She had a plan now, though she wasn’t sure it was a better one.
* * *
“Minox, could you come to the kitchen?”
Minox dutifully came at his mother’s request, to find her and Aunt Zura cleaning the dishes and putting things away. Zura, as had been her method for the past few weeks, worked diligently without ever looking at Minox. She hadn’t made eye contact or spoken directly to him since the night his hand changed.
“What can I do for you, Mother?” he asked. He was very much ready for his bed, which he hadn’t come back to in three days. He knew she was annoyed about his long absence, but he hoped she understood why he did it.
She must understand. Father was the same way. Always one more ride, one more whistle call.
She picked up a tray with a covered plate and a cup of cider. “Evoy wouldn’t answer the door for me or Beliah. He slammed it shut on Colm when he tried. The last time he ate was when Ferah brought him something two nights ago.”
“So he answers to Ferah still?”
“Sometimes. He refused her yesterday.”
“I will try. One moment.”
He went to the foyer, noting the rest of the cousins drinking beers at the front stoop with Corrie. Sometimes he wondered if they were as burdened as he was by the dread sense of duty, the horrors of the city that needed to be stopped. Other times he knew they all felt it, just as he did. Beers on the stoop together was how they were able to get up each morning and go back out into the city. They had the same drive as he did, he knew. If anything, they were stronger than he was, because they had each other.
He knew he had them as well, but not in the same way. Other than Corrie and Nyla, that same trust wasn’t there.
He knew that on some level, his fight was to keep himself from going into the barn just like Evoy, to the sanitarium just like Grandpa Fenner.
A fight he had to win.
Right now, that fight was with the Inquiry, with Miss Morad and Mister Olivant. Even though he welcomed it—it was fair and just for him to be questioned—he had to fight and he had to win.
And he had to resolve all the mysteries still hovering over the city.
Evoy could still help with that, even in his current state.
Minox picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, and went back through the kitchen.
“What do you have there?” Mother asked.
“I’ve collected newssheets for him,” Minox said. “Some north side ones he doesn’t normally see.”
“Hmm,” Mother said.
“And I saw Jillian today . . .”
“Jill—how is—”
“She’s well. And Corrie saw Sherien. They both seem productive and happy. In their own way. But I have some sketches from her that Evoy might like to see.”
“You do?” Mother asked, her face brightening. “May I—”
He held up a hand. “I believe you would not like to see these, Mother.”
Realization dawned on her face. “Are they . . .”
“Rather gruesome, yes,” Minox said. He took a moment, and then said, “I could contact her, ask her if she might send you something. I think she would be amenable.”
A hint of a tear formed at her eye. “I’d love to see her, you know. I would even . . . you know I’d love . . .”
“I know, Mother,” he said. The rift between his uncle Terrent and the rest of the family kept the twins away, and Mother would far prefer to bury it all and have all three of them back in their lives. The real enmity was between Terrent and his sisters, Emma and Beliah, and that was not something that Minox or his mother could cure. Terrent’s anger with his sisters was too deep, too raw, and it extended to everyone under this roof. As it had since Aunt Shenia died.
Mother took the tray and handed it to him. “Just see if he’ll eat it.”
“I will endeavor.”
Minox went out to the barn with the tray. He stopped for a moment in the yard, glancing at his latest side project leaning against the barn. In Aventil, when he had to hurry to campus he had borrowed a pedalcart and dismantled its tow carriage. He had enjoyed the rush of racing through the street on it, even more than riding a horse. In the past few weeks he had taken a couple of old pedalcarts and rebuilt them as efficient two-wheeled pedalcycles. It had been a good thing to do to take his mind off the worry of the Inquiry. He was hoping he could convince Evoy to try riding it, but tonight was not the night. He had a feeling just a conversation would be hard enough when he knocked on the door.
“Piss off!”
“Evoy,” Minox said. “I’ve got some new papers.”
Minox heard some scrambling inside, and the latch bars on the doors came off. Minox thought they should make a point of keeping Evoy from actually locking himself in there, but no matter what they would do, Evoy would think of a new way to barricade himself in.
The only thing that would stop it would be the sanitarium. That was the sad truth.
Evoy opened the door, looking quite like a dead man who forgot to stop moving. His face was sallow and pale, the wild beard and hair the only thing keeping Minox from being able to see the bones under his skin.
“You’re alone?” Evoy asked.
“Yes.”
“And you’re—well?”
“Tonight,” Minox said.
“Good, good,” he said. “Come in.”
The scent upon entering was worse than ever. It was rank with illness. There were several plates piled in the corner, the food on them decayed to the point where they were indistinguishable from Evoy’s waste, also in the same corner.
This couldn’t last.
“Evoy, you have to take some care of yourself,” Minox said sharply.
“Hush,” Evoy said, taking the satchel from Minox’s arm. “Too much to do. Too much to figure out. All the things are happening in this city, and I know—I’ve seen the pattern, but there’s only . . . If I could get the letters, I’m sure there’s letters.” He opened up the satchel and pulled the papers out.
“Yes, but—”
“The Veracity Press!” he said with excitement. “I can tell you, I can tell you, these gents have a touch, they feel the pulse. The rest, they have hints and pieces. I think these fellows have seen it. They don’t know what they’ve seen, but they have seen it.”
“What, exactly?” Minox asked.
“What’s happening.” He pulled out the sketches. “Oh my saints and blessings. What is this?”
“That happened today.”
“At the Parliament, yes? This is good, very good. Jillian?”
“You recognized?”
Evoy went over to the wall where he had affixed papers and drawings and his own scrawls. “She has a gift, there is no doubt. Never discount that girl.” He started to put the sketches on the wall.
“Evoy, how—how can you even bear being in here?”
“I have to. Only wall big enough. Only place private enough.”
“I mean the scent. The filth.”
“I don’t notice,” Evoy said. He started studying the sketches of the torture engine from the Parliament. “This is quite the feat. Eighteen chairs, but more than eighteen victims. At least twenty-two, am I right? Including someone connected to Commissioner Enbrain?”
“How did you—”
“Obvious, really, from all the signs. And this is covered in signs, yes. Oh, our Gearbox Killer wants to tell his story, doesn’t he?”
“Wants to?” Minox asked.
“Do you hear cheering?” Evoy wasn’t paying attention to the wall anymore. “Ah, the rabble, yes.”
“Our family,” Minox said pointedly. If Evoy was dismissing everyone else as rabble, then there might be no bringing him back ever.
“Most likely Jace has passed his cadet examination and been promoted to patrolman. G
ood. Good. He’s of use to us like that. He’s got a sharp mind. Like you and me, yes? Don’t you think?”
Minox worried about Jace sometimes. The boy was passionate and engaged in the work, fearless as he worked the streets of Aventil, loyal to the point of zeal to his Lieutenant Benvin. Minox was almost certain that Jace might get himself killed in service to the Constabulary, just as Father had. But he wasn’t like Minox and Evoy, as far as Minox could tell. Jace would never lock himself away. He loved the service, he loved the streets far too much.
“I’ll congratulate him shortly,” Minox said. “What do you see about the killer?”
“Well, all this, it’s just a ploy. Almost like a child, really.”
“He wants the attention?”
“Yes, clearly. But the question is whose attention, exactly?”
“Commissioner Enbrain?”
“Too basic,” Evoy said. “I mean, let’s face facts, Enbrain is just a piece in a larger game. Barely won his election, and I suspect that was with some influence. Less than what should have been legal, yes. Not to mention the redistricting. Who is Panny Orshick to the folks on this side of the river? No one, but he’s now the councilman for Seleth. And did the votes get taken? Can we trust the Scallic results? Who should be in the Parliament, let alone, can you trust Mister Hel—”
“Whose attention, exactly?” Minox asked, quickly interrupting Evoy before he went too far away from the point. He knew well enough that when Evoy went down a spiral, asking a question he had asked himself earlier was the key way to get him back on track.
“That is the question,” Evoy said. “Maybe not attention, but audition . . .”
“Pardon?” Minox asked.
“Maybe nothing.” Evoy sighed. He went over to the wall, carrying the papers. While he focused on that, Minox quietly pulled in magical energy and directed it to the rainwater barrel outside. With a gentle push, he drew the water out of the barrel—such as it was after this dry summer—and pulled it under the barn wall through the pile of refuse and sewage, washing it to the old horse sloughs and out the back. Minox was pleasantly surprised that he could feel where the water was outside through his hand, manipulating it without seeing it.
Whatever his hand had become, it was now part of his senses, and that seemed to be beyond the magical. He was still far from understanding it.
As far as he knew, no one understood it. Certainly no one he could ask.
Except there was now someone—Quentin Olivant, a mage of some note—who was downright demanding Minox’s attention.
That could be something.
“Evoy,” Minox said gently. Evoy barely paid him note.
“Evoy,” Minox said again.
“Hmm, what? Still here?”
“I’m going now,” Minox said. “I should sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
“Hmm, yes,” Evoy said. “There may be something here, I’ll see what I can determine. Very clever, but very . . . needy. Yes. Yes. I will let you know if I have something.”
“Good night,” Minox said. “Eat that, would you?”
“Yes, of course,” Evoy said, though it was clear he wasn’t listening.
Minox left the barn and went back into the house. Indeed, there was now quite the celebration for Jace and his promotion. As much as Minox wanted to just slip upstairs, it was the least he could do to offer his brother well-earned congratulations.
Chapter 13
SATRINE AWOKE TO a sound she hadn’t heard in her home for some time: girls laughing. Rian and Caribet rarely were anything but serious—or worse, squabbling—but today they were clearly engaged in something amusing. She only hoped whatever it was that lightened their mood would last.
“What’s going on?” she asked as she came out to the sitting room. She was surprised to not only find breakfast on the table, but three young women sitting around it. That was one more than usual.
“Ma’am,” Jerinne Fendall said, getting to her feet. Today she was in a full Tarian uniform, sword at her belt and proper shield.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you again today,” Satrine said. “Certainly not this early.”
“My apologies—”
“Mother,” Rian interrupted. “How do you know Jerinne?”
That raised Satrine’s eyebrow. “How do you know her?”
“We met over the summer,” Rian and Jerinne said in unison, followed by more laughter. Caribet rolled her eyes and went on eating her porridge. That, at least, explained what Satrine’s question was going to be—namely, why Rian had let Jerinne into their house.
“At the store?” Satrine asked.
“Just so,” Rian said.
Jerinne continued. “I was at Henson’s Majestic on its opening day, as Lady Henson is—well she and Dayne are—” She made some awkward hand gestures, as if to indicate their entanglement with each other.
“I’ve got it,” Satrine said.
“And I spotted Miss Rian working at the gloves, and I struck up a conversation with her.”
“And oh my saints, Mother,” Rian said, her face giddy. “She’s a knight! Look at her! Isn’t she amazing?”
“We don’t use ‘knight,’” Jerinne said. “And I’ve told you—”
“I know, just an Initiate.” Rian shook her head. “Still so much more interesting than the girls in my school.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re having breakfast here,” Satrine said. She pointed accusing fingers at her daughters. “Shouldn’t you be going to school shortly? And you, Miss Fendall, shouldn’t you be doing, I don’t know, Tarian Initiate things?”
“I should, yes,” Jerinne said. “I told Madam Tyrell about you and Mister Welling and everything that happened, and she advised me that I should come to you and offer my protection to you until the situation is resolved.”
Satrine scoffed, heading over to the teapot. “Why the blazes did she say that?”
“I believe her main reason was, ‘someone needs to keep Dayne from annoying the blazes out of that woman.’”
Satrine laughed at that. “Even still, I’m a Constabulary inspector. I can’t exactly have a Tarian Initiate hovering around.” Under her breath she added, “The folks at the stationhouse give me enough grief as it is.”
“Even still, given the nature of your current investigation—”
“What’s the nature of it?” Rian asked.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Is it gruesome?” Caribet asked.
“I told you, you don’t need to know.”
“So it is gruesome.”
“I’ve seen the newssheets,” Rian said to her sister. “It’s about—”
“Rian!” Satrine snapped. “We don’t talk about that here.”
“Fine,” Rian said. Despite that, she whispered to Caribet. “Really gruesome.”
“You have to navigate a different world than usual, ma’am,” Jerinne said. “I can help with that.”
“I can handle the navigation.”
“Yes, but I’m familiar with the Parliament, the players . . .”
“Is this the usual sort of thing you get assigned?”
Jerinne shrugged. “It’s hard to say what’s usual. I mean, I’m an Initiate, I’m not actually supposed to be assigned to duties like this—”
“But yet you are?”
“It’s complicated. Largely due to Dayne and Madam Tyrell and their—that doesn’t matter.”
“Right,” Satrine said. She really didn’t care about that. “But you Tarians are largely focused on things like protecting members of Parliament, or nobles—”
“Or election boxes!” Rian piped up.
“What?”
Rian was almost gleeful. “That—that was her and the huge guy.”
“Dayne.”
“Him. They were the ones who—�
�
“Fine,” Satrine said. She really hadn’t followed that story, or the assassinations of Parliamentarians. Anything north side or involving the national government. Her daily concerns were far more concrete, things like paying bills and keeping order on the streets. A girl like Jerinne probably had no idea what that meant. “Where’d you grow up, girl? Noble house?”
“In the servants’ quarters.”
That was the answer she suspected. This girl probably grew up being taught all the things that Satrine had to have crammed into her skull, and knew nothing of the sort of life Satrine had lived as a child. If she fancied herself a protector of people, she needed to—
Before she could finish that thought, there was a pounding knock on the door. A knock with an anxious urgency that Satrine immediately found familiar. She went to the door and found exactly the person she anticipated.
“Phillen,” she said. “I haven’t even dressed yet. I assume Inspector Welling has been at the station all night and has urgent things for me?”
Phillen Hace was standing dumbfounded with a letter in his hand. “No,” he said after a bit. “Well, about Inspector Welling. He actually went home last night.”
“But the letter is for me? Something urgent?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Phillen said, holding it up.
“Well, don’t just stand in the doorway, come in.”
“Are you sure, ma’am? I wouldn’t want—”
“Saints and sinners, Phillen, get in here.” She pulled him in and shut the door.
“Who’s this, Mama?” Rian asked, a bit of distrust in her voice.
“Phillen Hace, senior page in the Inemar Constabulary House, miss,” he said with a nod of his head. “Rian and Caribet, I would gather. And—well, hello there. Don’t know you.”
“No,” Jerinne said coolly.
“She’s a Tarian Initiate,” Satrine said as she went to the bedroom to change into her uniform. Somehow Loren was still asleep through all this. Not that he was connected to the world around him. But it was good that he would sleep, instead of infecting their morning with the yawps and yips he would make. “So she’s none of your concern.”
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