was taken up entirely with a huge picture window providing a view of the Garamin.

“Not quite,” Ythran said testily. He snapped his gnarled fingers, and a mug full of some kind of steaming liquid appeared in front of him. Grabbing it out of the air, he sipped from it. After wiping his robed sleeve over his bearded mouth, he let go of the mug, and it disappeared.

Damned showoff,
Danthres thought.
And thank you for offering to share.

The white-haired old man continued. “Chalmraik faked his own death via magical means. It was an impressive spell, in fact. However, that was
not
coming back from the dead. Now then, if you are through wasting my time—”

Danthres started to snarl, but Torin cut her off—which, she had to admit, was probably wise of him. “Lord Ythran, we have barely begun. We have very good reason to believe that Chalmraik might be alive and well, and targeting people in Cliff’s End.”

Impatiently, Ythran said, “I am fully aware of the complaint registered by Brother Genero of Velessa. I scried the report made by the Velessan office when you arrived at the mansion. I’m afraid that I have to give you the same answer they gave the priest. Besides, dead or alive, Chalmraik is
our
problem, not yours. So this is not your concern from any angle.”

“If he’s killing people in our city—” Danthres started, but Ythran interrupted.

“He isn’t. Even if he somehow managed to resurrect himself—which he couldn’t possibly have done without our knowledge, as that would require an expenditure of magic that could not possibly go unnoticed—he would not resort to such petty tasks as the murder of inconsequential non-mages.”

Torin let out something that was halfway between a bark of laughter and a snort of derision. “I’d hardly call Gan Brightblade or Olthar lothSirhans inconsequential.”

Ythran gave Torin a withering look. “It depends on what you consider to be of consequence. In terms of what actually matters in the universe, the antics of a buffoon who thinks with his sword and an overly romanticized traitor to his people are of very little moment. It is blindingly obvious that these people are lying to you.”

Torin leaned forward. “You realize that you’re accusing a Temisan priest and a respected dwarven general of fabricating a story.”

Danthres refrained from pointing out that the Temisan priest in question had already lied. That was a nuance that was likely to go over the wizard’s head—or, more accurately, be beneath his notice—in any event.

Letting out a long breath through his irritatingly perfect white teeth, Ythran said, “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, Lieutenant. Chalmraik the Foul cannot possibly be responsible for these murders. I’m sure it’s quite possible that Brother Genero believes the vision he claims to have seen, and I’m equally sure that he believes that Chalmraik is responsible for these murders. However, in that at least, he is quite mistaken. This is an ordinary set of murders, and that falls under your purview, Lieutenants, not ours, so I’ll thank you not to involve us in it.”

It took most of Danthres’s willpower not to laugh in Ythran’s face. Usually it was she who pointed out that the Brotherhood was interfering in
her
affairs, not the other way around.

Torin, meanwhile, had no apparent interest in laughing. “There’s nothing ‘ordinary’ about these murders, Lord Ythran.”

“Perhaps not, but I believe that your own magical examiner determined that no sorcery was involved. Therefore it is not our concern. I’m afraid you will have to actually do your jobs rather than try to fob off responsibility on us, as your tiresome Guard has done so often in the past.”

This time, Danthres’s willpower was directed toward not strangling Ythran where he sat. Torin shot her a look, as if to make sure she did no such thing, but even she wasn’t as foolhardy as that. Idiots like Sir Rommett were one thing, but, as tempting as it was, Danthres wasn’t about to antagonize someone who could turn her into a farm animal without much effort.

“What was that?” Ythran asked suddenly.

Frowning, Torin said, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Neither did I,” said Danthres.

The wizard waved his arms dismissively. “I’m not talking to you. Say that again.” The second sentence appeared to be directed at the air to the left of Ythran’s ear.

Danthres shook her head.
I hate magic.

“Really? Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Yes, of course, I’ll deal with it. Damn.”

“Something wrong?” Danthres asked, trying to sound polite, and probably failing miserably.

“I’m afraid something”—now Ythran smiled, a most unpleasant expression that had no business on his wizened face—“consequential has turned up. As much as I’ve enjoyed this total waste of time, I’m afraid that I have important matters to deal with. Ironically, it involves two of your fellows. They found some unregistered spells last night.”

Danthres let out a breath. They had, of course, heard about Dru and Hawk’s discovery at headquarters last night before going off shift. Torval, the rapist, was still at large, but at this point, it was only a matter of time before he was found.

“I need to deal with this immediately.” Ythran stood up from his recliner.

Again, Ythran snapped his fingers—

—and Danthres found herself with a queasy feeling in her stomach and a sudden pounding headache. The contents of her stomach shot into her throat, and she felt her entire body clench. Before she knew it, she was doubled over, retching onto the stone floor.

Two heaves later, she stood up and realized that she was in Osric’s office. Torin was standing behind her, a look of concern on his face.

Blinking tears from her eyes, Danthres said, “Bastard teleported us, didn’t he?”

Torin nodded.

A familiar, angry voice from behind them bellowed: “What the hell is that smell?”

Danthres turned to see Osric standing in the open doorway. Danthres couldn’t ever remember seeing quite that look of befuddlement on the captain’s face before.

“Tresyllione, ban Wyvald, what the hell’re you doing in my office?”

“Throwing up, Captain.” Torin grinned. “I’m afraid the good Lord Ythran decided to cut our interview short by using a Teleport Spell on the pair of us.”

Dryly, Osric said, “How generous of him.”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate magic?” Danthres asked as she got to her feet. Her stomach still felt like a fist was clenching it.

“Once or twice.” Torin was still grinning.

“What did he say?” Osric asked.

At that, Torin’s grin faded. “Nothing useful.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Danthres said. “He spent the entire time trying and failing to mislead us.”

Osric held up a hand. “Hold that thought.” He summoned Jonas to his office, told him to get someone to clean up the mess Danthres made, then adjourned to their desk. Danthres would have preferred sitting opposite Osric in his own domain instead of having him loom over them in their space, but needs must as the demons drive.

“All right,” Osric said once they’d settled at Torin and Danthres’s desk. Danthres had slipped into the pantry to get a mug of tea to settle her stomach, and now she sat in her chair, Torin in his spot opposite her. Osric stood over her with his arms folded, staring at her dolefully with his good eye. “What do you mean by ‘failing to mislead us,’ Tresyllione?”

“Wizards are rotten liars. Probably because words are so important to what they do, they can’t afford to misuse them.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of the tea. As usual, it was too bitter. “He was trying to convince us that Chalmraik was dead and not involved in this case, but he never actually came out and said that. As soon as we came in, he said that Chalmraik was killed over ten years ago. Not that he was dead now, but that he was killed. Later he said that if he was resurrected they’d know about it, and it would be their concern. But he never said that Chalmraik is dead now, nor that he hadn’t actually managed to resurrect himself.”

Torin scratched his beard. “It’s rather clever, actually—it protects them from any accusations of having lied to us.”

Osric shook his head. “I think you might be reading too much into this.”

“No, we’re not.” Danthres leaned forward, putting the tea down on her desk. “Bogg only told us about Chalmraik because he let it slip by accident. He’s not clever enough to have done that deliberately to throw us off a scent. Genero, Ubàrlig, and Bogg—”

“And presumably,” Torin put in, “Brightblade, lothSirhans, and the halflings.”

“—genuinely believe that Chalmraik is alive and a viable threat. They also believe that he’s the one targeting them. At this point, they have no reason to lie, and no real reason for us to believe they are lying.”

Torin started fiddling with a paperweight on his desk. “The Brotherhood, on the other hand, has every reason to lie, especially if Chalmraik really is alive. Can you imagine what kind of outcry
that
would produce?”

Osric let out a breath. “Wonderful. So we have an all-powerful mass-murderer on our hands, and the organization best suited to deal with him won’t admit he’s alive. Where does that leave our case?”

“Nowhere at the moment,” Torin said glumly.

Danthres found words pouring out of her mouth without conscious thought: “Why don’t we go to that island?”

Osric and Torin both stared at her. “What?” the former asked.

Shaking her head, Danthres said, “No, never mind, it’s a crazy idea.”
What the hell were you thinking?
Grabbing the mug, she sipped more tea, figuring the upset stomach was addling her brain.

“Damn right it’s a crazy idea,” Osric muttered.

“Chalmraik’s the most brutal tyrant Flingaria has ever seen,” Torin said, his green eyes wide with incredulity. “What do you expect to do, waltz onto the island, tell him he’s under arrest in the name of the Lord and Lady, and bring him into the interrogation room, hoping he’ll crack?”

Danthres sighed. “I
said
it’s a crazy idea, Torin, you can drop it now.”

“Besides,” came Boneen’s irritating voice from behind her, “it’s not like he’s the murderer.”

Turning, Danthres saw the M.E. waddle into the squad room on his undersized legs. Osric asked, “Don’t you have to work on those spells?”

Boneen closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Don’t remind me. I swear, it’s enough to drive a man to drink. First you two with your impossible case,” he said with a sneer at Torin and Danthres, “and now I’m going to be drowning in unregistered spells for the next week thanks to those other two idiots. With my luck, Iaian and Grovis will find the fake-glamour ring and I’ll have to do something connected to
that
as well.”

Dryly, Danthres said, “It must be terrible, having to actually do your job.”

“Don’t get snooty with
me,
Tresyllione. I’m here as a favor to you lot, and it’s a favor that you haven’t earned, let me tell you.”

Folding his arms, Osric asked, “Did you come in here for a reason, Boneen?”

“Hm?” The M.E. stared at the captain for a moment with his mouth hanging open. Danthres thought he looked like a fish—or like Grovis. “Oh, yes, I did. I’m on my way to help gather up those damned spells right now, but I wanted to let you know that I found something peculiar on one of the halflings. He owned a Charm Bracelet.”

“Probably helped with the marks,” Danthres muttered.

“You’d know more about that than I would.” Boneen spoke with his usual disdain. “But I can’t see why it didn’t register on the peel-back. Admittedly, it’s minor magic—just enough to make someone pay attention when you speak and be slightly more open to your words than they might be otherwise. I probably just missed it with everything else that’s going on.”

“No, that fits.” Torin got up and started pacing. Danthres knew this meant he had an idea, so she let him talk. “I have a source that informed me that Brightblade had a glamour potion in his system when he died, which matches the eyewitness accounts.”

Danthres refrained from voicing her opinion on that source, especially with the captain present. Besides, it
did
explain the cleaning woman’s noticing discrepancies in Brightblade’s appearance, and now with this new information about the halflings…

“That’s not possible.” Boneen, as usual, spoke with finality. “If he had drunk a glamour potion any time in the previous week, I’d’ve detected it.”