An Import of Intrigue

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “You let me reel her,” Rainey said, clearly slightly annoyed with his tactic. Her face calmed in a moment. “So what are you thinking?”

  “Several things, and you were right that we will not be able to continue investigative action tonight.” The sky was already quite dark, and under normal circumstances they would have signed out an hour ago. “We must investigate both Kenorax and Hajan tomorrow, as well as examine the discoveries of Kellman and Mirrell from the Tsouljans.”

  “But the Lyranans are clearly a wash.”

  “Not hardly. I am not sure why, but Hieljam ab Ofihla was very concerned when you mentioned them.”

  “So who do we look at with the Lyranans?”

  “That may well depend on what the mysterious text says.”

  “So are we signed out for the night then?”

  “Unfortunately, not quite yet. We will have to do one more thing, and it will not be pleasant.” On her raised eyebrow, he clarified. “We’re going to have to freeze all outbound traffic on the Foreign Interest Docks. But we don’t have enough evidence to get the Protector’s Office to issue a Writ of Embargo.”

  “So we’re going to have to get River Patrol to do us a favor.”

  “Exactly.”

  She furrowed her brow at him. “You’re going to take point on that one, then. And tell me what you’ve been thinking as we walk.”

  Welling took the lead as they crossed over to Dockview, where the closest River Patrol Stationhouse was. Specifically, it was the stationhouse that managed what was officially called the Foreign Interest Docks. The common local name, of course, was the Pirie Docks, since it was mostly used by Kieran importers.

  “Here is the element that stands out to me. Our victim was a lavark, the ranking member of the entire Hieljam family. Trade interests throughout Fuerga and the rest of the world. So why was he here in Maradaine?”

  “Well, as ab Tishai told us, the two key trade routes the Hieljams use culminate here.”

  “That’s what she said, and it wasn’t entirely false. But let me give you a point of comparison. You’re familiar with the Caldermane Company?”

  The Caldermane Company was the largest wagon-shipping and transport industry in Druthal. It was like asking if she was familiar with roads.

  Welling didn’t wait for an answer, since it was obvious. “The Caldermane has offices in many cities, key hubs in Fencal and Porvence and Korifina. But where does Marcus Caldermane live? Here in Maradaine. Does he deal directly with every situation in Fencal or Porvence or Korifina?”

  “Well, no, he has factors in those cities . . .” The point became clear. “And Hieljam ab Tishai and ab Orihla are the factors in Maradaine. But something had happened—a situation large enough to demand the lavark involve himself directly.”

  “A major agreement, or correcting a major error. We can’t say yet.”

  “Which would explain the Kenorax involvement.”

  “True. But while I’m not fully versed on the shipping and wagoning business . . .”

  “I’m shocked, Inspector,” she said teasingly.

  “I don’t believe that Ravi Kenorax is the top level operative for that industry.”

  “So the big player was meeting with underlings. That couldn’t be sitting well.”

  “Which leads me to believe that some sort of error—a catastrophic one—on the part of ab Tishai or ab Orihla was being corrected.”

  Satrine took this all in. Motives for various potential players were taking shape. “Of course, the nature of the murder itself is still very confusing. The theatrical staging, the apparent lack of struggle or argument.”

  “I’m glad you picked up on that,” Welling said. “We’ll have to wait for Leppin’s report, obviously, but for all it looked . . .”

  “It was like Hieljam lay down and accepted the knife in his chest.”

  “Exactly. And that aspect is troubling as well.”

  The offices of the River Patrol were little more than a dockhouse with a sign out front. Even upon entering, there was little sense of organization or bureaucracy. A handful of blue-and-white clad men sat around a table playing cards, while a couple more were checking out one of the few boats in dock.

  “Pardon,” Welling said as they entered, for none of the men took much notice. “Looking for Captain Harker?”

  “Cap!” one of them yelled up a rickety wooden staircase to a small office above them. “Got some sticks here for you.”

  The office door opened up and an older officer, with thick white hair and beard, came down the steps. “Who’s coming here at this hour?”

  “Captain, sir,” Welling said. “Inspector Minox Welling.”

  “Welling?”

  “Lieutenant Thomsen Welling is my cousin. We met at the South City Dinner last year?”

  “Right, right. Thomsen isn’t here, but I think you know that,” Captain Harker said, taking Welling’s hand warmly. He gave Satrine a bit of side eye, but said nothing to her. “What’s your business here?”

  “We’re in the process of investigating a murder in the Little East, one which involves people of prominence.”

  “Oh, really?” the captain asked. “Anyone I might know?”

  “Most likely,” Welling said. “It’s probably best for the sake of discretion that I not divulge.”

  “Fine, fine,” Captain Harker said, though he seemed a bit peeved. “What’s that to do with us?”

  “We need the Foreign Docks shut down and blockaded. Nobody in or out tonight.”

  Captain Harker laughed. “Sure, what about the morning? We keep everything locked down until further notice?”

  The rest of the River Patrol boys all joined their captain in laughter.

  “If you can,” Welling said calmly.

  “Blazes, Welling, it’s already past sundown, you’re talking work that would require a triple crew put on for the night. Not to mention, most my boats are already out on the water. Can’t be done.”

  “I’m not talking the whole river, sir. These docks. You could do it with the men in this room.”

  Captain Harker scowled, but looked around at his men. “Not quite. Need a bit more muscle on ground. You got the authority to pull that?” The man was amenable to the idea, if nothing else.

  “Not entirely, sir. This is not something that’s been pushed through the Protector’s Office. We don’t have a Writ of Closure.”

  “Why the blazes not?”

  Satrine stepped forward, putting on the old Inemar accent so thick it could sweeten her tea. “You know why the blazes, Cap. Protector will let these feeks and piries walk all over him. Got to keep it off the books, at least for tonight.”

  “Really?” Captain Harker raised an eyebrow. “Tell me why?”

  “Cuz we got a lead we can’t spring on, not yet, hear?” She lowered her voice, like she was letting him in on a secret. “The protector needs proof, hear? Need a bit more time, else these machs will sail off.”

  “It’s machs you wanna stop?” he asked. “Blazes, skirt.”

  “I ain’t saying it is, ain’t saying it’s not. Just saying we need the night.”

  “Off the books.”

  “As a favor,” Welling emphasized.

  “But don’t just hold up machs,” Satrine said. “Spread it even, so it seem fair, case it gets back to the Protector’s Office.”

  The captain turned to one of his men. “Hey, Bilky! I think we had somebody come through who might have had Gorree Fever.”

  Bilky, presumably, and a few other boys stood up. “Sounds like we need a Hot Quarantine.”

  “I think we just may,” Captain Harker said smugly. “Come morning, well, I guess we were wrong. But that’ll let us hold up anyone who tries to sneak out at night.”

  “Obliged, Capper,” Satrine said.

  Welling shoo
k his hand. “And if you ever need—”

  The captain spoke up immediately. “I got a daughter who’s a bit sweet on Thomsen.”

  Welling raised an eyebrow. “And you would like me to . . .”

  “Push him in her direction. Hennalia is her name. Maybe the next South City he could take her?”

  Satrine almost broke character and laughed, Welling looked so out of his element with that request. “I will endeavor, Captain.”

  “See that you do, Welling. See that you do.”

  The blue-and-white went to work on the dock, and Satrine and Welling slipped back out to the street, now relatively quiet for the evening.

  “I felt filthy just talking like that,” Satrine said.

  “An interesting tactic you took,” Welling said. “Effective, but I don’t know if I fully approve.”

  “I don’t fully approve,” Satrine said. “But it’s past seven bells, and I should definitely get back home, so effective was necessary.”

  “I concur,” Welling said. He pulled out his whistle and gave a page signal. In a few minutes one of the boys came running.

  “Heard a call, specs,” he said with a salute. It wasn’t one Satrine knew too well, probably because he worked night shift. “What’s the word?”

  “Run back with sign-out, Welling and Rainey. Return to duty eight bells morning.”

  “As you will, specs,” the page said. He saluted and bolted off.

  “The energy of youth,” Satrine said wistfully. “It’s still quite a slog home.”

  Welling pulled a coin out of his pocket. “Take a cab, Inspector.”

  “No, I couldn’t.” She wasn’t about to let him pay for her. He’d already spent a half-crown out of his pocket buying the guide.

  “I’m well aware that your salary barely covers your needs,” he said. “I can spare it.” He pressed the coin into her hand. “I need you rested and alert tomorrow.”

  “And I you,” she said. “Home and sleep. Not back to the stationhouse to dig through files. Promise?”

  “Promise.” He then said the same phrase he said every night when she went home. “A good night to you, Inspector Rainey, and my best to your husband.”

  “Give your family mine,” she replied, even though she knew at least his cousin Nyla hated her. The rest probably felt no different.

  He nodded and turned off to walk north toward home. Satrine whistled for a cab—an extravagance she never allowed herself—and hopped into the seat.

  “High River, 14 Beltner.” She settled back and let her eyes shut as the cab cantered its way down Dockview to The Lower Bridge.

  Chapter 5

  THE LAMPLIGHTERS HAD LONG FINISHED their work by the time Minox reached 418 Escaraine, the sizable house in the quainter section of the Keller Cove neighborhood. It, like most houses along this stretch of Escaraine, was over a hundred years old and had been in the same family for its entire existence. Houses like that were uncommon in this part of Maradaine, with high gables and wooden shuttered windows, as well as the carriage stable behind the house. Most of the ones in Keller Cove and surrounding neighborhoods had been razed to build whitestone tenements, or broken down into boarding apartments.

  Along this stretch Escaraine was populated by what people called “The Devoted Families,” though whether that term was used genuinely or sneeringly depended on the speaker. Those families, like the Wellings, had been fixtures in Maradaine’s city services: the Constabulary, the Fire Brigade, the Yellowshields, the River Patrol, the Brick and Pipe Men, and so forth. Most people who lived in these houses still served, including most of the residents of the Welling House.

  Minox’s brother Oren, a lieutenant in the Constabulary, stationed over in Reining, sat on the front stoop with two of the cousins: Edard, who worked Dentonhill footpatrol, and Davis, who was an examinarium assistant at Keller Cove Stationhouse. All three were drinking beers and chatting loudly as Minox approached.

  “Late shift, Minox?” Edard asked.

  “Call came in for the afternoon, had to at least lay down the particulars,” Minox said.

  “You missed dinner,” Oren said. “Mother wasn’t thrilled. You’ve eaten?”

  “Can always eat more,” Davis muttered.

  “It’s true,” Minox said. “And I’m sure Mother kept some aside, right?”

  “Yeah, she did,” Oren said.

  “But your mate came by,” Edard said. “So he may have eaten your share.”

  His mate? “Joshea is here?”

  “Chatting up Nyla and Ferah. I think even Alma is being a little moon-eyed at him.”

  “And the aunts,” Davis added.

  “Good, good,” Minox said. He quickly corrected. “Not the moon-eyed, but that he’s here.” He hadn’t much chance to visit with Joshea in the past few weeks.

  Joshea Brondar, like Minox, was an Uncircled mage, though he was far more private about that fact. As far as Minox knew, no one else other than he and Inspector Rainey knew about Joshea’s status. Joshea’s own family didn’t even know, as his father was a superstitious and quick-tempered man. He would not accept his son as a mage.

  Minox understood that. His family only accepted it in not actually speaking of it.

  “Best get in there,” Edard said.

  “Right,” Minox said, stepping over his cousins. “Is Thomsen in?”

  “He’s about,” Oren said.

  “Good,” Minox said. “I may have committed him to escort a young lady to the next South City Dinner.”

  Edard and Davis burst out laughing.

  They kept it up as Minox entered the house.

  The parlor was filled up, just as Edard had said. Joshea was holding court over Minox’s aunts and female cousins, as well as his little sister Alma, telling some salty story of his Army days. One that just skirted the line of inappropriate for mixed company, without quite crossing the line.

  “So then the major said, ‘I suppose so, she’s the one with the boots!’”

  Aunts Emma and Beliah howled with laughter, while Aunt Zura blushed furiously and went out toward the kitchen.

  “Good evening, all,” Minox said as the laughing died down. “Pardon my interruption.”

  “Minox!” Joshea said, getting to his feet. “Sorry I just dropped in, but . . .”

  “Pish, son,” Beliah said. “You’re always welcome.”

  “Always,” Nyla said with emphasis.

  “I’m glad to see you well received, and I’m sorry I was so late.”

  “You were working,” Joshea said. “We made no arrangement.” He gave a graceful nod to the aunts and cousins. “Thank you all for entertaining me.”

  “Is that what you think was happening?” Ferah said. She was still in her Yellowshield shirtsleeves, like she had barely gotten in the door when she spotted Joshea.

  “It’s been lovely,” Joshea said. He closed in on Minox. “Can we speak?”

  “Let’s go to the kitchen,” Minox said. “I could use some supper.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Aunt Beliah got in front of Minox before they could leave. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “Your arm?” His arm had been broken when he had been captured and almost killed in his first case with Inspector Rainey. Beliah—a nurse at Ironheart—had been far too preoccupied with its recovery. Truthfully, it still ached on a daily basis, but he didn’t need his aunt to fuss over him.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, Aunt.”

  She gracefully stepped away as he went to the kitchen with Joshea, where Minox’s mother had been scrubbing the last of the supper dishes. “You could send a page when you’ll be this late,” she said.

  “That would be a selfish and irresponsible use of Constabulary resources,” Minox said. “Father would have
said the same.”

  She kissed him on the forehead and took some bread, cheese, and cold lamb out of the icebox. “You as well, Joshea?”

  He was hesitant. “A bit.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, setting up two plates. “I’ll leave you two to talk.” She went up the back stairs.

  “She doesn’t know, does she?” Joshea asked.

  “I didn’t tell her, if that’s what you mean. But she isn’t a fool.”

  Joshea picked up a piece of lamb. “I don’t think you realize how blessed you have it here, Minox.”

  “I’m actually quite aware.”

  Joshea pulled a small glass vial out of his pocket and slid it over to Minox. “I figured you were low on this.”

  Minox picked it up. “I appreciate it.”

  He didn’t have to inspect it, he knew it was full of rijetzh, the Poasian spice that dulled magical ability. He had still been working on the right balance of daily ingestion to give himself control over his ability without sacrificing its use altogether. There was also managing the right amount to minimize its aftereffects: pulses of hot temper, with twinges of almost uncontrollable magic. He was hoping that once he hit the right amount at the correct intervals, he’d have full control over his magic, over himself.

  He thought back to the Tsouljan enclave. The place unnerved him, feeling similar to the end stage of a rijetzh dose. Especially when that one woman spoke to him.

  He opened the lid and put just a pinch over the lamb. Taking a bite, he had to admit, even without the magic-dampening properties, it added a unique and savory flavor.

  “How’s it been this week for you?”

  “I had to use it to hold back a bear,” Minox said. “Maybe because it was in a moment of dire need, but it felt . . . focused.”

  “Hmm,” Joshea said. “Necessity does do astounding things. So, just . . . hold it back?”

  “Like I was putting my own hands on it—”

  “How is your hand?” Joshea interjected.

  “I keep having the numbness. Especially today, shortly after this incident.”

  “We need to find out what that’s about, though I’m not sure how.” Joshea knew about the spikes, but was similarly at a loss on how to further investigate them. Despite his being acquainted with Nerrish Plum, having served in the same regiment, he had no idea where the bookseller had acquired the spikes in the first place. He had attempted discreet inquiries into their origins, but that had yielded no results.