Remembering my manners somewhat belatedly, I inquired of McSparrin, “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, sir, thanks for asking. I left my window open. The sea breeze was nice.” She looked rather young in that moment, despite her blonde hair being up in a sensible bun, her uniform starchily pressed. “And you, Doctor?”
“Quite well, thank you for asking. I think this hotel was rather a good choice on our part.”
“Fortunately,” she agreed, expression growing sardonic. “Looks like this might take a while to solve.”
I was not wholly displeased by being here but still, the thought of Sanderson being left in charge in my absence…it made me shudder. “Hopefully not too long. I expect when the news gets out of Sheffield that a royal mage has been murdered, the reporters will descend here en masse.”
“Bite your tongue,” Jamie growled, coming toward the table. She looked resplendent in a light linen suit, the style reminiscent of a man’s day suit, but obviously tailored to her feminine form. With her hair in a braid, she looked every inch the professional detective. It was an interesting visual juxtaposition from the sweaty woman who had run around Sheffield this morning. “I do not want to deal with reporters.”
“My dear friend, none of us do. But turning a blind eye to the possibility will not help us. Better to come up with a statement now to give them.”
She grimaced again, as if biting into something foul, and sat with more aplomb than grace. “You’re likely right. Anyone seen Clint?”
“He’s still chasing whatever-it-is outside, I believe.”
Shaking her head, she chose to eat. Sensible, really. Clint wasn’t a dumb creature that needed to be led around by the nose. He’d turn up in his own good time.
Seaton rejoined us at the table with a satisfied expression. “The hotel manager has kindly given us a conference room here on the ground floor. It’s the second door on the left, just off the main entrance. She’s adamant we can have it as long as we need it, and free of charge. She told me she knew Burtchell personally, that he sometimes hosted parties or card games here, and she wants to help catch his killer in any way she can.”
Jamie’s head came up sharply. “Can she give us a list of his known associates?”
Tapping a finger along the side of his nose, Seaton assured her, “Already thought of that and asked. She promises us a list by the end of the day. It was rather news to me that Burtchell isn’t the only famous person who’s retired here. Apparently there’re a number of people here I know, by reputation at least. She said he was friendly with most of them.”
This news cheered me. “I do love a good suspect pool. Any tensions?”
“No, not that she knew of. And frankly I’d be surprised to hear it. He was a very easy-going sort, not the type to hold grudges.”
Seaton idly toyed with his tea cup, turning it round and round in its saucer as he frowned down into its milky depths. He was the only one at the table who didn’t look well rested, his normal makeup accents around his eyes absent, his dark hair not as perfectly combed into place. He also looked…strained. Sad. Of course, Burtchell was not unknown to him. I kicked myself for not realizing that to us, this was a case, but to Seaton, this was a friend brutally murdered. Of course he’d be grieving.
“While I was jogging, I saw the remains of the ships still on the rocks.” Jamie looked thoughtful as she glanced around the table. “I heard from the locals, again, about how glad they were he was here, how they’d have lost all the ships if not for his interference. How they only lost two crews because of him that night. There’s a great deal of mourning for him, like they’ve lost a local hero.”
Seaton’s expression turned dark and troubled. “I really don’t understand this. No one seems to have any motive for killing him. And indeed, it would have to be quite a surprise. A mage of his caliber should have been able to thwart any attack.”
That was the point that bothered me as well. Even at point blank range—and Weber seemed to think the attack fit within that spectrum—Burtchell should have been able to fight back, at least. His magic was not diminished because of his health. Why hadn’t he?
What were we missing?
In the interest of efficiency, we divided duties, each to our own strengths. Jamie and McSparrin went to find who might have been with Burtchell yesterday morning. Seaton and I caught a ride with one of the constables and returned to Burtchell’s bungalow. I say bungalow in the loosest concept of the term, as it had three bedrooms and sat two stories tall. It wasn’t the grandest house on this street, and certainly not in the town, although I wasn’t sure why. Burtchell was not particularly known for modesty. Unless he’d chosen the house because of its location? He had the best view of the sea from here.
The doors were locked, the wards still thrumming in a subdued manner, not showing any signs of distress. Thanking the constable, we stepped down and used the key from Mrs. Landry in order to let ourselves in.
“Right.” Seaton clapped his hands together and looked about the vestibule. “Let’s start at the beginning. I know we took a look around yesterday, but it was rather too quick to be thorough. Let’s go over the house with a fine-tooth comb, see if there wasn’t some other way for the murderer to get in and out. I find it hard to believe he sauntered through the front door.”
“Hear, hear,” I agreed. “Right or left?”
“Right,” Seaton said decisively and led the way into the house.
My magical sight allowed me to see the wards quite fine, but it didn’t allow me to see all the nuances. I donned a pair of magical spectacles in order to see things in a magnified way. I kept a wand balanced in the palm of my hand, searching for any other means of entrance.
The wards distracted me, making it a touch difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. The efficiency with which they’d been set up was so effortlessly perfect I found them enchanting. What a shame their creator met his end in such a manner, his life and brilliance cut uselessly short. I would have very much liked to sit and converse with him for an afternoon. It saddened me I’d never get the opportunity.
Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus. The front dining room windows were picture windows, not something that could be opened. I bypassed them and went into the kitchen. A single door led into a larder. The space was narrow, barely adequate to cook in. My partner would have a choice few things to say about the dimensions.
The kitchen window was the type to open, but so narrow I couldn’t imagine anything larger than a child getting through. I tried it, just in case, only to find it stuck with humidity and warped over time. It barely receded two inches before screeching to a halt.
Of course, this experiment made the wards chime in warning, a heavy gong sound that was impossible to ignore or mistake.
“What was that?” Seaton called, alarm making his voice a touch shrill.
“Just me, sorry!” I called back to him. “I was testing the kitchen window!”
“Oh. Carry on.”
Well, that at least proved the wards were in perfect working order. Even after the man’s death, they operated as they should. I forced the window back in place, locking it again, and the wards settled into their happy thrum.
A slight frown tugging at my face, I went through the side kitchen door and into the hallway, but of course nothing led back there. A row of cabinets faced me, meant for storage, and showed no signs of being disturbed. The tallest of the bunch held the broom and mop and little else. I made note of it only because, aside from the stairs, there was nothing else for me to search.
I went back to the window, as any point of entry would make this easier. I started with garden variety spells meant to sneak through or disarm an active ward. They either slid right off, like water on a duck’s back, or were repelled. I went through six before I cautiously put a shield up around me and tried a seventh. Just as well I had, too. The recoil of the spell hitting my shield knocked me back a foot and slammed my lower back into a knob. Wincing, I straight
ened and glared at the wards. Still working perfectly.
The wards fluctuated for a brief second, more like a reverberation from a strike, and I sensed more than heard Seaton also testing the wards. His magical strength could break them, I had no doubt. He was a powerhouse of magical ability, after all. But that wasn’t the point of our exercise—we knew they could be broken. But could they be suborned and still outwardly seem to function?
Seaton bit off a curse that would make even a stevedore blush, and I winced. Perhaps it was time for me to intervene. This case had him hot under the collar as it was, and if I didn’t stop him now, he’d lose his patience and really would masticate the wards.
Joining Seaton in the front, I found him pacing the length of the windows in the front foyer. They, too, were picture windows and completely impossible to open without force and broken panes. I wasn’t sure why he was so fixated on them. “Seaton?”
He turned for just a moment, brows needled together, then gestured toward the windows. “If this magician was powerful enough to kill a retired royal mage, do you think he’d have been able to break a window and spell it back together?”
“Naturally. But we’d see some trace of the spell. I’m not detecting anything of that nature.”
Seaton’s shoulders slumped a mite. “I’m reaching, I know. This just doesn’t make any sense to me. The wards are perfectly active. I see a few cleaning spells—there was some ash overturned here, I think—a heating spell, and a wind spell. All perfectly innocuous and reasonable for a mage’s house. He’d use piddly spells like these on a near daily basis. Nothing points to the murderer.”
“I feel your frustration and unfortunately empathize.”
He snorted in dark amusement. “You say unfortunately because you’d rather be smug and have answers.”
“Quite right.”
“Cheeky.” He flashed me a quick grin before sighing again, melancholy overtaking him. “I do not like this, Davenforth, I’ll be frank with you. I came here for answers, and yet all we’ve done is confirm the same conclusion we reached last night. The wards have not been breached. However the murderer killed him, he didn’t do it by magic. A gun seems more likely, but seeking spells didn’t find one. I’d say one wasn’t used, aside from...”
“Aside from the bullet wound.”
“Yes.” Seaton turned back toward the study, shoulders coming back up. “Let’s look for that, shall we? Maybe we can find some answers.”
That sounded quite the right track to me. I’d prefer to search for answers rather than beat my head against a blank wall.
I stopped where the chair still sat in the middle of the room and leveled my wand toward the wall. “Right. Seaton, you and Burtchell were about the same height, were you not?”
“Give or take two inches.”
“Close enough for this exercise. Sit in the chair, if you please. Let’s see if we can’t pinpoint something.”
He obediently sat, although with a grimace, as sitting in a dead man’s chair must feel strange indeed. I made this quick for his sake, using my wand to cast out a light in a small, steady stream towards the center of his forehead, miming the trajectory. “Right you are. Up, and follow it. Any trace of a bullet?”
“Not at first sight.” Seaton moved the chair to the side for a moment, getting behind it.
The study was elegantly wallpapered in a light, silvery print on two of the walls, but the other three were covered in bookshelves. Including the area behind the chair. Seaton shuffled a few books back and forth, then let out a victorious, “Ah-ha! Good show, Davenforth. Looks like the bullet got stuck in the book. Oh, I say, that’s odd.”
“Seaton, I never like it when you say that word.” I nixed the spell and went to stand at his shoulder, peering curiously. I saw quite quickly what he meant. The bullet was intact, its casing in place. It was a little squashed and misshapen, its nose flat, but that was only to be expected. It had gone through a human skull and partway through a book—of course it would be. But why was the casing still on it? This utterly baffled me. How in the devil did one fire a bullet and not remove its casing in the process? Even a misfire wouldn’t do such a thing!
Proving his mind moved along similar lines, Seaton’s dark eyes caught mine in utter bemusement. “Can one fire a bullet while keeping the casing?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so. Certainly nothing in my experience suggests that’s possible. Here, let me see it for a moment.” I accepted the bullet from him and turned it over and over, my confusion mounting with every observation. “It was definitely used. I see a trace of blood here, on the back end, and its shape has been warped. It’s definitely the right bullet. Seaton, when you did the spell, what was your search term?”
“Gun or other weapon,” he answered slowly. “I suppose the bullet would slip through the loophole of the spell. Although technically, it’s what killed him.”
“Spells can be stupidly literal,” I commiserated. Half my attention remained on the bullet, and I held it up towards the light of the window. “But see here, how the sides are clean? There’s no real striation.”
Seaton stared at me with a blank expression. “Striation?”
“Ah. This might not be in your experience. Do allow me to explain. When a bullet is used, the rifling inside the barrel will leave grooves along the sides of the bullet. Small, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for them, but striations nonetheless. It’s somewhat intentional, as the rifling is part of the reason why a bullet flies true. It’s also part and process of a bullet being fired. It’d be quite impossible to leave these off.”
“What if someone knew this, though? Removed the rifling from inside a barrel?”
“To what purpose? Very few know you can match a bullet with its gun—”
Blinking at me in a confounded manner, Seaton demanded, “You can?!”
“Something Jamie taught me,” I admitted off-handedly. “If you can find the right gun, you can fire a bullet and match the grooves up. It’s like a fingerprint, she claims. Impossible to miss.”
Seaton growled out an oath. “We have got to persuade her to sit and record everything she knows about the criminal process.”
“I say the same on a regular basis. I’ll be happy to help you strongarm her.”
He extended a hand, and we shook on it, as gentlemen do on an agreement.
“Anyway,” I turned back to the manner at hand, “this bullet was quite likely not fired from a normal pistol. Only a very ancient gun would not have a rifled barrel, and if such a gun was used, this bullet wouldn’t have fit. It’s too modern. And quite frankly, even from such a short distance, I can’t imagine a bullet fired from an unrifled barrel would fly so true. That was the whole reason why they started rifling the barrels to begin with.”
Seaton rubbed both hands over his face. “So we’re looking for a strange murder weapon, on top of it all.”
“Looks that way, old fellow.” I frowned down at the bullet, lips pursed. “I do wish whoever had done it had used magic. I can think of a few spells off hand that would explain a bullet being in this state.”
“I can likely think of a few as well, and I’m not an expert in murder like you are.” Seaton looked about the room with growing agitation. “I don’t like this, Davenforth. I don’t like it at all. Someone was powerful enough to slip through a royal mage’s wards, and yet doesn’t use magic to kill him, but something else instead. Something so unorthodox that a magical examiner with years of experience can’t even hazard a guess. At this rate, the murderer will get away with it just because we’re not clever enough to figure out his methods.”
I scoffed at this possibility. “Perhaps we’re not clever enough, but I can assure you, my colleagues are better at thinking outside the box than we are. McSparrin has surprised me with an astute guess more than once, and that doesn’t even take into account Jamie’s mad logic. Don’t write this off as hopeless just yet.”
He did perk up a bit at that. “Perhaps you’re right.
”
This was far unlike Seaton’s devil-may-care attitude and I put a hand on his shoulder, looking up at him in concern. “Seaton. This is hitting close to home, isn’t it?”
He looked away from me, towards the blank wall, and if it helped him to focus somewhere other than my eyes, that was fine. “It is. I’m not sure why. Partially because I knew the man, and liked him. Burtchell was an amazing man, a good friend to me, even though he had reason to resent me taking his position. Still, he showed me nothing but support and kindness. He didn’t deserve an ending such as this. It also unnerves me; anyone as powerful and experienced as he was should have been safe within the walls of his own home. It’s perturbing that he wasn’t.”
“I quite see your point.” I wished I had magical words of solace to offer him but I came up empty. “The only thing we can do is solve how it was done, and create preventions against it.”
Seaton inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly, and he looked more himself as he repeated the gesture once more. “Thank you, Davenforth. I became a little lost in this, I think. It’s harder to process when it hits too close to home.”
“Quite understandable. Well, we’ve found the bullet. Let’s see if we can’t find that magical research.”
“Yes, where is that.” Seaton turned in place and glared around him as if the very walls held secrets. “We’ve been through this house twice and I’ve not seen any hint of it. Is it small enough to be locked in some drawer?”
“I suppose we need to search more carefully and find out.” I, too, was puzzled by the location. Most magical research occupies a full room, if not more. “You don’t suppose there’s a safe lurking behind one of these pictures, do you?”
“Only one way to find out. But first, what do we do with the bullet?”
Magic Outside the Box Page 5
