Flames Over Frosthelm

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Flames Over Frosthelm Page 10

by Dave Dobson


  “One of them is missing,” he said. He didn’t sound happy about this. He rose, and I could see that his hands were filled with something that shone like gold. Jewelry maybe? No, small curved knives.

  One of the group, the only man, rubbed nervously at his long, braided beard. At last, he spoke. “I lost mine, in the woods. It was dark.”

  The cloaked man produced a small leather sack and put the knives into it. “They are important to me.”

  The leader replied, “He’s an idiot. But we can’t do anything about it now.”

  The cloaked man hooked the sack back over his belt and then pulled out a coin purse. He handed it to the leader. “Here’s eighty, the second half, as we arranged. Divide it as you see fit.” Eighty pieces of gold, I wondered? A hundred sixty in all? That would make for a really expensive box. Or maybe it was whatever was in the small bag that was expensive.

  The man with the braided beard, the one who’d lost his knife, approached. “About that. We had to travel for longer than expected, and this was a gruesome business. Ellya had to learn all those patterns, too. I was hoping for a bonus, for the team.”

  The man with the cloak looked impassively at the man with the beard. The leader made no move. I wondered if this was planned, or if she was just waiting to see what transpired. Finally, the cloaked man spoke. “You lose my knife, and then you want a bonus? We arranged our terms at the outset, and you agreed to them. I’ve been more than generous.” He turned back to the leader. “I would appreciate it if you’d leave town as soon as possible. I'd rather avoid any questions or loose tongues.”

  The bearded man stepped closer. “If it’s questions you’d like to be avoiding, I have a feeling you could be more generous. That would sew my tongue up tight." He sounded a bit menacing now.

  The cloaked man glanced around the room. None of the women had moved, but all were armed and within easy reach of their blades. “Our business is concluded. Please leave the building immediately. Don’t try anything foolish.”

  The bearded man moved forward and placed a hand on the cloaked man’s shoulder. “Twenty more, and I’ll go quietly. You'll never see me again.”

  The cloaked man pushed his hand away. “Unhand me, you bastard,” he hissed.

  “Bastard, is it?” The bearded man raged. “Give me the knives. Those cursed things will sell for a pretty penny." He drew his sword, the steel a blur as it swung to the ready.

  The cloaked man’s hand flew to his belt, and he pulled out a small wand. There was a brilliant flash of light and a high-pitched sound, like the yip of a small dog.

  I heard a clanging of metal, as if the sword had fallen to the floor. When my eyes recovered from the flash, I saw that the bearded man was gone. Not gone as in left the building — I mean quite literally gone. His clothing was resting in a heap on top of his boots, and all of it was covered in a coating of some orange powder, kind of like sawdust.

  The other four women had their blades out almost instantly, although the leader held a hand up to restrain the others. The cloaked man held out his small wand. His hand shook, perhaps from strain or trauma. I signed frantically to Boog in the opposite loft, who couldn’t see what was going on. Magic. One dead?

  He signed back. Go down? He tensed for action, reaching for his staff.

  I replied. No. No. No. Wait. Danger.

  One of the swordswomen poked at the pile of clothing. “Where…is he?”

  “I said to leave the building,” replied the cloaked man, his voice suddenly ragged.

  “You killed him?” she said, obviously upset, raising her sword. “You killed him?” she repeated, nearly screaming.

  She charged at the cloaked man, and again the wand flashed and yipped, and again nothing was left of the attacker but her clothing and blade and the orange dust.

  The leader shouted to her remaining two companions, “Stop! Put away your swords. Let’s get out of here.” She sheathed her blade, but her face was twisted with rage. To the cloaked man, she said. “We’re leaving, you bast—” her eyes widened in fear. “I mean, we’re leaving.” She backed away from the man, and the other two followed suit, their eyes wild. As they neared the door, they turned and ran out to the street.

  The cloaked man waited to ensure the others were truly gone, then stowed his rod at his belt. He was shaking, and his shoulders drooped. Finally, he pushed his hood off his face, revealing a man of perhaps thirty-five years, with short blond hair and slightly darker beard. I thought immediately of the man Terrence had described at Novara’s house –– this could be the one, but I had no way to know for certain.

  After a moment’s rest, the man checked inside the chest once more, then poked the piles of clothing and dust with his toe, probing for what, I don’t know. He walked over to the front door of the warehouse and locked it, finally returning to the back door. He opened it, walked outside, and closed it, and I could hear his key turn in the lock.

  Boog signed to me. What happened?

  Two dead. Strong magic.

  Go down now?

  Wait until clear, I replied. At this, Boog rolled his eyes. His enthusiasm would be dampened a bit if he’d just seen two people reduced to well-dressed piles of powder.

  We waited about ten minutes, in Boog’s case quite impatiently. Occasionally he would yawn theatrically and examine his fingernails or twiddle his thumbs. When I was more confident the cloaked man wasn’t returning, I signaled Boog. We stepped cautiously down the loft stairway and out onto to the warehouse floor.

  “Where are the bodies?” whispered Boog.

  I pointed at the piles. A faint tendril of smoke rose from one of them.

  “What? Whoa…” said Boog, kneeling over them. “In hindsight, your caution seems warranted. I apologize for doubting you."

  I wished I knew what the wizard had in the small bag. At least we had the chest, though. I walked over to it. It was made of dark wood, with no seams, maybe carved as a single piece from one tree. That would have to be a pretty big tree. It was elaborately carved in geometric patterns. There was a latch, but no lock. I opened the latch.

  Boog called out softly from one of the piles, the first one, formerly the bearded guy. “Hey, I found something! A little gold knife tucked into the cuff of this guy’s pants. Is this what they were talking about?” Huh. It looked as if the bearded guy hadn’t lost his knife after all. Perhaps he should have settled for keeping just that one, though.

  I pulled open the lid, then jumped really high, making a screechy ‘eep’ noise through my clenched teeth. I walked in little circles for a bit, trying not to look at the chest again. When I regained control of myself, I said, "Hey, I found something too.”

  15

  I’m So Blue

  “You found what?” asked Sophie, incredulous.

  Boog looked uncomfortable. “It would be easier if you just came to see it. It’s out in the evidence chamber.”

  It was there, but not without effort. Boog and I had barely been able to get the chest out of the warehouse. I should say, Boog had done it nearly on his own. I’m not sure what I was doing could be considered help. I did sweep up the two powdery ruffians into separate crates, although what use they would be now I wasn't sure. While Boog stood guard, I had located a city guard patrol, and they had helped to lug the chest back to headquarters. I’d barely slept in the couple of hours since, and Boog didn’t look much better.

  We walked out through the meeting hall. On the wall map, the warehouse was pegged with a bright crimson flag. Murder. We wound our way to the evidence chamber. Lia was there, scribbling in her ledger.

  “Any sign of Bernot?” asked Sophie.

  “No, Chief,” said Lia, looking angry. “I had to cover for him last night. I can’t do that again tonight, Chief. I’ll pass out.”

  “Is he sick? Is he at home?”

  “No,” said Lia. “I sent an apprentice to check.”

  “Borrow a clerk from Recording if Bernot doesn’t show up tonight,” said Sophie. “And
let me know.”

  “Yes, Chief. I will, Chief.”

  “Now, can I have a look at this chest these two brought in?”

  Lia gave a low whistle. “Certainly. Now, there’s something you don’t see every day. Come around back.”

  We went through the reinforced door into the evidence chamber. We’d dragged the chest to the back of the room, the area for large objects. My back hurt just thinking about it. Boog knelt and opened the latch. “Chief,” he said. “Be warned. This isn’t pleasant.” He lifted the lid.

  Safely inside headquarters, the sight was less shocking, but only a little bit. The chest held the body of a woman, her torso facing up, her hips and legs folded back under her at an impossible angle. Her spine must have been broken clean through. I hoped it had been after she died, but even if it had, I was sure her end had been terribly painful. Her body was covered with an intricate pattern of incisions. The cuts ran in crisscrossing bands across her shoulders and neck and in curled spiral patterns on her lower chest. Her arms were folded across her chest, and the lacerations curved and scrolled around them as well. If the image were not so gruesome, and the canvas not a woman, the pattern might have seemed artistic – whoever had done this definitely had a sure hand and a careful eye. The shallow cuts were likely from something very sharp. The edges of the wounds were perfectly even. What if the woman had been alive when they were made? I shuddered at the thought.

  There was one other very odd thing, as if it needed to be any stranger. The woman’s skin was a uniform shade of dull blue. Boog and I had no idea why. We’d never seen anyone with such coloring. It looked far too even to be tattooing, and too pervasive to be painted on. The woman's eyes, though clouded in death, showed white, and the interior of her mouth was a dull pink.

  Sophie grunted once, then surveyed the body thoroughly, occasionally touching it or probing it with her small dagger. I walked over to a bookshelf, sat down, and tried to think of puppies romping in a flowery meadow. I failed.

  Finally, Sophie rose. “Well,” she said. “That’s definitely odd.”

  “Yes, Chief,” replied Boog.

  “Do you have any idea who the wizard was, or who the other group was?” asked Sophie.

  “The other group, mostly women, had been hired by the wizard, and their service was complete,” I said. “He paid them, very well, I think, and dismissed them."

  “But they didn’t go?”

  “One challenged the wizard for further payment, and the wizard turned him into orange dust,” said Boog, gesturing toward one of the small boxes we’d brought. "He’s in there. Another one attacked the wizard after the death of the first. She’s in that box, over there. The others fled after that.”

  Sophie opened one of the boxes and stirred its contents with her dagger. She looked at Boog pointed at the box. “You seem to be making a habit of bringing back dismembered bodies in containers.”

  Boog looked uncomfortable but said nothing.

  “Why do you suppose she doesn’t smell?” asked Sophie, turning back to the ornate chest. I hadn’t thought of that, given the flurry of events. “No rot, no maggots, not even any desiccation – but she was probably in here for a while.”

  “The woman who brought her indicated it had been many months.”

  “Even stranger. And, she’s far from home.”

  “Why do you say that, Chief?” I asked.

  “The tattoos on her wrist and ankle. Her hair and earring. She’s clearly from one of the clans, from the mountains over the border.”

  I hadn’t even noticed the tattoos. “Is the blue color, the cuts, something they do?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Might be worth a trip to the library, I’d think.”

  “Look under B, for blue,” offered Boog, helpfully.

  “Or butchery, or barbarism,” said Sophie. She stared intently at the blue body before her. “Is there anything else you have to tell me?”

  I looked at Boog. I wished I could ask him what to do. In the end, I opted for the high road. “Chief? The warehouse – it’s owned by Jezarmi."

  “And?”

  “Jezarmi is owned by Marron.”

  Sophie looked sharply at me. “I ordered you off that case. I ordered you to stay away from Marron!”

  “It came up separately,” I protested, glumly. “On a separate case. The stolen rugs.”

  “There isn’t any other connection between the cases,” said Boog.

  “Unless you count sorcery, shady deals, and messy deaths…” I added.

  Sophie cut me off with a glare. “When did you figure out about Jezarmi and Marron?”

  “Um, last night.”

  “Before or after you asked if you could go to the warehouse?”

  One thing in our favor, at least. “After, Chief. When we were already there. But we had no reason to suspect that Marron had anything to do with anything. You agreed, it deserved a look.”

  Sophie looked like she could kill us both. “If I can’t trust you to be honest with me, I can’t trust you at all. Do you want to keep working here?"

  I felt like I was actually growing smaller as she talked. I loved being an inspector. It had come to mean more to me than anything. I’d dedicated over a quarter of my life to the Guild. I realized, though, that I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep working for an institution that could be bent to the purpose of anyone willing to pay.

  “What should we do about the wizard?” asked Boog, trying desperately to change the subject.

  “Nothing,” growled Sophie. “Absolutely nothing. Give his description to the city watch, go over your report again with the clerks, and then you're done. I’m turning this over to someone else. Someone I can trust to follow my orders.”

  “But, Chief!” said Boog. “We found this, tracked it down…”

  “Enough!” cried Sophie. “If you’re looking for something to do, track down Bernot. Can you do that? Please? Without getting anyone else killed?” She stalked back out toward her office.

  We stood there for a while. Then Boog closed the chest carefully.

  “Well played, inspector,” he said.

  “Sorry.” I felt pretty miserable.

  Boog stretched and yawned, looking like some gigantic ape. “She’d have made the connection eventually. It’s better that she heard it from us, I suppose. Although I would have liked to see this through, at least a little farther.”

  “Me too.” I said, relieved at his words. “Although I’m happy to have avoided getting turned into powder or turned blue and stuffed into a chest.”

  “They could fit two or three of you in there, Marty. For you, they’d just need a box, or maybe a small bucket.” He scratched his scalp through his short hair. "I’m going back to bed. Bernot can wait.”

  We thanked Lia, and I followed Boog back to the dormitory. I was tempted to follow his plans, as well. Asleep, I probably couldn’t mess anything else up. But I didn’t think I would get much rest at the moment. There was too much on my mind. I returned to my small chamber, put on my good boots and my red tunic, and washed up a bit. There was still a lead that needed following up, whether Sophie approved or not. I suspected not.

  16

  The Professor

  “Yes?” came the annoyed reply to my knock. A rather polite knock, too, I’d thought.

  “My name is Marten Mingenstern. I’m with the Inquisitor’s Guild.”

  “I don’t care. Go away,” came the muffled voice. A woman.

  “I was referred to the scholar named Monique Lenarre,” I persisted.

  “She’s not here. Go away.”

  “But this is her laboratory.”

  “She died. This morning. Horrible accident. Terribly sad. Still dangerous in here. Burning things, evil spirits. Go away.”

  I cleared my throat. “I was referred by the Augur. She said Professor Lenarre might be interested in what we’ve found.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Gilla? She sent you?”

  This took me aback. I actual
ly didn’t know the Augur’s given name. “Madame, the Augur said you—er, Professor Lenarre, may her soul rest in peace, were interested in ancient magic, and we’ve found a connection to the builders of the pool.”

  I heard sounds of shifting metal on the other side of the door. A heavy bolt, most likely. The door creaked a bit as it opened. The woman behind the door was old and terribly gaunt. She was dressed in a simple wool gown with a belt of rope. Her hair was wispy and dark gray. “How is ol’ Pinkeye doing?” she asked.

  “Much better, I’m happy to say. She’s been busy refilling the pool.”

  “Yes,” the woman muttered. “Horrible business, that. Tempted to test the limits of the pool by some damn fool junior inspector, I heard."

  I blushed a bit. “Er, yes.”

  “You, was it?” she asked, looking at me sharply.

  I nodded. She twisted up her mouth, but then moved aside to let me in, and I followed her into the chamber beyond. As I suspected, nothing was on fire, and the evil spirits seemed to have departed. The chamber had archways on each side leading to smaller side chambers, and the whole suite was filled with all manner of obscure materials – flasks, glassware, hundreds of books and scrolls, bits of metal and tubing, crystals, jars of animal pieces. There was a cluttered workbench in the middle, and the woman pointed at a worn-looking wooden chair in the corner. After removing a stuffed owl, I sat. She clambered onto a stool at the bench and began fiddling with some flasks of liquid connected by tubes and various pieces of mysterious apparatus, all suspended on a metal framework mounted to the back of the bench. She didn’t speak for some time.

  “Madame Professor Monique Lenarre, I presume?” I asked, not sure where this was going.

  “You do presume,” she replied. “I’m a busy woman. What do you have for me?”

  I decided to start at the beginning, with Stennis and Novara. The professor continued to work, but she shot me a glance when I mentioned Novara’s magical disappearance from the Sotted Swan, and finally put down her work when I got to the unfortunate detonation of Stennis. She listened avidly as I described the ill-fated augury at the pool and our discovery of Novara's corpse.

 

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