Necrospect: Chronicles of the Wizard-Detective

by J. B. Markes

  “Thanks. Where are my normal clothes?” I asked, to which she just shook her head. “I can’t stay here. I have things to do.”

  “You don’t, actually. As of yesterday morning, you have absolutely nowhere to be. You’ve been dismissed from the academy.”

  “Already?” I asked, pushing up and dropping my knees over the side of the bed. I straightened the loose tan shirt the healers had put on me and searched the corners for my clothes. “Sooner than I thought.”

  “Not soon enough, in my opinion,” she said. “You’ve been in a race against time to kill yourself before your dismissal. Well, you almost made it this time.”

  “I guess I missed my deadline.”

  “Clever,” she said. “But you’ve always been clever, haven’t you? It’s why you do such stupid things.”

  “Did they suspend you, too?” I asked.

  “They can’t afford to. What was it all about, anyway? It didn’t change anything. I don’t have to tell you how furious Master Warren was, to say nothing of Master Phyros.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Headmaster of Enchantment. He has it out for you. Some of his pupils are in worse shape than you are.”

  “I doubt that. I don’t see any of them here.”

  “He’s demanded your arrest as soon as you wake up.”

  “What?” I looked past her to the hallway, but didn’t see any sentinels waiting.

  Regina just shook her head. “They can’t do anything to you,” she said. “They knew the risk and entered the arena by their own choice. Master Warren says if they arrest you, they’ll have to arrest everyone involved.”

  “Well, that’s nice of him, anyway.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s for the reputation of the school.”

  “How are the others?”

  “The orange-robes?” she asked, avoiding my gaze. “Better for the experience. Except for Theodore; there’s no dealing with his ego.”

  “We lost anyway. That should bring him down to earth.”

  “Oh, no. We won,” she said without a trace of levity. “You don’t think I’d let myself get taken down by a bunch of mind mages, do you? And Theodore did hold his own, after all. But none of this concerns you, anymore.”

  “I like to think I played a small part.”

  “The biggest,” she said. “It’s your fault we were there in the first place. Next time you want to throw your life away, please do it in a way that doesn’t endanger those around you.”

  “What’s your problem?” I slid down onto my feet, fighting through the pain, but she pushed me roughly back onto the bed.

  “My problem?” Her glare pierced the protective bubble that had held back her true emotions for the better part of a week. “How dare you? I told you to stay away from that man.”

  “What does Gustobald have to do with anything?”

  “You tell me! This person you’re turning into. You never acted this way before.”

  “Gustobald and I are just investigating—”

  “Oh, shut up, Isabel.”

  “It’s important,” I replied, fighting to control my voice. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one dying here.”

  The comment only served to enrage her further, but she didn’t say anything right away. She stood there speechless, her face growing darker by the moment. Finally she shook her head and said, “There are other people in the world besides you. And many of them are just trying to help you. But you couldn’t care less.”

  “Regina,” I said, searching for words as she grew ever more impatient.

  “You’re a bad friend,” she said, backing away. “I’m leaving now and I’m not coming back. So you can go kill yourself however you see fit. But I won’t sit and watch you do it anymore.”

  “Come on. You’re calling me selfish? You think anyone alive today cares about anyone other than themselves? I’m sick of it—sick to my stomach. One man dies and another lives, and there’s no accounting for it. And no one cares. Life goes on—for you, for necromancers, for the Council of Masters. It’s not fair! It’s not fair and—gods, be damned—no one cares!”

  Regina stopped at the door on her way out, whispering. It seemed unlikely she had anything good to say to Gustobald. She disappeared without even turning back toward me. When Harper Lazrus walked through the door, I felt foolish for not realizing who my mystery guest was sooner. He must have overheard my outburst because he instantly reverted to the uncomfortable boy I had first met only days before.

  “Miss Ives.” Harper gave an awkward half-bow, as if he had changed his mind halfway through the courtesy.

  “I’m sorry that you had to hear that,” I said with my eyes on the floor. “I’m not feeling myself today.” It was a lie. I was more myself at that moment than I had ever been in my life up to that point; I just didn’t know it yet. It is only in times of anger or shame that we are truly our honest selves. Harper was too much of a gentleman to call me out on it.

  “I only heard the news when I came to call at your school. I rushed to your bedside straightaway. You’ve been out for a long time.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” I said, sitting back down and straightening my unflattering robe. “To be honest, it was the best rest I’ve had in weeks.”

  “There are easier ways,” he said with a fast-fading smile.

  “Not in the Tower of Hands.”

  My poor jest died in the air between us. He was fidgeting with the loose ties of a knapsack as if trying to remember exactly how to untie it. I had a good guess as to what was inside, but his behavior was anything but inspiring. It was my fault, though, for putting my trust in an apprentice for such an important task. I dreaded hearing the bad news that my last great task would end in failure.

  “I suppose I should be quick. I’m sure you’ll have many visitors.”

  “Not likely,” I replied. “It seems that you and Regina are the only two who made the effort and I don’t think she’ll be coming back any time soon.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case, about the visitors, I mean. Or about Miss Abernathy. After your performance in the games, you’re quite famous now. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “What’s in the sack?” I asked. “Did you bring me a get-well potion?”

  “Those are far beyond my abilities.” He looked up from his hands, much more comfortable now that he had been excused from the small talk. “Many alchemists go their entire lives without reaching that level of skill. And even then, there’s only so much they can do.”

  “So I guess I’m beyond hope, after all.”

  “What? No. That’s not what I meant at all. I mean, I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet—”

  “Harper,” I said, mustering my most patient smile to end his rambling. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Ah, yes.” He fumbled once more with the ties before finally handing over the entire bundle, then lowered his voice and carefully sized up the room. “I’ve completed my analysis of the—uh, object. It took some finessing to produce a large enough sample, but isolating the anomaly was facilitated by the very same process I used to expand the sample in the first place. Sorry, you probably don’t care about the details.”

  “On the contrary,” I replied, more out of courtesy than actual interest. “Please continue.”

  “It would have been much easier for Master Bentham, who has his own methods. But suffice it to say that I may have stumbled across an entirely new procedure for trace analysis, and it’s all thanks to you and Mr. Pitch for presenting such an impossible task to a man of my meager skills. I’m not overstating things when I say that, after proper research, this could make me the youngest expert alchemist of my time. Sorry, I know you’re—that is, I heard you’ve been—anyway, the results were conclusive.”

  “And—you’re going to share the results with me, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Of course.” He reached into his belt and removed a small fold of parchment, which he held delicately by the corne
r as if afraid he might contaminate its contents.

  Harper’s script was clean, perfectly formed. Truth be told, I envied his penmanship. However, the note was written entirely in shorthand and alchemical notation, neither of which I was well-versed in. I looked the formula up and down twice to make sure I wasn’t missing something obvious then handed it back to him with a shrug.

  “What is the name of the poison, Harper?”

  “The poison itself doesn’t have a name. It’s a toxic fungus.”

  “Fungus?”

  “A mushroom.”

  “I know, I just—are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. It’s extremely easy to identify—well, after the fact. It doesn’t really have a strong taste or aroma. They call it fool’s funnel, although it would have to be an exceptionally potent—and therefore rare—variation of the species to take a man’s life. Are you feeling okay? Should I leave you to your rest?”

  “I’m just tired,” I said, leaning back against the wall and putting a hand on my burning forehead. “I appreciate the help. Thank you. And please don’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Of course not. I’m just happy I could help. I hope this doesn’t mean I won’t be seeing you.”

  “No. I’ll be in touch very soon, but right now I think I’ll take everyone’s advice and get some rest.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” he said with a soft smile, backing toward the exit. “Get well soon.”

  “Thanks again, Harper. I really mean it.”

  “Miss Ives.” A quick bow and he retreated through the curtain.

  I laid my head on the pillow for a few seconds, trying to control my quickening pulse. A few deep breaths later, I was on my feet, steadying my balance on the nearby table. I peeked through the curtain to the next partition, expecting to see the healers coming up the hallway, but the rooms were clear.

  My apprentice robes were folded neatly on the chair outside. The thread and cloth were still mine but what they represented no longer belonged to me. Still, I couldn’t walk around academy grounds in my sick robes, no matter my condition. The yellow robes felt loose on me. My wrist strap was still there, but Regina had taken back the wand she had entrusted to me. She was angry; she probably hadn’t considered how impotent I would feel without it. But then, no one could have guessed I would be confronting a necromancer.

  I took a few large sips from the water glass and returned it to the table. My stomach was growling. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. All I could think about was the deadman’s delight from days before. My mouth went dry again, so I took one last drink and then slipped out of the room, through the vacant halls, and out onto the sunlit walk.

  Chapter 18

  I had made the trip to Gustobald’s hut many times. I knew the path so well I could have managed it in the dark. But out in the open, in broad daylight, all was laid bare. I had convinced myself that there were unanswered questions, but along the way my fear and doubt rushed in to fill the gaps. My pace slowed in proportion to my quickening judgments.

  I had come full circle, at war with myself as to how to proceed. Common sense urged me to return to my sick bed, but that trait had never held much sway over me. My feet steered me toward the Tower of Hands, and I had to change course twice along the way to avoid returning to my former home. There was nothing left for me back there except to sit and wait for Master Virgil to deliver my own eviction.

  Truth be told, the news of my expulsion had been so far diluted by the events of the past few weeks that it barely registered as a problem at all. My thoughts returned to running. I would soon be out on my own anyway and there seemed little reason to delay the inevitable. But I needed answers.

  I took a deep breath as I passed the trees and my destination came into view. I remembered how promptly Gustobald had answered the door during my last visit, and suddenly I had the stark impression that I was being watched. The windows themselves were two unblinking eyes, the cobblestone path a row of grinning teeth eager to devour.

  I paused at the step, glancing down at the shrouded mushroom bed, then rapped the knocker twice and waited for Gustobald’s customary ‘go away’. When no reply came, I didn’t dare knock again. I turned to leave, remembering the day I had met Mr. Bartleby on those very steps, back when I was a scared dying girl instead of an angry dying girl.

  I bit my lip and returned to the door to try the knob, finding it locked. It was a simple spell to unlatch the myriad of locks within. I was surprised to see the door swing ajar. Gustobald had authorized my entry. The casting drained me to the point I could barely stand, so I leaned on the door jamb for many minutes until I was able to stand upright under my own power. I entered cautiously.

  The rooms were as cluttered as usual. No attempt had been made to pack up. I had lost track of time over the past few days, but Gustobald would surely be forced out of his home soon. He would be out in the wide world with me, far from the scrutiny of the academy’s masters.

  “Gustobald?” My voice sounded weak to my own ears.

  The light pouring in through the windows ran in solid beams to the floor, straying little along the way. It left the rest of the house that much gloomier in contrast. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change.

  “Don’t you know how to knock, girl?” Gustobald’s appearance was so sudden he might have teleported in, and I almost fell over backwards in fear. I wasn’t sure, but I believed I saw the slightest smile come and go from his lips.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice cracked, and I put a hand over my heart and fought to control my breathing. “You scared me to death.”

  “Imagine how I feel. I’m the necromancer here. People don’t usually barge into my sitting room. You’re lucky I have nerves of steel or I might have—but here you are! And anyway, I’ve been wondering when you’d come calling again.”

  “I’ve been incapacitated for two days.”

  “Haven’t we all. My hands have been quite cut off at the wrists. Not literally, of course, as you can see. That wouldn’t do; I’m nothing without my hands. Speaking of which, how are yours?”

  “I’ve been laid up at the healers’ quarters, something you would have known if you weren’t so self-involved. My health isn’t good.”

  “I’ve been busy. And I asked how are your hands? I need someone with smaller hands than mine to reach into this fireplace flue and retrieve my hat.”

  He didn’t wait for my reply. He made it to the kitchen before realizing I wasn’t following. In the low light, it was impossible for him to see the impatient look about me. I suddenly found a sick joy in the purpose of my visit.

  “I’m not here to help you clean, Gustobald. We have something to discuss.”

  My stern tone settled him, and he instantly reverted to that most serious aspect of himself normally reserved for times when he was on the hunt for clues. He led me through the kitchen and into the cozy den where we had previously held our timely meeting with Mr. Bartleby. The soothing effects of the enchanted fire tugged at my willpower, so I blinked away the lethargy as he stood waiting for me to begin. Methodically, I unwrapped the only piece of evidence I had and placed it on the short table between us.

  “Excellent,” he said, taking the glass in hand and giving it a good sniff. “What do we have here?”

  “Mr. Lazrus identified the poison,” I said.

  “And?”

  “You tell me. I know nothing about fool’s funnel.”

  “Fool’s—” He held the glass up to the light and peered through as if its secrets were now visible to all who cared to look. “Fool’s funnel.” He sniffed it again and mumbled to himself, then walked over to the hearth and lost himself in the fire.

  “Gustobald.” He didn’t respond and showed no sign that he had even heard me. “Gustobald, tell me what’s going on.”

  “What’s going on?” he echoed under his breath. “What is going on?”

  “You understand what this looks like.”

  “Of course, I d
o! What do you take me for?”

  “I’ve heard some distressing things lately, Gustobald. Perhaps it’s time you told me the whole truth.”

  “Tell you what, girl?” he asked, leaving the glass on the mantle and turning his full attention to me. “No. Don’t shake your head at me. Tell you what?”

  “Let’s start with your little garden of death outside.” I circled behind the nearby chair and rested my hands on the backing. I flexed my fingers on the plush cloth, loosening my muscles enough to spellcast, if needed, though the casting would most likely kill me faster than any necromancer could. “Do you have it in your garden?”

  “Yes. I have the only potentially lethal specimen of fool’s funnel on the southern reach. Would I be such a damn fool as to commit murder using it? This is skullduggery, plain and simple! We’re obviously being played.”

  “We?”

  Gustobald’s face was glistening. He scratched his beard furiously and stepped away from the fire, but the sudden motion put me further on edge. I moved to the right to keep the chair between us. The gesture wasn’t lost on him. “What do you expect to hear?” he asked. “That I plotted the murder of the Archseer for little more than my own amusement?”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I said. “My reputation is on the line just as much as yours.

  “I doubt that.”

  “There’s too much you’re not telling me—your relationship with the Archseer, for starters. He invites you to the academy and months later winds up dead. You say you have no idea why he chose you, but Master Bartleby would never take such a risk without being absolutely sure of his decision. Either the Archseer was completely incompetent or you’re not telling me something.

  “You repeatedly enlist my help in your investigation, with absolutely no regard to how much trouble it causes me, all the while keeping me in the dark. I was brought before the Council of Masters. I’ve been expelled. And then there’s Mathis. And now this!” I thrust my hand at the glass, but Gustobald didn’t even flinch.