“Yeah, but . . . I’m sorry, Jinx. There ain’t no sign of Corrie. And the guy—he was killed before we brought him in. So we don’t have much to work with.”
Minox nodded, standing up. “I apologize, Inspector. I . . . I am not in an emotional state to handle this right now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kellman said. He held up some notes. “I’ve had runners come from Trelan, High River, they’ve got their people doing a full search. River Patrol is trawling and hunting as well. We’re on this.”
“Thank you. I should—”
“You should go home, tell your family what’s up, and tell them to trust it’s being handled. All right? We’re not going to let one of our own vanish into the night.”
Minox looked up at Kellman. His face showed no pretense. He wanted to find Corrie almost as much as Minox did.
“You hear me?” Kellman asked.
Minox nodded. “I appreciate your attention.”
“Of course. I was about to send a runner to your house, but, with you here . . . I just . . . I couldn’t not tell you.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Oh, he appreciates it.” Rainey had come up the stairs. Her voice was dripping with scorn. “We go out there, working the case, and where were you?”
“Hey, ease off, Tricky,” Kellman said.
“I’m not gonna ease off. You were off running around on some wild chase, with your new Tarian friend, weren’t you?”
Minox understood what she was playing, and went along. “We were following a lead—”
“Oh, a lead? And did you bring anyone in here in irons?”
“No—”
“No.” She slapped her hand on the desk, and in that same moment, she winked, so that only he could see. She shook her head in a show for Kellman and the others. “And so the one who pays the price is your sister.”
“Hey, hey,” Kellman said. “That’s far in the yellow, Tricky.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said darkly. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Yeah,” Kellman said. “Both of you head home. We’ll . . . we’ll see about the rest tomorrow.”
“Fine,” she said, clapping Kellman on the shoulders. “I’m just glad I’m going out with you tomorrow, instead of the Jinx.” With that, she left.
Minox had to admit that stung, even when he knew it was performance and artifice. He understood her game: pretend to be upset with him, craft the appearance of a rift, so the two of them could look at different angles for the corrupt infiltrator in their ranks. He understood and respected the tactic.
But it still hurt.
Kellman stood dumbfounded.
Minox grabbed the things he needed from his desk: money, a few pieces of dried fruit he kept there for emergencies, and the heavy coat he had left by his desk all summer. Without giving further commentary to Kellman or Iorrett’s squad, he left.
“Everything all right?” Joshea asked as he came back outside. “Saw Rainey stomp off.”
“Definitely not,” Minox said, handing money to the driver and the coat to Joshea. “I’d rather not speak of it right now.”
Joshea nodded. “I understand.” He put on the coat, almost shivering as he did. “A night like this, it’s a sinner’s night.”
“A sinner’s night indeed,” Minox said quietly as the cab started up again. “Perhaps that’s why Sholiar bested us.”
Quietly, in a whisper so low Minox almost thought he imagined it, Joshea said, “He’s a genius.”
Chapter 28
SATRINE WALKED HOME in her bare feet, carrying her boots and stockings. It somehow felt horrible and liberating at once. Even with the secret knife out of her appropriated boot, it still hurt like blazes to wear. And she and her feet had been through enough tonight.
As she crossed the bridge into High River, she was surprised to see one person sitting at the street side tables of the High River Wine Club. She was certain the place was closed at this hour.
“Well done, Satrine,” the person said, holding up a wineglass.
“What the saints are you doing, Major?” she asked Major Grieson, taking the glass from him. She wasn’t sure if he was offering it or saluting her, but either way, she was drinking the wine.
“I had been avoiding being seen with you, but since you dropped my name to Colonel Altarn, there’s hardly a point now.”
“Colonel Altarn, right,” she said. “I presume she’s a new authority in the Service.”
“She’s behind that Altarn Initiative you heard about.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s all about, but it’s funneling money to special projects, departments of the university. And it’s cordoning off sections of the Service from each other.”
“And why are you telling me?”
“Because you’re not a part of it, Satrine. So you’re one of the few resources I still have.”
“I’m a resource now?” Satrine asked. “What about what you are supposed to do for me?”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
“Working on it?” She almost threw the wineglass at his stupid pointy chin. “Get a telepath to fix my husband, and then we’ll talk.” She walked away.
“I don’t have anyone,” he called after her.
“What?” she said, turning back.
“I don’t have a telepath,” he said. “At least, not one that I’d dare to trust on delicate work. Not one you would want.”
She remembered the thing Oster had told her years ago when he was working on her mind. “Telepathy is a hammer. Very easy to smash something with. It takes work to become a sculptor.”
“How could you—”
He shook his head. “Because I’m being boxed out. Carefully. Slowly. But it’s happening, and I’m running out of options I can trust.”
“Because of Altarn.”
He pulled a paper out of his pocket. “You arrested Chief Quoyell tonight? And then he was killed?”
“That’s right,” she said, taking the paper. It was a memo deploying a special asset, with Quoyell’s name written on the bottom. “She did this? She’s in with whatever he was doing?”
“I think more correct is he was part of what she’s into. And I don’t know who’s loyal to me. Or the crown.”
“So you come crawling to me.”
“I’m warning you, Satrine,” he said. “You think I didn’t notice that HTC is where your husband got knocked down? That whatever she’s into connects to that, the marshals, the Parliament, the Constabulary?”
“Right,” she said. “Commissioner Enbrain was saying the same things. This whole business with the Parliament, with Sholiar, I think it was moving a lot of gears. And one of them was embarrassing Enbrain.”
“Sholiar?” he asked.
“The Gearbox Killer, supposedly,” she said.
He rubbed at his chin. “I’ve seen that name before. I can’t recall where.”
“Maybe you need your own telepath.”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
Maybe he knew something about the other elements of the evening. “Quoyell tried to take me and some of the children to someone named Senek. Does that mean anything to you?”
He nodded. “I don’t know anything else, but I’ve seen the name Ithaniel Senek on some documents. Money vouchers, that sort of thing.” He glanced around the street, even though no one else was in sight. “Look, I can’t—I don’t know what else is safe to tell you right now. But if you hear about anything happening to me—”
“How the blazes would I hear that?” she asked.
“If you do,” he stressed. “That tinkerer I brought you yesterday, you can find him at—”
“The Junk Avenue Bakery, I know.”
He gave her an approving smile.
“Right. Go to him and ask for his brother.”
“H
is brother.”
“He’s like you. Retired.”
“Fine,” she said, handing him the empty wineglass. “It’s late and I’m going home to my family.”
“Enjoy that and them,” he said. “I’m glad you got to have a few years of normal.”
Satrine left him, walking briskly the rest of the way to 14 Beltner, letting herself into the apartment. Low lamps and low voices greeted her as she came in, leaving her boots, belt, and coat at the doorway.
“Who’s still up?” she called out as she came into the sitting room. Rian was at the table with Jerinne, both drinking tea.
“Mother!” Rian said as she came in. “You look a fright!”
“I’ve been a fright,” she said. Though she noticed Jerinne looked the same way, with a sizable bruise on her face. “You’ve had a night as well.”
“Nothing that won’t heal,” Jerinne said.
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere at this hour?” Satrine asked.
“I should ask you where you’ve been, Mother,” Rian said. “That overeager patrolboy you sent said you’d be late, but not this late.”
Satrine just gave her daughter a look, and poor Rian withered with embarrassment. Jerinne picked up on this and spoke up.
“I already was kidnapped and put in a death trap,” Jerinne said. “So I’m not worried about demerits from Madame Tyrell.”
“Hush,” Rian said. “Do you hear her? She acts like it’s nothing—”
“But you’re fine?” Satrine asked Jerinne.
“Yeah,” Jerinne said solemnly. “Dayne took a heck of a battering for my sake, really dazzled his wits. But I got him to the chapterhouse, and our doctor said he’s going to be all right.”
“It’s so exciting,” Rian said.
Satrine pointed to the bedroom door. “Bed. Now.” She must have said it firmly enough that Rian went without argument, just polite goodnights. Satrine sat down at the table, taking Rian’s tea for herself.
“Why did you come so late, after the night you had?”
“There was a serial killer on the loose, grabbing friends and family of people who worked the case. I did think your family was at risk.”
“Fortunately, it seems Sholiar didn’t think much about me,” Satrine said. “Rian seemed happy to see you.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Jerinne trailed off, and then blushed. “She’s sweet.”
“Very.” Satrine took a deep breath. “I want to ask you a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Actually, I think ‘favor’ isn’t weighty enough for what I’m going to ask. I . . . want to impose a burden on you, and that’s not fair. But I feel I need to ask someone else, and you’re the best candidate.”
Jerinne raised an eyebrow to that. “I’m an Initiate for another year, presuming I become a Candidate.”
“Is your future in the Tarians that uncertain?”
“I don’t take anything for granted.”
Satrine understood that. Would that she had that kind of wisdom when she was Jerinne’s age. “No matter what happens to you in the Tarians, I want you to stay friends with Rian. As close as you can be.”
“Is that all? Gladly.”
“And if anything happens to me—”
“Don’t—”
“I’m serious. If anything happens to me, you stay with her, as her protector, no matter what.”
“I— why would she need that kind of protection?”
“I’ve had a very colorful past, Jerinne,” Satrine said.
“I’ve gathered a bit of that.”
“You have no idea, girl,” Satrine said. “Swear on your saint that you will keep this secret.”
That gave the girl pause, and then she said, “In the name of Saint Justin, I will hold your secret or risk damnation.”
That was good enough. “I was a spy in Druth Intelligence. For four years I navigated court intrigue in Waisholm, and was instrumental in placing King Kelldyshm II on the throne.”
Jerinne let out a low whistle. “And now you’re just a constable inspector?”
“I work to take care of my daughters. Including Rian, potential heir to the Waish throne.”
“You—” Jerinne stared dumbfounded for a moment, and then shook it off. “You’re serious.”
“Utterly.”
She seemed to drink this in, and got to her feet. She extended her hand to Satrine. “Then I pledge my shield and sword to her.”
Satrine took her hand, and then pulled her in for an embrace. “Thank you.”
“Always,” Jerinne said. She said her good-byes and went into the night.
Satrine went into the bedroom, where Loren lay in the bed. He was quiet, but seemed to be awake. At least as awake as he ever was.
“Quite a day, love,” she said. “Broke up an Aventil gang, took down a corrupt King’s Marshal. Maybe one step closer to avenging what happened to you.”
She kissed his forehead.
“Say Day?” he said quietly.
“Yes, I figured that out. HTC Imports, Saint Day shipments. I don’t know all the details, but that, at least, is shut down.”
He closed his eyes. Satrine wanted to imagine that he understood, that it gave him some peace.
He deserved that.
Especially since she would get none in the coming days.
* * *
Minox ate at the pub with Joshea, mostly out of pure necessity. He couldn’t go home until he had the strength to handle what he would need to do there.
He and Joshea didn’t speak, beyond the pleasantries of ordering their food, which they ate in joyless silence. After finishing off several plates of sausages, Joshea stood up. “I should go home. I don’t . . . I don’t know how to explain what happened to my father.”
“The truth?”
“My truths are too complicated for him,” Joshea said. “He believes in meat, he believes in service, and he believes in God. Anything that goes outside his world of those three things, he lashes out at.”
“Leave out the magic and the Constabulary. And me.”
“And what I’m left with is I was abducted by a madman.” Joshea shook his head. “My father would be crushed that I let myself be taken. That I failed that much.”
“You didn’t fail.”
“I failed myself and my training. And I failed Nyla. I don’t—” He took a moment in silence, taking a single step away from the table. “I don’t know what to think about this night. I just know it’s one of the worst ones in my life.”
“Mine as well.”
Joshea turned toward Minox, and extended his hand. Minox took it, and then Joshea pulled him up in an embrace. Minox didn’t know how to react to that, but let Joshea express himself.
“Thank you for coming for me, brother,” he whispered. “Thank you for thinking I deserved to be rescued. I’m not sure anyone else would.”
Minox didn’t have a response to that, and Joshea did not seem to expect one. He pulled away, giving one last grim smile, and left the pub.
Minox sat and ate another plate of sausages, nursing the beer he had ordered to have with it. He had never been a fan of beer, but Corrie always had been, and he felt he owed her some small honor. Right now, it was the only thing he could do for her.
He put down the pint of beer, and noticed that the glove he wore over his left hand was in tatters. That wasn’t surprising, given what he had gone through tonight. It was a miracle that his clothing was largely intact. He’d need a new uniform for work tomorrow.
Work in the archives.
Work without Corrie.
He would have to swallow that. He had to go home and let them know what happened.
He flexed the hand. What was fascinating was how impervious to harm and pain it seemed to be. There was no sign that smashing it against
the ground or singeing it had caused any damage. He ran one finger over it. He had the vaguest sensation of it being touched, but only like the memory of the touch.
“Oav! Vo vhuith kridge! Ranktae tsu asuvinu! So ekexo tsu asuvinu!”
A very old man, half stumbling and half carried, was being taken to the door by a younger woman. He was struggling, pointing at Minox. “Sno, shay-sha,” she said back to him, pulling him along. “I’m very sorry,” she added to Minox.
Minox recognized the language—Sechiall, the old Kellirac tongue. Both the old man and the girl were Racquin, which was clear by their dusky complexion and woven vests. Minox had only picked up a few words from his mother, but he could make out that the man was talking about his hand. “What did your grandfather say?” He wanted to let the girl know he understood a little, including that she called him “shay-sha.”
“I’m very sorry, about him,” she said. “He drinks too much.”
“Sno! Vour tsu asuvinui kixo! Asuvinu!”
“Quiet,” she told him. “Please, sir—Inspector. He’s just a drunk old man”
“Asuvinu! Szonsov, vinije! Asuvinu!” The old man pulled frantically at her.
“I’m not angry—” Minox started. “So o ortije.” He knew he was mangling the language. At best, he said, “Anger not is me becoming.”
“Asuvinu!” He pulled away and ran, and the girl, giving an apologetic look, chased after him.
Minox settled his tab and walked through the warm night to the house in Keller Cove. There were still lamps on inside the house, at least in the sitting room, and one hung by the door. He resisted the urge to blow it out when he came in. Perhaps Corrie was still out there, fighting her way home. The lamp would be there for her when she returned.
Ferah and Edard were in the sitting room, nursing beers and talking in low voices.
“Minox,” Ferah said as he came in. “Everything all right?”
“Definitely not,” he said. “I assume my mother is asleep?”
“She was in the kitchen, and I didn’t hear her go up,” Edard said. He leaned to look through the dining room. “I think there’s a lamp burning in there.”
“I will check on her,” Minox said. “Is everyone else in?”
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