A Parliament of Bodies

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “It’s necessary, sir,” Minox said. “A crucible in which we can burn away the questions surrounding my fitness to serve.”

  “You seem confident,” the captain said. He took the lead up the back stairs to the inspectors’ floor. “That’s good to see right now.”

  “I believe in a just system bringing the truth out. And I believe the truth is that I am a capable and fit man to serve as an inspector.”

  “More than capable,” the captain said as they reached the inspectors’ floor. “If I had my druthers, well—this is why it’s strictly out of my hands.”

  “And yet you contacted Cheever, sir,” Minox said.

  “Me?” Cinellan asked, though the pitch change in his voice and twinge of his eye betrayed him.

  “Someone let the Justice Advocate Office know about this, and I saw how distressed you were about the events of this morning.”

  “This morning was a terrible thing,” Cinellan said. “I never should have allowed it.” He led Minox into his office.

  “One thing puzzles me about that, sir.”

  “One thing?” He went into his desk and produced a bottle of Fuergan whiskey and two glasses.

  “How did the teashop agree to it?”

  “Ah,” Cinellan said with a chuckle. He poured two glasses and passed one to Minox. “It’s closing down, and the new owners were planning on tearing it down and rebuilding.”

  “Yes, of course,” Minox said. He pulled out his pipe. “May I, sir?”

  “Absolutely,” Cinellan said.

  Minox lit the pipe and picked up the whiskey as he smoked. Normally he did not care for the drink, but he recognized the gesture the captain was trying to make, and did his best to reciprocate. He certainly found it more appealing than beer or cider.

  “That explains the largest flaw in the operation, why I was able to see through it so easily.”

  “Which was?”

  “The location, off The Lower Bridge. The entire ploy needed me to believe that before checking in, Inspector Mirrell would cross to the north side and intervene on a wagon heist.”

  “I did point that out to Miss Morad.”

  “She remains a mystery here. What is her background?”

  “Educated in law at Pirrell, years in the Archduchy Protector’s offices, and then serving directly for the archduke.”

  “No cases of note?”

  “Not in Maradaine,” Cinellan said. “But she has led special investigations all over the archduchy: Kyst, Abernar, Maskill.”

  “Are you being vague, or is it her history?”

  “Many of her investigations, once she was given her position directly serving the archduke, were kept under wraps. I don’t have access to that information. And it’s not like I can get quick word from Kyst.”

  “No, of course not,” Minox said. He took another puff of his pipe. “I do appreciate your support here, Captain. What happens at the end of her Inquiry? She makes a decision, she presents her findings?”

  “Formally, she’ll present her report to us with her recommendation. On paper, the archduke would review her work and make his own declaration, but that doesn’t actually happen. Practically, her decision is all that matters.”

  “And avenues for appeal?”

  “Best discussed with Mister Cheever.”

  Minox mulled over that and took another sip of his whiskey.

  “Well, I hope this wasn’t what your whole afternoon was like, or I’d be quite cross.” Inspector Rainey was in the doorway. She held two newsprint-wrapped sandwiches from the cart outside, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

  “Not at all,” Minox said. “This is the first respite after a brutal afternoon.”

  “I know from brutal,” she said, coming in and taking a seat. “Those are for you, obviously.”

  “Appreciated,” Minox said, taking one. His stomach was more than growling at him. “I assume charged to my credit with Miss Wolman.”

  “She knew I wasn’t buying them for myself.” She turned to the captain. “Has he told you about the Parliament?”

  “He hasn’t,” Cinellan said. “But I’ve heard a few snippets about it. Bad as they say it was?”

  “Worse,” Minox and Rainey said in unison.

  Cinellan handed his whiskey to Rainey, who took it eagerly. “Go on.”

  Rainey told the story of the Parliament, the machine, and all the victims—which Minox only occasionally interrupted to add a salient detail when needed. Eventually she reached the part of her story where Minox was learning along with the captain, and he listened with intent.

  “Well, that’s horrifying,” the captain said when she was done.

  “Your account still leaves quite a few questions,” Minox said. “Including how Sholiar managed to capture the twenty-two victims and get them and the crates of machinery to the Parliament.”

  “Sholiar?” the captain asked. “We have an identification for the Gearbox Killer?”

  “Dayne Heldrin, the Tarian, has a past with the man,” Minox said.

  “We have a possibly theory,” Rainey said sharply. “Based on what Mister Heldrin told us. But the name is all but meaningless.”

  “The skill and methodology matches Heldrin’s account of events in Lacanja.”

  “Which we only have his word on,” Rainey said. She took a deep sip of her whiskey. “I’m not saying it’s not a good possible lead—it’s more than anything else we have to go on—but we have no way of confirming what happened in Lacanja six months or more ago.”

  “I can make some inquiries,” the captain said. “But that will take time.”

  “Tomorrow I’d like to bring in the marshals who were on duty, then talk to the other survivors. Corrie brought lists of everyone who was there, everyone who was supposed to be there, and so forth. If we could get the clerks to dig through the lists, find any discrepancies. And get a writ for the city to send us any and all building plans for the Parliament itself.”

  “I’d like to go over all that myself,” Minox said.

  “You have enough to handle tomorrow,” Cinellan said.

  “More Inquiry?” Rainey asked.

  “Much,” Minox said.

  “Just in the morning? Or is he tied up all day?”

  “I’m not sure,” Cinellan said.

  “Fine,” Rainey said, in a tone that said it was anything but. “I’ve got the biggest case this office will likely handle for some time, and I could stand to have my partner on it.”

  “I’ll get Miss Morad to do without him for the afternoon,” the captain said.

  A knock came at the door—Inspectors Mirrell and Kellman. “You want us to check in, Cap?” Mirrell asked.

  “Where are you with the missing children?” Cinellan asked.

  “Nowhere,” Mirrell asked. “It’s all cold trails, crazy stories.”

  “What kind of crazy stories?” Minox asked.

  “Like a giant grabbing kids, pulling them into the sewers,” Kellman said. “Seen anyone matching that description?”

  Rainey chuckled. “We worked with a Tarian today who’s a good head taller than you,” she told Kellman.

  “Cap,” Mirrell said, taking another step in. “Tomorrow I need to . . .” He looked at Minox uncomfortably. “I need to testify. So we won’t be digging any further with the kids.”

  “Kellman can dig,” Cinellan said. “Darreck, take Iorrett and a couple of the squad and do some footwork tomorrow.”

  “If you say so, Cap,” Kellman said. “Unless you want to trade, Tricky?”

  “No, you can have Iorrett,” she said. “And you do not want to trade cases with us.”

  “Yeah, but the blasted Parliament,” he said. “The stories have been swirling, Trick. Sounds wild.”

  “Both of you work your own damn cases,” Cinella
n said. “Now all of you go home.”

  Minox left the office with Inspector Rainey. “You are going home, yes?” she asked.

  “I am indeed,” Minox said, heading over to their desks. He found a package of papers from Corrie—the sketches Jillian did. Perfect. “I require proper rest in my own space.”

  “Don’t we all,” she said. “I’ll dig through papers in the morning, and we’ll see where you’re at when your done with the Inquiry.” She paused for a moment. “Was it bad?”

  “It was . . . invasive,” Minox said. “To be expected.”

  “All right,” she said. “The Tarians are sticking to this whole thing. The girl followed me here, and I’d bet a week’s worth that she’s waiting for me outside.”

  “No bet,” Minox said. He was already convinced that Dayne and his younger charge would be diligent in their involvement, and it was better to let them help than shut them out. He gathered up the package and other documents. “My best to your husband and family, Inspector. Have a good night.”

  “You as well,” she said. He nodded and went off to the stairs. Nyla and Corrie were already gone, home already. He was eager to do the same, even though he was certain that tonight he would find no rest.

  Chapter 11

  SATRINE WALKED OUT of the stationhouse to see Jerinne Fendall waiting outside, somehow managing to still look regal in her Tarian uniform despite the splashes of blood and char on it.

  “Are you waiting for me?” Satrine asked.

  “I thought I ought to,” Jerinne said.

  “I hardly need an escort,” Satrine said. “I was alone on these streets when I was younger than you.”

  Jerinne chuckled dryly. “That explains a lot, ma’am. But begging your pardon, you took a nasty hit on the skull. And that killer is out there. Dayne and I both wanted to make sure that you got home without incident.”

  Satrine nodded. She appreciated it, even though these Tarians seemed to be a bit smothering once they decided someone needed their protection. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sure, just—you were hurt protecting me. That doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Because you’re supposed to be protecting people?” She started walking to the bridge. “You all aren’t the only ones. What do you think the Constabulary is supposed do?”

  “You’re right.”

  “So did you go with Dayne to Riverheart to watch over Niall Enbrain?”

  “I stopped by there briefly.”

  “How is Niall doing?”

  “The doctors say he should survive, but he’s been asleep all this time.”

  Satrine knew something about that. “And will he wake up? Still be aware?”

  Jerinne was taken a bit aback. “I’m not sure what that means.”

  “My husband,” Satrine said. “He had a horrible injury about six months ago. He survived, but . . . he hasn’t been here since then.” She tapped her forehead.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s why I’m in uniform now.”

  “Huh,” Jerinne said. “Sorry, ma’am. I took you for the type who had been doing this all her life.”

  “One way or another,” Satrine said.

  The walked quietly as they crossed the bridge to the north side. Finally, as they reached the northern shore, a thought burned in Satrine’s head that she felt needed to be given voice. “What do you think of this Sholiar business?” Satrine asked. “I have to admit, I find the story rather . . . incredulous. But at the same time—”

  “What happened at the Parliament defies credulity?”

  “Rather.”

  Jerinne furrowed her brow. “Dayne doesn’t talk much about Lacanja, what happened there. I know it devastated him, and—”

  Satrine gave her a moment before prodding her. “And what?”

  “He doesn’t know I know this,” Jerinne said. She looked like she was about to divulge something in confidence. “And I didn’t really understand this until today. But Dayne . . . Dayne is apparently going to end his Candidacy without being promoted to a full Adept in the Tarian Order.”

  Even in Satrine’s telepathically induced education, there wasn’t much about the internal workings of the Tarians. She knew that they weren’t truly members until they achieved the rank of Adept, but how that happened was a mystery to her. “Why is that?”

  “Politics, from what I understand. The wrong people in the Parliament didn’t like him. That’s enough, apparently.” She shook her head and chuckled ruefully. “Like we Initiates don’t have enough to worry about.”

  They had reached 14 Beltner Street. “This is me,” Satrine said, pointing to her door. “So you got me home safely.”

  “Should I—”

  “Not necessary, Jerinne,” Satrine said. “Go home. Or whatever you go to.”

  “The chapterhouse.”

  “Right. Go to your bed and sleep. Thank you.”

  Jerinne saluted and stepped back, but Satrine felt the girl kept watching her as she went inside.

  “Hello, all,” she called to the household. Warm and enticing smells greeted her as she came in.

  Rian came over to the door, in the prim blouse and dress she wore when she worked at Henson’s Majestic. She still looked as neat and pressed as she would have when she left in the morning. “Mother, what happened to you today?”

  “Went to the Parliament, things blew up,” Satrine said.

  “You aren’t making a joke, are you?”

  “Not in the slightest. Is there dinner?”

  Missus Abernand was at the table with Caribet, who wore a day dress Satrine noticed was starting to get a bit snug on her. Was she already starting to grow again? It was all far too fast. “Of course there’s dinner,” Missus Abernand said. “It’s just amazing you’re on time for it.” They were putting out plates of beer-soaked sausages and onions, bread and butter.

  “I’ll clean up and be right out,” Satrine said.

  She went into her bedroom, where Logan was sitting up in the bed, muttering away as usual. When he first started being verbal again, it had been a lot of gibbering shouting. Now it was still meaningless, but at least it was relatively quiet.

  “Evening,” she said. She made an effort to talk to him; she had to believe there was some part of him still inside there, still capable of seeing and understanding her, even if that part couldn’t reach out.

  That part was in there, she knew it. And hopefully Major Grieson would make good on his end of things soon, and provide her with a telepath who could reach in and find that part of her husband. Find it, and bring him back to her.

  “Today was a day, let me tell you,” she said as she stripped out of her uniform. “The murders we’ve been following reached a whole new level. In the Parliament. An enormous murder machine on the Parliament floor. Many dead, several more injured and . . . it was too much.”

  She sighed, going over to the water bowl next to the bed. “We’re still working out how he got all that machinery in there. I mean, he used the fact the whole place was nearly empty from the Saint Day—”

  Logan suddenly perked up. “Say day! Say day sha mah! Say day sha mah!”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said. This had been the new change in his behavior in recent weeks—latching on to a couple of words she said and shouting a baby version of them back at her.

  “Say day sha mah!” he shouted again, now very agitated. He kept saying it over and over again.

  “All right,” she said. She went to the cabinet and got out his medicine. “Medicine,” though it was essentially doph and a few other unsavory things mixed together. But when he got like this, it was the best thing to calm him down. She poured out a portion in his cup, mixed with a bit of water. “Let’s have it.”

  He fought her, as much as he could twist his head in his state. She eventually had to grab his chin
and pry his mouth open, as he kept saying “Say day sha mah!” She poured the medicine down his throat and held his mouth shut to make sure he swallowed it. His arms flailed at her, pummeling her shoulders. It didn’t hurt her—he didn’t have much strength anymore—but she knew she would still get scratched and bruised from it. This was typical for these fits.

  “I’ve got you, it’s all right,” she said.

  His blows became slower and softer, and then stopped. She let go of his mouth—his eyes were only half-open now, dull and glassy. Just like he had been months ago. Medicine to put him back in that state, rather than this partial version of a man she had now.

  “It’s all right, my love,” she said. “I’m going to find you, I swear.”

  She kissed his forehead and went back to washing off her face and arms. She wasn’t sure if she had gotten all the blood and ash off, but it was enough to be presentable for dinner. Putting on the loose blouse she kept for wearing around the house, she went back out to the sitting room.

  Missus Abernand was at the table with the girls, and a new visitor.

  “Satrine,” Commissioner Enbrain said, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

  “No, of course,” Satrine said. “You did—”

  He pointed to the bottle of wine on the table. “I know how to be a proper guest.”

  “Well, join us,” she said, sitting down for supper. “It’s not every day I get to sit and eat with my daughters.”

  “I’m—I’m honored to be with you all.” He sat back down. His face was ashen. Satrine knew exactly what he had gone through, and it wasn’t likely to end anytime soon.

  “I’m sure there’s a lot to talk about,” Satrine said, pouring him a glass of wine. “But for now, let’s celebrate family.”

  “Yes,” Enbrain said, holding up his glass. “To family.”

  * * *

  Minox took a tickwagon from the stationhouse up to Keller Cove and the Welling household. It wasn’t his usual habit—he preferred to walk, or occasionally enjoyed the luxury of a cab. But today he was far too tired to walk, and after the intensity of the Inquiry, he felt he didn’t deserve any kind of indulgence.