False Dawn: Ageless Mysteries - Book 2

by Vanessa Nelson

  “We’ll keep the Hand of the goddess to ourselves just now,” Ware said, settling at his chair and reaching into his desk drawer. “Thea, mage, do you want to sit?”

  “Actually, sir, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to see if I can find my contact and ask about the men at the markets,” Thea said, taking a step towards the door.

  “Go ahead. Mage?” Ware asked, holding up the bottle he had taken from his desk.

  “I think I should change,” Niath said, wrinkling his nose as he looked down at his robes. “I’m going to draw too much attention.”

  “Good idea.” Ware glanced outside the window. “It’s getting late. Will be dark soon. Why don’t we meet again tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll be here at the start of the day shift,” Niath agreed, and glanced at Thea. “Shall I leave the horse for you, Officer March?”

  “That’s kind,” Thea began. She had been going to refuse, but the stiffness across her back prompted her to change her mind. “If that’s alright?”

  “Of course. I’ll ask Sam to wait for you,” Niath said. “Good day to you all.”

  Thea left with the mage, hearing the sound of a drink being poured as she closed the door behind her.

  She let Niath go on ahead and stopped to speak with Iason before she left. He had arranged Margo’s body on a stretcher, covered with a plain sheet, and a quartet of Watchmen were waiting to carry the body away.

  “Nothing new for you,” Iason said as she paused.

  “Thank you, sir. Do you know where Examiner Soter is just now?”

  “She is probably back in her workshop. She wanted to look at the grass we found. Is there something you need?”

  “Not in particular just now, thank you, sir,” Thea said. “I’ve got some more things to follow up on, but I’ll maybe come by later if you or she will be at Brightfield House?”

  “For a little while longer I expect, yes,” Iason agreed. “Good luck.”

  “And you, sir,” Thea said, and left the building, wondering how she was going to manage to slip away from Sam long enough to find Matthew Shand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  In the end, she simply asked Sam to wait for her at the Cross Keys Tavern. Horses were a rare, but not unheard of, sight around Brightfield, and the triangular space where the tavern sat had outdoor benches and a trough that the horses could use. Sam seemed content to wait whilst she headed into the streets of Brightfield, avoiding the Watch Station and the glower of her Sergeant, if he was there. It felt like half a lifetime ago she had been in her own station, taking the complaint from William Young about his blue head.

  She made her way to the place where she had first met Matthew Shand. The collection of houses and gardens that were the territory of one of the city’s largest clan of night kind. Fiandar. A gentler sort of night kind than Niath’s hiandar, but still powerful beings in their own right.

  It was almost night as she reached the square and she stopped, almost involuntarily, as she reached the edge. She had remembered the look of the houses, and the layout of the gardens, but she had forgotten, or not noticed before, the life that vibrated through the air.

  The people she could see were all setting to work on the gardens, but there was laughter and lively conversation among them. And there were children playing, running in and about the adults.

  It was its own village. A community within the city.

  Thea hesitated. She had an instinct that what she needed to ask Matthew Shand would be unpleasant, and she did not want to disturb the joy of the evening.

  She had been seen, though. A two-tone whistle sounded from the old man she remembered from before. The look out.

  The whistle was different from the one he had used before. Rather than the whole atmosphere changing and becoming hostile, there were a few curious looks in her direction, but the laughter and conversation continued.

  They no longer saw her as a threat.

  In fact, it almost felt like a welcome.

  Her eyes stung and her heart warmed.

  She blinked to clear her sight as a man moved away from the crowd and came towards her. The very person she had come to see.

  “I thought I would be seeing you soon, Officer March,” he said, offering her a smile. “Won’t you come and sit and we can talk?” He indicated a long, low bench set near one of the houses. Far enough from the garden that they could pretend no one could hear them.

  “Thank you.” She followed him to the bench and settled, smiling as a pair of children ran past. “It’s lovely to see them play,” she said.

  “It is. They are the heart of us,” Matthew said.

  “I am sorry to interrupt, and for the questions I need to ask,” Thea said, turning to him.

  He waved a hand. “I think we are still in your debt.”

  “I don’t believe so.” She had managed to alert him to the fact that two of his people were being held captive, that was all. At the time it had felt like the only thing she could do, as the people who had held the night kind were favoured by the Archon. And Thea had not been willing, not then and not now, to cross the Archon’s will.

  It had been Matthew and his people who had broken into the building in the dead of night and rescued their people. Not her. And Matthew and his people who had got the captives, and their children, out of the city to a place where they could heal and be safe. Not her.

  She was ashamed of the fear that had stopped her from acting. But it was also familiar. The fear of the Ageless and what they might do had been a constant presence in her childhood. The habit of obedience, of trying to remain unseen, was still ingrained in her.

  “Let us agree to disagree on that.” He seemed quite sincere. “I see you do not have your shadow with you today. This must be serious.”

  “My shadow?” Thea felt her face warm. He could only mean Niath. She had grown quite accustomed to the mage being around, but had not realised others had noticed.

  “What do you wish to know?” Matthew asked, avoiding her question. He seemed perfectly relaxed, half-turned to face her.

  “The men at the market. What can you tell me about them?” Thea asked.

  She watched his relaxed posture stiffen, his face harden a fraction, and wondered if he would refuse to answer. She would not blame him. The stall holder at Wheatcroft, and Delilah Soames, had been afraid of the men. They had also faced up to a Watch Officer and a Citadel Mage. Dangerous men, even if they had seemed little more than petty bullies to her.

  “The four that you saw are part of a larger group. Those four seem to work the markets. But we believe there are others. We’ve seen them talking to others around the city,” Matthew said. He was not looking at her, instead staring into middle-distance.

  “What do they do?”

  “Bullying mostly,” he answered, lip curling in disdain. “At least, that’s what it seems. We rarely sell at the markets, but the last time some of my people were there, at Brightfield market, the men approached them and told them to pay a tithe. Or face the consequences.”

  Thea’s brows lifted. The fiandar as a rule lived quiet lives. But they were more than capable of looking after their own. As they had shown by the dead-of-night rescue. Only someone very foolish threatened one of the night kind. Assuming the men had known that the people they were speaking to were night kind.

  “What happened?”

  “My people refused. And found that no one came to their stall in the whole day. The other stall holders would not talk to them, and turned away when my people asked what was going on. They brought the produce back unsold.”

  There was an undercurrent of anger in Matthew’s voice. On the face of it, it might seem that nothing bad had happened. But many people who sold goods at the markets relied on that income to feed and clothe and house their families. Thea understood the anger. The four men could cut off much-needed income at will, it seemed.

  “Have you been back to the market since then?”

  “Not to sell, no. I’ve been
a few times, with my people, to buy. We’ve seen the men on most of our visits. The stall holders are afraid.”

  “The men didn’t seem all that threatening,” Thea commented.

  “No. I agree. But they have done something to make the people afraid.”

  “But you don’t know what it is?” Thea focused on Matthew’s face. He glanced up and met her eyes and shook his head. She believed him. “Thank you for talking to me,” she said, trying not to feel disappointed. He had told her what he knew. “I have another question, if I may?”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling. Fiandar used charm to lure people close to them, to draw off some energy. It sustained them far more thoroughly than any food. And Matthew Shand, as the leader of his clan, had more than his fair share of charm. Thea shook her head slightly, wryly amused. It was part of his nature, and she did not think he was aware he was trying to lure her.

  “We’ve come across a strange turn of phrase. I wondered if you knew it. The Hand of the goddess.”

  Thea had kept her eyes on the fiandar as she spoke, and watched his easy, smiling posture change. He stiffened, going almost motionless, and his face shifted, his aspect changing, his night kind nature showing through. Being fiandar, his aspect was softer than most. It was still starkly different, his face full of angles that no human would wear, his eyes dark lid to lid.

  “Not for a very long time,” he answered, voice deeper than it had been. “Where did you hear it?”

  “One of the stall holders. A woman called Margo Corris. Before she died. She said they made her do it and when I asked who, she said the Hand of the goddess.” Thea saw no reason to hide the truth. The phrase clearly meant something to him.

  He shifted position, turning away from her to sit facing forward on the bench, apparently focused on his people, who were still chatting and laughing.

  “Not everyone likes being ruled by the Ageless. Or the Archon,” he said.

  It was something that was widely known, and not widely discussed. An obvious statement. Thea bit her lip to hold in questions, sensing he had more to say. In his own time.

  It seemed a long time before he sighed, leaning back against the bench and glancing across at her. His aspect was still present.

  “There have been rumours. For a long time. Small gatherings. Discontent. The men that you saw. They’ve referred to themselves as the Hand more than once. But I never heard mention of a goddess.”

  “But you know that phrase.”

  “It’s an old phrase. Centuries old. Humans have short memories and shorter lives. We remember.” The head of the fiandar clan held her eyes with his own, pitch dark gaze. “We remember that there was a time before the Ageless. Before the Archon. When there were other beings worshipped by humans.”

  “A goddess?”

  “More than one. You will know Konrada. She was a gentle goddess. Imparting wisdom. But there were other, darker, beings.”

  “And this goddess, the one with the Hand, is one of the darker ones?”

  “Possibly. The one name I remember was Alayla. But I am sure there were others. I wasn’t alive then,” Matthew said, his human aspect reasserting itself. He smiled slightly. “I am old. But not that old.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Thea said slowly. She got to her feet, sensing that he had told her everything he meant to. Doubtless he had a lot more knowledge that he could share. But she had no means to compel him. “Did you hear about Meadowcroft market?”

  “The archivist losing her temper? The whole city heard about it. Why?” he asked, standing up as well.

  “The Ageless are disturbed about something. There is a risk that they might come into the city looking for answers,” Thea said, her face and voice stiff. “I am sorry, I cannot tell you more. But be careful over the next few days, please?”

  “We know how to look after our own, don’t worry. And you be careful, too. You young things have a habit of running into danger.”

  Thea laughed. “You’re not the first person to say that to me today.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Thea found Iason and Dina still at Brightfield House. They had been talking in Iason’s mortuary, Delilah Soames’ body on one of the mortuary tables between them. Both of the other two tables were occupied. The far table held Piet Riga, a sheet covering his body up to his chin. The middle table held Margo Corris, likewise mostly covered with a sheet, her face finally relaxed and at peace.

  “You look like you have news,” Dina said, brows lifting.

  “I think so. Perhaps something useful. I don’t know. Is there anything else to learn from Delilah Soames, sir?” Thea asked, turning to Iason.

  “A little more. There are bruises on her upper arms,” Iason said, lifting the sheet over the woman’s body to reveal Delilah’s arms. Large, angry bruises, Thea saw. “They are consistent with a hand print.”

  “On both arms and in the same place?” Thea asked, knowing the answer even before Iason nodded. “So, someone held her shortly before her death.”

  “With force, yes,” Iason said. “The hand prints are a similar size,” he added, before Thea could ask. “So it is probably the same person.”

  “Can you tell if she was being held from the front or from behind?” Thea asked, distracted by footsteps outside.

  The three of them turned to find Niath coming into the room. He had changed into a fresh set of robes, and hesitated on the threshold. Thea remembered Matthew Shand’s comment about her shadow and felt abruptly clumsy and awkward. She had no idea how or why Niath knew where to turn up to meet her, and now was not the time to ask. But one day she would. Even if she was not at all sure that he would answer, or that she would like what he had to say.

  “Apologies. I am disturbing you.” The mage paused in the doorway, as if unsure of his welcome. He was not looking at her in particular, but Thea’s face warmed, wondering if he had noticed her reaction.

  “No,” Iason said, covering Delilah again. “We were just catching up on what we’ve learned. To answer your question, Officer March, I think she was held from behind, by the placement of the bruises.” He placed his hand, palm down, on Delilah’s covered forehead. It looked almost like a blessing. Thea wondered if he had known Delilah in life. It was a moment only, and he moved away to wash his hands.

  A knot formed in Thea’s chest. Delilah had been held. Facing her killer. She had not been able to get away. She had seen what was coming for her. The mouldy herbs around her stall had already told Thea that Delilah had not been a good herbalist, but she had not deserved that fate.

  “Shall we go next door?” Dina suggested, as Iason began rolling his sleeves down.

  The room that Thea had been in before, laid out as a comfortable sitting room, with its magically powered urn that provided perfectly brewed, hot tea. There might also be biscuits.

  Thea tried not to sound too eager as she agreed.

  As she sank into one of the comfortable chairs, she realised that the ache across her back was mostly gone, but the rest of her body was aching more than enough to make up for it. It had been a long day. And was not over yet.

  Dina handed her a plate of food that raised Thea’s brows. Rather than the biscuit she had been hoping for, she had been provided with something better. The plate was piled with bread and cheese, bisected by a fork, with what looked like pickle to one side.

  “Did you stop to eat anything earlier?” Iason asked.

  “No,” Thea said, feeling her colour rise under the physician’s scrutiny.

  “I did not think so. We usually have some supplies here,” he added. Thea saw that everyone else had a similar plate to her own, and the heat in her face faded. She would bet that none of them had stopped, either. The others would be as conscious as she was of the Ageless’ deadline. The Citadel had given them four days. They had used two, and although they had more information, they also had even more questions.

  The food disappeared off Thea’s plate with her barely aware of eating it. But somehow
the plate was empty, a little bit of energy was returning to her body, and she was sitting back in the chair, cradling her teacup, letting the warmth seep through her fingers into the rest of her.

  “Apart from Delilah having been restrained before she died, was there anything else?” Thea asked.

  “She died very quickly,” Iason said. “It was a clean, precise strike. And, as far as I can tell, the knife that was thrown at you was the weapon that killed her.”

  “Someone who knew what they were doing, then,” Thea said, remembering her speculation from earlier in the day. “And who had the strength to cut through bone.” Most likely the metal worker. But there were still too many unanswered questions. Delilah had been restrained before she died. Possibly one person had held her whilst another killed her.

  “Yes,” the physician agreed, sitting back in his own chair. He looked as tired as Thea felt. She often wondered how he managed to stay so calm, and apparently retain his compassion and humour, when he spent his days examining the dead.

  “Did you learn anything new about Piet Riga?” she asked.

  “No. He’s ready for burial, as soon as his family is traced,” Iason said. “The wounds he sustained when the Ageless attacked are what killed him.”

  And there would be no consequences for the Ageless, Thea knew. Reardon had undertaken to arrange for compensation to the families, and the stall holders. That was all. Laurelle would not even be reprimanded. It made Thea’s skin itch to think of it.

  “And Margo Corris?” Thea asked, forcing her mind away from the Ageless.

  “The same poison as Edmund Anderson,” Dina confirmed.

  “The same element as was in the soap?” Thea asked.

  “Yes.” Dina was frowning. “And I still don’t know what it is. I’ve only just made a start on the grass we found. It doesn’t match anything I’ve come across before.”

  “How so?” Niath asked, startling Thea. He had been quiet, listening to them talk. As if he truly was a shadow. Present, but not interfering. “I mean, surely grass is grass?”