by Dave Dobson
She made several marks on her list of names. “You two are no longer to work independently. You’ll be part of a team, under Inspector Denault. I’ll assign Gueran and Clarice as well – they’ve just completed a project.”
Clarice. Warm thoughts filled my head. I might even have managed a goofy grin, but then I saw Boog grimace. He seemed to be focusing more on the Gueran side of things. Denault would be good – she was quiet but competent, respected and senior, and I’d worked with her as an apprentice during training on several cases.
Sophie’s voice interrupted my reverie. “What are you still doing here? Get out. Go find your damned cultist wizard – I don't care how hard it is.”
7
The Hunt
Our crack team of inspectors got off to a good start early the next morning. Clarice identified the window pattern in Boog’s sketch as being common in the more lavish houses of nobles and important persons found inside the keep wall. I wondered how she knew this. Neither Boog nor I were very familiar with that part of town, given our relatively impoverished childhoods. Gueran knew where all the tapestry vendors were. Of course he would. He probably had matched sets of tapestries and changed them every month. I’d never even remotely considered buying a tapestry, as I could barely afford the meager rent of the dormitory, and my decorating budget was, shall we say, strained. The proprietor of the third shop Gueran visited dimly remembered selling a green goat-covered tapestry to some noble or other a year back. He thought he remembered the delivery being on or near the end of High Street, which matched Clarice’s memory of the windows.
Armed with that information, Inspector Denault split us up. We dispersed into the neighborhoods around High Street to study any southward-facing windows we came across. When we reunited after an hour of searching, Boog reported a likely candidate, and we all accompanied him there. The window did seem like a good match to his sketch and to my memory of the scene.
The building was no mansion – just an unassuming two-story house tucked into a dead end on the inside of the keep’s curtain wall. The house had a low wall surrounding the property that ran back to join the much taller curtain wall behind. We spread out around the house and waited a half hour, watching the building, but there was no sign of activity. Gueran gallantly volunteered to burst in, blade at the ready, and (I think I’m getting this right) ‘cut down the foul witch where she stands.’ As if he could cut her down in some location where she wasn’t standing. Gueran was already starting to grate on me.
Instead, Denault sent me, reasoning that I was the sneakiest. I was of two minds about this. Being sent instead of Gueran felt very good, and I hoped Clarice had noticed this. On the other hand, barging blindly into the lair of an evil sorceress wasn’t sounding so lovely. I attempted a bit of a swagger as I headed out, but it set Boog to chuckling, so I quickly stopped. I hopped over the low wall and circled around to the rear door, peering through the rumpled glass panes in the small windows. I had thought to pick the lock, but it was broken, and the door swung open at my touch. I let myself in, quiet as the snow falls. There was no sound except the ticking of an expensive-looking pendulum clock over the fireplace. I drew my warding rod out of its case at my belt and activated it with my palm. I glanced into the living area and the kitchen, and then I took careful steps up the staircase, slow and soft.
It was there I found Novara. The grand battle I’d imagined in my head, where I yelled, dodged countless spells, and finally tagged her with my rod, wasn’t to be. The version where I was instantly reduced to a pile of ash also wasn’t to be, so I had no real complaints. Boog’s dream of subduing the sorceress would probably be denied, as Novara was in no position to resist arrest, being, as she was, quite dead.
I couldn’t be sure of the cause, but I figured the sun and moon pattern burned through her clothing and deep into her chest had something to do with it. I also figured it might be my fault, given that her face was frozen in the same terrified expression I’d seen in the pool moments before everything went awry. Now, it was mid-afternoon – more than a day since I’d seen her screaming image. Her corpse was just coming out of its death stiffness, and she was starting to smell a bit ripe. She was also quite cool to the touch, and her eyes had clouded over. I guessed she'd died just as our pool erupted.
I left her where she was and walked down to the front door, which I opened. It was unlocked, too. I guess Novara felt pretty secure, although given her current state that was perhaps a misjudgment. I swung the door open to invite the others in, but I had to duck as a blade whistled at my head. I fell into what passed as my fighting stance. Mistress Fennick, our combat instructor, had given my particular stance a special name: The Cow Stands Watch. But then I realized my opponent was Gueran.
“What are you doing coming out the front door?” he cried.
“What are you doing trying to kill me?” I responded, not without some justification, I think. Gueran stormed off. I shrugged.
“She’s in here, but she’s dead,” I told them. Boog actually looked a bit disappointed. “Come on in and help me sort this out.”
I went back inside, and they climbed the stairs behind me. Denault poked at Novara, checking her body and clothes and reading off her findings. Boog wrote them down.
“Grown woman, probably fifty, fifty-five years old. Short brown hair, graying. Black eyes. Old scar from chin to…” She pushed open Novara’s collar. "…base of the neck, a serrated blade, I’d guess.” She pulled on Novara’s limbs and wiggled Novara's fingers, then smelled her carefully at several spots. “I’d say she’s been dead more than a day." She turned to Novara’s burnt chest. “Recent injury, probably the cause of death, oddly in the shape of a moon and sun…looks like some kind of magical fire. The wound is cauterized, and the intricacy of the pattern probably precludes a hot blade.”
“How deep is it?” asked Clarice. She seemed unmoved by Novara’s injuries, but her hand touched the small silver falcon pendant she always wore at her neck.
Denault pulled a thin metal rod from a toolkit at her belt and probed the wound. As she wiggled it in, it disappeared, nearly all six inches. She pulled it out and wiped it off on Novara’s clothing. “Deep. Huh. Help me here." She and Gueran rolled Novara over. Her cloak was burnt in the back, and the moon and sun was scorched into the planks of the floor underneath, discolored by some seepage of Novara’s internal fluids. Denault tore the cloak and clothing aside, and we saw the pattern in reverse, charred into Novara's back.
Gueran swore softly. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”
Boog spoke up. “She must have died right as we were watching – from magic sent through the pool? Is that possible?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” I replied. “But the pool certainly wasn’t behaving normally. It might instead have been some connection between the amulets, hers and the one from Stennis.”
“Where’s her amulet?” asked Clarice.
“I didn’t see it, but I wasn’t thorough,” I replied.
Gueran and Denault rolled Novara back over, and Denault searched her, turning up a handkerchief, a money pouch, and a set of keys, but nothing else.
“She was wearing it when we saw her in the pool, right? Around her neck?” asked Boog.
I nodded. Could it have been destroyed by the magical storm that had disrupted our pool, or perhaps consumed as it burnt the symbols into her chest? Maybe, but I remembered that when Stennis exploded, his amulet was unharmed.
“All right, then,” said Denault, rising from the body. She rubbed her back and stretched, then gestured to us. “Clarice, Gueran, you stay here with me and search the house, everywhere, top to bottom. You two,” she pointed to me and Boog, “go talk with the neighbors, and see if they’ve noticed anything strange recently, or if they know anything about Novara here.”
“Inspector?” I said. “There’s one more odd thing I noticed. The rear door was unlocked and the lock broken, perhaps forced. And the front door was unlocked.” Denault made
a note of this and motioned us on our way.
As we descended the staircase, Gueran called down, “Be careful not to blow anyone up, boys. Anyone else, that is.” Boog’s lips tightened.
8
Baked Goods
We emerged from the house. The cobblestone street here was a short alleyway branching off a minor thoroughfare. Two of the three houses were pressed against the interior of the keep’s wall, facing the rear of a much larger building, an inn. The third house, Novara's, was at the end of the small road. The grand curtain wall of the inner keep rose behind them, dwarfing them all.
The inn had only a few windows facing the alley, no doors. I thought the houses seemed more promising, and Boog concurred. We walked over to the neighboring house and Boog knocked on the door. We waited for some time. Boog was ready to move on, but I thought I heard voices from within. I knocked again. Finally, the door opened a bit, revealing an old woman with rheumy eyes staring suspiciously out of the dim interior.
“Madame,” I began. She studied me appraisingly, then turned and noticed Boog towering over me. She gave a shriek and slammed the door. I looked up at him. “Nice going, ape man.” He snorted. I knocked again and called out, “Madame! We’re inspectors, with the Inquisitor’s Guild.”
There were more muffled voices from inside. Finally, the door opened again, and the business end of a crossbow pointed out at us. Boog’s hand flew to his sword. “Don’t think I won’t use this! I will!” came a shout from inside, a creaky male voice this time. “Go away!”
“Sir, we can’t go away. We’re conducting an investigation. We mean you no harm, and we won’t hurt you,” I said, in my calmest, most soothing voice. I noted that the crossbow bolt’s tip, though quite rusty, was sharp enough to do some real damage. Great, I thought, what a fine day to be perforated by a paranoid coot.
The man behind the crossbow was silent for a time, then spoke. “Send the big one away.”
Boog chuckled and crossed the street over to the back of the inn. Sometimes, I thought, it’s good to look harmless. Or be harmless. The crossbow disappeared inside, and the door opened wider, revealing a very old man with a halo of thin white hair. “Do you have credentials?"
Mother of Blood. I showed him my inspector’s ring, a large garnet in carved brass. “That could be faked, you know, or stolen,” he said. "With all the goings on around here, I don’t trust anybody. Why, we saw you and the others casing the neighborhood not long ago.”
“I assure you, sir, we are inspectors investigating the house next door, on orders directly from the High Inquisitor, Sophie Borchard.”
He perked up. “Next door? That creepy old woman?”
Creepy, I’d give him, but this guy was in no position to be calling anyone else old. “Yes, sir, we have reason to believe she was involved in criminal activities.”
“All right, all right, come in. We’ve been watching carefully, you know. We’re glad to help,” he said, stepping out of the doorway. “We were going to go to the City Guard, but we were afraid to leave the house after last night.”
“Can I invite my colleague over as well?” I asked. He nodded, and I waved Boog back over. He had to show his ring too.
We stepped into a small sitting room. The furniture was a bit worn, but the room was immaculate. I sat on a small stool, and Boog sat gingerly on the sturdiest chair he could find, shifting his scabbard to his lap. The old lady appeared with a tray bearing tea service and a variety of pastries and baked goods. I glanced at Boog, and he smiled. This was looking up.
I accepted a cup of tea. “Thank you.” It was warm and strong. “Do you recall how long the woman has lived next door?”
“Oh, about three weeks,” said the woman. The old man nodded agreement. “She comes and goes at all hours. I’m a light sleeper, and I can hear her boots on the stones outside as she walks by.” Well, that was one problem she’d no longer have to deal with.
“Did she buy the house, do you know?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. It’s belonged to the Marron family since I was a little girl. They let their household staff live there, usually. There was a darling family there up until last autumn, with the cutest little girl. Count Marron’s bursar, I think the lady was.”
Interesting, I thought, reaching for a macaroon. We’d need to learn more about Marron. I didn’t recognize the name, but that was no surprise. My knowledge of the local nobility was limited, to be generous. I’m sure Gueran would be able to tell us Marron’s heredity, approximate wealth, and favorite color of tapestry.
“Did she ever speak to you?” asked Boog. He raised a meaty pinkie as he sipped his tea.
The old man shook his head. “No, not to me. Mavis brought her a plate of her almond glazed torties when she moved in, but she refused them and shut the door in her face.” More fool Novara, I thought. They were delicious. Someone needed to teach these evil wizards better manners.
“Did she ever have guests at the house?” I asked. I couldn’t see Novara inviting Stennis here, but she might have had other associates.
“No,” said Mavis. “Not that I saw, and I’m here most of the time." She was looking warmly at Boog, who was on his fifth cherry crumb crescent. He gave her an appreciative, crumb-filled grin.
I went on. “Did you notice anything strange over there in the last day or two?”
This got the old man excited. “Did we ever! Two nights ago, there was a flash of light from the upper floor of the house. I was coming back from Ruger’s, across the street. It was quick and bright, like lightning, only green. I waited a bit, but nothing else happened. I'm guessing she’s a wizard.” The old man shook his head, his face full of scorn.
Mavis added, “Then, yesterday morning, I was baking in my oven, a batch of nutmeg rings. They’re very good, I think, if you’ll pardon my presumption. I used some lemon preserves, this time, from last spring. Won’t you try one?”
I declined politely. Boog took two. I asked her to continue.
“Yes, well, I heard the most odd wailing sound, like a bunch of scared animals, only it was more unearthly than that. I was terrified, especially after my Terrence had told me what he’d seen the night before. But I went to the window and peeked through the shutters, and I could see that there was green light, again, up there – I could see it even in the daylight. The wailing got louder and louder, and there were brighter and brighter flashes of light, and I could hear her yelling—oh, it was dreadful. Then there was a huge noise, like a thunderclap. She cried out, and then everything was quiet.”
Her gaze was distant. I could see her reliving the experience. “Did you investigate?”
“Oh, goodness, no. I waited for Terrence to get back, late that afternoon. We couldn’t decide what to do.”
Terrence spoke up. “I thought about going over there, but that seemed dangerous. I was about to go tell the city guard, but then those three came to the house.”
“What three?” I asked. Boog sat up straighter.
“Oh, they looked so cruel and fierce – all three of them. One seemed to be the leader. He had on a black robe. The others wore chain mail and helmets, but they had no crest or mark. Mercenaries, maybe.” He looked angry.
“Did you notice anything unusual about them? Identifying marks, scars, tattoos, jewelry?”
The old man and woman thought a bit. “The man in the robe had a beard, I think, a little one, well-trimmed,” said Mavis. “No mustache. His hair was blond, the beard darker, a bit reddish. The others, I don’t know, it was hard to see under the armor. Both women, though.” Terrence nodded.
“Were they part of the Marron house?” asked Boog.
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “I'd never seen them before, and the Marrons have uniforms for their guards.”
“What did they do?”
“They went up and knocked on the door. For a long time. They were pounding on it at the end, and shouting. Then one of them went around to the back, and a few minutes later the door opened and they wen
t inside. They were in there over an hour, and then they left.”
“Did you notice anything different about them then? Were they carrying anything?”
“It was getting dark by then, but no, I don’t think they looked any different. Except the man in the robe – he was very, very angry, yelling at the other two."
This was something new to go on – our case hadn’t died with Novara. The broken lock in the back and the missing amulet now made more sense, although not much else did. I wondered why they hadn’t done anything with Novara’s body, but maybe they couldn’t, at least not then. Not under the watchful eyes of Mavis and Terrence.
Boog brushed a crumb from his tunic and looked longingly at what little remained of the plate of baked goods. “They didn’t come back?” he asked.
“No,” said Terrence. “I was still thinking of going to the guard, but I thought that maybe the men had dealt with whatever had caused the light and the noise, and I didn't want to anger them. It’s been a long time since I was in a fight,” he said, looking wistfully over to his crossbow.
“Then you all came this afternoon, prowling all around, and we didn’t know what to think,” said Mavis. “You should wear the uniforms, you know. The red is very handsome, and you wouldn’t scare folks so.”
I smiled, thinking how pitiful our efforts would be if we all wore our scarlet tunics and cloaks everywhere. Hello, criminals! Inspector here! Please carry about your business. “We didn’t mean to frighten anyone, Madame.”
“Say,” said Terrence. “What’s this all about? What happened to the woman, and who were the other men?”
I exchanged glances with Boog. I decided to stick with the truth. Some of it, anyway. “Your neighbor was trafficking in stolen jewelry, and I think some of that caught up to her.” Yup, it sure did. “She’s dead.”
Mavis gasped. “Dead? Did those men…”