by Stina Leicht
Each was partitioned off by high carved oak walls and frosted glass doors—a sign that the alehouse, and possibly Old Mercatur itself, hadn’t always been as ill favored as it was now. However, the glass was the only aspect of the place that was well maintained. That detail stood out in his mind, and he pushed it aside for later consideration when he found Drake nursing a final inch of whiskey alone in the very last enclosure. Before entering, he paused to unbutton his greatcoat. As he did, the nearest snug emptied of its occupants. A number of the fleeing risked nervous looks in his direction on the way out. Ancient floorboards vibrated with the thud of heavy boots he could feel in the soles of his feet. A scruffy-looking youth in a dirty coat went so far as to tip his hat with a mocking smile before an elder tablemate shoved a hand in the boy’s back, and they vanished into the crowd.
Caius let the snug’s doors close behind him with some relief.
Captain Drake glanced up. She appeared annoyed, but then, Caius suspected she didn’t tend to employ many other facial expressions.
“My message said to meet at one, Fortis,” she said. “It’s a quarter past three. Curfew is at four. I’ve other things to do than wait on you, you know.”
“I regret having put you to the trouble of waiting,” Caius said. Resorting to formality when flustered was a habit he’d picked up from Severus. Severus had often said it gave a better impression than gawping. “Unfortunately, it was unavoidable.”
Unimpressed, she said, “You should’ve changed out of your uniform. Green Dragon is Syndicate, you know. News of a Warden drinking with a Watch captain will spread like a company fire. And, I’ll note, before we finish our first drink.”
Oh. I should’ve thought of that. Caius sat down and rubbed his hands on his legs to warm them. The bench lacked padding. It was unforgiving against his back, and the smoky fire in the tiny, tin-framed fireplace across the room couldn’t penetrate the snug’s glass doors. He left his grey knitted scarf around his neck.
“What did you want to see me about that is so secret?” she asked.
He whispered, “I wished to discuss several persons you may have recently interviewed at the request of the Brotherhood.”
“And I understood you people don’t give a damn about the North End,” Captain Drake said, matching his low tone. “How many bodies they have found so far? I’ve counted nine.”
Nine? I thought it was only six. How is it that she knows more about my own case than I do? Caius tightened both fists to contain frustration. Don’t be so quick to take her word.
The North End assignment was an independent investigation. His supervisor had stated it was to be a test. However, the same supervisor had apparently also ordered Drake to inspect hunting licenses without Caius’s knowledge. The only reason Caius had found out was because his former partner, Tavian, had been assigned an administrative post, and Caius had asked Tavian to tell him about anything unusual. Tavian still owed him, after all.
Progress on the North End case had reached a dead end, and Caius didn’t believe it was due to cleverness on the part of the rogue in question. Someone higher up in the chain of command is tampering with the investigation. Recently, he’d been informed that the director himself had taken a personal interest in the North End problem. The fact that Caius had been given the case without a partner was, in and of itself, a powerful statement, but until this moment, he’d naively let himself accept the reasons his supervisor had provided.
I’m expected to fail, Caius thought with an increasing sense of doom. “I’m not authorized to disclose such information to you.” This is a public place. A Syndicate place. Assume others are listening. At least the two of them were well out of sight of the Brotherhood—his original reason for agreeing to meet her outside his usual haunts.
He repositioned the candle on the table so that he could talk to her without staring into the flame.
“Hmph. And maybe I’m not authorized to discuss the interviews with you either.” She folded her arms across her chest and slumped against the bench with a thump.
Caius sighed. “I didn’t intend for this to be an antagonistic conversation.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have been two hours late. It’ll be dark soon.”
“Why are you concerned?” Caius asked. “The curfew doesn’t pertain to you.”
“That’s true,” she said. “But it does affect the market. And unlike you, I have to do my own damned shopping.”
He frowned. Damn it. I need allies, not more enemies. But I can’t apologize. She’s a Watch captain.
“Don’t look so damned helpless,” she said. “Just … buy me a swiving drink.”
“Very well,” Caius said, standing and motioning for the landlady above the snug’s swinging doors. “What would you like?”
The landlady nodded from across the room.
“Whiskey,” Captain Drake said. “Not the cheap stuff.”
“The best they have.”
She blinked. “Do you mean it?”
“Will you tell me what you know?” Caius asked.
“Don’t you damned Wardens talk to one another?” she asked. She paused for a calming breath and then returned to a whisper. “I thought you said you’d been assigned to the North End.”
Someone knocked on the snug’s frosted glass door. A young female voice asked, “Did you want something, my lord?”
Caius could see her blurred form through the glass, and if he’d been watching, he’d have seen her approach. The function of the glass occurred to him at the same instant as her honorific. “My lord”? “Ah, I own no lands. My father is—”
“I’ll have a glass of the Eledorean, Fran,” Drake said.
A blonde barmaid with elph features pushed the doors open wide enough for her to stick her head in. “Captain Drake? How are you this evening? Do you want something to eat?”
“I know what you put in that stew of yours,” Drake said. “Just the Eledorean whiskey.”
The barmaid gave Caius a sideways glance and then said, “We don’t stock such a thing. That would be illegal. All our whiskey is of Acrasian make. Official tax stamp and everything.”
Drake moved closer to the barmaid, Fran. “Have you seen his uniform?” Drake gave a sideways nod in Caius’s direction. “Now, I have it on good authority that you do have Eledorean whiskey.” She lowered her voice. “And you keep it in the storeroom under the crate labeled ‘bar towels’.”
Fran went pale.
He shrugged and then reached inside a pocket to produce a ten-sterling piece. “Bring the bottle.”
Fran’s jaw dropped. “W—will you be needing anything else, my—sir?”
“A dish of chocolate,” Caius said.
“We don’t have chocolate … sir,” Fran said.
“Then a pint of ale and a half-hour’s privacy,” Caius said. “Understood?”
She nodded, snatched up the coin, and left.
Captain Drake waited for the doors to stop swinging to lean forward. Caius caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath. She said, “You’ve just guaranteed the Syndicate’s attention.”
He tried to look unconcerned. “How long do we have?”
“I give it an hour or two,” she said. “It’ll take that long before George finds out Fran sold the Eledorean behind his back. Add a few minutes for him to beat that coin out of her.”
“Then we’d best get started,” Caius said in an attempt to hide his horror.
Drake got out her own notes while he retrieved his notebook and graphite stick from his waistcoat. She passed him a list of names—those she’d been told to interview.
“The last name on your list is Baron Munitoris Arion,” Caius said. “What do you know of him?”
When she heard the name, Drake paused. “Arion is rich. Well connected. No visible means of support, but we both know that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Volunteers as a teacher at a charity school off Ninth, which is unusual given his … interests. Owns a large white house in Old Town off of
Regent’s Square. On Oakwood Avenue.”
“You have a good memory.”
“He was memorable. Largest permit number I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen that many, mind you. What else do you want to know?”
Why involve the Captain of the Watch in a routine tag check? If it was of no importance, why not have a cadet handle it? He’d had those questions from the instant he’d spoken to Tavian. Why did they risk involving her further?
Because she might not see what a Warden is trained to see. “Wait,” Caius said, paging back through his own notes. “Did you say his … records were up to date? Including the permit?”
“I did,” Captain Drake said.
“I see,” Caius whispered half to himself. The permit record stored in the Hall of Records had had been altered, and whoever had altered it didn’t want the change recorded. How far does this go?
“What is it?” Drake asked.
He paused, thinking of how to frame his next questions. Start at the beginning. “What does Arion look like? Any identifying characteristics?”
She shivered in revulsion. “He’s part malorum. You can tell by the eyes. I don’t even want to think about how that’s possible.”
Caius’s heart thudded in his ears. The Baron’s lineage hadn’t been documented on the card in the Hall of Records, and it should have been. Particularly if his lineage carries a malorum’s taint. The Brotherhood would be very interested in such a person.
What is going on?
“He’s balding. Black hair,” she continued. “Average-looking. Average height. Would think he was afraid of his own shadow, that is, until you found his knife in your gullet.”
I need allies. A partner, perhaps, Caius thought. Someone outside the Brotherhood. That last thought brought with it a renewed sense of duplicity and fear. He believed in the Brotherhood of Wardens, or he used to. The Brotherhood was honorable and just. It was beyond reproach. The Brotherhood were the guardians of the Regnum. What if Father was right? What if Severus’s doubts were valid all along?
Caius swallowed. “I want everything you can find out about Arion. I’ll pay. And you will speak to no one else of the matter.”
“Forget it,” she said, and folded her arms across her chest.
He tried not to let his desperation show. “Are you certain?”
“I’m not going back to that house. Or anywhere near that man. Ever again,” she said. It was then that he understood she wasn’t angry or insulted. She was afraid. He hadn’t thought that possible before.
She said, “That house and its servants are intended to keep things in rather than out, if you catch my meaning.”
He paused, not quite understanding but unwilling to show ignorance. “How do you know?”
“I know. My father was Syndicate. A street harvester with an eye for moving up to burglary,” she said. “He had a Retainer, Fortis Vita.”
“That isn’t unusual.”
“Sure. She taught me a thing or two. And that’s why I’d bet my stripes Arion wasn’t the one paying those Retainers,” she said. “That … man was a prisoner in his own house.”
It was a foolish move, but Caius didn’t see another way. He needed her help. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he revealed the protective wallet strapped across his chest and close to the skin. It was made of heavy black canvas sewn in quilted vertical rows. Although it was common practice for patrol wardens to wear wallets, the Brotherhood didn’t want that known for obvious reasons. Wallets were issued to all patrol wardens for protection. The compartments were left to the individuals to fill. Each row of silver was sewn closed to prevent easy access. Keeping his back to the rest of the room, he used his knife to open one of the rows and heard her gasp.
Before she could utter a word, he said, “I’d be very grateful if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”
“Of course.”
He counted out twenty sterling coins, stacking them neatly on the worn tabletop. He saw her tongue trace the edge of her lip as if she were a bloodflower addict presented with a prize sample. “Does your refusal stand?”
She reached for the silver, but he stopped her. Her hand was warm under his, and he felt a sudden charge of attraction.
“We’d best get that out of sight,” she said, staring at the coins.
“Do we have an agreement?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes. I’ll get what you want.”
Releasing her hand, he saw her pull up the tail of her shirt and unfasten it from the bottom, revealing the smooth skin of her abdomen. The sterling coins jingled as she dropped them into a small leather belt pouch. She glanced up and caught him staring. He averted his gaze at once, but he caught her expression before he did. It was a small knowing smile and a raised eyebrow, and all at once, he was slammed with a powerful sense of desire. She let her shirt drop.
At that moment, Fran arrived with the whiskey and left the unmarked bottle without looking at or speaking to either one of them. Caius poured in order to fill the awkward silence. The neck of the bottle clinked three times as he touched it to the short glass. He stopped pouring when it was an inch and a half full. She waved him on. The short glass was filled with the amber liquid before she signaled for him to stop. The scent of fine whiskey with its rich, smoky hues wafted up his nose as he pushed the drink in front of Captain Drake.
“Do you like whiskey?” she asked.
“No.”
“Too bad,” she said. “They say the Eledoreans used magic to brew this stuff. It’s like no other. Not even the elphs in Ytlain brew whiskey the same way. It’s too bad they’re all dead now.” She sipped the contents of her glass, savoring its contents before swallowing. “Emily.”
“What?”
“My name is Emily.”
“Caius.”
“Nice to meet you, Cai.” She emptied her glass.
He halted an urge to lie and tell her that no one called him that. “There is no need for you to pay another visit to the Baron. I don’t expect he’d be home, if you did. Particularly if he’s as connected as you say.”
“All right. When do you want my report?”
“We can meet here. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t do it.”
He paused while pouring her another round. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“It’s a secret.” Once again, she let a hint of a smile slip across her lips.
“Fine,” Caius said. “Don’t tell me.”
“Oh, pour me another and maybe I will.”
“I thought you were angry with me.”
She shrugged and patted her money belt. “It’s quite possible I’ve forgiven you.”
He held up the whiskey. He was warming up to her. “It only took one drink?”
“Tomorrow morning, I’m meeting one of the Consul’s lackeys along with one Censor Fortis Crispus at the North Gate,” she whispered. “To assist in an arrest. It looks like a member of Gens Aureus has been illegally smuggling nonhumans out of the city.” She paused for another swallow. “Doesn’t that sort of thing usually fall under the Brotherhood’s jurisdiction?”
Caius put down the bottle and frowned. “It does.”
“Then it would seem the new Consul has lost faith in the Brotherhood.”
If so, he’s not the only one. “I rather doubt that.” Something in the room didn’t seem right, and he couldn’t place what it was until he realized the musicians had stopped playing. The alehouse felt quieter. Watchful. “I should go. I’m on duty in an hour.”
“Mind if I take the bottle?”
“It’s yours.” Caius got up from the table, edged around it, and then buttoned his greatcoat before leaving the snug.
She stood up as well and then leaned into him. Her whisper tickled his ear. “I’ll send you what I have later tonight.” Then she gently bit his earlobe.
His jaw dropped.
She murmured in his ear. “We’re being watched. It’s
best to give them a reason for our chat that they’ll understand.” And then she kissed him.
She tasted of sweetness gone bitter. Before he knew it, her tongue slid into his mouth. Blood rushed in his ears. His very bones shuddered with need, and he knew right then he was in over his head. She’s clever. Too clever. Do not listen to your cock. She’s distracting you. But part of him, specifically the aforementioned cock, didn’t give a damn. He returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Then her lips parted from his every bit as suddenly as they had arrived.
“Now get out of here,” she said.
Gasping, he exited the snug—doubly glad of his greatcoat because it covered his cockstand. The patrons roared in laughter, and the musicians went back to their work. He stumbled to the door to the opening strains of a bawdy tune called “The Warden and the Duchess of Gibson Road”.
It was midnight before the remainder of his evening’s duties were complete. Caius splurged on a carriage ride home. The night had grown painfully sharp and there was a metallic edge in the breeze. He suspected it was going to snow soon. The carriage stopped outside his living quarters. The wobbly step extended with a clang. Caius reached up, giving the driver a certificate of reimbursement with a small sterling note for a tip. The coach left with a rush of horse’s hooves on cobblestones that echoed in the empty, lamp-lit street. Tomorrow would be an early day; he was scheduled for a morning watch shift. He hoped to make progress on at least one of his assignments in the morning.
“Would you be Inspector Fortis?” The voice was young and cheerful—a little too cheerful.
Caius threw his back to the brick wall that protected the rooming house from the street and laid a hand on his pistol until he spied the voice’s owner.
A scrawny, dirty boy of eleven stepped from the shadows under the stairway. The boy wore a man’s frock coat, the hem of which reached his ankles. The sleeves were rolled up and all of the buttons were missing. His feet were encased in worn boots with string laces. He held himself tall as if he were a debased noble.
