A Murder of Mages: A Novel of the Maradaine Constabulary

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “I’d prefer that as well,” Welling said.

  “So we now have our mage killer caught and locked up,” Cinellan said with an appreciative nod. “Tomorrow morning he’ll be escorted to Quarrygate. You’ll be excused from that duty, Welling. Though, technically, his arrest will go to the credit of Mirrell and Kellman.”

  Cinellan hadn’t even glanced at Satrine, and she didn’t speak up. Mirrell and Kellman both looked distinctly uncomfortable with the credit.

  Welling, apparently, had focused on another point. “Quarrygate? Without trial?”

  “No need,” Hilsom said. “Fortunately, Mister Plum has spared us the trouble by giving us an eager confession. I’m recommending ten years of incarceration, which I’m confident the city court will uphold.”

  Welling sat up hard, only prevented from getting off the cot by the clamp holding his arm in place. “Ten years? For three murders and the attempted murder of an MC inspector?”

  Hilsom shrugged. “Not ideal, but it saves us from public trial that would inevitably involve members of various mage Circles.”

  “And no one wants that,” Welling growled, staring hard at his clamped arm.

  “Keep still,” the surgeon said. “Or you will lose it.”

  Cinellan clapped a friendly arm on Welling’s good shoulder. “What no one wants, Welling, is another Circle Feud.”

  “Was that an issue?” Welling asked.

  Hilsom spoke up. “It was possible. Mister Olivant tells me that the two Circles were in a state, and Light and Stone were incensed by losing their chapter leader. Things could have gone badly, but the arrest of Plum has appeared to calm both Circles.”

  “At least in terms of wanting to fight each other,” Cinellan added.

  “That was quick,” Satrine said.

  Cinellan only gave her the slightest of glances, and then returned his focus to Welling. “The point is, this case is closed, good and solid.”

  Welling turned back to Hilsom. “Plum confessed everything?”

  “Murder of three mages, attempted murder of you.”

  “That’s all?”

  Hilsom shrugged. “There was a bit about why—revenge on the Circles for the death of his wife, some sort of attempt at ritual magic to bring her back. It was all a bit fantastical, but the salient points were covered.”

  Welling frowned. Satrine sensed there were elements of this result that didn’t sit right with him, but she wasn’t sure what.

  “Good, then,” Cinellan said, stepping away from the cot. “It’s good work, Minox. Take some time to heal. No new cases until the doctor says. We’ll let you rest now.” He made for the door, gesturing to Hilsom to follow him.

  “I don’t think so,” Welling said.

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re not leaving, Captain, as our conversation is not over yet.”

  Cinellan raised an eyebrow and returned. “You have something else to ask?”

  “There is the matter of Missus Rainey.”

  “What about Missus Rainey?” Cinellan finally looked at her, really looked. Satrine couldn’t get a read of his face.

  “As the saying goes, we’re not talking about the dead mouse on the floor,” Welling said.

  “I’m a dead mouse?” Satrine asked.

  “I’ll talk about it,” Kellman said. “Tricky there did some smart thinking, letting us find Jinx. Then she fought like blazes to save him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for her.”

  “Blazing well good,” Cinellan said. “We’ll patch her up and not let the city charge her a tick.”

  “Not good enough,” Welling said. “Missus Rainey is an extraordinary individual with a singularly adroit mind.”

  “I don’t doubt her talent,” Cinellan said. “But what do you want me to do about it, Welling?”

  “Failure to appoint her with an inspectorship would be a severe error on your part.”

  It may have been from the whiskey, but Satrine burst out laughing.

  “You think this is funny?” Welling asked her.

  “No, I . . . I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m touched, Inspector Welling.”

  “Touched in the head, maybe,” Hilsom said.

  Welling turned back to Cinellan. “If you don’t, I’d be forced to turn in my vest.”

  “Minox, don’t say that,” Satrine said.

  “Really, Minox?” Cinellan said. “You’d resign? Let’s say I did take her on. After what she did, every other inspector would resign.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Kellman said.

  Cinellan turned his attention to Mirrell. “What about you, Henfir?”

  Mirrell spat on the floor. “I wouldn’t like it, Cap. But I can’t deny, I ain’t seen a heart as Green and Red as hers.”

  “Hmm,” Cinellan said.

  Hilsom coughed. “I would remind you, Captain, that even if you are considering this, you do not have the authority to appoint a civilian to the rank of inspector.”

  “That’s true,” Cinellan said. He gave a quick glance at her and Welling. “All I can do is remind you that the clerkship offer from this morning is still on the table.”

  Satrine had a hard time believing that. “That’s very kind of you, Captain, all things considered. But that doesn’t—”

  “Take the clerkship, Satrine,” Welling said.

  “What?” She couldn’t believe he’d change his attitude that quickly. “But you said—”

  He turned his head to meet her eyes, a hard trick considering he was still clamped to the cot. “Just take it.”

  Satrine ground her teeth. The weekly crowns of a clerk wasn’t going to cut it, but it was better than no crowns at all. “Fine. I’ll take the blasted clerkship.”

  “Good,” Cinellan said. He went over to the ward matron. “Have you written up your report on treating Missus Rainey?” The matron nodded. “Deliver your report to her for filing.”

  The matron, looking utterly perplexed, handed the scribbled piece of paper to Satrine. Satrine took it, and equally confused, started to get to her feet. She then noticed the sly half-smiles on the faces of both Welling and Captain Cinellan.

  “Where does this get filed?” she asked.

  “I believe it gets delivered to the ward matron on duty,” Welling said.

  Satrine handed the paper back to the woman.

  “Excellent work,” Cinellan said. “So now that you have served so ably in your clerkship, I have the authority to promote you to the position of Inspector Third Class.” He extended his hand to take hers. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Satrine said.

  “You’re still partnered with him, of course,” he said, pointing to Welling.

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Satrine said.

  “Good,” Captain Cinellan said. “Since you two will be the ones getting all the freak cases.”

  “I prefer to think of them as special challenges, sir,” Welling said.

  “You would,” Cinellan said.

  Hilsom looked especially out of sorts.

  “There a problem, Mister Protector?” Cinellan asked.

  “Legally, no. Inspector Third Class is the highest rank that you have the authority to promote someone to,” Hilsom said. “However—”

  “Anyone who does have a problem can report to me,” Cinellan said. “And I’ll tell him to roll his own hand.”

  “But—”

  “Including the commissioner. But I’ll tell it to him more diplomatically.”

  “Very well, Captain,” Hilsom said. “It’s no business of mine, anyway, as long as all the inspectors stick to proper procedure.”

  “We’re all agreed,” Cinellan said. “Are we done now, Welling?”

  “I believe so, sir,” Welling said. He looked to the surgeon. “Are you done?” />
  “You all don’t shut your mouths ever,” the surgeon said. “But it’s set. You’re free to go.” He undid the clamp and went off to his office.

  “Home. Rest. Both of you.” Cinellan gave a small point of his finger to Satrine. “See you tomorrow, Inspector.” He left the ward, Hilsom in tow. Kellman gave her a wide grin as he left. All Mirrell managed was a slight nod of approval.

  Satrine and Welling sat alone in silence on their respective cots for some time.

  Satrine finally said, “So they’re really getting the arrest credit?”

  “I’ve never done this for the credit,” Welling said. He flexed the fingers of his broken arm and winced. “And that isn’t the point for you, either.”

  “All things considered, it’s probably best I keep my head down for a while.”

  “No, that’s not it.” His eyes danced over her face. “When you first came in, you were holding back, lying for the sake of getting the work, working for the sake of the salary.”

  “The salary’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  “Never was for me,” Welling said. “And if it was for you, you’d never have come down to that mausoleum.”

  Satrine laughed, despite herself. “Still, getting paid is important.”

  Welling got to his feet. “I suspect I will not be too useful a partner for the next few weeks.”

  Satrine stood up. Her leg screamed when she put weight on it, but she could bear. She could always bear. “Hardly. Your arm is not your most useful feature.”

  “I’m presuming that’s a compliment on my mind, Inspector Rainey.”

  He was calling her Inspector Rainey again. For some reason, that made Satrine incredibly happy. “It was indeed, Inspector Welling.”

  “You’ll be all right getting home, then?”

  “I won’t be running any time soon. I could ask the same about you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Though I’ll count on you being at my back tomorrow, Inspector.”

  Satrine went to the door. “How many do you consider unresolved?”

  “Twenty-seven now,” Welling said.

  Satrine caught an edge to that. And she recalled it being twenty-six yesterday. “We’ll start whittling that down in the morning.”

  “Satrine,” Welling said. “I wanted to . . .” He came up to her by the door. For once, his face showed a glimpse of warmth. “You have a uniquely gifted investigative mind, Inspector, and that is something I am quite grateful for.”

  “Just glad I get to use it,” Satrine said. “I think I’ve been out of practice too long.”

  Welling reached out briefly with his good hand, clasping her gently on the shoulder. “Until tomorrow.”

  Satrine smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

  She left the ward and navigated her way through the twisting corridors to the main doors. She was about to step into the night air when she heard a woman calling her name. Miss Pyle came running up with a tied bundle.

  “The captain wanted me to give this to you before you left,” Miss Pyle said, handing over the bundle.

  “What is it?”

  “Your vest and belt,” Miss Pyle said. “Apparently you’ll be needing them again.” Her eyes were locked coldly onto Satrine.

  “Thank you,” Satrine said. She still felt the harsh stare on her. “Is that all, Miss Pyle?”

  “I told you, someday a woman would earn this vest, and she was going to have a harder time because of what you did.”

  “And now?”

  “And now you’ve earned it,” Miss Pyle said. She turned away without further comment.

  Satrine wasted no time undoing the bundle and putting on the mantles of her position. If she was going to have to limp home, she’d at least do it in style.

  Chapter 32

  “YOU STUPID BLAZING BASTARD,” was the first thing Corrie said as she entered the ward.

  “Our mother is not to be denigrated,” Minox responded. The doctor had released him, and he was already dressed and ready to return home. “You can rebuke me as you wish.”

  “If you weren’t half crippled I’d knock you in your rutting head.”

  “I assure you, I am at most a quarter crippled,” Minox said. “Do not underestimate my ability to knock you back.”

  “You fought for her?” This was Nyla, standing in the doorway.

  “Indeed I did,” Minox said.

  “For who? His skirt partner?”

  “His lying cheat partner,” Nyla said. “Did you hear what she did?”

  “Save your gossip for my absence,” Minox said. “Inspector Rainey saved my life tonight, and I will not hear anything against her character.”

  Nyla shook her head. “Can you get home all right? I have a caller tonight.”

  “I’m capable,” Minox said. “I’ll catch a cab.”

  Nyla turned away. “Stay safe, all right?”

  “Always,” Minox said. Nyla left.

  Corrie cuffed him across the head. “Lying cheat? What did she—”

  “I will not hear it, Corrie. She is an Inspector Third Class and will be given her due respect by you.”

  “I’ve got streets to ride,” Corrie said. “Sleep well.”

  Minox was able to bear the pain in his arm as he walked down to the street, though he suspected the whiskey was playing a role in that. The morning would be the real gauge of how hard it would be to deal with the break. It did seem that the surgeon had done a competent job repairing the damage, and it would hopefully heal cleanly.

  No matter how inconvenient his injury was, Minox found it far preferable to the fate he avoided. He had never felt so powerless in his life. Despite that, at this very moment, he still had no gnawing need crawling up his gut, no jittery energy coursing across his arms. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed finally feeling like he had control over his own body, even damaged as it currently was.

  It was just a question of finding the balance.

  Minox hailed a passing cab and jumped in. As the driver was about to press the horses, Joshea jumped in next to him.

  “Cab is claimed, friend,” the driver snarled.

  “We ride together,” Minox said.

  “Are you all right?” Joshea asked as the cab started to roll, reaching over to Minox’s arm.

  “Nothing that won’t heal,” Minox said.

  “I am so very sorry, Minox,” Joshea said. “I mean, I had no idea, but I should have . . .”

  “I was careless,” Minox said. “I failed at my job, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Joshea’s hands fidgeted. “Nerrish always was a bit away from the center, though. I should have warned you, or . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it, Joshea.”

  Joshea’s eyes went everywhere, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Minox. “It’s just . . . I finally find someone that I can, you know . . .”

  “Actually talk to?” Minox asked. “Part of what happened to me today happened because I was careless. Because of that spice.”

  Joshea’s face hardened. “You took that—”

  “Of my own accord, and I don’t blame you at all.”

  Joshea eased and nodded. “So what do you mean?”

  “For the first time in my life, I let my guard down. I didn’t have to be aware of myself, be in constant control.”

  “Was that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “It felt good,” Minox said. He held out his hand, and made the barest of flames dance across his fingers. Enough that Joshea could see, but not to get the driver’s attention. Now the magic was flowing, enough that he could use it, but not so much that it held sway over him. No hunger, no restraint. Just power at his fingertips.

  Joshea blanched. Minox extinguished the flame and put his hand in his coat pocket.

  “Sorry,” Minox said. “It’s just
. . . this experience, this whole case I just finished . . . it’s driven home the idea that I have a significant gap in my knowledge.”

  “About magic?”

  “About myself. Ourselves. Think about it. This is a part of who we are, as much a part of our body as breathing and eating.” He reached into his pocket and took out his pipe and put it in his mouth. Then he took out his tobacco pouch.

  He quickly realized trying to fill his pipe and light it with one good arm would prove challenging. Joshea noticed his difficulty and took the pouch, holding it open for Minox to grab a pinch.

  Minox got the pipe lit. “This is my point,” he said once he had a few puffs. “Not understanding how magic works, how I work, was used as a weapon against me. But relying on it as part of doing my job, without understanding it, almost cost me my life.”

  “I’ve tried just ignoring it,” Joshea said. “But sometimes things will just . . . happen.”

  “Exactly my point,” Minox said. “I’ve never ignored it, but I did try and pretend that I understood it as well as I needed to. Our—my ignorance caught up to me this week. The same might happen to you soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think . . . we both need to learn. We need each other.”

  Joshea raised an eyebrow. “Like a Circle?”

  “Not in the legal definition,” Minox said. “But that’s hardly the point. At its core, what is a Circle but a group of mages who help and teach each other? I think we both could use someone at our back, don’t you?”

  “A Circle of two?” Joshea asked, a bemused smile on his face. “I think I might like that a lot.” He extended his hand to Minox.

  “Done, then,” Minox said, shaking Joshea’s hand. It felt like a solid step.

  Joshea glanced around nervously, not that the driver or anyone on the street noticed. “I should head back, before my family wonders what the blazes I’m up to.”

  “I understand,” Minox said. “We’ll meet up soon.”

  Joshea said his final good-byes and jumped out of the cab.

  “You’re still paying for two passengers,” the driver said.

  Minox stood in front of the house. Surely, word of the day’s events had preceded him. Mother and Aunt Beliah would fuss, Zura would pray, and Oren or Timmothen would make some speech on the necessary dangers of the Green and Red. Minox did not look forward to any of these things.