by Lisa Shearin
“So someone didn’t want him coming home last night,” Riggs said.
“Raine, do you think the goblins may have arranged to have a chat with Nigel, then used him to fuel a Gate when they were finished talking?” Janek asked.
“If he left at nine bells, that would have been enough time for almost anything—from anyone. There’s a long list of people who would like to see Nigel dead.” I had run into some of those on a shorter list last night, but this wasn’t the place to tell Janek.
Riggs cleared his throat uneasily. “A Gate? Are you saying that he was sacrificed? Wouldn’t they want a virgin or something? Or even a nice person?”
Janek laughed. I settled for a snort.
“That’s an old wives’ tale, Lieutenant,” Janek said. “Nice doesn’t matter, and I don’t think anyone could ever mistake Nigel here for an innocent.”
A rope had bound Nigel’s ankles together. There was evidence of a frayed knot at the end. “Whoever the culprit was, they wanted to hide their work for as long as possible,” I ventured. “This rope was probably attached to a weight of some sort. The killers wouldn’t have to look far to find something large enough to keep their work submerged. How long do you guess he has been underwater?”
“Not long,” Janek said. “The knucker bites and the sludge from the canals just make it look longer.”
I had seen the knucker bites on Nigel’s body, and had been doing my best to ignore them. Knuckers were smaller, distant relatives of the dragon family that thrive in Mermeia’s deeper canals. They’re scavengers, feeding on whatever meat they find. The city’s canals were teeming with them at one time. The city’s engineers had decreased the population, but had not eradicated it, much to the delight of the local criminals. Quentin once remarked that an assassin acquaintance told him that nothing disposed of a body like tossing it into a nest of knuckers.
Janek pulled the canvas back up over the necromancer’s body, and turned to me. “Let’s go where the air is more breathable. We need to talk.”
Chapter 7
We need to talk.
Innocent enough words coming from most people, but rarely a good thing from a chief watcher. Too much talking right now on my part, especially honest talking, and I’d end up in the city jail. I’d killed a Khrynsani temple guard last night. Most people would consider that worthy of an award, not jail time. Still, I’ve never been one to tempt fate.
We were in Nigel’s study. I had seen it before, though not in person. Quentin’s viewpoint last night had been more than sufficient—and I was spared knowing what it smelled like. The air was cloying, sweet, and reminded me of dead things. Nice.
Janek sat down behind the massive desk. I took a seat in one of Nigel’s guest chairs. Janek looked exhausted. That made two of us. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a collection of colored beads and wood held together with some bits of copper wire.
“What can you tell me about this?” he asked.
He made no move to give it to me, and when I saw the runes carved on the bits of wood, I made no move to take it. It looked like a primitive charm. Most things like that were innocent enough, but looks could be deceiving. I learned that lesson the hard way a couple of years ago—and was wearing a refresher course around my neck right now.
Janek turned it over in his hand. “It belongs to a street magician by the name of Siseal Peli. He never lets it out of his sight. We found it yesterday morning at the foot of the Herald Bridge.”
“No Siseal?”
“Not a trace.” A muscle worked in the watcher’s jaw. “Siseal said it protected him against curses. Looks like it’s worthless against anything else.”
He put it on the desk between us. I let it sit there.
I knew what he wanted me to do. I just didn’t know if I wanted to do it.
Something to understand about seeking: sometimes finding people involved handling objects that belonged to them. The closer the person was to those objects, the better. Better for connecting with that person, but mostly better for seeing stuff you’d rather not know existed. Problem was, you never knew if you’d get visions of fluffy bunnies, or creatures from the lower hells snacking on said bunnies—or on the person you were looking for.
Siseal Peli had been carrying the charm when he was grabbed. Therefore, it was probably chock full of nice, fresh, horrific visions. Mine for the watching. Though at least I wouldn’t have to listen. Some seekers could get sound, smells, sensations, basically everything the victim experienced. I wasn’t that gifted—or that unlucky. I didn’t know Siseal personally, but I had seen him on the steps leading up to the Herald Bridge. He spent his days there selling the charms he made to passersby. He was always smiling.
I picked up the charm.
I didn’t expect to see anything at first; a connection usually took a few seconds to establish. Not this time. The amulet I wore thrummed to life and I immediately saw Siseal Peli’s final moments.
I knew they were final. I smelled his fear. Heard his screams. Felt his death.
I never considered shadows lethal. Siseal must have known something I didn’t.
His killer detached itself from the darkness of a doorway. It was tall, almost hobgoblin in shape—if hobgoblins were made of black ink. Siseal’s breath froze, then came in panicked gasps. He knew what was about to kill him. He tried to run, but his killer was fast. Blink-of-an-eye fast. The magician’s fists sank into a body warm and pulsing like living quicksand. The blackness flowed up his arms and legs, paralyzing his muscles and taking Siseal’s life as it went. The magician found breath to scream just before his head was pulled inside.
Swift and simple. And sickening.
For the second time since arriving at Nigel’s, I was glad I hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. As a result, the only thing I tossed on the desk was Siseal’s charm. But it didn’t stop me from having a serious case of the whirlies.
“Are you all right?” Janek looked concerned. All three of him.
I think I might have nodded. Head direction was questionable right now.
“Well, did you see anything?”
So much for concern. I gripped the arms of the chair as the whirlies faded. “Nothing nice.”
The watcher swore. “He’s dead?”
“I assume so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
I met his snap and raised him a snarl. “It means he was there, then he wasn’t.”
Neither one of us meant it, and we knew it. That and friendship also meant not having to apologize. Saved a lot of time with hurt feelings. While I was feeling entitled, I decided not to mention the screaming, among other things. Janek knew what I was capable of. I’d rather not answer any awkward questions, like how I acquired my new talent.
“Just gone?” Apparently Janek had problems with that part. “Like through a Gate?”
“No. Gone as in ceased to exist. I’d say that qualifies as dead.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”
I didn’t particularly want to recount it, but Janek wasn’t going to let it go until I did.
“It was big, black, and fast.”
“Hobgoblin? Nebian?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I wish.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know, but I think he did.”
“Describe it.”
“No features, no face, no limbs, tentacles, claws, or anything remotely resembling something used to kill. Just shadows. Solid black shadows. Then nothing.”
I couldn’t express what I had felt. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to think about it.
“Were there any Khrynsani around?”
“Not that I could see.” That was the truth. I wish I had seen Khrynsani. It’d be better than knowing that some nameless, faceless, soulless creature was on the nighttime streets of Mermeia sucking sorcerers from the world of the living.
But I had to give Janek something. I owed him that much.
He nee
ded to know about Simon Stocken and Sarad Nukpana, and their connection to what happened here. I just couldn’t spill my guts without revealing my involvement, at least in part. Nothing like being indirectly involved in a pair of murders to test a professional relationship—and a friendship. But I knew where I could start.
Sorcerers at the level of mage had to register with the city watch on entering Mermeia, as well as several other larger cities. It let local law enforcement keep track of people with that kind of power. Public safety, and all that. Interestingly enough, Guardians didn’t have to register. They’re the ones local law enforcement reported their registrations to. Sarad Nukpana was a grand shaman, the goblin equivalent of a mage. He also had diplomatic immunity, which didn’t do anyone any good except Sarad Nukpana. The most powerful and dangerous mages were often employed by governments and their officials. They were encouraged to register as a courtesy to the city they were visiting. But if they chose not to, there was nothing the local watch could do about it. I wonder if Sarad Nukpana had been courteous. I was willing to bet he had.
“Did Sarad Nukpana register when he arrived?” I asked Janek.
Puzzled lines appeared between his eyebrows at the shift in topic. “Yes, he did.”
“You registered him?”
“Riggs did.”
“Did he give his business while here?”
“Advisor and counselor to His Royal Majesty, King Sathrik Mal’Salin.”
“Figures,” I said. “Did Riggs believe him?”
“Not a chance. A goblin grand shaman usually has business in town other than what they list on their registration—and Khrynsani are never up to any good anytime. I’ve had Nukpana watched. He’s due to leave after the ball.”
The amulet felt icy cold and hard against my chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he applied to extend his visit for a few days,” I said. “Know where he was last night?”
“The report said neither he nor any of his shamans left the goblin embassy—at least not through the front or back door. I have to admit, for a Khrynsani trying to sneak out after curfew, a Gate would be the way to go. Perverted and sick as hell, but an efficient way to get around town.”
I knew I was going to regret this, but Janek needed to know, at least some of it.
“I think Nigel’s house was just the Khrynsani’s first stop of the evening,” I said.
The watcher sat motionless. “The first. You think.”
I nodded. “Simon Stocken’s warehouse was probably second.”
Janek’s face was devoid of any expression. It was his watcher’s face. I found I didn’t like being on the receiving end.
“Is this your opinion, or do you know it as fact?” he asked.
“I was at Stocken’s warehouse and sensed the remnants of a Gate. A few minutes later I ran into Sarad Nukpana and a handful of his shamans.”
“A Gate, Sarad Nukpana, a murdered Simon Stocken—and you.”
“Well, and a few other people, but they don’t enter into the equation.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
“I’d rather not.”
Janek took a deep breath and quietly let it out. Then he just sat there for a few moments. He looked at me. I looked back at him.
“And this is related in some way to how Nigel ended up in the canal.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “More than likely.”
“Are you going to tell me or do I have to wait a couple of days for the next installment?”
“Simon Stocken was fencing what the goblins came here to steal.”
“Except the goblins didn’t manage to steal it.”
I nodded. “Right.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Yes, but I can’t tell you, and I promise this person’s identity has absolutely no bearing on this case.”
“It wasn’t you, was it?”
“No.” I sat up straighter. I was insulted, but only mildly. Considering my family and professional connections, I could hardly blame Janek for his conclusions.
Janek sighed. I almost felt sorry for him. I knew this was driving him crazy. Or more to the point, I was driving him crazy. Sometimes I had that effect on people.
“The person who stole this object escaped from Nigel’s house and took it to Stocken to collect the rest of the fee,” I said. “But I think the Khrynsani were there first.”
I opted to leave the Guardians out of it. It was confusing enough. Besides, Janek was law enforcement; Mychael Eiliesor was law enforcement. I didn’t want to find out the hard way that they had been old school buddies.
“Let me get this straight,” Janek said. “I have Nigel and Simon Stocken, two prominent Mermeian citizens dead, and in all probability, the murderer not only has diplomatic immunity, but cannot be physically placed at either crime scene.” He paused. “Does your nameless thief still have the thing that everyone’s after?”
“No.”
“Do you know where is it?”
I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.
“I could jail you on obstruction of justice and withholding evidence,” Janek told me.
“Possibly. But you won’t.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
“I’m more valuable to you outside a cell than in.”
“As what?”
“Bait.”
Janek slowly walked around to the front of the desk and perched on it, directly in front of me. He leaned forward. “Raine, you’re in possession of stolen goods—either literally or by knowledge of location. In the eyes of the law it’s the same thing. Why don’t you just turn it over to me?”
That was true. I was in possession of stolen goods—stolen goods I couldn’t hand over even if I wanted to. One, said goods would probably kill me if I tried; and two, Janek was in no way qualified to defend himself against said goods or those who wanted it. While I wasn’t any more qualified than Janek, I just didn’t dump magical amulets on my friends then run away while every baddie in the city jumped them. I had to take the moral high road sometime.
“Believe me, Janek, I’d like nothing more, but truth is, I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to turn it over to me in the near future?”
“Nothing would make me happier—and that’s the honest truth.”
Janek sat back. “You’re going to be popular.”
“Too late. I already am.”
“I can spare a few men to stay close to you,” he said quietly.
I almost said I didn’t need protection, but that was absurd. I needed all the protection I could get. But I wasn’t going to take it from Janek’s already depleted resources. The watch commissioner was notoriously stingy with his men, especially in the Districts. It was a sincere and very generous offer.
“I appreciate the offer, but we both know you can’t spare the men. Not now. Besides, I’ve made other arrangements.”
Though with no room at any of Markus’s safehouses, my arrangements had just gone up in smoke. But I wasn’t about to tell Janek. He thought jail cells were safe; I knew jail cells were death traps when someone like Sarad Nukpana was after you.
He kept his eyes on mine. “The offer still stands. Just let me know.”
“Thank you.”
Janek stood. “Tell me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“If you turn up on a table like Nigel, who do I go after first?”
“Good question.”
Chapter 8
In my opinion, the best source for information on Sarad Nukpana would be from a former member of the goblin royal family—especially from a primaru, or shaman of the royal blood. I considered Primaru Tamnais Nathrach a friend. Tam wanted to be more than friends. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I figured that friends or more than friends don’t normally kill each other, regardless of the Mal’Salin duchess they used to be married to, so I felt relatively safe pa
ying Tam a visit.
Tam was one of those scoundrels who’d come into my life and actually stayed there. I knew him well enough to trust him—to a point. There were things about Tam that I’d probably never know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I think that was part of his appeal.
In addition to locating missing people, I was often hired to find missing objects. Some of those objects were magical; most were mundane—and small and valuable and shiny. Mermeia was more than a favorite retirement destination for mages; it was a playground for mages and nobles alike. The kind of playground where if you wanted to play, you had to pay. Tam owned Sirens, the most exclusive and notorious nightclub and gambling parlor in the city. Most of the money that found its way onto Tam’s tables came from the healthy bank accounts of the mages or nobles placing the bets. Some of those bank accounts were less than healthy. Tam wasn’t directly involved in stolen goods, but he did have clientele who routinely came into unexpected bounty. Tam had no problem with that bounty being spread around his establishment—even if that bounty had yet to be converted into the coin of the realm.
Tam and I met as a result of yet another cash-strapped noble working his way through the remains of his wife’s inheritance to support his gambling habit. One wife in particular drew the line at her grandmother’s favorite ring. She hired me. I tailed her husband right to Tam’s high-stakes card table. The husband tried to compel me to look the other way. I don’t compel, and I sure as hell don’t look the other way. Tam’s been known to avert his eyes, as well as have troublemakers like me tossed into the canal behind his club. Tam may be a scoundrel and an opportunist, but he’s also a savvy businessman. It looked good for him to return the lady’s ring. He told me later he did it to impress me.
Tam considers me a challenge; I consider Tam a work in progress. I also think there’s a gentleman lurking under that calculating exterior. Tam thinks “gentleman” is a dirty word.
I talk dirty to Tam every chance I get.
This morning I wanted to talk to Tam about his former in-laws—and whether they had contacted him when they had arrived in town. After his wife’s death, Tam had asked to leave the royal family’s service. I had always suspected politics played an equal role in his decision. I wanted to know if someone had tried to pull him back in. Working for the Mal’Salin family wasn’t usually fatal, but telling them you were quitting almost always was, even if you were family. Especially if you were a talented shaman who had once provided a valuable service. Many felt Tam’s talents were wasted on a nightclub. I disagreed. Tam had had more than one bad experience in his former line of work, and he’d left that life behind to do what he enjoyed. Good for him.
