People of the City

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Listen to the wise men, but seek shelter from their lies,” Alana said a little louder, correctly citing the passage.

  “That’s my daily life,” Satrine said as she stuck the book inside her coat. One of the other cloistresses stumbled into the kitchen.

  “I must be losing my ears,” the cloistress said. “Are we hosting the Constabulary in here?”

  “Council for every citizen is our mandate,” Alana said. “Especially old friends.”

  “These are our sanctums, though,” the cloistress said.

  “I’ll go,” Satrine said, getting up.

  “I’ll see you out,” Alana said, taking Satrine out the back door.

  “That was Sister Enigaria?” Satrine asked when they were outside.

  “The very same,” Alana said. “You’re to work?”

  “I must,” Satrine said. “I now have more family to support.”

  “Dayne was concerned about children missing from Dentonhill.”

  “Minox is as well,” Satrine said. “Whatever I stopped earlier this month, it wasn’t enough.”

  “Should I tell them anything from you?”

  “I talked to Minox last night, and today he’s—” Satrine wasn’t sure what to say. She understood exactly what was going on in Minox’s head, and in her heart, she was with him. She wished she could be there with him. “If he comes, tell—remind him that he’s not alone. Especially when it comes to acting outside the law.”

  “Outs—” Alana gasped. “I guess I didn’t think it would come to that so soon. Of course I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Walk with the saints,” Alana said, embracing Satrine. “Have a blessed day.”

  “And you,” Satrine said.

  It wasn’t much, but the blessing and friendship would have to be enough to get her through the day.

  A burning instinct told her today was going to be a bad one.

  Minox knew he would endure some difficulty coming down to breakfast with the family out of uniform.

  “Are you all right?” his brother Jace asked amid the shocked expressions. Almost the entire household was already at the table—some ready to go to work, some having come in from a night shift. Corrie’s seat remained empty, though Mother had set her place anyway, as was Nyla’s. Nyla had rarely come out of her room in the past two weeks.

  “In many ways, the answer is no,” Minox said. “I could catalog them if you want, starting with the loss of our sister.”

  “Foul, unfair,” his cousin Davis said. “That’s hitting all of us, and you know it.”

  “True,” Minox said, taking bread and butter from the basket in front of him. “But I also have several other issues in play, including being removed from my duties. I need to deal with those personal matters, and I have banked the time to take off.”

  “That’s good,” Aunt Emma said. “All of you bottle yourselves up too damned much and work yourselves silly.” She pointed an accusing finger at Ferah and Edard. “I heard you two talking about Nyla not going back to work.”

  “I’m just worried about her,” Ferah said. Someone knocked at the front door, and Jace left the table to get it.

  “She needs to rest is all,” Emma said.

  Minox’s mother came and served him eggs and sausages with Kellirac spiced cream. “It’s nothing dangerous, is it? You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t do anything alone.”

  “It’s personal business, Mother,” Minox said. “Mostly in the City Records, legal concerns for my status.” He hated to lie to her, but he could not have her worrying. Her heart couldn’t bear it.

  Jace came back from the door, his face screwed in thought.

  “Who was at the door?” Minox’s uncle Cole asked.

  “Strange bird,” Jace said. “Cloistress, about my age.”

  “What did she want?” Davis asked.

  “Nothing, really. She said, ‘Tell unto your brothers to be guided by those who tend the path.’ And then she walked off.” He shrugged and pointed to Minox and their brother Oren at the far end of the table. “So, I told you.”

  “It’s from the Testament of Saint Deshar,” Ferah said. Everyone looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Am I the only one who’s paid attention to the parables?”

  Minox saw no need to answer. Where he planned to go today, it was likely no saint could help him.

  Amaya made a point not to show any favoritism toward Jerinne Fendall during the morning training. It was the same principle Master Denbar had treated her with during her Initiacy. They wanted no suspicion placed on her, no suggestion that her place at the top of the cohort was anything but earned. No one ever knew that Master Denbar was her mother’s cousin, not even Dayne.

  That wasn’t the reason behind the facade between her and Jerinne in front of the rest of the Initiates. Jerinne had been consistently ranked near the bottom of the cohort, undeservedly, because that’s what Grandmaster Orren and Master Nedell decreed. Amaya was certain that one of those two men were The Warrior of this Grand Ten conspiracy, and they were punishing Jerinne, drumming her out of the Order, for the part she played in the Patriot’s Ordeal and the Election Crisis.

  Amaya knew damn well Jerinne should be a Tarian. That was clear every morning. Most of the third-year Initiates were now up before the dawn, joining Amaya on her run up the Trelan Docks and back, and Jerinne was the one who always kept pace with Amaya. They’d get back to the chapterhouse and go through Vien’s Spathian-inspired calisthenics, Jerinne pushing harder and stronger than anyone else in the cohort. Not that any of them were slacking or falling down. Some of them—like Iolana and Tander—had lost a certain spark after the fight in the Miniara Pass, but that didn’t mean they held back when it came to the physical conditioning. These third-years, every one of them was dedicated and intense and put all of themselves on that training room floor.

  And they were there for each other in ways that Amaya had never seen an Initiate cohort be before. That was because of Miniara Pass, of course. All sixteen of these kids had been in an honest-to-the-saints fight where their lives were on the line, and that taught them more than any amount of training room exercises had. They helped each other, they encouraged each other, they lifted and supported, and hardly paid any attention to ranking anymore.

  Amaya loved every one of those kids, but she definitely loved Jerinne the most. She couldn’t show it on the floor, though. At least, not explicitly.

  She showed it in her spar with Jerinne this morning, both of them with wooden practice shields and swords, both of them going full speed and strength. Amaya went at Jerinne brutally, attacking with every bit of skill, savagery, and subterfuge that she had. Jerinne gave just as much back.

  She could see, in the spark in Jerinne’s eye, in that sly tug at the corner of her lips, that she felt Amaya’s love, and was giving it in return. She knew that this was how they respected each other, fighting this hard in an exercise spar, trusting that they wouldn’t get hurt.

  Amaya feinted to one side, and then dropped to sweep Jerinne’s leg out from under her. Jerinne missed the step, and was knocked down on her back. Amaya sprung up, bringing her practice blade down on Jerinne’s face, sure to break the girl’s nose.

  But it was blocked, another practice sword there for the parry. But it wasn’t Jerinne’s weapon—Enther was there, protecting his friend from the blow.

  Saints, these kids were all Tarians.

  “Good,” she said, stepping away and wiping the sweat off her brow. “Well done, Enther.”

  “Between her and harm,” he said, helping Jerinne to her feet.

  “Lethal sweep, ma’am,” Jerinne said. “I should have been faster.”

  “Damn right, you should have,” Amaya said. “All right, break down, third-years. Weapons away, go get water and food, and meet up with your mentors. See you at Contemplation Exercises af
ter supper.”

  The kids all went to work cleaning up the training room, filing out the door.

  “Anything for me?” Jerinne asked.

  “You tell me,” Amaya said. “What’s Dayne up to today?”

  “Not sure,” Jerinne said. “Yesterday we looked into some missing kids on the south side; he’s probably planning on keeping a nose in that. It’s the most interesting thing he’s got going on.”

  Poor Dayne. Amaya knew the “liaison” position at the Parliament had already been a waste of time, and it seemed that with Tarians and Spathians taking an active role in the security of the Parliament, it would be even more pointless. And Dayne was stuck. But at least he was staying engaged.

  “So are you going to help him with that?” Amaya asked. “If so, you can’t be getting back in so late like last night.” She noted most of the other third-years were out of the room, or paying them no mind. “At least a couple Adepts noticed and thought it was odd. Be sharper.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jerinne said. “But this thing with the kids, I think it ties to the atrocity at the Parliament. Quoyell’s arrest and then assassination.”

  Amaya gave Jerinne all her attention. “How so? There were kids involved in that?”

  “Quoyell was involved in a ring delivering kidnapped kids to someone. Don’t know why. But my inspector friend? She tells me that his assassination was orchestrated by Colonel Altarn. That was the woman you were interested in yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  Amaya resisted the urge to grab Jerinne by the arm. “You’re certain?”

  “I’m certain Missus Rainey thinks so.”

  Altarn was almost definitely The Mage. It all added up too well, especially with her sudden rise to the highest prominence in Intelligence and political circles.

  “All right,” Amaya said. “You find Dayne and you stay on that. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Shield and sword,” Jerinne said.

  Amaya nodded. Raising her voice a little so the other Initiates could hear. “After you eat, go over the Armory, Initiate, and oil and sharpen blades. I’ll personally inspect your work tonight.”

  “Ma’am,” Jerinne said with a salute and a slight wink. She understood. She was on it.

  Amaya wasn’t going to waste any more of the day. She made her way to her quarters, brushing past the black-haired servant coming to clean the training room floor. She needed to change into civilian clothes. She had her own leads to investigate, and for this, she should not be in a Tarian uniform.

  The household of Baron Vollingale was somber and quiet as Dayne and Lady Mirianne were led to his study by one of his underbutlers. They were brought tea and pastries in utter silence, to the point where Dayne felt awkward even speaking to Miri while they waited for the baron. She quietly accepted the tea and didn’t break the silence herself until the baron came in.

  “This must be the famed Mister Heldrin,” he said as he crossed the room. “Thank you so much for coming, and thank you, Miri, for bringing him.”

  “Of course,” Miri said, taking the baron’s hand as he came over.

  Baron Vollingale was a relatively young man, only a few years older than Dayne and Mirianne at best, but he had the harrowed look of a man who had aged years in the past few days. His fair hair was unkempt, his eyes were cast with dark circles, and he was wearing only a dressing gown, belted at the waist.

  He sat down at the desk. “My gratitude cannot be adequately expressed, regardless.”

  “I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, sir,” Dayne said. “I am happy to help you in any way I can, but—”

  “Of course, of course,” Vollingale said. He sighed, and that sigh broke into sobs. “I’m sorry.”

  “Take your time,” Mirianne said.

  Neither of them spoke for a moment, and Dayne felt as if it was on him to prompt the conversation. “So I understand your situation might be connected to the ones I’m already looking into?”

  “Yes,” Vollingale said, dabbing his eyes with a kerchief. “Which surprises me, because until Miri talked to me last night, I thought—we had been explicitly targeted.”

  “A ransom situation?” Dayne asked.

  “We presumed,” Vollingale said. “This happened three days ago, late in the evening. I had been at the Hardicher Club, playing cards, and came home just around one bell. And I found my wife at the bottom of the main stairway, an absolute wreck, and one of the footmen badly injured.”

  “So, your home was invaded?” Dayne asked. “The person came here to abduct your son?”

  “Person,” Vollingale said with a scoff. “According to my wife’s maid, it was some sort of monster, enormous. Taller than you, my friend. Skin of scaly gray. The sort of thing confined to Waish country stories. I couldn’t believe such tales, but . . .”

  “But?” Dayne asked.

  “My wife, she could barely communicate with me. Whatever she saw, it terrified her.”

  “So what did she see?” Dayne asked. “Can I speak to her?”

  “She is in no state, I’m sorry. She’s only said one word since that night. ‘Gurond.’”

  That was of note. “That’s a name another witness heard.”

  “Where?” the baron asked. “Who?”

  “In Dentonhill.”

  “Who was taken there?”

  “Children of factory workers,” Dayne said.

  “That makes no sense,” he said, agitation rising in his voice. “Don’t you know who that must be?”

  “Gurond?” Dayne shook his head. “Should I?”

  Vollingale sighed. “Maybe not. The Barony of Vollingale is in the eastern part of the archduchy, near Itasiana. It used to be two baronies, until about fifteen years ago. My family’s, and our rivals, the Gurond family.”

  “Rivals?”

  “Ugly, petty business that went back generations. Squabbles over land, over money, over anything. Too much blood spilt in the process, and so many lives destroyed, in both families. Not to mention the havoc it wreaked among common folk who were our tenants and residents. Nothing I am proud of, or ever had any part of myself.”

  “What happened fifteen years ago?” Dayne asked.

  “I don’t know all the details, as my father took them to his grave, but he had finally crushed the Gurond family. Devastated them utterly. They lost their land, their fortune, everything. Lord Gurond went to prison for years, ended up begging in the streets before he died. The lady killed herself, and their son—”

  He faltered, his voice cracking. Mirianne reached across the desk and took his hand.

  “It’s all right.”

  “They had a son. Pendall. I’m given to understand he fell into a life of crime. An enforcer or assassin. He was a large brute of a boy to my memory. I imagine he grew up to match you in height.”

  “You think he’s the giant we’ve been hearing tales of?” Dayne asked.

  “I mean, this is—I only met him a few times, when I was about eight. I remember him as a cruel bully who had a . . . flair for the theatrical. He wouldn’t just hurt you, he wanted to scare you.”

  Dayne understood. “You think the ‘monster’ is some sort of disguise he’s adopted? And he took your son for . . . revenge?”

  “Exactly,” the baron said. “But how does that track with the other things you’ve heard?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dayne said.

  “It’s rather simple, actually,” Miri said. “You say he became a criminal. Clearly, he’s been drafted to abduct children, for a purpose we don’t understand. He’s largely been targeting vulnerable children in poorer neighborhoods. But the opportunity came to also make it personal, and he took it.”

  Dayne nodded. That made sense.

  “Does this help you, Mister Heldrin?” the baron asked.

  “It’s another piece of the larg
er puzzle,” Dayne said. “I’m afraid I don’t have sight of the whole thing yet, and I know that’s no comfort in terms of getting your son home and safe.”

  “No,” Vollingale said.

  “But I will keep working on this,” Dayne said. “I will do whatever I can.”

  Vollingale got to his feet. “I appreciate that. Anything you need—money is no object, of course.”

  “Not necessary,” Dayne said.

  “Take care of yourself,” Miri said to the baron. “You need to be strong for your family right now. You haven’t slept, have you?”

  “Not a drop,” he said.

  “I have a doctor who is very good,” she said. “Should I send him to you?”

  “Please,” he said. “Thank you both so very much.”

  They were led out to Miri’s carriage. “What are you going to do now?” she asked as she got in.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, staying on the walkway. “See what I can find out about this Gurond fellow, how it all connects.”

  “Aren’t you getting in?” she asked. “I need to go to the store, but I can drop you, leave you the carriage if you need to get around . . .”

  “No,” Dayne said. “Like I said, I don’t have sight of the whole picture, and . . . I think I want to walk so I can think it through.”

  “Of course,” she said, leaning out of the carriage to kiss him. “Be kind to yourself, my love. It’s not on you to save everyone.”

  Minox had spent the morning preparing himself. He first waited for most of the household to go to work, or, for the ones who were working moonslight shifts, to go to sleep. By nine bells, the only ones up and about in the house were Mother and Aunt Zura, both of them in the kitchen.

  Confident he would not be interrupted, he went into his mother’s room, and, more specifically, to his father’s trunk. There he found what he would need: his father’s old riding coat, as well as his crossbow and bolts. Sharp, deadly points. Not the Constabulary blunt-tips. Minox put it all together and put it in a knapsack with his own handstick.

  In a few hours he would break law and convention, and force his way into the chapterhouse of the Blue Hand Circle. He might find nothing. He might find himself in the fight of his life against a well-trained mage. He might find children in need of rescue. He really had no idea.