by Dave Dobson
Bernot thanked me, and as he pocketed the coins, the door flew open, and three men and a woman burst into the room in quick succession, armored, blades drawn, each wearing a mask of black cloth with crude holes cut for eyes and mouth. Bernot blanched, and then made a dive for the platform behind him, surprisingly nimble in his mouse costume. I nearly followed him in flight, but I didn’t want to leave Boog there alone.
“Hold!” shouted Boog. “We’re inspectors on official business. Sheathe your swords immediately!”
The new arrivals didn’t seem impressed with our credentials. “We know who you are,” said one, his voice muffled by the mask. "Catch the clerk!” he shouted, pointing his blade at Bernot. His voice had a lilting accent I couldn’t quite place. In response to his order, one of the men moved quickly over to the platform, where Bernot had just reached the curtain. As Bernot fumbled with the drapery, trying to push it aside, the man leapt onto the stage. I took the opportunity to draw my warding rod. The attacker reached for Bernot with a meaty left hand, but Bernot was quick, dancing away to the curtain’s edge. The man thrust his sword at Bernot, but Bernot hurled his mouse head at the man, striking him in the face and knocking him back. The man lurched back a step and then toppled off the stage, striking his head on one of the benches as he fell. He landed awkwardly and lay still, his blade clattering to the floor at his side. Bernot ducked behind the curtain, and I heard a latch scrape and a door open.
Another masked man jumped up onto the platform and ran to the curtain. Boog began backing slowly toward the wall, and I followed. Better to have them all to our front, I reasoned. This wasn’t looking good – three against two, and Boog unarmed. Boog stomped on the edge of a small bench, tipping it up to his hands, where he hoisted it easily. OK, mostly unarmed. Though I respected Boog’s martial skills, I’d probably not have put money on us, furniture or no.
The man on the stage cursed and yelled “Locked!” Mentally, I joined in his cursing – Bernot had cut off an escape route for us to save his own furry hide. If I ever saw Bernot again, I’d need to discuss with him the concepts of teamwork, togetherness, and common goals, perhaps with the help of Boog’s staff.
The man giving the orders spat on the floor. A bit melodramatic, I thought, though I gave him credit for launching it through the mask’s mouth hole without apparent effort. Spitting indoors, though - his mother would be displeased. Unless he’d learned it from his mother. "We’ll get him later,” he growled. “Let’s deal with these two.”
Time for diplomacy. “Citizens,” I said. “We can work this out. There’s no need for violence.”
The man on the stage jumped down, and they arranged themselves between us and the main door. The woman twirled her blade menacingly.
Time for reason. “The penalty for harming an inspector is forty lashes and imprisonment in the dungeons for a year,” I continued, helpfully, I thought. “The penalty for killing an inspector is death.”
They closed a few steps, moving in easy unison. “Don’t give them ideas,” grumbled Boog.
Time for bluster. “I’ll have you know, I’m a trained sorcerer, and my partner has killed ten men in unarmed combat.” Boog cast a glance my direction, his eyebrow raised.
“Have at them!” shouted the leader. They charged at us.
Time for panic. I ducked behind a chair as the woman reached me, her sword striking the chair’s wooden back. The two men went for Boog. He knocked aside the leader’s sword with his bench and tried to dodge the other man’s strike, but he wasn’t quick enough – the blade’s edge bit into his shoulder. Not a major wound, but not one he could afford in this battle. He grunted with the pain and swung the bench back around, barely missing the man’s head.
The woman kicked the chair at me, and it fell over. She approached warily, her sword out in an impressive guard pose. The warding rods are not very long, so she had a good foot of steel on me. I was very aware at that point that I am less than a foot thick. I struck the end of my rod with my palm, and the rod began to hum. If I were lucky enough to hit her, the rod could put her down, but that seemed an unlikely hope.
Through the mask, I could see her eyes widen at the magical effect, subtle though it was, and I had a flash of inspiration. “Kalakh! Zembul! Galooka! Wegarness!” I shouted. Other than Zembul, which is a kind of gooey cheese Sophie favors, I don't know what those words mean, or if they’re even words at all, but they seemed appropriate at the time. I persevered. “Spirits of fire! Spirits of death! Attend me, and slay my foes!" I waved the rod in little menacing circles.
The woman took a step back, cringing, and the masked man who’d cut Boog looked over in surprise. He didn’t see any spirits of fire or death (or even spirits of cheese, for that matter). He also didn’t see Boog’s bench, which connected firmly with the side of his head. I don’t want ever to hear that sound again, but I must say it was welcome on this occasion. The man went down like a sack of squash.
The woman swung her sword at me, a downward, chopping blow, and I barely knocked aside her blade with my rod. Boog hurled the bench at the leader and, as the man dodged, Boog lunged for the sword dropped by the attacker he’d felled. I tried a stab at the woman with my rod, but it was feeble, even by my standards. She barely needed to dodge, and I thought from the growing look of scorn in her eyes that she perhaps wasn’t thinking of me as a fearsome wizard anymore. Boog scrambled across the floor, struggling, trying to get away from the leader while getting a grip on the sword.
The woman swung at me, low, at my left side. I dodged away, but she quickly lunged, finding my abdomen, just under my ribs. I yelped at the sudden burn, and tears filled my eyes. I stumbled away, getting a table between her and me for a moment. I had been injured before hundreds of times, even cut sometimes in blade training, and I’d been in a few fights, although with Boog around they were usually short. With all that, though, I’d never been seriously hurt by anyone who really wanted to kill me. A million thoughts filled my head – had she hit a lung, or my viscera? Would I die a lingering death of coughing or disease? Or would I bleed out here? Or would none of that matter? And who was this? Why did she want me dead? I couldn’t see her face, or any of these assailants. I ran over all the rivals I’d had and the enemies I’d made, but it was a short list. I was decidedly unimportant and indisputably small-time. My profound irrelevance was such that I couldn’t think of anyone who’d want me to pay an extended visit to the Blood Mother.
Other than Marron. It had to be him, particularly with the connection to Bernot. Marron and his retainers had shown themselves to be ruthless, and we had disrupted their progress. If Madame Lenarre was right about the Faerans, and the unfortunate blue woman we’d recovered was integral to his plans, then we had obviously gotten in his way, not to mention the business with Stennis and Novara. But having an inspector killed? In a public place? Marron was either very bold, very angry, or very desperate. Maybe all three.
I, on the other hand, was merely very desperate. It appeared I was long on brilliant analysis but short on destiny. I imagined my entire existence ended, reduced to a little crimson flag on the map back in headquarters. I hoped my fellow inspectors would avenge me, or at least mourn my passing. I pressed my left hand over the hole in my side, and a tingle of fear ran through my jaw at the sticky dampness I felt there. I risked a glance down and to my dismay saw a large and growing blood stain. With my right hand, I held my rod up, but it seemed a meaningless gesture.
I heard the clang of steel from off to the side. Boog had recovered the dropped sword and was holding his own now, even pressing his own attack. I wished him well but could spare no more attention. The woman tried a feint to my right side, but I was either too skilled or too slow to respond, and I easily parried the following slash at my left. She kicked at my knee, but I dodged that, too, albeit clumsily. I was beginning to feel light-headed and warm, and a metallic taste grew in my mouth.
She took a step back, then attacked with new ferocity, her blade dancing around me.
Strangely, I found myself momentarily entranced at her eyes through the mask – a bright hazel, and burning with emotion and effort. I snapped out of it, and through a series of dodges, blocks, and lucky breaks, I avoided serious damage. She did cut several new holes in my clothes and carved a new scratch across my chest. It burned, but it wasn’t deep, or so I hoped. She broke off her attack, catching her breath, but I was fading fast. My rod was never intended or designed as a fencing weapon – its weight and balance were all wrong, and it had no hilt. Just keeping it up was taking all my concentration, and it was becoming impossible for me to hold it steady, as I was sure my opponent realized.
She circled me warily, moving around the furniture, seeking an opportunity to finish me off. I retreated, but I knew I didn’t have far to go. I couldn’t make it to the door without going past her, so that wasn’t going to happen, even if I were willing to abandon Boog. I considered throwing the rod. If I hit her squarely, she’d go down, but that was no sure thing. If I failed, I’d be unarmed and at her mercy, and mercy didn’t seem to be a defining component of her character. Better to tough it out and hope for an opportunity. Or at least, I thought morbidly, to distract her long enough to give Boog a better chance at survival.
She lunged, and I backed quickly behind another table. She took two dancing steps forward and stabbed at me again. Again, I backed up, but this time I pressed up against the wall behind me. Seeing an opportunity, she leapt up onto the table, laughing. I don’t think I’d ever heard such a cold sound.
Time to do or die. Or both. Summoning the last of my strength, I pressed my right foot up against the wall and pushed off at her, knocking her blade up with my rod as I neared. As she swung back down at my head, I dove under the table, pulling off a not-half-bad tuck and roll. Sometimes small stature has some advantages, handling the low clearance of tables being one such instance. I emerged on the far side and scrambled to my feet. A glance back showed that I had thrown her off, albeit temporarily. She was bent over, her sword thrust down under the table after me. As she rose and spun around to face me, I swung my rod as hard as I could, and it smacked hard into her thigh. The magic energies discharged in a web of blue sparks. With a strained grunt, she dropped her sword, fell limply to the table, rolled off onto the floor, and ended in an awkward heap.
I’d like to say I turned and joined my friend in his fight, perhaps even saving his life through acts of noble wrath and derring-do. The truth is, I took a faltering step in that direction, wondered at how dim the room was becoming and at how strangely flexible its walls now seemed, and then I felt my cheek smack hard against the floor as the darkness swallowed me.
19
Puncturation Marks
After an indeterminate period, a dim flicker of consciousness returned. A bony hand, cold as ice, clutched at my throat. I waded through the darkness, trying to summon the strength to struggle. Was this Death himself, come to fetch me? Did I lie cold and dead in some grave, my tortured spirit trapped by my murder in some cruel undeath?
After some time, I remembered that I had eyelids, and then that they could open, and then how to open them, but such a task still seemed beyond me. The hand seemed to press ever harder, but as I felt its weight, I also felt my breath rustling grudgingly in and out. Did I still live, then? Perhaps so. A moment later, I knew that I did, because the pain in my side resolved from a dull ache to a sharp, piercing agony, and I found the strength not only to open my eyes, but to yelp. Surely the dead did not yelp – it would be far too unseemly.
My vision swam with pain, then cleared. The bony hand was not connected to some grinning skeletal specter, but instead to a pink-eyed, white-haired skeletal specter with a rather more serious expression. Instead of devouring my soul, she appeared to be daubing at the scratch on my chest with a damp cloth.
“Marten,” said the Augur, gently. “You gave us quite a scare, boy.”
“Guurk,” I replied. “Hurkle.”
“Shh, now, just rest,” she said, pulling the sheet up a bit. A sheet. Hmm. I glanced around me. I appeared to be in a bed in the infirmary at Headquarters.
“Boog?” I asked.
“Inspector Eggstrom brought you here yesterday. He carried you himself, all the way from the inner keep. Covered with gore, he was, but fortunately it turned out not all to be his own, or yours. The healer cleaned and sutured him up, and after he filed his report with the clerks, he’s rarely been away from your bed here. I think he’s acquiring some sort of luncheon at the moment. I chased him out at last. He looked a bit wan, and I thought some food might improve his health and his mood. I’d wager he’ll soon return.”
Boog alive! Relief surged through me. “Why are you here? The pool… you should be filling it.”
“Can’t be doing that all day now, can I?” She grinned.
I was honored – I wouldn’t have thought myself worthy of the Augur’s attention, much less her medical ministrations. My thoughts returned quickly to the cause of my injury. “Attacked… We were attacked.”
“Obviously so, unless you’re given to self-mutilation. I gather from Beauregard that you acquitted yourself well.”
“I barely defeated one of them, then passed out,” I replied. “Not too valorous, I’m afraid.”
“Mister Eggstrom credits you with two of them, and yourself unarmed.”
I snorted. It hurt. I resolved to avoid further snorting. “Hardly.” But Boog was surely a good partner and friend. “Did any of them live?"
“Two, I gather, but one has not regained consciousness,” said the Augur.
“That’s right,” came a familiar voice from the door. Boog entered, swallowing noisily. “The woman you fought is the only one awake.”
“Boog!” I exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”
“Not like you, Marty. I’ll have a few impressive scars, though.” Boog touched his shoulder gingerly. “I’m glad you’re back among the living.” His words had a casual bravado, but the concern I saw in his face gave it the lie.
I felt a stab of fear. “Was there… er, was I…”
“The healer said she’d not bet money on you making it to morning, with the blood you lost. But the wound seems clean, she says, and mostly through muscle. I gather that’s a good thing. Shouldn’t fester.”
“Pff,” said the Augur. “That damnable healer wouldn’t let me get to work filling the pool until I ‘built up my strength.’ As if I could do that stuck abed here. Far too excitable, if you ask me. Scared as a mouse.” Boog nodded agreement.
I was still reeling a bit from their casual dismissal of my brush with mortality. I felt gently around my wound. It was covered by a thick dressing, and there was a greasy residue all around it – probably an unguent. Or so I hoped – I'd rather not still be leaking important fluids. I lifted the sheet, but there wasn’t much to see. Just a carefully folded and bound cloth, tied on with linen. All thankfully white and unsullied. I was quite naked, though, and I felt a blush coming on at the thought of the healer, a gentle, decorous older lady, casually disrobing me.
“She won’t talk,” said Boog, and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking of my assailant. “I think they were mercenaries from the southern lands – some of their equipment looked southern-made, and they all had thick dark hair under the masks. They didn’t have much money, either, so maybe they were earning their supper chasing Bernot. Sophie's got five inspectors out trying to track down their lodgings and contacts, but without the pool, it’s a challenge.”
“It’s Marron,” I said. “Has to be."
Boog nodded his assent. “Unless Bernot’s got a lot more enemies than I think he does. And they were obviously told about us as well.”
The Augur seemed surprised at my accusation, and I realized then how impetuous I must sound, a provisional inspector of low birth casually indicting a respected nobleman. She leaned back in her chair. “A bold and treacherous move he’s made, if you two are correct. I'd not think him capable of it, but these are unsettled times. I doubt you�
�ll ever find evidence enough to make it stick. He’s not fool enough to have hired them himself.” She paused. “If you’re right, you’ve gained a very powerful enemy.”
Boog filled the Augur in on the blue woman, on Bernot’s eavesdropping, and on our suspicions. I added the professor’s insights about the Faerans and their ambitions. I realized that I’d not yet told Sophie about all of that. I groaned inwardly. Maybe my current state might soften her ire when she found out? I doubted it.
The Augur listened attentively, but then her eyes grew distant as she pondered our words. At length, she spoke. “A fine mess you two have stumbled into,” she mused. "But all your evidence could be portrayed as nothing more than mere circumstance. You’ll need far more than inference and a few coincidences to convince Sophie, much less the Justiciary, much less the Prelate, who will surely be summoned into any matter concerning the House of Marron." She pounded the arm of her chair. “If we only had the pool – damn that wizard and her amulet.”
Boog grunted agreement. “What should we do now, Augur?”
“In your case, that’s for Sophie to decide. In Inspector Mingenstern’s case, he should lie here, drink plenty of mead, and attempt not to bleed."
I was all too eager to comply. Suddenly, a wave of weariness washed over me. I closed my eyes, and the last thing I remember was a huge hand gently patting my leg.
20
Closing Wounds
I awoke parched. From the window, I could see the sky was dark, some lamps burning in the street below. Someone had left a pitcher of water by my bed. I drank carefully, trying not to move anything that didn’t absolutely have to move, and hoping that I wouldn't see the water I drank flow out from under my bandage. My whole left side ached, and the cut across my chest still burned at the slightest touch. I tried to find a comfortable position. If there was one, I failed to find it. I let out a heavy sigh.