Blackout: Book One (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Adam Drake

  “Are those cats always correct?”

  The question gave me pause. No, not always, I thought.

  To Fairfax I said, “Think of them as giving us a nudge in the right direction.”

  “If a nudge gets us Oswall's killer, I'm all for it,” Fairfax said, and patted his holstered pistol with a grin.

  We left the buggy and ascended the wide stairs to the entrance. Large columns lined either side and cast shadows across our path. I wondered at the cost of the place.

  Cresting the top step we found the huge double doors of the front entrance closed. A stand in front had a sign which read 'Closed for the day. Will be open tomorrow promptly at 9 a.m.'.

  “Well, this isn't helpful,” Fairfax said.

  I noticed a bell rope in a nook next to the doors and pulled it. From within could be heard the faint sound of chimes. We waited.

  A man pushing a broom rounded one corner of the building. He wore a simple brown janitor's uniform with a flat hat. Upon seeing us he approached. “Ain't no one inside now,” the man said.

  “We're here to see the Curator,” said Fairfax. “Is he around?”

  The janitor leaned on his broom and pushed up his cap. “Sorry, Mister Othmar is in the Capital. Should be back by airship some time around afternoon tea.”

  “Capital?” I said.

  “Yeah,” said the janitor. “Got himself in a spot of trouble with the central museum there.”

  “What kind of trouble?” I said.

  “His big bosses wanted to rake him over hot coals on account of the burglary,” he said. Then he looked about and leaned closer. “If you ask me, it would do Mister Othmar good to have a talking to from his betters.”

  “Why is that?” I said.

  “Well, he's a bit of snob, is all,” the janitor said. “Needs to be taken down a peg or two. But you didn't hear that from me.”

  “Not to worry,” I said. “We wanted to talk to him about the burglary. Were you here when it happened, by chance?”

  The janitor's eyebrows shot up and disappeared beneath the rim of his cap. “Me? No, not at all. Happened at night. I was home in bed then, I was. You can ask my missus if you don't believe me. And that's what I told that detective fellow when he was here.”

  I offered a warm smile. “Are there any other employees here that we can speak with?”

  He shook his head. “No ma'am. Everyone's at home or getting into their drink. Just me here, unfortunately. Could use a drink myself.”

  Fairfax asked, “Where can we find Winimar Hubertus? Do you know where he lives?”

  Again, the janitor looked surprised. “The night caretaker? Didn't the detective tell you? Hubertus is still laid up in the hospital, last I heard. Doubtful he's recovered so soon.”

  Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Hospital? Was he hurt during the burglary?”

  “Nah, not hurt. Not really,” the janitor said. “He was asleep when Mister Othmar opened the doors in the morning. Sprawled out on the floor like a drunk soldier after the Victory Day celebrations. But it turned out he wasn't drunk at all. Heard he was spelled to sleep. Been that way close to three or four days now.”

  I glanced at Fairfax. It would have been nice to have that little detail in the report. To the janitor I said, “He's at the Primary Hospital, I presume?”

  “Yeah, that's the only one with a Warding Master who can work the spell outta him.”

  I nodded and said, “Very good. We will go see if the poor man is awake then. If you would be so kind as to inform Mister Othmar that we will call on him later?”

  “Of course, Miss,” the janitor said.

  After giving him our names we returned to the buggy. Once inside Fairfax said, “Spelled asleep? That's peculiar.”

  “And getting turned to stone is less peculiar?” I said.

  “No, not what I meant,” he said, scratching his bushy mustache. “Why would this Hubertus be put to sleep, but Oswall turned to stone?”

  “True,” I said. Then it hit me. “Unless we are dealing with two culprits working together.”

  Fairfax gave me a look. “Or we have two separate and unrelated cases. You sure those cats of yours can be trusted not to lead us astray?”

  I did not point out Fairfax's unintentional pun. “They have given us our only lead. Or do you prefer to go back to the office and pick a case folder at random?”

  Fairfax sighed and looked apologetic. “I don't mean to be gruff, Mayra. Just concerned we may well be wasting our time.” He started the buggy and pulled out into the street.

  It was then I realized two things. I'd moved a protective hand over the knitting bag while we spoke, and Fairfax had called me Mayra for the first time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Primary Hospital was of the same dull architecture as the museum, but much bigger with two wide wings and towered over four stories.

  We parked out front and went in. A harried nurse directed us to the floor Winimar's room was located. I found the stairs too steep for a hospital, or I was just getting too old to climb them.

  His room was at the furthest end, and as we approached the sound of voices could be heard. “Ain't right is what I'm saying,” said a woman. “He can't just do that to you. Not after what you've been through.”

  A man answered. “Don't worry about it. I'll get Blythe to smooth it out, okay?”

  To Fairfax I said, “He's awake?” Fairfax shrugged. We moved to stand in the open doorway.

  Inside a man was lying in a small bed, the covers pulled up to his chest, and wearing a hospital gown tied at his neck.

  Beside him, a short blonde woman sat on a stool. She was blue, or at least everything she wore was. Sky blue blouse, sky blue skirt, sky blue hat. Even her little purse was the same sky blue.

  Both of them looked up at us in surprise.

  “Beg your pardon, but is this the room of Winimar Hubertus?” I asked.

  Both of them stared at us for a few seconds, neither speaking. As if trying to decide if they should answer.

  The man cleared his throat. “I'm Winimar Hubertus. Might I ask who you are?”

  I stepped into the little room. Fairfax stood in the doorway, blocking it while trying not to look like that was his intent.

  “Mister Hubertus. My name is Mayra Beeweather, and this is Constable Fairfax. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

  “Well, I think -,” Hubertus said before the woman in blue interrupted.

  “Don't say nothing without a lawyer present, Win,” she said and glared at Fairfax. “I don't like the looks of that one.”

  Winimar pulled himself up into a sitting position and said, “Why not? I've done nothing wrong. Can't hurt to speak with these fine police folk, now can it?” He gave me an inquisitive look. “You are police aren't you?”

  Inwardly I sighed. “Yes, I am the Acting Detective for this case.” If Fairfax wasn't playing his role he would have grinned.

  The blue woman looked me over. “Acting, eh? What happened to the other detective that came round before? Oswall was it? He got himself fired for drinking on the job?” She turned to Winimar and said, “That man stank of whiskey and chips. You would have gotten along with him.”

  Winimar sighed, “Pasha, please. That is not called for.”

  I considered the response. If I mentioned that Oswall was dead, these two would become even more alarmed and clam up shut. Then I'd have to wait to speak with Winimar through a lawyer. There was no time for such nonsense.

  “Detective Oswall is no longer on the case. I've taken over.” To the blue lady I said, “Your name is Pasha, is it?”

  She frowned at me. “That's right. Pasha Hubertus. His wife. Third, actually. And he won't be needing for another wife after me. Ain't that right, Win?”

  Winimar rolled his eyes. He said, “Is this about my being spelled? I woke up just a few hours ago. Slept all these days! Bit of a farce that.”

  “Yes. I understand that was what happened,” I said and remov
ed paper and a pencil from my satchel to take notes. “Could you tell us what happened that night? If you can remember.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Winimar said. “Was making my rounds as usual. One circuit of the museum at the top and bottom of each hour. Every hour from nine at night until six in the morning until Mister Othmar opens the front doors.”

  “They don't pay him enough for that kind of boring work,” Pasha said. “Can make someone go crazy walking in circles all night.”

  I wanted to keep Winimar talking. “Then what happened?”

  “Well, I was making my rounds at about half past midnight and I needed to take a quick break. I walked to the lavatory which is between the Third and Fourth Era war displays. And as I rounded the corner to head down the hall, something caught my eye.”

  “They should have given you a pistol, is what they should have done,” interrupted Pasha. She looked agitated.

  “I don't need no pistol,” Winimar said to her. “If there's any trouble I just pull an alarm and run like a Mudhump caught digging through the trash. If I had a pistol I'd probably just shoot myself in the foot.”

  Again, I redirected Winimar. “Something caught your eye?”

  “Right. I looked over at the wax figure of General Tykish on his horse. And there was movement behind the General. Like a shadow or something.”

  Pasha said, “It's a good display, that. Even though Tykish messed it up and lost the battle, the display is quite pleasing to look at.”

  “A shadow?” I said to Winimar.

  “Yeah. So I stopped and said 'Who goes there!' My heart was thumping right mad in my chest. I might be the night caretaker but I ain't no hero like Kadmik the Adventurer.”

  Pasha's eyes shot wide open. “Oh, now Kadmik makes for a good display!”

  “Hush, now, Pash,” Winimar said, giving his tone a rough edge. “I'm talking to the detective.”

  Pasha went silent and sulked.

  Winimar said, “Anyway, I shouted out and imagine my surprise when the shadow answered back!”

  “What did it say?” I said.

  “Well, that's the thing. I dunno. Fell asleep, I figure, right there and then. Next thing I know, I wake up in this here bed with my Pasha at my side.” He took his wife's hand, and they smiled at each other.

  “Do you recall what the shadow said, at all?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Only I know it spoke. Deep voice. But I don't remember the words. Or even if it was words.” He shrugged. “That is all there was to it. Glad the shadow, or whoever it was didn't have a mind to do anything to me while I slept the night away on that floor.”

  Pasha made a tsk-tsk sound, and held his hand closer.

  I said, “So you are aware items were taken that night?”

  Pasha said, “I just told him after he woke up not two hours ago. As big a surprise to him as one would expect.”

  “Yeah, I'm aware now,” he said. “Disappointed that I had to be the one on duty. Now I get all the blame.”

  “No one is blaming you for anything, Mister Hubertus. I'm just trying to get the facts as you remember them.”

  “Oh, he got the blame, all right,” Pasha said. “That blow hard Othmar said as much when he was here.”

  “He came here?”

  Pasha scowled. “Yeah, and not in a good manner of way, either. Hollered and yelled so much the nurses had to get an orderly to ask him to leave.” She looked at Hubertus. “Blamed him for all of it. Said he must have been in on the job. Or if not, was foolish enough to let it happen. Like Hub here could defend himself from being spelled. Can you believe it?”

  “He fired me,” Hubertus said. “Told poor Pash, here, that once I woke up she was to inform me that my employment was terminated.”

  I said, “I don't think Mister Othmar has the legal grounds to do that.”

  “Legal or not, I'm fired now,” he said, looking mournful. “My cousin had to pull all sorts of strings to get me that job, and now I'm back looking for work.”

  “And with a hospital bill to pay for now, too!” Pasha said.

  Winimar patted her hand. “We'll check out, today, sweetheart. Don't you worry.”

  I asked him, “Do you recall anything unusual that night, before you were spelled, while making your rounds? Anything at all.”

  “Nothing, ma'am. Was the same as any other night.”

  There was nothing else to ask at that moment although I intended to follow up with him once more facts from the case came to light.

  “We will leave you for now, Mr. Hubertus,” I said. “Perhaps later we can talk once you are feeling better. Which reminds me. Might I get your address?”

  “Yes, all right,” he said, and I wrote it down.

  I thanked them both and turned to leave when I realized something. To Pasha I asked, “Mrs. Hubertus, what did the other detective ask you while he was here?”

  She blinked at me as if trying to remember. “Oh, not much, really. Since Win was fast asleep as a newborn babe, there wasn't much he could ask. Oh, I remember. He wanted to know if me or Win here knew of a woman.”

  “What woman?” I said.

  She scrunched her face up with thought. “Ip-Horn, I think.”

  I recalled the name on the back of the bookstore business card. “Ipthorn, perhaps?”

  Pasha's face brightened. “That's what it was. Ipthorn. Strange name that.”

  “Did he ask anything else? Maybe why he was enquiring about this Ipthorn woman?”

  Pasha shook her head. “No,” she said with a shrug. “And we know no one by that name.”

  Thanking them for their time Fairfax and I withdrew to the hallway.

  “Let's talk to the Warding Master,” I said to Fairfax before he could speak. I knew what he would say.

  After searching the halls I spotted her. Unlike the nurses and doctors who wore white, the Warding Master wore a deep red robe with black swirling patterns.

  I approached her and introduced myself.

  She smiled and said, “I am Master Dorchen. How can I help?”

  “Were you the one who removed the spell on Mr. Hubertus?”

  “Yes, I did. Bit of work that one.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, the sleep spell that was cast had been enhanced. Perhaps with a minor artifact, or a detailed charm.”

  “Is such a spell common?”

  Master Dorchen frowned with thought. “Yes, and no. The sleep spell can be cast on its own with a moderate level of skill. But what was done to him could have been fatal if the caster was so inclined. With just an extra word he could have been put to sleep forever.”

  “Do you know of anyone with that level of skill?”

  Master Dorchen chuckled. “There are dozens of mid-level practitioners in the area with the ability, and an equal number of greater ones. I could do it easily enough. But that would be unethical by the laws that govern spell casters.”

  I realized that magic weaving and casting was more or less common, but I hoped for a short list of suspects.

  “Might I ask you another question. This one may seem... strange.”

  The Warding Master smiled. “Strange is my business.”

  “Have you ever heard of someone turned to stone before?”

  Dorchen's smile vanished. “Turned to stone? Are you serious?”

  She saw I was.

  “Well,” she said. “There are no spells in existence which can do such a terrible thing. Perhaps something from the Pre-Era, in the dark times. But nothing now. That is for certain.”

  I made a mental note to quiz this woman again once the Chief Constable gave his permission to reveal how Oswall died. Instead, I thanked her, and she nodded and went about her rounds.

  Fairfax and I trundled down the stairs and stood outside the main entrance. It felt good to breathe fresh air again.

  Sensing Fairfax wanted to speak I said, “Go ahead, say your peace, Constable.”

  Fairfax said, “I hate to kick up the point but I believ
e this clearly makes it.”

  “And that would be?”

  “That whoever is responsible for this burglary is most likely not the same person who killed Oswall. It does not add up. Why put this man to sleep when he could have just as easily turned him to stone?”