Breaking and Entering 101 (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 4)

by Honor Raconteur

At least I wasn’t beholden to do the grunt work in this situation. But there was one other task he and I needed to focus on. “What about Belladonna’s research? You said you’d made it through all of Burtchell’s notes.”

  “Ah. Yes, we got sidetracked from that conversation. In fact, I conferred with another colleague because Burtchell’s notes didn’t make much sense in the end. It was all numbers but no equations. It turns out they were three-point sequences.”

  “Three-point sequences,” I repeated, voice rising as my incredulity doubled. “You mean locations?”

  “In space, yes. Insane, isn’t it? I felt the same way when she unraveled it. We all thought Belladonna wasn’t keeping track of where she pulled her specimens. But in fact, she had. It was just so cryptically recorded we didn’t recognize what we were seeing. It took Burtchell’s genius to figure it out.”

  I rubbed at my eyes, buying myself a moment for this knowledge to sink in. That meant, theoretically, we knew where Jamie’s home planet resided. That we could, in fact, possibly communicate with her home. But along with that possible hope came certain disappointment. I looked to Seaton and saw the same emotion reflected back at me.

  “We can’t send her home,” he said in perfect agreement, as if I’d spoken the words aloud. “We still don’t know how Belladonna found the necessary power to transport a living person into this world. I can’t risk anyone trying it. If it fails, both the caster of the spell and the one attempting the portal will likely die an unpleasant death.”

  I nodded grimly. The power necessary to send someone to a different planet was immense. It was one of the great mysteries around Belladonna’s brutal experiments. How had she managed to bring so many people through, when any other magician on the planet didn’t even think it possible? I myself had tried calculating the power levels several times and came out with a truly staggering sum every time.

  “But even if we could, we can’t,” Seaton continued with a long sigh. “Jamie said there’s no magic on her world, not like we have here. It’ll be suicidal to send her home.”

  “She’s resigned to that. I know she misses her people terribly, but she’s also content with the life she has here. I don’t think she harbors any hope about returning to Earth. But…” I phrased this next bit carefully. “Seaton. If we could at least give her one opportunity to speak with her family, I think it would do her a world of good.”

  “I quite agree.” Jaw set in a line of determination, he pointed at the ward design. “Let’s get this done so we can focus on helping our friend.”

  “Indeed.”

  Monday started with us working on our next lead. The Raskovnik was a dead end as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t find any report of it stolen or missing anywhere in the city or in Bristol. The stamp wasn’t all that remarkable, true, but it gave us a possible lead to follow.

  Gibson met me at the train station, looking better for having gotten some rest over the weekend. I greeted him with a wave as I crossed the street. “Morning!”

  “May it be a good one,” Gibson answered, holding his palms together in prayer fashion. “Morning, Clint.”

  Clint sat on my shoulder as usual and waved a paw. “Morning, Gibs!”

  “Where do you want to tackle first?”

  “There’s a stationery shop here in the station and another across the street,” Gibson said. “Surely they wouldn’t have been so stupid to buy a stamp from their own station shop.”

  “I’d sure friggin’ hope not. But let’s try it first, just in case. I want to know if this is common or not. And I don’t know where all the stationery shops in Kingston are.”

  “Me neither.”

  If neither panned out, I’d consult my Kingstonpedia (Henri).

  “Just so you know, you’ve unduly tempted our queen.”

  I looked at him askance before stepping through the station doors. “You’ve got to be more specific than that, Gibs.”

  The man snorted. “I suppose you do that on a regular basis. What I meant was Clint.” To the cat, he explained, “She’s heard stories about you before, but now having met you and seen how charming you can be, she’s enthralled with the idea of having her own.”

  Clint gave him a regal nod, as if this was only to be expected and was the proper response to his personage.

  Gibson had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “She messaged me last night asking for an update and mentioned again that she wanted one.”

  Queen Regina really did get a lot of use out of that pad. “Well, RM Jules Felix is the one who creates them. I’m sure he’d give her one.”

  “Talk to her about it, won’t you?” Gibson requested, looking both ways before crossing the very busy street. “She’s hesitant about asking now and distracting you from the case.”

  “But she’s willing to bend your ear about it?”

  “I’m tried and true about multi-tasking,” he deadpanned.

  Chuckling, I gave him a pat on the arm. “I’ll message her when we stop for lunch. Let’s find out if our stamp impression is a helpful lead or not.”

  The stationery shop was not a large one, taking up only a narrow section of the interior of the station, opposite the ticket counters. It was more a glorified street stall than anything, although granted, larger than a street stall could ever be. A large white sign above the open doors proclaimed Morter’s Stationery Shop in gold letters. Quite a few customers meandered up and down the aisles, shopping for pens and paper and the like, so we garnered no notice as we entered. I made a beeline for a person in a candy-striped shirt and brown apron.

  “Excuse me, do you work here?”

  The weredog’s head came up, black ears flicking back and forth between settling. His nose flared at Clint, no doubt curious about this strange creature, but his response was professional. “Yes, I do. May I help you?”

  “I’ve a question for you.” I pulled out Henri’s sketch and displayed it for him between both hands. “Is this something you recognize?”

  The clerk bent to take a closer look, carefully not touching it. “Hmm, yes, this is something we carry. May I ask why?”

  “It’s part of a case we’re investigating,” Gibson explained. “Do you sell a lot of these?”

  “Yes, they’re quite common. In fact, almost any stationery store would carry this design. It’s generic, you see, easy to blend with other markings.”

  Annnnd there went that idea. “I see. Thank you.”

  He gave us a sympathetic smile. “Sorry I can’t be of more help. But these aren’t unique enough to remark upon.”

  I nodded, giving him another smile as I slipped it back in my pocket. “That was the answer I feared. Thanks.”

  I bought one from him just in case, then led the way back out and sighed as I hit the sidewalk. Of course it couldn’t be some amazing clue that would lead us to the culprit. Life was not that convenient. I turned to Gibson, standing next to me. “Well, that was a bust.”

  “What next?”

  “Hmm.” I gave myself a second to think about it. “Henri wanted to run that experiment about creating the molds for the keys. I guess I’ll meet him at the lab and do that.”

  Gibson gave a shrug of agreement. “If we’re focusing on keys, then I’ll go visit the clerks again and get a better idea of who all has access to them and lock down the alibis better.”

  “Sounds like a fair division of labor to me. Keep me posted.” With an analyst’s salute, I took myself back to the precinct. I only stopped along the way to get the necessary ingredients to make a mold with. Namely plaster, wood filling, glue, and clamps. As I jogged back to the station, I thought about the test we were about to conduct. I, of course, knew how to produce a mold for a new key. So did Henri. Would it be an accurate test if we tried to do this? We were testing both if you could create a mold for a key by just having the lock AND having access to the key, granted, but still. I could figure it out. I knew good and well Henri could, as that man seemingly knows everything.

>   If this was a crew of untrained thieves, not professionals (and yes, the odds were rather against that, but still), wouldn’t it be better to test this with someone who knew nothing about how to do this? This wasn’t a land where you could just Google something and be an expert fifteen minutes later. Someone had to figure this out. How well could you do so?

  Yeah, I needed a test dummy for this one.

  As I walked through the side door into the precinct, I nearly ploughed right into Gerring. The Svartálfar jumped out of the way at the last second, using those excellent reflexes of his. The dark elf was unusually empty-handed, his uniform precisely pressed. He must have just arrived at work.

  I grinned, the expression likely demented from the startled way he flinched back. “Gerring. Perfect timing. I need a little assistance with something.”

  He looked at me dubiously. “Am I going to like this?”

  “I’m fairly sure it’ll involve profanity before you’re done. But it’s a good thing to learn.” Snagging him by the elbow, I hauled him along the hallway with me. “We’re working on the train heist. I need to know how quickly a person can figure out how to duplicate a key if he only has the lock to work with. I also need to know how long it takes for a person to duplicate a key. I’ve got all the right materials right here. I’m going to sit you in Henri’s lab and let you figure it out.”

  “That doesn’t sound like fun,” Gerring agreed wryly. “And why do I need to know this?”

  “So that when you’re working a theft, you’ll recognize the signs if someone has duplicated a key.”

  “I take it you already know how to do this?”

  “That I do. So does Henri. Now you understand why I need you.”

  Resigned to his fate, he gave a nod. “I guess I do.”

  My favorite partner was at his lab table, as usual, and I paused at the doorway. “Safe to enter?”

  Henri looked up, goggles over his eyes, but waved me inside. “Abracadabra. Good morning, Gerring.”

  “Morning, Doctor. I’m here to do an experiment. My mentor said so.” He smiled as he said the words, already taking the bag of supplies from me.

  See? This was why I liked Gerring. He was a good sport. “Gerring, that safe on the table is the one in question. I don’t have one of the keys that goes to it, but feel free to use any key. It’s the process more than anything I’m testing with you.”

  “Alright.” Gerring went to the far end of the table and sat down, already getting to work.

  Henri put down the project in his hands and threw a stasis spell over it before moving around the table to greet me. “You’re having him attempt to do it under the assumption that one of the employees pulled the heist?”

  “Yeah. How well can a layman pull this off? I think we should do it too and time how long it takes. We’re not as smooth as a professional, granted, but we know how it’s done. It’ll give us an idea of how much prep went into this. And an idea of how long the safes or the keys had to be unguarded to get duplicate copies of the keys.”

  Henri nodded, but he frowned in disagreement. “I think this won’t be as easy as you assume. I took a look at the lock in question and it’s not simple in design. It would take someone skilled to do what you suggest.”

  “If this fails, we go around and see if any locksmiths have gotten an unusual request recently.” I splayed my hands to either side. “The keys had to come from somewhere. We just have to figure out where.”

  “Agreed. Alright, well, I hesitate to do this in front of Gerring and give him an idea of the process—”

  Gerring looked up with a whine. “No, seriously, I have no idea how to do this. A hint would be lovely.”

  I crossed both arms in front of me, making an x. “Denied.”

  Whining again, Gerring slumped in his stool.

  Henri, amused, poorly disguised a chuckle as a cough. “Then shall we work on something else in the meantime?”

  A knock sounded at the door, and we all turned that direction.

  A man in a dramatic half-cape of dark blue stood half-inside the doorway. He was a pretty man, slender and pale, blond hair worn in a gentle wave down to his shoulders. I didn’t recognize him at all, but Henri immediately stepped forward with a hand outstretched in greeting.

  “RM Felix, a pleasure to see you here,” Henri greeted. “I’m a touch surprised, however. I thought we were meeting for dinner tonight?”

  “Yes, my apologies,” he said, seeming sincere, “but something has come up to utterly change my schedule. I won’t be available for some time and barely have more than an hour or so today. I hope I’m not unduly interrupting, but I wished to chat for even a moment.”

  Henri cast a glance back at me, the question in his eyes.

  I didn’t mind. I needed a mental break from the case in any respect. “Sure, that’s fine.”

  “Come in,” Henri invited. “This is Jamie Edwards, and our colleague in the corner is Gerring.”

  “A pleasure,” Felix said with a sweet smile. He didn’t shake my hand but lifted it to his lips and bowed over it.

  One of those, eh? He wasn’t like the other mages I’d met—but then, every mage seemed to be unique in their own rights. “Come, sit, we can talk for a bit here. Clint, off the stool, give him a place to sit.”

  Clint hopped up and into my arms to clear the way.

  Royal Mage Jules Felix sat on the stool and stared at Clint as if he’d never seen him before. Which was patently ridiculous—the man had made him with his own magic.

  Henri sat opposite him while I took the last stool at the head of the table. “I’ve no refreshments to offer, RM Felix.”

  “Jules, please,” the mage responded in his soft tenor before finally tearing his gaze away from Clint. “And think nothing of it. I’m imposing, after all. Detective Edwards, I must say, of all the Felixes I have created, yours has by far surpassed every standard I set.”

  That was interesting and not at all what I expected him to say. I settled Clint into my lap. “In what ways?”

  “In every sense. Physically, mentally, emotionally—I’m quite astonished. The Felix, you know, adapts to its environment. I made it that way specifically so it could be whatever the owner of it wished for.” Jules reached out and stroked Clint’s head. My cat obviously adored his creator, since he arched into the touch, purring. “I have released precisely thirteen of them to another’s care, yours being the eighth to leave my hands. And yet, Clint far exceeds them in both affection and ability. I’m enormously pleased by this but also curious what you did that was so different than anyone else.”

  Clint opened his eyes and informed his maker, “I help Jamie.”

  “Do you?” Jules encouraged with a smile. “In what ways?”

  “I field cat,” he answered proudly.

  Knowing Jules probably wouldn’t understand what that meant, I pitched in. “And you’re an excellent field cat. What he does, Jules, is both complex and simple. I use his heightened senses to help with investigations. Because he can reach areas a grown adult can’t, we send him in. He detects anything out of the ordinary and reports back to us. He’s proven to be very adept at this. When he’s not at work with me, he chases mice for practically everyone on the block, which has made him many friends.”

  “And he sings,” Henri added dryly.

  Jules stared at Henri as if he’d announced something preposterous. Like the moon wouldn’t rise tonight. “I’m sorry?”

  “He sings,” I repeated, amused at that poleaxed expression. “And reads, and sometimes writes when he’s willing to put in the effort. It’s one of our favorite things to do, learn songs and read stories. Ain’t that right, buddy?”

  Taking this as his cue, Clint promptly started singing. “Now I’ve…had…the time of my life~ No, I neeeever felt like this before~”

  Swallowing a laugh, I joined in. “Yes, I swear it’s the truuuuth~ And I owe it all to youuuuuu~”

  Clint reached out and bumped his paw against my fist,
mischief dancing in his golden eyes. “Yeah!”

  “They do this often,” Henri informed our guest laconically. “If you’re looking for a reason to explain Clint’s excellent development, you’re looking at the answer. Unlike every other person you’ve given a Felix to, Jamie understands their nature. The creature you’ve created is much like the ones found on Earth.”

  If Jules was intrigued before, he was fascinated now. “Did I truly?! Tell me everything.”

  “Well, they’re called cats—and they range wildly in size from a domestic house cat—Clint’s size—to something about the size of a large dog. They’re amazing animals in every sense. What you’ve created is incredibly close to the ones on my home planet, in fact. There’s only minor differences here and there.”

  Jules sat on the edge of his seat. “Tell me precisely what differences.”

  “Well, color, for one. They’re normally earth tones or calico shades. And most of them have tails, although some are bobtailed. Lynxes especially.”

  “What kind of tail?” he pressed. “Does that alter their body in any way?”

  “Well, it alters their balance. Definitely does their body language, as a lot can be said with the tail.” I sat back, a cat happily sprawled across my thighs. With such an invested, curious audience, I had a feeling this would take a while.

  Comparing lists was, needless to say, tedious. Comparing lists that weren’t alphabetized or organized in any fashion? Heart-rending. Comparing multiple lists that stretched out over a two-week period, with each list containing anywhere between a hundred and fifty to two hundred names?

  Soul-destroying.

  I did not have enough chocolate for this.

  I prostrated over the desk in a dramatic fashion that would have done Sherard proud and whimpered loudly, “I want a computer. And a database system. Excel would work. I love Excel.”

  “Uh, Detective?” Despite having worked with us on our trial run, Foster’s eyes scrunched nervously.

  “Ignore her,” Gibs advised, sitting at my side. “She’s chocolate deprived. Jamie, I have someone fetching you sugar now.”