A Parliament of Bodies

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  She was staring at Prince Escaraine—the rutting crown prince of Druthal, by all the saints—and her legs locked up. Saints, he wasn’t just regal or handsome—and he was so blazing handsome Corrie felt a buzzing in her gut—but he was breathlessly elegant.

  And if Corrie didn’t get to her rutting knees now, she might lose her head.

  Could a prince order a beheading? Was that even a rutting thing? Corrie had no idea.

  “That, um, your Highness,” she sputtered out, forcing herself onto one knee as she said it, “that is another exception we would make.”

  The crowd parted as he walked, and he approached calmly. Corrie was amazed at how casual and at ease he seemed, despite his bright silk blouse and ringed circlet on his head. A handful of King’s Marshals—their uniforms marked differently than the ones Corrie had been neck-deep in here—kept a perimeter around him. These blokes looked like they would tear a person in half if they moved too close. “Forgive my intrusion in your investigation, all,” he said, more to the crowd at large than to Corrie. “But something egregious and appalling has happened to our nation today, and my cousin felt the Royal House should take personal care at these events, this violation of the House of Free Men. If you could point me toward where any of our Good Men of the Parliament are congregating right now?” That last question was directed at Corrie.

  Corrie’s voice almost failed her for a moment. “I . . . that is, I believe one of them is up that way, Your Highness.” She pointed toward the staircase where one swell had gone with the commissioner.

  “Thank you.” The prince turned to the crowd again. “I think it is so important, in the wake of this grief and tragedy, that we all do our best to cooperate with each other, so we can swiftly heal ourselves as a people, and bring justice forward.”

  He went to the stairs, and after he was out of sight, everyone else in the room let out a collective breath. Corrie wasn’t the only person instinctively holding hers.

  She got back on her feet. “All right, you all, you heard him,” she said sharply, before anyone else could take advantage of the lull. “So let my people know who the blazes you are, why the blazes you’re here, and what you rutting do, or saints help me.”

  The crowd started to work their way to the officers at the doors, now with a sense of calm and patience. That was something.

  While Corrie watched folks line up, Tricky came over, flanked by two of those Tarians. Corrie still hadn’t quite gotten their names.

  “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Tricky asked.

  “Just Prince Escaraine,” Corrie said. She tried to make it sound like it was nothing, just to see how Tricky reacted.

  “Really?” Tricky seemed more curious than surprised or nervous. That was rutting incredible. Corrie was still a puddle of nerves. “That must be why everyone is behaving themselves now.”

  “Probably. So what’s next?”

  “Are any of the victims in a state to be interviewed?” Tricky asked. “I’d love to know what happened to them, in their own words.”

  Corrie nodded. “We’ve got them—the ones who didn’t need the Yellowshields or a proper doctor—all in a conference room to the side.”

  “And the marshals? Especially Chief Quoyell.” Tricky nearly choked on his name, sounding out each rutting syllable.

  “The marshals are sitting on their hands, and they ain’t happy about it.”

  “I can imagine,” the big Tarian said. “It’s not like they’re above reproach.”

  “They’re down in their offices on the lower levels.”

  The big guy raised an eyebrow. “Those offices connect to corridors to other buildings.”

  Tricky nodded. “Yeah, I’m already aware of that sort of thing.”

  “I’m saying that no one is necessarily being securely kept on the premises. If someone—”

  “I understand,” Tricky snapped. Biting her lip, she added, “Look, Dayne, do you want to help?”

  “Of course I do,” Dayne said.

  “Then find me building plans of this place. I need to know all the ways someone could get in and out. Especially with equipment.”

  Dayne scowled. “I don’t know if there is a definitive plan. I mean, this building has existed in several forms over the past centuries, originally as—”

  “Dayne,” Tricky said sharply. “Just get me a map.”

  He nodded and walked off, and the young Tarian woman stayed at Tricky’s side.

  A woman approached them—Intelligence uniform. She made at Tricky like she had been shot from a crossbow.

  “Inspector Rainey,” she said sharply, giving Corrie and the others a bit of stink. “Do you intend to launch an investigation into corruption in the King’s Marshals?”

  Tricky didn’t even blink. “I intend to investigate how a mechanical death machine—a thing that would probably take three teams of horses to bring here and twelve men to carry and assemble—ended up on the Parliament floor. Given that the marshals are in charge of security in this building, I’m going to question them. Whether or not that leads to a deeper investigation into the marshals themselves depends on the answers.”

  “I believe it is warranted, but I would insist that Druth Intelligence should take point on it.”

  “Druth Intelligence isn’t supposed to investigate our own citizens, Colonel. I wouldn’t even know what division should handle it.”

  “We can determine that on our own.”

  Tricky waved it off. “There is, right now, an established authority of jurisdiction for this case, and that lies on the city Constabulary and the GIU. But I hear Prince Escaraine is in the building, and he might personally override that. Until I hear otherwise, this building, this investigation, and anywhere it leads, falls in my lap.”

  “Inspector, you really should consider—”

  Tricky turned away from the woman, looking to Corrie. “Where are my victims? The ones I can talk to?”

  “I’ll rutting show you,” Corrie said. If Tricky wasn’t going to give a trice about this Intelligence bint, neither would Corrie. She started walking, leading her to the conference room.

  Something grabbed Corrie’s arm—and it wasn’t a hand. A band of yellow light was wrapped around her. Same thing happened to Tricky. The light pulled Corrie back, burning cold on her arm.

  “I was speaking to you,” the officer said, the yellow light coming out of her hand like a tendril. A rutting mage.

  Dayne came thundering back, leaping between the mage and Corrie and Tricky. The yellow tendrils withered into nothing. “How dare you, Colonel?” he said.

  “Do you even know me?” she snarled. “I could have your head, Tarian boy. And I mean that literally. Now, I will not be so rudely ignored.”

  “It’s fine,” Tricky said, rubbing her arm. “What is it you want, Colonel—”

  “Colonel Altarn, Missus Rainey. Remember me and respect that.”

  “Altarn,” Tricky repeated. She pushed past Dayne and got up in the colonel’s face. “It’s Inspector Rainey, ma’am. I have work to do. I’ll send word to the High Office if I need you.”

  Tricky walked away, and Corrie ran to catch up with her. The two Tarians came up right behind them.

  “Blazes, Tricky,” Corrie said as they went up the stairs. “Remind me never to piss on your boots.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Tricky said. “Dayne, stop shadowing me.”

  “But in case—”

  “I can handle it, son,” she said. “Get me that map.”

  He scurried off—as much as a fellow that big could scurry. They reached the conference room.

  “Who’s in here?” Tricky asked, pulling her notebook out of her pocket.

  “The four victims who weren’t sent to Riverheart Ward. They’re shook, but they’re able to talk.”

  �
��Patrolmen with them?”

  “Two regulars,” Corrie said.

  “All right. Get back to your people working the doors, get me all the names, every damn one of them. No one is off the hook.”

  “Not even Prince Escaraine?” Corrie asked.

  Tricky laughed as she opened the door. “Yeah. Not even him.”

  * * *

  Minox took a tickwagon to make his way across the river back to Inemar. While he was no longer in a weakened state, his whole body was just weary. For once he wanted nothing more than to head home and sleep. But he had to go back to the stationhouse, had to face the Inquiry and Miss Morad.

  Intellectually, he welcomed it—at least it would settle the matter of his status as an Uncircled mage in the Constabulary. But in his gut, he felt it was a colossal waste of time and energy. Time and energy he could be spending searching for this Sholiar, investigating the Parliament building and this machine. He knew he could trust Inspector Rainey to handle it all with intelligence and skill, but that was no substitute for being on it himself.

  That was where he wanted to be right now. Shirtsleeves rolled up and working out the case. That was where he belonged.

  He packed his pipe and lit it as he got off the tickwagon. The new tobacco he was smoking now was decidedly inferior to his preferred brand, but Gasta ab Uhren wouldn’t sell to him any more, so he had to find a new shop with a different proprietor. Minox was no longer buying his tobacco directly from the Fuergans, and it was clear that the Druth smoke shops were selling the dregs of the Fuergan crop.

  He needed to make amends with Gasta ab Uhren. Or get someone to purchase it for him. Possibly Jace.

  As he approached the stationhouse, he noted Joshea sitting at the fast-wrap stand. Despite the meal Minox had just had at The Nimble Rabbit, he would need a bit more sustenance to make it through the next few hours of Inquiry.

  “Afternoon, specs,” Missus Wolman said as he came over. “How many today?”

  “Two,” Minox said. “I didn’t think you frequented this stand,” he said to Joshea.

  “But you do, and I wanted to get a word without anyone looking too suspicious.” Joshea squinted at what Missus Wolman threw on her grill. “I have no idea what meat that is, and meat is my business.”

  “You and Inspector Rainey have some noted similarities,” Minox said. “She’s obsessed with figuring it out.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “I just eat what I can. This is here, it’s easy, and it’s decent.” He took a wrap from Missus Wolman as she put the meat into a flatbread and passed it to him.

  She turned to Joshea. “I’d be insulted but I know ‘decent’ is as high praise as he manages.”

  “I am very pleased to have you here, Missus Wolman,” Minox said as he bit into the wrap. He looked at Joshea. “And why are you here?”

  “I found out after it happened that the squad’s actions today were some sort of test for you. I’m sorry. I never would have—”

  “It’s fine. I hadn’t expected such an unorthodox launch to the Inquiry, but I hold no ill will toward anyone who was compelled to participate.”

  “Iorrett and the others. They were downright gleeful. ‘Good to see that freak taken down a notch.’”

  Minox took that in. “They said that in front of you?”

  “They know we’re friends, but they don’t know—” Joshea stopped for a moment. “They don’t know what I can do. Things are happening in there, and I don’t think it’ll be good for you.”

  “I’m certain there are several people involved who would like nothing better than to see me forcibly removed from the Constabulary. Both among the constables and the mage circles. However, I have faith that, if nothing else, Captain Cinellan will not allow an unfair process to go forward.”

  “Can he stop it?” Joshea shook his head. “I heard about that woman . . .”

  “Miss Morad,” Minox said. “She is, without a doubt, someone who will gladly issue a negative ruling on me. But . . . I do not, in my assessment of her, think she would do so maliciously. She will likely be unkind to me, but not unfair.”

  “Nyla pointed her out to me,” Joshea said. “Made my hair stand on end. And then that fop from the Circles . . .”

  Minox nodded, finishing the last bite of the wrap. “Mister Olivant. He will be unfair.”

  “He looked at me strangely,” Joshea said. “I kept my distance, but I’m sure he—”

  “Do not trouble yourself with that right now. Or with my predicament.”

  “I feel responsible for your predicament. Maybe if that night, I had been more vigilant, made some other choice, then Inspector Mirrell wouldn’t have—”

  Minox risked putting a comforting hand on Joshea’s shoulder. “This Inquiry was coming, one way or another, sooner or later. Do not place any blame on yourself. I certainly don’t.”

  Joshea nodded. “You have to go in there now, I imagine.”

  “I do,” Minox said as he turned toward the stationhouse. “Wish me luck, or prayers to the saint of your choice.”

  “Any and all,” Joshea said, giving him a military salute.

  Minox went into the stationhouse, making his way directly to the inspectors’ floor. His cousin Nyla was organizing papers at her desk when he came up.

  “Minox!” she said sharply. “What happened at the Parliament?”

  “Too much,” he said. “It’s not something to talk about in polite company.”

  “I’ve read the preliminary reports,” she said, holding up a file. “I meant you. Did . . . are you . . .”

  In the past years, Minox had never heard Nyla directly address his status as a mage. She danced around the subject, as she was doing now.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Is the captain in? I’m given to understand the Inquiry hearing will begin in a few minutes.”

  “Right,” she said, swallowing hard. “He’s down in one of the interrogation rooms. That—that’s where it’ll be held.”

  Not quite what he had expected, though it was probably a tactic on Miss Morad’s part to make him defensive. Treat him like a suspect.

  “Fine, I’ll—”

  “I’ll take you down,” she said, leading him over to the back stairs. “I should tell you what to expect.”

  “I’m expecting there to be a hearing about my fitness to serve as an inspector.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking just a bit. “But it’s not that simple. You’ll be in the main interrogation room, with Miss Morad, Mister Olivant, and any specific witnesses they call. Captain Cinellan will be in the listening room, with Mister Hilsom and two clerks to transcribe everything. And Inspector Mirrell.”

  “I was not expecting Mister Hilsom, but other than that, I am not surprised.” Though there would be no need for Mister Hilsom to be present unless there was an intention for prosecution. Surely they didn’t need him to sign off on Writs of Compulsion or Search. Miss Morad must have the authority to do that on her own. She ought to.

  “Mirrell is supposed to give testimony about why you should be expelled! How could he do that?”

  “Inspector Mirrell is the officer who made the initial complaint, and he was well within his rights to do so,” Minox said. He shouldn’t have to defend Inspector Mirrell, but he knew that Nyla was angry about this whole affair.

  “I am going to be called in for questions,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to—”

  “Be truthful in all things,” Minox said. “Don’t try to protect me.”

  “But—”

  “Either I deserve to be here in this uniform or I don’t. I won’t have a lie be the reason I keep it.”

  She nodded. They had reached the door. “I’ll see you when I’m called.”

  Minox went in. The room had been rearranged from its usual design, with Miss Morad and Mister Oliv
ant sitting at the table, and a lone chair against the wall, presumably for Minox to sit in.

  “Inspector,” Miss Morad said lightly. “You’re looking better than when I last saw you.”

  “I have recovered,” Minox said. “Do I sit?”

  “Please,” she said. She looked over to the window, where supposedly Captain Cinellan and Mister Hilsom were watching. “Could we have some tea brought in here?”

  “Are we making sure everyone is comfortable?” Mister Olivant asked. “Because I certainly am not comfortable being in here with . . . him.”

  “I did not ask you to be here,” Minox said. “I’m still not clear what stake you or your Circle have in this.”

  Before Olivant could answer, the door burst open and a young man stormed in, carrying a satchel of papers that was too stuffed to close properly. “You haven’t begun yet, have you?”

  “No,” Miss Morad said. “Though I don’t know who you are or why you think you can come in here.”

  The young man extended his hand to her, almost losing his control over his satchel in the process. “Cheed Cheever, with the Justice Advocate office.”

  “And what do you think you’re doing here? This shouldn’t concern Justice Advocate.”

  He put down the satchel. “I’m here to represent Inspector Welling in these matters.”

  “This Inquiry isn’t a trial or a confession,” Miss Morad said. “It’s not appropriate for you to insert yourself in here.”

  “It’s not?” Cheever asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but are you not deposing Inspector Welling with regard to the events leading up to this Inquiry? Are you not calling witnesses? Listening to testimony? Is Inspector Welling’s career not at risk based on the results of this Inquiry?”

  “That is all true, but—”

  “And I know that Mister Hilsom is watching this right now—yes, hello, Zebram—so everything said in this room is evidence for potential future prosecution. And based on what? Being a mage.”

  “An Uncircled mage,” Olivant said hotly.

  “All the more reason I should step in,” Cheever said, moving to stand next to Minox. “Justice Advocate’s role is to protect the rights of people who have no other defenders.”