An Import of Intrigue

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “And I appreciate that, Captain,” Minox said. “There is no greater pride in my life than serving as an inspector in the City Constabulary. But if I am going to do so, I must do it properly, with no question of my right or capacity to serve. Especially in the light of the additional scrutiny you will face with this new Grand Inspectors’ Unit.”

  “Fine.” Cinellan looked over to Rainey. “We’ll do this by the regs, with an independent investigation, review board, the works. It’ll go on for weeks, if not months. You got a problem with that going on while you’re partnered to him?”

  “I’m certainly not going to walk away from him because of it,” she said. “Long as we can do our jobs.”

  She turned and gave Minox a look that was crafted to say, “I’ve got your back.” But it was craft, albeit excellent craft. There was doubt in her eyes.

  “Good,” Cinellan said, “because I’m not going to take him off cases until someone makes me.”

  “Done and done, then,” Minox said. “I appreciate your support.”

  “All right, all of you, get home,” Cinellan said. “I’m tired of seeing your faces.”

  Rainey grabbed her things. “We’ll get through this, you hear?” She pointed to his hand. “This, and everything else, it means nothing. You can do this job, and it’s what you should be doing.”

  And in that, there was nothing but honesty.

  “Thank you, Satrine,” he said.

  She sighed. “Three days of running around the Little East, and then a confession drops into our lap.” She raised an eyebrow and added, “Unresolved?”

  “Unresolved.” A weak smile came to his lips. “See you in the morning. A good night to you, Inspector Rainey, and my best to your husband.”

  She gave him a last nod and headed toward the stairs.

  “She really ain’t that rutting bad, Nyla,” Corrie said, coming up on Minox’s left.

  “She damn well better have Minox’s back, since he had hers,” Nyla said. “What does Leppin need?”

  Leppin was still standing by Minox’s desk. His demeanor was clear—he had something to say for Minox’s ears only.

  “I’ll find out,” Minox said. “Allow me a bit of privacy here.”

  “Keep in sight, Mine,” Corrie said.

  He approached Leppin, who was now looking quite nervous. “Something the matter, Leppin?”

  “Something, I would say,” Leppin said. “Been something of a day.”

  “Indeed. But you have something specific on your mind.”

  “You were in an altered state today, I understand. Did some strange things.”

  “Do you have a point, Mister Leppin?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Leppin said. He pulled an envelope out of his apron pocket. “This morning you wrote this, and had it delivered to me.”

  Minox had no memory of this whatsoever, but he took the envelope and opened it up. The letter inside was a glimpse of madness, as it was just four words written over and over, written again in the blank spaces at the edge of the paper, in every possible direction.

  Where are the spikes?

  Minox swallowed the fear that crept up his throat upon seeing this. “I appreciate your discretion in this, Leppin. I apologize, but I was being affected by—”

  “Yeah, I heard all about it, Welling. I don’t know what was going on, exactly, but I know you weren’t in your proper senses.”

  “Is this all, Leppin?”

  “No, that ain’t all.” He glanced about and lowered his voice. “It might have been madness, but madness sometimes hits at the center.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The spikes from the Plum case—there were eight. One went to Miss Rainey’s consultant friend, the other seven we had in lockup. Those seven are gone.”

  “Stolen?”

  “More than that, specs. Near as I could tell, without causing a ruckus, there’s no record of them whatsoever. Not in lockup’s record, not in the archives, not even my own files. It’s all gone.”

  “How is that possible?” Despite asking that, Minox was not actually surprised by the revelation. If anything, the news was a confirmation of something he didn’t even realize he already suspected.

  “I don’t got the first reckon on that, specs,” Leppin said. “Which is why you’re the only one I’m telling.”

  “I will give it all due consideration, Mister Leppin. Which is significant.”

  Leppin nodded in return and said his good night, slipping off to the back stairs.

  Nyla approached, Corrie leaning against the wall in half doze by the stairwell. “Can we go home?”

  “Yes, let’s,” Minox said, taking his cousin’s coat for her. “For once, I believe I need a good night’s sleep.”

  Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

  Satrine splurged for the tickwagon to ride across the bridge and back home. Her feet were numb, as were her fingers. It must have been ten bells or later. Missus Abernand would be furious. Satrine would apologize and then fall down on her bed, hopefully for an entire day. She could barely keep her eyes open as she got off the tickwagon and shuffled to her home.

  “Been a busy few days,” a voice said from the bottom of the stairwell leading to Satrine’s apartment door. “I’m not surprised you pulled such a victory out of the fire.”

  He didn’t need to step into the light for Satrine to know who it was, but he did nonetheless. Age had barely touched Grieson, his proud, smooth chin still a defining feature on his smug, handsome face. It was hard to believe it had been fifteen years. Hearing his voice, seeing his face, it blew open a wall in her memory she hadn’t even realized was there.

  “You’re pregnant?” Grieson asked. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned. Just asking for information.

  “I didn’t really know when I went to Kiad,” Satrine said. “But the boat ride back made it clear. How the Lyranan woman knew—”

  “Never mind about her,” Grieson said. “Lyranans aren’t our concern. Sounds like she helped our interests this time.”

  “I didn’t think she did it for our interests,” Satrine said.

  “Of course not. But now we know what we suspected, both about the Imachs and the Lyranans.”

  “So now. . . .” Satrine said. “I am pregnant. And the father is—”

  “Who you put on the Waish throne. So it’s in our interest to keep that child safe.”

  “What?”

  “Do you not understand, Agent Carthas? You do recall that Waish customs have a very different view of wedlock and legitimacy than we do. The child in your belly—”

  “Would have a legitimate claim on the Waish throne,” Satrine finished. She had been aware of that from the moment she had been on the boat.

  “So that’s your new mission.”

  “How, exactly, is that my mission?” Satrine asked.

  “We’ll have a legitimate heir to a foreign throne, but you have to be the one to care for and raise it. You’re the proof of legitimacy.”

  “Did you plan this?”

  “Hardly. You’re the one who decided to take Kellin as a lover.”

  That was true, though she sometimes wondered where the line was between what she decided and what Oster put in her head.

  He shrugged. “Here’s how it’ll work. We’ll draw up some papers, arrange a stipend for a few months. Officially you will be retired from Intelligence. You’ll join polite society—somewhere in the working class, of course. Get yourself ingratiated in one of the Devoted Families. Marry a man in Constabulary or Fire Brigade. Something stable and decent.”

  “You want me to marry?” Satrine asked.

  “Is that any more distasteful than any other orders you’ve had?”

  Satrine had to admit they weren’t. “I’ll have to be quick about that. I won’t be able to hid
e this very long.”

  “I have every faith in you.”

  “You’re at my bloody door?” Satrine asked, blood rushing to her head. The exhaustion washed away in a rush. “What the blazes are you doing here now?”

  “Because now is when I needed to talk to you,” Grieson said. “I’d hardly pop over for a casual visit.”

  She resisted the urge to knock him across that chin. “Where were you two months ago when I was desperate for money and work?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “I reached out and got silence.”

  “Frankly, I wanted to see what you would do, Satrine,” he said. “And I’ll be damned if you didn’t do something amazing.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’d like to go in to my home now.”

  He blocked her passing by him. “You did something amazing, and now we need you.”

  “You need me, what, as an Inspector Third Class?”

  “Yes. We need someone we can trust with access to Enbrain. Especially with his new Grand Inspectors’ Unit idea.”

  That she raised an eyebrow to. “What about the unit?”

  He gave her that infuriating smile. “You tell me. You’ve been close to Enbrain.”

  “I know the man,” Satrine said guardedly.

  “So, is he the real thing?”

  “In what way?”

  “Is he going to use this unit to dig the dirty folks out of the constabulary? Or is he putting up a wall around them to keep them safe?”

  That was specific. “How is this the business of Druth Intelligence?”

  “We can’t do our job if the capital city is filled with rot.”

  “What will you do about it, though?” The look on Grieson’s face bordered on the sinister. She wouldn’t put it past him to have a Druth official killed to suit the needs of Intelligence. Blazes, maybe that was the real story behind those Parliament deaths last month.

  Instead he just said, “Are you voting in the election?”

  “Apparently I’m entitled as a proxy for my husband.”

  “Your vote is the one I’m interested in.” Grieson’s eyes bored into hers. “Would you vote to keep Enbrain as constabulary commissioner?”

  “I suppose I would, if it really matters.”

  “Right now, your opinion matters a great deal.”

  “Are you going to—”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Fine,” Satrine said. “Yes, were I voting, I would vote for him. Yes, I think he is the real thing. He pisses me off most of the time, but not in his devotion to the job.”

  “Good.” Grieson stepped out of her way and strolled up the stairs. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Hold up,” Satrine said. Now she was thinking clearly, possibly for the first time in months, if not years. She wanted to kick herself for not realizing until this moment that Grieson had access to a real solution for all her problems. “You’re saying I work for you. Work means money and resources. Something you forgot all about once you let me go before.”

  “We never let you go—”

  “You sent me out pregnant and jobless—”

  “Yes, fine, we’re terrible people,” Grieson said. “I’ll make certain that a degree of supplemental income will find its way to you. Discreetly.”

  “That’s not what I want,” Satrine said. “You’ll still do that, but I need something else. Oster.”

  “Oster?” He gave her an infuriating grin. “What do you want him for?”

  “My husband.” She went up the steps to get into Grieson’s face. “I want Oster to reach into his jumbled head and get me my husband back.”

  “Interesting,” Grieson said. He shrugged. “Unfortunately, Oster’s been dead for years.”

  “Then some other rutting telepath!” she swore at him. “You can do it, don’t pretend you can’t!”

  He gestured for her to calm down, which only irritated her. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll tell you, the agency will expect your full cooperation.”

  “Just get on it,” Satrine said, turning back to her door. “I’ve had a long day.”

  “Always a pleasure, Satrine,” he said, and sauntered into the night.

  Missus Abernand was not there to chastise Satrine when she came in the apartment. Caribet sat on the couch, reading by the dim lamplight, while Rian cleaned the table.

  “Shouldn’t you two be in bed?” Satrine asked as she hung up her belt, coat, and vest.

  “I told Cari she should go,” Rian said.

  “I wasn’t going to bed until you did,” Caribet countered.

  “And I wasn’t until you came home,” Rian said. “We knew you’d be late, and sent Missus Abernand up.”

  “You knew?” Satrine asked.

  “They sent a page,” Rian said. “Said you needed to put extra time on the case.”

  “True enough,” Satrine said, sitting down on the couch. “I’m exhausted and famished.”

  “I’ve got you,” Rian said, going to the icebox.

  Satrine pulled her boots off. “I should check on your father.”

  “I’ve already done it, Mama,” Rian said. “He’s all set and asleep for the night.”

  “Ri, you shouldn’t have to . . .”

  “I didn’t have to,” Rian said, coming over with a plate of dried sausage, cheese, bread, and a dollop of something in the corner of the plate. “I just did it.”

  “What’s this?” Satrine asked, pointing to the dollop.

  “Jaconvale mustard,” Rian said with a proud smile on her face. “It was a gift.”

  Bells rang in Satrine head. “A gift from whom?” Between Yikenj and Grieson showing up, Satrine wasn’t ready for any surprises, even seemingly benevolent ones.

  Yikenj. She had let that woman get inside her head.

  “From the manager at Henson’s Majestic,” Rian said. “The store’ll be opening the week before Reunification Day. You should see it, Mother, it is grand. There are dresses and shoes, and suits for men, and earrings and perfume, and these wide marble staircases to each floor. Even a seated club with luncheon and ice cream. Everything in one store, Mother!”

  “It sounds grand,” Satrine said. “Is this your way of telling me you have a job?”

  “In gloves and hats!” Rian said. She stood poised in front of the couch. “They said I was exactly the sort of girl they wanted, the sort who could speak like an educated lady—”

  “But would work for a half-crown a day,” Caribet added.

  “Half-crown plus commission,” Rian shot back.

  Satrine dabbed the sausage into the mustard. She had to admit, it was quite excellent.

  “Only for the summer,” she said to Rian. “I do not want this interfering with your schooling.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Rian said.

  Satrine ate the rest quickly while Rian continued on about her job, and Caribet soon stalked off to bed, clearly annoyed with having heard this all evening.

  Satrine got off the couch and put her plate down on the table. “I need to sleep,” she said. “And so should you, if you’re a working shopgirl.”

  “All right,” Rian said.

  Satrine kissed her on the forehead. “I’m very proud of you, my princess.”

  “You haven’t called me that in years, Mother,” Rian said.

  “I won’t make a habit of it,” Satrine said. “It’ll go to your head.”

  Rian went to bed, and Satrine went to look in on her husband.

  He was well, clean, and sleeping, just as Rian had said. Rian had even shaved him and washed his face. In moments like this, she could believe he was still the man she married, the man she fell in love with, the man who had loved and raised another man’s daughter like she was his own without an ounce of hesitation. She kissed him on the forehe
ad and went to the water closet.

  The bandages on her chest were thick with dry blood, but her wounds didn’t open again when she pulled them off. Washing carefully, it was clear the two holes would leave a scar once they healed, but they would heal. Leppin had done good work for a bodyman. She could have been left with a worse souvenir from her tangles with Yikenj.

  That damned Lyranan woman.

  Satrine tried to push it from her mind.

  But those last words Yikenj whispered before she was taken away drummed through her head.

  “You think you’ve won, but you’re the one working with a traitor.”

  Satrine shook it away. Yikenj was just a spy, not a saint watching from above. She was trying to find another way to beat Satrine, one last time. Rattle her.

  Satrine wouldn’t let her, because there was no way she was right. Minox Welling could be annoying and off-putting, but there was no chance he was a traitor of any kind.

  “You’re the one working with a traitor.”

  Satrine blew out the lamps and crawled into bed next to her husband, who didn’t react to her presence. Those words kept hammering at her as she closed her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them win. If Berana Carthas’s fists couldn’t break her as a child, then empty words from a tyzo spy wouldn’t either.

  Not today, and not tomorrow.

  Tomorrow was a workday.

  Appendix

  Pronunciation Guide for Foreign Terms and Names

  All the foreign names and terms encountered in An Import of Intrigue are just a small portion of the languages found in their home country or regions. While each language has a wide range of dialects and pronunciation variations, this guide will assist with fundamental understanding of how to read the transliteration of their words.

  Fuergan

  The Fuergan language is highly aspirated, and the breathy beginnings of many words are transliterated with “Hr,” “Hs,” “Hl,” and so forth.

  The Fuergan “j” is much like the Spanish “ll,” in that its pronunciation varies widely depending on region, ranging from like the “ch” in champ to the “y” in yam. For the Hieljam, the sound of the “j” is closest to the “si” in vision.