Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  “Yes and no,” Jamie answered with a nod toward McSparrin, who was settled at the table. Jamie herself was at the chalkboard we’d had installed for our use, carefully writing out a timeline. “Penny’s been reading through Burtchell’s correspondence, and it seems like it wasn’t all sunshine and roses after all.”

  My ears perked up. Drawing a chair away from the table, I gratefully sank into it, my attention riveted on them. “Do tell. He had enemies?”

  “I’m not sure if they were enemies, per se,” McSparrin returned a touch doubtfully. “But more than a few people sent him letters or cards, saying what a shame it was he only saved the three ships. And why hadn’t he picked one of the others to save instead? Seems quite a few sailors lost their lives on the two ships he didn’t save.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “I know Oscar Villarreal mentioned this but it still boggles my mind. The man saved three ships from sinking to the ocean floor and he gets castigated for not saving them all?”

  “Most of these people are relatives of the ones lost.” McSparrin waved one in particular to illustrate her point. “I think it was grief speaking more than anything. They were upset with him, but I’m not sure if they were upset enough to kill him. I’ve even found three letters that followed after the first, where the women who’d written to him apologized for saying anything.”

  “Hasty words said in a moment of anger. Or written, in this case.” Jamie was still frowning at her chalkboard timeline. “I’m not inclined to think our murderer is in there, although we’ll still need to check them out. A person who’s willing to tell you off in a letter either doesn’t have the balls to follow through in real life, or they find catharsis in sending the letter. Generally speaking. There’s exceptions, of course.”

  “Hence why you want to interview these people.” I knew her to be correct. I’d seen similar cases. “It gives us a possible suspect pool, if nothing else. I’m quite inclined to speak with them.”

  “Not like we have any other leads. I seriously doubt at this point our card-going suspects are going to have anything helpful to add. We still have ten left to clear, but so far everyone has solid alibis and no motives. Oh, and Gibson contacted me just now.”

  I could tell from the look on her face it wasn’t helpful news. “Let me guess. He didn’t know of anyone who wanted Belladonna’s research?”

  “Well, he does, but no one who knew Burtchell had it for study. Langley also reports that what we sent to her was all Burtchell had. Nothing’s missing. So either the murder has nothing to do with his research, or the murderer just didn’t get a chance to search for it before the housekeeper arrived.”

  Penny rolled her eyes doubtfully towards Jamie. “Which one are we going with?”

  “Research as a possible motive. Because frankly, even though I don’t think it’s very plausible, I have no other possible motive. Until we find something more suspect, we’ll continue to look at it.”

  “At least we know how he was murdered,” Penny muttered in disgust. “Sort of.”

  “Yes, good job on the wind spell.” As predicted, Jamie turned and queried hopefully, “And what kind of magician can use a wind spell?”

  “Basically? Most of them. It’s a rather basic spell.” Her face immediately fell and I reached out, squeezing her hand gently. “Sorry. I did make a list for you to consult. In essence, anyone above a second level student could do this spell. Wind spells are basic enough they can all employ them, but the level of control it took to fire off a bullet in your bare hand? I would say second level, at least. So, students, hedge wizards, windwhisperers, licensed mages, crafters, and even magical examiners could all be suspects.”

  “So, most of the magical practitioners in the country.” Jamie threw up her hands. “I can see why you’re not all that excited about this.”

  “If it helps any, I don’t believe our killer is a very highly skilled magician. The amount of power to fire the bullet isn’t much, and the more power we put to it, the more uncontrolled it became. I think we’re also looking for someone who does something similar with wind spells on a consistent basis. Seaton and I both agree it would take practice to be able to hit a target reliably while utilizing such a spell.”

  “And out of those professions you just listed off, who would use a wind spell consistently?” Jamie was poised at the board, ready to take notes.

  “Hedge wizards—they’re called such because they are often used by farmers, miners, or even tanners to aid in their profession. They use elemental spells more often than not. Crafters, for similar reasons—they’re focused on crafting different tools and spells for market. You’ve seen the bottled wind spells sailors sometimes buy, to aid them during the dead spots on the sea? Crafters create those.”

  Jamie not only took notes on the professions, but what they included. She started with my native language, then defaulted to hers in an effort to keep up, only throwing in the occasional native word. I sympathized with her frustration, but at the same time, I wished she wouldn’t do that. She’d master Velars faster if she stopped defaulting to English. Perhaps I needed to spend more time helping her study the language.

  Shaking the thought away, I finished, “Windwhisperers use it the most, by far. In fact, they use only three elemental spells, for the most part. They’re utilized on the larger ships to keep them sailing.”

  “And which of these are most likely?”

  “You’re fishing,” I accused her.

  Seaton chose that moment to rejoin us, and he asked, “Who’s fishing for what?”

  Turning my head, I explained to him, “She wants to know what profession is most likely to shoot air bullets.”

  Seaton shook his head at her. “You’re fishing. You realize you can find an abundance of crafters, hedge wizards, and practicing mages out here? They gather most of their needed elemental material in places like this.”

  “And it’ll be hard to even track down a windwhisperer on land. They’re normally on a boat somewhere at sea,” I added.

  Jamie pulled a face, nose scrunching up. “Figures I couldn’t get an easy answer to that. Alright, well, we have a clearer timeline of what he was doing and who he saw in the past week. I’ve got some holes to fill, but not many. The newspaper ad I put out asking for information helped. We’ve been filtering through people off and on all morning. I expect more to show up this afternoon and tomorrow.”

  At this moment, all information helped. Although…oh dear. That meant I had to talk with even more people, didn’t it? I bit back a sigh before it could escape. What were the odds I could convince Jamie that I once again had some magical aspect of the case requiring my utmost concentration, leaving the witnesses to her?

  Yes, I was well aware I was doomed. No need to rub it in.

  There always comes a point where the case stalls for a bit. We hit that a day later. All the witnesses we could find were interviewed, the requested records for Burtchell’s finances weren’t in yet, and we didn’t have any other leads to follow. Burtchell’s funeral was set for two days later, and Henri was whining about not having enough clean clothes, so we decided to temporarily pack up and retreat to Kingston for a well-deserved weekend off.

  For some reason, I got vetoed about driving back, Sherard taking the wheel instead. I settled in the back with Henri and Clint, Penny taking shotgun. We headed back to Kingston at a crawling twenty-five miles an hour. Why were people in this culture so afraid of speed? Seriously, they were terrified of going over thirty. I kept debunking stupid rumor after stupider old wives’ tale and it was driving me to drink. Didn’t they understand we could get to other places much faster without risking life and limb?

  I’d beat this into them or die trying.

  As we trundled back toward the capital, Penny turned in her seat to ask me, “Why did you request his finances? You think this might be due to a gambling problem after all?”

  “It’s very much a longshot,” I admitted with spread hands. “But motive for murder usually
boils down to money, power, love, or revenge. He wasn’t having any affairs with married women, or had any romantic entanglements at all that we can tell. So love is out. He was a retired Royal Mage out in the country, so power is out. All we have left is money and revenge.”

  “His finances seemed in good order, though,” Henri objected. “No one’s suggested he was being chased by bill collectors.”

  “Which is why it’s a longshot. Most gamblers eventually have problems with owing the wrong people, but Burtchell seemed one of those rare few who was in control of his vice. On the surface, anyway. I want a complete record of his finances to see if that was really true or not. At this point, any lead to follow, you know?”

  “We do indeed.” Sherard didn’t take his eyes off the road as he addressed me. “And when that lead fizzles out? Because I have a hunch it will.”

  “Well,” I sighed, “that is the question, isn’t it?”

  The trip back killed me slowly because of the crawling speed—really, on a bike, I’d have been there in half the time—but the ride itself was fun. Henri was in rare form, joking and messing with people. Penny was giving back as good as she got, and Sherard seemed to enjoy tweaking everyone’s noses. The only problem I had was keeping Clint inside the vehicle. He thought it a grand idea to climb up top and sunbathe on the roof. He was likely hungry. His source of food was the sun, and he’d been napping inside the hotel for the past twenty or so hours.

  “I believe we’d have proven our theory faster if we had someone aside from Davenforth firing the bullets,” Sherard teased with a challenging grin and a waggle of the eyebrows that would have done Bugs Bunny proud. “With all due respect, your marksmanship leaves much to be desired.”

  ‘All due respect’ was a wonderful expression because it didn’t specify how much respect was actually due. Could be none.

  Henri apparently went with none, as he retorted, “Sir, if I am to be insulted, I must value your opinion. Besides, you weren’t doing any better. Who kept hitting outside the target and clipping off the board’s corners?”

  “I was still working on the appropriate amount of force more than trajectory when I did that!” Sherard argued cheerfully.

  “That explains the first two missing corners, certainly, but what about the rest of the board?”

  “Oh, like you have room to talk. At least I hit the board consistently!”

  “You say that as if I didn’t. I’ll have you know, I wasn’t aiming at thin air. Your aim is so atrocious I feared for my own safety.”

  I rolled my eyes heavenward. Were they twelve? “Okay, stop. You’re meandering into the realms of absurdity right now.”

  “Sorry,” Henri apologized. He crossed his arms over his chest, signaling an end to the argument.

  “And where is my apology?” Sherard demanded.

  “It could not be located,” Henri shot back.

  I snorted a laugh as they got right back into it. Really, these two. Any chance to rib each other, and they’d take it. They loved to tease each other almost as much as they enjoyed working with each other. It made me wonder, though. What would it have been like for Henri if I’d never met him?

  Not to suggest he didn’t have friends—he did—but he was such an introvert by nature that he didn’t think to suggest social activities. He needed Sherard and I, the extroverts, to pull him out of his comfortable routines. And I had a feeling this world would have suffered a bit if they hadn’t met. These two were a formidable match and would come up with some ingenious things working together.

  It was what gave me hope they’d figure out Belladonna’s portal spells eventually. I knew I couldn’t go home—I was resigned to that. Sad, because I missed family and friends, and sometimes I still got homesick. But I understood going home wasn’t a possibility for me.

  Still, it’d be great if I could send word back somehow. Tell people I was alive and well, and to not grieve for me. I knew Henri and Sherard were still mulling over the information they’d learned. They might not have said much to me about it for fear of raising my hopes, but neither man gave up a challenge easily. I chose to have faith in their collective genius.

  We arrived at the station back in Kingston but headed inside only long enough to carry in Henri’s equipment. Then we all went our separate ways, heading for home. Well, Henri and I caught a taxi together, to save on cab fare.

  I lounged back in the taxi’s seat, legs propped up against the opposite door. There wasn’t really enough room for the posture, but my butt was numb after four hours on a seat that wasn’t really well sprung. I couldn’t handle sitting properly just now. Clint used my legs to stand on so he could brace his front paws on the window and poke his head outside, watching the cars and people as they went by. Henri was slouched on the opposite side in much the same posture, his hat on the bench next to him.

  “I would like to say that in my absence someone has handled the routine magical casework at the station.” Henri said this in the most deadpan tone ever delivered by a human being.

  “You could say that,” I agreed in a similar tone. “You’d be wrong, but you could say it.”

  “I find myself very frustrated. On the one hand, we have a near impossible case to solve. On the other, I have work stacking up with no possibility of me attending to it in the near future.”

  I nodded in empathy, sharing the frustration. We all felt the frustration. Our work didn’t go away or solve itself just because we were out of town investigating another case. A policeman’s work was never done. I could only hope for a break soon, a lead that would give us the edge we needed.

  The taxi pulled up to the curb and we clambered out. I paid the driver while Henri went for our bags, tied on the back of the taxi. He had them levitated and up the stairs before I noticed what he was doing.

  “I’ll drop yours off at your door,” he called over his shoulder.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to refuse this offer. Henri tended to bump into things when he used levitation spells on stairways, and he’d already dinged one wall in this apartment building. Plus, I was perfectly capable of carrying my own suitcase, even without Belladonna’s enhancements.

  But I knew better than to step on a man’s pride, and it was a sweet gesture on his part. I smiled and let him go. “Sure.”

  The door opened under his hand and swung inwards, revealing Mrs. Hudson. She looked frazzled, wispies sticking out in every direction instead of her usual sleek, greying bun. On seeing us, she lit up in relief. To be more accurate, on seeing Clint she lit up in relief. “Oh, you’re home again, dears. The case solved, then?”

  “No, we came back in town for a funeral,” I corrected her. Well able to read the expression on her face, I asked wryly, “Mice playing while the cat’s away?”

  “I’m afraid so. Clint, honey, would you…?”

  Clint was already looking about him, nose and ears flickering as he searched out his future victims. He paused to reassure her seriously, “I’ll hunt.”

  Mrs. Hudson practically beamed down at him. “Thank you, dear. I hear them in the pantry for the most part.”

  He bounded immediately for her ground stairs apartment without even a by-your-leave to me, the traitor. I shook my head and let him play. He’d been good the entire trip in, and was likely anxious to stretch out.

  I let him go, following Henri upstairs. “So what are you going to do the rest of the day?”

  “I have a book I haven’t finished and a large tub.”

  Soak and read, huh? It did sound nice, but I was too antsy to do something like lounge around the apartment for the rest of the day. “I suppose you’ll finish off a box of chocolates while you’re relaxing.”

  He stopped on the second story landing and gave me a fishy glower. “I have no chocolates in my flat.”

  I busted out laughing. “Liar. The day you don’t have chocolate is the day the world ends. It’s fine, I’ll leave your stash alone.”

  “Chance would be a fine thing,” he groused be
fore continuing up.

  I stopped him at the third landing and gestured for him to release my bag. “It’s fine, I can go the last leg. You’re tired, go soak.”

  “Are you certain?” He looked strangely reluctant to part, a feeling I shared. But we’d been basically in each other’s pockets for days now, so I suppose it made sense. “Well, of course, I shouldn’t question your strength.”

  “That you should not,” I agreed lightly. I took the suitcase in hand and gave him an analyst’s salute. “Enjoy your book.”

  I hauled my suitcase upstairs, changed into something less formal, and went promptly back out again. I had no food in the house and I wanted lunch. It felt strange to be alone, though. That feeling hadn’t passed. I wanted company, but not enough to pull Henri out of his apartment. He likely needed a little ‘me’ time after being with people nonstop for a week. Introverts needed time to recharge. I could respect that.

  Who else could I invite out? The answer came to me as soon as I asked the question, and I paused in the stairwell to message Ellie: Back in town. Lunch?

  She responded promptly: Where?

  Amelia’s on Fourth?

  Meet you there in twenty.

  Perfect. I wanted to run the car’s performance past her, give her some ideas of what needed to change in order to make it more stable. And maybe run the idea of a motorcycle past her as well. If I didn’t have passengers, no one could complain about my speed, right?

  I couldn’t make myself get back into a car today, though, and really there was no need. Amelia’s was only a few blocks down anyway. I enjoyed the summer air and the bustle of the city as I walked the distance.

  Amelia’s Bakery was as heavenly in scent as usual. She was most known for her pastries—for good reason—but she did offer a lunch menu as well. I breathed in deeply as I entered through the front door, the shop bell ringing out merrily as I stepped across the threshold. Clam chowder and an iced tea were definitely on my mind.