Flames Over Frosthelm

by Dave Dobson

  I clenched my teeth. Only Sophie could order an impound. I was having trouble figuring Sophie out these days. I had looked up to her, almost worshiped her, during training and after. She seemed like the perfect leader, a woman to be emulated, although I could never hope to match her wisdom and judicious insight. That image had taken a tumble since she’d taken Marron up on his bribe. His offer, I corrected myself half-heartedly. I knew Sophie had been placed in an impossible situation with the loss of the pool’s income, but still – there had to be a better way.

  Well, maybe I could make careful enough notes that the scholar Lenarre could still tell me something. “Can I see it, at least? I won’t take it from the chamber.”

  “That’s not normally done on an impound,” said Lia, reluctantly. “The case is closed.”

  “It’s not about the case,” I said, flailing a bit. “It's, uh, the Augur said I should take it to a scholar for a consultation. If I can’t do that, I could at least make some sketches and take some notes.”

  “The Augur?” asked Lia, skeptically.

  “Yes, I just came from visiting her. The amulet was part of the augury that messed up the pool and nearly killed the Augur, you know. I can go get her, if you need her authorization.” The Augur ranked second only to Sophie in the Guild, so this just might work. I wasn't sure the Augur would support me over an impound order from Sophie, though. It was a gamble, but I had little to lose.

  Lia considered, chewing on her upper lip. At last, she said “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look at it here. What was the case number again?”

  I told her, and she disappeared back into the crowded shelves. She was gone a long time, and when she finally returned, she looked alarmed.

  “It’s not there!” she said. “This isn't right.” She sat back at her desk and pulled out a large ledger, flipping back through the yellowed pages and scanning through the tiny scrawled entries. It had been three weeks since the amulet was deposited, so it took her some searching. I waited anxiously.

  “Signed out two weeks ago, by Sophie, then returned the next day,” she said. “Unusual, but she returned it, so it should still be here…” She turned some more pages. “Aha!” she cried, tapping an entry with her finger. “It was signed out three days ago, shortly after midnight. That idiot Bernot must not have realized it’s been impounded. I’ll wring his neck! I’ll rip out his liver! I'll fling him out of the clock tower! I’ll—”

  “Who signed it out?” I interrupted with some trepidation.

  She looked down at the ledger again, and then looked back at me, her eyes wide. “Why, there’s no name. This is even worse!”

  I thanked her and left her there ranting. Bernot seemed destined to have a very bad day. I did not like where my thoughts were leading, but I could not help myself. If Bernot were even halfway competent, then there was only one person who could override an impound order. The one who issued it. I could think of only a handful of reasons why she wouldn’t want her name in the ledger, and none of those were good.

  I walked up the stairs and through the meeting hall to Sophie’s office. As I arrived, I saw her head inside with another Inspector, Ravenna Jensen. That was just as well. I needed some time to figure out what I was going to say. It was possible Sophie had nothing to do with the amulet’s disappearance. Perhaps Bernot was guilty merely of an error, and someone else had borrowed the amulet, maybe for some benign purpose. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t think of a plausible scenario.

  On the other hand, if I told her I’d asked after the amulet, I could get myself in a good deal of trouble. I’d been ordered directly by Sophie to leave the case alone. My invoking the Augur might have worked on Lia, but it would be no excuse for Sophie. I knew that.

  I sat there waiting, wondering, as ready to get up and leave as I was to confront Sophie. My eyes passed over the basket outside Sophie’s door, where outgoing parcels and letters waited for our courier. I’m naturally a nosy person – it’s really more of a career qualification, I keep telling myself – so I could not help but glance at the addresses written on the packages. Three were to various members of the Justiciary, one to a local farmer who I knew provided most of our food, one to the Captain of the City Guard, and one more, a thin envelope sealed with wax, addressed as follows:

  The Right Honorable Count Marron

  Marron House, Red Street

  Right honorable? Not by a long stretch. But what could Sophie be corresponding about with the Count? Hadn’t their business been completed?

  I haven’t ever figured out quite why I did what I did next. It was foolish. If I’d been caught, I’d have been dismissed and jailed, perhaps worse. It was also terribly impulsive, which I hope I tend not to be. I had no evidence, no justification, no right to do it, and I had no plan for what to do next. Be that as it may, seized with sudden foolhardiness, I scanned the hall for any observers, and, finding none, snatched the letter from the basket, tucked it under my cloak, and fled to the dormitories.

  I lit a candle from the fireplace in the kitchen, scuttled back to my small room, and locked the door. Wax seals are good for show, but they provide almost no security when faced with a person of the appropriate skills. And the appropriate lack of good sense or moral character. I pulled a thin piece of wire from my toolkit, heated it in the candle and carefully scraped off the seal, lifting it with the blade of my dagger as it came up so as not to damage it. Sophie had done a careless job. The wax was thick enough in all places that I would have no trouble replacing the seal.

  My heart beat fast as I opened the letter. I was sure by now that I’d risked my career for what would turn out to be an invitation to lunch, or a mere note of thanks for the Count’s financial assistance. I unfolded the thick sheet of parchment that made up the envelope. Inside was a single piece of thin vellum, folded over twice. I opened it and read Sophie’s neat script:

  Count Marron –

  I have done as you asked, under the terms upon which we agreed. I hope there will be no further requests. I am already questioning the wisdom of our arrangement. If you wish further consultation about any of the issues we discussed, please make an appointment.

  Respectfully yours,

  Sophie Borchard

  High Inquisitor

  I was filled with dismay as I read the note. My first thought was that the ‘request’ was for Sophie to give Marron the amulet, but I forced myself to acknowledge that the note could have been about anything, and that I wasn’t even perfectly certain that Sophie was the one who’d taken it from storage. The ‘issues’ they discussed could be any of a wide range of topics, although I suspected they might possibly concern Novara’s doings. But this was weak. For all my subterfuge, and despite my impetuous betrayal of my superior, I’d learned nearly nothing.

  I carefully heated my dagger over the candle, just enough to soften the underside of the seal. Using a tiny set of forceps from my toolkit and a thick leatherworking needle, I replaced the seal on the envelope, pressing it gently into place. I inspected my handiwork through a large magnifying glass, one of the few things I’d inherited from my father. My careful touch, honed through years of toying with locks, seemed to have borne fruit again. Now, I just needed to get the letter back into place undetected. I tucked it into my shirt.

  I was in luck. Sophie’s basket was still full, her packages not yet picked up by the courier. I replaced the envelope in the basket and skulked away. As I walked back toward the dormitory, I saw Clarice sitting on a bench. She held her falcon pendant in one hand, rubbing it absently with her thumb, and there was a look of hurt in her eyes. I paused. "Clarice? Are you all right?”

  “Marten,” she replied, looking bewildered. “I’ve been reassigned. I’m to be sent to the border.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “But why? Gueran too?” I wondered if he’d pressed too hard in checking after Marron.

  “No, just me. I’m to work with Inspector Aelvia.”

  That was odd. It was quite unusual for partners to b
e separated without one of them requesting it. “You didn’t ask for a new partner? Or did Gueran?”

  “No, I surely didn’t, and he swears he didn’t either.”

  Stranger and stranger. The barbaric clans who inhabited the mountains to our east sometimes raided border villages, but they were normally more likely to trade with them. It was hard to predict, because they were only loosely organized. But in the last year, a leader named Ganghira had arisen (actually, I think she called herself Ganghira, Lord of Steel, Fierce Lion of the Mountains, Wrath of the Clans, but maybe she was compensating for something). Ganghira had united some of the clans and conquered others, and then she had declared war on us, for no reason we could decipher. A regular civilized war we could probably handle. We had the Prelate’s Brigade, after all. But the clans did not fight in the civilized way, preferring instead to strike, slay, steal, and flee back to their high hills and valleys. By the time the strength of the Brigade could be brought to bear, the clan warriors were long gone. Since the fighting began, the raids into our lands had become more frequent and more bold. Jeroch had sent most of the Brigade out to assist with border patrol and fight off the raiders, and we had a large number of inspectors posted out there assisting in the efforts, infiltrating the territory across the border and tracking the movement of the clan militias.

  Those inspectors, though they shared our title and were under the High Inquisitor’s command, were wholly different from us. They rode for days, they used camouflage and traps, and they moved in stealth and shadow. They were frequently called upon to fight, in small skirmishes or even in open combat, and some were proficient with poisons and assassination. They and we existed in two separate worlds, and though Sophie had dispatched a good number of the city inspectors who she felt were best suited, it was almost unthinkable that that a city-trained provisional inspector in her first year of duty would be sent out there.

  I didn’t want to say it to Clarice, but she seemed not particularly well-suited to border duty, though I would certainly be hopeless out there myself. Our skills had been honed in the city, and we were trained for investigation and interrogation, not spying and subterfuge. Boog would possibly have been a good candidate, but Clarice’s skills with research and magic would be near useless, and I doubted she’d often ridden for a full day or slept under the stars. It made no sense, except perhaps as a punishment of some sort, but there was nothing I could think of that she could have done that would earn her a rebuke such as this. The border inspectors had a hard life and a dangerous one. We'd lost ten in the past six months alone, their names entered into the book of honor in our small chapel.

  Clarice seemed fully aware of her plight, and I was sure she didn’t need me explaining it to her. She looked up at me with an unexpected poignancy. “Oh, Marten. I leave this afternoon, in a few hours. There’s something here I’m not seeing. It makes no sense.”

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I put a hand on her shoulder and sat down next to her. She leaned ever so gently into me, and I suddenly felt ten feet tall, Marten the Magically Magnificent. I tried to think of what might motivate Sophie, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Besides, Clarice’s hair smelled really, really nice. It tore at me that she was leaving just as she might be becoming closer to me, though perhaps I flattered myself in that regard. I tried to find something to say.

  “You’ll do fine out there,” I said, then cursed myself for the triteness of my sentiment. My tongue felt leaden, like I'd tapped it with my warding rod. “The Brigade will put down the raiders, and you’ll be back by next winter.”

  She looked at me and smiled, a small wistful smile. “I hope you’re right, Marten.” She rose from the bench. My side and my arm felt terribly cold with her gone. I shrank back to normal size, Marten the Merely Mundane. She spoke again. “Keep up your work, with Gueran and Boog. I’d help you, if I could. All is not right around here.”

  Then she leaned over and kissed me quickly on the cheek. “Stay safe,” I mumbled, my voice a traitor to me. She smiled once more and turned down the hall.

  I sat on the bench for a while. My throat hurt. After a while, Boog walked by on his way to the case clerk, a stack of parchment sheets in his hand.

  “Hey, Marty! Where’ve you been? You know I hate writing the reports. And you here sitting on a bench, lazy as the day is long. Did you just get up?” At that point he noticed my face, which I imagine looked like that of a puppy who’d been kicked. Maybe twice. His voice softened. “Oh. Well. You just go on sitting there, little guy. Er, I mean, big guy. Er, guy.” He squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I’ll just be in the meeting hall whenever you’re ready."

  14

  Take a Powder

  My back was starting to ache. I shifted silently to lean on a different crate. Boog, across the building in another loft, called out in a loud whisper. “Jezarmi! Now I remember. I saw it in the records I looked through at the City Registrar. It’s a trading company owned by Marron.”

  Marron. I thought dark thoughts about the man and his money. And, as it turned out, here we were in another of his buildings. Sophie wasn’t going to be happy about that. I brooded and pondered, almost missing Boog’s signal to me as the small group entered, although the light from their torches and the creak of the door would have alerted me regardless.

  Boog had a clear view of the front entrance, while I was positioned to watch the back. His fingers danced. Four women. One man. Armed. Swords. Carrying cake. I glanced down at the scruffy group as they filed into view below me, but saw no sign of any cake, or any dessert foods at all. At my questioning look, Boog revised and signed again. Carrying chest.

  Ah, there it was – an ornately carved wooden chest, about four feet long and not quite as wide, maybe three feet tall. Whatever was inside must have been heavy. The two burly women carrying it were straining, using both hands and taking small steps.

  Finally, there was something to watch. We’d sequestered ourselves in a loft area of the warehouse a few hours earlier, well ahead of the midnight meeting time specified by Maurice. I’d picked the lock on the small door near the wider cargo doors, and we'd locked it behind us. We’d searched the place, but it was relatively empty. Some old barrels and casks suggested that at least part of Jezarmi’s business had been in wine or ale. We'd tried to leave the clutter as undisturbed as possible, so we hadn’t been exhaustive in our search. It was clear that the building, though closed and empty, had been used recently, because the central part of the building was free from the dust and cobwebs covering the rest of the area. Covering me, too, now, in my hidden vantage point.

  I guessed it was about a quarter hour past midnight. I’d heard the clock tower chime eighth bell for the midnight prayer, but I had no way of knowing exactly how long ago. Not long, though. At least Maurice hadn’t completely made up his story. I still doubted that we'd see anything other than a business deal, but Sophie had given us permission to observe in case there was any smuggling or other untoward activity taking place.

  The two large women carrying the chest moved across the room and put it down. One sat on it, while the other just sat on the floor. They looked tired. There was no sign of the guest Maurice had mentioned. Either he or she was coming later, or the guest was one of the group, but they all seemed to be similarly dressed. To me, too, they had the apparent comfort and ease of long-time companions. They were about twenty feet below me and perhaps thirty feet away towards the back of the building, almost directly under Boog. I doubted he could see them, so I signed over to him. Chest down. They rest.

  The woman on the floor spoke. “Where is the man? He’d better come.”

  Another replied. I guessed this one to be the one Maurice had identified as the leader. She was tucking a large key into a pocket of her jerkin. “He’ll be here.”

  The first shot back. “He’d better. I’m not carrying this back to the cart.”

  There was a soft rattle at the rear door. I saw the door
handle move, and the door swung open. A man in a black cloak entered. His hood was large, and he had it pulled down over his face. With that and the general gloom, I had trouble making out any details of his face. He walked slowly into the room, looking around at all the others.

  The woman with the key greeted the new arrival. “We’ve brought what you asked. Both items.” She gestured to the chest.

  The cloaked man spoke slowly. “Excellent. And the equipment I provided?”

  “In the chest as well. And here’s the warehouse key.” The leader pulled out the key and handed it to the cloaked man.

  “How did it go?”

  “It got a little hairy when we made the grab, if that’s what you mean. But that was months ago and far away. And it was nothing we couldn’t handle. After that, we hid the chest at our place in Jeston and went off to handle the other job, which took us a few months, to get there and set up and get back. Then we recovered the chest and came back here. In the city here, we’ve had no trouble. We’ve been hiding out at an abandoned farm the past few days at the edge of town. We drove the cart through town tonight, but we had the chest covered up.”

  “And the second job? You got it?”

  “In here,” said the leader, handing the cloaked man a small bag she pulled from her belt. “It was not as simple as you said. I can't imagine why you wanted them so badly.”

  She seemed to be probing for an answer, but the cloaked man remained silent. So they’d had several tasks, over the span of many months, involving significant travel? This was a major operation, whatever it was.

  The cloaked man first peeked in the small bag and grunted his satisfaction. He tucked the bag into a pouch hung from his belt. Then, he opened the latch on the chest and lifted the lid. Unfortunately, they had set it down so that it opened away from me, and I couldn’t see inside. The man fished around inside for a while.