“But you got to—”
“Sergeant, we may possess the same underlying goal—peace in this neighborhood. But do not think for a moment that means I would betray my faith for your betterment.”
“The betterment of everyone—”
“As defined by you. Not by my faith.”
“Do I need to take you down to the station?”
“Would you try that? Is your soul in such a parlous state you would take an ordained reverend out of his own church without just charge? You would violate sanctity?”
Tripper shook his head. “You ever hear the name Reverend Ollicar?” He would bet that the priest had no sense of the history of these streets.
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Look into it. Ask your friends in the Knights.” Tripper stalked off to the door. “There’s sides to these streets, preacher, and you’ve picked yours.”
“I’ve chosen the path of the saints, Sergeant. And I know that’s never an easy path.” Tripper turned back to him, seeing the priest’s frustratingly calm face. “Besides, you have your own ear on the street. Why don’t you go ask her what she knows? She doesn’t carry the burdens of oath that I do.”
The damned preacher knew about Yessa. And if he knew, Tripper wondered who else knew. Were there any damn secrets in Aventil? Or was Tripper the one on the outside of all of them? He knew damn well the whispers the rest of the stationhouse made.
“You made your call,” Tripper said. “When we bring in the Thorn, you might find yourself in irons right there with him. And no church doors are going to protect you from that.”
“Go with God, then,” Pemmick said. “May he show more mercy than you.”
Kaiana waited outside the tetchball pitch while the match raged on. She only paid cursory attention to the game itself, though it was clear that Pirrell was beating the stuffing out of whoever they were playing. Probably the most interesting thing to watch was Jiarna in the stands, whose emotional investment in every play was a sight to behold. She shouted, screamed, and cheered like she had bet money on the game. Kaiana didn’t understand it, but she had to admire the pure enthusiasm of it. Phadre, for his part, was engaged in the match, but couldn’t come close to the same level of energy.
Gorm spotted her and came down from the stands.
“Took you long enough,” she said.
“I came when I saw you,” he said. “We’re level, ain’t we?”
“Level?” she asked. Must be the slang in his city. “If this all works out, we’ll see.”
“What do you mean ‘we’ll see’?” He shook his head and started to walk away, then came back. “That ain’t fair, lady. You got to let me know—”
“Not up to me, Gorm,” she said.
“Well, who the stones is it up to?”
“Come with me.”
She led him over by the east gates to one of the blossom trees hidden away behind some hedges.
“If you turn me over to the prefects or the boards, I’m ruined, you hear me?”
“You should have thought about that before.”
“It was a stupid thing, and we shouldn’t—”
“You’ve got that right. You’re lucky I’m feeling nice to you.”
“How are you—” He paused. “You haven’t turned me over to them, have you?”
“To the prefect or the school boards? Not yet.” She hardened her eyes at him. “But Misters Lash and Rennie will be reporting to them if I don’t check in with them later.”
“Are we just going to stand under this tree?”
“Wait.”
An arc of lightning danced around them, and then Veranix dropped down from the tree in a flash of smoke and fire. Or, the Thorn did, since he was in full aspect, with his hood covering his face.
Gorm jumped, and Veranix shot the rope out like a viper, coiling loosely around his neck. “So this is the idiot who wanted to try effitte,” he said. He was making his voice deeper, probably with magic, and adding a bit of an echo to it. It was an absurd bit of theater, and Kaiana did her best not to laugh.
“He’s the one,” she said.
Gorm clutched at the rope around his neck, pulling uselessly at it. “You turned me over to the Thorn? Isn’t that worse?”
“What do you know about it, Gorm?” Veranix asked.
“I heard you—don’t kill me, all right? I won’t do anything with effitte ever again.”
Veranix’s face twitched a little. The fact that this kid thought of the Thorn as a killer didn’t sit well with him. Kaiana knew he had been troubled with the imposter out there, but in that instant his face betrayed just how much.
“I wouldn’t need to, Gorm. Effitte would probably do the job just fine.”
“I didn’t know! We don’t have that stuff at Glennford! We just thought—”
“Enough gibbering, Gorm,” Veranix said. “Nice and simple. You’re going to go out that gate and go to your seller. You buy some effitte and you walk away. You bring it back to Miss Nell here and then you pray to every saint you’ve heard of that this will be the last time you ever do something so foolish.”
“Just . . . just buy it and walk away?”
“That’s all. I can trust you to keep your eye on him afterward, Miss Nell, and then destroy his purchases?”
Kaiana nodded, doing her part for the showmanship. “If that helps you.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Veranix said. As the rope uncoiled from Gorm’s neck, Veranix leaned in close. “I’m giving you a chance, Gorm. Try not to disappoint me.” With another flash of light and smoke, he leaped out of sight. The theatrics really were a bit much.
“You heard him,” Kaiana said, dragging Gorm out of the sequestered hedges. She pointed to the east gate. “Let’s go buy some effitte.”
Chapter 9
THE LATE SUMMER SUN hung low, creating a harsh glare through the western window of the squad office. This was never a problem at the Inemar stationhouse, where the buildings were far too tall and densely packed to allow the setting sun to be seen through the window. Minox found it unpleasant to work at the desk he had claimed for himself—one that had belonged to a fellow named Arch, killed in the line of duty some months back. The rest of Benvin’s squad, including Jace, were out of the office on patrol duty. Minox understood the necessity—the streets of Aventil were packed with visitors, and the environment fostered by the University’s massive athletic competition was volatile. Minox was shocked that Captain Holcomb had not requested aid from other neighborhoods.
Shocked, but not surprised. In his brief assessment of Captain Holcomb, he noted a strange combination of pride and lethargy in the man. He was quite content to run his stationhouse in a haphazard and disorganized way, and clearly resented any outside interference.
“You two are still here?” Holcomb asked when Minox and Rainey had come to his office shortly after noon bells. “I thought you’d have cleared out by now.”
“We’ve not identified or arrested Lieutenant Benvin’s attacker.”
“Didn’t you have a room full of folks saying it was the Thorn?” He picked idly at his teeth. “We’ve already got an All-Eyes out for the man, so what’s there more for you all? Head on home.”
Rainey had fielded the response, as she was better at dealing with obstinate people than Minox was. “We’re not satisfied with that as a proper identification.”
“Yeah, well, we all want to know who the Thorn is. We’ll get him, and I’ll shake his hand for getting rid of the Rabbits, and then lock him down a hole.”
“Captain, I don’t think—”
“Just go home, and tell Brace we’re all set, thanks.”
Captain Holcomb acted like he was friendly with Captain Cinellan, which Minox found unlikely. Minox could not hold his tongue further. “The termination of this investigation, like
any out-of-house investigation, is determined by our satisfaction in its completion, not yours.” This wasn’t entirely true, but it was honest enough for Captain Holcomb’s purposes.
Holcomb waved them out of his office. “Then be about your business, and don’t bother me anymore. I don’t want to hear it.”
So they had left him and continued to work out of Benvin’s squad room, for all the good it had done.
“You’re out of sorts,” Inspector Rainey said as she came back in from an errand to the file room.
“We have not had as productive a day as I would have liked,” Minox said. “I feel like we’ve barely gotten started assessing the situation, and the day is done.”
She held up a note. “Captain Cinellan sent a page. He’s giving us two more days of investigatory latitude here.”
“You wrote to him requesting it.” They originally had only a single day assigned to Aventil, despite the bluster Minox had made to Captain Holcomb.
“I knew you would want it.” She sat on the corner of his desk and smirked. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed ‘the Thorn’ occasionally making an appearance on your board at the stationhouse.”
“It’s a subject which I’ve taken some interest in, certainly. I doubt you could use that as a justification to Captain Cinellan.”
“No, of course not. I told him the truth, though. The situation in Aventil is complex and we need the time to find our footing. There’s clearly a lot more to this than a standard out-of-house constable-death investigation. Most of this house—” She lowered her voice. “This house is downright unhealthy, but they’ve built a blazing strong Green Wall around it. From what I’ve seen, I’m not surprised Benvin got attacked. The only thing that surprises me is that we’re not seeing an obvious stick in this house as the culprit.”
“Laziness is this house’s primary trait,” Minox said. “Which is something I’ve known about for a long time, even before Jace was assigned here for his cadet year.”
“How did that happen?” Rainey asked.
“I’m given to understand that this past year’s cadet test had an unusual number of high-scoring candidates, so while Jace did well, he was not ranked high enough to claim his first choices. But I believe his presence here is Aventil’s gain.”
“Familial pride looks good on you.”
“I’m not one for idle praise of relations, Inspector Rainey.” He held up one of Benvin’s files. “Lieutenant Benvin has nothing but commendations for Jace.”
Rainey took it from him. “Including working extra shifts, not signing out or going home until late. That sounds familiar.”
“It was a value instilled in us,” Minox said. Though Jace had been so young when Father died, it was more likely he drew that habit off of Minox himself.
“Speaking of,” Rainey said, standing up, “it is, technically, time to sign out. But I’m guessing you are not ready to leave just yet.”
He nodded. “I wish to continue to sift through Benvin’s files. We know that the killer is not the proper Thorn—”
“We’re certain?”
“Quite,” Minox said. “So the question is, who is enemy enough of Benvin to engineer this?”
“Or the Thorn,” Rainey said. “Benvin and his squad are a convenient target, but the real goal is to bring the entire Aventil Constabulary on the Thorn’s head.”
“Which would have happened were it not for our investigation.” It may still, Minox thought. “Sign out, Inspector. You’ve got a longer walk home than usual, after all.”
“Don’t stay here too late.”
“I will stay only as late as Jace does, and return home with him.”
“Fair enough. Tomorrow morning we should go to campus and talk some more with Mister Sarren.”
“I think you should do that alone, perhaps,” Minox said. “His magic professor does not approve of me.”
“Tosh,” Rainey said. “That isn’t his business.” She tapped on the desk. “Not too late.”
“I already agreed to that.”
“I heard what you agreed to. Make sure that Jace doesn’t stay too late either. Give me a time.”
He nodded. They had been partnered long enough for her to learn he could be very specific about obeying the letter of his promises. “Barring crisis, I will make sure we are both gone by nine bells.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. She was likely considering what sort of loophole he was giving himself by allowing for a crisis. “Fine,” she finally said with a slight smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“My best to your husband and your family.”
“And to yours,” she said. With that, she was out the door.
The sun was now out of Minox’s eyes. He took out his pipe and tobacco from his coat pocket, and with a bit of magic, sparked a flame to light his pipe, and then lit the oil lamp on his desk. Situated for the moment, he dug into Benvin’s files on the Aventil gang known as the Rose Street Princes. Specifically a street captain named Colin Tyson.
Hotchins didn’t talk as he led Colin back through the alley to the basements of the Turnabout, where the bosses kept themselves apart from the captains and the rest of the Princes. This was where Old Casey kept his office, such as it was, as the proxy boss of the Princes.
Of course, Casey still answered to Vessrin, the supposed King of Rose Street—a man who had been a total recluse for years. Most Princes thought he was dead, or some sort of myth. The Thorn—just the idea of the Thorn—had pulled Vessrin back into the world, and he was taking an active hand again. He was afraid the Thorn was making a play for Aventil, and he wasn’t going to be caught unaware.
In his paranoia, Vessrin had guessed exactly who the Thorn really was—Colin’s cousin, the long-lost son of Cal Tyson, based entirely on the bow Veranix had been using out on the streets. Colin avoided confirming this point as best he could. But the only thing keeping Vessrin from sending a dozen Princes to wring Veranix’s neck was that he had no idea who he was. “The son of Cal Tyson” was even more of a myth, an idea of a man, than the Thorn was. And no one would expect him to be a scrawny magic student in the University.
Unless one of the old guard got a real good look at him. According to Veranix, Gabe Jensett had known who he was right away. Fortunately Jensett ended up with a wrung neck before he could tell anyone.
If Vessrin ever saw Veranix . . . Colin didn’t want to know what would happen. Vessrin would see the face of the man he betrayed in him, surely. Colin sometimes wondered if half of why Vessrin had sequestered himself was so he didn’t have to look at Colin.
But all that, plus the fact that all the Princes knew Colin had ties to the Thorn, meant Vessrin didn’t trust Colin one jot, and that was the real cause behind his Orchid Street exile.
The usual gang of underbosses gathered around the card table outside the office: Nints, Frenty, Bottin, and Giles. Colin wondered what the blazes these old boys did to earn the right to be bosses, living off the sweat and blood of the young Princes on the street.
“How’s things on Orchid?” Frenty asked.
“Can’t complain,” Colin said.
“Good answer,” Giles said. “We hear you’ve been hiding something.”
“I’m an empty room, gentlemen,” Colin said. “I don’t know what you’ve heard. But why don’t you ask me?”
The office door opened, and Vessrin came out with Old Casey.
“Jolly idea, Tyson,” Vessrin said. He came up close to Colin, grabbing him by the nape of the neck. “So I’m going to ask you. Red Rabbits?”
“You’re talking about Sotch,” Colin said. “Yeah, I got her squirreled away, and she’s brought in some more of her Rabbits—the last few that are still around, apparently.”
“And you didn’t share this with us, why?”
“I just hadn’t yet.”
“We heard from your boy
s, Tyson,” Casey said. “They told us you took her to the preacher.”
Colin’s own crew. Of course he knew this crew wasn’t really his, they didn’t give a blaze about him. But even then, he didn’t think they’d go talk to the bosses behind his back. There was going to have to be a reckoning over that.
“Yeah, I did,” Colin said, keeping his best card face on. “She had a story about the Thorn killing Keckin and some of the others, and I wanted her to bring in the few boys she had left. I thought getting her to talk to the preacher, that would get more of the story out of her than twisting her myself. And I was right.”
“So the Thorn went Rabbit hunting?”
“Preacher didn’t think so.” Colin wasn’t lying in saying that. Leaving out details, but not lying. “He thinks there’s some steve pretending to be the Thorn. Same story for who hit the Left and his squad.”
“Preacher thinks that wasn’t the Thorn?” Hotchins asked. “Half the ’hood saw it, including Deena. They all said it was the Thorn.”
“I’m just telling you what the preacher thought,” Colin said. “You want to know why he thinks that, you go ask him. But I got the impression Sotch’s story didn’t quite line up.”
“So now,” Vessrin said, “you’re going to bring her and her Rabbits to us.”
“Here?”
“Blazes, no, Tyson, not here,” Vessrin said. “How stupid would it be, even with the Rabbits wrecked, for us to bring any one of them here.”
“Yeah, I don’t see Sotch or any of hers putting roses on their arms anytime soon.”
“And why the blazes would we want that?” Vessrin asked. “Last thing we want is a bunch of new Princes of questionable loyalty. Right, Tyson?”
That felt like it was being spat in Colin’s face.
“No, sir,” Colin said.
“Yeah,” Vessrin said, giving an ugly grin. “But we do want Sotch and whoever else she has. Rabbits cost us in that whole debacle a couple months back. Ain’t that right, Frenty?”
The Imposters of Aventil Page 13
