by Frank Hurt
Once more, the heads around the table nodded.
“Your parents are of noble lineage. Oliver and Benedette Wright of Malvern Hills.” Viceroy Roth tilted his head as he watched her. “Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. You’re correct.”
Viceroy Roth furrowed his tanned brow as he studied the woman. “As a show of gratitude, I would like to sponsor you to take your Senior Investigator Ascension Test.”
Ember blinked. “You would, sir?”
“Absolutely. I know you’re technically too young, and you’ve had no time to prepare, but even failing the test will look impressive on your personnel record. You could be the youngest Malvern to take the Senior Investigator test. Wouldn’t that be impressive? It would do wonders for your career.”
“I…that wouldn’t be necessary, sir.”
“Nonsense. We have everyone here that we need to represent each of the Mage Tracks. Our Director of Arts is off visiting relatives at the Eritrea colony, but Geoff here is an Artistic mage. Aren’t you, Geoff?”
The bearded man looked sheepish. He blinked rapidly, his absinthe-colored gaze flitting around the room to avoid eye contact with anyone. “I’m only a Fifth Level mage. A musician.”
“And Duncan’s a mere Third-Level. That’s perfectly fine for testing a Third-Level Investigator.” Viceroy Roth touched his fingertips to the chest of his double-breasted suit. “I’m an Elementalist. Geoff has Arts covered. Duncan’s a Senior Investigator. Curt is an Analytic. Elton’s a Healer. There you have it, all five Mage Tracks are covered, as required by Council Law.”
“I’m not sure I’m up for sitting on a tribunal today, Will.” Curtis Davies scrunched his face in a pinched expression.
“Of course, of course.” The Viceroy turned to the Director of External Relations. “Bartholomew, you’re also an Analytic. Would you sit judgment on an Ascension Test for Ember?”
“I could do that, sure.” The man glanced over to Ember, his unibrow gaze level over the top of his glasses.
“Wait, today?” Ember raised her eyebrows. “You want to test me for Senior Investigator today?”
William Roth flashed a flawless, bright white smile. “Would there be a problem with testing you today? Are you superstitious, since it’s Friday, the Thirteenth?”
“No, I’m not superstitious.”
“Very good. Let’s break for lunch, then reconvene back here at, let’s say, 1:30.” The Viceroy looked at his Rolex. “No, better make that 2:00, so we can coordinate the questions for the prevarication phase of the Ascension Test.”
He closed the binder and stood, fastening the button on his suit jacket. “Just relax and think about how nice this attempt will look in your file, at your young age. Don’t worry about the results of this test, Ember. Nobody expects you to pass, so there’s no need for you to stress. It’s all just a formality.”
40
I’ll Share a Story With You
“What exactly do you have to do for the Ascension Test?” Alarik plucked at the bandage covering his severed index finger. “Is there anything we can do to help you prepare?”
Ember leaned against Arnold Schmitt’s Restoration Chamber. “They’ll quiz me on my knowledge of Druw High Council Law. I’ll be tested with casting a Containment Net and a Memory Wash Spell. Mostly, the linchpin is the Prevarication test.”
Anna’s eagle eyes slid over, followed a second later by her head turning in the same direction. “Prevarication?”
“Lie detection,” Ember casually dragged her fingertips across the brass-and-polished wood shroud of the healing pod. “The tribunal representing each of the five Mage Tracks will tell me an autobiographical story. Some of them will be telling the truth, while others will be lying. I’m to declare which is which.”
“You can do that?” Alarik raised his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You read minds?”
She flashed a grin. “Sure. So you’d better watch what you think, Rik.” Ember poked his ribs playfully with a finger. “No, it’s mostly about reading body language. Vocal cues, such as a change in tone or inflection. How a person’s eyes move when they tell a story.”
Arnold propped himself up on an elbow. “They teach you all that in Investigator School?”
“At the Academy?” Ember combed her fingers over her scalp. “Somewhat, yes. Mostly, it’s on-the-job training. Being observant of people, that sort of thing.”
Alarik scratched at the bandage covering his finger. “I don’t understand why you say you’re stressed about this test then. I’ll bet you’ll ace it.”
“For sure,” Anna agreed. “You said that nobody as young as you has even been allowed to take the Ascension Test for Senior Investigator rank. You said that the Viceroy and those other old guys don’t expect you to pass. But we believe in you.”
Ember sighed. She walked around Arnold’s bed, her fingers tracing the Celtic designs carved into the side of the pod. Though there were no wires, no source of electricity, the Restoration Chamber glowed an orange hue. She crouched to peer at the electrons carrying healing energy through the air and into the patient within its boundaries. Even the Healers who understand how this ancient machine works can’t see the mana like I can. She touched the carved letters which spelled out Restoren Chambre and wondered which century this device had been built.
“The problem isn’t that I’m capable of passing the test.” She stood slowly. “I’m fairly certain I could pass this bloody test without breaking a sweat, regardless of what those old men may think of me.”
Alarik Schmitt pulled out a short piece of welder’s soapstone from his pants pocket. He began worrying it in his left hand. “I don’t see the problem then.”
“The problem, my dear Rik, is that I don’t know if I should pass this test.” Ember glanced at the door to the exam room, verifying it was still shut. “Doing so might tip my hand to Higginbotham and any of the others who might be working with him. They could use this as an excuse to send me away from Minot. The Magic City Colony already has a Senior Investigator, after all.”
“So, what, you’re thinking you might purposely fail the test?” Anna frowned and crossed her arms. “No, I don’t think so. You’ve earned this. You deserve this shot.”
“There are bigger concerns to think about—”
“Bullshit.” Anna shook her head. “You took down the Changeling Hunter singlehandedly when your colleagues wouldn’t even believe that a serial killer existed. It was you who rescued my brothers from that jerkoff. You who ended him before he could hurt anyone else.”
Alarik nodded once. “I agree. Whatever happens, we’ve got your back. But don’t you dare bomb this test. The Ember Wright I know doesn’t quit.”
“Hell to the yeah,” Arnold chimed in.
Ember knew she would have better luck trying to teach squirrels how to line dance than she would at trying to win an argument against three stubborn Germans.
The first portion of the Ascension Test was little more than review for Ember. She knew the Council’s Law well enough to cite sections from memory. Never mind that even as she did, an inner voice reminded her that the Druwish people once were beholden not to the mandates of the Druw High Council, but to the law as defined by the people themselves and as guided by the Supreme Inquisitor. I’ll address that discrepancy in due time.
She was tested, too, on her ability to cast a Containment Net on an embassy staff member who had unwittingly volunteered to serve as the test subject. She purposely took her time in conjuring the net; there was no need to demonstrate just how quick on the draw she really was.
She passed the Memory Wash test (also on a volunteer, though safeguards were ensured so she couldn’t accidentally damage the young man’s long-term memory). Here, too, Ember feigned difficulty. It wouldn’t do to show off just how easy the task really was for her.
The Prevarication test was where the surprises arrived.
Viceroy Roth declared that three of the tribunal judges would include at least one lie in
the telling of their prepared autobiographical stories. The other two would be completely truthful. As per the rules, each of the judges would end their statements by declaring their name and that the preceding story was true. It was for Ember to listen and determine which of them actually were.
Bartholomew Samson went first. His tale was of his career as a deep-sea fisherman and global adventurer. The Director of External Relations was such a terrible liar, Ember doubted even a Novice Investigator would have trouble spotting the anxious body language.
As the man told his supposedly true story, Ember thought back to a conversation she had with her ghostly mentor, Barnaby Harrison. Barnaby told her that while talented Investigators could detect a suspect was being generally truthful or lying by listening and observing them, Inquisitors were gifted with more subtle skills of Prevarication.
Fourth-Level Inquisitors, he had said, were tested while wearing a blindfold. They could interpret truth solely from listening to the judges. Even without the benefit of sight, an Inquisitor could base such general verdicts on audio cues alone. Ember closed her eyes as Bartholomew told his story, and found that she could indeed hear the tonal variances which told her the man was lying.
A Fifth-Level—a Grand Inquisitor—could go one step further. Inquisitors at that skill level were able to see which specific elements of a story were true and which were lies.
Barnaby never did tell her what a Supreme Inquisitor was able to do by way of lie detection. I must remember to ask him that next time I visit his cemetery.
Ember smiled politely and nodded once at the man when he finally ended his story. He said, “this was a true statement, and my name is Bartholomew Samson.”
On the other side of the ellipse-shaped mahogany table was the next judge to speak. Deputy Viceroy Shadbolt stroked his long beard as he told a story about his love for string instruments. He spoke glowingly about learning the cello, his affinity for plucking the harpsichord, and the collectible Gibson mandolin he owned. It wasn’t until he began talking about his teacher and how his parents had encouraged his interest in music, that the lie emerged.
The shadowy Deference Spell serving as a shroud over Geoff Shadbolt’s aura started swelling and darkening. Smoky haze flowed and pulsed around the man, expanding to fill the room and tint the windows with its blot. The scene reminded Ember of the first conversation she attempted to have with Duncan before she knew what a Deference Spell was. Then, she had become terrified and fled. Now, however, she sat still and looked with mere curiosity upon the futile battle between Geoff’s subdued aura and Higginbotham’s potent spell.
I’ll free you, too, from Elton Higginbotham’s control. But not today.
Duncan Heywood proved an accomplished liar. He had spent the better part of 150 years developing cases and interviewing suspects. She watched closely as he hid his body language, told his story in monotone, and kept his olive drab gaze straight ahead all the while.
“Wright, you once asked me to tell you about your former partner, Wallace Livingston. I’ll share a story with you today.”
Duncan dropped his mechanical pencil on the table and folded his arms. “There was a mage accused of exercising black magic upon other Malverns. He was an elusive bugger, always managing to stay one step ahead of the Investigators. It was in Bristol that Livingston and I finally cornered him, at a train depot in the Upper Easton neighborhood. The suspect wasn’t ready to go quietly, though. Just as a locomotive was steaming up to the platform, our suspect concentrated a burst of air at a young woman—a NonDruw—sending her sprawling onto the railroad tracks.”
“We had only a moment to decide: do we rescue the young woman? Or do we pursue the mage before he slipped away? We made the decision to weigh the greater good against one life. We caught our suspect, and the young lady perished.”
Ember briefly bit her bottom lip. The entirety of Duncan’s story had been true—but for the final two sentences. If she hadn’t been able to “cheat” by observing the subtle shift in his aura, she would have declared the story as true. Bloody hell, Duncan, you’re an ace liar.
She made another mental note, this time to ask Wallace if they ever managed to catch their suspect, since that day they chose to save the life of a young woman.
So that’s three untrue stories. That means these next two must be true.
Only they weren’t true. She almost missed the fact that Higginbotham was also spinning a false tale, simply because the man’s lips were moving. There was something about that superficial, toothy shark-smile which filled her with an overwhelming desire to climb over the table and kick him in his face. Ember reined in her emotions long enough to see that Elton Higginbotham was lying about his autobiographical tale.
Bloody hell, four in a row lying? Was I wrong about Duncan’s story? Was that actually true, and I just misinterpreted the shift in his aura?
Ember started to worry.
Viceroy William Roth told his story last. He boasted about his real estate empire, how he built it himself from the ground up. How he anticipated changes in the market to leverage his earnings and multiply his wealth with each passing decade. He bragged openly, unabashedly. And every word of it was true.
Right up until he pronounced his name.
“This was a true statement,” the Viceroy flashed a charming smile. “And my name is William Roth.”
Just like that, all five judges had lied to her.
41
Not Your Team
The men around the table were getting antsy. Geoff Shadbolt was leaned back in his chair, stroking his long beard repeatedly as he stared up, counting ceiling tiles. Duncan Heywood clicked his yellow mechanical pencil until the lead advanced a full inch before pushing it back into the barrel and repeating the process. Bartholomew Samson meticulously cleaned his glasses with an embroidered handkerchief for the third time.
The Viceroy—whose name was apparently something other than William Roth—interlocked his fingers and tapped his thumbs together. “I know I said that you could take your time. Technically, you can take as long as you need, Ember. That you are even here at your young age is going to look impressive on your record. I’ll be sure to personally call your parents to tell them how well you conducted yourself, even without passing. But before I can dismiss this tribunal, we do technically need your answer.”
Not only didn’t he expect me to pass, he doesn’t want me to pass. He changed the rules to see to that. Ember watched in silence as her mind ran laps. Two of them were supposed to be telling the truth. But all five of them lied to me. Or am I mistaken? Maybe I’m not as good as I thought I was? What if Duncan was telling the truth? But no: whenever I’ve doubted my instinct in the past, I’ve regretted it. I need to trust my instinct.
Elton Higginbotham released a dramatic sigh. He propped his elbows on the edge of the mahogany table and flashed his shark’s grin. “It’s been a long week for everyone. Why don’t you just give it your best guess, sweetheart, so we can get out of here and start our weekend?”
Bloody hell, I’m going to enjoy kicking in those teeth someday.
The Viceroy’s thumbs continued tapping anxiously against each other. “If you had to simply guess, which of us was telling the complete truth?”
Ember met the Viceroy’s flint grey gaze. He lies about his own name. A man who does that has something he’s hiding. But to rise to the level of Viceroy of a colony under a false name, he must have taken pains to cover his tracks. If I call him out on his lie, he could defend himself with paperwork proving the details of his story, while I have no way of proving that William Roth is a pseudonym.
I can’t paint him into a corner because I have no way to prove my case. He’s the Viceroy, the star of the Druwish people in North America. He holds all the cards. I have to catch him off-guard, to make him reveal his hand.
“You almost had me.” Ember nodded as she feigned a disarming smile. “That was a clever trick. The way you presented the Prevarication Test. When you stated the
rules, that two would be telling the complete truth, while three statements would contain at least one lie. But in the very announcement of the rules, you lied to me, sir. None of you told the total and complete truth.”
The Viceroy’s brow furrowed. “There’s no way that—”
“No, really, sir, I’m honored.” Ember held her palms up as she spoke. “I knew you believed in me by sponsoring today’s Ascension Test, but I couldn’t have guessed that you would challenge me so well. You bypassed the letter of the rules in favor of the spirit of them. It’s a calculated risk you took since some candidates might be petty enough to invoke Paragraph 11 of the test rules.”
“Paragraph 11?” The Viceroy’s brow furrowed deeper.
“Yes, sir. That is, of course, the clause which defines the candidate’s right to appeal before the High Council if they felt that the rules of the Ascension Test had been contravened.” Ember pointed at the far end of the table. “This just goes to show how good you are at reading people, sir. You knew, somehow, that this particular candidate would appreciate the subtlety of your actions. Honestly, I’m in awe of how accurately you read me.”
The Viceroy turned his head slightly, so he wasn’t directly facing her. “Yes, well…I wouldn’t have sponsored you for this test if I didn’t think you were worthy of the challenge.”
Time to claim my winnings. Ember pushed her chair back and stood tall. “You arranged a challenging Ascension Test, sir, because you believed in me. I’m excited to ring up my parents so I can surprise them with the news that their daughter is now a Senior Investigator. I’ll be sure to tell them who made this happen. Thank you for believing in me, sir.”
Geoff and Bartholomew looked confused. Elton Higginbotham had lost his grin. Duncan watched Ember appraisingly. When the Viceroy followed Ember’s lead and stood up, the others did, too.
