Necrospect: Chronicles of the Wizard-Detective

by J. B. Markes

  “Aejuaruumnai!” I fanned my hands into a small circle, tracing the complex motions that would turn him into a block of frozen meat. I completed the cast and braced myself for the horrific sight to follow. But nothing followed; nothing at all. No spell, no spell-failure; it was as if I had no power at all. I was no more dangerous than a child at play. Arland spun around with a look of sheer incredulity that, at any other time, would have been comical.

  He shouted a command word I didn’t recognize and pointed at me furiously, but my only response was another hiccup. “What is this?” he screamed. I didn’t ponder an explanation. I bull-rushed him, planting my shoulder square in his chest. The momentum was enough to knock him through the doorway, but he wouldn’t have gone over had he not tripped on the threshold. I rebounded and landed on top of him. When I beat him wildly about the face, he blocked my flurry with his arms. “Kill her now!” he shouted.

  I looked up to see Ruby spin the knife-wand from her belt and head straight toward us. Arland grabbed my collar, so I struck him once more and tried to regain my feet, but he tripped me up with his legs and I fell back onto him. There was a ringing in my ears as my fear gave way to panic. Dreading each gritty footfall on the scorched floor, I pushed desperately against Arland, who held me fast. I put my hand on his face and chanted, fully intending to melt his flesh, but again my spell failed.

  And then Ruby collapsed beside me. Her knife went free and I scooped it up, shoving the point into Arland’s throat and leaving him no room to struggle. Blood trickled down his neck and I eased my grip to avoid killing him outright. I pushed up on a knee and saw familiar boots before me. The bottom tip of the calling staff stretched up to the scraggly beard and crooked hat of my old friend Gustobald Pitch.

  “Impossible,” Arland said. His eyes blinked rapidly as I pushed the tip of the knife into the flesh of his neck, just deep enough to avoid drawing blood.

  “I knew it,” I said, laughing through my tears. “I knew you were alive. How?”

  “How, indeed!” Gustobald bent down to inspect Ruby’s condition. “You don’t think I’d be stopped by something as humdrum as death, do you?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, in spite of my circumstances. Gustobald removed a lash from his belt and laid it on the floor. The strip of leather twisted and snaked about, writhing its way toward me, so I jumped out of the way as it latched onto Arland’s throat. The Seeker grunted and slid away, but the lasso coiled about, binding his hands at his waist. Gustobald nodded toward the back room and the lash jerked, hauling its captive through the doorway.

  “How did you know we were here?” I asked. “Where have you been? Have you been watching me?”

  “My little bird has,” he said, nodding to the corner, where a shapeless mass skittered in the shadows. “As you can imagine, it wouldn’t do for me to be seen out and about. But also, I’ve had my eye on Arland for a while now.”

  “Arland?” I asked. “When did you know?”

  “I was never certain, of course, but I’ve had my suspicions since the first night we met in the Archseer’s chambers.”

  “You’re making it up,” I said, kneeling over Ruby and patting her cheek. She had no physical injuries, but was slow returning to her senses. “That’s easy to say now.”

  “It would have been easy to say so then,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “But not prudent. The casual negligence with which he handled the case, coupled with his eagerness to close it as soon as possible every step of the way, arresting those whom I was fairly certain were innocent. But the look he gave Mathis spoke volumes, like he would have struck him down given half the chance. And in the end, I suppose he took that chance, after all.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “To be frank, I didn’t trust you. Oh, don’t take it personally; you just don’t have a trustworthy way about you—sharp features, shifty eyes, always asking questions. You know.”

  “What?”

  “Now, if you please, shall we find out who is really behind all of this?” His staff thumped the hardwood floor as he walked, lending him the gravitas he could never quite manage on his own. I followed back into the room where Arland and I had crossed wands, noticing for the first time the storage boxes lining the walls. There was no other way out of the room. I never would have escaped this place.

  The Seeker was still bound in the middle of the floor. I wasn’t sure if he could work any of his mind magic with chants alone, so I stayed out of his line-of-sight just to be safe.

  “Well, well, Seeker Arland,” Gustobald began, stepping over him and grinning. “Let’s see if we’ve got things straight. You were prepared to do anything necessary to stop necromancy from returning to the Academy Magus, weren’t you? Up to and including the assassination of the Archseer, whose dangerous ideas would soon put an end to your way of life. But how to do so without arousing suspicion?

  “It was no secret that the Archseer had taken it as his personal mission to eliminate the Black Hand and its members, a fact that surely caused the rift between him and his twin brother years ago. It was happy fortune for you that the brother Bartleby appeared when he did, lending credence to the entire story. Unfortunately, it would prove quite difficult attacking the Archseer with such a crude instrument as a dagger.

  “Knowing the Archseer’s proclivity for exotic drink—thanks to Mathis, no doubt—your skills as a mind mage and your position as Seeker were sufficient to procure the brackwater tangle needed to catch him unawares. Afterward, the dagger was poisoned in order to cover the evidence of the true cause of death. You were the supplier of the poison and facilitator of the so-called investigation, but Mathis was the lackey who did the actual deed. What I don’t know is whether you charmed him or if he acted on his own accord. Care to share?”

  “The Sentinels have protected this academy for thousands of years,” Arland responded. “We’ve lost too many good men to sit by as this academy is handed over to your kind.”

  “Do you know what I think?” Gustobald asked. “I believe Mathis participated willingly. He was learning magic in his free time. As a commoner with no aptitude, it was all he had ever hoped for. Perhaps he was promised private lessons for his compliance? Maybe even enrollment in the academy once the new Archseer was appointed.”

  “It’s your word against mine, and you’ve already been convicted of—”

  Gustobald pounded the butt of his staff inches from Arland’s head. “Mathis wasn’t able to get rid of the poisoned glass because he had no magic of his own to break the room’s seal. But after my visit, the room was open to all—all who had Mathis’s confidence, that is. You couldn’t have anyone asking questions, though. You had him replace the brackwater tangle glass with one laced with fool’s funnel poison. You cannot imagine my surprise when the poison from the glass matched a specimen from my own garden.

  “Mathis removed the poisoned bottle after my first visit, the same bottle you planted in my house days later. Your word alone is enough to condemn a man to the Hold—or worse, it seems. It must have seemed that your stars had aligned. Removing the Archseer and the necromancer he had invited in one fell swoop. You were greedy, Arland. Greedy, indeed! What do you suppose the Sentinels do to a man who has used his position to conspire to murder? Do they toss him in the Hold, or something worse?”

  “They’ll never be able to read me,” Arland had the smile of a man with no care in the world. “And they’ll never believe the words of a necromancer.”

  “Ruby will tell the truth about what happened here today,” I said.

  “She’s a sentinel,” Arland said. “She hates rogue wizardry as much as any of us. She’ll say whatever she needs to say to have you executed. We’ll receive commendations.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Ruby said, leaning on the doorstop. “You’ll never get inside my head again.” I rushed over to lend her my strength, such as it was, but she didn’t accept my hand.

  “You’ve been bested, man.” Gustobald leaned in closer to
look his foe in the eye. “Indulge me, if you will. Why did you kill poor Mathis? What was the disagreement the two of you shared? Were you simply afraid he would talk?”

  “I think I can answer that,” I said, rushing to the outer room to retrieve Mathis’s diary from my discarded satchel. “Their disagreement was you, Gustobald. From the start, Arland couldn’t have known we’d get involved. He’d already used the brackwater tangle to kill the Archseer. In the beginning, the fallback plan, should the Black Hand story fail, was to frame Miss Sinclair.”

  “I see,” Gustobald said, smiling.

  “I don’t,” Ruby responded.

  “Mathis hated Miss Sinclair so much for constantly belittling him, reminding him he was just a comm—a non-magic person. When Arland changed the plan to frame Gustobald instead, Mathis wouldn’t have it. He must have emptied the glass Arland placed so that suspicion would fall back to Miss Sinclair, and not Gustobald.”

  “And there you have it,” Gustobald said, straightening his beard. “You returned later and charmed Mathis into walking out a window, knowing there would be little outcry over a commoner’s suicide. Now it would seem that there is only one loose end to attend to. Who put you up to it in the first place? Come, now. Do you expect me to believe that a man who befouls the station for which he stands has honor enough to do it for good cause alone?”

  I might have disagreed with Gustobald’s conclusion, had Arland not chosen this moment to stonewall us. The Seeker stared directly at the ceiling, and the necromancer gave a victory smile. He removed an empty glass vial from his belt and kneeled down with a tired sigh.

  “What are you doing?” Ruby asked, but Gustobald had run out of patience. He held the glass in front of Arland’s face and began to chant. The black speech spread through the chamber, reverberating back, but never diminishing. A purple cloud spiraled from Arland’s mouth, filling the vial with his life essence, which glowed faintly in the failing light. Ruby reached out to me for her wand, but I grabbed her hand and shook my head.

  When Gustobald finished his spell, the vial was glowing bright enough to see the room clearly once more, despite the advancing dusk. Arland was spent; he lay with his head on the boards, breathing laboriously. Gustobald slammed the calling staff into the floor twice and Ruby tensed up and grabbed my arm. My skin crawled, and I followed her sight line to a large rat hobbling through the doorway at our feet.

  In fact, the creature was barely a rat at all. It was missing a leg and an eye, and half of its tail. Its patchy fur dotted a blue-gray body, and its one eye was clouded with old age—or something else. Its blotchy tongue protruded from a hole in its cheek, bobbing up and down as the wretch hopped along with a barely audible wheeze. Arland heard the scratching of its claws and struggled to turn his head, his eyes wide.

  “It’s time to talk,” Gustobald said. “Give me a name.”

  “No.” Arland’s breath was as weak as the rat’s, and his fingers curled with dread as the beast limped closer.

  “Best be quick about it,” the necromancer said. “He’s likely to go for the eyes first, but the real prize is the tongue. Then you won’t be able to say anything at all.”

  “No,” Arland repeated. He lacked the strength to turn his head, so he was forced to watch helplessly as the creature closed in on his face. The rat panted raggedly, eager to begin the feast, and a tear welled up in the corner of Arland’s eye. “No.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Gustobald’s sing-song voice would have soothed an ailing child, but did nothing for his current victim. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

  “I did it!” Arland was mad with fear. The rat shuddered with something akin to joy. Ruby clenched my hands so tight it cut off my circulation. I didn’t have the physical strength to clutch her back, nor could I turn my attention away from the ghastly sight to come. “I killed Mathis! Everything you said was true.”

  “Give me a name, man!”

  Arland’s face contorted in anticipated agony, then in actual agony, but the rat was still three feet from him. He managed to turn his head upward, but it fell back down just as quickly. His muscles tensed and his back arched involuntarily. “Or!” he shouted as loudly as he could muster, but a choking cough overtook him.

  “Or?” Gustobald seemed amused. “Or the rat will gnaw on your important parts. I thought that was obvious.”

  “Please just tell him, Arland,” Ruby said.

  The Seeker panted and coughed, and his facial features twisted in the same bizarre fashion as before, as if someone was roasting him over hot coals. “Or!” he said again, his voice a rasp. He made one long gasp and shouted into the rat’s dead eyes. “Orden!” But no sooner had the word come out of his mouth then he shuddered violently and collapsed lifeless on the cold hard floor.

  Gustobald waved his hand and the rat exploded into bits of skin, fur, and bone, never reaching its target. “What is this?” the old man asked, crushing the glowing glass vial in the folds of his robes. The hazy, purple gas flowed back to Arland’s body, seeping into his nose and mouth, but there was no change in the Seeker’s condition.

  “What can I do?” I asked, stumbling closer to make myself available, but Gustobald just shook his head. “Is he dead?”

  “He is.”

  “You killed him!” Ruby said in horror, and I couldn’t help but mirror her disgust.

  “Not me,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, that honor belongs to another. I suspect Master Orden is to blame.”

  “How can you be so flippant?” I asked. “His heart obviously failed.”

  “No, Miss Ives. This man has had a geas placed over him. Being an enchanter himself, he must have known he was compelled to remain silent. He broke the conditions of his magical oath, rather than face the alternative.”

  “Master Orden is a diviner,” Ruby said. “What you suggest is extremely potent enchantment magic.”

  “No doubt Master Orden is a man of vast resources,” Gustobald said as he shook his head. “And his very death confirms that he spoke the truth, more or less. Arland must have known the consequences of speaking that name.”

  “I suppose I would have done the same,” I said, looking back to the bits of rat scattered about.

  “Master Orden,” Ruby said.

  “The Archseer’s successor is always chosen from the divination school.” Gustobald nodded to himself.

  “Master Orden will be named Archseer in two days,” Ruby said. “This has grown too big for us. We have no proof.”

  “We have a confession,” I said, pointing at Arland. “At least one sentinel knows the truth.”

  “For what good it does,” she replied. “Once Master Orden becomes Archseer, there will be no protecting any of us. Once he finds out that we know—”

  “Which leaves two options.” Gustobald tapped his staff on the floor with finality. “Stay and fight, confirming everyone’s suspicions about my wicked ways, or I turn and run, leaving the guilty to walk free. Whatever the case, I can’t go walking about the streets.”

  “No, you can’t,” I said. I left Arland’s body where it was and circled around Gustobald, running a finger up the twisted darkwood of the calling staff. He turned toward me and leaned back in surprise. “But I can.”

  Finally, the old man scratched his beard and smiled. “Spit it out, girl.”

  “I’m just remembering what a wise man once told me. ‘Never underestimate the power of fear.’ So what about it, Necromancer? Shall we spread some fear?”

  Chapter 25

  As expected, the rumors of Seeker Arland’s mysterious death spread quickly. The story went that he had made a routine visit to Grandia’s Goods to replenish his spell components and never walked out again. The junior sentinel Ruby who had accompanied him reported seeing dancing lights in the haunted forest just beyond the shop. The Seeker had given no thought to the omen and paid for it with his life.

  Sentinel Ruby had returned to the Hold, raving frantically about murdering ghosts, and the Sentinels had set ou
t in force, arriving too late to save their commander. They covered the body before taking it to the Tower of the Heart, but it didn’t stop the onlookers from gathering on either side of the city streets. First the Archseer, now the Seeker; was no one safe in the magic city?

  They didn’t uncover the body until they reached the tower basement. There on the Seeker’s forehead was the mark of his killer—the wax seal of the Archseer. The sight had shocked Ruby back to her senses, and she had recounted the tale of Master Bartleby returning from the grave, a tale made that much more believable by the fact that several of their number had seen it happen once before with their own eyes. After finishing her tale, to avoid wide-scale panic, each sentinel had taken an oath of secrecy about everything they had seen and heard.

  The very next day, the news was out. Some believed the Archseer Bartleby had risen from the grave to exact vengeance upon his killers; others thought he simply refused to give up his position at the academy. Soon the rumor spread that Master Bartleby had been spotted walking about the academy grounds at night, so the streets were quickly abandoned. Master Kildare Orden had reportedly considered postponing his inauguration as Archseer pending further investigation, but the Council of Masters wouldn’t have it; the academy had been leaderless for far too long.

  It was a sparse turnout the following morning. The ceremony was set to take place in the very spot where the Archseer’s funeral had been held. All the masters were in attendance, but increasingly fewer members of each of the lower ranks were there. The Sentinels were present—down to the last man—but many of the junior members were clearly uncomfortable with the detail.

  To her credit, Sentinel Ruby was there, the very person who had come face-to-face with the ghost and lived to tell the tale. It was all thanks to her that the Sentinels had even learned what they were up against, lending her overnight celebrity status. With the Sentinels in need of a new Seeker, her name was on the short list, although few expected a junior member to be chosen. That decision would be largely dependent on the new Archseer’s influence and the politics of the Council of Masters.