It was obvious that Miss Morad was going to deliver very bad news. She had gathered the squad, as well as Mirrell and Kellman, to be on hand in case Minox had reacted badly.
Then he spotted them: mage shackles hanging on Iorrett’s belt, as well as Mirrell’s. Were those a precaution, or part of the plan? Was Miss Morad’s decision to incarcerate him?
In his current state, he couldn’t do anything about that.
“No matter what happens,” Minox said to Corrie, but loud enough for Inspector Rainey to hear as well, “do not do anything foolish.”
“It was a friendlier rutting reception at the gang house this morning,” Corrie said.
“That’s the truth,” Rainey muttered. “Saints, this could get ugly.”
“Please, for me, do not make it uglier.”
Minox couldn’t get a good enough read on any of them to be sure of their intentions. Iorrett looked anxious, even nervous. Mirrell’s face had a hint of guilt. Nothing that confirmed his worst fears, nothing that couldn’t be applied to them anticipating having to subdue an angry, untrained mage. It might be that they didn’t even know. From his analysis of Miss Morad, that was likely. She was a woman who kept her own counsel, and it was probably better for her plans if the others here didn’t know what they were going to have to do.
Of course, all this manpower was sitting around upstairs, when they could have been used to keep Sholiar from getting out the door. The only reason Sholiar hadn’t been able to escape with Nyla as his prisoner was because of Joshea. Thank the saints he had been present and had taken action, even at the risk of exposing himself. Mister Olivant had surely noticed something was amiss, so now he might be suspecting Joshea of also being an Uncircled mage.
Mister Olivant was going to be another problem, certainly. But a problem for another day.
Of course, it was very clear that Mister Olivant was correct. This hand of his was beyond his understanding or control. He doubted Sholiar truly knew what he was doing when he distracted Minox and threw him into Dayne, but the results were real and markedly dangerous, nonetheless.
He was going to have to do something to maintain control over himself, his life. Even if that meant wearing a mage shackle around this cursed altered hand for the rest of his days.
“Let’s proceed,” she said, pointing to Cinellan’s office.
“Here is fine,” Minox said, almost falling into one of the desk chairs. “There’s nothing you’re going to say that won’t be the subject of gossip anyway, so let’s be open about it.”
She gave a slight respectful nod. He had to remind himself that she was not some villain, eager to deprive him of his calling and livelihood. She was a servant of the people, here to do a job to the best of her ability, with dogged determination. In any other context, he probably would have admired her.
He had to force that thought through his head, but he also knew, in his core, that “the best of her ability” was likely affected, if not corrupted, by treating him like some sort of laboratory specimen, the freak who is an Uncircled mage, who thought he deserved to be an inspector.
He tamped down that anger. Even in his weakened state, it was flooding his body, including the hand, with magical energy.
“Inspector Welling,” she said, opening up her folder. “By my authority granted by His Grace, the Archduke of Sauriya, in accordance with the Constabulary Charter of the City of Maradaine, I have reviewed your case work and capability in regard to your untrained magical ability. I have found your work and dedication to the craft of investigation and diligence in your duty to be beyond reproach.”
“Thank you,” Minox said.
“This is what I’ve rutting been saying,” Corrie said.
“Sergeant,” Captain Cinellan hissed.
“That said,” Miss Morad continued, “your magical ability is chaotic and untested. While I am not versed in the terminology to judge your raw power and capability, it disturbs me. More than once in my presence, you’ve demonstrated that you can do great and terrible things.”
“That’s bunk,” Corrie said.
“Corrie!” the captain snapped. “I don’t want to pull you out of here.”
“The events of this evening only solidify my point,” Miss Morad said, closing the folder. “Your loss of control, that . . . thing that is your hand.” She stepped closer and tapped his glove. “No one even knows what this is. Especially you.”
“That’s hardly his fault,” Rainey said, stepping protectively in front of him.
“Please,” Minox said. “Let her finish.”
Rainey nodded, but didn’t yield her position.
“I cannot, in good conscience, remove an officer from the Constabulary who has such an impeccable record and clarity of purpose. But I cannot also allow such a potential menace to be on the streets, interacting with the public in the name of the city. If it was merely a matter of you being an Uncircled mage, I could ignore it, but we both know that this goes far beyond that.”
Silence hung over the room for a moment, until Captain Cinellan broke it. “So what does that mean?”
“My decision is that Inspector Welling is removed from active casework, and restricted to desk and file duty—at three-quarter pay for his inspector rank—for a period no less than one hundred days, at which time his capability will be reassessed.”
“Where are you getting this from?” Rainey asked.
“It’s the same protocol for debilitating injury, Missus Rainey,” Miss Morad said. “I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”
“He ain’t debilitated,” Kellman said.
“We don’t really know that,” Mirrell said, lighting his pipe. “And that’s the point.”
Minox nodded. He hadn’t been thinking about his hand along these lines, pretending that everything was as normal as it could be. As normal as he could be. But the truth was he had been grievously injured, magically, and that injury was never treated.
“So what’s the point of a hundred days?” he asked. “Nothing will change before then.”
“Maybe not,” Miss Morad said. “But I’m going to urge the archduke’s office to compel various Circles—Lord Preston’s, Red Wolf, whoever will cooperate—to work with you and study what your hand has become. Ignoring and condemning you is . . . reprehensible. And dangerous. And I won’t have it.”
“That doesn’t sound very enforceable,” Minox said.
“There are limits of our authority, especially over the Mage Circles.”
“Fine,” Cinellan said. “Welling, as of now you are off active case work, including any investigation of crime scenes, interview of civilian witnesses, and questioning suspects.”
“Where does that leave me?” Rainey asked.
Cinellan held up his hands. “Let me work out the specifics, we’ll discuss it shortly.” He waved at Kellman, Mirrell, and the squad. “And you all, stand down. You’re disturbing me.”
He turned to Minox, but couldn’t quite look him in the eye. He stood this way for a moment, waiting for the words to come, until he eventually shook his head and went into his office.
“This is blazing sewage, you know this, yes?” Corrie said.
“I know,” Minox said.
“I’ll be back in one hundred days,” Miss Morad said, handing Minox a card. “Of course, you have nine days to exercise your right to petition an appeal.”
“You bet he will,” Corrie snapped, almost spitting in Miss Morad’s face.
Miss Morad did not seem fazed. “And you can contact me through the archduke’s office if you have any questions or if you . . . need any assistance.”
Corrie snatched the card, and for a moment looked like she was going to strike Miss Morad. “We’ve had enough from you.”
“Try to see the fuller picture, Sergeant,” Miss Morad said. “Good night to you all.”
Minox
got to his feet—a struggle, but he had recovered enough to manage. Slowly he stumbled to his desk, and took off his inspector’s vest, leaving it on his chair. No need to keep it on. For the foreseeable future, and possibly forever, he would not be an active inspector anymore.
* * *
Five blocks from the stationhouse, and Nyla’s heart hadn’t slowed down. Joshea wanted to take her home in a cab, but the last thing she wanted to do right now was sit. She needed to move, she needed to feel her feet working, make every step and every breath mean something.
She could still feel the wire around her throat.
She didn’t want to talk as they walked, and Joshea picked up on that without question. Normally he was so gregarious, telling all his stories, but he maintained the silence now. When they had gone two blocks, she quietly gripped his hand. He simply took hers, comfortingly, and did nothing else but walk with her.
That was all she needed right now. Right now, she just needed her heart to stop racing, threatening to burst out of her chest.
Fortunately, for whatever reason, the streets were quiet as well. It was like the whole city had held its breath so she could have a moment of peace.
Then five blocks away from the stationhouse, someone stepped in front of them.
“You! You’re the source of magic, I knew it!”
Mister Olivant’s many-ringed hand was pointing accusingly at Joshea.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man,” Joshea said.
“The blazes you don’t,” Olivant said.
“Please,” Nyla said. “We’ve been through—you were there . . .”
“Yes, I was there, and I saw what he did.”
“He caught me,” Nyla said. “He was there for me, while you stood there. If it hadn’t been for him and Minox, I would have been—”
“Minox?” Olivant said. “You think it was his magic? No, no. This one. You, Mister Brondar.” His eyes flashed with understanding. “You Uncircleds are working together. That’s why he stopped you from testifying. Didn’t want me to see you, but I did.”
Nyla’s head was swirling. This man was talking madness, and she couldn’t handle any more right now. “Stop it, just stop it.”
“She said to stop,” Joshea said, brushing Olivant aside. “Leave us be.”
“No,” Olivant said. “You are going to be known for what you are, sir. We will stalk you down and drag you out into the light so everyone will know!”
Joshea spun on his heel and grabbed Olivant by his coat, pulling him into an alley. From the depths of his throat he roared, like nothing Nyla had ever heard before. “You will do nothing of the sort. You will leave me and her alone or by every saint I will put an end to you!”
Nyla swore when he said that, the air dropped to a bitter winter’s chill.
“Josh, stop,” she said. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“There he is,” Olivant said. “There’s the man I was looking to—”
His last word was cut off by a blade coming through his throat. Blood spurted from his mouth as he dropped to the ground, hitting Joshea in the face.
Nyla screamed, unable to hold anything back.
“I didn’t—I don’t—” Joshea started, but then he fell to the ground, twitching and foaming. And standing over the two bodies was him. That same greasy, horrifying man.
Fear froze Nyla’s feet.
“And there’s the man I was looking to find as well,” he said, looking at Joshea’s collapsed form. He then glanced up at Nyla, an evil grin playing over his face. “You slipped away once, miss. But I’m going to need you to deliver a message.”
Chapter 21
MINOX GATHERED UP his personal journals from his desk, and did his best to straighten it out from the mess it had become when the marshals ransacked it this afternoon.
“Don’t pretend like it wasn’t already a blazing mess,” Corrie said, hovering over him. “And roll these bastards. Let them deal with it.”
“Much of these notes are important to me and my own personal endeavors,” Minox said. “And while I trust Inspector Rainey to treat them with care and concern, someone else might get assigned to this desk in the meantime, and I cannot assume they would be as considerate.”
“No one else is sitting here,” Rainey said. “I won’t—”
“We cannot assume that. You will get assigned a partner, your career needs to continue.”
“And the unresolved?” Rainey asked.
Minox allowed himself a small chuckle. “I am being taken off active cases. Nothing can prevent me from continuing to do the work that was already off the books to begin with.”
“And I’ll be there for that,” she said. “Though now you have less excuse to send me pages in the middle of the night.”
“Yes, I think that will be on hiatus,” he said.
“All right, everyone, listen up!” Cinellan called out, coming back out of his office. He looked in more disarray than when he went in—his shirt was unclasped at the collar, and his coat looked like it had been removed and poorly put back on. Minox surmised that the captain had had a drink from the bottle of Fuergan whiskey he kept in his bottom drawer. Possibly more than one. He had a handful of letters in his hand, which he was waving about slightly haphazardly.
“What’s up, Cap?” Kellman asked.
“There are a few things that we weren’t going to move forward for a few more weeks—new directives, and so forth. But since we’re already having changes imposed on us, we’re going to do this now. All complaints can be filed to the back of the stables.”
“This will be some blazes,” Corrie whispered.
“In the coming weeks, we’re going to be getting a few more inspectors, from houses around the city, to increase the scope of the GIU. So I want to make it clear that this is our house. We are holding the banner in Inemar, hear?”
“As I said,” Minox said quietly, “someone new at this desk.”
“Wait,” Satrine said.
“So effective tomorrow, Inspector Mirrell is promoted to First Class, and will be Chief of Inspection.” A few of the squad gave a smattering of applause, but mostly people looked perplexed. Especially Mirrell.
“Really, Cap?” Mirrell asked. “I mean, I ain’t gonna turn it down—”
“You’ve got the years for seniority, Henfir, and the record for closing cases.”
His record for closing cases was dubious as far as Minox was concerned, but in terms of pure numbers, he couldn’t disagree.
Cinellan continued. “Kellman, Welling, and Rainey will all get bumped to Second Class . . .”
“Captain,” Minox said, “given my situation, is that remotely appropriate?”
“Well, your three-quarters salary will be based on that, for one. And when you’re back on full duty, I want to make it clear what I think of you and your work. And I want the new third classes to know the four of you are who they should look to. Even during the time you’re desk bound.”
“If you say so.”
“And Kellman and Rainey, you’ll be partners from tomorrow on. At least until Minox is fully sorted.”
“What?” Rainey all but shouted.
“It’s what’s best,” Cinellan said. “Look. . . .” He took a moment, looking at the floor. “Between this business with the marshals, and with Minox, I want to nail down everything with this house and this unit, so no one can sweep in and rut it all up. I need all you . . . the folks I trust, the house I built . . . I need you to be the Grand. Understand?”
“We got it, Cap,” Mirrell said. “That all?”
“Not quite,” Cinellan said. “This is the part you all are going to hate. As part of the GIU expansion, we’re expected to have inspectors on duty at all shifts, as well as the Special Response. That means everyone—and I mean everyone—will pull night shifts in rotation un
til we’ve got that full staff.”
“Starting?” Kellman asked.
“Tonight,” Cinellan said. “So you, Iorrett, Riggock, and Murd will stay tonight.”
“Aw, Cap,” Riggock said.
“I’m too old for night shifts,” Murd added.
“You’re bunking out here, so get used to it.” He gave a pointed look at Rainey. Minox understood what it meant, what this new policy would mean for her schedule and family. She just nodded, though.
“That’s all. Now get out of here if you ain’t supposed to stay.” With that, Cinellan went to the stairs and left.
“Rutting blazes,” Corrie muttered.
“Rainey?” Minox asked. “You all right?”
She put on a smile that Minox read as pure artifice. “Another seven crowns six a week. That can make the difference to pay Missus Abernand to stay the night.”
Mirrell and Kellman both approached, looking a bit sheepish.
“Hey, Ji—Minox,” Mirrell said. “I want you to know, I never expected that . . . I was just thinking . . .”
“There is no need,” Minox said. “You did what you considered your duty given the situation, and I do not hold it against you.”
“You might rutting not,” Corrie said, nearly growling at Mirrell. “Bastard gets promoted to chief for rolling you?”
“It is not that simple, Corrie, and you know that,” Minox said.
“And let’s make this all work as best we can,” Mirrell said. He pointed over to the map that he and Kellman had been looking at. “I mean, Kellman tried your idea and all we learned is neither of us are good with maps.”
Minox could have told them that part already. “So your plan is to have me do the piecework here while you all work the streets?” It was likely he could become the Evoy of the stationhouse, holed up in some archival room. What worried Minox was how oddly appealing that sounded.
“I won’t pretend that I don’t think most of your ideas aren’t sewage, Minox,” Mirrell said. “But when you hit the center mark, saints, do you ever.”
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