Necrospect: Chronicles of the Wizard-Detective

by J. B. Markes

  “Difficult night?” she asked, closing the book on her thumb to mark her place.

  “Like you haven’t heard,” I replied.

  “Of course, I have. Everyone has. What were you thinking?”

  “Not you, too,” I said, laying my arm over my eyes.

  “I’m not judging,” she said. “It’s a genuine question. I couldn’t imagine anything that could compel me to even approach that man. I’d be afraid he’d turn me into a vampire or something.”

  “There’s no such thing as vampires,” I said, unsure of my own words in light of my recently expanding worldview.

  “Well, whatever. A necromancer might just as easily kill you as look at you. He probably always needs fresh bodies for his work.”

  “He’s not like that.”

  “How’d you even meet him? Weren’t you afraid he might—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” My throat seized, and I let out a short cough. I brushed my hand across my lips to make sure I wasn’t bleeding again. “Just let me be.”

  “Yeah, but didn’t you think—”

  “Let me be, Regina! Just leave me alone.”

  “Hold on, crazy. You came to my room.”

  A few warm tears made their way down my cheeks, and I put my arm over my eyes to soak them up with my sleeve. My hopes and fears had catalyzed, bubbling over into the ether, no longer belonging to me. My sorrow carried me back to anger, that familiar place that had become my constant state of rest, and I wept all the more for my pitiful state.

  “Izzy, what’s wrong with you?”

  I could have struck Regina down at that very moment, had the Sentinels not confiscated my wand. It was as if we had been enemies for so long I’d forgotten how to be anything else. I hated her for her success, for her future successes, for her petty attitude and sense of entitlement. Most of all, I hated the life within her.

  “I’m dying,” I said.

  “Come on,” she said, leaving her seat to rub back my hair. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”

  I sat up and grabbed her hard, pulling her to me. She gave a nervous laugh, but returned the gesture, rubbing her hand gently across my back. When I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed, she tensed up and pulled away from me.

  “It’ll be all right,” she whispered.

  “The healers said I probably wouldn’t live more than a couple months.”

  “What?” she asked, the consoling smile fading from her lips.

  “It’s some rare condition that only strikes the unlucky. Only mages. One in thousands, or more.”

  “What are you talking about? Are you serious?”

  “It started manifesting over a month ago, but I guess I’ve had it my whole life. It just got worse after you and I had our duel.”

  An expression of horror crept over her, but I wiped my eyes and shook my head. “It wasn’t you,” I said. “It’s me, or the magic—or both, I don’t know. My body can’t handle the stress. That’s why I passed out that day. And now it’s killing me faster the more I use it.”

  “Gods, Izzy. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I couldn’t find the right time to bring it up. We haven’t been talking, and I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy with—” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Is that what you’re doing with that man? You think he can cure you or something? Izzy, are you insane?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I have no idea what I should do.”

  We sat—alone together—for ten minutes or so, Regina afraid to press me further and me too tired to offer. I’d had my fill of talk over the years, sitting through lecture after lecture, squandering my youth in favor of a future that would never come to pass. Now I longed for nothing more than to sit in quiet company—to not be alone.

  “Does Master Virgil know?” she finally asked.

  I nodded. “I think the healers told him before they told me.”

  “What does he say about it?”

  “He acts like nothing’s changed. Anyway, there’s nothing he can do about it.”

  “You have to stop using magic, then. There're no two ways about it.”

  “It wouldn’t matter, even if I gave up spellcasting altogether—”

  “I don’t believe this,” she said, taking me back into her arms and bursting into tears. “I don’t believe it. I’ve been such an ass. I’m a terrible friend. I’m so sorry, Izzy.”

  Regina’s commiseration comforted me, and soon it fell to me to calm her. It was just as well; my own frequent bouts of despair came and went so quickly that I barely felt satisfied with my own grief. Whether in public or private, I was always on the verge of falling apart.

  “I need to ask a favor,” I said, once the tears had settled. “A big one.”

  “Okay.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded.

  “Over the next few days, I might not be around much. I need you to cover for me. Don’t get yourself in trouble over it. Just, if Master Virgil asks, tell him you saw me on my way to my room, or to the infirmary.”

  “You should be in bed. Forget about training. I’ll handle the initiates until you’re feeling better.”

  “There is something I need to see to. Mr. Pitch might need my help. He has fewer friends than I do, even.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re already under review.”

  “There’s not much more they can do to me at this point,” I said, and her face blanched again at my candor. “And if you don’t mind, could I borrow one of your wands?”

  “What?” she asked, pushing me away but still holding my elbows. “Why do you need it?”

  “Nothing comes to mind, but the Sentinels took mine and I feel naked without it.”

  “Take one from the desk, but not my ebony one,” she said.

  I clasped her hands, gave her the most genuine smile I could manage, and then slid off the bed. Her drawer had three wands in it. I chose the cherry wood, knowing it was the oldest and that she had likely used up most of its charges by now. She gave me an approving nod, so I tucked the strand into my wrist and mouthed a heartfelt ‘thank you’.

  “If you ever need any help,” she said. “Please be careful.”

  I nodded silently and stepped out, closing the door behind me.

  Chapter 8

  The work of an apprentice wizard is never done, and for me, it was no exception. Aside from Master Virgil’s occasional instruction and my own independent study, there were all manner of menial tasks in the upkeep of the manifestation school. Most of these involved the training and supervision of novice and initiate wizards. It would be a daunting responsibility for any apprentice, but even more so for the mancers, who had the highest enrollment of any field. We needed six apprentices to keep track of it all.

  I had intended on seeing to my duties at the Tower of Hands before paying a visit to Gustobald, despite everyone’s insistence that I remain in my own quarters for the rest of my life. I needed the distraction of working again. Besides, it wasn’t right for Regina to take on the full concern of training Master Virgil’s initiates herself. Under normal circumstances, she would have voiced her disapproval instantly, but she had done her best not to put me through undue stress since our duel. That sentiment would only grow deeper now that she knew the full truth of the matter.

  The same couldn’t be said for the ruling council of the Academy Magus. I hadn’t been in the yard for ten minutes when I received their telepathic missive.

  Apprentice Isabel Ives, the Council of Masters demands your presence to give testimony to recent events. You are hereby summoned to the underchamber of the Archseer’s Tower. Come at once.

  The Council of Masters normally gathered each seasonal moon, under the direction of the Archseer, in order to discuss important administrative matters pertaining to the academy. Although it wasn’t considered a secretive affair, few outside of their small circle—comprised mostly of the masters and headmasters of each school—were ever offered the privileg
e of attending. There had likely been several emergency councils convened in the past week alone to work through the process of selecting the Archseer’s successor. That day’s meeting would be for another purpose altogether.

  I arrived at the Archseer’s Tower to find Sentinel Ruby standing in the front entrance. I paused momentarily for an inward sigh, remembering there was only the one entrance to the tower. When she gave up her post to approach me, I realized she had been waiting for me. “I’ve been here twenty minutes,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find my wand,” I replied. “Perhaps I could file a report with you. I think there may be a thief on academy grounds.”

  “It seems like the manifestation school has been slipping since I’ve been gone. I know Master Virgil didn’t teach you to be late—or to disrespect your betters.”

  “Oh, did you study under Master Virgil?” I asked. “I’m curious as to how many of his pupils find their careers guarding doors.”

  “You’ve quite the mouth on you.” She flexed her fist and pursed her lips, but there was little to fear from her. She was in the wrong, so long as she held my property. On the other hand, publicly accusing her of stealing would get me nowhere, especially in light of recent events. “The masters are waiting for you. Give them the same attitude and see what happens.”

  There was no special path leading to the underchamber. Instead, Ruby directed me to the same staircase that led up to the archives. It was a strenuous exercise, no doubt meant to tire me out before confronting the masters, but I wouldn’t give Ruby the pleasure of seeing me falter. Halfway up the helix spiral, my surroundings changed and I was descending. It was such a fluid change that it seemed we had been going down all along.

  We came out into an enormous chamber with an arched ceiling and stadium seating. Ruby stayed close at my side as if afraid I might turn and flee at any moment. The couple dozen occupants were spaced about the center circle, all but one of them seated. I recognized the speaker instantly—Inspector Bastion Raines from the night before. He stood in the very center of the circle, measuring his words with forceful assurance, despite being the only commoner present.

  “History tells that the founding of the Academy Magus was for the sole purpose of furthering human knowledge, to the benefit of all mankind. However, do not forget that its continued existence rests entirely with the approval of His Majesty King Eamon.”

  “Mr. Raines,” replied a wizened woman in black robes. “No one here is denying the authority of the Crown. We have always cooperated fully with the King. However, we are quite capable of seeing this dark matter to rest on our own. As you are now well aware, we have taken the culprit into custody. We’ll have the truth yet.”

  Inspector Raines wasn’t swayed. Neither did he reply. He stood tall—a monument to persistence—as though he would simply wait for someone to say what he wanted to hear. A few of the masters dropped their shoulders; one even rubbed his eyes with both hands. It was clear they had been at it for a while. Finally, the inspector blinked.

  “If I may speak frankly, Madame Fridley,” Raines replied. I looked back to the old woman, eager to match the face to the name. I had never seen her up close before, despite the many nights I had spent at the Calling Grounds, where the summoners practiced their art.

  “Please, do so, Mr. Raines,” Master Orden of the divination school replied. “We have other matters to attend to.”

  “Inspector,” Raines said, drawing looks of confusion all around. “You may address me by the title I have earned through the course of my exemplary service to His Majesty.”

  “Of course, Inspector,” Master Fridley replied with careful inflection, stroking the wrinkles from her forehead. “Please, speak your mind.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a slight nod. “Magic, by its very nature—if we can even use that word—distorts reality to the point where solving crimes based on the evidence at hand becomes impossible. I do not dispute this fact. It is, therefore, theoretically possible for a man to commit the perfect murder, if not for the same eternal fact that causes him to err in the first place: man is flawed.

  “In even the most carefully planned circumstances, there are details which escape imagination. Thus, even the most devious criminal mind makes mistakes, and it falls to men of training to discover them. One does not require skills out of the ordinary to find them out, merely the will and interest to observe the mundane as well as the extraordinary.

  “I commend the Second Sentinels for their unshakeable commitment to justice, but they suffer the same shortcomings as the venerable masters of this council, and of all men who dally in altered reality. The wiles of man are far more sinister than any spell he might spin. If one is to prevail against such craft, one must have the most serious mind, to look past the magic and see through to the essence of the art.

  “I have spoken to Miss Sinclair, who has been accused of murder most foul. While I have my own estimations of her guilt or innocence, of one thing I am certain: the Academy Magus is not equipped to handle its own investigation in this matter. There is too much at stake, both for your institution and Coranthia as a whole. For the sake of all, I will not yield in this.”

  “And how do you propose to make up for our shortcomings?” Master Fridley asked.

  “With method,” the inspector replied. “With reason and fortitude. Most of all, with the fifteen years’ experience of a servant dedicated to the letter of the law, and not academy politic.” The masters weren’t inclined to respond to such an offensive remark, and the inspector seemed oblivious to the mood he had created. Nevertheless, he took a bow and yielded the floor. “And now, esteemed Masters of the Academy, you may continue your proceedings.”

  “Oh, well, we thank you for that,” Master Orden said as Raines took a seat far away from the others.

  “Apprentice Isabel Ives.” Master Fridley didn’t look at the inspector at all. Instead, she stood up and motioned to the place where he had just made his short speech, and my stomach churned. “My name is Dolora Fridley, Headmaster of Summoning and Conjuring. I am also today’s facilitator for the Council of Masters. Do you know why you have been called here today?”

  “What use can I be to the Council of Masters?” I asked with a sidelong glance at Ruby on my way to the center circle. Gustobald was waiting on the far side, having spoken already or preparing to speak after me. His expression was apologetic, but he gave me the slightest nod of encouragement.

  “You may begin by introducing yourself to the council,” Master Fridley replied, returning to her seat.

  Faced with the prospect of defending myself against the foremost wizards of our time, I searched for a friendly face in the council, but those were scarce, and the gravity of my situation settled quickly upon me. Aside from Master Orden, I recognized several people from the previous day, many of whom had spoken in remembrance of the Archseer during his funeral. Masters Virgil and Sadley of the manifestation school were there, as well as our own Headmaster Warren.

  “My name is Isabel Ives,” I said, struggling to steady my voice. “I’m an apprentice wizard under Master Virgil at the Tower of Hands, where I have lived and studied for these six years.” Master Virgil’s lip tightened at the mention of his name. The gesture gave me pause, put me further on edge. Having spoken to him only a few hours earlier, it seemed unlikely he had expected me to be attending this meeting.

  “I am told you were in good standing with the academy before this debacle?” Master Fridley asked.

  Were in good standing. Before. “I have always tried my best to do what is expected of me,” I said.

  “That’s all well and good,” she said. “I would like to reconcile that with your actions last night—on the night of our beloved Archseer’s funeral. Could you explain exactly what happened last night, for those of us who weren’t there?”

  I looked to Gustobald, who by appearances seemed no more inconvenienced than if someone had nudged him on the street. He sat alone across from the masters,
outnumbered twenty to one.

  “Miss Ives,” Master Orden said with much less patience in his voice than Master Fridley. “When you set out with Gustobald Pitch last night, were you aware that he intended to remove the Archseer’s body from his tomb?”

  “This is a waste of time,” Gustobald interjected. “She’s just an apprentice.”

  “Silence, necromancer!” Orden didn’t even look in Gustobald’s direction, so his anger was misdirected toward me instead. “You had your chance to speak and you’ve been stonewalling us all morning.”

  “Miss Ives cannot claim responsibility for my actions,” Gustobald continued. “If anyone is to be rewarded, it should most definitely be me.”

  “Rewarded?” Master Orden jumped to his feet. He might have leaped over the bannister into the central circle had Master Fridley not gesticulated wildly for him to be seated.

  “I’m the facilitator here today, Kildare,” the old woman said, still motioning for him to sit back down. “You’re out of line! You haven’t been recognized!”

  “Then recognize me!” He slicked his hand through his sweaty hair and pushed up the sleeves of his white robes. “We all know why we’re here, and I want to question the witness.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Master Kildare Orden, Headmaster of Divination, wishes to question the witness at this time.”

  In my uneasiness, I hadn’t even noticed Seeker Arland among the wizards in attendance. Having held his silence too long, the Seeker stood up to add his own voice to the mix. “Forgive me, Masters, but isn’t it traditionally the Seeker’s place to question any witnesses brought before the council?”

  “Sit down, Arland,” Master Fridley said, bringing his protest to a quick end. The others continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all; he was only a rank expert, after all.

  “You’ve no right, Pitch!” Master Orden continued, short of breath. “You’ve no right to dishonor the memory of such a fine man.”