by J. B. Markes
“So ask me,” he said, pursing his lips. “If that’s what it’s come to, ask me what you came to ask me.”
“Did you do it?” The words came out by themselves, and I couldn’t look him in the eye for an answer. After an awkward moment, I realized he was looking at the same bare patch of floor that I was. To this day, I have never hated myself as much as I did right then.
“You, too?” he asked.
“I have the inspector asking me questions as if I’m involved in all of this.”
“And you’re not?” Gustobald stepped around his chair.
“Don’t even try, Gustobald. I’m not the—”
“The what? The necromancer?” I had never heard him so angry before, and I placed my hands against my legs to keep them from shaking. “Take some responsibility, girl. You came looking for me that day. I didn’t seek you out. You were all too eager to follow along at the hint of a chance to see my power in action. And as you said on record, you’re the one with the shovel. You’re not so blameless, after all. And, yes, I know why you’re here.
“Did you think I didn’t? You’ve imposed yourself upon me for one reason alone. So tell me, how much time do you have left? Not much, I’d wager! You’ve come seeking the secrets of the grave, thinking you could use my skills to your own advantage. Like everyone else, you revile me until I’m useful. Well, I don’t need any of you!
“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve known it since the day I first clapped eyes on you. I can see death. I can smell it, feel it in the air around me. Everywhere I go, everyone I meet, dying one second at a time; all would sell their souls for one more insufferable minute in this rotting world! Grow up, girl. The longer you live, the longer you’ll be dying. So best get it over and done with!”
My words caught in my throat. He had known about my condition all along and never said a word, stringing me along. In the midst of danger and betrayal, my pride stung the most. I had been dying for months, but that moment was the first time I had truly felt weak.
“Nothing left to say?” he asked. “No last words of contempt for the evil necromancer?”
“You’re a cruel, selfish man, Mr. Pitch. No doubt the world made you that way. I might feel sorry for you, if only you made the slightest attempt to resist it.”
I froze when he crossed the room. If he could sense my weakened condition, I had no doubt he could also sense my fear. I tried to bring the words of power to mind, but they were lost in the whirlwind. I gripped the back of the chair as if the ground would collapse beneath me at any moment. When he stopped within arm’s reach of me, I held my breath.
“It wasn’t me,” he said slowly. “Everything I told you about the Archseer was true. And if you must know, he asked me here because he knew he was going to die. He saw it in his waters almost a year in advance. And for whatever reason, he knew he couldn’t change what he’d seen. It’s called the seer’s curse, to know the future yet be powerless to change it. He knew he would need my help when the time came, but he couldn’t be sure exactly when that time would be.
“He trusted me—a necromancer—because I had no allegiances to anyone at the academy except Gretel. He couldn’t have guessed his death would come so soon. If he did, he made no mention of it to me. Sometimes I wonder if he called me here to save him, or to simply avenge him after the fact. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. He put his trust in me, as I did in you. Perhaps we were both mistaken. Go now and leave me be.”
I looked past him to the glass on the fireplace mantle, then back to the caller’s staff looming in the shadow of the wall behind him. Finally, I made my way toward the kitchen and Gustobald returned to his favorite chair to stare into the fire. I headed quickly for the front door. When I pulled the lever, the door was locked, so I spent the next minute trying different combinations of knobs and bars—all the while glancing over my shoulder—until the door finally gave way.
The fresh air did nothing to soothe my mood, even as I passed through the tree line and returned to the academy proper. The day was still cheerfully bright, but my thoughts lingered in darkness, just beneath the dusky fogs of the mushroom bed and my own mistrust.
The Tower of Hands came into view—the end of my long journey. I barely noticed as the streets and buildings passed by. People rushed to and fro on academy business, all with places to be and no time to get there. It all meant nothing to me. The world seemed subdued, a washed-out version of itself. I had been on the inside for so long that I wasn’t sure what to do with myself on the outside.
I passed the outer courtyard to the stairway leading to my quarters. The initiates were hard at study, blasting the image-targets with everything they had, in the exact same arena where I had given my own fateful display days before. I wasn’t used to seeing such enthusiasm in the Tower of Hands, and I wouldn’t have believed the sudden burst of activity if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
From time to time, the manifestation school held endurance training, but there hadn’t been any scheduled this month. It was a rare occurrence, as it encouraged young mancers to stress themselves beyond their threshold for magic sickness, which was heavily frowned upon by academy elites. It was a painful process, but necessary for a wizard’s growth, as one couldn’t build a tolerance to magic sickness without exceeding one’s limits. The real danger came from holding an event without proper supervision, as a young mage is unlikely to recognize when he or she has pushed herself too far. I knew at once that these exercises were unsanctioned, as the masters would have never authorized it without all apprentices present to lead it.
Magic is not to be taken lightly. It is more potent than any drug, more seductive than any siren’s call. It makes the blood boil, sets the heart to skip and flutter. It enables, encourages, enlightens. So intoxicating is its call, so painful is its absence, that one is more likely to die of blood poisoning than to give it up for a single day—the natural end to such an unnatural practice. I was no exception.
What burns the blood will burn the body. My first instructor told me these words before he told me his own name. He had explained that in ancient times, before the academy, when wizards were left to find their own training, almost all wizards died of their own avarice. Drinking from the font of power, sooner or later, everyone’s cup overflows. The only recourse was to increase one’s tolerance, which could only be done in small increments. I had only recently learned that, for some, it couldn’t be done at all.
It seemed every pupil of the manifestation school was present, organized in tight formation like an invading army. The front line would cast a devastating barrage of fire and ice, and then rotate to the back line for a breather while their comrades cycled through. I could taste the magic in the air, and longed to jump in line with them and forget my recent troubles.
But it was no longer my place. These were no longer my people. Still, I felt compelled to pause and witness their newfound enthusiasm for the art. They had never shown such dedication when I was their caretaker. I was still processing this idea—and taking it rather personally—when Regina’s voice rang out, calling the cease-fire.
She had spotted me on the open stair. One-by-one, the initiates traced her gaze until the entire host was looking up at me. The sudden attention shook me, made me feel unwelcome in my former home. No doubt many of them were reveling in my misfortune. I was acutely aware of how strictly I had dealt with them along the way, and now each and every one of them held a higher position than me.
Row upon row of faces stared up at me. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I took the next stair and then the next, slinking away one step at a time. “Give ‘em hell, Miss Ives!” a voice rang out, followed by a roar of approval. The cheers drowned in a cascade of applause, making me only slightly less uncomfortable than I had already been.
I paused long enough to lock eyes with Regina one last time, but was interrupted by the sight of Inspector Raines entering the yard through the same entrance I had used. He was accompanied by two sentinels. I reco
gnized Ruby’s smug face instantly. I retraced my steps to avoid giving Ruby the satisfaction of chasing me down, then left the Tower of Hands with the inspector in tow as the cheers of my comrades died on the wind.
“I offered you the chance to work with me,” the inspector said once we had cleared the tower. “Now you’re going to wish you had.”
Chapter 19
I had never been to the Hold before, so this visit gave me more understanding for Ruby’s sour disposition. It was a dreary place, far behind the times in terms of modern comforts. One would expect this for the cells, but the actual office of the Sentinels wasn’t much better. The usual time-saving enchantments were absent, leading to cluttered, dimly-lit workspaces that made it difficult for anyone unaccustomed to such conditions to concentrate.
The Sentinels didn’t seem to mind. They shared one large uninspired box of a room, with a ceiling barely high enough for the tallest of their order to avoid stooping over while standing. They escorted me through the main office to a small room in the back, which was just a smaller box than the first but not so choked with furniture. There was a small wooden chair in the center, fitted with iron bands in its arms to secure any prisoner foolish enough to put up a fight. Ruby grinned at my discomfort upon seeing it.
“Have a seat,” the inspector said. “You might as well get comfortable. We might be here a while.”
“I think I’m fine standing,” I replied.
“Sit down!” Ruby grabbed the back of my robe and shoved me hard. I was too weak to catch myself. When I landed on the chair, it didn’t budge an inch. It was fixed to the floor.
“What is this about?” I asked, relying on Inspector Raines for an honest answer.
“You tell me,” he said. “You’re the one consorting with necromancers.”
“It’s not a crime to speak to Gustobald Pitch,” I said. “He’s an expert wizard of the Academy Magus.”
“Not for long,” Ruby said.
“Do you remember our last conversation, Miss Ives?” Raines asked. “You were seeking your own evidence. Do you have anything new to share?”
“You already know everything I do.”
Ruby circled behind me and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back to whisper in my ear. I grabbed her wrist with both hands, but couldn’t manage the strength to pull my hair free. “I’ll tell you what I know,” she said. “I know you’re not a member of this academy anymore. Do you have any idea what that means? I can keep you here forever; no one will ever miss you.”
I thought of Regina. She had seen me taken away by the Sentinels and might have reported it to Master Virgil by now, assuming she still cared. Master Virgil would come immediately, assuming he still cared. But why should either of them risk their reputations any further for an ex-apprentice? It was likely that my disappearance would be one less problem on their minds.
“Let go,” I said, but she didn’t unfist my hair until Inspector Raines gave her the nod. “What do you want from me?”
“I had a friendly chat with your boyfriend today,” he said. “The tribesman.”
“He’s not my boyfriend and he’s not a foreigner—at least, I don’t think. Anyway, leave him alone. He doesn’t know anything either.”
“That’s for us to decide,” Ruby said.
“You could tell us exactly what he does or doesn’t know and save us all some time,” Raines said. “But it doesn’t take a wizard to put it all together, so let me walk you through it and you can tell me if I’m warm. The Archseer was poisoned and you visited the alchemy lab to identify said poison. If you learned any valuable information, you would have come to me. But you didn’t, so I deduce that either the results were inconclusive—or you’re protecting someone. How am I doing so far?” If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed Inspector Raines was reading my mind. “The only thing I don’t know is the results of that test, but I’m sure Harper Lazrus would be happy to tell us, given the right incentive.” The inspector leaned in close. “For what it’s worth, Miss Ives, I still believe you’re innocent in all this.”
“I don’t,” Ruby said, shrugging her shoulders at the inspector’s frown. “Just for what it’s worth.”
“It’s time to let the professionals handle things.” The inspector stood up straight and walked back to the door, fixing the bar latch. “So I’m going to tell you something, Miss Ives. Something that I believe might change your mind about the situation in which you’ve found yourself. When was the last time you saw Deblin Bartleby?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied, putting my hands on the armrest out of habit. The cold iron shackles dug into my wrists, so I crossed my arms over my chest instead. “Days ago. At Gustobald’s hut. Has he gone missing?”
“Frequently. Mr. Bartleby is a busy man.”
“He’s a king’s man, like you.”
“Mr. Bartleby is nothing like me,” the inspector said. “He’s a criminal and a traitor to His Majesty. We discovered his secret just this morning. We’re searching for him even now. Once caught, he will never again see the light of day. That’s if he’s lucky.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Bartleby is a top officer of the Black Hand.”
“That’s impossible!” I had the urge to stand, but Ruby hovered over me, waiting for a reason to strike. I remembered the knife wound in the Archseer’s chest, the clue too overt to be believed in the face of later evidence. “Mr. Bartleby came to the academy for his brother’s funeral.”
“To arrange it, perhaps,” Ruby said.
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “Not for a minute.”
“I have an extensive network at my disposal, and we’ve been following Bartleby’s movements since day one. My men intercepted two ciphered missives sent by Bartleby to his own operatives up north. Our methods are secret, but we were able to extract the message. Nothing explicitly mentions the assassination, but the name of the recipient was all too clear: Tarwin Goodkind, the leader of the Black Hand.”
“For Bartleby to have a direct channel to Goodkind, he would have to be a major part of the organization,” Ruby said. “His guilt is undeniable, as is that of anyone working with him.”
My mouth was suddenly dry. I was glad to be sitting down. “I don’t believe it,” I repeated, unable to fully process what I was hearing, or exactly what it meant for me.
“What’s not to believe?” the inspector asked. “Archseer Bevlin Bartleby, self-proclaimed enemy of the Black Hand, murdered for targeting its members. Murdered by a man he hadn’t spoken to in the better part of a decade. Who better to arrange a private audience with the most powerful wizard in the world than an estranged brother with a promise to make amends?”
“Master Bartleby was poisoned,” I said. “The Sentinels confirmed it.”
“When your target is a wizard most cunning, you leave nothing to chance. Not only did this murder remove the Black Hand’s biggest opponent, but it put Bartleby in a position to inherit his brother’s wealth. Greed is a sickness every bit as consuming as a plague, and just as contagious. The question remains as to who else is infected.” Inspector Raines had that far-away look in his eye, the one exclusive to geniuses and madmen, and not for the first time I reflected on his distrusting nature. In a dangerous world, everyone was suspect. He had more in common with Gustobald than he would ever know.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” I said. “Truthfully, I don’t know where he is. And I don’t know if Gustobald is involved or not, but I won’t be the one to betray his trust. I won’t hinder you, but neither will I help you.”
Inspector Raines wasn’t a man to lie about what he had or hadn’t discovered. Like everyone else, he had maintained that the necromancer was the center of it all. It was the popular theory, the easy way out. I felt my shame fighting its way back to the surface. Gustobald wasn’t guilty. He had been the one who insisted on continuing the investigation long after the Sentinels had given up.
There was a knock at the door and Raines’
s shoulders dropped. “I’ll be right back,” he said to no one in particular. Ruby had taken the inspector’s place in front of me before he had even left the room, like a tiger sizing up her next catch. I sat upright to let her know I was ready.
“You don’t have a lot of friends, do you, Ives?”
“What do you care?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I give that impression?” She still had the trace of a condescending grin, but it didn’t reach all the way to her eyes. “I know you think it brings me joy to push you around, but just remember that we’re the good guys here. You’d do well to cooperate with us. Think about what this case means to me, and what it could mean to you. The inspector has the King’s ear, after all.”
“Of course. It’s all about what you can get, isn’t it?”
“Nothing wrong with doing your job and doing it well,” she said. “And if they choose to reward me for a job well done, what’s the harm? I would think you’d be a little more understanding after your recent fall from grace. The people you think are your friends aren’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be put into the position of sitting here defending them.” She looked back over her shoulder. “But you’re not entirely alone. Master Virgil knows you’re here. For whatever reason, he’s asked me to look out for you.”
“Thanks for that,” I said. “Did he ask you to rip my hair out?”
“That was my gift to you. Don’t disgrace the school any more than you have already. My advice is to cooperate before it’s too late.”
“We got it,” Raines said, pushing the door and stepping inside.
Ruby’s face didn’t register emotion, but she sighed and stared past me. “Too late,” she said.
“Fool’s fungus,” the inspector said. “Sound familiar? Your boyfriend just told us everything.”
Harper had broken his promise. Your friends aren’t your friends. Ruby watched on without satisfaction. I hated her all the more for it. She was the good guy, which meant that I was something else—something more like Gustobald.
