The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1)

by C. A. Sanders

  “Excuse me, Miss.”

  “That’s Missus.” The cook turned around. “Oh, beggin’ yer pardon, Off’cer. You must be here about poor Stew’rt. Such a shame, such a shame. I’m Mirna, and this is my daughter Cath’rine.” The girl smiled, showing her surprisingly well-formed teeth.

  “You were here when they took Stewart?”

  “I was.” She waved her spoon at Catharine. “You go on now, Kitty. You don’t need to hear this. Go tell Morris he can take lunch at One o’clock.”

  “I wanna talk to the policeman. I’ve never seen one before.”

  Mirna stepped to her, spoon raised like a club. The girl squealed as she scampered off.

  Mirna returned the spoon to the pot of soup. The smell was marvelous. “That girl’ll be the end of me.”

  She offered me some cold chicken as we spoke. I found myself liking her, but she didn’t know anything besides household gossip and bunkum.

  “Do you know where I can find the housekeeper?”

  She tutted and sighed. “Poor girl, she was the one that found Molly. Dunno why the mister fired her. It may’ve been spite for not saving his son. The mister can be like that. Her name’s Lily, but I don’t know where she lives now.”

  “Thank you.” I left her alone. I hoped that Pop had more luck than I did. All Vanderlay knew was how to be a bastard.

  Nathaniel

  There was no doubt that this was the house from my dream. If I were to crawl on my belly, the view, the feel of the rug, even the scent of the house would be the same. Yet my attention was fixed on the magic pulsing from Missus Vanderlay like a dragon’s heart.

  We stood in the nursery, a large room painted in baby blue, decorated with finely crafted furniture. Though the snake was long gone, threads of magic slithered across the floor to where the cradle should’ve been.

  “Where’s the cradle?” I asked.

  “They took it when they stole Stewart. I don’t understand why they would take the cradle. It must be part of their ritual.”

  “And nobody saw?”

  “I don’t believe that, either,” she said as she wiped her red-rimmed eyes. “They all conspired together. It’s a plot to take my poor baby away from me. Oh, he must be so lonely.” She turned away from me and tried to regain composure.

  I mumbled some reassuring sounds and knelt where the cradle used to be. I felt residual threads of all five elements and the remnants of an apparating circle. The runes were an archaic weave—and powerful. I smelled salt and tasted sand in the mystic residue.

  “What do you see?” The missus stepped closer and looked over my shoulder.

  I stood up. “Threads, maybe some dirt. Nothing of use.”

  The throb of magic surrounding Missus Vanderlay almost overwhelmed me. It latched onto my heart, enticing me like the Sirens singing their air of longing to Ulysses.

  I steadied myself by noting her details. She was a thin woman, dressed in mourning black with a locket of sliver. She wore too much powder on her face, especially below her left cheek.

  “You’re convinced that Jews are behind the kidnapping.”

  Her lower lip quivered and tightened her face, but her efforts were for naught. The tears flowed, cutting rivers through the powder on her face. “I know they did. They took my baby for one of their Devil rituals. They did it for vengeance.”

  “Vengeance? For what?”

  “A bad business deal? You know how those people are.” She took out a colored handkerchief and dabbed her tears. A wave of power washed over and staggered me.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “My handkerchief?” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not your concern.”

  “It is if you want me to find your son.” I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It was striped with several colors, faded but not unpleasant. A pattern of waves and curls were embroidered along the edges. Other than the colors, there was nothing striking about it, but it fascinated me all the same.

  Her voice grew low. “If you ask me again, I’ll call my husband. My handkerchief has nothing to do with you or Stewart.”

  There was iron in her gaze, more than a mortal could have. I had to take drastic measures. I knew that it was immoral in the eyes of the Star of Nine—and in my eyes too—but she was holding some unknown power, and I had to know more.

  I extended my will and engulfed the two of us in Aether energy. I heard the music of her soul, a fierce blaring of horns, with the delicate tinkling of piano struggling to be heard. I listened carefully and matched the piano’s song with my own until it forced the horns into the background.

  Her eyes found mine, and they shone. A slight smile bent her mouth.

  “Missus Vanderlay, I am trying to help. I need to know everything, every detail.”

  Missus Vanderlay hesitated as the horns fought to be heard, but I continued to coax the piano forward. “We took a holiday to Europe and Arabia last year,” she finally said. “I bought it in one of those Arab bazaars. It’s mine now.”

  She was holding something back. It was hard to resist a true wizard’s magic. Dwellers can resist, and magelings if they studied well, but a person’s soul wants to sing. It waits to be set free. “Do you carry it in public?”

  I felt her relax. It was a beautiful song, haunting and fragile, like the last leaf in autumn. “That’s where the Hebrew saw it. He offered to buy it right there on Fourth Avenue. The nerve of him! Of course I refused. He came to Riverview the next week and offered me two-hundred dollars. Can you imagine?”

  “Quite the price for a kerchief. It’s not even silk.”

  “I refused him outright. How dare he treat me like some sort of street peddler. I would never take his filthy Hebrew money.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Manuel Levitt.”

  “Rabbi Levitt,” I mumbled. I released the spell, and the horns blared again. She snapped her eyes away from me. “If there’s nothing else, you’ll be on your way.”

  “Yes, thank you for your time.” I started to exit the room, but stopped, blocking the doorway. “I almost forgot, where were you when Stewart was taken?”

  She scrunched her face. “I called on the Jefferies, and then the Lancasters.”

  “Thomas and Candace?”

  “Yes. You have their acquaintance?” she said, looking at my rumpled disguise.

  “From the Tribune. They throw some fancy parties, from what I hear.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “If that is all, you can see yourself out.”

  “I will, and I’ll find young Stewart. Thank you for your help.” Something in my mind urged me to grab the handkerchief and apparate away. She didn’t deserve it, and I could put it to great use. I could weave a trinket with that cloth that would be among the most powerful ever, as legendary as Excalibur or Moses’s staff. All the good I could do for my city. No longer would The Star of Nine or rogues like Cadatchen look down on me. No longer would the Dwellers grumble and complain, despite my good efforts. I would command respect, and they would fear my justice.

  I rushed away.

  Jonas met me at the entrance hall, and we took our leave. Once off the estate, Jonas told me what he found.

  “This Vanderlay’s a snake,” he said, adjusting his coat and flicking some coal dust from his shoulder. “A man like that, he’s capable of anything.”

  “Why would he abduct his own boy?”

  He waved for a carriage, which failed to even slow for us. “Don’t know,” he answered, “but I don’t trust him. What did you find?”

  I told him about the handkerchief. Jonas scoffed. “What does that have to do with the baby?”

  “The baby disappeared cradle and all, not an easy feat. There’s potent magic behind this crime.”

  Another carriage sped by, splattering muck on us. Jonas swore like a stevedore.

  “Jonas!”

  “Sorry, Pop. Bad habit I picked up at university.”

  “Did they teach you anyt
hing useful there?”

  He hummed as he thought. “How to cheat at cards?” He waved at another carriage and this one took us in.

  The carriage seats were worn from years of wear. I imagined the many people that took this carriage in the past. Every one living and loving, raising children, and growing old until someone buries them and forgets their name. With time, everyone becomes an unvisited grave, and their grand schemes mean nothing.

  “Turtle House,” I told him. He answered in a language that I didn’t know.

  “Forty-Seventh and First,” Jonas spat. This time the coachman snapped his reins and we rolled down the avenue.

  “What else did you learn, Pop?”

  “There are two magelings that might be involved. One of them is Jewish, the other is…odd. I’ll have to call on them.”

  “You found more than I did,” he said. “I can’t believe that no one heard anything. Someone’s getting coin for being quiet.”

  “With magic, anything is possible.”

  “The same with money.”

  We stopped in front of Turtle House and I paid the coachman. He left without a word.

  I thought about what Jonas said, about money equating to magic. In this situation, the culprit would have to have both. I knew of a few wealthy magelings, and I would call on the most amicable of them tomorrow. The Rabbi Levitt that Missus Vanderlay spoke of was not wealthy, but he offered a hefty sum for the handkerchief.

  As for Dwellers, the Sidhe could weave magic strong enough, or buy a mageling’s favors. There were quite a few Sidhe with wealth, but my mind went to Cadatchen. He was not beyond kidnapping, and if he knew about the handkerchief, he’d double his efforts. Such magic in his hands would tip the balance of power to his side. The Star of Nine would burn the city to the ground before allowing a Dweller to control it.

  “You’ll stay the night,” I said to Jonas. “I’ll work those spells again, and a hefty dinner will do you well. You’ll be your old self in the morning.”

  He nodded. “I hope so. I’m not fond of my new self.”

  “Well, I’m off.” Jonas dabbed his mouth with a napkin and stood. “Thanks for breakfast. I’m feeling much better.”

  The magic did its work. Jonas’s eyes were almost back to normal, although his lost teeth would take more time. It amazed me how a tall, stout man like Jonas could look so much like Anna, who was so small.

  Jonas, Hendricks, and I sat at the long table. I washed the taste of venison sausage down with some strong tea and a sticky kruller.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’ll stop back home, and then the hospital for Molly. She was looking half-dead when I saw her, but if she’s better maybe she’ll have more to spill.”

  Hendricks choked on his tea. “You’re going back where the Redcaps nearly killed you?” It took me aback. He rarely spoke in that tone.

  “I’m no coward. I’d like to see them when I’m ready.”

  “You’re mad,” Hendricks countered. “They’ll kill you this time.”

  “Hendricks is right,” I said. “Don’t go back there.”

  Jonas threw his hands in the air. “What else am I gonna do? She’s the one loose thread I have.”

  “Find the housekeeper.”

  “That’d take too long. The baby could be gone in days. Chief Matsell’s got his riverfront men watching the ports, but…” Jonas set his jaw, and I knew that there was no turning him back. He was so much like his mother sometimes. She’d get a look in her eye, and I knew that no magic would change her mind. It was what I loved most about her. A strong, clever mind is a precious jewel.

  “I see that I won’t be able to stop you. At least take protection.”

  “I’ll bring my barker.”

  “Bullets won’t harm Dwellers. You need iron, or better yet...” I gestured to the two Dwellers. “Geebee, can you conjure me a small sack?”

  “Right away.” Gnomes have an inherent ability to conjure home and work tools, anything that would make them more productive. She reached behind her back and retrieved a small cloth sack with a drawstring. She gave it to me and I thanked her.

  I channel Earth energy, focused my will, and tightened the weave with runes. The bag filled and I gave it to Jonas. “Rock-salt,” I said with a grin. “It burns like iron. Throw a handful in their face and run.”

  “I won’t run,” Jonas said. “I’ll just have to hit them twice. I’ll bring a poker, too. Between all those dueling lessons you gave me and the drunks I’ve had to lay low, I’ll be fizzing.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I heard his footsteps fade and the front door close. Geebee and I shared a worried gaze.

  “Will we be having a lesson today?” Hendricks said.

  I almost forgot that he was there. “Hendricks…I need your help.” He looked at me like an eager puppy. “I want you to follow Jonas. Make sure to keep him safe.”

  He cast his eyes to his lap. “Yes, Master. I’ll bring my book with me,” he said, “to study.”

  I nodded. “Keep him safe. I trust you.”

  “Thank you, Master.” He rose from the table and left the hall.

  Jonas

  I opened the door to my flat and a folded paper fluttered to the ground. I knew it came from Jim. We often left notes at each other’s door. The entire building knew the details of each other’s’ lives. It they didn’t hear it through the walls, they saw it in the hallways.

  The note read: Patrolman came calling. Report to station roundsman for dues immediately. I crumpled the paper and tossed it to the floor.

  The dues system is a fraud. Each patrolman collects taxes from the businesses on their beat. The patrolman then gives their sergeant and roundsman a slice. We keep what’s left, and that leads to more mayhem. Many patrolmen collect too much jack and live like a king. Manhattan’s an expensive place to live, and the money they take is off someone else’s back.

  The bed called to me. I may have felt better, but I was still exhausted. Yawning, I resisted the call and put on my Muni blues. I pocketed the sack of salt and my barker, a Colt Patterson, then hooked the iron poker onto my belt like a nightstick. I looked a fool, but if it’ll let me hurt those Redcap things, it’ll do. I collected the Roundsman’s dues from under my bed and stuffed it in a sack.

  My station wasn’t far from where I lived, about halfway down Irving. It’s an easy beat, dull as a sermon. Houses of brownstone or Haverstraw brick lined the street, with groceries and taverns on the corners. The houses had high stoops to keep above the mud and horse apples. Servants were sweeping the snow off the stoops. I waved as I walked by, and they waved back.

  The station house is like a molar in the city’s mouth, a grinder of the drunks and b’hoys who end their fun in the dim sub-basement cells. It has two stories above ground, squat and square, with fieldstone walls. The first floor holds the offices and storage closets, the second floor is where on-call patrolmen stay until they’re needed, with a separate room to bunk. The second floor is a clubhouse for beer, billiards, and whist. It’s the best part of the badge.

  I stepped inside and slipped past the desk officer, who was having trouble lighting his cigar. Down the hall, I knocked on the roundsman’s office door. The roundsman is the second-in-command of the precinct. Where the captain deals with orders from above, the roundsman passes them on to the sergeants. If he wants to speak with a simple beater like me, I could expect the shoe thrown my way.

  A voice from inside of the room barked at me to enter.

  “Shut the door, Hood.”

  I closed the door behind me and turned to face Roundsman Leary.

  From what I’ve heard, Big Bill Leary came over from County Clare about fifteen years ago. They say he was a highwayman and a Fenian, and he took his leave before he got fitted for a hemp collar. Before he bought his commission, he bare-knuckled in the Sixth and Fourth Wards. He used his winnings to buy a spot in the Munis and took enough in dues to buy his way up to roundsman.


  Leary does his best to look like a gentleman. His neckerchiefs are silk, his reddish-gray hair always soaped into place, and his long mustache perfectly combed and waxed. But silk and soap can’t hide his doorknob nose or his cauliflower ear. A man like that, he demands obedience, but he’s so damned crooked that when he dies they’ll have to screw him into the ground.

  “You wanted to see me, sir.”

  Leary banged his pipe on the edge on a trash bin to empty it. He did this several times, like he was sending a telegraph. “Who the hell is Dupin?”

  “Who? I don’t know a Dupin.”

  “The hell you don’t. Jameson saw you with some fat man named Dupin. You were calling on the Vanderlays. Who is he? A Met?”

  Damn, Pop’s disguise. “No, he’s a friend. A detective from out of town. I asked him for advice.”

  He banged his pipe again and laid it on the desk. A few flecks of burned tobacco fell from the bowl, and he brushed them to the floor. “A detective from out of town.” He rapped his fingers on the desk, one after another, each digit beating the wood in time. If I find out you’ve been talking to the Mets, I’ll tie you to the back of a cart and drag you down Third Avenue.”

  “He’s not a Met.” I found myself looking at my shoes. They needed a good shine. “I brought my dues.” I laid the sack of coins on Leary’s desk.

  He glanced at the sack, and then back at me. Only his eyes moved, as if his head was stone. “Is this supposed to cheer me? Am I supposed to kiss your cheek for doing your job?” He grabbed the sack and spilled it across the desk.

  Leary fingered the coins and scowled. “I’ve been hearing things about you, Hood. You’ve been letting some of your beat get away without paying dues.”

  “All the money’s there.” I said.

  “But it’s not their money, it’s yours.” He rolled a coin between his fingers, from index down the line. He flipped it into the air and caught it. “Word travels. Your charity makes it harder to squeeze the rest of them. The other grocers get brave, and then we have to brain ’em.”