Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “Mr Balinchard and I will go. I know Marques and Maxis. Marques will be easy to cow, and the two of us will get the jump on Max.”

  “Let me at him,” rumbled Uncle Samwell, and it would have been more convincing had his voice not held the faintest of tremors.

  “Albero,” Tesara said. Her voice was almost gone. “I have to go. I’m sick, but I still have special talents that we’ll need, if we want to rescue my sister.”

  He looked at her skeptically. Noe gave her a bemused look. Only Uncle Samwell’s gaze sharpened. She caught his eye and nodded at him, and his face was suffused with wonder. She had longed to tell everyone, and had imagined the dramatic day when she revealed all her powers to her family. Instead, with no fanfare, she raised her hand, and held it palm out. The energy gathered within her, even as she could tell that her burning fever was sapping her strength and her control. Still, it was simple enough to compress the air over the fireplace, causing it to blaze up and then die. With a quick twist she released the air and sent energy into the wood again, and the fire flared up.

  Everyone in the room felt the pressure change and release, and everyone worked their jaws to get their ears to pop. Now they all stared at her, eyes wide. Uncle Samwell breathed something that sounded like, “I knew it.”

  “I can do things, Albero,” Tesara said. “I can rescue my sister.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Abel slumped in the chair, his lungs burning, trying to get a full breath from behind the gag. It tasted of vomit and saliva, because he had thrown up under Doc’s ministrations.

  “Now,” Doc said, sitting back, and loosening his gag. “That was for disobedience and general incompetence. You know better, Abel. So you just answer the questions and don’t try to play me for a fool. I’ve had my fill of that, dealing with that idiot Trune.”

  “I don’t know.” Abel almost couldn’t recognize his own voice; it had become thick, gutteral. “I don’t know. She disappeared.”

  Doc tsked. “Abel, Abel.” He lifted Abel’s chin, forced him to look up. “Come on, son. What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Abel whispered, looking at Doc. The big man had a little smile on his face, and his eyes bored into Abel’s. Even in the dim light, even though the pupils had grown to subsume the iris, Doc’s eyes were rimmed in an icy blue. Doc put the gag back over his mouth. An instant later he convulsed as Doc applied the electric current to his bare torso, cranking his machine. He had burns all over his body.

  The current let up, and Doc sat down on the bed, head cocked to the side, as he observed Abel.

  “I’m getting angry, Abel. Angry and impatient. You’ve made a mess of things, and I’m very disappointed. Give me one good reason I should go easy on you now.”

  He waited. He didn’t remove Abel’s gag though, and Abel braced himself. When Doc turned to the crank, he screamed through the gag, but he knew the sound was too thin and muffled to make it even to the hallway.

  Even so, there came a knock on the door. Through Abel’s haze of pain and anguish, he could hear the prosaic little sound, more of a tentative tap than a knock. This was not someone who had been woken from a deep sleep down the hall at the sounds of torture in Room Twenty-three, hammering at the door, demanding that they keep your voices down, sirs, and be cognizant of the sensibilities of others.

  Doc stopped. For the first time in Abel’s memory, he looked nonplussed. He could have handled a disgruntled guest. Not this cheerful sort of visitor.

  “Who is it?” he said, his voice pitched to reach Abel’s ears. Abel shook his head. Miss Mederos, come to demand his excuse for his absence? He had no idea.

  The knocking came again. Doc set down his tools and went to the door.

  “Who’s there?” he said, manufacturing a sleepy yawn.

  There was silence, then light footsteps hastening away, and in an instant Abel knew who it was. Doc must have too. He yanked open the door, and, moving fast for such a big man, darted down the hall.

  Move, Abel, move! Abel bent at the waist, his arms screaming as he stretched forward, and plucked a scalpel from Doc’s kit with his teeth. He worked it over his shoulder, and delicately dropped it along his back. It caught in his left hand, pricking his palm as he closed his grip around it.

  Just as he caught it, Doc was back, dragging Elenor Charvantes with him.

  There came a thunderous knocking on the door at Kittredge Mews. “What now?” Trune snapped. The coachman went to the window and peered out, positioning himself so he couldn’t be seen by anyone outside the door.

  The coachman turned and gave him a long look. “It’s Renner. He’s got a whole gang of constables.”

  Yvienne felt an extraordinary rush of relief.

  Trune swore. “That fat fool. Always showing up when he’s not wanted. All right. I can handle him. I didn’t want to do it this way, but needs must. Let him in.”

  The coachman went to answer the door, and in a moment returned with Chief Constable Renner and two of his men. Renner took in the scene at a glance, and his face twisted with disgust.

  “Former Guildmaster Trune,” he said. “Before I throw you in irons, there had better be a good explanation for why you have Miss Yvienne Mederos tied to a chair in a rented house in North Town. And when I say a good explanation, I mean that the bar is quite high on this.”

  “On the contrary, you should thank me, chief constable.” Trune was almost purring with self-satisfaction. “May I present to you the Gentleman Bandit of Port Saint Frey?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The chief constable looked nonplussed. Trune went on.

  “Yes, I know, you’ve come here to arrest me, but I think we can all agree that this changes everything, does it not?”

  To Yvienne’s relief, Renner did not look as if he agreed. Renner nodded to one of the constables.

  “Untie her.”

  The constable went over to Yvienne, and after a moment’s struggle with the knot he finally took out his knife and sawed through it. With relief she brought her hands forward and rubbed the wrists, moving her shoulders gratefully.

  “Thank you, Chief Renner,” she said. “I trust now you will arrest Trune for the Great Fraud and the murder of Barabias Parr.”

  “Not so fast,” Trune said. He turned to his man. “Get the other one.” The coachman did as he was told. In a moment the coachman was back with Malcroft, prodding him forward with a pistol at the small of his back. Malcroft looked bruised and battered, shocking Yvienne. How had the coachman managed to overcome him? Malcroft was the taller by a head and heavier by at least fifty pounds. Malcroft’s head hung low but he managed to raise it dully. He caught her eye and gave her a wink.

  Ah. She hoped he had a plan, because she had none. Still, she felt cheerful that they were at least in the same room.

  “Malcroft Shy,” Chief Renner said, giving him the once over. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just walking by, minding my own business, guvnor, when this fellow gets the jump on me,” Malcroft protested. The coachman snorted in disgust.

  Renner turned to Yvienne. “Do you know this man?”

  She shook her head. “Aren’t you distracted from your main focus, chief? May I remind you that I am – was – being held prisoner by a man most wanted by the Guild and the constabulary of Port Saint Frey?”

  Chief Renner looked sour, as if he knew he was being redirected but he also knew she was right.

  “Allow me to explain,” Trune said, as if this was the opening he was waiting for. “Chief Renner, the night that I fled Port Saint Frey in fear for my life, I had been sorely attacked by this woman in the guise of the Gentleman Bandit. She attacked me in my own home, murdered my friend and business associate Barabias Parr, and drove me from the city. I came back here, at great peril to myself, to bring her to justice.” He pointed dramatically at Yvienne. “Arrest this woman!”

  The room went silent. The constable holding onto
Yvienne gripped tighter, as if Trune’s accusations emphasized the danger he was in. Yvienne was acutely aware she was dressed as a man.

  “Trune,” Renner said. “What are you playing at?”

  “I’m merely pointing out what you should have seen months ago. This girl is the Gentleman Bandit who plagued the merchants of Port Saint Frey with her mischief in the six months previous.”

  Renner’s jaw tightened. Idiot, Yvienne thought. Not the best tactic to insult the chief constable’s police work.

  Renner gave Yvienne the once over. “Miss Mederos? Do you have anything to say?”

  “Only that Guildmaster Trune has kidnapped my cook, Mrs Francini, and if he’s harmed her in any way he better hope he’s safe in your custody,” she said.

  There was another ringing silence. Renner turned to Trune. He didn’t even have to ask.

  “She sent the woman to spy on me!” Trune shouted. “And that’s not the issue! The issue is that she’s the Gentleman Bandit and a thief and a murderer!”

  “And he is a man wanted by the police for the fraud against my family and the Guild!” Yvienne shouted back. “His ludicrous accusations are nothing but a smokescreen, chief!” She pointed at Trune. “Constable Renner, arrest this man!”

  “Sir,” reported another constable, just coming into the parlor, with Mrs Francini in tow. “We found her in the kitchen. She was tied up, sir.”

  “Oh, Miss Vivi!” Mrs Francini sobbed, running over to her. She was disheveled, her hair down around her face, and her overcoat and dress askew. Yvienne hugged her, glaring over her shoulder at Trune.

  “How could you?” she said, low-voiced and furious. She helped Mrs Francini to a pouf in the corner of the parlor. She whispered against her ear, “Where’s Noe?”

  Mrs Francini’s shoulder lifted in an I don’t know gesture.

  “Constable,” Trune said, with the air of one whose control over the situation was slipping from his fingers, “never mind the cook.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Renner said, not sounding apologetic at all. “Kidnapping is a serious business, Trune.”

  “Add it to his charges, chief,” Yvienne said over Mrs Francini’s shoulder. Renner rounded on her, clearly at the end of his tether.

  “So is banditry, Miss Mederos. Can you explain Mr Trune’s accusations?”

  “No,” she said.

  She could tell that he had to maintain a tight grip on his temper. “And can you tell me what brought you to this house this night?”

  “No,” she said.

  He snorted a laugh before raising an eyebrow. “Of course not. Why did I even bother?”

  “My lawyer has advised me to say nothing to you outside of her presence. If you would like to arrest me again, please do. We can discuss everything at headquarters.”

  Renner gave her a keen look. “Good idea.” He nodded to his men. “Arrest them both.”

  Trune snarled. “Don’t be a fool, Renner. You’ll not cross the Guild in this.”

  At that moment the door banged open and Dr Reynbolten swept in. She took the scene at a glance, her sharp gaze alighting on everyone and causing the constables to look down as if they were guilty themselves.

  “My God,” she boomed. “My God. Renner, arrest this man as a fugitive from justice and the perpetrator of the Great Fraud.”

  “Doctor,” Yvienne said. “I am quite grateful to see you.”

  Dr Reynbolten looked at her for a long moment. “I would not speak if I were you,” she said, and turned back to Renner.

  “That’s just it,” Renner said. “Trune’s made some very interesting accusations. I think we need to hear him out.”

  “Balderdash,” Dr Reynbolten said. “You’ve got nothing.”

  Renner turned to look at Malcroft. “We’ve got Shy, here. And you know what kind of record he has.” Renner looked between Yvienne and Malcroft. “And if I find evidence that you two do have a prior acquaintance, it will go very badly for you.”

  She shrugged and shook her head. “As I said, I never met him before.” She was very conscious of Mrs Francini’s presence beside her.

  Malcroft raised his shoulders too. “Same here, guv. No idea who she is.”

  “She’s lying!” Trune roared. “They all three came here to waylay me and no doubt beat me senseless. The girl knows I can identify her as the Gentleman Bandit – she’s here to silence me. She’s masterminded the whole thing.”

  “This is most irregular, chief constable,” Reynbolten said. “Release my client and arrest Trune.”

  “I can’t do that. You yourself sounded the alarm tonight, Dr Reynbolten. Why was that? Who alerted you to the kidnapping of Miss Mederos? As an officer of the courts of Port Saint Frey, are you hiding knowledge of a crime from me, Dr Reynbolten?”

  Dr Reynbolten snorted, but to Yvienne’s ears, for the first time the supremely competent advocate sounded unsure. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

  “This is utterly ridiculous, chief,” she said. “Guildmaster Trune has been persecuting my family for years. He’s deranged on the topic of the lawless nature of House Mederos, when we all know that he has committed crimes against us. Those crimes are fact, they are proven, and Guildmaster Trune was already tried and found guilty. Only by fleeing has he escaped punishment. Revenge led him to return. So you must do your duty and arrest him and bring him to his long-delayed justice.”

  Renner was silent through her speech. Then he cocked his head and looked at her. “What are you doing in this house, Miss Mederos?” he asked again.

  “Don’t answer that,” Dr Reynbolten said.

  Yvienne gave her a nod and fixed her gaze on Renner, her expression calm, her lips tight.

  Trune’s eyes gleamed. “I think we’ll find with the evidence I have against you and your sister that the charges you speak of will be dropped. I didn’t steal your ships, Miss Mederos. They were sunk by the hand of your unnatural sister.”

  Yvienne let out a long sigh, conveying a fraying patience. She turned to Renner. “Chief…” she let the rest of the sentence fall away, lifting her hands in helpless acknowledgement that they were dealing with a deluded man. “I don’t know what to say.”

  The chief constable said nothing. Yvienne had gotten good at reading the stoic Renner over the course of their continued acquaintance, and a prick of alarm alerted her. Renner hadn’t bought Trune’s dramatic statement, but he hadn’t discounted it either. I would not have considered Renner a fanciful man, she thought, but then again, Tesara had been cutting a wide swath through town the last day or so. Her antics had changed many a more stolid mind.

  “I have an idea, chief constable,” Dr Reynbolten said, after giving Yvienne a probing look. “I think this can all be sorted out at headquarters. You will arrest Guildmaster Trune on the original charges laid against him, as well as charges of detainment and kidnapping and assault of Miss Mederos and her cook.” She waved a dismissive hand at Malcroft. “And for God’s sake, can you let this poor man go while you’re at it? It’s utter foolishness that he’s swept up in Trune’s fantastiques.”

  Bless you, Dr Reynbolten, Yvienne thought.

  “Chief Constable Renner, she’s manipulating you,” Trune shouted. “This man is a confirmed villain and he is a henchman of the Gentleman Bandit!”

  A henchman, Yvienne thought. I have a henchman. She had to bite back a sudden giggle, brought on by a giddy sort of lightheadedness.

  Renner made his decision. “All right, Claia,” he said. “But your client rides in the police box with me and my men, not with you. And we’re interrogating her before you get a chance to debrief her yourself.”

  “And Trune?” Dr Reynbolten challenged. “Aren’t you going to arrest him? He’s the only criminal here, you know. Fugitive from justice, perpetrator of the Great Fraud, and embezzler of Guild funds. Or have you forgotten?”

  They all turned to look at Trune, including Malcroft, whose expressio
n was both righteous and innocent.

  “Chief constable, if you don’t arrest this woman at once, I will bring you before the Merchant Guild!” Trune said in ringing, thunderous tones. His words fell on a silent room. The constables all looked at one another. Whatever had been their sympathy toward Trune at the beginning of the evening, it was clear it had waned. Maybe at one time the Port Saint Frey constabulary had been under the thumb of the Merchants’ Guild, Yvienne thought, but those days were gone.

  When Renner spoke, his voice rumbled with self-control. “Are you threatening me, Mr Trune?”

  Trune struggled for calm. “I am merely pointing out, chief, that we are on the same side here, and this woman is not to be trusted.” He jutted his chin at Yvienne. “Ask her. Ask her where her sister is. Ask her what her sister knows about the sinking of the Mederos ships.”

  Renner nodded judiciously. “All right. Miss Mederos, where is your sister?”

  “Chief constable, on the advice of my attorney, I will not and cannot answer that question.”

  Dr Reynbolten smirked.

  Trune gave an inarticulate howl. “She is a devil!”

  Renner laughed. “Oh, she’s an imp, all right. She’s been so from the first moment we’ve spoken. But come now, Miss Mederos, what does your sister know about the sinking of the Mederos fleet?”

  “The Mederos fleet did not sink, chief constable,” Yvienne said. “The Guild had been defrauding merchants for years. The broadsheet Arabestus laid it all out, and the evidence was found in the Guild’s own files. My parents sailed a month ago to meet our flagship, The Main Chance, and bring her home. She was re-flagged, you know.”

  Trune advanced on her and she took an involuntary step back, fetching up against Renner’s solid form. “Your parents are on a wild goose chase, girl. That ship is at the bottom of the sea, along with the Fortune and the Fortitude, right where your sister sent them.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight