False Dawn: Ageless Mysteries - Book 2

by Vanessa Nelson

  Simon’s body hit the stone floor with a dull thud, his sightless eyes staring back up at the Ageless overhead.

  A few of the workers moved towards him, an instinctive move, but stopped before they reached him. There was nothing they could do.

  “Let this be a lesson,” the Treasurer said, voice carrying throughout the building, powered by his magic. “This is what will happen to anyone who tries to steal or betray the Archon. Long may she live.”

  “Long may she live,” the workers echoed, most of the voices faint with shock.

  There was nothing she could do, Thea told herself, looking at the broken body not that far away. He had made a choice to steal. And not just once, from what Winchell had said. Many times. One or more of the Conscripted workers had borne a punishment for the thefts. And Simon had carried on stealing. And then locked her and Niath in a room with a furious guardian that had tried to kill them.

  He did not deserve her compassion, she knew.

  And yet, her chest ached with sympathy. Death seemed to be the only punishment that the Ageless understood. Thea could not help thinking there should be a better way.

  She felt soiled and sick, dizzy from the heat of the furnace. And more than ready to leave.

  She barely noticed the open space at her side as she and Niath made their way back up the staircase to the entrance level to the Treasury. She was somehow not surprised to find the Treasurer, Reardon and Ware waiting at the top.

  “So you found a thief. But who is the traitor forging the coins?” Winchell demanded. He had tucked his wings away, but he still wore his Ageless face, sharp angles matching the tone of his voice.

  “None of them,” Thea reported. “None of your workers forged the coins. They must have been made elsewhere.”

  “You’re sure?” Winchell asked, eyes narrowing.

  “Yes,” Niath said. “We are completely sure.” He held out the pouch of coins that Simon had stolen. “Here, you’ll want to add these to the Treasury records.”

  Winchell took the leather pouch, face pinched. “But the Conscripts-”

  “No,” Thea said, voice flat. “The Conscripts are all honest.”

  The Ageless stared at her, mouth pressed into a thin line. Not pleased about being interrupted. Or contradicted. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, lip curling.

  “Only because it is true,” she told him. “Now, our enquiries here are done.”

  “Not so fast,” Reardon said, when she took a step to the side, ready to head to the door. “You haven’t found the forger.”

  “That was not what I was asked to do,” Thea told him, voice sharper than it should have been from a Watch Officer to an Ageless. She was tired to her bones, lightheaded with hunger and heartily sick of the Treasury and the Ageless.

  “The job is not finished,” Reardon insisted.

  “The task that I was asked to do, and which Officer March has assisted me with, is done,” Niath said unexpectedly. “We were asked to verify whether the Treasury’s staff were involved in the forgery.”

  “I want you to find the forger,” Reardon said, an edge to his voice that made Thea’s shoulder blades prickle again.

  “This is now a city matter,” Ware said, voice cool. “The Watch will investigate. Officer March, there’s a carriage waiting for me. Do you need a lift home?”

  “Yes, please, sir,” Thea said.

  “I’ll see you to the carriage,” Niath said. “At the main gate?” he asked the captain.

  “Yes. Go ahead, I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Thea found herself outside in the blessed, cool air a moment later, drawing in deep, steadying breaths.

  It was night. She had spent an entire day in the depths of the Treasury, questioning workers, being locked into the vault with a creature from a nightmare and witnessing the cold murder of one of the workers.

  She had missed her shift at the Watch Station, she realised, stomach twisting. And even though the Watch Captain had given her orders earlier, her Sergeant would not be so forgiving. If she was lucky, the Sergeant would just withhold her pay. She did not think she would be lucky. She might not have a job to go back to the following day.

  “The main gate is this way,” Niath said.

  She looked up at him, his face lit by the stars above, and caught sight of the Citadel’s main building behind him. The great structure was lit by magic, soft gleaming light that made the building shine in the night sky.

  There were Ageless in the sky around it, their white wings reflecting the light.

  “It is a beautiful sight,” Niath said, following the direction of her gaze.

  “Yes,” Thea agreed, and turned away, heading for the gate. She remembered another Citadel, seen through the eyes of a child, where the sight of Ageless in the air around the main building had seemed magical. She knew better now.

  She was so tired by the time they reached the waiting carriage that she almost suggested to Niath that they take the platform down to the city below. But she would still have to walk halfway across the city to get to her house, and the captain had offered to take her home.

  She leant against the side of the carriage, not caring whether it was proper or not, or if it revealed just how worn out she was. There was no immediate danger.

  Niath was a shadow beside her, standing straight and tall. Even with her better eyesight, she could not read his expression in the darkness next to the carriage.

  “You are going to keep looking for the forger, aren’t you?” he asked without warning.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I missed my shift today,” she said, forcing the words out.

  “Will that get you in trouble?” Niath asked.

  “Yes,” Thea answered. She saw no reason to lie.

  “No,” Ware said, startling her. It was a bad sign that she had not noticed his approach. “I sent a message to the Sergeant earlier. I told him that you were on a special assignment for me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Thea said, straightening away from the carriage.

  “I want you in my office at the start of the day shift tomorrow. This is a right mess and we need to sort it out,” he said.

  “Me, too?” Niath asked, stepping away from the carriage into better light. He sounded hopeful.

  “I can’t require or request your presence, Mage,” Ware said. His mouth twitched, as if hiding a smile.

  “So, that’s a yes, then? When does the day shift start?” he asked.

  Thea told him, and watched Niath’s eyes widen in what looked like genuine horror. “That’s nearly the middle of the night.”

  “In that case, you’d best get some rest. Thea, let’s go. We have much to discuss.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thea was not sure what the captain saw in her face when they got into the carriage but he stayed silent as they moved forward, out of the Citadel’s gates, heading down the winding road to the Postern Gate. After the initial panic at being shut into a dark space, Thea discovered that she was too tired to really care, and instead leant back on the cushioned seat.

  She had a sense that the day was not yet done, and needed her energy for whatever the captain wanted, rather than spending it in more panic.

  So she did her best to ignore the walls too close to her and the roof only a hand’s width above her head. Instead, she tried to let the gentle movement of the carriage and the sound of the horses’ hooves soothe her. If she needed to, she could get out of the carriage at any time.

  Ware sat in silence until they had passed through the Postern Gate, then he let out a long breath.

  “You’ll report to me or Sutter until this matter is dealt with,” he said.

  Senior Sergeant Dan Sutter, he meant. His second-in-command. It made sense. Except that she already had a commanding officer.

  Thea opened her mouth to ask about her current assignment and Sergeant.

  “Do you have any ongoing investigations?” Ware asked before she could speak.

  “Two. A
death by poisoning and a complaint about a faulty product.”

  “Faulty product?” Ware asked. Thea could hear the scepticism in his voice.

  “Some soap flakes. They turned a merchant’s head blue,” Thea said.

  There was a short silence in the carriage and then Ware coughed. It sounded like he was disguising a laugh.

  “That doesn’t sound all that serious,” he said.

  “I don’t know. When I went to speak with the herbalist she was odd,” Thea said, remembering Delilah Soames’ hostility. “I’d like to try and speak to her again. I was going to go tomorrow morning.”

  “Go the next day,” Ware said, his tone making it an order. “This forgery business needs looking into.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Whatever was troubling Delilah Soames would most likely hold for another day. And the herbalist might relax a bit, thinking she had been forgotten about.

  “And the death?”

  “Iason and Dina. Er, Physician Pallas and Examiner Soter, sir. They have the body and the suspected poison. I think they may have had results today.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “According to the dead man’s friend, he had taken bliss,” Thea said, her nose wrinkling.

  “Bliss doesn’t normally kill,” Ware said slowly. Thea could hear the frown in his voice.

  “I’d like to see the matter through,” Thea said. Both investigations had come to her by default, as the available officer. But she remembered the shame in the young merchant’s face and knew he would be laughed at by most of the other Watchmen and officers at her station.

  And there was something nagging her about Edmund Anderson’s death. Something unresolved.

  She was not ready to let either of them go.

  “Why?” Ware asked.

  Thea blinked, wondering if he had somehow read her mind. But, no, he was simply asking her to explain why she wanted to keep the ongoing investigations.

  “There’s something more there,” she said, shaking her head in the dark. “I can’t quite explain it just now. But something.” Something she had seen or heard. It almost felt like instinct, and Thea had long-ago learned to trust her instincts. Her senses often picked up on things long before her conscious mind.

  To her surprise, Ware made a low sound, as if he agreed with her.

  “Alright. We’ll make it work. I want you to investigate the forgeries,” he said. “But you’ll need some help. There’s a junior Watchman at Brightfield who showed some promise.”

  “Everson, sir? Yes, he seems competent,” Thea agreed, remembering the young officer who had managed to read Watchman Drew’s report without stumbling.

  “I can assign him to assist you,” Ware said.

  “That won’t please the Sergeant,” Thea said, the words out before she thought better of it. This was the Watch Captain, and however much the Sergeant at Brightfield might believe he ruled over his own kingdom, he was still required to answer to Ware Handerson as much as the rest of the Watch.

  “Very little does,” Ware said, tone dry.

  It was Thea’s turn to choke on a laugh, turning it into an unconvincing cough.

  “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m not sure what I’d want him to do at the moment,” she said.

  “Very well. We’ll talk more in the morning,” Ware said. For the first time, he sounded as weary as Thea felt. “Do give my regards to your mother,” he added.

  Thea’s brows lifted, and she realised that, somehow, the carriage had brought them to her street, outside the front door of her mother’s house. Far faster than would have been possible if she had been on foot.

  The door opened and cool night air curled into the carriage, waking her up a little. There was no more time to talk, or ask the dozen questions that had finally drifted into her half-awake mind.

  “Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, Thea.”

  She stepped down from the carriage and watched as the groom closed the door, jumping up to his place at the back of the vehicle as it drove away, the horses’ hooves muffled on the packed earth street. No cobblestones here.

  She glanced up at the night sky. It was late. Almost midnight. And she needed to be in Ware’s office at the start of the day shift, ready to work. Sleep. She needed sleep.

  ~

  Her dreams were full of great, spiked tentacles reaching for her neck, trying to choke her. In her dreams she was unable to move, arms pinned to her sides, feet stuck to the ground, desperately trying to wriggle free from whatever was holding her.

  She woke with a gasp, heart racing, and discovered Gilbert curled up on her shoulder, his tail snaking across her neck, his front paws kneading her collarbone, a faint purr in her ears.

  She could move. Of course she could. She freed one of her arms from the blankets over her and stroked the cat’s head. He purred more deeply, apparently pleased by the attention, and then turned and opened his mouth, taking hold of her forefinger between his sharp teeth.

  Thea laughed.

  “Don’t want to be petted, then?” she asked, voice rough with sleep.

  He let her go. He had not meant any harm, just a warning. There were no marks on her skin.

  She sat up, groaning as she realised she had not brushed out her hair the night before. It was still mostly piled up on her head, held by hairpins, but trails of it were draped over her shoulder and down her back. It would take an age to brush out.

  She had also left the shutters open, so she could see that it was early morning. Time enough to brush out her hair and have breakfast with her mother before she needed to be in Ware’s office.

  The kitchen was full of the smell of burning when she arrived, the air laden with curse words. The harsh language was at odds with her mother’s appearance. Standing barely as tall as Thea’s shoulder, Caroline March was fair and delicate next to her daughter. And generally even-tempered, her formidable will concealed under her warmth. There were very few things that would make her curse so much.

  Her mother must be trying a new recipe.

  “A pox on the lot of them,” her mother said, lifting something from the stove and into the sink already full of water. The hot pot sizzled as it went into the water, sending a cloud of foul-smelling smoke into the air.

  “Good morning,” Thea said, moving to open one of the windows that overlooked the garden. “What were you trying to make?”

  “I can’t even remember,” her mother said, glaring into the sink at the burned and soggy mass that had been in the pot.

  “Shall I make tea?” Thea suggested.

  “Yes, please. The kettle should be full.”

  Thea put the kettle on the hot stove, gathering the teapot and mugs as the water came to a boil, ignoring the curses that her mother was muttering under her breath as she pried the disgusting mass of burned food out of the sink and took it outside to the midden heap.

  By the time her mother had come back into the room, the air had cleared a little, enough so that Thea’s eyes were no longer watering, the scent of the herbs hanging around the stove cutting through the scent of burning.

  “I was hoping to have something different for breakfast,” her mother said, coming across to give Thea a brief hug. “I’ve got some bread baking, but there’s nothing ready to eat.”

  “It’s alright. I’m going to Middlefield this morning,” Thea said.

  “Ah. The Harrow bakery,” her mother said, smiling. “Much better than a burned breakfast. You’re going to see Ware?”

  “Yes.”

  “A new investigation?” her mother asked, settling at the table.

  Thea took her place nearby, the familiarity settling her into the here and now, far away from the Citadel and the Ageless and tentacled monsters.

  “More than one, actually. Oh, I gave your name to someone who came into the Watch station.”

  “Oh, yes.” Her mother’s expression changed to mischief. “William Young. With a blue head and hands?”

  “That’s
him. He’s been to see you?”

  “He has.” The mischief faded from her mother’s face. “Poor man. He was so embarrassed. I hope you’ve had words with that herbalist.”

  “Tried to. I’ll be speaking to her again. Were you able to help Master Young?”

  “Of course,” her mother said, mouth tilting up in another smile. “Did you doubt me?”

  “No, not at all. But it was a strange reaction to soap. Any idea what might have caused it?”

  “No. I’d need to see the soap,” her mother said.

  “I have it,” Thea said, remembering. She sat up and opened the pouch hanging from her belt. “Here. I’d like to take some to Dina as well.” Thea was not sure if Dina would be willing to look at the soap, but she had a suspicion that the idea of soap dyeing skin blue would pique the examiner’s interest.

  “I don’t need much,” her mother said, getting up and picking an empty glass jar from one of the shelves around the kitchen. It was normally used for holding chopped-up herbs. She picked a long-handled spoon from a drawer and carefully scooped a small amount of the soap flakes into the jar. “Interesting. It just looks like ordinary soap. And smells like it. Can you smell anything else?” she asked, holding the jar out to Thea.

  “I can’t smell much apart from burning at the moment,” Thea said.

  “Oh. Of course. Well, the air should be clear soon.” Her mother stoppered the jar and set it aside, coming back to the table as Thea returned the soap to her pouch. “You were out a long time yesterday.”

  “Yes.” Thea stared at the tea in her mug for a long moment. “I was at the Citadel,” she said eventually.

  Her mother went still beside her, as if she had been frozen in time. Then she blinked, fingers tightening around the mug in front of her, knuckles white for a moment, and looked up, the colour faded from her face, pinched lines around her mouth that Thea was not used to seeing.

  “Did you see him?” her mother asked. No need to ask who she was talking about. There was only one person at the Citadel that her mother would be interested in. Reardon.