Magic Lost, Trouble Found rb-1

by Lisa Shearin

  “Where was Nigel last night?” I asked.

  “He was scheduled to do a séance for the Marquis of Timur. The marquis’ gondola arrived at Nigel’s dock at nine bells last night. Nigel got in, the gondola pulled away. Neither he, the boatman, nor the gondola have been seen since.”

  “What did the marquis have to say?”

  “All he could do is complain that he was missing his best gondola and boatman. I think he was more upset by losing the gondola.”

  “Kidnapping?”

  “That’s my guess. I’ve got men out looking for Nigel, the boatman, and the gondola, but so far we’ve come up empty on all counts. When I got here this morning, I found my men busier keeping people out than gathering evidence.”

  “The curiosity factor’s bound to be high,” I said.

  A grin spread across Janek’s unshaven face. “I wouldn’t call these people curious. Desperate is more like it. Riggs said they were doing a pathetic job of covering it up. A couple of them turned out to be servants of some rather highborn ladies—and a few highborn gentlemen. If Riggs was the bribe-taking type, he could have earned his retirement this morning.”

  I remembered the viewing screen concealed in Nigel’s bedroom wall. I was willing to bet Janek’s men were going to find all sorts of interesting evidence, and most of it probably wouldn’t have a thing to do with last night. Good for me. Bad for the local aristocracy.

  “You heard what happened?” Janek asked.

  “Everyone’s heard.”

  I didn’t give anything away with that. One good thing about lack of sleep, you only had one expression—tired. Janek was wearing the same one.

  “Nigel’s not too popular with the locals, goblins included,” the watcher continued. “There are probably more than a few people waiting to help him into permanent retirement.”

  “You think the goblins expected Nigel to be at home?”

  Janek shook his head. “I’d say the break-in was for robbery, but with Nigel missing, there’s no way to find out for sure just what was stolen, if anything. One hell of a fight is about the only thing we can say for sure happened.”

  He’d get no argument from me on that one.

  “That and a Gate ripped into Nigel’s upstairs front hall. Messy one, too. Rush job, and they didn’t stay around to clean up the residuals.”

  I knew it. “Any idea who made it?”

  “The Khrynsani are in town, so they’re definitely suspect. But they’re not the only ones in Mermeia capable of creating a Gate.”

  “Any mages or sorcerers missing lately?” I asked. “Besides Nigel?”

  Janek knew where I was going with that. The person killed to fuel a Gate’s creation didn’t have to be magically talented, but it made for a stronger and more stable Gate if they were. If Sarad Nukpana had gotten his hands on a magic user, punching a hole into Nigel’s townhouse would have been a lot easier. The pickings were plentiful in Mermeia. Retired Conclave mages, sorcerers, seekers, healers, mediums, exorcists, conjurors—the list went on and on, from truly gifted individuals making an honest living, to the mediocre only looking to part the gullible from their coin. In Mermeia, there were ample customers for both—and both offered ample victims if a goblin grand shaman was out gathering Gate fuel.

  Janek’s expression darkened. “Nigel’s the sixth to vanish this week.”

  I blinked. “The sixth?”

  “A medium vanished two days ago and a healer was reported missing just this morning. The other three were street magicians, simple folk the watch know.” Janek’s jaw clenched. “Regardless of who they are and what they do, they’re my people, my responsibility, and all the paper pushers downtown care about is making a good impression on the dignitaries in town for the week. I get pressured to solve the cases, and do it quick, but stay quiet while I do it.”

  Anything could have happened to any of them, but this week Sarad Nukpana had come to town.

  In addition to being one of Mermeia’s best watchers, Janek Tawl was a respectable, and respected, sorcerer. It was one of the reasons he worked in the District. Crimes involving sorcerers were best investigated by someone with more than a passing knowledge of magic, and compassion for its practitioners. Janek had both.

  I looked around at the onlookers swarming around Nigel’s townhouse. Give it another hour and it’d be a full-fledged circus. “Good luck.”

  “We’ll need it.”

  “Any chance you’ll be able to trace the Gate back to its source?”

  “Possibly. It wasn’t that messy of a job. But anyone talented enough to open a Gate would have enough talent to clean up after himself better than that—or so you’d think.”

  Unless he were annoyed or injured—or just didn’t care.

  “The goblins who ripped the Gate must have taken their casualties back with them,” Janek said. “There’s too much blood for the number of bodies we’ve found. Apparently they tore a Gate right into the house to get in and left the same way.”

  “That took a lot of effort,” I said.

  “Blew every house ward Nigel had right to hell.”

  So much for why Quentin hadn’t set off any alarms.

  “Once all hell broke loose, I’d imagine neatness didn’t count for much,” I said.

  “True.” Janek agreed. “Where were you last night? You’ve never struck me as the curious onlooker type.”

  It was a casual question, but Janek never did or said anything casually. I let an easy smile spread across my face. It’s a talent I’ve developed over the years. “You suspect me of being in Nigel’s garden with a small army of goblins?”

  He shrugged. “You know a lot of goblins. If there was trouble, and if you weren’t in it, you’d at least know about it.” His green eyes narrowed slightly. “But, if you knew something you could tell me, you would.”

  Over the years we’d known each other, we had on more than one occasion known something about what the other was investigating. And on more than one occasion, we couldn’t immediately share that information. Once circumstances untangled themselves, we shared what we knew. My circumstances were about as tangled as they could get. Janek’s weren’t much better with the watch commissioner breathing down his neck.

  “If I find out something myself, I’ll share it if I can,” I promised.

  It wasn’t a lie, because I didn’t know anything that would help Janek with his investigation of Nigel’s disappearance.

  “Any chance I could see the bedroom and hall where the Gate was opened?”

  Janek shrugged. “I don’t see any reason why not. You might find something we missed.”

  That’s what I was hoping for. Something along the lines of a small, white box.

  Janek wasn’t joking when he said the bedroom was destroyed. Raised on the streets of Mermeia, Quentin knew how to fight and fight dirty. When cornered, the dirtiness escalated tenfold. That he was surprised by several Khrynsani shamans only made matters worse. After Quentin left the room through the nearest window, the Khrynsani and their underlings had conducted their own search. Judging from the destruction, they had to be quick about it, and they weren’t happy with what they didn’t find. Janek was lucky he had a room left to investigate. But he didn’t know what he was looking for. I did.

  The floor was covered with broken bits and pieces of what were once Nigel’s personal possessions. I gave a low, impressed whistle for Janek’s benefit, then scanned the floor between the bed and shattered windows for the white stone box.

  Nothing. I tried not to make my disappointment too obvious. Fortunately, Janek was talking to a young watcher posted by the door and didn’t notice. The compartment concealed in the headboard was open, the contents strewn across the bed.

  No white stone box.

  The bed had been moved at an angle and searched. It was massive, so I knew Quentin hadn’t moved it, and that left only the Khrynsani and their temple guards. They knew that Quentin had taken the amulet, so the object of their search could only be one o
ther thing. The same thing I was looking for. And from the absence of that thing anywhere in the room, I’d say they found it. Damn.

  A gleam of blue metal caught my eye next to the bed. I walked over and knelt next to it, but was careful not to touch it. Things were looking up. Maybe I could tell Janek who his culprits were without incriminating myself.

  “What did you find?” Janek asked.

  “Your house wreckers left a calling card,” I told him.

  Janek knelt next to me. “It’s a medallion. Nigel has a lot of those.”

  “Not one like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “This is goblin.”

  He started to reach for it.

  “Khrynsani,” I said.

  Janek’s hand stopped midreach. My friend didn’t get to where he was by being stupid.

  “You’re sure?”

  I could feel the malice oozing from it—and so could the amulet around my neck. I was also treated to some sibilant goblin chanting. I could hear it. Janek couldn’t. I knew goblin. I knew what they were saying, and it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear. That particular piece of jewelry had been worn by a very bad goblin while he did some very bad things. And recently. My guess was Sarad Nukpana’s Gatekeeper. Or Nukpana himself. The chain was broken—maybe Quentin had helped him remove it.

  “Unfortunately positive,” I said.

  “Someone was careless.”

  Janek turned to the watcher who remained steadfastly by the door. For the most part, Janek’s people were either sorcerers themselves or sensitives, those who were acutely aware of the presence of sorcery, but without talent themselves. From his clear desire to be elsewhere, I’d guess the young human was the latter. I didn’t blame him in the least. Khrynsani magical leftovers gave me the creeps, too.

  “Willem, go downstairs and have Riggs bring up a containment box.” As the young man left, Janek lowered his voice so only I could hear. “So, you think I should pay a visit to the goblin embassy this afternoon?”

  His words said one thing. His tone said something else entirely. Janek wasn’t asking my professional opinion. He was asking my opinion based on what I had seen when I was here last night, or my close association to whoever had. I glanced at him. He was wearing his best fess-up look.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have an opinion on why the Khrynsani would bother to rip a Gate into this house, would you?” he asked.

  I indicated the wreck of a bedroom. “They seemed to be looking for something.”

  “Know what it was?”

  “I have no idea what the thing was, or why they want it.” That definitely wasn’t a lie. Other than an amulet, I didn’t know what it was, what it did, or why they wanted it. But finding out had become my new life’s goal.

  Janek took a small sealed envelope out of his cloak’s inner pocket. “Considering who sent this, I thought you might.”

  I took the envelope from him. There was no return address and the seal had the outline of a dove in the center. That told me who it was from. Markus Sevelien. No one who knew Markus would ever equate him with a dove. Maybe that’s why he used it; maybe it was just his twisted sense of humor. My vote was for the latter.

  “That red-headed messenger of Markus’s brought it,” Janek said. “Wonder how he knew to bring it here?”

  I cringed inwardly and broke the seal and opened the envelope. “You know Markus is good.”

  “Yeah, he’s good. So good he knew where you were going even before you got here.”

  From what I’d told him in the note I’d sent from the safehouse, Markus had to have known I’d come back to Nigel’s. I’d be willing to bet an identical note had been delivered to the senior-ranking watcher working the crime scene at Stocken’s warehouse. Markus liked to be thorough.

  I tried to ignore the scowl that had taken up residence on Janek’s face and scanned the note. After a quick read, my face must have been a perfect match for his.

  Those few words scratched on parchment made me officially homeless. There were no safehouses available as of this morning. They were all being used by elven diplomats and their retinues arriving in town for the goblin king’s masked ball. No doubt Phaelan and Quentin had been asked to leave if they hadn’t already cleared out. For his sake, I hoped Bertran had asked Phaelan nicely. I sighed. The pack that hung over my shoulder was small, but it had suddenly gotten a whole lot heavier.

  Janek drew breath for the question I knew was coming. Just then we heard someone running up the stairs. It was Riggs.

  “Sir, come quick. They’ve found a body in the canal.”

  I blew out my breath. Saved by the corpse.

  The corpse in question was Nigel Nicabar.

  The watchers had collected the bodies found in Nigel’s house, garden, and canal, and put them in the greenhouse located at the back of the garden. The necromancer’s talents weren’t with living things, so the greenhouse’s tables were pretty much empty—at least of plants. Dead goblins lay under sheets and tarps. I couldn’t help but feel that Nigel would have approved. What he wouldn’t have approved of was being included among them. Nigel wouldn’t have been caught dead surrounded by goblins, yet that’s exactly how and where he was. I don’t think he would have appreciated the irony.

  Apparently the watch had run out of things to cover bodies with. From what I saw in that greenhouse, our fight with the temple guards was a lovers’ spat compared to what the goblins had done to each other after we left. Part of me wanted to run out of there screaming, but the other part couldn’t help but notice that while elves turn light gray after death, like living goblins; dead goblins turn pale, like living elves. Interesting. Also interesting was that all of the bodies wore Mal’Salin house badges on their armor, a detail I couldn’t see last night. That confirmed that I’d stepped in the middle of a bad case of sibling rivalry.

  “They’re all Mal’Salin.” I tried to sound surprised. Act ignorant, get information. It’d worked for me before.

  “Yep,” Janek said.

  “I know the Mal’Salins aren’t exactly one big, happy family, but isn’t this a bit excessive?”

  He ran his hand over his eyes. “Yep.”

  The weariness evident in that one little word told me that something else had just been dumped on Janek’s already overflowing plate.

  “Care to elaborate on that ‘yep’?” I asked.

  “Rumor has it the king’s little brother is in town.”

  Crap. Sometimes I hated it when I was right. So much for it being just the prince’s allies acting on his behalf. Looked like Prince Chigaru had decided to make a personal appearance. The goblins have a saying about their royal family: blood is thicker than water, and Mal’Salins aren’t shy about drowning each other in either.

  “You think half of the dearly departed belong to the prince?” I asked.

  “That’s my theory. Like I need an assassination attempt this week. Though if Prince Chigaru is in town to take down his big brother, at least he’ll probably do it in the Goblin District.” Janek flashed a grim smile. “Not my jurisdiction. Unfortunately their guards brought their feud across the canal into Nigel’s garden, which is my jurisdiction.”

  When Sathrik Mal’Salin took the goblin throne after his mother’s death, one of the first things he did was clean house. That cleaning involved exiling anyone and everyone who could possibly pose a danger to his rule. His younger brother Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin was at the top of the list. The prince hadn’t been pleased to be swept out with the trash.

  Janek pulled back the tarp covering the necromancer and we both blew out our breath at the stench. I looked over his shoulder at the corpse and was glad I hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. Nigel hadn’t been much to look at on his best days, and soaking in a canal hadn’t helped him any.

  “That’s Nigel, all right,” I said, trying in vain to breathe through my mouth.

  Janek put on a pair of healer’s examination gloves. He peeled back what remained of Nigel’s collar to look
at the throat. “Who found him?” he asked Riggs.

  “A silk merchant by the name of Eleazar Adlai,” the watcher replied. “Apparently Nigel bobbed to the surface about an hour ago.”

  That earned Riggs a sharp look from his superior. “Why wasn’t I notified before now?”

  Riggs tried not to grin and failed. “It took the merchant that long to recover from the sight of Nigel popping up next to his dock, sir. We just found out ourselves. Master Adlai had just arrived to open his shop and was tying off his boat. He was still screaming when we got there.” The grin grew. “I didn’t know a man could scream like that. He’s heavily sedated in his shop at the moment. I could question him later if you’d like.”

  “Were there other witnesses?”

  Riggs nodded. “And they all corroborate his story.”

  “Then I think we can leave Master Adlai alone,” Janek said, still intent on the dead man’s throat. “Raine, what do you make of this?”

  I bent to look where Janek indicated. “It looks like he was strangled, but the windpipe wasn’t crushed. But then it also looks like a severe burn.”

  “Does that mean what I think it does?” Janek asked.

  “If you’re thinking that Nigel was killed by another sorcerer, then yes, that’s probably what it means.”

  Riggs spoke. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, how do you know that?”

  “Some sorcerers can generate a shock internally, kind of like lightning, but not as strong,” I explained. “They can conduct that shock into an object, or a body, through touch. Given enough power behind it, it’s usually fatal.”