by Ian Whates
He knew there would have to be an interview, and the task of conducting it fell to Tylus and his young side-kick, Richardson.
"What puzzles me," the Kite Guard began, "is why Senior Arkademic Magnus would send his man servant to investigate anything, let alone a murder and its runaway suspect."
Dewar realised that in situations such as this, honesty was the best policy; up to a point. "I used to live in the City Below, so know the people and places down here, plus, I wasn't always a man servant and possess skills other than butlering. After you left the senior arkademic's home he got to thinking that perhaps I might have more success finding the lad through my old contacts than you would through official channels, so asked me to help. Knowing how close the senior arkademic had been to the victim, I naturally agreed to help."
"But that still doesn't explain why you didn't declare yourself once you were here."
"That was my decision. It seemed to me that if I was seen to be associating with the razzers, some of my sources might be less than forthcoming with what they knew. Better to work in total isolation."
"So, explain to us again how you came to be at the Blue Claw's headquarters."
The interview continued in that manner. Truth, half-truths and omission worked so much better than outright lies. By the end of it, the assassin felt confident that the Kite Guard was unlikely to find fault with any of his answers. He judged that he had laid many of the man's suspicions to rest, though perhaps not quite all of them. He was beginning to conclude that he had underestimated this Kite Guard. After all, this presumed buffoon had discovered enough to turn up at the Blue Claw's headquarters not long after he had done so himself, and managed to persuade an overstretched city watch to accompany him mobhanded. That was no mean feat and was certainly a great deal more than he would have expected from the callow youth who presented himself at Magnus's home. Perhaps the environment of the City Below suited him.
Jezmina continued to be a problem. Since she hadn't been infected by the mechanical creatures, it was decided that she should not be put in with the other Blue Claw, but with so many nicks being detained the station's cells were full to bursting, so for the moment the girl was manacled to the desk which the Kite Guard shared with Richardson.
As the three of them emerged from the interview room, two of the younger watch officers were chatting to the girl, broad grins on their faces, while Jezmina sat on a chair, hugging one knee - exposing virtually all of one shapely leg in the process, the one without the leg iron - her head cocked slightly to one side, as she smiled and batted her eyelids at the pair of them.
Able looked up at the same moment and spotted what was going on. "Hey, you two! Have you finished your reports yet?"
The two officers scuttled back to work.
Able frowned at Tylus as they passed in front of his desk and muttered, "We're going to have to do something about that young minx sooner rather than later or I'll never get any work out of this lot."
Richardson paused at the sergeant's desk and said a little hesitantly, almost as if he were afraid of speaking to Able, "My sister..."
"Done!" the sergeant said instantly. "Excellent suggestion, Richardson. Teaming you up with Kite Officer Tylus here has been the making of you. Take the girl straight round to your sister's now."
"But I haven't even told you what my sis-"
"No buts, officer. You're acting for the good of the department, and providing a poor unfortunate girl with a new start in life. Everyone's a winner I'd say, wouldn't you?"
Richardson looked anything but convinced. "I really think I should ask my sister first, sir."
"Of course you should," Able agreed. "Go round immediately and do so. In fact, take the girl with you to save time. And, Richardson..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Make sure your sister says yes."
"What does your sister do, anyway?" Tylus asked as they left the sergeant and threaded their way through a busy squad room towards where Jezmina sat.
"She's a seamstress; runs her own business making up dresses for a couple of the upmarket boutiques in the Shopping Rows. She's got a few girls working for her at the moment and I thought maybe she could use one more."
Dewar tried to picture Jezmina sitting demurely with a bolt of cloth in front of her and needle and thread in hand but completely failed to do so.
"So she's used to handling girls then, your sister?"
"Oh yes, raised two of her own, plus she's the oldest and brought all five of us up after my ma died, so she knows how to keep order. A bit of a dragon, to be honest; though don't tell her I said so."
Dewar smiled to himself. It sounded as if Richardson's sister might be exactly what Jezmina needed. The girl had all but ignored the assassin since they arrived at the station, presumably dismissing him as a potential target for her charms after trying to split his skull open. Tylus and Richardson, however, remained viable prospects, and the two of them were getting the full treatment: coy smiles, wistful gazes, flirtatious giggles, pouts, hair flicks and body stretches with arms above her head, chin thrusting up and pubescent chest forward. Bearing in mind she was chained to a desk, it was remarkable how inventive the girl still managed to be. Dewar shook his head, enjoying the opportunity to watch an artist at work.
Tylus seemed entirely immune to the girl's ploys, perhaps he had a girlfriend back in the Heights or perhaps he was simply too absorbed in being a Kite Guard to entertain such distractions. Richardson, on the other hand, was notably flustered in Jezmina's presence, almost tripping over himself to fetch her some water when she declared she was thirsty and visibly blushing when she rewarded him with a dazzling smile. Despite the girl's circumstances and her age, people, or rather men, continued to react to her as if she were anything but a young girl.
Dewar knew first-hand how powerful her allure could be, and he knew full well how the City Below could affect children - forcing them to become adult before their time in order to survive - but watching this girl, even while admiring her audacity and application, a part of him was saddened by the spectacle, he realised.
He was more than a little relieved when Richardson led her away, leg iron still in place despite her pleas. Dewar only hoped for the young guard's sake that his sister lived nearby. The less time Jezmina had to work on the lad's hormones, the better.
As she left, she finally looked directly at him; the first time she had done so since hitting him over the head. Her mouth formed a fragile, uncertain smile, which he thought might have been the first wholly genuine expression he had seen from her, and she said, "'Bye. It was fun."
Was it? Not from where he'd been standing.
On the face of it, everything was proceeding according to plan, yet Magnus couldn't shake the feeling that this appearance was deceptive. As threatened, the prime master had sent his man round first thing that morning. Magnus had responded to the doorbell's chime to find a tall, slender and impeccably presented individual standing there; a man whose manners promised to be as faultless as his appearance. Yet there was something in the fellow's attitude which made it clear that this was all a little beneath him and that taking care of a mere senior arkademic was his idea of slumming it. Despite this, Magnus welcomed him with as much grace as their respective positions required, and so ushered this undoubted spy into his home.
He left for the assembly hall a little earlier than usual, no longer entirely comfortable in his own home, feeling that his personal space had been invaded.
The morning proved a busy one. Magnus knew his remaining time in the assembly was short and wanted to be sure of his power base before moving on. Too many people had a tendency to forget how important the assembly was once they'd been elevated to the prestigious rank of master. Of course the council of masters was where the ultimate power rested, but the chief instrument of their authority was the assembly, and the degree of responsibility and decision making that devolved down to the lower body was considerable in its own right. Magnus had established himself as one of th
e major players in the city's secondary tier of power, and he had no intention of letting go of the reins here once he was promoted to the council.
So the morning had been spent cementing alliances and ensuring that things would continue to run smoothly in his absence. Once he had hoped that Thomas might be the man to deputise for him following his ascension, but that had been long ago and subsequently their paths had diverged. It still stung that Thomas should choose to stand with that harridan Syrena, the assembly's self-appointed moral conscience, and oppose him. After all he had done for the younger man, even nominating him for the assembly in the first place. No point in dwelling on that though, it was all wind past the walls now.
In theory, the assembly broke for lunch at the same time every day. In practice, the break was when much of the real work was done: the bargaining, the deals, the courting of the uncommitted. As things stood, Syrena and her allies lacked the credibility or support to seriously challenge his scheduled ascension, particularly without Thomas. He fully intended to ensure things stayed that way, so was wooing those neutrals who, over recent weeks, had displayed signs of sympathising with the harridan's position.
Somehow, Syrena had caught wind of an incident in his past - the proverbial skeleton in the closet. Quite how she had stumbled across the information was something he would dearly love to know. Not that it was important, since the accusations of his corruption lacked any firm proof. Thomas was the only person who might have leant them some validity - a conversation he had been a witness to some years ago suddenly taking on new significance - but, of course, Thomas was no longer available to corroborate anything.
Even so, this was a whiff of scandal that Magnus could well do without at present.
So he courted, befriended and offered support where appropriate, ensuring that Syrena and her allies remained insignificant voices crying in the wilderness.
It was this familiar dance of political manoeuvring that Magnus was fully absorbed by when he became aware of a disturbance, a rumbling of murmurs and exclamations that swirled around him. He looked up, a little annoyed at being interrupted but wondering what could cause such a commotion here, in the common room of the assembly. What he saw provided more than adequate explanation.
Moving steadily towards him, dispensing smiles and greetings as he passed, was the prime master of Thaiburley, flanked by four of the council guard. Magnus stopped speaking, forgot what he had been saying and so allowed the delicate web of silken words he had been so carefully spinning to disintegrate.
This was unprecedented. Never in living memory had council guards set foot in the assembly's commons. Despite the vastness of the room, Magnus felt hemmed in, as if the walls were closing inexorably towards him. He looked around quickly, seeking a means of escape, but knew that if he ran now, in front of so many of his contemporaries, all would be lost beyond any hope of redemption and he was not yet ready to throw everything away so wantonly. He waited, rising to his feet as the prime master's party arrived, with smile and greeting at the ready.
"Prime master, again you have managed to surprise me."
"Magnus, yes, I get to visit the assembly too infrequently these days - the pressure of time and responsibility, I'm afraid."
This sounded promising; no immediate sign of his being arrested yet at any rate.
The prime master took a seat, the four white-cloaked guards arraying themselves behind him. Once Magnus had also sat down again, he continued. "Look, apologies for the unorthodox entrance, but there have been developments in the Thomas investigation."
Magnus's heart skipped a beat. Surely the prime master was not about to discuss such sensitive issues here, where a hundred pairs of ears were straining to catch every nuance? The prime master could not possibly have reached his present eminence were he that naive.
"Developments regarding you, actually."
Magnus tensed despite his best efforts. Was this it: arrest after all?
"I don't mean to alarm you, but a disturbing possibility has emerged." If this was intended not to alarm Magnus, it was doing a very poor job. "It seems that Thomas may not have been the intended victim of the murder."
Magnus blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. "Pardon?"
"We now have reason to believe that you may have been the actual target, that the assassin killed the wrong man."
Magnus fought to control a very strong desire to laugh. "What?" was all he could manage.
"Think about it," the prime master continued, "a street-nick is assigned to kill you and is sent to a place where he expects to find you. On his arrival, he sees a man dressed in senior cleric's blue exactly where and when he was told you would be."
"Yes, but, I mean, who...?"
"Not for you to worry about, my friend; leave the answering of questions to the experts, who are working on them even as we speak. Our prime concern is for your safety. That's why the guards are here. Until this situation is resolved, I'm assigning two of the council's own guard to protect you. They'll be your constant companions until the monsters responsible for this appalling act are brought to justice, as they inevitably shall be." These last words boomed out sonorously, as if the prime master were delivering a stirring speech.
A ripple of spontaneous applause broke out among the onlookers, which quickly gathered pace until all those present were clapping enthusiastically. Of course the prime master wasn't naive, Magnus realised; he was deliberately playing to an audience.
"I don't know what to say, prime-"
The man held up a hand, forestalling further comment. "No need to thank me, Magnus. It's just the council's way of letting you know that you have friends and you don't have to face this ordeal alone."
The prime master then excused himself and left, breezing out of the common room as he had breezed in. With him, he took two of the tall and solemn guards. Conspicuously, the other two remained.
In the wake of his departure, excited conversation bubbled throughout the room. Magnus sat and brooded, letting all the hubbub wash over him. How had this happened? Ostensibly, everything was being done for his benefit - the man servant, the guards - but in the process, he was being stifled bit by bit, his freedom of movement restricted. And, as yet, he could not think of a single thing to do about it.
The session bell called them back for the afternoon's proceedings, and Magnus filed out with his fellows towards the assembly hall, flanked by his newly-acquired white-cloaked shadows, who he hoped would wait at the doors. As he was about to enter the hall, a runner came up and handed him a slip of paper. He read the message as he walked but, on seeing its content, stumbled to a halt.
Magnus read the note again with growing disbelief. He clenched his fist in frustration, scrunching the sheet of paper up in the process.
"Bad news, Magnus?" asked a concerned voice.
He looked up to discover that his reaction had been witnessed by a fellow senior arkademic, one who wore her robe with unfailing elegance. As ever, her pure silver hair was pulled back severely and tied in a bun. Rumour had it that she maintained her faultless complexion courtesy of the judicious application of the arts, but the truth was that she had never looked any different. There were no specific moments when people could point to a sudden transformation, old to younger-looking; the wretched woman simply never seemed to age, so the rumours remained just that. Her grey-blue eyes now studied him closely, looking for any crack or weakness.
He smiled, with as little sincerity as she had expressed in her words. "Nothing of any importance, Syrena, though thank you for your concern."
The woman nodded and walked on.
Magnus smoothed out the paper and read the message for a third time, though he couldn't have explained why, since he knew perfectly well what it said. The message had originated from a Captain Johnson, a watch station commander in the City Below. It asked for confirmation that a man by the name of Dewar worked for him and requested a description of the individual if so.
What in the name of Thaiss was
going on down there?
THIRTEEN
Tylus was relieved to see the girl, Jezmina, depart. He noted the affect she had on some of the men but couldn't understand it. To him she was just a child making a spectacle of herself and he found the sight both irritating and tiresome. The men who were taken in by her clumsy flaunting he could only pity. Richardson seemed far more charitably disposed to the girl, treating her as if she were some precious daughter, which made him the ideal person to escort her away. Once he did so, everyone was able to concentrate more effectively.
Looking back, once things calmed down a little and the thrill of new discovery palled, Tylus found he had mixed feelings about the raid. It had been a qualified success at best. Ironically, where it proved most worthwhile was in providing progress for the watch with regard to their ongoing situation with the street-nicks; the very carrot he had used to persuade Johnson to authorise the raid in the first place without any real expectation of success in that direction. It now seemed certain that these strange hybrid mechanisms were affecting the youths' behaviour to some extent and so were indeed connected to the problem. A happy circumstance which did his reputation no harm whatsoever.
Unfortunately, there was still no sign of the boy Tom, and general consensus seemed to be that if the lad had returned to the under-City early the previous morning as presumed, he should have found his way home by now. As he clearly hadn't, it was felt that he had probably fallen victim to one of the many dangers that lurked in the streets. This was all well and good, but it didn't help Tylus, who could hardly return to the senior arkademic with such vague and unsubstantiated conjecture. If the lad had perished he needed to establish exactly where and how. He was going to have to piece together the sequence of events that led up to whatever had become of the boy; only then could he stand in front of Magnus and report with confidence. That meant widening the area of search, with the most immediate priority being to establish exactly where Tom had returned to in the City Below. To discover this, he would have to check each and every stairwell until he chanced upon the right one. Which entailed dealing with the street-nicks. The problem being, of course, that the street-nicks were not fully themselves at present, so nothing he learnt from them could be relied upon.
