“My pop and Tal are out on night duty. And Corrie, well, I thought she was with you.”
“She’s not,” Minox said. He felt his voice tremble. “I’ve been told she cannot be accounted for.”
Ferah was on her feet. “Then let’s be about it.”
“No, Ferah,” Minox said, though it made his heart shudder. “We’ve been asked to . . . trust that everyone is doing their job.”
“Pfah,” Edard said. “Where’s the search going?”
“North side,” Minox said. He needed to say the hard things that he knew were true, as much as he hated it. “Trelan Docks and surrounding. And none of us know that area. We’d just be in the way.”
“Saints,” Edard said. He shook his head. “Corrie’s a fighter. She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Ferah said. Neither of them looked like they were convinced.
“I’m going to look in on Mother,” Minox said. “We’ll tell everyone in the morning.”
He went to the kitchen, where his mother was sitting at the table, slumped down asleep. Two candles were burning low, as was an oil lamp. She had her journal out, inks and pen. Minox gently shut the journal and sat down next to her, touching her on the arm.
She looked up.
“Minox,” she said dreamily. “Did you just return?”
“I did,” he said.
“Did you . . . were you successful?”
“The people we went to rescue were rescued,” he said.
“That’s what matters,” she said. “What’s the time? Are you hungry?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You certain?”
“I just need to rest.”
“If you say so.” She smiled and touched his face.
He needed to tell her, but he hated to break this moment. Even still, she must have seen it on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Many things,” he said. He selfishly chose the one that concerned him personally first. “Do you know what an asuvinu is?”
She looked surprised by that. “Haven’t hear that one in a while.”
“What is it?”
“It’s an old Kellirac legend. You know, stories to frighten children. It means . . . ‘shadow of the Storm.’ Wild magic of the Storm changed people into—” She paused, glancing at Minox’s hand. “Foolish stories is all.” Her face showed that she wasn’t going to tell him anything else right now. “Did Corrie get back yet?”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “No, Mother. Not yet. Let me get us some tea.”
Chapter 29
INSPECTOR DARRECK KELLMAN had spent the hours before dawn back on the north side of the river. He had gone back over to the dockhouse, talked with Leppin and his crew, who had spent the whole night searching the place completely. He had checked in with Trelan Stationhouse, talked up patrolmen on the streets, screamed at River Patrol, and stalked the docks himself.
No sign.
Only one choice left.
He went to the house—ironically in the Welling neighborhood—before the early haze of dawn had washed the darkness away fully. He didn’t care about the hour, he didn’t care that he’d be making a ruckus. It had been enough.
The houses here were wide and sprawling, fences and walls between each property. The kind of houses that showed off the money of the people inside. He charged up the porch and pounded on the intricately carved wooden door.
A servant of some sort opened up. “Is there a problem, Officer?” she asked.
“Get your master,” he snapped, pushing his way inside. “Don’t dally.”
She scurried up the stairs, and a moment later Kellman heard a minor commotion. The woman returned, followed by an older man wrapping himself in a robe as he descended. This jowly, balding man who was the source of Kellman’s woes.
“What in salvation are you doing, Inspector?” Commandant Undenway said as he came down. “This is unseemly.”
“Unseemly?” Kellman snapped back. “I’ve been up all night, on the Trelan Docks. By HTC.”
“Saints above, don’t tell me that was boggled. I thought it was taken care of.”
“Taken care of?” Kellman shouted.
“Lower your blasted voice, man,” Undenway said. “I have a wife, children.”
“Do you want to talk about children right now?” Kellman was not going to let that go. “Do you want me to tell them—”
“Leave my family be.”
“You know who else has family, Commandant? Sergeant Corrie Welling.”
“Who is that?”
“Who is she?” Kellman wanted to slap him. “She’s part of my house who has gone missing. Quoyell and his people thought it a good idea to abduct two officers from my house—Welling and Inspector Rainey.”
“Saints, Rainey. Would that I never hear that name again.” Undenway shook his head ruefully. “But still, handled, thanks to you.”
“No, not handled, because when we got to HTC, Rainey got free and dragged Quoyell in irons. And then a mage assassinated him. Do you think that will protect you, sir? You think I will?”
“I definitely think you will, Inspector.” Despite being a few inches shorter, Undenway still managed to stare Kellman down. He pushed Kellman in his chest with two fingers, directing him to the embroidered chair behind him. “Let’s be clear. You will make sure that HTC is a dead end.”
“That’s not going to be easy with fifteen children at Riverheart!”
“Find a way,” Undenway said. “Make sure it goes away. That no one pays mind to what the children say. That any evidence found—”
“Leppin is on to us with the evidence.”
“Then take care of it. Or him.” He went over to a desk in the corner of the room. “Is money an issue, Inspector? Is a hundred more crowns enough to get you to do your job? You already failed enough that we have this mess. Your mess to clean up, Darreck.”
“It’s not about the crowns!”
“It is, though,” Undenway said, coming over with goldsmith notes. “There’s three hundred. I know your mother needs her medicine, Darreck. I know your brother and his wife are behind on their rent.” He shoved the notes into Kellman’s hands. “Get it done. You’ve got enough people there to keep your house looking clean, man.” He shoved Kellman to the door. “And never come to my home again.”
“Damn it, sir,” Kellman said, even though he was leaving. “Where is Corrie Welling?”
“I don’t know,” Undenway said. “Though I can imagine. And if you open up your thick skull, I think you know exactly where as well.”
He shut the door.
Kellman’s stomach curdled. He had already been imagining all night exactly where he feared Corrie had gone.
* * *
Corrie’s head had been in a fog for hours, perhaps days. She hadn’t been sure. She wasn’t sure of anything. Her insides were unsettled, her head was pounding, and her wrists—
Her wrists were shackled.
She instinctively yanked as hard as she could, and the shackles didn’t yield more than a couple inches. Bolted to the wall. Nowhere to go.
The rutting place was dark and stank like the sewer of the dead.
“Hey!” she shouted, though her throat felt like it had been stomped onto the cobblestones. “What rutting gives?”
Her stomach couldn’t figure out which way was down. She wanted to puke her guts out, but she felt like there was nothing there to vomit.
The place also stank of vomit. Fresh.
“Hey!” she shouted again. “What rutting sewage is this?”
Something moved near her.
“Stop shouting,” someone murmured. “It won’t help.”
“What do you rutting mean?” she asked. She pulled at her chains again. Not a rutting bit of extra give, even as her wrists started to bleed. “When
I get out of this—”
“Shut it!” A voice in the dark.
She forced herself to her feet, even though the shackles made her stoop down. “I’ll shut you and then—”
“Calm down, girl!” Another voice in the dark. She could make out shapes and figures. Movement all around. Maybe thirty people around her. Maybe more.
“If you think you can—”
“Sweet saints, she’s a stick!” someone else said. Someone young.
All these voices were young.
“Yes, I’m a rutting stick,” she said, pulling on the chain. Bolted to wood. Wood would give, break away. She might not break the chain, but she could get free. And then she would rutting show them. “And I’m going to start cracking skulls and clapping iron if I don’t—”
She was interrupted by the whole room lurching, throwing her against the wooden wall. Somewhere outside, wind howled and water splashed.
She was on a boat.
“So help me—” she whispered.
Light crashed through the ceiling, blinding her for a moment. A silhouette dropped down from the source of light. “What’s the goddamn ruckus?” Older man. Heavyset.
“The stick is making the noise!”
Corrie’s eyes adjusted, and she could see where she was, what she was surrounded by. The hold of a ship, and dozens of folk shackled to the wall. Some of them were kids, some just a few years older. She might be the oldest one there. All the rest of them were in rags and scrap. Street rats, the lot of them.
“You’re the ruckus?” the old man asked. He came closer—too close, his wretched teeth black and breath hot on her face. Too close, but still too far for her to slam her head into his nose.
“What the rutting blazes is this?” she asked. “When I get out of here—”
“Out of here?” he asked. “Oh, girl, you ain’t getting out of here until we make land. At least a month to whip around.”
“I’ve got family in the sticks, in the River Patrol . . . they’re going to turn the city over to find me and when they do—”
“Shame we’re not in the rutting city, then,” he said. “Being a stick—or family to sticks—don’t matter on the open sea.”
She lunged at him, but she couldn’t get any closer.
He laughed and walked over to one of the other girls. “You’ve got something, girl. You’ll be good coin, all right.”
“What?”
“But you’re gonna behave,” he said. “Or there’ll be trouble.”
“You think you’re going to beat me?” she shot back. “You rutting think I can’t take what you got? Unlock these and I’ll blazing well show you!”
He picked up a cudgel that was lying in the center of the room—far from anyone else’s reach. He strolled over to one of the other girls. A wisp of a thing who couldn’t be older than fourteen. He brought up the cudgel and wailed the girl in her chest.
“That was the warning,” he said. He pointed the cudgel at Corrie. “You make a stink, someone else pays. Get?”
“Got,” Corrie said. She couldn’t rutting well let him make these kids suffer—suffer any blasted more—on her account. She’d have think her way through this. Use her eyes, use her rutting head. Plan the long game. What Minox would do.
Minox. Saints, he would tear the city apart looking for her.
They all would, but he would never rutting quit. He’d go so far, he’d end up like Evoy in the barn. Or worse.
So she had to rescue her own self, for his sake.
The old man climbed up to the hatch. “Good. You all behave, now. It’s a long way to Imachan.”
Imachan.
Good coin.
This was a rutting slave ship.
“You’re a constable, right?” Little girl next to her. Younger than Alma. “Are you going to help us?”
“I am, kid,” she said.
“My name’s Eana,” the girl said
“Corrie,” she said. “Corrie Welling. Don’t worry, Eana. I’ll get us out of here.”
Somehow.
* * *
Minox had never gone into Saint Limarre’s church, except in his capacity as an inspector. The only times he ever went to church as a patron were when he went to Saint Veran’s with his mother, on the outskirts of the city. Those were rare occasions, on specific Saint Days, or on Racquin holy days.
The past few days had made that a daily pilgrimage. Mother went every day, and Minox accompanied her most of the time. Jace and Alma usually did as well, as did most of the cousins. Oren even went once, but usually he was “very busy.”
The past few days had been quiet for Minox at work, as he had been down in the archives. He barely saw anyone, except the occasional check-in from Leppin, and Captain Cinellan’s morning chat to assure Minox that he hadn’t been forgotten.
Nyla had not gone into work for those days.
Rainey had worked cases with Kellman, of which he heard very little. She did not speak to him in the stationhouse. But she did send a note to him to meet her here, in Saint Limarre’s, early in the morning.
When he arrived, the only other person in the chapel was Dayne Heldrin, trying to look inconspicuous. But at almost two meters tall, nothing he did kept him from standing out.
“What are you doing here?” Minox asked.
“I was about to ask you that,” Dayne said. He held up a letter. “Did you send this?”
“No. In fact I was expecting Inspector Rainey.”
“Here.” She came out from the back of the church, with the cloistress who had been her old friend. “You know Sister Alana.”
“I recall,” he said.
“Why are you here, Dayne?” she asked.
“I received a letter, telling me to be here today, at this time. You didn’t send it?”
“No,” Rainey said. “You actually got it in the city post?”
He nodded, handing it over to her.
“That would take two days, and—” She shook it off. “I suppose I should accept the blessing.”
“Yes, you should,” Sister Alana said, taking the letter. Her face was deeply troubled.
“Yes,” Rainey said. “I’m actually glad to have you here.”
“Whatever you two need, I’m here for you,” Dayne said.
“I apologize for my behavior the past few days,” Rainey said to Minox. “I needed—”
“You wanted to establish the appearance of a rift between us, so the rest of the stationhouse would not suspect us of collusion,” Minox said. “I figured that out from the beginning.”
“I knew you would,” she said. “You still deserve the apology.”
“It’s accepted,” he said. “You’ve determined there is significant corruption in our stationhouse.”
“In all our stationhouses,” Satrine said. “And at every level. The King’s Marshals . . .”
Dayne nodded. “The King’s Marshals have something rotten within them.”
“You don’t think it was just Quoyell.”
“In the months since I’ve returned to Maradaine, I’ve seen several incidents with the marshals that give me grave concern.”
“Isn’t that why you’re in your ‘liaison’ position?” Minox asked. “As some form of oversight?”
“No. It’s a feckless post,” Dayne said. “I need to do more.”
“I’ve felt the same way in the archives,” Minox said.
“Well, I need you,” Rainey said. “Right now, Minox, you and I are working a Brick File case. Secret to everyone else.”
“Investigating the corruption in the Constabulary?”
“The sickness in the entire city,” she said. “I think it touches everywhere.”
Minox nodded. That was what Evoy had been saying, and while he felt the same thing, he wondered if he had just been s
lipping into the same hole as Evoy. But Rainey had clarity of thought, and focus. She saw it, and she wanted to root it out.
“So you want my help as well?” Dayne asked.
“If it’s available.”
“And the sister?” Dayne asked.
“She’s our insurance,” Satrine said. “Everything we find, every bit, we also give to her. Saints forbid anything happens to us—”
“I go to the press with everything I have, invoking the Rite of Final Intent,” Sister Alana said.
Dayne sat down. “I’ve had a sense that there is something deeper at play, and . . . it’s little more than a sense in my gut—”
“I trust your gut,” Minox said. “You were the one who knew about Sholiar.” A flash of memory from that night came to him. He had been so engaged with Joshea, focused on how to save him, that it didn’t register in his mind at the time. “Sholiar said ‘the Brotherhood’ asked him to create a symphony of fear.”
“Quoyell mentioned that too,” Rainey said. “And Nerrish Plum said it too, didn’t he?”
“Who are they?” Dayne asked.
“I’ve seen some reference to a ‘Brotherhood of the Nine,’” Minox said. “Little more than a name, but it’s had my attention.”
“Is that the center of this corruption?” Rainey asked.
“It’s a theory,” Minox said.
“Then are we resolved?” Sister Alana asked.
“I am,” Dayne said.
Minox nodded. He still had his mind, and for the time being, all of his wits. He had been exiled to the archives, but he would use that, find the secrets lost in the files. There was a larger conspiracy and corruption infecting this city. Perhaps with Dayne’s knowledge, Rainey’s cunning, and his resolve, they could dig it out and bring it to the light.
Maybe even find out what happened to his sister, and get some small portion of justice for her.
“Good,” Rainey said. “For now, we work through Alana. Minimize direct contact. She’s our Brick File.”
“And may the saints protect me,” she said.
“I shouldn’t dally,” Dayne said. “I’m supposed to be helping new members of the Parliament acclimate to the city. So if you’ll excuse me.”
A Parliament of Bodies Page 37
