by Stina Leicht
The casement clock standing against the wall by the door ticked as Caius stumbled over his thoughts. Was I wrong to discuss the situation with the duke? I’m in too far to stop now. He took a deep breath. “There are three so far. All written on a page torn from a hornbook.”
“What do the notes say?” The duke moved closer, standing over him, and the conversation began to take on the air of an interrogation.
“Nothing that makes sense, Your Grace. Rhymes. I believe the verses are from a children’s prayer book,” Caius said.
The duke frowned. “Why hasn’t the director been made aware of this?”
“Surely, the director has had access to my reports,” Caius said, starting to sweat. Something isn’t right.
The duke turned away, pacing the room. After a few moments, he paused. “Perhaps he didn’t divulge every detail to his old friend. It is understandable, is it not?” His relaxed expression didn’t match the intensity of his gaze.
“I suppose so, Your Grace.”
The duke smiled. “You’ve no need for concern. I will speak of this to no one,” he said. “However, my guests are certain to be wondering where I am. Perhaps you can return another day and we can discuss your days at the Academy.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Caius hoped the invitation was only a cordial lie. He was certain he didn’t want any more of the duke’s personal attention. He followed the duke through the house to the main entry with an uneasy feeling. When the soothing thump of the front door signaled an end to the visit, Caius blew air out of his cheeks and checked his pocket watch. It read a quarter to ten. The moon was nearly full in a sky beleaguered by strengthening storm clouds. A hired coach pulled up, and a hurried lady exited in a blue silk evening dress and a fine wool cloak. Her hands were concealed in a fur muff. Her maid followed, carrying several bags, while the footman dealt with the trunks.
Caius stopped to help the maid and approached the coachman once the unloading was finished. “Would you take me to the Green Dragon alehouse on Porter Street? I’m willing to pay you.”
The driver squinted and his bushy brows bunched. “Isn’t that near Gibson Road?”
“It is.”
The driver gave Caius’s uniform a second look and glanced again at the house.
I came from the front door. He saw me.
“Right, then. No need for payment, sir. I’d be happy to take you. Be there in no time.”
After the footman closed the door, Caius settled on the padded bench inside and tugged up the collar of his greatcoat. The storm’s first snowflakes drifted past the window before he pulled the shutter closed.
The trip from the duke’s estate off Regent’s Street to the Green Dragon took half an hour. By the time Caius exited the coach, the snow was falling steadily. The alehouse’s clientele watched him order hot tea with nervous expressions, but since he made no move to arrest or kill anyone, the crowd eventually returned to their amusements.
The appointed hour came and went, and Caius decided to give Jack an hour before giving up. Caius spent the time going over the conversation with the duke. After ordering a pint of porter, he stared into the tankard as if the answers to his questions were in the bottom. He only pretended to drink.
Is it true that the director didn’t know about the notes? If it is, who’s interfering? Huntmaster Warden Aureus? Why? Who is the rogue? And why is Baron Munitoris Arion always unavailable? Is he the one? What is his connection to Gens Aureus?
Outside, the storm rattled the bull’s-eye panes, and the landlord placed more coal on the fire. When the tower clock in the square struck a quarter past eleven, the wind slowed and the Dragon emptied. At half past eleven, Caius assumed he’d been duped and stood up to leave.
The alehouse door swung open and two high-ranking Wardens entered. They scanned the empty smoke-scented room before making their way toward him. A shiver traced a cold finger up his spine. He heard the landlord drop a tankard with a loud thump. Caius knew the two Wardens on sight but hadn’t spoken to either before. Both answered only to the director and were most often seen transporting offenders to the Rehabilitation Hospital. Inspector Warden Aureus Martin was short and muscled where Inspector Warden Aureus Thaddeus was tall and gaunt. There was a vivid white scar on Thaddeus’s left cheek under his eye.
How did they know I would be here? Did they intercept Jack Dalton? What could they want from me?
Thaddeus was the first to speak. “The director wishes to see you.”
“Yes, sir. Now?” Caius asked.
“If it is convenient,” said Martin. His voice was low and commanding, suggesting that Caius’s convenience was actually of little concern.
Caius got the barkeep’s attention with a wave of his hand, left enough money on the table to pay for the porter he hadn’t drunk, and slipped on his greatcoat. Dread gathered in his belly. “Am I to know what this is about?”
“The director will inform you,” said Thaddeus. His face was unreadable. The scar on his cheek pointed to an almost-colorless blue eye that didn’t match its darker twin.
Caius left the alehouse with the Inspector Wardens, embarking on the long walk back to Regent’s and the Academy without exchanging further discourse. The wind might have lost its enthusiasm but the snow had not. Caius kept his hands in his pockets while his stomach twisted. I must’ve offended the duke. Or perhaps I’m in trouble for having divulged information about the rogue? In five years of training, he hadn’t once been inside the director’s mansion. Caius suspected that this wasn’t the preferred way to see it. He went over the conversation with Duke Aureus in his mind as he walked and came to the conclusion he shouldn’t have brought up the rogue to the duke at all.
After passing through security at the front gates, they arrived at the director’s home. One of the Inspectors opened the front door without knocking. A fifth-year cadet jumped up from a small writing table in the main passage and saluted. Caius returned the salute, as did the two who flanked him. Inspector Thaddeus signed the record book. The interior of the director’s mansion was more understated than that of Duke Aureus’s. There were no paintings on the cream-colored walls, and the silver plate decorations were limited to door handles and window frames.
“You may go in, sir. The director is expecting you,” the cadet said, motioning to a black door on the left.
Caius approached the door with an increasing sense of terror. He put a hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. He wasn’t much for praying—regardless, he scrambled to remember a few lines before opening the door.
Leather-bound books lined wood-paneled walls, and several decorative lamps shed yellowed circles of light. The director was seated at a large mahogany writing desk, writing in an open record book with a blown-glass quill. He looked up from his record entry and smiled a predator’s smile. His face was narrow with pale skin stretched tight over high cheekbones. Piercing eyes stared out from deep sockets, and the lamplight cast shadows on his face that made Caius think of a skull. The man’s uniform jacket was immaculate and void of insignia, with the exception of the small pewter eagles on his buttoned collar.
“Thank you for visiting on short notice. Please sit. I will be with you in a moment,” the director said.
Caius settled on the big leather chair. Sweat slid its way slowly down his sides from under his arms. He attempted not to fidget. The director wrote briefly, put the glass quill in its holder, blotted the page in the record book, and closed it. Caius couldn’t read what was written on the cover.
“The rogue hunter was apprehended and disposed of this evening. I wish to extend my personal thanks. Your methods, while unorthodox, have proven useful. You are promoted to Captain Inspector and will be provided a new residence, which I expect you to take full advantage of within the week.”
Caius blinked. How is that possible? I thought I was the only one looking into it seriously. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He allowed himself to breathe. “May I ask who made the arrest?”
“Inspector War
dens Aureus Thaddeus and Aureus Martin. Do not worry. It was your investigation which led them to the culprit. You’ll receive full credit.”
The director’s men. The investigation was being tampered with, but no longer. Caius felt the tension in his shoulders loosen. “Who was the one responsible, sir?”
The director’s face could’ve been carved in stone. “Her name was Lady Quinta Serena. She was a courtesan.”
None of my suspects were female. It’s doubtful she could’ve left the handprints on the victim’s necks. A woman’s hands would be too small. Might they have been affected by weather conditions? On such a scale? I must check my notes. What if the director is protecting the real culprit? But why would he do such a thing? What’s going on?
You will be provided a new residence, which I expect you to take full advantage of within the week. The director’s words gave him another chill. Provided my notes haven’t been meddled with as well. “Thank you, sir. If that is all, I will not trouble you further.” He got up from the chair, trying not to seem in too much of a hurry.
The director held up a hand. “There is one more item I wish to consult with you about.”
Caius stopped where he was. “Yes, sir?”
“As a Warden, you understand the threat malorum pose to the Regnum.” The director laced his fingers together on the surface of the writing table.
Caius nodded. While their numbers weren’t as excessive as the Acrasian people were led to believe, those with malorum taint were appearing more frequently in higher levels of society and government. He didn’t want to dwell on how that was possible, let alone happening, and this disturbing trend was causing anxiety among the nobility.
“The new theory is that malorum are evolving. Changing. Individual malorum more advanced than the whole have always existed.” An expression of distaste contorted the director’s face. “It is a complicated matter. The Acrasian Regnum is a free nation, after all, and plebeians should profit from hard work. They do require a great deal of motivation to overcome their slothful natures. However, it is my belief that certain rewards should be reserved for humans. The Senate’s policy of acceptance in regards to wealthy nonhumans will turn our passion for freedom against us.”
Clearing his throat, Caius risked a comment. “What of nonhumans who are loyal to the Regnum?”
“Nonhumans don’t have the mental capacity for complex concepts such as patriotism, self-sacrifice, and the common good.”
Caius didn’t agree but wasn’t about to admit it.
“The new Consul is attempting to convince the Emperor to disband the Brotherhood. If he succeeds, the Regnum will cease to be a haven for the human race, and it will be the Senate’s softness that brought us to it!” The director brought a fist down on the writing table. “Unorthodox methods are in order, Inspector.”
Uncomfortable with the display of rage, Caius shifted on his feet.
The director got up and walked to a shelf. “I do apologize, Captain Inspector Fortis. Can I count on your support and cooperation?”
“Yes, sir,” Caius said, feeling uneasy.
The director stared at the row of books before speaking. “His Grace, Aureus Severus. Do you know him?”
Caius blinked and tried to control his anxiety. “We are—were close friends, sir.”
“Have you communicated with him recently?”
“No, sir.” What does Severus have to do with any of this?
The director nodded and placed a hand on the shelf. “Indeed.” There was a pause before he continued. “I may have need of your expertise in a delicate matter. You will be required to follow orders implicitly, no matter how challenging or unusual. Would you be willing to do so?”
There was only one way to answer that question. “Yes, sir.”
“I thought you might. You may leave. I will contact you when you are needed,” the director said, only then turning to face him. The director’s face was once again unreadable.
Caius saluted and left. The Inspectors who had escorted him there were no longer waiting in the main passage. The cadet saluted before Caius made his way to the door. It had stopped snowing, and he headed for home, absorbed in thought. He splashed through slush puddles as he walked.
He hoped Severus wasn’t in trouble again. Severus had always done what he was told when he was told to do it with an exacting, unquestioning air that had been almost frightening. Caius had often taken it upon himself to broaden his friend’s horizons, to get him to think beyond orders—even to have a bit of fun. It had amused Caius to think that between the two of them, Severus had been more committed to his Academy studies and yet had been the weaker student. Still, Severus’s devotion to duty hadn’t saved him from the Rehabilitation Hospital.
The director’s voice echoed in Caius’s head. You will be required to implicitly follow orders, no matter how challenging or unusual. Would you be willing to do so? Caius had answered yes because one didn’t say no to the director’s requests, but Caius wondered what the director may have meant. How might Severus be involved? Severus simply wasn’t the type to associate with nonhumans. He avoided entanglements with them as if they disgusted him.
Anyway, if it were something so simple, why would the director ask me for help? Has Severus betrayed the Brotherhood? Or is the duke the problem? Is the duke smuggling nonhumans out of the city after all? What does the duke have to do with the rogue?
At half past one, Caius reached the stairs leading up to his apartments. He was exhausted but removed his greatcoat and uniform jacket at the hearth. He understood he wouldn’t be sleeping. Not tonight. And he remembered the evening with a sense of dread. He lit the oil lamp on the mantle with a long match. Then he headed to his study, lamp in hand, and opened the door. What he saw rooted him in place on the rug.
The wall where he’d kept his notes on the rogue hunter was blank. Tiny holes left behind by absent pins were the only indication that anything had been there. His fists clenched. He knew he should drop the matter—that pursuing it further would only bring trouble he didn’t have the money or power to combat. However, the director had ordered someone to break into his home and steal his notes. The thought of it made Caius’s stomach knot and his jaw clench.
You are to be provided a new residence, which I expect you to take full advantage of within the week. The reason for the promotion and seeming reward was obvious. The director wanted him where he could be watched. Somehow, Caius had stumbled upon something the director of Wardens, Aurum Atticus, didn’t want known. Once again, Caius was being warned off.
He stared at the wall, and its emptiness filled him with cold rage. It was then that he knew he wouldn’t abandon the investigation. He wasn’t a frightened cadet anymore.
He was a full Captain Inspector Warden.
BLACKTHORNE
NOVUS SALERNUM
THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA
TWENTY-THIRD OF MAITOKUU, 1785
He decided to make the journey to Mallory McDermott’s residence on Tyler Street alone. The others were preparing for the afternoon’s venture, and after two weeks of sharing tiny spaces with Reini, Blackthorne needed some time to himself. He didn’t like the memories living under such conditions dredged up.
It was an hour after dawn when he decided a private breakfast at the Golden Swan before meeting with Armas Frost would be a good idea. His dreams, always bad when he stayed in Novus Salernum, had been particularly unpleasant. The North End was some distance from Old Mercatur Road, enough so that hiring a hackney would be worth the savings in time. Dressed as his former self, he had small difficulty convincing the driver that he was good for the fee, but that issue was resolved with a half-payment up front.
Andrew Blackthorne, duelist, was an identity he hadn’t used in months. His forged papers were in order. Slate had seen to that. However, Blackthorne couldn’t shake the bad feeling he’d woke with. Gazing out the window, he saw that the townspeople seemed fearful and movement through the streets was hampered by periodic security ch
ecks by the Watch. They were squatting on Novus Salernum like a broody hen. That was bad enough. Then he spied a Warden Unit and his stomach did a flip.
He reached the Golden Swan at a quarter to eight. Strangely, it was one of the nicer establishments in which he did business—when Reggie Meade bothered to clean the floor. The outer walls of the place were dark brown, and the small glass panes in the door and windows were decorated with the occasional bull’s-eye. Today, the cobblestones out front had been swept clean and washed. He entered the common room and selected a table in his usual corner. With the exception of a few patrons who’d obviously not yet gone to their beds, the place was empty. Taking a seat, he signaled to Hattie, the barmaid, and ordered his breakfast. He’d swallowed all of two bites of his fried fish when he spied Armas.
Slipping onto the booth bench across from him, Armas said, “Back again, I see?”
Blackthorne nodded a greeting and continued eating his fried fish.
Armas waved Hattie over. “And how was the dueling in Archiron? Profitable?”
“Profitable enough,” Blackthorne said.
It was Armas’s turn to nod. Hattie arrived with a second plate of fish, and the two of them remained silent until she left. Watching Armas’s face for any sign of trouble, Blackthorne once again thought the man resembled a stray tomcat.
Armas’s hair was a thatch of sandy blond and grey pulled back from his ugly face in a halfhearted ponytail. Long scars sketched lines from either corner of his mouth and deep into his cheeks, widening a stubborn frown. Half of one pointed ear was missing. Armas had seen the sand of the arena and lived to claim citizenship.
Taking a quick glance around the common room, Blackthorne registered something he hadn’t given much thought to before. Having lived most of his life in Acrasia, he’d been accustomed to seeing smallpox scars, missing or twisted limbs, and syphilis skin lesions. However, one winter among kainen, and the sight bordered on a shock. It was then that he understood why humans had called the kainen “the beautiful ones” or “the shining ones.” It wasn’t because kainen happened to be more attractive than humans. It was because they had more effective healers.
