A Parliament of Bodies

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  The sun had already gone down by the time he had reached the house, and the lamplighters had already done their work. Most of his street had gone into the quiet hush of evening. Most of the street, but the Welling house was lit and active. Much of his family—at least his generation—were out front on the stoop chattering about their day. His cousins Edard, Thomsen, and Davis—Uncle Timmothen’s boys—and Colm—Aunt Beliah’s youngest son—were engaged in hearing Oren—Minox’s brother—tell some story of an outrageous case he had dealt with that day.

  Corrie and Nyla were already there—somehow having beaten him home from Inemar Stationhouse—with Alma, Minox’s youngest sister, still in her school uniform. Nyla’s brother Ossen was up by the door, listening distantly to both conversations.

  The absences were not notable. Ferah worked later shifts as a Yellowshield, and likely wouldn’t be home for another few hours. Jace tended to stay late in Aventil; even though it wasn’t his assigned shift, he demonstrated the same dedication to the Constabulary—and his lieutenant—that Minox did to his office as an inspector. And Evoy . . .

  Evoy would never be out here.

  “So this fellow is screaming to the saints and the sinners that his shipment needs to be let out of customs, and how dare we delay him any longer . . .”

  “That was my whole day,” Thomsen said. “It’s been a dead calm out on the ocean, apparently, so ships that were scheduled to arrive for the past week all arrived today, and ships for today were still on the ocean, and then things are backed up from all the docks and customhouses having been closed for the Saint Day . . .”

  Despite the jovial nature of this gathering, it was notable that they were all out here, and none of their parents were. It was distinctly unusual.

  “Something’s wrong,” Minox said as he approached. “What’s going on?”

  Oren stopped his story, looking at Minox hesitantly. “Nothing is wrong, Minox. Do you want a beer?”

  Minox hadn’t drunk a beer on the front stoop with his family in—in so long he couldn’t remember. And there was never a moment where Oren had offered him one.

  Even if the deceit wasn’t plain on Oren’s face, that act of false fraternity was a sign that something was truly out of sorts.

  “Is someone sick?” Minox asked. The last time he had seen anything like this—the memory came up so clear. The day they sent Grandpa Fenner to the asylum. They had all been sent out to the front stoop while the discussions were had inside.

  But that was years ago. He, his cousins, and siblings had all been children then. Now only Alma, and possibly Ossen, could be considered that. Why would they all be sent outside so the parents could talk?

  “Is it Evoy?” Minox asked.

  “No, no,” Oren said. “It’s—”

  “Saints rutting damn it,” Corrie said. “No, Mine. It’s her. She’s in there.”

  “Her?” Despite Corrie’s lack of clarity, Minox already had a strong idea what the answer would be.

  “Rutting Miss Kendra Morad.”

  “I see,” Minox said. Instinctively straightening his inspector’s vest, he nodded to everyone and proceeded up the steps. He took off his belt with crossbow and handstick, hanging it in the entry foyer next to the belts and coats of the rest of his family.

  Kendra Morad was in the chair in the sitting room, with Uncle Timmothen, Aunts Beliah and Emma all sitting around her. Uncle Cole—Emma’s husband—paced a bit in the background, while Uncle Tal—crisp in his newly appointed Fire Brigade Chief uniform—stayed in the doorframe between the sitting room and the dining room.

  Aunt Zura—Timmothen’s wife—and Mother must be in the kitchen. They usually would be, in preparation for dinner, but if Mother wasn’t here, then it must be to avoid Miss Morad.

  “Miss Morad,” Minox said as he came in. “This is highly inappropriate.”

  “I agree,” Timmothen said. He looked like he was holding back his anger with every force of will he had.

  “As I explained to your family, I am attempting to fulfill my mandate with minimal disruption.”

  “This is immensely disruptive,” Timmothen said.

  “What gives you the right?” Emma added. Her anger wasn’t held back at all, but that was who Emma was. She never refrained from making it known that she was displeased.

  “Missus Pyle,” Miss Morad said with sharp authority. “Yelling at me won’t change matters. Inspector Welling is under Inquiry. I will need to speak to many people who live in this household. I can order Writs of Summoning—Archducal Writs, mind you—and have you all escorted to Inemar Stationhouse individually with sheriffs as escort, or I can come here and manage it all at once with little muss.”

  “You have a very strange idea of little muss.”

  “I want to keep this as informal as it can be,” Miss Morad said. She took a notebook and a charcoal stylus out of her bag and thumbed through the pages. “Now, I don’t necessarily have to have interviews with individuals, but there are people of this household that I would require insight on that I do not see here. Jace Welling?”

  “Jace doesn’t always spend the night here,” Timmothen said.

  “I see, yes—he’s with the Aventil house. I’ll be visiting there in the morning anyway, so I can hold off. And Ferah and Evoy Serrick?”

  “Ferah gets off her shift in an hour,” Tal said sharply.

  “And Evoy?”

  “Ferah gets off her shift in an hour.”

  “Evoy won’t speak to you,” Emma said.

  “I remind you I can compel—”

  “Miss Morad,” Minox said softly, holding down his own temper. “I will cooperate with you—as I have been—to the best of my ability. As will my family.” He gave a glare to Emma. “But Evoy is not going to speak to you. He barely speaks to anyone in this household. Legal compulsion will not give you any additional insight from him. Please leave him be.”

  After a moment, she nodded.

  Mother came into the room, standing behind Tal. “Supper is ready. If everyone could—”

  “That can wait,” Timmothen said.

  “No, no,” Miss Morad said. “Like I said, I want to minimize disruption. Proceed with your meal.”

  “Oh,” Mother said. She gave a nervous glance to everyone, stopping on Minox. “Is she . . . joining us?”

  Minox decided he needed to answer before Timmothen or Emma did. “That would be fine, especially if it helps expedite things.”

  Emma scowled as she stood. “I’ll call the rest in.” She walked past Minox, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. “Whatever you need to fight this,” she whispered as she went by.

  “Thank you.”

  “Well then,” Miss Morad said, getting to her feet. “If I may use your washroom.”

  “I’ll show you,” Beliah said, and led her out.

  Timmothen came over to Minox. “You say the word, Minox, and I’ll put in the papers to transfer you over to Keller Cove. You won’t have any of this sewage there, I promise you.”

  “I appreciate that, Uncle,” Minox said. “But this needs to be done, and resolved entirely by the book. I cannot have even the appearance of nepotistic interference hang over it.”

  “Even still, your captain—”

  “Captain Cinellan is doing as much as he can for me while staying in the bounds of regulation. Which is the most I would expect from you in the same situation.”

  “As you wish,” Timmothen said. “But we have your back in this, and everything else.”

  People took their places in the dining room as Mother and Zura laid out dinner—spiced pork with lentils and cracked wheat, lamb sausages, creamed onions, and heavy, hearty bread. The table was unusually quiet as people served themselves. At any normal dinner, there would be five different conversations; now, there were only muted requests to pass bowls.

  �
��This meal is singular in its style,” Miss Morad announced after she had eaten a few bites. She made a point of sitting opposite Minox, between Alma and Nyla—possibly the two members of the family least likely to attempt something violent if she did anything offensive—and watching him intently. “The seasoning and flavors aren’t exactly what you’d find in the average South Maradaine household.”

  “Zura and I do all the cooking here,” Mother said. “And neither of us are average.”

  “Yes, right,” Miss Morad said, looking at them. “You both grew up in the Little East, no? In Caxa and Ashynnen? That’s why this meal has Kellirac and Acserian influences, yes?”

  The woman was grandstanding—letting Minox know she was completely versed in the details of every member of his family.

  “Miss Morad,” he said. “You said you had questions for my family, to save time. Now is the moment, if you please.”

  “Of course,” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Now, a few months ago there was the inciting incident for this Inquiry. Inspector Welling was out of his proper senses, and as a result, a significant amount of city resources were devoted to searching for him.”

  “Including half this household,” Timmothen said. “We turned out people, combed the streets.”

  “To protect him,” Miss Morad said. “So that your family—or people under your command, Captain—would find him before Inspector Mirrell and his people did.”

  “We were all on the same rutting side,” Corrie said.

  “And yet, where did Inspector Mirrell find him? Here. Kept safe while the rest of you . . . put on a show?”

  “It wasn’t a show,” Mother said. “Most of us were out of the house, either searching or with Beliah in Ironheart Ward.”

  “Yes, Missus Serrick,” Miss Morad said, turning to Aunt Beliah. “You were injured by your nephew in the incident.”

  “No,” Beliah said. “I was rescued by him.”

  “We all know that it’s more complicated than that. Both you and Sergeant Corrianna Welling were present, and you both were hurt.”

  “We would have been a lot more rutting hurt by those Imach bastards, you know,” Corrie said.

  “Calm, Corrie,” Minox said.

  “No, it’s sewage,” Corrie said. “Everything she’s doing is.”

  “Corrie, manners,” Mother said.

  “My rutting manners are fine,” Corrie said, getting to her feet. “If they weren’t, she’d be bleeding from her face.” Corrie stalked off.

  “I apologize, Miss Morad,” Mother said. “Would you care for wine?”

  “No, thank you,” Miss Morad said icily. “So you would all attest that Minox, in his deranged state, found his way home on his own. None of you found him and brought him here? You would all testify that.”

  “They would, because it’s the truth.” Ferah was in the entranceway to the dining room, in her Yellowshield uniform, a smear of blood on her cheek. “Who is this, and what’s going on?”

  “Kendra Morad, special investigator for his excellency, the Archduke of Sauriya. And you must be Ferah Serrick.”

  “I am,” Ferah said. “What is this?”

  “She’s here because of my Inquiry,” Minox said. “Just tell her the truth.”

  “Oh, this,” Ferah said. “I heard enough from the hall. You can leave the rest of them alone. Clearly you want to talk to me.”

  “Amongst others.”

  “Here’s the story, ma’am,” Ferah said, moving to stand behind Minox. “I got home from my shift, and most everyone else was out, either searching for Minox or staying with Beliah. Zura and Granny Jillian were here, as was Evoy out in the barn. Evoy fetched me because Minox was out there, in a feverish state.”

  “Sick? That’s your contention?”

  “Fevered. There’s a difference, if you know medicine.”

  “And then you, what, cured him?”

  “I broke his fever, and he recovered his senses,” Ferah said. “Shortly afterward, Inspector Mirrell arrived, he and Minox spoke, and they left. If you need me to testify, swear on every saint on pain of fire, I’ll be there.”

  “Zura, Evoy, and Jillian all saw this as well?”

  “Evoy doesn’t come inside,” Beliah said.

  “But Zura and Jillian?”

  “Zura was in the basement, praying,” Ferah said.

  “Yes, I saw it.” Grandmother Jillian came into the room on her cane. She didn’t always come down for dinner, preferring to stay in her room on the top floor. Minox suspected she chose that space so she could make the excuse not to come down when she didn’t want to. She was hardly as reliant on the cane as she pretended to be. “I saw Ferah save him, and I saw Inspector Mirrell. And I see you, young lady”—she pointed her cane at Miss Morad—“coming here, being disruptive.”

  “I’m simply serving truth and justice.”

  “Justice!” Aunt Emma exploded. “That’s a laugh.”

  “You doubt me?”

  “I’m just shocked—shocked and appalled—that a woman like you has the ear of the archduke, and you waste your energy on harassing a gifted and effective member of the Constabulary instead of focusing on something that matters. Something that would better this city, this nation.”

  “I’m not sure of your meaning.”

  Nyla spoke up. “She means there’s no pin on your lapel, Miss Morad.” She pointed to the one on her own coat, that depicted a hand holding up two fingers.

  “Oh,” Miss Morad said, giving a withering look to Nyla, and then Emma. “You support the agitators.”

  “Suffragists,” Emma said through gritted teeth, “are fighting for all women in this country.” Minox now had a new assessment as to which family member would be violent toward Miss Morad.

  Uncle Tal—Ferah’s father—had gotten to his feet and stood behind Minox and Ferah, putting a supportive hand on Minox’s shoulder. “Miss Morad, is there something more you need?”

  “I’ve hardly begun—”

  “Then perhaps you should consider Writs of Compulsion,” Uncle Timmothen said.

  “I see,” she said, getting to her feet. “Thank you for dinner. Inspector, I will see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll show you the door,” Timmothen said, and he led her out.

  “You all right, Minox?” Ferah asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” he said.

  “It’ll take writs to get them to bring us in,” Edard said.

  “And they don’t have the power to make us turn on you,” Davis added.

  Minox looked around the entire table, noting that almost all of them had the same expression of support and hope on their faces. All save Zura and Oren.

  “Thank you, all,” Minox said. “I appreciate the support.”

  “Good,” Uncle Tal said, taking Miss Morad’s plate away. “Let’s get Ferah some dinner, shall we?”

  “Not until she washes her face,” Zura said. “She’s a fright.”

  The rest of the family started eating and talking, back to a normal dinner on a normal night. Minox was about to start eating as well, when Mother took his hand—his normal one.

  “No matter what,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m always proud of everything you do. Everything.”

  Minox smiled. That was enough for now.

  * * *

  The ward floor in Riverheart was quiet. Dayne found it troubling. He felt, given the number of injured and dying being kept in the hospital ward, there should be more activity. But instead there was just the harsh, labored breathing of Niall Enbrain and the other patients.

  Dayne stepped away from Niall’s bed and walked up the hallway. There was a desk at the end of the hallway, where two nurses sat in a dim pool of lamplight, whispering as they wrote in notebooks.

  They had come by to check on Niall earlier
, and if either of them also had wanted Dayne to leave, they hadn’t said anything. He knew his presence on the ward floor was probably inappropriate, but it didn’t matter.

  This man—Niall Enbrain—was nearly dead because Dayne had failed. Failed on so many levels. While Dayne slept just a few feet away, Sholiar had orchestrated this monstrous feat in one of the most sacred places in Druthal. And now there were at least eight dead and several deeply traumatized—more when he included the three men who had been in the boiler room—and Niall, now clinging to life.

  All Dayne’s fault.

  “I knew I would find you here.” The sultry voice of Lin Shartien, thick with her Linjari accent, startled him.

  “What are you doing here?” He glanced around to see if the nurses had taken note, but clearly Lin had walked in with little trouble. Perhaps the nurses didn’t care who came through at this hour. All the more reason for him to stay here. Sholiar had wanted Niall—not to mention others—dead, and Dayne’s instincts told him that Sholiar wasn’t done. He had a goal, a message, and that likely involved Niall Enbrain.

  “Hemmit and Maresh are finishing up the printing of the morning issue—yes, your name is out of it.” His expression must have spoken volumes. “They’re writing about what happened, who the victims were, with some focus on Welling and Rainey taking the lead on investigation.”

  “I don’t need more attention,” Dayne said. “Especially with this.”

  She went over to a chair and sat down, placing a bag on the floor. “You’re convinced this is about you.”

  “I don’t think it’s entirely about me,” Dayne said. “But it can’t be ignored as a factor.”

  “Because this Sholiar fellow wants to harass you, personally?”

  “He did it before,” Dayne said. “Is this why you came here?”

  “That, and I figured you were hungry.” She picked up the bag and handed it to him. He opened it to discover a newspaper-wrapped crackle fish and crisp. The sort of thing he used to eat in Lacanja out of necessity—not a favorite in Maradaine. He wasn’t sure if Lin was teasing him somehow, or this was a genuine attempt to please him. He chose to accept it as a gesture from her saints rather than her sinners.