“We do what we have to,” Mirrell said. “That’s all this has been.” He looked proud of himself, though Kellman seemed a bit ashamed.
“Shall we proceed?” Miss Morad asked. “I only have you for the morning, after all.” She went to the back stairs, Mister Olivant right behind her.
“You, stay,” Rainey said to Hilsom. “I need you right now.”
“You shouldn’t speak to me in such a tone, Inspector.”
“Or you won’t do your job?” she fired back. She clapped Minox on the shoulder—a rare physical display of solidarity from her. “Paperwork and arrests. Easy walk. I’ll see you at midday.”
Minox headed to the back stairs, and noticed for a moment his sister looked hesitant. He knew her well enough to know why.
“Corrie,” he said, “surely Inspector Rainey will need a Special Response Squad in Aventil.”
“I don’t rutting need to—”
“Please,” Minox said. “After all, someone ought to see Jace on his first day with brass on.”
Corrie gave him a bright smile. “Don’t let the bastards get you.”
“Never.”
He followed after Miss Morad, hoping he could muster as much confidence for today’s Inquiry as he had just pretended to have.
Chapter 14
THE PATH TO Aventil Stationhouse took Satrine and her company along Lower Bridge, the street that defined the border between Aventil and the far calmer Colton neighborhood—a route that passed some of the corners where the Toothless Dogs and the Kemper Street Kickers were having their war.
Some of the buildings were just on fire. Not engulfed in flame, but slowly burning, wisps of smoke curling off their rooftops. Windows broken, doors ripped off their hinges. Shoeless kids running in the middle of the cobblestones—there were almost no carriages or horses or even mulecarts here. Shops looked deserted. A pair of old men sat on a stoop, one of them with an active head wound.
“Saints above,” Jerinne said as they passed by. “What is happening here?”
“You don’t cross the river much, do you, girl?” Corrie asked. She was in riot gear, with three of the squad trainees. The captain gave her only four patrolmen. He wasn’t exactly cooperative, but his mind was on Minox. He didn’t even give them horses, making them walk to Aventil. Satrine understood, since her mind was on Minox as well. But taking care of old business in Aventil was a good distraction.
Protector Hilsom hadn’t been too cooperative either, grousing about writing Writs of Entry and Search off Promised Testimony. He had admitted that Lieutenant Benvin had put together a good case, cut a deal with someone connected to the Kickers to testify against the gang, and knew that they had stolen goods in a series of apartments on Kemper Street. Most protectors couldn’t write a writ off Promised Testimony, but Hilsom, as the protector for the GIU, had more latitude in his authority, though he’d have to explain himself to the court.
But all the Aventil sticks had to do now was kick down doors and make arrests, since Satrine was bringing the writ.
“It’s a territory war between two of the Aventil gangs,” Satrine said. “The Toothless Dogs on the west, and the Kickers on the east. After we help Benvin’s squad with arrests, the Kickers will be done. Which means this bit of war will be over.”
“How can they have a war over a few run-down blocks of street?”
“That’s what there is in Aventil,” Satrine said. “Nothing but pubs and pride.”
“There’s, what, six gangs in this rutting neighborhood?” Corrie asked.
“Seven,” said Bankly, one of her patrolmen.
“Were seven, then six, now seven again,” said Ebber, another patrolman.
“You keep track of that?” Corrie asked.
“Ebber lives here,” Jints—the third patrolman—said.
“That going to be a problem, Ebber?” Satrine asked. If he lived here, then he might be tied indirectly to one of the gangs.
“We’re hitting the Kickers, supposedly?” he asked. “Then, no. I got—” He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I got some kin in the Orphans. Nothing too close, but kin nonetheless.”
“Just follow orders.”
Jerinne shook her head, confused. “These Aventil gangs, are they really that organized? Formal?”
“It’s a strange neighborhood,” Satrine said. “Other neighborhoods, east and north of here, their underworld is usually all controlled by one or two bosses. Or you go out farther west, in Seleth or Carroll Creek, there’s just a mess of crews, hardly any organization at all. Aventil hits an odd balance—organization with no single overboss.”
“And you all—I mean the Constabulary—you don’t just arrest them all?”
“It’s not that easy,” Satrine said. They had reached the stationhouse. Aventil Stationhouse was a run-down corner whitestone, nothing like the old fortress that the Inemar house had been constructed from. Aventil was a younger neighborhood than Inemar, but all the neighborhoods were younger than Inemar. There were probably parts of Inemar that were old when Oscana started the Rebellion against the Kieran Empire twelve centuries ago.
Satrine didn’t remember all the details of the Aventil gang territories—not that it mattered, since the streets they controlled changed every day—but the stationhouse was near where the Toothless Dogs and Hallaran’s Boys clashed. Neither gang tried anything right next to the stationhouse, so it was more of a no man’s land. Or Constabulary land, at the very least.
“Come on,” she told Jerinne. “Lieutenant Benvin is probably waiting.”
Satrine waved her way past the front desk clerk, going up to Benvin’s squad room. It would probably irritate half the sticks in this house, but given how lazy or useless any of the folks outside of Benvin’s squad were, Satrine couldn’t care less.
Lieutenant Benvin was in his squad room, going over a report with his people: Sergeant Tripper, Wheth, Pollit, Saitle, and the newly badged Jace Welling.
“Left, she’s here,” Jace said.
“Lieutenant,” Satrine said. “I’ve brought you papers and muscle.”
“And I need both,” Lieutenant Benvin said, turning toward her. “Right now we—saints, is she a Tarian?”
“Yes,” Satrine said.
“Initiate,” Jerinne said. “Inspector Rainey said I should see this part of the city.”
Jace and Saitle almost fell over each other approaching Jerinne.
“Hi, Jace. Jace Welling.”
“Saitle. Hesh Saitle.”
“Fire it down, boys,” Corrie said. “She could probably knock both of you on your ass without even trying.”
Lieutenant Benvin came over and shook Satrine’s hand. “I appreciate this, Inspector. Especially after—”
“No need,” Satrine said. “We’re all on the same side.”
“Yeah, supposedly,” Benvin said. “Here’s the deal. We have the Kemper Street Kickers ready to wrap up. Names of the bosses, places they use as flops and hole-ups, and Miss Linnia over there ready to give us the full testimony we need to tie a bow on it all.”
Satrine noticed Miss Linnia—she looked like any street rat girl would look after twenty years hustling for a gang. Drawn and worn out. Linnia was probably ten years younger than Satrine, but looked older.
“So what’s the problem?”
“Problem is, someone in this house must be taking grift from the Kickers, because they got word and took steps. Now we’ve got nothing.”
“Nothing?” Satrine said. “I’ve got writs a plenty. Let’s clap some iron and bring it in.”
“Nuh-uh,” Linnia said.
“Why nuh-uh?”
“Because they got my boy, stick,” Linnia said. “They’ll carve a new smile on his neck if I give testimony now.”
Now it clicked. She wouldn’t talk unless the boy was safe, and the writs were based
on her Promised Testimony. Just by implying she might not testify, their enforceability would fall apart, and the whole case would crumble.
“So you’re saying we have a rescue mission,” Jerinne said.
All eyes went to her.
“I mean, that’s what we do, right? Get the boy, then when he’s safe, she can testify and it’s fine, right?”
Linnia looked about at the constables surrounding her, and then her eyes locked onto Satrine. “He’s gotta be safe, hear? Then I’ll do whatever. But you gotta get him, and Musky isn’t going to let him go. He’ll probably kill him if there’s even trouble.”
“Musky, that’s one of the bosses on our writs, right?” Pollit asked. He went over to the slateboards. “We’ve got him making a den in this tenement on Firebolt and Hedge.”
“Up on the fourth floor,” Linnia said.
“Well then,” Satrine said. “It’s real simple. I’m an inspector in the GIU with a writ. I’ll go in there, get that boy out. And then we lock the rest down.”
“Just walk in there?” Linnia asked. “You think it’s going to be that easy?”
“Oh, no,” Satrine said. “But it’s what I’m going to do.”
* * *
“There are several things that should be covered by this Inquiry,” Miss Morad said from her place at the table. Minox noted an even greater formality to today’s setting, as if yesterday was just a preliminary session to whet Miss Morad’s appetite for the proper feast. Now there was no gallery hiding behind the glass. At the table with her were Captain Cinellan, Protector Hilsom, and Quentin Olivant. Two clerks—one from the stationhouse and one from the Protector’s Office—took notes on the proceedings. Inspector Mirrell was sitting off to one side, likely to be called to give testimony when Miss Morad was ready for him.
Inspector Kellman was in the hallway. He had been given the task of keeping the other potential witnesses waiting for when they were to be called. Minox wondered why that hadn’t been assigned to a patrolman or sergeant. He would have thought that Iorrett would have been eager for such a duty. Minox mostly wondered what was being done about Mirrell and Kellman’s cases while this Inquiry was going on. He couldn’t believe that this would take priority over investigating the missing children.
Mister Cheever came in, this time with his valise and papers in good order. Possibly because Nyla was right with him, carrying a handful of notebooks and writing supplies.
“I see you’ve begun,” Cheever said as he took his seat next to Minox.
“Had you been more punctual, you would have been here for the start,” Miss Morad said.
“I do apologize,” he said. “I was arranging for a clerk of my own to transcribe these proceedings.”
“Miss Pyle, is that what you’re doing?” Captain Cinellan asked.
“It’s what Mister Cheever needs,” Nyla said. “The Justice Advocate Office couldn’t spare anyone for him.”
“Then who’s on the desk on the inspectors’ floor?”
“It’s covered,” she said. “If you feel you need to dock me the day’s wages, Captain, I understand.”
Captain Cinellan sputtered. “That isn’t—Miss Pyle, you under—I didn’t—”
“Can we continue, Captain?” Miss Morad asked.
“Please,” Cinellan said.
“Inspector Henfir Mirrell, please rise.”
Mirrell stood, smoothing his inspector’s vest as he rose.
“Are you ready to give testimony to the events that caused you to insist on initiating this Inquiry?”
“I am, ma’am,” Mirrell said. On her nod, he started. “On the morning of the fifteenth of Erescan, I was called to Ironheart Ward in response to a hostage incident involving people who had been brought in from the riot in the Little East the night before. Specifically Assan Jabiudal and his associates. They had taken control of one of the ward rooms, holding thirteen patients and members of the ward staff.”
“Taken control how?”
“I do not have firsthand knowledge of the details, but I understand they had knives and surgical instruments as improvised weapons. There were four people holding the room, so they specifically held the nurses at knifepoint to keep the others at bay.”
“And that’s important, why?”
“Because some of the patients were also constables, including then patrolwoman Corrie Welling.”
“The sister of Inspector Welling?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“A question,” Mister Cheever said. “You said you did not have firsthand knowledge.”
“I have the reports of the other officers who were on site before my arrival. The reports are largely in agreement about the events.”
“Are you disputing his testimony of these events, Mister Cheever?” Miss Morad asked.
“Establishing the particulars, Miss Morad. And performing my function. I will challenge his testimony as I see fit. Proceed.”
Mirrell looked annoyed. “When I arrived, Inspector Welling had already taken authority over the event. He was in the midst of capitulating to one of the demands when the incident in question occurred.”
“Objection,” Cheever said. “‘Capitulating’ is a loaded word choice.”
“It’s the word I choose,” Mirrell said.
“Describe the incident,” Miss Morad said. “In your own words.”
Minox recognized that unnecessary addition was solely meant to irritate Mister Cheever. From the look on Miss Morad’s face, she was quite amused by that.
“When I arrived, Jin—Inspector Welling was in the room with the hostages, the hostage takers, and Mister Brondar.”
“Who is Mister Brondar?”
“He’s a civilian,” Mirrell said. “I’m not sure why he was there.”
“So you admit to not being versed in the particulars of the situation?” Mister Cheever asked.
“I’m saying I don’t understand why Welling chose to involve him,” Mirrell said.
“Ah!” Cheever said, taking one of the files out of his portfolio. “That’s very interesting. You admit that your other testimony is based on the reports of the officers on scene, and not your own firsthand knowledge. By saying you don’t know, you invalidate that claim!”
“How so?” This came from Hilsom.
“Because I have here the reports from patrolmen Caggs, Unster, and Mascien. They make clear in their reports that Mister Brondar—a retired soldier—volunteered to assist so none of the hospital staff would have to be put in harm’s way.”
“What’s your damn point?” Mirrell asked.
“My point,” Mister Cheever said, “is that Inspector Mirrell’s testimony is based entirely on secondhand appraisal of reports that he hasn’t even properly absorbed, or is intentionally misrepresenting. We would never accept such testimony in the court of law, and we should maintain the same standard here.”
Hilsom nodded. “I’m inclined to agree, Miss Morad.”
“Constrain your testimony to the things you saw, Inspector,” Miss Morad said.
“Well, I saw a thunderstorm explode in the room,” Mirrell said. “Welling was the apparent source of it. He filled the room with dark clouds, lightning. They’re the only words I have to describe it.”
“And you’re certain this came from Inspector Welling?” This was Mister Olivant.
“Look, I’m just a stick who’s worked hard and made inspector,” Mirrell said. “I don’t know about magic or how it works, save that I know Welling here has it. I know he blasted that room with lightning, knocking out just about everyone in it, and then burned a hole in the floor and ran off through it.”
“Which ended the incident,” Cheever said. “The hostages were all safe, the malefactors arrested, yes? Thanks to Inspector Welling.”
Mirrell shook his head. “As far as I saw, he caused a mess
of destruction and ran away from it, not bothering to check if the situation was resolved. Which is, frankly, just as much menace as Jabiudal and his people were.”
“What did you do, then?” Miss Morad asked.
“I called an All-Eyes to find Inspector Welling and we swept through the neighborhood to find him.”
“And where did you find him?” Miss Morad continued.
“At his home.”
“And his demeanor there?”
“Calm, attentive. He insisted we meet with Inspector Rainey to solve the murder of the Fuergan dignitary.”
“And did he?” Cheever asked.
“Mister Cheever!” Miss Morad said. “I have given you a fair amount of latitude, but this is my hearing, and it goes by the rules I set, which are not the same as a court of law.”
Cheever pulled a small book out of his case. “You do not set the rules of this hearing; there is a set procedure which echoes that of a trial. And in such a case it is my sworn duty to root out any corruption and dishonesty that would send the citizen I represent to an unfair ruling. Answer the question, Inspector!”
Mirrell hesitated. “Between him and Inspector Rainey, they got a confession and made an arrest.”
“Let me get something clear,” Cheever said. “You didn’t see Inspector Welling do anything, but you believe his magical ability ended the conflict with Jabiudal, and then he needed to recover, and you found him home and in his full senses. As a result, you turned out a massive manhunt, drawing resources and manpower away from a massive crisis in the Little East.”
“Mister Cheever, I would remind you—” Miss Morad started.
“No, Miss Morad, no,” Cheever said, getting to his feet. “The entire basis of this Inquiry is the complaint filed by Inspector Mirrell, who, in my opinion, was acting in a manner unfit for an inspector. If an inspector brought an investigation to arrest and trial based on such spurious evidence, the case would be thrown out of court, and the inspector would be brought up on charges! It is only due to Inspector Welling’s intense levels of polite calm that an Inquiry wasn’t called on Mirrell. I think he deserves it.”
A Parliament of Bodies Page 20