Now Veranix understood, especially Alimen’s reaction. “But that would mean Inspector Welling is . . .”
Alimen finished the sentence like the word itself was damned.
“Uncircled.”
Chapter 8
PROFESSOR ALIMEN’S MOOD soured as they continued. Once they crossed into campus, he was muttering half to himself, not giving any regard to the strange looks they were receiving from passersby. Veranix had never seen the professor so distracted, so unconcerned about how he was perceived. The professor was usually so circumspect in his demeanor.
“Very inappropriate. This has to be looked into. Someone must be made aware. I had heard a rumor—well, Olivant rambling on. I should have taken it more seriously.”
“Sir?” Veranix said calmly. “Why don’t we all get to the tower?”
Alimen paused and looked hard at Veranix, and then to Delmin. “Yes. Yes, I think I need a cup of tea. And then, Mister Sarren, I would like a somewhat detailed account of your encounters with Inspector Welling, and the reasons behind them.”
“Of course, sir,” Delmin said.
They headed toward Bolingwood Tower, where Alimen’s office and residence was. “I apologize for my behavior, boys,” Alimen said. “This summer has been particularly oppressive, on many levels, and to walk in the very streets outside here and . . .” He took a deep breath. “It will be cooler up in the tower.”
He led them up the staircase to the top of the tower, and brought them through his office to his sitting room. This was the first time Veranix had ever been invited into the professor’s more personal space, and from the look on Delmin’s face, it was his as well.
The room had two worn couches, which were clearly older than Veranix, but still looked comfortable. There was a small table in between them, with a clutter of books and papers. “A clutter of books and papers” described much of the rest of the room, including several spots on the floor. The spots that weren’t covered in papers were occupied by cats—at least four. Veranix wandered over to the window, where several plants were hanging.
“Sit, sit,” Alimen said absently. He went over to his kitchen, pumping water into his teakettle. He put the kettle on the table next to the couches and then went back into the kitchen.
“Delmin,” Veranix said, calling him over.
“What?” Delmin was sweating, and Veranix wasn’t sure if it was the heat or nerves, but his friend was definitely out of sorts.
“Look out there,” Veranix said, pointing out the window. It was a clear view of the south lawn, including the carriage house. “Alimen must see me coming and going.”
“Us, you mean,” Delmin said. “Gracious, I have become fully entrenched in your world.”
“Boys, come over,” Alimen said. “Though I admit the view is spectacular. One of the best in Maradaine, I imagine.”
“We’re high up enough,” Veranix said.
As they approached the couch, Delmin said, “Sir, the kettle isn’t going to get hot on the table, you know.”
“I’m not quite in my dotage yet, Mister Sarren,” Alimen said. He picked up an orange tabby cat to clear the couch for them, depositing it on the floor. “Though with my rambling earlier, you would be reasonable in presuming it. I am out of sorts, my boys, for more than just Inspector Welling.”
“I can put it on the stove,” Veranix said, reaching for it.
“Nothing doing, Mister Calbert,” Alimen said. “I haven’t lit the stove all summer. Far too hot already. I couldn’t bear it.” He snapped his fingers, and with a rush of numina that even Veranix could sense, the kettle started whistling with steam. “Fortunately we have other means.” He picked up the kettle and poured the water into his teapot.
“So what is going on, sir?”
“Going on?” Alimen looked confused. “That’s what you’re supposed to be telling me. This business with constable inspectors.” He stepped over to the kitchen one more time, emerging with a tray of bread, soft cheese, and cured lamb, putting that on one of the piles of papers on the table.
“Right, yes,” Delmin said.
“Sorry, sir,” Veranix said. “Just you said the summer has been oppressive, and you’re out of sorts. I know that isn’t just us.”
“No, no, it isn’t. It’s nothing for you boys to be concerned with, truly. But I am very concerned.”
Veranix was going to be concerned for the professor’s mental state, especially since he brought out glass tumblers instead of teacups, but then the professor picked up the teapot, and as he poured he let another push of numina at it. The tea was ice cold when it reached the glass. He passed glasses to Veranix and Delmin, and then sat back on the couch with his own, sipping loudly. “Just the thing in this heat.”
“Couldn’t agree more, sir,” Delmin said.
“Now, Mister Sarren, begin with your story.”
Delmin rattled off the whole story, omitting certain elements such as why he had decided to be at the end of the Endurance, or anything relating Benvin’s attacker to the Thorn. As far as Delmin’s story to Professor Alimen was concerned, the constables were just attacked by some random interloper. Delmin did not omit, however, his own intervention to help Lieutenant Benvin. He played it humbly, but he made sure to mention it.
“This is quite troubling, Mister Sarren, but I applaud your acts of good citizenship. Yes, just because Circled mages would not work for or with the Constabulary, that doesn’t mean we can’t be helpful. You saved a life, Mister Sarren. And as you are a witness, you have a duty to assist in the investigation. That said, I will be present with you in further inquiries, and we will only interact with Inspector Rainey. I may also call in Quentin to join us.”
“Who is Quentin?” Veranix asked.
“The lawyer for Lord Preston’s Circle. He’s a mage in the Circle as well—though honestly, he’s better off practicing law.”
“I’m a bit confused, sir,” Delmin said. “I mean, Inspector Welling may be an Uncircled mage, but he’s also clearly a Constabulary inspector. Are you saying we shouldn’t respect his office?”
“Here is something you boys need to understand,” Alimen said. “Circle law gives us protection and accountability. Protection, especially, from overzealous law enforcement.”
“Provided the Circles actually account for themselves,” Veranix said. The Blue Hand Circle certainly thought they were above everyone else.
“Any system has abuse, surely,” Alimen said. “I would prefer that over being subject to Constabulary whims. But Circling also is an indication of training, discipline. Mister Sarren, you could feel the level of power radiating off Inspector Welling.”
“I suppose, but that does—”
“Power like that, unchecked, untrained? It’s incredibly dangerous. Inspector Welling is a menace, to himself and others, and he is part of an organization more likely to use him as an excuse to damage our credibility. No, nothing good can come from interacting with this Welling character.”
“If you say so, sir,” Delmin said, though he looked genuinely confused. “It’s just—”
“Is there something you don’t understand, Mister Sarren?” Alimen sighed, looking as if the idea of going over this with them just exhausted him. “Do I have to review this history with you? You have read about the fate of mages up through the tenth century? Hangings, burnings, torture? And even with Circles across Druthal, that kind of behavior—especially from local Constabulary—still occurs to this day.”
“Really, sir?” Veranix found the words had come out of his mouth before he could properly consider them. Alimen gave him a hard glare. “I mean, sure, in backwater towns, especially in Monim or Scaloi, I suppose. But nothing like that has happened in the city.”
“Mister Calbert, do you remember my associate, Mister Harleydale from Light and Stone?”
“I think so,” Veranix said. Harleydale wa
s a decent enough fellow, though that meeting had been dominated by the presence of Kalas from the Blue Hand Circle.
“He was found dead, with his hands cut off and his eyes gouged out. Two members of the Firewings had their hearts cut out in broad daylight, and Constabulary’s main concern was keeping the Circles from fighting each other. No, Mister Calbert. Always be polite to constables, respect their office, but never for a moment trust them. When it comes to the law, the only thing a mage should trust is this.” He pointed to the Lord Preston’s Circle tattoo on his arm.
Veranix had never imagined that Professor Alimen and Colin could sound so much alike.
“I am sorry, boys,” he said after a moment. “I am . . . I am put out, and it is not your fault. You did well, Mister Sarren, and we’ll leave it at that.”
The professor dropped the subject completely and spent the rest of the afternoon talking with them about the Tournament, Veranix’s involvement with the tetchball squad, and some plans for the next semester.
“What is the time?” he said eventually.
“About four bells,” Veranix said.
“Gracious, I’ve kept you boys cooped up with me far too long. Be off, go to some of the events or the parties. You boys deserve it. Especially with your display in the opening ceremonies. I feel I haven’t commended you for that.”
“Quite all right, sir,” Veranix said. “You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
They said their good-byes and left the tower.
“I’m a bit worried for him,” Delmin said. “It’s not just me, he was a bit dotty, right?”
“I think Inspector Welling put him in a state,” Veranix said.
“I can understand that. He confused the blazes out of me.” Delmin shook his head. “Something really strange about his magic, though. It’s not just an Uncircled thing. At least, I don’t think so. Something connected to his hand.”
“Hopefully I don’t have to worry about that,” Veranix said. “I would prefer not to deal with constables or inspectors at all.”
“You know the best way to do that?”
“Yes, I do,” Veranix said. “I’m going to meet up with Kaiana to figure out the details of following this kid out to Dentonhill to find the sellers.”
“That really was not where I was going with that question.”
“That may be,” Veranix said. “But it’s what I’m going to do. Regardless of what this imposter is doing, I’m going to keep Fenmere’s paws off this campus.”
Veranix didn’t want to admit to Delmin how much he was looking forward to finding a few effitte pushers and giving them what for. The past few days had built up some righteous fury that needed a target.
Colin came into the Turnabout for the first time in weeks. Which was silly. Thinking about it, no one ever told him he was banned from the Turnabout or from Rose Street. But there had been a sense that it would be best if his face weren’t seen for a while.
But now he was summoned.
Several Princes looked up and took notice of him. He gave a few nods to them, and went over to Kint behind the bar.
“You need something, Colin?” he asked.
“I need, Kint,” Colin said. “Beer and two strikers.”
“Two?” Kint asked.
“It’s been that kind of day,” Colin said.
“Usually it’s a two-beer day,” a woman said at his side. Deena, now with her captain stars and running his crew. Of course, all that was left of his old crew was Tooser, who sat over at a table with Theanne and a few young faces Colin didn’t recognize. Tooser had his head down, not even looking at Colin.
Blazes, Colin hadn’t seen him since the day Jutie got ironed and sent to Quarry.
“Let him be for now,” Deena said, seeing where Colin’s eyes were. “Ain’t nothing good going to come from that.”
“What would you know?”
“I know from having him at my right hand all this while.”
“Should have been you at his.”
“That ain’t how it worked out, Tyson,” she said. She raised up her hands. “I didn’t come here to pitch a quarrel at you.”
“Sporting of you,” Colin said, taking the beer that Kint offered. “I came here because the bosses called for me. Wasn’t even thinking about you.”
“Blazes, Colin.” She grabbed his arm and moved in closer. “Look, I ain’t exactly proud of what I did to you, or how I got my stars.” Telling the bosses about Veranix’s friend, letting them know he had ties to the Thorn, it wasn’t something Colin was going to forget anytime soon.
“You did what you had to. Bosses asked and you told, right? I did the same, sworn on Rose Street.” Colin made the motion of shrugging it off and sipped his beer. “It’s how it goes, Deena. Just keep your eye on your crew, hmm?”
She smiled nervously. “I saw that pigeon they sent over to be on your crew. Seems like you got some teaching to do.”
“We’ll have to see,” Colin said. “So, if you saw that, you know what this is about? Why they called me in after a couple quiet months?”
“I don’t know anything,” she said. She lowered her voice. “Look, do you really have something tight with the Thorn?”
“I wouldn’t say tight.”
“Well, if you see him, ask him why the blazes he killed a stick and beat the skulls of two more, including that Left you’re so fond of.”
“I heard about that,” Colin said. “I can tell you, wasn’t the Thorn.”
“Don’t sell me that, Tyson. I saw it. The Thorn did it.”
This was going to be trouble.
“Sewage like that ain’t going to make anyone’s life in Aventil any easier,” Deena said. “Surely you can see that.”
“No argument here,” Colin said.
Kint dropped the two strikers in front of Colin. “Eat up.”
Just as Colin picked up the first, Hotchins came out from the back. “Oy, Tyson. Let’s have a word.”
Colin took a bite and put it back down. “Keep those for me, Kint,” he said. “I’m going to want them later.”
Tripper’s day had been a damned waste of time, with those two inspectors getting underfoot, the captain being more concerned with the folks from the Tournament, and no word from the hospital ward about the Left. They wouldn’t even let him sit in there with him.
Finally Holcomb had gotten sick of Tripper and the rest of the Loyals, and put them out on footpatrol. “Lots happening out there. Need the show of color. If you’re on your feet, you can walk a patrol.”
Tripper sent Pollit and Wheth out together, and kept Jace on the inspectors. Blazes, Jace could probably watch over them better than anyone else. The strange one was his brother, after all. He might actually listen to Jace.
Tripper had to admit those two inspectors weren’t all bad, considering how things could have gone. They were annoying, but they were at least interested in doing an investigation, even if it was damn obvious that the Thorn had done it. He had no clue why they were bothering looking beyond that. Jace had done the right thing, bringing in his strange brother, though. Anyone else would have been lazy or corrupt.
Like the rest of the stationhouse.
That was why Benvin brought the squad together. Because they were better than that. So Tripper was going to do something. Something even the Left had balked at.
He walked up the steps to Saint Julian’s, taking a moment to drop a couple prayer tokens at the statue’s feet. A prayer for the Left, and another for Mal. Mal had been a good stick and a good friend.
A sick feeling coursed through Tripper’s stomach. Mal had a sister who lived over in Colton. Tripper had met her a couple of times. Odds were, with the Left still in long sleep, nobody went to tell her that her brother was dead. Unless Jace had handled it. He doubted Captain Holcomb did. At best, he had sent a page with a dry, lifeless letter.
Tripper would go see her later this evening, no matter what.
“My condolences, Sergeant.” The priest had come up right by him. “I’ve heard about the events, but I don’t know the details.” He peered at the tokens Tripper had tossed. “One dead, one gravely injured.”
“That’s how it is,” Tripper said, looking at the preacher. He had no idea how Pemmick could always look so damn serene. Even when his “peace meeting” with the Rabbits blew up in his face, Pemmick took it in stride. It was easy for him, though. Benvin had been the one poisoned. “The Left is laid up, Mal killed.”
“I will add my prayers to yours, Sergeant. Especially for Lieutenant Benvin’s recovery.”
“You know who did this, don’t you, Rev?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” Pemmick said. “I’ve heard rumor and speculation, which I’m sure you have as well.”
“It was the Thorn.”
“That was the speculation.”
“So, listen, Rev. You’ve got the ear of some of the street caps, right? Set up that disaster a few months ago.”
“They see the church as a neutral territory, yes. I try to get them to listen to me. I believe that through them, God is testing my faith yet again.”
“One of them knows who the Thorn is, where he holes up, or something.”
The reverend nodded sagely. “I’d imagine that would be true.” Though his eyes hinted he wasn’t saying everything.
“You may even know who.”
“What I may or may not know is my own business. Business which is a sacred pact between the souls of this community and the saints.”
He definitely knew something.
“I’m talking about a killer of sticks, Rev,” Tripper urged.
“And I’m talking about my ability to minister to the people who live in Aventil. Including the gangs. That requires trust in me. Trust of the people and the trust of the saints.”
The Imposters of Aventil Page 12
