The Hunt for the Three Roses

by Jason Hubbard

  “Bishop,” the count said, glancing at his wife, “we’d like to hear about your meeting with Micah. You don’t have to tell everything, but anything you can give us would be appreciated.”

  “Yes, bishop,” Lady Amber said. “What was he like? Did he look anything like the paintings made of him?”

  The bishop fell silent and cast his eyes down. Callie studied his face, catching a twitch of his mouth and a raised eyebrow. The man clearly didn’t want to talk about this.

  “Bishop?” the count said when the silence went on too long.

  “I’ve been a man of the cloth for over forty years,” the bishop said in a hushed voice. “Had my first Eucharist at ten and my Confirmation at sixteen. I consider Micah to be more than a teacher and a savior—he is my friend.” He now looked directly at the count with restrained anger in his eyes. “And I can tell you, the man I met that day … was not Micah!”

  The noble couple straightened in their seats, stunned. Even Marcus dropped his professionally stoic expression in shock.

  “I didn’t want to believe it myself,” the bishop continued. “He came here with his countless followers and tattered robe, and we talked a good hour about the future of the church and how we could make things better … but it couldn’t have been him.” The bishop leaned forward and pointed. “He was … an imposter! Nothing more!”

  “What makes you think so?” the count asked. “Was it something he said?”

  “You’re darn right, it was something he said! After we talked about how more attention should be given to the poor, I asked him about something he reportedly said in Danvers. I asked if it was true that he called for the outlawing of the fairy trade … and he said yes.”

  “Well, of course. The fairy trade was something many people already thought was immoral. It’s only natural that Micah confirmed it.”

  The bishop clenched his teeth together and drooped his head. “No, what’s ‘natural’ is for fairies to serve mankind. What other use for fairies is there? All they ever do on their own is kill anyone who gets close and keep lands to themselves—lands that should belong to us! But with a binding spell, you can have a fairy do anything for you: wash your clothes, clean your floors and dishes, and babysit your children. It’s all they’re good for, and it’s why God gave us both fairies and the spell of binding.”

  “But Micah disagreed with you,” Lady Amber said smugly.

  “The imposter said God made fairies to test us … just to test us! He said—” The bishop paused, looking as if he’d tasted something rotten. “He said we’d pass this ‘test’ if we found a way to live peacefully with fairies. ‘Hogwash,’ I said, ‘fairies and man cannot live peacefully.’ He then went on to tell me in twenty different ways how wrong I was.”

  “Twenty?” the count asked.

  The bishop shrugged. “More or less. The point is that the real Micah, who had owned a fairy himself, would never say that. Never!”

  “But in the Holy Book, Micah raised a fairy back to life and freed it. He never owned it.”

  “He brought it back to life because he owned it. He wouldn’t do that if it was another man’s property. Please, my lord, I know the Holy Book like the back of my hand.”

  The count crossed his arms, looking contemptuous.

  “I’m sorry, count, madam, you came here to see someone who met Micah … but you’ll find no such man here. I met an imposter, that’s all. He conned us all, and for that, he can stay missing!”

  The count and his wife mulled over the bishop’s words, and then the count smiled and said, “Well, thank you for your time. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “’Tis not a problem, my lord, but please spread the word: The man who called himself ‘Micah’ two years ago was not the man you thought he was. Please, tell everyone!”

  The noble couple left the room to find Monsignor Evans waiting to escort them. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  “No thank you, it’s time we left,” the count said solemnly. When the party reached the middle of the hall, he added, “I can’t believe he would hold the fairy slave trade in higher regard than Micah himself.”

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Evans said.

  “How can he still be here?” Lady Amber asked. “He denounces the great Micah to everyone. He should be stripped of his office!”

  “Pardon me, madam, but he doesn’t say that to everyone; we ask that he keep his opinion to himself, which he does for the most part. He’s done a lot of good for the church, and we don’t want his hard work to go to waste. He has many friends in the district.”

  “But surely you see him as a problem?”

  “I’m sorry, madam,” he replied. He led the party outside and stopped them halfway to the buggy. “My lord, please tell no one I said this, but Bishop Lansdale has a brother who was deep in the fairy trade. He made a small fortune off it, and word has it that he secretly shared his profits with the bishop. After Micah spoke in Danvers and the fairy trade was outlawed, his brother’s business completely dried up.”

  “So that explains it,” the count said. “Thank you, Monsignor, we won’t tell anyone.”

  “I still think you should kick him out,” Lady Amber said. “He should act more like a man of faith, not a doubting Thomas.”

  “The Lord God forgives,” Evans said with a strained smile. “As long as your faith is strong, then it is a blessing. God be with you.”

  As the buggy headed to their next destination, all the count and his wife could talk about was the bishop’s act of careless heresy. The count, despite being so gracious and forgiving, started to side with his wife, agreeing that St. Kevin’s was probably better off without Bishop Lansdale. Callie nearly chimed in with her own opinion, but she was told that a good personal guard always saw without being seen. Still, she’d like to tell her charges that Micah probably had the right of it: Peaceful coexistence with fairies sounded a great deal better than always being at odds with them. She remembered the day by the Bonsar River when she feared there was a brigade of fairies about to attack the Consarian army. If her hunch had been right, the fairies would have decimated the men, but if men and fairies could learn to live harmoniously together, there would be little fear of such bloodshed.

  Besides, people who enslaved fairies to make them do all their chores were pitifully lazy.

  They went to another district called Hayes, where all the high-end shops were situated. Lady Amber wanted to pick up some new dresses, but before that they stopped at a restaurant called Charlie’s, where they could dine outdoors. Callie mentally groaned at the prospect of standing at attention while her charges ate lunch, but the nobles actually invited their guards to sit and join them. Callie thanked them and sat at one of the small circular tables with Marcus. After scanning the area for any potential threats, she looked through the menu a waitress gave her. She wanted to order something relatively inexpensive so she wouldn’t step on her charges’ generosity, but it looked as if everything was expensive. Fifteen silver for a bowl of soup … how could soup possibly be so good it needs a price like that?

  Ten minutes later, their orders were delivered. Callie had settled for a square of lasagna with peppers and green beans, and Marcus had scallops wrapped with bacon strips. As positively strange as Marcus’ meal looked, the smell of that bacon tempted Callie to grab a scallop and pop it in her mouth before he could protest.

  The Guyvers discussed their children, pondering what they were doing and how they missed them. “Very soon, dear, you’ll know what it’s like to fret over little ones,” Lady Amber said.

  Callie thought she was talking to her husband, but she then noticed the lady was looking at her. “Who, me?”

  “Yes, you,” the lady said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, I don’t have any plans for that, madam. It would take me away from my duties.”

  “Being a retainer i
s quite an honor, but so is being a parent,” the count said.

  “Do you have anyone in mind?” Lady Amber asked. “I could find someone for you.”

  Curiously, the first person she envisioned was not Sean, whom she had given up on, but Sir Barnes instead. She had seen him at the ball, though she never spoke to him. He seemed to have been going around begging to be someone’s knight, and she never saw him dance with anyone. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “There is someone,” she said with hunched shoulders.

  “Is it Marcus?”

  To keep herself from screaming and pulling her hair out, Callie shut her eyes and slowly shook her head. “No, it’s someone not from the house.”

  “Then who?”

  The count patted his wife’s hand. “Let’s not embarrass the poor girl, dear. She can figure things out for herself, and if she wants help, she can always ask.”

  “Very well,” Lady Amber smugly said before sipping some chicken broth. “I just don’t want her to waste her youth searching for some fantasy man.”

  Callie raised an eyebrow before continuing her meal. There was probably a story behind that statement, but this was not the time or place to pry.

  After lunch, they went to a whitewashed store called Mandy’s Couture, where Lady Amber gleefully examined the latest in winter fashion while chatting with the tailors and shopkeepers about everything and nothing at all. Callie had hoped to do some window shopping for her own future expedition, but the numerous mink coats and bearskin cloaks weren’t her style. And the prices were enormous: One heavily furred cloak would empty a third of her money sack. She preferred good old-fashioned cotton and linen over dead animals, even if they wouldn’t keep her as warm.

  Like most high-society shoppers, Lady Amber had to try on a dress before deciding to purchase it. It took anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour for the tailors to fit a dress on her, and only seconds for the lady to decide not to get it. Callie was stuck on watch inside the store while Marcus joined the count outside. She envied them since constantly watching people struggle to put on layered skirts and fur coats in exacting ways was awfully tiresome.

  When Lady Amber was in the middle of having her third dress put on, a bell sounded outside, its clanging containing a sense of urgency. “Callie, dear, could you see what that’s about?” she asked.

  Callie gladly obeyed, finding the count smoking a pipe by a lamppost—a habit he only did when he had nothing else better to do. “Forgive me, my lord, but what does the bell mean?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the ringing from the nearest street corner.

  “It means there’s important news forthcoming,” the count said. His tone suggested disbelief that she didn’t know this already. “We need to wait for the crier.”

  Callie glanced up at the bell, ringing in its tower three stories above. St. Mannington didn’t have a network of bell towers as Asturia did; when there was urgent news spread by carrier pigeons or crows, the criers merely said so before giving it. When she first heard the ringing, she assumed it meant there were enemies at the gates, but it just as well might be something less important.

  A gangly man in a deerskin coat stepped on a small balcony on the side of the bell tower and spoke in a loud, clear voice: “Hear ye, hear ye, an update for all citizens from the city guard: Murder at St. Kevin’s Church, I repeat, there’s been a murder at St. Kevin’s Church! All citizens, be on the lookout for anyone suspicious! If you see him, report him to the nearest guardsman! Hear ye, hear ye …”

  The count choked on some smoke and turned pale. “My God, we were just there! We’re going back, right away!” He went inside and urged his wife to drop what she was doing, then corralled everyone back to the buggy and ordered the coachman to hurry back to the church.

  They arrived about fifteen minutes later to a gathering of guards and clergy on the church’s front yard. Priests, nuns and acolytes appeared traumatized as they excitedly muttered amongst themselves, and one man was barely holding back tears as a guard interviewed him.

  The count exited the buggy and confidently hobbled near the scene. “I am Count Erik Guyver. Who is in charge here?”

  “I am,” said a man with a steel helmet and chest plate bearing the mark of a commanding officer. “Captain York, my lord. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Is there something I may help you with?”

  “We were just here over an hour ago. I’d like to know the details. Who was murdered?”

  “The victim’s name is Harold Lansdale, a bishop here. Did you know him?”

  The count glanced knowingly at his wife, who put her hands over her mouth. “We weren’t close, but we talked with him.”

  “I see. Begging your pardon, but do you know anyone named ‘Callie?’”

  She wasn’t sure she had heard right, but when the count looked to her, she cleared her throat and said, “Y-yes, sir, I’m, uh … I am Callie.”

  “Were you here as well?” the captain asked.

  “She was, and she’s been with me ever since,” the count said.

  Captain York paused for thought then quietly conferred with two deputies before turning back to the count. “Count Guyver, Lady Callie … I’d like to take you to the scene. There’s something I think you should see.”

  The count asked what it was, but the captain insisted on not speaking about it outside around other people. The count beckoned Callie to follow him, and she obeyed hesitantly. Instinct told her to flee and never look back, because Captain York was going to somehow pin this murder on her. But that wouldn’t answer any of her questions, such as how the captain knew of her name and how the bishop got murdered shortly after the count met him.

  The nave had a still atmosphere before, but it now seemed even more so. The only sounds were the footsteps of investigators, the clacking of Count Guyver’s crutches, and the weak whistle of the wind. “Did anyone see the killer?” the count asked.

  “Witnesses described a man in a black cloak,” Captain York said. “No one saw his face. Monsignor Evans first saw him when he opened the door, and the man injured him when he fled.”

  “My God, is he okay?”

  “He should be. He was stabbed in the shoulder; we sent him to a medic station for treatment.”

  They entered a hallway that was familiar except for the handful of investigators combing the area and the spots of blood on the floor. The captain explained to the men that he was bringing in key witnesses, and he ushered his visitors into the office. Inside they found Bishop Lansdale still seated at his desk, his head lying on a Holy Book. Blood stained his wispy hair, and a red pool spread across the desktop. But that wasn’t what made Callie gasp and step backward into a man. To the right of the desk, the killer had removed a crucifix and a painting from the wall and apparently used a brush to write a name with the bishop’s blood.

  Her name.

  Callie.

  “What the hell is the meaning of this?” the count asked.

  “I’m sorry, miss, do you need to sit?” the captain said. Callie plopped down on the offered chair, feeling blood drain from her face as she glued her eyes on the blood trails running from the letters of her name. As much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t stop looking at it, for it unfairly marked her as being a part of this gruesome murder. Of course, she had been with the count ever since she left this place, but what other “Callie” could this message pertain to?

  Captain York gave her time for her shock to lessen before asking, “Miss, do you know who did this?”

  She looked at him with tears streaming from her wide eyes, and she contemplated telling a white lie before finally saying, “R-Rainer … i-it was Rainer. Goddammit, he was f-following me but I n-never saw him!”

  She soon found herself in an office of the nearest guard station, which looked like a miniature castle with four defense towers and a curtain wall. Count Guyver waited downsta
irs while Marcus had escorted Lady Amber back to the house.

  An investigator named Sam Curtis asked her difficult questions she didn’t want to answer, but in light of what happened, Callie told her story as truthfully as she could. After all, the city guard weren’t the only ones who would demand to know the connection between her and the bishop’s killer.

  She admitted to growing up in a clan of thieves and assassins in Consaria’s capital. About half a year ago, Rainer had struck a deal with the clan’s leader, where the clan would send someone for an assassination and Rainer would share the reward money. She was the one her leader chose, and she claimed she went after a wealthy merchant instead of King Hugo. After she tried and failed, Rainer swore revenge on her, forcing her to flee the city. She ended up being conscripted by the Consarian army where she worked as a maid, only to later leave to assist Master Cypher.

  “What can you tell us about this ‘Rainer?’” Curtis asked.

  “People usually called him ‘The Jackal,’ though I hear he also goes by ‘Monic’ in some areas.”

  “Is Rainer even his real name?”

  “I think so. Someone in the clan called him that once, which made him angry. He’s a real lone wolf, keeps to himself and doesn’t stay in one place for long. They say he’s really, really good at what he does. He’s accomplished a few assassinations that were once deemed impossible, so in just a year’s time he became something of a living legend.”

  “If he’s so good, then why did he need someone else to take out this merchant?”

  From the moment she stepped into the station, she was afraid she would talk herself into a corner. Fortunately, she was prepared for this question. “The merchant used to be a client of his, and he’s loathe to take out former clients. But the money was too good for him to say no to, but he couldn’t do the job himself either. I suppose he’s sentimental like that, but he’s mostly as cold as a winter’s day. He has no problem killing someone even if he doesn’t really need the money.”