Bronze Gods

by A. A. Aguirre

  He carefully clambered on the wooden supports and started to pry the lens loose, twisting and tugging it until it gave way. He slid the heavy glass lens away and down, letting it clatter with a loud and lingering ring on the wooden floor. He could see a figure inside the copper tube, filled to the brim with stagnant water.

  She’d been bound at wrists and ankles to hooks bolted to the inner walls. The body was only slightly decomposed, her features still recognizable past the leather gag tightly bound to her face. Bronze gods, Electra.

  Mikani remembered the greetings they’d exchanged over the years, and this last time, she’d seemed truly troubled, offering to read his cards. If I’d let her, would things be different? He had been on his way to talk to Saskia, no time for an acquaintance. His whole body clenched in futile regret. I’m so sorry, Summer Girl. This time, using his gift felt both awful and inevitable, knowledge he had to have but didn’t want.

  She was terrified when she died . . . that’s not just rigor mortis, and it was slow enough that she knew what was happening. As Mikani ran the tips of his fingers along the slick metal, he heard the faint echo of her final moments. Terror and anger; an echoing plea of Why? With a muttered oath, he withdrew his hand and stepped away.

  “Better get the boys in here.” His voice sounded strained.

  There was no trace of the killer, again. As if whoever had done it was a clockwork man or so detached as to be inhuman. Sometimes he wondered if Ritsuko had some trace of a gift because, as the ache intensified, she crossed to his side and set a hand on his shoulder. The touch felt good, and Mikani fought the alien urge to turn into her arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked comfort of anyone.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

  He swallowed hard, and into the silence, he said, “I knew her.”

  I failed her.

  • • •

  RITSUKO FROZE. IF one of Mikani’s women is inside that tube . . .

  She started establishing his alibi before she even realized what she was doing. “From where?”

  Mikani slapped the side of the cylinder. “It’s Electra. From the café. I saw her . . . a week or so ago?” He stepped away, pacing a tight pattern. “She was trying to make her own way, proving a point to her father.”

  She experienced a surge of relief. Someone he saw casually, bought coffee from, that would require a lot less explaining than someone he knew . . . intimately. It was bad enough he had any acquaintance with the victim at all. Gunwood, she imagined, would not be delighted with this development.

  He faced her, drawing a deep breath. She hadn’t seen him this upset before; he seemed on the verge of racing off to hunt Toombs like a dog. The fury she saw in him alarmed her, as it might prove difficult to restrain. She ran her hand from his shoulder down his back. Like I’m trying to tame him. Then, consciously, because she remembered how it affected him at the bar, she smoothed her palm back up and cupped his nape.

  “Anything I can do?”

  He tensed against her fingers, trembling for a long moment as he seemed to slowly and painfully gather himself. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded almost normal. “Make sure I don’t kill him when we catch him.” He smiled wryly. “I’d rather that he suffers for a while, first.”

  “I won’t let you throw your life away. Don’t think you’d fare well on the penal farms anyway. Too many familiar faces.” Before she could decide what to add, pounding footsteps made her turn.

  Ritsuko dropped her hand from Mikani as the officer raced up to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Inspectors, but, well, that girl’s not going anywhere, and the docks are—”

  A loud crash from the street beyond drowned out the rest of the constable’s sentence. Mikani glanced at Ritsuko before heading to the exit. The tumult of a growing mob grew louder as they raced back the way they’d come. Breaking glass was unmistakable, followed by the rush of running feet.

  They arrived to a rolling roar and a sea of bodies packed in the narrow alleys. The crowd charged the thin line of uniformed men doing their best to hold them back; a few of the younger officers looked terrified. What made Ritsuko nervous, though, was the burgeoning anger in some of the veteran constables.

  They’ll start pushing back soon, and it’ll spiral out of control.

  Mikani followed her gaze and seemed to glean what she was thinking. He squeezed her arm. “See if you can get our people to cool off. I’ll try and defuse it from the other side.” He nodded toward a vocal knot of men near the center of the line. They were all garbed in the bright and eclectic style of the Summer Clan, the eldest among them an obvious leader. Maybe even a patriarch, to judge from the way his men held both constables and mob away from him. “Hope I don’t have to promise your hand in marriage to pacify them.” Before she could answer, he pushed his way toward the center of the crowd.

  “What’s your name, Officer?” She used her most stentorian tone on the broad-shouldered man in his early forties. His cap was askew as he brandished his club at the crowd lunging toward the do-not-cross line.

  “Clemmens, ma’am. I think we might need to contact the Council. I don’t know if we have the manpower to contain this.” His voice was barely audible between the smashing of windows and the mad growling of the mob.

  “Have you sent someone to the nearest mirror station?”

  “Not yet. There’s nobody in charge, no orders—”

  “Free somebody up, send him to notify Dispatch that we need reinforcements as fast as they can send them, or we might lose this sector for days.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A constable nearby called out and pointed to the crowd. One of the younger men tried to leave the line before Ritsuko stopped him with a barked command; it was dangerous to send armed constables into a furious throng. She looked over, trying to spot what had caught their attention.

  Her partner had made some headway. The crowd parted for a short distance around him—when one of the bravos stood his ground and confronted Mikani with an inaudible challenge, her partner snarled, then lashed out. Most went down with a single blow, but occasionally Mikani came up against someone big enough to take the hit, then strike back. The men nearest surged and cheered, before pulling back when her partner invariably, stubbornly, pulled to his feet and waded in deeper. His lip was split, and he took an elbow to the back as he shoved past. She noticed that he wasn’t using a weapon, though, just bare fists.

  “What’s he doing?” she muttered. “He’ll get killed.”

  She hadn’t been talking to Clemmens, but the officer tracked Mikani’s movements with his gaze, then said, “Looks like he’s earning the right to speak with the patriarch.”

  “By getting knocked arse over teakettle?”

  Clemmens shrugged. “It’s their way. I’ve worked the Landing Point a long time. You pick up a few things.”

  All around the perimeter, Summer Clan tribesmen shoved, shouting invective to the officers holding the line with truncheons out and shoulders braced. Though she’d never used it, Ritsuko got out her club, just in case. She hefted it, offering a warning glare at a dark-eyed, wild-haired man who got too close. Inwardly, her stomach churned with terror. This situation was a pile of kindling with a tinderbox on top, just waiting for the proper spark.

  “Why are they so angry?” a constable asked Clemmens. “She’s just one girl.”

  Ritsuko leaned in, as she wanted to know, too.

  “See the tall, white-haired man over there? Inspector Mikani’s nearly to him now.” As Clemmens spoke, her partner came up against a towering wall of a man with a chest as broad as an ox, hands like anvils. He had a hard, scarred face, and he wore a multitude of necklaces around his neck, charms and tokens, trophies, perhaps. Her throat tightened, and in reflex, she moved toward Mikani. He’s not fighting that brute alone.

  But Clemmens grabbed her arm. “If you help him, you’ll ruin everything.”

  “Better I should let him be beaten to death?”

 
; Ritsuko hardly noticed when someone shoved her from behind. She was too busy watching the prizefight. The Summer Clan giant might be strong as a great oak, but he wasn’t quick. Mikani danced around to the side, rabbiting blows into the man’s ribs. He ducked a couple of hard, slow swings, but the third one clipped her partner in the temple. Mikani shook like a wet dog, then went back in, his face bloody, his blue eyes ferocious with determination. The match went on for at least five minutes, while the rioters grew more violent. A glass smashed to the ground at Ritsuko’s feet, the shards nicking the wool of her split skirt.

  “Don’t hurt him,” she shouted to the enormous tribesman. “I’ll marry you!”

  Somehow, he heard over the roar of the crowd; and it was such a ridiculous, inappropriate thing for her to say that it stole his focus for a few seconds.

  Mikani took full advantage with a fierce hit to the man’s chin, and he fell. Beside her, Clemmens guffawed. “That wasn’t completely fair, but the headman’s bodyguards didn’t give him a clean run, either.”

  Standing beside the tall, regal-looking elder with his dark, weathered skin and golden ropes around his neck, Mikani beckoned. Ritsuko didn’t wait for Clemmens to approve her movement; she just pushed forward, and, to her surprise, the crowd parted. Nobody touched her. There was an odd stillness, like the eye of the storm. Farther out along the docks and warehouses, the madness still raged, but here? Watchful silence, as if one wrong move could alter everything. Mikani took her arm as she reached him, a pointed claim. The Summer Clan leader’s dark gaze ran up and down her body, but it wasn’t a lascivious look, more an assessing, speculative one.

  “That was a tricky strategy,” the patriarch finally said. “I don’t believe your champion would’ve beaten mine, otherwise.”

  Is he? My champion? The words sounded oddly right. But she knew enough about Summer Clan culture not to speak. Best to let Mikani handle this.

  Mikani gave a lazy smile through split lips. His right eye was swollen to the point that she could see only a thread of blue between the tangle of his sweat-stained locks. “I have bruises from where your men took some underhanded shots.”

  The Summer Clan leader etched an ironic bow. “I am Luca Bihár, Patriarch of the Summer Clan. And my people are angry. As am I.”

  “For good reason,” Mikani said.

  “Tell me, Inspector, why was this monster permitted to murder my niece? You’ve had sufficient time to catch him.”

  His niece. Burning hell. Ritsuko hoped her partner didn’t mention they’d almost caught him . . . and let him get away. But she suspected even if they had apprehended Toombs at Dinwiddie’s apartment, it still would’ve been too late for Electra. No consolation there.

  “I swear to you we’ll get him,” Mikani said grimly.

  “That’s not good enough. I want a blood vow from you both. In exchange, I will calm my people, save your grim city. But there will be no trade, no caravans, no food or supplies in or out of Dorstaad until you keep your word.” His face was hard as bronze, his eyes obsidian.

  There could be no negotiation, only agreement. In Bihár’s ebon gaze, she saw a glimpse of the whole city burning.

  “It’s a fair trade,” Mikani agreed.

  In reply, the patriarch barked at his underling, who produced a knife. Before she hardly knew what had happened, she had a slice on her palm and she’d promised to catch a killer. That was her job, but it gained new weight when repeating the words beneath Bihár’s pitiless gaze. Then the Summer Clan chieftain gestured to his cohort, speaking in a guttural tongue, what she presumed to be orders to get the mob to stand down.

  “Don’t break this promise,” the patriarch warned. “Or perhaps I’ll make you keep what you pledged before. Rudo”—he nudged the groggy giant on the ground—“would enjoy a bride. For a time.”

  Bronze gods. As dread washed over her, Ritsuko curled her fingers against her injured palm, feeling the blood drip through.

  CHAPTER 15

  SHUTTING DOWN A RIOT DIDN’T HAPPEN INSTANTLY. IT TOOK hours of argument and negotiation, all of which tried Mikani’s patience. Ritsuko didn’t appear to be her usual serene self, either. A few paces distant, she was exchanging heated words with a uniformed officer whose name he didn’t know. The side of his face throbbed, and he had a number of sore spots up and down his side, but it had been worth it.

  The Summer Clan were withdrawing.

  Carrying the headman’s orders, Bihár’s people scattered in groups, slipping into alleys and boarded wagons parked nearby. Even so, there was a lot of muttering, a few scuffles, and the occasional pissing contest that the CID forces broke up before things escalated. Mikani knew there would be trouble when they got back to HQ, but possibly it could be softened by the fact that he and Ritsuko had been instrumental in keeping the peace.

  When the Summer Clan reached the edge of Landing Point District, constables trailing to ensure they returned to their caravans, Mikani let out a long groan and sat on the curb, cradling his head in both hands. Gods and spirits, that’s going to leave a mark. Or ten. He was starting to suspect he’d cracked a couple of ribs, again.

  “Don’t worry,” he muttered when Ritsuko bent down. “Much as I believe you’d be too much for Rudo to handle, I promise that I’ll smuggle you away on a ship before you have to attend that particular wedding.”

  “That’s not funny. You could’ve been killed . . . and this could’ve ended with half the city in flames.”

  Mikani didn’t need to read Ritsuko to sense her frustration and fear, mingled with the warmer caress of relief. “I’m hard to kill. Like a weed, but more charming.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered. “I would probably do better with Rudo.”

  “He’s not your type. Too sensitive. A would-be musician, from the way he tried to play a symphony on my ribs.”

  He stood with a barely muffled groan of pain, rolling his shoulders with some effort and glancing around. At the least, the beating had helped assuage the guilt he felt over Electra’s death, momentarily eclipsing heartache with aching bones. “We need the good doctor here as soon as possible.” I need Electra out of that thing and with her family at once, too. Not just for their sake, either. “Let’s see if he can get anything useful out of this damned machine, then I’ll gladly tear the thing apart myself.”

  Dr. Byfeld and his team arrived a half hour later, along with a dozen constables fresh from HQ to help secure the area. Mikani stayed on the periphery while Ritsuko and the doctor worked, pacing a broad circle around them and trying to block the lingering echoes of the girl’s death from his conscious mind. Ritsuko was methodical, as ever, though she kept directing gimlet stares that he caught from the corner of his good eye. She took thorough notes and prevented the others from bothering him, which he appreciated. As he watched, she took more samples, as there was ash circling the site, just like the other killing. If Mikani had to guess, he’d predict the lab would find it to be herbal—acanthus and hyacinth—like before. He wondered why the design had changed; this was a death by drowning instead of fire.

  What’s the purpose? But I suppose if I could work that out, I’d be as mad as the murderer.

  He looked up when Ritsuko nodded his way. The doctor was gathering his team and tools, all evidence collected. Mikani went to the device, shouldering his way past the two constables struggling to open the thing. “Get me a cruiser, and a sheet.”

  They responded with gratifying alacrity. I could get used to that. Mikani fumbled with the ropes holding the top of the cylinder in place before tearing them loose with a hard jerk. He slowly laid the cylinder down, the scummy water spilling over him, and reached inside. He freed her as gently as he could from the restraints, taking Electra’s body in his arms. He could’ve asked for a stretcher to make the going easier, but he wanted to carry her. A constable dashed up with the requested sheet, draping Electra to preserve her dignity.

  Mikani signaled Ritsuko, watching from nearby. “Let’s get her home.”r />
  She stood to the side so he could pass with his melancholy burden. The way felt endless as he marched out of that forsaken place, conscious of the creaking beneath his feet and the weight in his shaky arms. The day had definitely taken a toll, more than he’d admit to Ritsuko. She expected a laugh and a quick retort, but keeping up that facade might do him in before the evening ended.

  Out on the street, Landing Point was scarred in the uncertain light: shop windows hanging in jagged glass teeth, charred patches on various buildings from where lit bottles had been smashed. It was a miracle Dorstaad wasn’t burning; nobody pursued a vendetta like the Summer Clan, not even the great Houses. Mikani didn’t know if he’d done the wisest thing by agreeing to the blood vow. His palm throbbed a question. But he did know there wasn’t a better alternative.

  When the patriarch and his bodyguards strode from the corner where they’d been keeping watch, Mikani paused. Bihár inclined his head before resuming his slow progress toward them. Their eyes met as Mikani handed Electra’s body into the older man’s care.

  “We’ll find him.”

  “See that you do, Inspector.” His voice was hoarse, grief throbbing in sharp pulses—and Mikani wasn’t trying to read him. The emotion was just too strong to be blocked.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ritsuko said softly.

  They were only words—and from a woman as well—but Bihár acknowledged them in the spirit they were intended. Then he turned with his honor guard and led the procession down to a wagon decorated in high mourning. They would carry her out of the city, and for a moment, Mikani felt like offering to accompany them out of respect. It took Ritsuko’s touch to his shoulder to remind him that the best way to honor her was to keep their vow.

  Your time’s running out, Toombs. And when we catch you, maybe we’ll introduce you to her family before taking you in.

  “Let’s head in, partner.”

  “Want me to drive?”