“That’s one way of putting it,” Rainey said. She glanced about the street. Homes and shops in Laramie were tall, narrow, and stacked up tight together, almost universally gray brick with iron lattice on the windows. Even the people were nondescript and subdued in this part of town. Rainey pointed to one tenement, crammed in between two taller buildings. Paler stone, newer construction. Built over an alley. “That’s the one.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Just know it from description.” She dismounted and led her horse over to the edge of the street. “What’s the protocol?”
Minox came down. “Normally, I’d call a page, but I don’t think they are as prevalent in this neighborhood as they are in Inemar.” There was a hitchpost in front of a striker pub, and a nearly adolescent boy leaning against it, shirtless save for his suspenders. It would have to do.
“Tick two pence to hitch,” the boy said, not even looking up as Minox brought the horse over. “Just a tick if you’re buying strikers.”
“Are you buying a striker, Welling?” Inspector Rainey asked.
“Possibly before we leave,” Minox said. “We’re here on Constabulary business, boy.”
The boy glanced up. “Oh, Constabulary business. Pardon me, your graces, for not taking a blazing knee.” He sneered at them both. “Sticks can pay tick five pence.”
Rainey took hold of her handstick. “You want your five pence?”
“Sure do,” the boy said, turning his cheek up to her. “Gimme a nice bright welt right there. Won’t that make a nice tale.”
Minox pulled three ticks out of his pocket. “Tick five is just fine.”
The boy took the coins. “Then hitch away, stick.”
Minox tied his horse up, while Rainey did the same with her own. “Shouldn’t let him lip to us like that,” she said.
“Not going to begrudge a boy a few extra pence,” Minox said. “You know any newsboys?”
“Course,” the boy said.
“Round up whatever sheets you find in this part of town, for however many days back you can. Two ticks over cost if you do.”
The boy looked skeptical, but nodded. “One tick up front, stick.”
Minox flipped him another coin and turned to the building. “We’re going in here, Inspector Rainey?”
She walked apace with him. “What was that with the newssheets?”
“You’d be amazed, Inspector Rainey, at how many missing pieces from unsolved cases I’ve found by a casual perusal of the day’s newssheets.”
Rainey shrugged, clearly dismissing the idea as his own eccentricity. That was fine, as far as Minox was concerned. She went up the stoop and rang the pullcord. “Let me do the talking here.”
“Of course.”
An elderly woman with a scowling face came to the door. “We ain’t done nothing here.”
Inspector Rainey put on a smiling face and a soft voice. “We need to see the major. Is he in?”
“Major don’t see no one. Especially not a couple of sticks.”
“Tell him—” Rainey paused, considering her words carefully. She then spoke with a perfect Waish accent. “Tell him that her Most Honorable Lady, Quia Alia Rhythyn, Jewel of the Ironroot Clan, is here to speak with him.”
The old woman scowled even harder, as amazing as that was. She shut the door without a word.
“She’ll tell him,” Rainey said, her normal North Maradaine accent returning.
“True,” Minox said. That much was clear in the woman’s demeanor. “‘Quia’ is a minor noble rank in Waisholm, no? Second daughter or niece to a thane?”
“Something like that,” Rainey said. “It’s a bit of a joke.”
“If you say so,” Minox said. “Though I will admit, your history is clearly more colorful than I previously suspected.”
Rainey appeared to be ready to comment on that when the old woman returned to the door. “Says he’ll see you,” she grunted out.
The old woman led them up a very narrow staircase to a modestly appointed sitting room. “Tea?” She spat the word out.
“With cream,” Rainey said. The old woman glared at Minox.
“Two spoons honey and cream.”
“Two spoons?” The old woman stomped off, muttering about the nerve of some people.
Rainey took a seat in one of the austere chairs, and gestured to Minox to do the same. “This will probably be . . . colorful.”
“You haven’t been very forthcoming,” Minox said, taking his seat next to her. “Though I would imagine that we . . .”
“Shh.” Rainey held up a single finger.
A lean gentleman of middle years, wearing a coat similar to that of a Druth Navy officer, though dark gray in color, strode into the room. “Her Most Honorable Lady,” he said in gravelly voice. “About as honorable as the mole on my ass.”
“Then that’s quite an honorable mole, indeed.” Rainey held out her hand to the man. With a gruff scoff, he kissed it and took his own chair.
“Wouldn’t have thought I’d see you come here, Trini,” he said, settling in. “In a Constabulary inspector’s vest, at that. I’m not sure I want to know about that.”
“It is a tale not worth telling, Major,” Rainey said. “Welling, this is Major Altom Dresser.”
“From Druth Intelligence,” Minox said, standing up to offer his own hand. “Inspector Third Class Minox Welling.”
“Hmm,” Dresser said, looking at Minox’s hand as if it held a dead fish. “Aren’t you an interesting one?” After a moment, it was clear the major was not going to shake his hand, and Minox took his seat again.
“Major,” Rainey said. “I have . . .”
“Must be something quite intriguing to get you to haul yourself to this part of town,” Dresser said. “I don’t get too many visitors from the old days.”
“I haven’t made too many visits,” Rainey said. “Or received any.”
“Eh,” Dresser said. He furrowed his brow. “Whatever your little mystery is, I bet it’s not as interesting as this one right here.” He pointed a lean finger at Minox.
The old woman rolled out her tea tray. She handed a cup to Rainey. “One just cream.” Then she picked up the other two and handed them to Minox and Dresser, muttering something about the price of honey.
Rainey’s eyes sparkled with a strange, almost impish delight. “Major, I have to say, she is a jewel.”
“Keeps me from being bored.”
“Never would want that to happen, sir,” Rainey said. “Now, on the subject of interesting things.”
“Yes,” Dresser said, leaning forward. “So which is it, boy? Failure, hider, or late bloomer?”
“I’m sorry?” Minox asked. “I don’t understand the question.”
“You’re an Uncircled mage, that’s clear.” He said it like it was pure, inarguable fact. No point in trying to deny it.
“That’s true,” Minox said cautiously. “But I don’t see how . . .”
“Boy, I can feel you, buzzing against the back of my skull, like a fly trying to crawl in my ear.”
Minox wasn’t sure how to take that.
Rainey coughed. “Major, that’s not why—”
Dresser waved her off. “It’ll hold, Trini.” He got up from his chair and came closer to Minox, looking at him in a way that made Minox feel like an insect in a glass case.
“Have you never met an Uncircled mage before, Major?”
“Course I have, don’t be stupid.” He moved in closer and actually sniffed at Minox. “In my experience, the Uncircled fall into three categories. Failures, hiders, and late bloomers. You’re a working man, inspector in the city sticks. So not a hider. But you’ve got a hint of that in you, don’t you?” He fingered Minox’s vest.
Minox beat down his instinct to run out of the room. The last thing he want
ed was this man talking about magic, poking at him. “I really must object . . .”
“Must you? Am I upsetting you, Inspector Welling? Making you uncomfortable?” On the last word, a twitch formed in Minox’s eye, which ran down the base of his skull until it became a tremor in his arm. His fingers shuddered as his arm shot forward. Sparks and snaps danced around his hand.
“Stop it, Major!” Rainey shouted.
“Me, stop it?” Dresser said in a charade of innocence. “He’s doing it. No control, right, Inspector?”
Minox found his own mouth betraying him. He could barely breathe, but forced himself to make the words come out. “No . . . no one . . . controls . . . me.”
“I didn’t say I was controlling you, Uncircled,” Dresser said. “I said you have no control. Do you?”
Another surge hit Minox, like a needle in the eye.
“Enough!” Minox snapped, flinging that surge back out of his eye into Dresser’s chest.
“Welling!” Rainey was on her feet, standing between him and Dresser. “Both of you need to calm down!”
Dresser laughed, despite clutching at his chest as he flopped back into his chair. “That’s some spirit. Jessel! Bring out a tray of something!”
“Are you all right?” Rainey asked him.
“Fine. Stings a bit. Keeps the heart pumping.”
She turned back to Minox. “What the blazes was that?”
“I haven’t any idea,” Minox said, getting to his feet. “Other than your old friend here doing his best to sabotage this interview.” His heart raced, his fingers felt like jam.
“It’s quite all right, Satrine,” Dresser said. “It’s most definitely of my doing. Your friend here has some real kick to him.” He leaned forward in his chair. “So he probably wasn’t a hider. Failures tend to run away once they’re kicked off their campus, so that means he was a late bloomer.”
“What are you talking about?” Rainey asked. She turned back to Minox, her expression clearly showing she wanted him to explain what was happening. Not that he understood at all.
Minox couldn’t look Rainey in the eye. His knees buckled. “I think I—” Words could barely form. He could hardly breathe. He fell back into his chair.
“It’s all right, son,” Dresser said. “You’ve been pushing yourself. Pass out a couple times?”
“A couple,” was all Minox could force himself to say.
The old woman—Jessel—came out carrying a tray of pastries. With a wordless scowl, she dropped them on the table and shuffled away.
“Go ahead, you need it,” Dresser said, taking a couple of pastries and eating them with no pretense of decorum. Minox wasted no time doing the same.
Rainey had clearly tired of the lack of answers. “Would one of you kindly tell me what the blazes is happening here?”
“I believe,” Minox said, once he swallowed, “that your friend is trying to test the limits of my magical ability and my patience. Both of which are in short supply right now.”
“And well they should be,” Dresser said. “Consider that a bit of an object lesson, Inspector Welling. What you’re feeling right now is very similar to what every trained mage feels when you walk into the room.”
Rainey came over to Minox, looking him over with more motherly concern than he wanted. “Really, Major? Is this the moment?”
Dresser craned his head to catch Minox’s eye. “How old were you when you realized, boy?”
Minox sighed. This was torturous, but if it must be withstood to learn something about the pins, and perhaps make up for failing to save Jaelia Tomar, he would bear it. “Twenty-three. Three years ago.”
Dresser whistled low. “Have to admit, ain’t never heard of a late bloomer blooming that late. Twenty is the oldest I ever heard before. And a lot of raw ability for one. Most only trickle with magic. You are a rare specimen, indeed.” His demeanor softened noticeably. “Blazes, you never had a chance, did you?”
“Is this enough, sir?” Minox asked. “Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
“Pff. I’m a spy, Inspector. My curiosity is never satisfied.”
“We did come here with purpose,” Minox said.
Rainey stopped fussing over him and sat back down. She reached into the pocket of her coat, produced the spike, and tossed it over to Dresser. He caught it deftly, and immediately cried out and dropped it to the ground.
Rainey laughed. Despite himself, Minox did as well.
“The blazes was that, Trini?”
“What you deserved,” Rainey said, fetching the spike. “But that’s what we’ve come to you to find out.”
“Saints and sinners,” he whispered. “Really, Satrine, what is that?”
She held it up to his eye level. “Something that was used to kill two mages so far. Two each, hammered through their hands.”
Dresser set his jaw with grim determination and grabbed the spike. He held on, despite his face turning pale and sweat starting to pour down his face. The veins in his neck bulged out, large and pulsing. Finally he screamed and released it.
Minox had counted fifteen seconds.
“I can only presume,” Minox said, “that you feel drained, weak, and sickly.”
“Not to mention ravenous,” he said, reaching shakily for a pastry. “I’ve never . . . I haven’t heard of anything like that.”
“It’s not like the mage shackles we have at the station,” Minox said.
“Mage shackles?” Dresser raised his eyebrow and then nodded. “Right. Steel manacles with bit of dalmatium mixed in. Uncommon, but effective in dampening a mage’s power. But this . . .”
“It’s a mystery,” Rainey said with a wry smile.
“Which is your job, I suppose,” Dresser said. He looked at the spike more closely. “No markings that I can see. It looks so blasted ordinary. But this is something very rare, indeed.”
“And yet our killer has left four behind,” Minox said.
“I’m stumped,” Dresser said, sitting back. “I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Or even heard of it.”
“I’ve stumped you,” Rainey said. “I can cross that off my list.”
“You really have no idea?” Minox asked, even though he was rather certain the man was being honest.
“I’m more than a little put out about it.”
“Good,” Minox said, getting to his feet.
“Trini.” Dresser fluttered his hand in her direction. “If you can, leave that here. I’d like to get some further opinions on it, if possible.”
Rainey gave a glance over to Minox, as if for approval. “This is evidence in an ongoing investigation.”
“We have three others,” Minox said. “Any opinions we do get wouldn’t hurt.” As much as he would like to deny Major Dresser, he had to admit it would be useful to allow him his own investigation.
Rainey nodded and left the spike on the table. “Thank you for your time, Major,” she said with a nod.
“Always a pleasure to help the Most Honorable Quia,” Dresser said. He turned back to Minox. “Keep your head up, son. Pay attention to what your body tells you, hmm?”
Minox held his tongue for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he let himself say, “It has been a very . . . instructive experience.” That was as honest as he could be without falling prey to stronger emotions. Nothing good would come from that. “Let’s be off, Inspector Rainey.”
Satrine followed Welling down the stairs to find the shirtless boy holding a pile of newssheets and two steaming strikers.
“Way I figure, stick,” the boy said as soon he spotted them, “you owe me one crown six and four.”
Welling fished into his pocket and produced a crown and a half-crown. “Well-earned with extra,” he said, passing the coins and taking one striker. “I am quite grateful.” He bit greedily.
&
nbsp; “Welling, I am so sorry,” Satrine said. Despite the pastries he ate inside, he was eating the striker voraciously. The ordeal may have affected him more than he wanted to let on. “I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but I thought he would at least . . .” She paused, at a loss for words. She wanted to say that Dresser had been an unmitigated ass, acting like a petulant child because he sat in the same room as an Uncircled mage. Though clearly there was more happening between the two of them than she could perceive. It didn’t matter, Dresser was completely inappropriate. Finally she shrugged and said, “Behave professionally.”
“It’s fine, Inspector,” Welling said. “I was aware that any expert we might consult would react to me in a . . . less than cordial manner. I was not prepared for how uncordial it could become, of course.”
Satrine sighed. She knew Dresser was Red Wolf Circle—Red Wolf being a sizable Circle with a fair amount of capital because of their connections with the government. Officially, Red Wolf had a statement of cooperation with the Druth government as part of its charter. Unofficially, from what Satrine had always understood, Red Wolf Circle acted as a recruiter for mages who would serve well as Intelligence agents. Usually this took the form of paying for their education and pledging them to services upon completion. That’s how it had gone for Dresser.
Was that what he was doing? Sizing Welling up for his recruitment potential?
“Here, skirt,” the boy said, offering up the other striker. Satrine looked at both of them in askance.
“Go ahead,” Welling said. “It’s worth it.”
Satrine took the other striker and cautiously bit into it. “Oh, saints, that’s good,” she said.
“Best meal I’ve had today,” Welling said.
She took another bite, for once allowing herself to enjoy the savory flavors of lamb, onion, beer, and potato.
“We didn’t even learn anything,” Satrine said, returning to the previous subject.
“On the contrary,” Welling said, before noting the shirtless boy was still looking at him expectantly. “Another task for another half-crown?”
“Listening,” the boy said.
“Deliver those sheets to 418 Escaraine, up in Keller Cove.”
A Murder of Mages: A Novel of the Maradaine Constabulary Page 21
