“Would you send a message to Captain Handerson or Senior Sergeant Sutter, please? They will want to be informed and to see this for themselves,” Thea said, ignoring the hostility.
“Already done,” the Watchman answered, sneering.
“Good. Thank you. I think there might be injured in the market. Can you and your men help to search?” she asked.
“We’ll deal with it. You get back to your own business, Officer March,” he said, moving away.
Thea watched his back for a moment, then shook her head. She hadn’t expected hostility outside of her own district. It seemed her Sergeant was not the only one who jealously guarded his own territory.
“We need to search the man and his stall,” Thea said, turning to Niath. “See if he has any more of those fake coins.”
“You think this is his stall?” Niath asked, looking at the ground around him. There were bits of splintered wood, a worn stretch of red fabric, and bits and pieces of what looked like metal jewellery.
“He was selling jewellery,” Thea realised, crouching near the closest examples. “I wonder if it’s the same man that was at the Wheatcroft market?”
“I might be able to tell,” Niath said unexpectedly. “Or we could ask the other stall holders.”
“Let’s do both, please,” Thea said, most of her attention on the jewellery. “This is very fine work,” she observed, picking up a bracelet. It was a link chain with charms hanging off it, the charms in the shape of ancient letters.
“Whoever made that would need a furnace,” Niath observed.
~
Thea watched with grim satisfaction as the captain arrived and instructed the local Watchmen to obey Thea’s orders as if they were his own. The Watchmen were not happy, but said nothing in the face of Ware’s bleak expression and Sutter’s presence.
She told the captain and Sutter what she knew, and had to repeat some of it as Dina arrived in the middle.
“Ageless?” Dina said, looking around. She had lost some of her colour.
“Laurelle,” Thea confirmed.
“She does have a temper,” Dina agreed. She turned back to the captain. “I’m not sure why you wanted me here?”
“Tell her, Thea,” Ware instructed.
“Laurelle lost her temper when this man handed her a fake coin,” Thea said. “We need to go over his market stall and his person to see if there are any more coins. Or any clues,” she added, suddenly weary. “He said he had no choice.”
“He also said that we deserve to be free and the goddess would save him,” Niath said. He had been so still and quiet that he had almost managed to blend into the surroundings. Thea saw Ware send him a sharp look, as if surprised to find the mage still there.
“The goddess?” Dina asked, brows lifting. “We haven’t had a goddess for a while.”
It was an understatement. In the time before the Ageless had arrived among humans, there had been gods and goddesses worshipped by humans. But that had been centuries before. And humans had lost their connection with their past beliefs. Or so Thea had thought.
“This stall?” Dina asked, looking critically at the ground. “I recognise some of this work. He goes around a few markets.”
“We think he might also have been at the Wheatcroft market when the last fake coin was handed to one of the Ageless,” Thea said.
“Eh? Too much of a coincidence, then,” Dina said.
“I agree,” Thea said.
“You have a theory?” Ware asked.
“I think that he deliberately gave the coin to Laurelle. I think that we’ll find that the other coins on his stall are genuine,” Thea said, mouth dry again, trying not to think about the implications of what she was saying. The man had, for reasons she did not yet know, deliberately handed a forged coin to one of the Ageless. Knowing that Laurelle would recognise it as fake. Knowing that she would most likely lose her temper and lash out.
There had to be some reason for it. Some purpose that she did not understand.
“So we’re looking for nothing, then?” Dina asked. “Best get started, then.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It took the rest of the daylight, and help from Niath, to confirm Thea’s suspicions. There were no other fake coins anywhere in the dead man’s stall. Or, indeed, anywhere in the market.
The dead man, whoever he was, had brought a single forged coin with him, and had handed it to the only Ageless in the market. There had been no chance or coincidence to it. A deliberate, planned act. One for which the dead man had said he had no choice.
By the time they had finished searching the market, the Watchmen had taken statements from all the other stall holders who had been present when Laurelle lost her temper. They also had a name for the dead man. More than one name, in fact. But the one that most people seemed to agree on was Piet Riga. Some of the other stall holders had also provided an address. In Highfield, one of the poorer areas of the city. The address made Thea’s brows lift to her hairline. She had been at Highfield Station for part of her training, and she knew the building. It was a ramshackle three storey building held together by patched repairs, with individual rooms rented out. It was sandwiched between a brothel and a tannery.
Despite the location, it was always full. There were always factory workers needing somewhere to stay, and apprentices whose masters didn’t have room for them. People looking for somewhere cheap to rest. And somewhere that the building’s caretaker did not ask too many questions. As long as the rent was paid on time.
Dina knew the address, too. She and Iason had been there more than once to investigate a suspicious death, which almost always was alcohol or narcotic-related. The caretaker had generally been surly and uncooperative, wanting them to get a move on so that he could rent the room out again.
Ware listened to Thea and Dina’s summaries of the building and frowned down at the dead man. They had covered him with one of the loose bits of fabric from the market, but the Watch’s mortuary cart had not yet arrived.
“He looked fairly well dressed,” the captain said. “Not the sort of person who would be in a workers’ house like that.”
“No,” Thea agreed, crouching by the body and lifting the cloth a little so she could see the man’s clothes. Piet Riga. He seemed smaller in death, his dying words echoing around her mind. He did not fit the usual tenants of the building in Highfield. “His clothes look clean and relatively new. Not the normal homespun at all.”
“We are in a fabric market,” Sutter said. “Anyone wearing homespun clothing would stand out.”
“That’s true. I wonder what he wore in Wheatcroft?” Thea frowned at the man. The clothes he was wearing here were more akin to the clothing worn by the wealthy. Tightly woven fabric, all the seams and edges straight. The cuff of his sleeve that she could see was carefully stitched with no signs of wear.
“I’ll find out,” Sutter promised.
Thea looked up, opening her mouth. She hadn’t meant to add to his workload.
He shook his head slightly before she could speak. “You’re going to be busy enough tomorrow,” he told her.
“Oh?” She rose to her feet.
“We’ve found about two dozen furnaces across the city,” he said. “Most of them we can rule out.” He pulled a neatly folded sheet of parchment from his uniform. “These are the ones that are worth a closer look.”
Thea glanced at the list, her sharper eyesight allowing her to read in the uncertain light, and her brows lifted.
“You managed to reduce the list to a half dozen?” she asked, impressed.
“Quite a few of the furnaces are clustered together. The other metal workers would notice someone forging coins,” Sutter answered. She thought there was a touch of colour in his face.
A downdraft of chill air against her face distracted her and she looked up, along with everyone else, to see one of the Ageless descending from the night sky, the great span of their white wings gleaming against the dark.
The Ageless
landed on the ground with light feet, wings folding away behind his shoulders and the black uniform he wore.
Reardon.
Her muscles tensed, lips pressing together. She wanted to move away before he could see her, which was ridiculous. She did not want to draw his attention. She liked her life, and the freedom she now had to make her own decisions, with the threat of Conscription no longer hanging over her.
She made herself stand still, and take a breath. As far as he was concerned, she was just another member of the Watch. He was not here for her.
As she breathed out, she noticed that he looked as displeased to be there as she was to see him.
“Commander Reardon,” Ware said, taking a step forward to meet the Ageless. “What can we do for you?”
“I came to return this,” Reardon said, holding up a small metal object that glinted in the available light, “and to see the damage for myself.”
“This is the coin that the stall holder gave to Archivist Laurelle?” Ware asked, taking the object.
“Yes.” Reardon was looking around him, a frown growing on his face. “How many dead?”
The question surprised Thea. The Ageless had never seemed to care who they hurt or how many died, as long as they got what they wanted.
“Two,” Ware said, voice heavy. “The stall holder who gave the archivist the coin. And an elderly woman. We think her heart gave out.”
“If you send details to the Citadel, I will see that the families are compensated,” Reardon said.
Thea stared at him, torn between further surprise that he cared enough to ask about the dead and their families, and disappointment at the familiar refrain from the Ageless that they could provide money as compensation.
The Ageless did not often seem to notice the damage they did, or the bodies they left behind. When they did, they seemed to believe that providing coins to the families of the dead would make up for the loss. Thea had even seen one of the Ageless demand thanks from a widow for the few coins that the Ageless was giving to her.
The coins helped. Of course they did. But the families would much rather have their lost one back with them. Something Thea believed the Ageless would never understand. A human’s life was so short compared to the vast stretch of time of an Ageless’ lifetime.
Ware said nothing to Reardon, just nodded once, and glanced at Sutter to make sure the request had been noted. Of course it had been. Thea felt confident that the details of the dead and their families would be with the Citadel by morning light.
“What have you learned?” the Ageless asked.
It was only then that Thea realised he had put away his Ageless aspect and was showing his human face. His wings had vanished, with the magic that all the Ageless carried, and the frost of Ageless power had faded, so he seemed to be just a soldier.
“Officer March?” Ware asked.
“Sir. The dead man has been identified as Piet Riga. He was a stall holder here and at Wheatcroft market. Having searched his stall and the market, we can confirm that this is the only forged coin. Before he died, the man said that he had no choice but to give the coin to the archivist.”
“You are quite certain this was the only fake coin?” Reardon asked.
“Yes,” Niath said. “I confirmed it myself. All the other coins are genuine.”
“It was deliberate, then? No accident?” Reardon asked. For the first time, Thea sensed a direct question from him, seeking information, and not assuming any superior knowledge on his part. It made her immediately wary. She did not want to like him.
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
“Piet Riga. I don’t know that name. Do you have any more details?” Reardon asked.
“Not really,” Ware answered. “I have sent Watchmen to his lodging.”
“A jeweller?”
“Not quite,” Ware answered again. “He sold jewellery on behalf of others. We do not think he was a craftsman himself.”
Reardon absorbed the information, looking around the market again. There were still Watchmen on duty, and they had begun to let the stall holders back into the marketplace to collect their belongings. All around them, Thea could hear the low-voiced conversations of the stall holders. For many of them, months of work had been ruined, torn apart by the archivist’s rage. Knowing that one of the Ageless had done the damage, many of the stall holders were not happy at the presence of another of the Ageless in the market. They were clever enough to keep their opinions to themselves, though, their feelings evidenced by the bowed heads, turned shoulders and sideways glances.
Thea wondered if Reardon noticed the displeasure at his presence, and if he cared. She suspected not, on either count.
“If you send me a list of damages as well,” Reardon said, turning to Sutter, “I’ll see that the market sellers are compensated.”
Thea was not the only one staring. Paying compensation for the dead was something the Ageless had done before. She could not remember a single occasion when the Ageless had thought about the loss of income or earnings. Sutter’s brows lifted, but he simply nodded.
“What next?” the Ageless asked, turning back to her.
“Sir. I want to see the dead man’s room. And talk to the stall holder from the Wheatcroft market. The one who had the first forged coin.” The dead man’s actions put that first incident into a new light. Thea wondered if the other stall holder might have a similar story to tell. No choice. Freedom. And the goddess.
“The Citadel wants this resolved quickly,” Reardon said. There was a certain tightness around his mouth that suggested he might have other views. Thea’s interest sharpened. The Ageless did not always agree with each other. But when an order was made by the Citadel, she had never heard any of the Ageless openly contradict it.
“We’re aware,” the captain said, jaw tight. “We were given four days. Today was the first.”
Reardon said nothing.
“Do we have four days?” Thea asked. His silence made her suspicious.
“I don’t know,” he answered. Another first. One of the Ageless admitting there was a limit to their knowledge.
“Who makes that decision?” she asked, partly out of curiosity and partly out of a need to know.
“The Citadel,” Reardon answered, mouth tightening.
She would get no more information from him, she knew, and saw, by the frowns around her, that everyone else was as little impressed with his answer as she was. There was no one who held that title. The Citadel was a place, not a person.
“Sir, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to get to the dead man’s room,” Thea said, looking at Ware.
“Go,” the captain answered.
“Sir,” she acknowledged and turned away, sudden urgency taking hold.
Niath went with her, matching her stride.
“Is Sam still around?” she asked. It had been a long day, and she had no idea if the horses would still be available. It would be a long walk across the city to Highfield, and now she was moving, the sense of urgency was growing.
“He is waiting for us,” Niath answered. “Do we need to hurry?”
“I think so,” she answered, and shook her head. Her mind was turning on the fact that the jeweller had deliberately given the coin to Laurelle. And said he had no choice. There was something more at work here. Something they didn’t understand yet. “I think that if we don’t hurry, something bad will happen.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The horses were surprisingly willing to canter through the quiet streets of the city, seeming to have no difficulty with the poor light or changing surfaces under their hooves as they moved between cobblestone and packed earth, Hern as fresh as he had been that morning.
Despite the rush, they were still too late.
As they turned into the street where Piet Riga had lived, Thea could smell the smoke.
Her horse stopped abruptly, throwing up his head, snorting a protest. Thea lurched forward, out of the saddle, coming to land on Hern’s neck. He twitched
an ear back towards her and ducked his head so that she slid downwards. She managed to get her feet down first and staggered forward, finding that she was still holding the reins.
“Nicely done, miss,” Sam said, appearing at her shoulder and holding out a hand for the reins.
“Really?” she asked, surprised, giving him the horse’s reins, and discovering they were tangled around her ankle. She freed herself, colour rising in her face. “It didn’t feel like it.”
“There’s a building on fire,” Niath said. “Sam, keep the horses safe.”
“Ay,” the groom said, and headed away, the horses with him.
The building that they wanted to visit was the one on fire. There was thick smoke pouring out of the upper windows. There had been no glass there to start with, as far as Thea could tell, just warped shutters that, even as she looked, set alight as well, orange flames brilliant in the dark.
“The whole street will go up,” Thea said, and drew her Watch whistle, sending the shrill sound into the night.
There were people spilling out of the building, most of them half-dressed, clutching the rest of their clothes, disoriented and staggering. Some of them were dressed, arms around untidy bundles of what might be their belongings. The doors of the brothel next door opened, too, and more half-dressed people, men and women both, the women with painted faces, joined the residents of the building running up the street, trying to get away.
An answering whistle met her ears, then another and another. Highfield was a poor area, with plenty of crime to keep the Watch busy, so their night patrol would be mostly out on the streets.
“What can I do?” Niath asked.
“Can you stop the fire?” Thea asked, not really expecting him to say yes.
“I don’t think so,” Niath said, staring at the building with a focused, intent expression. “I can tell you where it started, though.”
False Dawn: Ageless Mysteries - Book 2 Page 13
