The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  This was what Veranix was expecting. “That’s quite absurd. There was a headline in the Gazette—”

  “It’s not absurd, Mister Calbert, and we both know the truth behind that headline. Please recall that I rely on far more than my eyes to determine things.” He held up his gloved hand. “I can feel you.”

  “I don’t even understand what you’re talking about,” Veranix feigned.

  “Rest assured, Mister Calbert, that I cannot prove your identity as the Thorn in any way that the law would recognize. Nor am I interested in doing so.”

  That was a surprise. “Why not, Mister Welling?” Welling struck him as a decent and honest constable, though it was entirely possible in knowing Veranix was the Thorn, he was looking for what he could get from it. He might want a payoff to not tell Benvin. Or even Fenmere.

  “Let me explain something to you, Mister Calbert. I have dedicated my life to serving the Constabulary of this city. My family has served for generations. My grandparents were inspectors. My father was killed in the line of duty. It isn’t a job for me, it’s a calling. I think you might understand that.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. If anything—”

  “It confounds it, yes. I have dedicated my life to the Constabulary, because I love what it is supposed to be. However, I am under no illusion that what it is supposed to be is a very different creature than what it is.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Troubled. Shackled. Corrupt.” Those words dripped like venom from his lips. “My home stationhouse is in Inemar, and it is teeming with problems. But compared to the houses in Aventil or Dentonhill, it could be considered pristine.”

  Veranix couldn’t withhold a laugh, but he bit his lip on an icy glance from Inspector Welling.

  “Even Lieutenant Benvin—the best, most incorruptible officer in Aventil—”

  “Don’t tell me he’s corrupt.” Veranix had no love for the lieutenant, but he believed the man was fighting for a clean, safe Aventil.

  “No, but he is more interested in expedience than truth. Note that headline in the Gazette the other day. In this case, however, the man arrested was guilty, but not the Thorn. I believe that he’d have no qualms in locking up a good man”—Welling gave Veranix a pointed look—“if that makes his life easier.”

  “Is that a warning, Inspector?”

  “Please, Mister Calbert, listen to what I am telling you.”

  “You have my attention.”

  “Are you familiar with the Dentonhill Constabulary?”

  “Not overly.”

  “Rest assured that they do not have a Benvin in their number. And from what I know of their captain, they never will.”

  Veranix raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me I should spend less time in Aventil?”

  “If your aims are what I believe them to be, that would be obvious. But more importantly, I’m telling you something about my own frustrations. I have a great interest in the larger scope of justice. I keep a list of cases that are not resolved to my satisfaction, and continue to investigate them on my own time.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now?”

  “Indirectly, Mister Calbert. Allow me to continue.”

  “Go on.”

  “Sometimes my investigations bear fruit, and lead to something I can take action on. Now that the commissioner has formed the Grand Inspectors’ Unit, with its expanded jurisdiction, I have an even wider view of what is happening in this city, and what I can do for it.”

  He paused, looking at the ground. He took a deep breath and continued, locking his eyes on Veranix. “But even with all my information and authority, nothing I can do will lead to the arrest of a man like Willem Fenmere.”

  That had Veranix’s attention.

  “Even if that was your priority?”

  “Even if it was, I would need evidence and investigation, which would require the resources and cooperation of the Dentonhill stationhouse. My experience here in Aventil has thoroughly convinced me I would never receive that, even if that stationhouse wasn’t appallingly infested with corruption from top to bottom.”

  Veranix wasn’t sure how to take this, but he recognized in Inspector Welling the same righteous anger he felt when thinking about Fenmere and his effitte trade.

  “So what do you want, Mister Welling?”

  Welling gave him a strange regard, something that seemed not quite like amusement on his face. “I have come to a decision, Mister Calbert. As I said, I am an officer and inspector in this city’s Constabulary. I am bound by rules and law, as I should be. I cannot take justice into my own hands, no matter how much I might want to.”

  Veranix wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but took a chance. “That’s because you’re a good man, Mister Welling.”

  “Perhaps,” he said ruefully. He took the bag off his shoulder and put it on the ground between them. “However, what that means is that the contents of this satchel—every file, report, and unresolved scrap of information that I’ve compiled on Fenmere and his organization—is useless to me.”

  He gestured to the satchel.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying that you might find it more useful than I would. Because I fear that the only way Fenmere will be brought to justice is if the Thorn is the one doing it.”

  Veranix crouched down to pick it up. “And what’s the cost?”

  “I’m not going to hold this over your head, Mister Calbert. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a bolt in my crossbow. Giving you this is aiming and firing. I can only hope it finds my target.”

  “You can do more than hope,” Veranix said, looking at Welling’s gloved hand. “You’re not just an inspector.”

  “And you’re not just a magic student.”

  Intellectually, he knew this could be a trap of some sort, a way for Benvin or the rest of the Constabulary to catch him. But every instinct told him that wasn’t the case. This inspector had been at his back in the thick of a fight, and could have dragged him to the stationhouse in irons if that had been his intention.

  Veranix picked up the satchel and put it over his shoulder. “Thank you, Inspector Welling. This . . . this could mean a lot to me.”

  “If you need something that’s in my power to help you with, Mister Calbert—”

  “Veranix,” he said, extending his hand.

  Inspector Welling took it. “Minox.”

  “If there’s something in my power, Minox—”

  Minox looked to the satchel. “I believe you will already be focused on that. And it will be quite perilous to you.” This time he actually smiled slightly. “Keep your feet moving.”

  A Racquin farewell deserved the appropriate response. “Until our roads cross.”

  With that, Inspector Minox Welling nodded and walked away.

  Veranix held the satchel, cautiously opening it. As Minox had promised, it was filled with files, reports, and sketches. More information than Veranix had ever had on Fenmere. It would require some study—hopefully Kaiana and Delmin would help with that—but if it panned out, it would mean everything he needed to dismantle Fenmere’s empire piece by piece.

  “I’ve got you now, old man,” he whispered. “You’re going to have a constant thorn in your side.”

  Appendix

  Education and Sport in Maradaine and Druthal

  There are multiple systems of early education in the city of Maradaine. Throughout the city, there are nearly fifty public preparatories—part of an initiative spearheaded by the Duke of Maradaine and Alderman Tullen of the City Council. These schools are free and available for any child in the city between the ages of eight and fourteen, and teach basic reading, writing, mathematics, and civics. While these schools are free, children’s attendance is not compulsory. It is considered their own (or their parents’) obligation
to attend if they so desire it, and the city makes only a minimal effort to encourage children to go to school. As many of these public preparatories are on the north and east of the city, it is more challenging for children who live in the poorer neighborhoods in the southwest portion of Maradaine to attend. There are several private preparatories, which require tuition and, in some cases, only admit children of noble birth. There are similar models in other cities around Druthal, as well as less formalized systems in towns and villages.

  Strictly speaking, any child who attends a preparatory of any kind (or demonstrates equivalent learning) is eligible to apply to the various institutes of higher learning throughout the country. While there are scores of such institutes around the country, there are twenty-four which have been established as belonging to the High Colleges of Druthal, which represent the most acclaimed bodies of higher education, having met a universally agreed upon standard of curriculum and instruction.

  The most prestigious among the High Colleges are referred to as “The Elevens,” as they are eleven schools founded in the eleventh century by specific grants and royal decrees enacted by King Maradaine XI. These are The Royal College of Maradaine (in Maradaine), Coanware University (Vargox), Pirrell University (Kyst), Trenn College (Yin Mara), The Acorian Conservatory (Porvence), Central Academy (Fencal), The Cape Institute (Lacanja), The University of Hechard (Hechard), The Great College of Scaloi (Iscala), Riverview University (Marikar), and Glennford University (Yoleanne).

  Of the other High Colleges, the largest and most diverse in courses of study is the University of Maradaine, which has schools of Literature, Moral Philosophy, Natural Philosophy, Theology, Mathematics, History, Law, Protocol, Magic, and Officer Training (whose students serve in the campus cadets.)

  The various High Colleges often convene for academic conferences and athletic tournaments, as the stated ideal for students in the High Colleges are to be “Gracious Gentles of Study and Sport.”

  The most notable of the athletic competitions is, of course, the Grand Tournament of the High Colleges, which encompasses many different sports and disciplines. The centerpiece of every Grand Tournament, though, is the national sport of Druthal: tetchball.

  The field consists of a long rectangle, with the “green” of the field marked with a trapezoid. The two out-of-bounds areas on either side are referred to as “the yellow”—and on some fields they will go so far as to paint the grass to mark it. The field is then crossed with four lines to mark the different sections of the playing zone: the Hold Line, Jack Line, Double Jack, and Triple Jack.

  There are two teams of eleven players each. Each match is played in three intervals, and each interval is split into the top and bottom. In the top, one team takes the field (fielding team) while the other one (batting team) lines up behind the Hold Line, and in the bottom they switch places.

  The eleven players take the field in their designated places: the Arm in the Arm’s Circle, and in the zone between the Hold Line and the Jack Line (First Zone): the Rail, Wall, Close Bumper, Far Bumper, and Jack Warder. In between the Jack Line and the Double Jack (Second Zone) are the Tight Double, Deep Double, Left Foot, and Right Foot. Finally, in the Third Zone, between the Double Jack and the Triple Jack, is the Triple Warder.

  In each interval, the batting team sends one player at a time to the Tetch Rail, a beam of wood about four feet long, resting on two posts. The batter stands behind the rail with a tetchbat, ready to bat. The Arm takes the tetchball (a bit larger and softer than a softball) and pitches it over the Tetch Rail for the batter to try to hit it. The batter gets two pitches to try to hit the ball.

  If the batter misses both pitches, they return behind the Hold Line and the next batter comes forth.

  If the batter hits the ball, then the batter will start to run—first through the rail, knocking it to the ground, and then toward the Jack Line. Their goal is to run past the Jack Line, past the Double Jack, and to the Triple Jack, and then turning around and running back to the Hold Line, all before the Tetch Rail is restored. Restoring the rail means that the beam is back in place on its posts, and the ball is being touched to the rail. Each line crossed gains the runner one point for their team, for a maximum of six points for each batting.

  What the fielding team can do to stop him depends on where the ball lands. Players in any zone are frozen if the ball lands past their zone, until the batter runs past that line. In other words, if the ball lands in the Second Zone (a “Jack Hit”), then the players in the First Zone can do nothing until the batter runs past the Jack Line. If the batter hits a Triple Jack—the ball lands past the Triple Jack line, beyond any of the playing zones, then all the fielders are frozen until the batter reaches the Triple Jack line. If the ball lands in the yellow, then the batter must return behind the Hold Line and the next batter comes up.

  All fielders must stay in their respective zones at all times, save the Triple Warder, who can cross the Triple Jack line if they are not frozen.

  While the batter is running, four players have the primary goal of impeding his run: the Close and Far Bumpers and the Right and Left Feet. If they are free to move, they can grapple and hold the batter to keep him from running. For the Jack Warder, the Tight and Deep Doubles, and the Triple Warder, their primary goal is to get the ball back to the Tetch Rail so the rail can be restored. Restoring the rail is the responsibility of the fielder playing Rail, though it is acceptable for the Arm and the Wall to assist in this. It should be noted, however, that any player who is free to move can both handle the ball and grapple the running batter, as long as they do not cross out of their zones.

  If the ball ever crosses the Hold Line, then the Hold is broken, and all of the batting team can rush the field while the batter runs. Only the batter can score points, but every other player can impede the fielding team from stopping the batter or restoring the Rail, as long as they do not touch either the rail or the ball.

  The Wall’s primary job is to make sure the ball does not cross the Hold Line.

  Each interval is concluded when every player on both teams have had a turn at bat. Once three intervals have been played, the match is concluded. The team with the most points is the winner.

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