Veiled

by Benedict Jacka

  “Because she does trust me, and I don’t want to take advantage of that. If everything hinged on what she could tell us, then maybe, but I’m not going to force her to do it on a tiny off chance of getting something that might help.”

  “Verus, if you never want to make people upset with you, you’re in the wrong job. We’re the police. We’re not here to be nice.”

  It was still a line I wasn’t comfortable with crossing, but I knew I’d taken the argument as far as I could. “Have you checked your phone?”

  Caldera gave me a suspicious look but pulled the phone from her pocket. As soon as she read what was on the screen, her brow cleared and the futures in which she kept asking me about Xiaofan vanished. “They’ve got the CCTV. Come on, we’re going back to the station.”

  “After you.”

  | | | | | | | | |

  I couldn’t help but relax slightly as I stepped through the gate back into Keeper headquarters. I still didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable in the place, but you can get used to anything, and the sound of Keepers, auxiliaries, and admin staff talking and typing and walking through the narrow halls was familiar now. Besides, when you’ve got an assassin to worry about, hanging out with a bunch of cops suddenly doesn’t seem like such a bad deal.

  Once we were back in her office, Caldera tapped at her keyboard for a second, then beckoned to me. “Take a look.”

  I walked around the desk. Filling most of the computer screen was a headshot of a man in his thirties. The face was long and angled, eyes expressionless and grey. The beard was thinner, and there were no sunglasses this time, but I recognised him all the same. “Look familiar?” Caldera asked.

  I reached to the keyboard, scrolled right. A series of photos went past, different angles, different places. Alone, none of them was a perfect match, but putting them together . . . “It’s him.”

  “You sure?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  Caldera nodded. “Jean-Jacques Duval, thirty-four years old, mage name Chamois. Born in Lyons, travels all around Europe as a freelance battle-mage—he works for Dark or Light, anyone who’ll pay the bills. Suspected assassin but he’s never quite made it onto the wanted list. He uses France as a base and does all his dirty work out of the country, then stays on just good enough terms with the French Council to get away with it. Pretty tough reputation. The people who want to talk him up call him Silence, or The Silent.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I’d found the video of the battle in Stratford station. It was grainy and low quality, but it wasn’t hard for me to recognise myself. “I think I know where that came from.”

  We watched the fight play out. I saw myself jump away from Chamois’s implosion spell. “You run fast when you want to, don’t you?” Caldera said.

  “Practice.” On the video, Chamois leapt onto the train and disappeared from view. “How long’s he been in the country?”

  “His passport’s not registered as having entered,” Caldera said. “Not that that means anything.”

  “Any other sightings?”

  Caldera shook her head. “He probably gated out as soon as that attack failed.”

  “Huh.” The video ended and I searched quickly through the folders. “Where’s the video from Pudding Mill Lane?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the bad news,” Caldera said. “You know those cameras you saw at Pudding Mill Lane, the ones you went back to take a closer look at? All dead. Early Thursday evening, they lost the feeds from platform and approach CCTV.”

  I looked up at her sharply. “That’s the same time that report was called in.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “What killed the cameras?”

  “‘Electrical failure,’ whatever that means. Not like a bunch of TFL engineers are going to know what to look for in a magic attack.”

  “Yeah, I’m guessing we can rule out coincidence.” I thought for a second. “When did the feeds go?”

  “Between six twenty-three and six twenty-six. The call-in was seven-oh-four.”

  “Not collateral damage, then.”

  “Safe bet,” Caldera said. “So someone decides to do some business around the station, and they don’t want anyone watching.”

  “Why would they pick a station?” I said. “Why not somewhere private?”

  “Maybe they didn’t want somewhere completely private. Picked a place that was away from the public eye, but public enough that it’d discourage a fight.”

  I tried to picture it in my head. Two people, maybe more, coming to that station to do . . . what? A meeting, an exchange? I remembered what Xiaofan had told us. A younger boy and a man, and the man had held the focus only a little while. Maybe the data focus had passed between the two of them, given or taken. Then the man had lost it, for it to fall into the gravel beyond the platform . . . but how?

  “So something goes wrong,” Caldera continued when I stayed quiet. “There’s a fight, we get the call. Somewhere along the way, that focus gets lost. You pick it up, and sometime after that our Mr. Chamois figures out the thing’s missing. He gets the idea that if he hangs around, he might find out who took it. You show up, he spots you, and everything plays out from there.”

  “Why was he trying to kill me then?”

  “Probably wasn’t. Just wanted to cripple you badly enough that he could take you somewhere for a proper interrogation before he finished you off.”

  “You’re a real ray of sunshine about this stuff, aren’t you?”

  “Well, that’s enough guesswork for now,” Caldera said. “Check the folder. I’ve got every CCTV recording I can find from the Stratford area over that time period, plus all the recordings from Pudding Mill Lane from earlier. I’ve shared access with your computer, so go through them and see what you can turn up.”

  I clicked on the folder and started scrolling down. When I saw just how much footage there was, my eyebrows went up.

  | | | | | | | | |

  It was a few hours later.

  The sun had set, and the sky through the small office window was dark. Around us, Keeper headquarters was quieter, though still nowhere near empty. Every now and then footsteps would go past in the corridor outside, but Caldera and I were alone in the office.

  I leant back from the computer with a groan. My eyes were aching and it was getting hard to focus on the screen. “I’m not getting anything.”

  “Nothing from the stations?” Caldera said.

  “He jumped on that train at Stratford, but he didn’t get off at Bow Church or any of the stations after that. No sign of him on the station cameras before or after. I don’t think he was even there.” I shook my head. “And once he stops casting spells and walks into the crowd, he looks just like all the other five thousand people on these tapes. This is like looking for a needle in a haystack, except you don’t know if the needle’s in the haystack. I don’t think he’s on any of these tapes at all.”

  “Probably.”

  I stared gloomily at the computer screen. “I wish we had Sonder for this.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one who’s figured out that timesight’s useful,” Caldera said. “Sonder’s on the upward track now. He’s on the exchange program in Washington.”

  “What are we doing here?” I asked Caldera. “I mean, we’re looking at footage from one to two days ago. Even if we see anything, is it going to help us catch this guy?”

  “If he’s smart, he’s out of the country by now.”

  “So . . . ?”

  Caldera shook her head. “You’re like all the other mages. You think Keeper work’s all about mage duels and chasing people down. We only have those kinds of fights when stuff goes wrong.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  Caldera laughed. “We know what happened, we know what crime was committed, and we’ve got a positive ID on the suspect. We basically s
olved the case already. This is just the wrap-up.”

  “But we have no idea how to find the guy.”

  “Don’t need to,” Caldera said. “IDing the suspect and proving what they did is the hard part. Once we’re done with this, you can write up a report and we’ll get a warrant issued for Chamois’s arrest. He attacked you and a civilian on camera: it’s pretty open-shut. Then we pass it on and wait for the next case.”

  “And wait for some other Keeper to pick him up?”

  “What, you wanted to take the guy down yourself? We’re an organisation. Quit with the lone-wolf stuff.”

  I shrugged. “Seriously, though,” Caldera said, “you did a good job on this one. As soon as you managed to get away from the guy at Stratford, you won. The rest is just cleanup.”

  “Doesn’t feel like we’ve won.”

  “You get used to it. Come take a look at this.”

  I got up and crossed the room to look over Caldera’s shoulder. On the screen was a nighttime video of a London A-road, two lanes each way. The time stamp read 7:03, two days ago. “What am I looking at?” I said.

  “CCTV from Stratford High Street,” Caldera said. “Same time that the 999 call was made.” She pointed at the bottom-right of the picture. “See the corner there? That’s the side street that leads over the canal to the Pudding Mill Lane construction site. Watch.”

  Caldera hit the Play button. Vehicles began to travel back and forth on the main road, cars mixed with the occasional lorry or bus. A few pedestrians were scattered along the pavement. As we watched, a figure appeared at the bottom right corner, running from the direction Caldera had pointed out. He darted out across the road, forcing cars to brake to avoid hitting him. The figure didn’t stop but kept going to the far pavement, then headed southwest towards the big overpass. A few pedestrians had turned their heads to watch.

  “In a hurry, isn’t he?” I said.

  “Yep,” Caldera said. “999 call was at seven-oh-four, and that spot’s about two minutes’ run from the station. Could have come from somewhere else, but that street’s mostly a dead end.”

  “You think he was the one who made the call?”

  “Nah.” Caldera pointed to the screen; the figure was disappearing down the road, and the time stamp had clicked over to 7:04. “Call would have been made by now. Besides, the one who called in was a woman. That’s a boy.”

  “It is?”

  “Early teens, maybe younger.”

  The figure just looked like a grey outline to me, but then I don’t spend long periods of time studying CCTV footage. Caldera rewound the video and again we watched the figure dash across the road. “He’s running pretty blind,” I said.

  “He’s running from something,” Caldera said. “Look. After the car brakes, see how he turns his head and looks back? He’s more worried about what’s behind him.” Caldera looked thoughtful. “Wonder what got him so scared?”

  “He could have been a bystander?”

  “Timing’s a little off for that. Besides, remember what your friend Xiaofan said? Second-to-last owner was a boy.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Thought you didn’t believe her?”

  “Didn’t say that, did I?” Caldera said. “Have another look at the Thursday footage and see if you can find any trace of this kid. Oh, and while you’re up, get us a coffee.”

  “I’m not your secretary, you know.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I rolled my eyes and went out into the corridor. Even though it was a Saturday night, I could hear movement from elsewhere in the building. An office after working hours has a different feel from one during the daytime: there’s a kind of energy you don’t get when everyone is just doing their nine-to-five. It’s not the sort of environment where you can really relax, but there’s a weird sense of camaraderie.

  Haken was at the coffee machine. The last time I’d seen him had been at Red’s, on Thursday night: he hadn’t looked so tired back then. “You’re working late,” I said.

  “Oh, hey, Verus,” Haken said. “Yeah. This bloody missing-persons case.”

  “I keep hearing about that.” I opened the fridge and glanced through for milk. “Who are you guys looking for?”

  “You know that Council mage, Nirvathis?”

  “Vaguely. Is he the one who’s got his eyes on that Junior Council seat that’ll go to the Dark mages if . . . ?”

  “Yeah, him. Well, his ex-apprentice did a vanishing act. So now he’s accusing the Dark mages, and the Crusaders have jumped on it from one side and the Unitarians from the other and it’s a giant bloody mess.” Haken sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve got four different factions riding us and they all want us to solve the case, except they all want us to solve it different ways, so they’re calling for reports every hour. Everyone’s had their leave cancelled and we’re spending more time answering calls than we are actually working. Total balls-up.”

  “Guess that explains why we’re not getting any help.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. You two are going to be on your own for a few days.” Haken yawned. “How’s it going anyway?”

  I shrugged. “We IDed the guy. No idea if we’ll catch him.”

  “You figured out why he was after you?”

  We know that already. I opened my mouth to say that the assassin had been after the focus I’d picked up, then something made me change my mind. That last thing Landis had said to me . . . “Not really.”

  “Well, keep at it.” Haken walked out.

  The coffeepot was empty, so I had to make a fresh batch. When I was done I took the mug and headed back to Caldera’s office. The corridor was deserted but I could hear the sound of voices coming from the open door: Caldera and Haken. As I approached the doorway I saw Haken walk out.

  I went back into the office. Caldera was still in her chair, and I set the mug down on her desk. “Nice one,” she said without looking up.

  “What did Haken want?”

  “Oh, just being nosy,” Caldera said. “His guy went missing around the time we got that call-in, so he was checking to see if the cases might be connected.”

  “You think they are?”

  Caldera shrugged. “Suppose they could be.”

  “You told him about the focus?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Something was nagging at the back of my mind: a little seed of unease. It might be nothing, but . . . “Do you mind if I knock off? I’m still not a hundred percent.”

  “Sure. Go get some rest.”

  I headed for the door. “Oh,” Caldera said after me, “put that focus in storage before you go home, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  | | | | | | | | |

  I took a train to Hampstead Heath and met up with an old friend. We talked a while, and I left the focus there before gating back to my shop. The focus was being stored somewhere safe, and I’d put it there before going home, so I’d done what Caldera had told me to do . . . technically.

  I knew that I was playing with fire, doing this. Obeying the letter of Caldera’s orders but not the spirit was something I’d done a few too many times already, and I’d discovered from experience that it really pissed her off. But I had the feeling that it might be a good idea to be prepared. If things went well, what I’d just done would be irrelevant and no one would really care. But if things went badly . . . then I’d be glad I’d taken the precaution.

  The gate closed behind me, leaving me in the darkness of my shop storeroom, and I sagged in sudden exhaustion, catching myself on a set of shelves. Operating a gate stone is difficult for me—my magic is very bad at affecting the physical world—and it had been a long day.

  The doorbell rang.

  I held still. The echoes died away, fading into silence, and the shop was dark and quiet again. It was nine o’clock on a Saturday night. Who was calling at
this hour?

  I looked ahead. The caller was a woman, and she was outside the door, waiting. I filtered the futures, searching for danger. Nothing that I could see. I changed my focus, looking to see how she would introduce herself . . .

  . . . oh.

  I forgot all about her, didn’t I?

  I checked my one-shots, touched the hilt of the knife under my coat. I didn’t really want to answer the door. But I’d invited her—had it only been last night?—and it was too late for second thoughts. I walked out into my shop. Neon light glowed from the street outside, slits of it passing through the security shutters to cast strips of orange across the counters and shelves. Out in the road, a car rumbled by, making the shadows flicker. I opened the front door.

  The woman outside was a little below average height, with light brown skin and dark eyes. Her hair was black and shoulder length, blending into her black coat so that only her face stood out in the darkness. “Mage Verus?”

  “And you would be . . . ?”

  “Chalice.” She held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  I checked with my magesight: no active spells that I could see. I shook her hand. “That’s right. Good to meet you.”

  “You aren’t too busy? I know it’s late.”

  I looked back at Chalice. A Dark mage . . . and Luna’s prospective teacher. “No, it’s fine.” I smiled. “Why don’t you come in?”

  chapter 6

  I handed Chalice a cup of tea. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  We were up in my living room. Chalice was sitting on the sofa, knees together. I sat in the chair opposite her and put my own cup of tea on the table with a click. The sounds of the Camden night came filtering faintly through the window—shouts and laughter, running footsteps, the thumping of music from over the rooftops—but inside, the room was quiet.

  I studied Chalice. Her coat was slung over the sofa along with her scarf, and she was leaning back, apparently relaxed. She wasn’t obviously pretty but she dressed well and held herself with a sort of pleasant confidence. She didn’t look like a Dark mage, or any sort of mage for that matter. She looked like a professional London woman in her late twenties or early thirties.