“That’s a pretty strange compliment,” Rainey said.
“Right,” Mirrell said. “Anyhow, I think our priority needs to be Darreck and Tricky working this kids case. Maybe that starts with the HTC Imports dockside warehouse, or not, I don’t know . . .”
“Nah, that’s nothing,” Kellman said quickly.
“What’s HTC?” Rainey asked.
“Some import and export company,” Mirrell said. “They got a warehouse on the north side, on the West Hetrick Docks in Trelan. That was where things centered on the map after Kellman did what you suggested.”
“West Hetrick?” Rainey repeated, looking stunned.
“It probably shouldn’t be dismissed out of hand,” Minox said. His results from the analysis had showed him the same area, but he hadn’t researched the specific businesses there. “If it’s a lead, you should pursue it.”
“I’m just saying, I probably just rutted up reading the map and doing what you suggested,” Kellman said. “But, yeah, Tricky, we’ll . . . we’ll get on that in the morning. Though I might not be worth a blazes staying here all night. You all right, Trick?”
Rainey shook out of the reverie she was in. “Yes, of course. Just a lot to take in today.”
“Put Iorrett and his boys on watch duty, and bunk out in the back room,” Mirrell said to Kellman. “Tell them to wake you only if there’s an issue you need to handle. Saints, we’re all going to have to do this for the next month. I should get home to the wife while I still can. You both as well.” He pointed to Minox and Rainey. “Do like the captain said. In the morning, we’ll get things in order here.” He slapped Kellman on the shoulder. “Night, Darreck.”
Minox watched Inspector Mirrell walk off, fascinated by his behavior. The man had done his best to undermine him ever since Minox had earned his vest, and now that he had succeeded, it seemed his guilt was driving him toward camaraderie. And that convivial behavior also spilled over to Rainey. If that made Minox’s exile to the archives somewhat tolerable, he’d take it.
“Right,” Rainey said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get him home safe, hmm?” This was directed to Corrie.
“I’m going to pour several beers down his throat, so help me,” she said.
Minox was about to object, but for once, Corrie’s idea sounded like it had merit. He nodded to Rainey. “Have a good night. My best to you and your family.”
* * *
Satrine left the stationhouse, her head swirling. Too much had happened today, and she needed clarity. West Hetrick Docks on the north side. Where Loren was found. Just hearing the name spooked her. Saints, she could hardly believe that the fight in the Kemper Street Kicker tenement was this morning. Of course, the boot digging slightly into the side of her foot was a stern reminder of that.
She was going to need new boots. The salary bump to Inspector Second Class would help with that. But even that was strange. Captain Cinellan was stewing on something beyond what she obviously knew about, and between the marshals and Miss Kendra Morad, he snapped and took action. She wasn’t sure what else was troubling the captain, exactly, but she needed to get her head around it before too long. She could see it in Welling’s eyes, he was probably thinking the same thing.
“Bastards,” she said out loud to no one in particular. She wasn’t even sure who she meant. But she knew it wasn’t right, what happened to Welling today. She’d cope with being partnered with Kellman for now—he was decent enough, for being such a clod—but she wanted to have Welling at her side again as soon as she could.
And then those words of Pra Yikenj hit her again. You’re working with a traitor.
She shook it away. Yikenj didn’t know what she was talking about, just trying to rattle Satrine.
Then Enbrain’s fears from last night came at her. There were traitors in the Constabulary, he was certain, or at least corruption, beyond the petty grift of places like Aventil Stationhouse. Was that her problem? Had that taken Loren from her? She had no idea.
Taken from her, at the West Hetrick Docks.
She stopped walking and looked up. Saint Limarre’s Church. Instinct had brought her here, knowing she needed wisdom. Or at least a friend.
She went into the church, dropping a pence at the feet of the statue of Saint Limarre. Evening services were just ending, with the preacher giving a final prayer to the small crowd, with Sister Alana and one of the other cloistresses of the Blue attending him at the altar.
As the parishioners shuffled out, other cloistresses helped guide them out and tidied up the pews. The young blonde girl—Sister Myriem?—walked past Satrine and stopped, turning.
“Hello, Inspector,” she said, her voice almost a song. “You missed the service.”
“The duties of work,” Satrine said.
“Is that why your boots don’t match?” Sister Myriem asked, keeping her eyes locked on Satrine’s.
Satrine stepped back a bit. “I was hoping for a word with Sister Alana.”
Myriem glanced to the altar, where Alana was engaged with the reverend on some issue. “She seems engaged, but I’ll get her for you.” She moved closer to Satrine. “I feel I owe you, Inspector. I ruined your tea and pastries yesterday morning.”
“It’s not a problem,” Satrine said.
“Even still,” Sister Myriem said, reaching under her robe and producing a paper bag. “I have a pastry here, and I’d like to give it to you.”
“That . . . that isn’t necessary,” Satrine said, but Sister Myriem pushed it into her hands.
“I went across town to get that, Inspector,” she said with quiet intensity. “And I really think you should take it.”
Satrine put the bag in her coat pocket rather than argue. Myriem smiled brightly, and went over to the altar and Sister Alana. Alana noticed Satrine from across the church, and with a quick word to the reverend, came over.
“She spooked you, didn’t she?” Alana asked. She glanced over to the altar, where Sister Myriem was arguing with the reverend over something. “Well, what would we be if we didn’t take in broken girls? Where would I be?”
“Maybe I missed my calling,” Satrine said.
“Oh, no,” Alana said. “I think . . . I don’t think the saints needed you here in the blue. You’re doing your own good work.”
“Am I?” Satrine asked. “Sometimes I wonder.”
Alana touched her face. “You’ve been in a scrap today. I bet that did some good.”
“In theory we busted up an Aventil gang. But another will take that territory, or one will splinter.”
Alana gave her a hard look, one that said so much with no words—mainly that she wasn’t going to take any sewage from Satrine.
“Welling is busted to his desk, the King’s Marshals are on top of us, we completely rolled up the Gearbox investigation—sorry—”
“It’s fine.”
“And I’m going to have to partner with Kellman.”
“I thought you said Kellman was all right.”
“Well, he’s better than Mirrell—who is now going to be chief of inspection for the GIU.”
“Is that bad?”
“Probably, but . . .” She couldn’t put the feelings to words.
Alana led her over to the pews and sat her down. “So what do you need, Satrine?”
“A week on the Yinaran coast?” Satrine said. She sighed. “Something my mother used to say, I don’t know why. I don’t think she’d ever been to Yinara. I’m not sure if she had ever left Maradaine, until . . . well . . .” She didn’t feel like saying it.
“Until she left you.” Alana shrugged. “I believe it’s best to just say what things are.”
“You know, for all I know, she went two blocks away.” Satrine sighed. “I mean, I don’t even know why. I presume there was a new man who didn’t want to deal with a street kid daughter, and she . . . I don’t even want to talk ab
out it. I’d rather actually talk about a week on the Yinaran coast, you know. Supposedly Kellman and I are going to check out a dockside warehouse tomorrow. Maybe I can jump on a boat and . . .”
She stopped. What was the name of that importing company? She had been so focused on the West Hetrick part, she hadn’t even thought about the company.
“You wouldn’t do that to your daughters—”
“Shush, Lannie,” Satrine said. “HTC Imports?”
“What’s that?” Alana asked.
“I’m not even sure,” Satrine said, as ideas crashed together in her head.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Alana said. “Your daughters and your husband—”
She remembered Loren, last night, so agitated when she mentioned the Saint Day. Yelling “Say day sha mah” over and over. And he had been attacked—found—on the docks on a Saint Day. West Hetrick Docks, in Trelan. The same set of docks as for HTC Imports.
“It was a Saint Day,” she said. “And most official stuff shuts down. But he was still investigating something. . . .”
“Who? Minox?”
“No, my husband,” Satrine said. “Was he investigating a shipment on the holiday?”
“You’re not making sense.”
This must be what it feels like to be Welling. “That’s what Loren was trying to tell me. He was saying ‘Saint Day shipment’! And HTC must—”
HTC. Suddenly it was clear.
Satrine got to her feet. It was a crazy idea, probably nothing, but maybe it was everything. Almost everything. “Maybe just a coincidence, but I need to find Minox and . . . I don’t even know.” She kissed Alana on the cheek. “Thank you!”
She ran out of the church, barely hearing Alana’s bewildered, “You’re welcome,” before reaching the door.
She would tell Welling. If anyone would believe—would understand—this crazy idea, it would be him.
Chapter 22
CORRIE WHISTLED DOWN a cab and pulled Minox into it. He wasn’t arguing, or talking at all. The ride up home, he quietly pulled out his pipe, packed the bowl with his Fuergan tobacco, and smoked it in silence. As they reached the house, he was already on a second bowl.
“Come on, you rutting fool,” she said as she brought him up to the house. No one was at the front stoop tonight, but it was already dinnertime. Corrie didn’t know how she had lost track of time like that. She had barely eaten all rutting day.
“Maybe I should just go upstairs,” Minox said, puffing on his pipe. “Finish this outside and just go up.”
“Nothing blazing doing,” she said, grabbing his chin. “Look at me, hmm? You’re gonna get through this, hear? And you’re going to do it because every rutting one of us in this house is going to have your back, starting with me.”
“Every one? Even Oren?”
“To blazes with Oren if he gives you guff. He knows I’ll knock him on his ass, and I will.”
“I know you will, Corr,” he said. He took another puff and looked up at the sky. “I know . . . I know I have a hard time saying, you know, things that matter.”
“Like blazes you do,” she said. Minox was the most honest person she knew.
“No, I mean . . . I mean . . .” He looked like he was struggling with the words.
“You don’t have to rutting say it, you fool.”
“I do,” he said. “I sometimes have doubts. In myself, in the Constabulary on the whole, but . . .”
“Hey, hey,” Corrie said. “I get it, I do. Especially with Iorrett and the other pisswhistlers in the squad with me.”
“But never you,” he blurted out. “You’ve always been a beacon for me, Corr, and I’m so proud to call you my sister.”
Corrie felt tears threaten to burst forth, but she forced them down. “Oh, saints, big brother. You can’t do that to me, you know?” She wiped away any rebellious tears that might have escaped. She resisted the urge to embrace him. Even now, he wouldn’t like that, she knew. “And Pop would be proud of you, you know?”
“I hope so,” he said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then snuffed out his pipe instead. “We should get inside.”
Just about everyone was at the table, including Jace, who was almost never home by dinnertime.
“There she is!” Jace shouted. “You all should have seen it. Arrows pouring down from above, and she comes riding in like it’s nothing—”
“Hush up,” Corrie said. “Ain’t nobody needs to hear about that sewage.”
Jace paid her no mind. “Her horse gets shot out under her, and she just rolls off, and then this Tarian girl. And I mean, this girl—Ma, Aunties, forgive me, but—this girl was like a saint come back down.”
“I needn’t hear you blaspheme,” Zura said.
“Hey, enough,” Corrie said. “Look, I’m sure you heard some of this from Ny—” She looked about the table. No Nyla. “Nyla ain’t here yet?”
“She’s not with you two?” Uncle Cole asked.
“She left before us,” Minox said. “With Joshea. She was . . . there was an incident at the stationhouse, and she was—”
“Was she hurt?” Aunt Emma asked, getting to her feet.
“Shook, but she’s fine,” Corrie said quickly. “Like we said, Joshea walked her home. Maybe they stopped for a tea or something.”
“She’s with Josh?” Aunt Emma asked, cooling down. She even smiled a hint. “Well, then I’m sure that’s fine.”
“So what happened?” Davis asked.
“A prisoner escaped,” Minox said quietly. “My fault. And he tried to hold Nyla hostage. She got free, but . . . he slipped away.”
The table went silent, everyone glancing uncomfortably at each other.
“Well,” Oren said eventually. “I’m sure it wasn’t really your fault.” He said it in such a way, it didn’t really sound like he believed it.
“It was,” Minox said. “But that hardly matters. I’ve been reassigned to desk duty, pending further study and investigation of my capabilities.”
“Your capabilities?” Uncle Timmothen asked. “I’ve seen your file, you’ve got a blazes of a record. How much more capable could you be?”
“That’s not what I mean,” Minox said quietly. “I mean my other abilities.”
“He means magic,” Corrie said sharply. “They’re afraid of his magic, just like half of you rutting are.”
“Corrianna!” Mama snapped.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Corrie, it’s fine,” Minox said, sitting at an empty chair. “I am quite famished.”
“I’ve got you,” Mama said, getting a plate for him.
“Same for me,” Corrie said, going over to the icebox. She grabbed a couple bottles of Deeringhill and brought them over to Minox.
“I don’t know if I should—” Minox started.
“Sewage,” Corrie said. “Drink up.”
He took the Deeringhill and sipped gently. Corrie popped open her own and sat next to him. As Mama brought over plates of sausages and bread for them, there was a knock at the door. Jace hopped up and ran to it.
“So, what are you going to do?” Edard asked.
“Work in the archives for a hundred days, while they figure this out,” Minox said, holding up his gloved hand. “Because I, apparently, defy explanation or understanding.” He took another long drink from his beer.
“A hundred days?” Uncle Timmothen asked. “That’s just—I’m going to file a protest. I’m going to—”
“Please don’t,” Minox said, eating his bread. “All it will do—”
“Minox?” Jace said from the archway between the dining room and the sitting room. “Someone’s here for you.”
Tricky Rainey came into view, looking like she had run here from the stationhouse. “I’m terribly sorry to disrupt your dinner,” she s
aid. “But I needed to speak to Minox.”
“Who’s this?” Mama asked. Everyone—save Jace—looked at her like she was a viper. Maybe it was a good thing Nyla wasn’t back yet.
“Sorry,” Tricky said. “Satrine Rainey. Inspector. I’m Minox’s partner.”
“You heard the captain, Inspector Rainey,” Minox said. “I’m not your partner anymore.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But I think—”
“Miss,” Uncle Timmothen said sharply. “Maybe your stationhouse enjoys your presence, but in this house, we don’t cater to cheats.”
“Hey, hey!” Jace shot back. “You shouldn’t—”
“You shouldn’t give me lip, boy!”
“This lady did things you wouldn’t—”
“I know what she did!”
Suddenly everyone was shouting and yelling, pointing at Tricky and saying things that even Corrie wouldn’t say at the dinner table.
Enough of this sewage.
Corrie pulled her whistle out of her pocket and blasted it until everyone shut the blazes up.
“Listen up, you all,” she said, putting her whistle on the table. “Tricky has enough going on that she wouldn’t come all the way out here unless it was really blazing important. And if it is, I want to rutting hear it.”
Minox looked up, the spark in his eyes glowing just a bit. “As would I. So what is it, Inspector?”
She smiled. “I think I’ve resolved something.”
With just that, the spark in Minox’s eyes lit.
* * *
Satrine felt the combined heat of over a dozen pairs of Welling eyes boring into her. She knew that she had walked into a house that was far more aligned with Nyla than Minox, but she wasn’t quite ready for the raw loathing coming off some of them.
Some, but not all of them. Corrie was giving her a slight smirk of approval, like she expected Satrine to give fire and blazes to anyone who crossed her. And Jace looked like he was going to brawl any and all of his cousins who gave Satrine any lip.
“Minox, why don’t you and Missus Rainey go into the sitting room,” one of the older women said. Probably Minox’s mother, since she had some clearly Racquin features, the same sort of nose that Minox and Corrie both sported. “I’ll bring out some tea.”
A Parliament of Bodies Page 29