“Mister Sarren, is it?”
Delmin’s eyes focused on the woman waking him up. Older woman, red hair, Constabulary inspector’s vest. Constabulary. He was at the stationhouse. Now he remembered what was going on.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “Am I—I’ve been waiting a while . . .”
“Quite all right,” she said gently. “I apologize for the delay—rules and bureaucracy—but we’ve kept you waiting far too long.”
“It’s fine,” Delmin said, getting to his feet. Glancing around, he noticed that there was no longer the throng of witnesses present. Even Garibel and Dannick were gone. “I see you’ve gone through many of the witnesses already.”
“We’ve dismissed several of them, satisfied that their statements would not bring additional revelations.” This came from another inspector—a younger, thinner man. Something about him immediately raised the hair on Delmin’s neck. “We are interested in what you have to say, however.”
He gestured for Delmin to enter a private room. “You must be hungry,” the woman said.
“Yes, rather,” Delmin said.
“Have something brought for Mister Sarren and Inspector Welling,” she said to a desk clerk. “Quickly.”
Delmin took a seat at the table, head still full of sleep and confusion. The inspectors shut the door and sat opposite him.
“So, Mister Sarren,” the man said. “I’m Inspector Welling, and this is Inspector Rainey. We’re with the Grand Inspectors’ Unit.”
“Grand Inspectors?” Delmin asked. That sounded impressive, whatever that was. “You’re who they call in when other constables get attacked?”
“It’s more complicated than that, but that’s essentially right,” Inspector Rainey said.
“Is the lieutenant all right?” Delmin asked.
“His condition is stable,” Inspector Welling said. “Though Patrolman Malored was killed.”
“I know, I saw,” Delmin said. The image of that man, three arrows in his chest, that was still burned in his memory. Delmin had seen some disturbing things since getting mixed up in Veranix’s business, but that was the first time he had seen someone killed right in front of him.
“Tell us what you saw.”
“We were waiting for the end of the Endurance, when suddenly there were bursts of smoke in the road. A man came riding up through the smoke, and he started fighting the constables there—”
Delmin paused, noticing that the two inspectors were giving each other a look.
“Something wrong?”
“Not at all,” Inspector Rainey said. “Tell me, Mister Sarren, if you were to speculate, where do you think the smoke came from?”
“Some form of smoke powder, I suppose, or some other chemical reaction. I really don’t know, exactly.”
“And the man?” Inspector Welling asked. He leaned in across the table, and for a moment Delmin felt another chill pass through him. “How would you describe him?”
“Maroon cloak, face covered in a hood, fighting staff.”
“I was correct, Inspector Rainey,” he said. “This witness has proved invaluable.”
“How is that?” Delmin asked, when a clerk came in with a plate of pastries.
“Thank you,” Inspector Welling said, taking the plate from the clerk, and then giving him the sign to scurry off. He took one of the pastries for himself, and held out the tray to Delmin with his left hand.
His left hand was gloved for some reason.
And it made Delmin’s magical senses fire madly, like a loud pop in his ear.
“What is—your hand—” Delmin started to say, and on the shift in Inspector Welling’s expression, everything became clear. “Are you a mage, Inspector?”
“I’m not sure how that’s—”
“What Circles allow their members to be in the Constabulary?”
“That’s enough, Mister Sarren,” Inspector Rainey said sharply.
Delmin was shocked into a stammer. “I—I’m sorry, I was just confused, and—” Now that he was seeing what it really was, understanding it, the inspector’s gloved hand was fascinating. It seemed to be swirling and sinking with numina—like a tiny maelstrom confined to the inspector himself.
“What do you see, Mister Sarren?” Inspector Welling asked, flexing his fingers. The very act of flexing caused the numina to surge and spill and then be sucked back in.
It was like the inspector’s hand was made of both napranium and dalmatium at the same time.
“I’m really not sure,” Delmin said, absently eating the pastry while continuing to stare.
“Minox,” Inspector Rainey said softly. “This is not the moment.”
“Of course,” he said, drawing his hand away. And just that—the distance of table—made all the difference. Delmin could barely sense anything now.
“One of the reasons why we were interested in talking to you, Mister Sarren, was your decision to intervene. We spoke to many witnesses who said you engaged the Thorn—”
“I didn’t say the Thorn,” Delmin said, perhaps too quickly.
“No, you did not,” Inspector Welling said pointedly.
“Engaged the assailant,” Rainey said. “You’re a magic student?”
“Code of conduct excuses students engaging in non-sanctioned magical activity in situations of dire threat. Bring in Professor Alimen right now and he’ll confirm that.”
“We aren’t going to arrest you for that,” Rainey said gently. “Or report you to the Universities or Circles or anything like that.”
“Certainly not,” Welling muttered.
She glared at her partner, then turned back to Delmin. “You mentioned dire threat?”
“He was going to kill the lieutenant. I didn’t do more than throw up a light show, try to scare him off. I really couldn’t do more than that. Again, ask Professor Alimen.”
“So you acted on the lieutenant’s behalf?”
“To try to save him, yes!” Delmin said. Were they being dense or just playing with him? “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to help the patrolman as well. I tried . . .”
He had been crying. He wasn’t even sure when he had started. The thought of those arrows burying themselves in the patrolman’s chest wouldn’t leave his psyche.
“It’s all right, son,” Inspector Rainey said, moving over to him. She put one arm around his shoulder. “We know that’s what you did. Lieutenant Benvin is still alive thanks to you.”
“This has been very helpful, Mister Sarren,” Inspector Welling said, getting to his feet. “We have your information, and may call on you on campus if we have further need of you.”
He got up and left the room.
Inspector Rainey stepped back and looked at Delmin. “You need anything?”
“I’d just like to go home now,” Delmin said. He was exhausted, in every way he could imagine.
“I’ll get a carriage for you,” she said. She walked to the door, and turned back, “Thank you, Mister Sarren, for everything you’ve done.”
Veranix didn’t go to Orchard Street to find Colin. Colin didn’t trust his current crew in the slightest, and there was no place there or along Rose they could trust not to have prying ears. Colin’s emergency signal meant only one thing, the only safe place they had.
Veranix left a magical mark on the alley outside the window of Colin’s Orchard Street flop—a signal in case they missed each other—and fully shrouded with the cloak’s numina-drawing powers, he bounded from rooftop to rooftop toward Saint Julian’s Church.
He had never done this in broad daylight before. Shrouding didn’t render him invisible, but like a shimmer in the air. Anyone not looking straight up would probably think a flock of birds flew by.
He knew it was foolish to travel this way. It probably would make far more sense to simply make himself lo
ok like an ordinary student and walk there, even with his weapons and Thorn regalia hidden by magical illusion. But he needed the air. He needed to be above the crowd. Right now, more than anything, he wanted to find someone he could blame, someone he could hit to make everything right again.
But there was no such person.
So all he had was the jump, pushing the muscles in his legs, and that indescribable feeling when in the air before gravity claimed him again.
It was the closest thing he had to home.
Saint Julian’s had a clock tower, but the clock had stopped working long before, and no one made any effort to maintain it. This made it an excellent location for Veranix to make his entrance into the church unnoticed.
Especially since Reverend Pemmick had long since agreed to leave the clock face trapdoor unlatched for him. And no one ever looked up at the clock, because it only read a few minutes past ten bells.
“I expected you earlier.” Reverend Pemmick was dusting the defunct machinery.
“Were you?” Veranix unshrouded. “I take it Colin is already here.”
“He is here, and he is not alone.” The Reverend sighed. “Many matters have the appearance of pertaining to you, my friend.”
“‘Have the appearance’ is the key part of that phrase, Reverend.”
“You are not responsible for the assault on the constables.” It was not a question.
“You don’t have any doubts?”
“I’ve seen your spirit, and the saints pointed me to you. I have faith in their guidance.”
Veranix was never quite sure how to react to Reverend Pemmick when he talked like this. He wanted to discourage the reverend from treating him like he was some sort of saintly icon, but at the same time, he didn’t want to chase away any allies. Especially at a time like this.
“I need to find out who is responsible, though,” Veranix said.
“And why is that?”
“Besides the fact that he’s killing Constabulary?”
“You feel that you are responsible for him.”
“Can we go talk to Colin? I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Thorn,” the reverend started. He still didn’t know Veranix’s true name, and he didn’t want to know it. But his use of “Thorn” like it was a proper name was often disconcerting to Veranix. “You shouldn’t avoid discussions like this.”
“Fine, but we should move while we’re at it.”
The reverend put his hand on Veranix’s shoulder. “A moment of patience. Colin is waiting, and he is not alone.”
The reverend had said that before, but this time Veranix actually heard it. “Who is he here with? Someone else who wants a word with me?”
“They actually, quite pointedly, do not. But I think a word would be valuable. I need your assurances that you will curb your more aggressive instincts in this instance.”
“Is . . . is it one of Fenmere’s men?” He knew the reverend tried to be open to all, and wanted to broker peace between all the Aventil gangs. Would he arrange a meeting with one of Fenmere’s people?
“No.” The reverend chuckled. “I will admit, I have considered reaching out, but I have done proper diligence. I do not believe any of them would treat my station with the same respect that the local factions do.”
“Glad to hear it.” Veranix realized how that might have sounded. “Rather, I mean—”
“Worry not,” the reverend said. “Still, your assurance. Which would mean more if you left your weapons here.”
Veranix unhitched the bandolier that held the bow, quiver, and staff and left it on the floor.
“Appreciated,” Reverend Pemmick said with a bow of his head.
He led Veranix down the tight winding staircase from the bell tower, down past the main floor to the basement quarters. There were a few others who lived at the church, the Brothers who maintained things under Pemmick’s guidance, but Veranix had barely seen them and never heard a word from them. He wondered if a vow of silence was attached to serving Saint Julian.
It certainly wasn’t something the Knights imposed on themselves out in the streets.
They reached a chamber door. “Your assurances,” the reverend said once more.
“You’re not filling me with confidence here, Rev.”
He held his hand on the door. “There is someone in here who is under my protection.”
“With Colin?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m sure we won’t have a problem.”
The reverend opened the door, revealing Colin pacing back and forth behind a chair. It was the person in the chair who held Veranix’s attention. Sotch, of the Red Rabbits.
She looked up when the door opened and leaped to her feet. “Ow, rutting blazes, you tossers,” she snarled. “You set me up.”
“What is she doing here?” Veranix asked.
“Calm down, young lady,” the reverend said. “He has promised me he would not harm you.”
“Like blazes he wouldn’t,” she said.
“What’s going on here, Prince?” Veranix asked Colin. He didn’t want to show they were too close in front of Sotch. He even added a little magic twinge to his voice, made it sound deeper and echo through the room.
“Just got to clear some things up, thought the reverend could help,” Colin said.
Sotch picked up the chair and held it in front of herself. “Don’t you try a damn thing, bastard.”
“Language, miss.”
Veranix moved into the room, hands up. “Didn’t know you and yours were still around.”
“Yeah, you ran us out good, didn’t you?” she said. “Wasn’t enough for you, was it?”
“What is she talking about?” Veranix asked.
Colin answered, “She says she and Keckin were hunted down out in Benson Court. Hunted by you.”
“I don’t go out to Benson Court.”
“Then who killed Keckin?” she snarled, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “You tell me that, Thorn!”
“Not me,” Veranix said.
“There you have it,” the reverend said.
“You believe him?” Sotch wailed. “After what he did?”
“What I did, Sotch?” Veranix asked. “You helped a man nearly destroy the campus, worked with Fenmere and tried to create something worse than effitte. So what did I do?”
“The point is, Thorn,” Colin said. “Someone did come after her and kill Keckin. Someone dressed as the Thorn.”
“Dressed as the Thorn?” she wailed. “You believe that?”
“You should,” Veranix said. “Because you’re still breathing now. If I really wanted to hunt you down—”
“That’s enough,” Pemmick said with quiet authority.
“Sorry, Rev,” Veranix said. “All right, Rabbit. Tell me what happened.”
Sotch told her story, about a very Thorn-like character coming after her and capturing Keckin, and then Keckin ending up dead. Veranix had to admit, it sounded believable. If he didn’t already know he didn’t do it, he would have believed her.
“So now what?” Colin asked.
“Keep your ear out,” Veranix said. “You too, Rev. There’s someone out there pretending to be me, so I’ve got to put a stop to that.”
“And the girl?” the reverend asked.
“Sorry about your friend,” Veranix said to her. “You and the rest of your Rabbits clearly have trouble on your stoop, but if you’re not in the drug business, it won’t come from me.”
“Cold comfort,” Sotch said.
“Keep her safe, let her do what she will,” Veranix said.
“But her tormentor?” the reverend asked.
“Yet another problem on my stoop,” Veranix said. “You have a bite of something for her, Rev? She’s skin and bones.”
Th
e reverend took the cue and led Sotch out of the room.
“Sorry about that,” Colin said. “That was how the rev wanted to play it.”
“I could have done without the drama of it all,” Veranix said. “But it’s fine.”
“You all right?”
“Just feeling stupid,” Veranix said. He had to tell someone what he did. Colin, of anyone, would understand. “You ever, you know, end up sharing a cot with an Orphan or something like that?”
A sly smile crept over Colin’s face. “What did you do?”
“Remember those Deadly Birds who tried to kill me a few months back?”
“You—was it the one with the hoops?”
“No, it was— that doesn’t matter.”
“Because I could understand if it was the one with the hoops.”
“Anyway, that’s where my attention was last night, as opposed to out here. But we’ve got a real imposter problem.”
“I thought you needed to know,” Colin said.
“I already knew. The imposter also attacked the constables, from what I hear.”
That was news to Colin. “Saints, I am off the circuit over on Orchid. I hear nothing, and my crew is rutting useless.”
“Sorry,” Veranix said. Colin never said it, but Veranix felt responsible for Colin’s loss of standing in the Princes.
“Ain’t nothing,” he said.
Veranix remembered one of the other things from last night. “Where are you usually cooling your throat now? The Old Canal?”
“That’s right,” Colin said. “How did you—”
“Damn it,” Veranix said. “I was in there with the tetch squad last night—”
“They win?”
“Routed, fourteen-aught. But the bartender treated us real good, and wanted me to make sure I let my brother know he did.”
“Rutting saints,” Colin said. “Let me see your proper face.”
Veranix dropped his facade.
“I see it,” Colin said. “You’ve been letting your hair grow out over the summer.”
“That’s how I like it.”
“Trim it back and shave, and we won’t have the problem,” Colin said. He gave a bit of a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll find this clod who’s messing with your name.”
The Imposters of Aventil Page 9
