A Parliament of Bodies

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “It has been a bit,” he said. “There’s something else, though?”

  “Welling,” she said darkly. “He’s a mage in the Constabulary.”

  “Right,” Dayne said. “Thanks the saints. He was able to hold the machine still long enough to rescue the people we could.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “You know it’s not allowed, don’t you?”

  “Not allowed?” That didn’t make any sense.

  “By the Circles. None of them would allow a member to be a constable.”

  “That bothers you?” Dayne asked. He bit into the crackle fish—which was a bit greasy for his taste, but he wasn’t going to gripe to Lin for bringing it to him. “I would hardly think you would care about that.”

  “Personally?” She shrugged. “The saints know that I wouldn’t care about Circles if I didn’t have to. If I could have dropped out of school with Hemmit and ignored the whole thing, I would have. But I didn’t have the luxury.”

  Still eating, Dayne commented, “I didn’t think your Circle exactly kept tabs on you or anything and prevented you from much of anything.”

  “Red Wolf Circle tends to give a fair amount of latitude, even cooperating with Intelligence,” she said. “But not Constabulary. Never Constabulary.”

  Dayne didn’t even want to pretend he understood that.

  “So he doesn’t have a Circle. So?”

  “I’m a pretty middling mage,” she said. “Beyond dazzles of light and sound—” She emphasized this by forming several colored spirals of spark and fire from her fingertips.

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “I’m far more an artist who uses magic than a proper mage,” she said. “But I did get pretty good at reading magic in school, feeling its taste. And I can tell you Inspector Welling tastes like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s a strange sentence,” Dayne said, offering her some of the crisp in his bundle. She took it happily.

  “Best I can describe. Look, he seems like a good sort, but he might be dangerous. In ways he doesn’t even understand, because he never learned.”

  “You could teach him,” Dayne said.

  “Not my forte,” she said. “I’m just saying, be aware, be careful. That’s all.”

  “That’s all I ever do,” Dayne said.

  She looked over at Niall. “You think Sholiar is going to come for him?”

  “I have no idea what Sholiar is going to do,” Dayne said. “I know one thing, though, and that’s that Sholiar wanted this man dead, and he isn’t. If Sholiar comes for him, I want to be ready, with shield and sword.”

  She got to her feet. “I’ll not be a distraction, then,” she said warmly. “Should we check on you in the morning?”

  “I’ll be here,” Dayne said.

  She winked at him and went down the hall.

  Dayne would be here, until Sholiar made another move. It was coming, that much was certain. Dayne needed to be ready for it, whatever it might be.

  Chapter 12

  SATRINE WAS AMAZED that dinner remained pleasant. Commissioner Enbrain charmed the girls and Missus Abernand, and the conversation stayed on appropriate, engaging topics that had nothing to do with the horrors faced today. The girls laughed, and for a few moments, Satrine let herself enjoy it. A small slice of what normal was supposed to look like.

  Caribet went to bed, Missus Abernand cleaned up the dishes and went up to her own apartment, and Rian went out to a friend’s, supposedly to study. Satrine had suspicions about that, but decided it was well past time for her to trust Rian on her own out there. A little.

  Satrine poured the last of the wine into two glasses. “So what haven’t you told me, Wendt?”

  He stood up. “You know I won my reelection by a hair, right?”

  “I had read that,” she said. The official tally had been that Enbrain had won by fewer than two hundred votes. Satrine feared that he hadn’t won fairly. Major Grieson had grilled Satrine on her opinion of the commissioner, and she suspected that he and his people in Druth Intelligence had influenced the election in Enbrain’s favor, based on her testimony to his character. “You think that’s connected?”

  “I think that I have enemies, in and out of the Constabulary. Commandant Undenway was pissed out of his eyes over losing to me. And he has a lot of north side captains loyal to him.”

  She needed to clarify her question. “Do you think that’s connected to the atrocities that happened today? Why Niall was a victim?”

  “I want to know what you think, Satrine,” Enbrain said. “Saints, I can barely think straight right now, but I know one thing. Putting the Grand Inspection Unit in your stationhouse—south of the river, away from the halls of power, and with you and Welling in it—that was the smartest thing I’ve done all year.”

  “And to think you didn’t want me as an inspector,” Satrine said, drinking her wine.

  “My mistake. Absolutely. Now that I’ve seen what you’re capable of—especially you and Welling together—I admit that I was just wrong about that.”

  “I appreciate that,” Satrine said. “Now if you could swing a raise?”

  He nodded. “I know you’re making a joke right now—”

  “Not really,” Satrine said. “We’re barely keeping our chin above the river here.”

  “That isn’t really something I handle, Satrine,” he snapped. He paced for a moment, fuming, and then took a breath. “Sorry. I wish I could do more, but the commandants are all doing whatever they can to choke my authority, especially in terms of the budget. Undenway and his people do not like the GIU, and would love to see it fail. But I’m trying to empower Brace to do more. He—all of you—need to be something that can keep the rest of the force in check.”

  “All right,” Satrine said. “How do you think that ties to the events in the Parliament?”

  “I’m not sure, and maybe I’m just a crazy old man. I just . . . and I know this is egotistical, but it feels like this was an attack on me. The rest, I don’t know, just so much theater.”

  Satrine sighed. The worst part about this was that he could be right. “This morning, before we even knew about the Parliament, Welling had a theory. Something of a reach, but not without grounding.”

  Enbrain took his seat. “What sort of theory?”

  “The first seven victims were all seemingly random. No connection to each other, no obvious pattern. Different jobs, different ages, nothing in common.”

  “You’re talking about the Gearbox Murders that led up to this. Clearly just the overture before his big performance.”

  “Welling thought that was also a message. The initials of the victims’ names spelled out ‘Enbrain failure.’”

  Commissioner Enbrain just stared at her for a moment. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m not saying it’s necessarily significant, but . . . it is a fact. It might be a coincidence, or—”

  “No, not possibly a coincidence,” Enbrain said. He drank his entire glass of wine in one gulp. “Satrine, there is—” He hesitated, as if he didn’t quite have the courage to say what he needed to. “There is a sickness within the Constabulary in this city.”

  “There’s always been corruption, sir. It’s just . . . that’s the nature of the work.”

  “Not just corruption, though that’s part of it. A symptom. But something greater, deeper, and I don’t even know where it starts or ends.”

  “And this is connected . . . how?”

  “Let me ask you this, Satrine. Since I became commissioner, crime in the city is down. There are fewer murders, fewer robberies. Most people consider Inemar safe to walk through, and the north side neighborhoods as well. The city is safer, and that’s a fact.”

  “All right,” she said, not sure where he was going with that.

  “Despite that, people are dissatisfied
with the Constabulary—”

  “That will always happen, sir. No one likes us.”

  “But to look to Undenway and his cronies to fix it? Why them?”

  “I can’t answer that, sir,” she said. “I don’t know why—”

  “I’ll tell you who might be able to answer it,” he said. He pointed to her bedroom. “Loren. He’s one of the few people whom I trusted. I am certain he was not a part of this corruption. And that’s what he was investigating the night he—he—”

  “Are you serious, sir?” Why hadn’t he told her about this? “What, exactly, was he looking into?”

  “His investigation involved corruption in the Constabulary, tied to the City Protector’s Office, the Council of Aldermen, the Archduchy Sheriffs, the King’s Marshals . . . even further, maybe. But I don’t have any details.”

  “Why?”

  “We decided the best way to handle it was as a Brick File investigation.”

  Brick File. She had heard Loren use the term from time to time, and Welling had mentioned it a couple times as well—specifically with the Missing Children case. The idea was to keep all information on an investigation secret from one’s fellows, especially one’s superior—until you have the case ready for writs and arrests, when you can present the evidence in its entirety to the Protector. Mostly because if one was investigating one’s fellows, it was best to keep it quiet.

  “So how did that lead him to the docks?”

  “I don’t know. His case files vanished that same night.”

  Tears came fresh to Satrine’s eyes. “Why . . . why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I was angry. First at myself, and then at you when you pulled—when you got yourself into the Inemar house. And, frankly, I don’t know who I can trust. Except, maybe, the two inspectors who live in this house.”

  This was too much for Satrine to hear. “I . . . I don’t know what you expect me to do with this.”

  “Look, Satrine,” he said. “I know that my Constabulary has an infection. And with this today . . . maybe that goes even further than I imagined.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have enemies, working with Undenway. Maybe these enemies are also working with the Gearbox, or even the King’s Marshals! Who knows where this goes?”

  “You’re sounding like Welling,” she said.

  “Maybe he’s on to something.”

  “Sir,” Satrine said. “This is . . . this is more than I can handle.”

  Enbrain looked like he wanted to say more, but nodded. “Of course. I’m—I shouldn’t put so much on you. Not when you’ve already given so much.” He got up and went to the door.

  “We will get to the bottom of this, sir,” she said. “Just . . . I need . . . I need time.”

  “I don’t know how much we have, Satrine. But I’ll give you as much as I can.”

  He went out. Satrine latched the door—Rian had her key—and went to her bed. She was far too tired to do anything else.

  * * *

  After the anger from Miss Morad and her rutting sewage had drained off, Corrie came down and went out to the front stoop, and for the first time in months the night air was something resembling cool. Most of her cousins were sitting out here—save the youngest ones—surrounding a bucket with ice and bottles of Deeringhill beer at the base of the steps. Even Nyla was out here tonight, and she almost always turned in right after dinner if she didn’t have a caller.

  Ferah, still in the shirtsleeves of her Yellowshield uniform, pulled a beer out of the bucket and tossed it over to Corrie.

  “Appreciated,” Corrie said. “Blazes of a day, hmm?”

  “For you, surely,” Edard said. “We only got a taste of it.”

  “That’s just a bit, Ed. Today, we saw some real chop. Like I’ve never seen. And then I saw the prince.”

  “What, like a Rose Street Prince?” Edard asked.

  “No, the actual rutting Prince of Maradaine, Prince Escaraine. Right there, close to me as you are.”

  “Is he really that handsome?” Davis asked. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or actually asking.

  “Point is, I made a rutting fool of myself in front of him. And then there’s that woman.” Corrie looked back up to the house, the dinner table. Even though Miss Morad had left, Corrie could still feel her there. “Yeah, that woman—I . . . look. This morning I had to do something pretty rutting awful, thanks to her.”

  “You mean the ‘exercise’?” Nyla asked.

  “What’s this?” Edard asked.

  “They wanted to test Minox,” Nyla said. “So they set up this whole fake hostage situation to see what he would do.”

  “And I had to rutting look him in the eye and pretend it was real,” Corrie said. “Blazing awful.”

  Edard nodded, looking at the ground before he took another sip of beer. “You gotta do what you gotta sometimes.”

  “This whole thing of testing Minox is rutting sewage,” Corrie said. “We all know he’s the best damn inspector in the joint, and so what if he’s a mage?”

  Almost everyone cringed just a bit when she said that.

  “That a problem, Thommie? Davis?” Corrie said, moving over to them. “He’s a mage. We all know it, even if we never talk about it.”

  “Nah, course not,” Davis said weakly. “Minox has a lid on it.”

  “Do we really know that?” Colm asked.

  “What did you rutting ask?” Corrie shot back at him.

  “Hey, it’s a valid question,” Colm said. She was half on top of him, but he was holding his ground. “It’s gotta be asked. And I never shied away from talking about Evoy.” He pointed over to the barn. “When he started to unravel, you all put your heads down and I was the only one who said it was a rutting problem. And now he’s going mad in the barn.”

  “Nothing to be done about that,” Edard said. “Like with Old Fenner.”

  “And maybe like with Minox,” Colm said. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong about that, Corr.”

  “How about I just knock your teeth?” Corrie said.

  “He’s not wrong,” Ferah said. Corrie shot her a hot glare, but she stayed strong. “Hey, I fought for him in there, and I will anywhere, but let’s talk some truth. You didn’t see him that night. None of you did.”

  “It spooked you,” Nyla said. “I remember that.”

  “Didn’t just spook me. Spooked Evoy.” She pointed to Edard, Thomsen, and Davis. “Made your mom lock herself in the basement.”

  “He was sick,” Corrie said. “Poisoned.”

  “Magic poisoned. And his hand. I’ve seen all sorts of infections and maladies, Corrie, and I ain’t ever seen anything like his hand.”

  “So you’re all rutting traitors?” Corrie asked. “Ready to send him in the creek?”

  “No one is saying that, Corrie,” Nyla said. “You know damn well I’m going to fight for him.”

  “Unless Tricky is there.”

  “Don’t bring her into this.”

  “Are you still griping on his partner?” Colm asked.

  “She’s a liar and a rutting fraud,” Nyla said. Her voice was hot, and she almost never swore, at least not in front of Corrie.

  “Who’s a liar and fraud?” Jace, Corrie’s youngest brother, came strolling up the walkway, late as always. Came with being part of that special Loyal squad under his lieutenant, trying in vain to clean up that neighborhood. One night in that place, and Corrie had nearly been killed. And Jace had probably been nearly killed more times than he could count.

  “Tricky Rainey,” Corrie said. “According to Nyla.”

  “And half the Constabulary,” Edard said.

  “Nah, she’s aces,” Jace said, as if that settled it. “Someone give me a beer?”

  “Cadets don’t get b
eers,” Corrie said, as did most of her cousins in unison.

  “Good thing I’m not a cadet, then,” Jace said, opening his coat to show the brass plate on his chest. “You’re looking at Patrolman Jace Welling.”

  A whoop of cheer came out of Corrie’s throat, and everyone else joined in. She slammed her beer into her brother’s hand. “Then drink that up, stick,” she said.

  “He’s earned it,” Nyla said.

  Corrie didn’t disagree, even if the rest of the family was trying to make her collar smoke. Minox needed them all to have him, shoulder to shoulder, and they were being a bunch of rutting bastards.

  She shook the thought off. They were doing what they could, though it wasn’t much. And Nyla holding her grudge with Tricky, that wasn’t about Minox. Blazes, she even knew Nyla was trying to protect Minox from Tricky, in her own way. Even still, Minox needed more in his corner right now. That Kendra Morad was oily; Corrie could smell it. She was just going through the steps so she could find cause to pull Minox’s vest off. Corrie wasn’t going to have that, no way.

  But she needed help.

  Then she thought of exactly who should help her.

  “All right, enough,” she said, snatching the beer out of Jace’s hand. “You got patrol tomorrow.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Edard asked.

  “Right, right,” Corrie said. “I’m sacking out. See you all in the morning.”

  She went in, drinking the last drops of beer from Jace’s bottle.

  Nyla came in with her, following her up the stairs to their room.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d fight,” Nyla said. “Who do you think told the captain to get Cheever in there?”

  “Cheever?” Corrie shot back. She saw Nyla was hurt by that, and she softened her tone. “You’re rutting right, it’s something. I just wish this whole sewage wasn’t happening.”

  “Well, it is,” Nyla said. “So don’t knock on my plan if you haven’t got a better one.”

  Corrie nodded, getting ready for bed.