“Cap, we could go,” Inspector Kellman said. “I mean, that way—”
“Not possible,” Minox said. “Miss Morad, you waited eighty days to have our interview. You can wait a few hours more.”
“It must be today—”
“If I consent to granting you an extra day, can we continue?” Minox asked. He looked to the captain. “Surely, I have the right to extend that limitation.”
“Minox, you shouldn’t—” the captain started.
“Fine,” Miss Morad said quickly. “But I will join you and observe what happens.”
Miss Fendall took this as cue enough, and returned to the bridge. Inspector Rainey and Miss Morad went behind her.
Corrie grabbed Minox by the arm before he had a chance to follow. “Be careful with that one, Mine. She’s a rat.”
“I have to abide—”
“Watch your blasted self, you idiot,” Corrie said. “But I’m at your arm in all this, get?”
“Favor me this,” Minox said, taking some dried meat from the pouch on his belt. He always carried extra food on his person for moments like this when he used more magic than he had expected to. “Send a page out east, get Jillian to come to the Parliament.”
“You want Jilly?” Corrie raised an eyebrow at that. “You think she—”
“She’s better than Leppin’s boy, especially with anything . . . gruesome. Please.”
“I’ll get her myself,” Corrie said. “Eyes up, really.”
“You as well.”
“I thought you expressed urgency, Inspector,” Miss Morad called from the foot of the bridge.
Minox saluted to his sister and went off.
“Fendall, is it?” Inspector Rainey was asking the Tarian girl.
“Jerinne Fendall,” she said, “though how this woman knew that—”
“Please, Miss Fendall,” Miss Morad said. She was doing an excellent job keeping pace with the rest of them, despite her apparent mature years. Minox wanted to break into a run, or even commandeer a pedalcart, but he felt like he needed to exhibit decorum around Miss Morad. She exuded an air of respectability, a brassbound temper that made Minox feel like he was found wanting. Even at the brisk pace, she was an avatar of poise and posture. “Your exploits with your companion, Mister Heldrin, made you something of a minor celebrity in higher circles.”
“Exploits?” Minox asked.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know, Inspector,” Miss Morad said. “I thought researching newsprints from the whole city over was part of your process.”
Minox wracked his memory. Had there been stories of note that involved Tarians? There had been something involving the assassination of a handful of members of Parliament some months back, and then something else with the election. He hadn’t paid it much mind, because it didn’t reflect on the cases he had been working on.
But he did remember that cousin Evoy had paid attention to those stories. Fixated, even. That was noteworthy.
“I’m aware of those events. The names hadn’t stayed with me. I note what matters, not minor celebrity.”
“You should note who is doing what. Some would say these Tarians did the job when the Constabulary failed.”
Minox wasn’t going to rise to that bait. “We all work on the side of justice. Credit isn’t important.”
“And yet you’ve also made a name in the newssheets.”
“Infamy, perhaps,” Rainey said.
“Notoriety, either way,” Miss Morad said.
“Ma’am,” Miss Fendall said sharply. “We’re about to head into something pretty gruesome. You sure you want to see this?”
“I’ve kept up on the story, in researching Inspector Welling. I’m fully prepared.”
While Miss Morad was engaged with Miss Fendall, Rainey stepped into pace with Minox.
“You all right?” she asked in a low voice.
“I was expecting something to occur today. I wasn’t thinking it would involve these dramatics, but I’m fine.”
“I meant, you just did some heavy magic. Hungry?”
She offered a bit of dried fruit from the pouch on her belt. Their months together had put them in a rhythm, and they both carried an emergency supply of food for him. Since the changes that altered his hand, his appetite had become even more voracious, but he had also learned how to manage it.
“I’m fine for now,” he said.
“All right,” she said. “But we’re near my house. So I actually know the good food carts here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Miss Fendall was now half a block ahead of them, so Minox and Rainey picked up their pace to catch her.
When they reached Parliament Square, the scene was already chaotic. A dozen Yellowshield carts choked the streets, while Constabulary formed a barricade around the grand building, keeping the crowd far away from it.
Despite living in Maradaine his entire life, Minox had rarely crossed the bridges to the north side, and never had cause to visit the seat of the government. He had never been particularly interested in it, as the decisions of a hundred pampered men rarely had any real impact on his own life. The “august body” was far removed from the day-to-day of life in Maradaine, especially for the hardworking people of the city services.
He remembered something from his schoolboy lessons though, which always struck him as ironic. Some two hundred years ago, when the Parliament was founded, Maradaine was also rebuilding from the Incursion that had taken place at the beginning of the eleventh century. Much of the rebuilding work was done by common folk, under the promise that their loyalty to Maradaine and Druthal would be rewarded, that they would have a voice in the new nation. But when the Rights of Man were written and the Parliament was finally convoked, those folk were blocked out. Instead, their reward was to be named the “loyal families.” The families who put the city back together would form the foundation of the Constabulary, the Fire Brigade, the brick and pipe men, and the other city services.
One of those was the Welling family. Marius Welling—Minox’s many-times-great-grandfather—had been a key man who helped form the Constabulary and organized a large part of the rebuild efforts. He had been so vital to the work that one of these north side neighborhoods bore his name.
“Welling?” Inspector Rainey said. “Sure you don’t need to eat something?”
“No,” he said. He must have been in a bit of a reverie. “We’ll need to push through to those barricades.”
“Make a hole!” Miss Fendall shouted. People in this part of town, at least, gave respect to a uniform. The crowd parted and let her lead the three of them up to the barricade.
“You can’t come through here,” the patrolman said almost instinctively as they approached.
“I’m afraid we must,” Minox said. “Inspectors Welling and Rainey with the Grand Inspection Unit.”
“Really?” the patrolman asked. “Are you two supposed to be here?”
“We were called for.”
“I’m going to have to check on that.”
“We’re in a rush,” Miss Fendall said.
“Let them through,” someone else called. The patrolman reacted immediately to that, and as he moved the wooden barricade over to let them pass, Minox could see why. The man who gave the order was Commissioner Wendt Enbrain. He approached them in an almost feverish state.
“Satrine,” he said, sweeping Inspector Rainey in a panicked embrace. “I just . . . I never . . .”
He then looked at Minox as well as Fendall and Morad, and regained a bit of composure. “Inspector Welling.” He took Minox’s hand and shook it warmly. Minox had only met the man in passing a handful of times, but he clearly had a long history with Inspector Rainey. Of course, her infirm husband had worked closely with the commissioner as an Inspector First Class out of Capital Plaza. “I’m very grat
eful you two are here, but . . . why . . . how . . .”
“We were summoned by Miss Fendall,” Minox said.
Commissioner Enbrain gave her another look. “Tarian? But why—it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. I’m very glad to see you, Satrine. It’s horrible. Horrible.”
She gave a glance to Minox, a single look that communicated a great deal. He understood her meaning, and he had deduced the same thing. Whatever was happening on the Parliament floor, whatever horrors they were about to see, it had some sort of direct and personal impact on Commissioner Enbrain.
Enbrain failure.
* * *
Corrie Welling still hadn’t grown used to the sergeant’s braid on her shoulders. She knew damn well nineteen was a young age to earn it, and she also knew plenty of the old hands in the stationhouse felt the same way.
Especially guys like Rezzo in the stables. That steve had been on horsepatrol for years, and when he hurt his back he was taken off the streets to mind the horses. Never rose above the rank of patrolman, old enough to be Corrie’s father. And now she outranked him.
“What’s a sergeant doing down here?” he asked as she came down to the stables. “Thought this girl was too fancy to walk through the dung piles.”
“You shouldn’t call yourself a rutting dung pile, Rez,” she said.
“Funny girl,” he said. “What you doing down here?”
“Need a damn horse, why else?” Corrie said.
“Most of the horses are out on patrol. Don’t know if I have one that’s worthy of a sergeant.”
“Stop pouring sewage down my throat. I just need to ride out east.”
“Do you now?” This wasn’t Rezzo, but rutting Iorrett, leaning against the stable door. “What’s the story?”
“I got a job to do, Iorrett,” she said.
“Not by me you don’t.”
“I don’t blazing well answer to you, tosser.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got training to do. Go over what we did on that exercise.”
“Exercise?” Corrie spat on the ground. “You have the rutting nerve to call that heap of sewage an exercise?”
“What happened?” Rezzo asked.
“Oh, shut your rutting breadhole,” Corrie said, and then turned back onto Iorrett. “You actually are saying that helped us?”
“Hey, I know you’re chuffed because the whole thing was made to tag your brother—”
“What to her brother?” Joshea Brondar came into the stables. He was looking crisp, despite just being in shirtsleeves. He somehow managed to make dressed-down working-man clothes look like style. He didn’t make Corrie’s heart patter like he did her cousins—both Ferah and Nyla couldn’t get enough of him—but she understood why they felt that way. Of course, as much as he charmed them, the only Welling he had much interest in was Minox. Probably because they were both untrained mages, as blazing crazy as that was. But Joshea’s magic had saved her, saved Tricky, saved Minox. So she wasn’t going to say a split of anything about it to anyone. Joshea’s secret, his rutting business.
“We’re talking about that training exercise,” Iorrett said.
“Rutting sewage. Get me that horse, Rez. Now.”
Rezzo ran off.
“Yeah, how did that go?” Joshea asked.
“You knew?”
“Yeah, I—” Corrie didn’t let him finish, grabbing him by his suspenders.
“You blazing well knew they were doing that to Minox?”
“Do what to Minox?” He looked at Iorrett. “I thought it was an exercise for your squad. The captain told me to sit it out, which is fine, but—”
“It wasn’t for us, you rutting stone,” she said.
“It was useful to us,” Iorrett said under his breath.
“No, it was a rutting setup to test Minox, rigged by the folks who are doing his blasted Inquiry.”
Joshea’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with cold anger. “I had no idea. I—another officer taken hostage, civilians at risk. I should have seen the connection.” He slammed a fist against the wall.
“So what did you blazing know?”
“Only the scenario. I swear, I thought it was a training setup for your squad.”
“Corrie,” Iorrett spat at her. “It don’t matter. This ain’t his fault or my fault. We all did what we were told. Jinx—”
“Don’t you rutting—”
“Inspector Welling,” he quickly corrected. “He knew a reckoning was coming for him, that he was being investigated. So it didn’t look like he expected, but we did our job. Like we were supposed to.”
“I’m sorry, Cor,” Joshea said.
“So am I,” she said. “You all had me betray my own blood.”
“I really had no idea that’s what it was.”
“Yeah, well, now you rutting know,” she said. Rezzo came over with a saddled horse. Not one she was familiar with, but it looked like a solid, strong one. She took its reins from him.
“Corrie,” Iorrett said sharply. “We still got to debrief on this, talk about how it went.”
“Talk amongst your rutting selves, bastard,” she said. “I got an assignment from one of our inspectors. That’s our rutting job.”
She pulled herself up on the horse and kicked it into a jog before she could hear whatever sewage Iorrett was going to throw at her. She didn’t give a damn.
She had to head out east, and find another cousin, one she hadn’t talked to in over a year. She’d never go out east to talk to Jilly on her own, but Minox asked her to. And right now, she’d walk through the blazes just to bring him a drink. It was the least she could do.
* * *
Satrine had known Commissioner Wendt Enbrain for years, and she had never seen him in such a state as this. His face was decidedly green, with a sheen of sweat over it that was too much even for this autumn heat wave. He raced his large frame as he led them up the Parliament steps to the main entrance. These grand doors, under the flag of Druthal, were the ones that were to be used by the press and the common people who had business in the Parliament building. There were ten other entrances surrounding the building, one for each archduchy, which led to their specific portion of the Parliament floor. Eleven formal entrances, and surely several more for functionaries, services people, and deliveries.
Satrine knew all that about the Parliament, despite never setting foot in the place. Her telepathic education was now filling her thoughts with details and history and familiarity, as if she had been coming here for years.
The top of the steps outside the doors was another area of barely controlled chaos. Yellowshields were encamped here, as well as King’s Marshals, a smattering of Army and Navy officers, even an Intelligence colonel in uniform. On top of that, people who Satrine presumed were members of the press were trying to get to the doors, shouting questions.
“What’s happening?” Satrine asked Enbrain.
“A violation, the likes of which—” He trailed off, the silence lasting too long. His face showed her enough—he had seen something which had struck him to his soul.
“Sir,” Welling said. “What can you tell us?”
“It’s—” He choked up. “I’m sorry. Let’s get you inside.”
“Are we even allowed inside?” Welling asked.
“We’ll manage.” That was the Tarian girl. Jerinne. Couldn’t be more than a couple years older than Rian. Satrine was amazed this young lady could be so sure of herself, so poised. Of course at that age, Satrine was in Waisholm, pretending to be a dead noblewoman and actively guiding events to put her lover on the Waish throne.
Her own youth was not a typical point of comparison.
Jerinne went straight for the first door, only to have a King’s Marshal get in front of her.
“What are you doing, girl?” he asked.
“We have
business inside,” she said.
“Ain’t no one going inside who isn’t cleared.”
“I was in there when it was found,” Jerinne said.
“Then you should have stayed inside.”
“Son,” Enbrain said, coming up to the marshal. “We’re going in.”
The marshal glanced at Enbrain, Satrine, and Welling. “Constabulary is supposed to be keeping the crowd back at street level. We don’t need you up here.”
“We’re inspectors,” Satrine said. “Apparently you have a murder in here that needs our attention.”
“I’ve not heard of bringing in street constables,” he said. “This is the province of the marshals.”
“Special circumstances,” Enbrain said. “Step aside.”
“Pardon me,” the young marshal said, putting a hand lightly on Enbrain’s chest to block him. “I don’t yield to you, sir. I know who you are, but I don’t answer to your authority.”
“Do you answer to mine?” An older man in a simple but fine suit had come over, giving the marshal a hard glare.
“Your Honor,” the marshal said. “You, of course, can go inside.” Clearly this old man was a member of Parliament.
“The commissioner and his people will be joining me,” the Parliamentarian said.
“And the Tarian girl?”
“Absolutely.” He turned to Jerinne and gave her a familiar wink
The young marshal led them all in. “I’m going to tell my first that they’re here under your authority, though, your Honor.”
“Do that,” the Parliamentarian said. Once they were inside, beyond the marshal’s hearing, he took Enbrain into an embrace. “Wendt,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Rest assured—”
“Everything that can be done, I know. Which is why I want these two as part of the investigation.”
The Parliamentarian offered his hand to Satrine. “Alphonse Montrose.”
Montrose. One of the leading men in the Parliament, head of the small but earnest Populist party. One of the chairs from the Archduchy of Maradaine. Logan had voted for him a couple of times.
“Inspector Satrine Rainey,” she said, taking his hand. “My partner, Minox Welling.”
A Parliament of Bodies Page 5
