Magic Outside the Box

by Honor Raconteur

  But this time while we were on the very long, windy road towards Sheffield, at least one person had thought to plan ahead. Jamie pulled out several sheets of paper she called Mad-Libs and proceeded to teach us the game. The random words we supplied her made the bland story absolutely ridiculous and we laughed most of the trip in.

  This was, yet again, something else she could introduce into our society and make a pretty penny off it. I sometimes questioned why she so insisted on being a detective. She could spend her days inventing things and never run out of either ideas or money. I did wonder what it was about her nature that so compelled her to solve crimes.

  Not that I was complaining. Far from it. I’d never have met her through normal circles. And the idea of spending the rest of my career locked up in my lab, doing both my work and Sanderson’s, was strangely cold. I’d not known I needed a partner until fate handed me one. Well, fate and Gregson.

  When the Mad-Libs game grew to be tiring, we buckled down into work and split up Burtchell’s finances. With three sets of eyes, it was easy to check over everything he’d done in the past three years, which was all we were interested in. Nothing stood out to me and neither woman found anything of interest to note.

  We got in to Sheffield at roughly noon, checking into the same hotel as before. It took us only minutes to put our bags into our respective rooms, then we went back down to the dining room for lunch. It was the right time for it, after all, and it wasn’t like we had a firm plan of how to move forward.

  Everyone ordered and sat back, enjoying the relative coolness of the dining room. I turned my mind to the problem of finding a suspect we knew barely anything about and frowned as a solution failed to leap out at me.

  “A census would tell us all the magicians in this area,” McSparrin noted, clearly thinking along the same lines. She loosened the top two buttons of her uniform as she spoke, a silent concession to the heat. “But I don’t know how helpful that would be.”

  “Fairly helpful. It’ll give us a starting point, at least.” Seaton tapped his fingers against the tabletop, lips pursed. “I’m inclined to ask the constables about the letters as well. Surely Burtchell reported them? And if nothing else, perhaps they can supply us with a few names of people who were publicly calling for Burtchell’s head.”

  Jamie nodded in support. “Let’s do both, see if there’s any overlap. Henri and I will take the constables, you two go look up the census.”

  “Start in Sheffield, work our way out?” I asked.

  “Only sensible approach.” A ripple of emotion crossed her face, and she spoke slowly, each word paving the way forward. “I think we should look up the ship rosters as well. Cross-check them with the protesters. Either someone wanted revenge for a life lost, or perhaps one of the survivors from the wreck is getting revenge themselves.”

  I foresaw a great many lists in our future. “You’re quite sure the ships are somehow involved, aren’t you?”

  “Call it a hunch. It was the only recent thing people were mad at Burtchell for. If it’s not that, I honestly don’t know what else to look at. His finances were relatively clean.”

  Burtchell was the rare gambler who had a budget for his vice and stuck to it. He was financially sound and I saw nothing in them indicating trouble. I didn’t see any IOUs where people owed him money, either. It was yet another dead end.

  This case would drive us insane soon if we didn’t wrest a lead from somewhere.

  “Whoever did this is too clever by half,” McSparrin lamented before picking up her glass and taking a healthy swallow of the iced beverage. “Normally we have at least some idea, or a witness who saw something strange. It’s like he’s invisible.”

  “Or just the sort of man you wouldn’t notice.” Jamie said with a nostalgic tone. Whatever it was she recalled, she didn’t choose to share. “Well! Let’s hope this time we get a suspect that sticks.”

  I seconded that whole-heartedly.

  We ate, not quite at our leisure, but without any true rush. As we left the hotel, each going their own way, Jamie left the motorcar to Seaton and McSparrin. I was prayerfully thankful for her generosity, even if it meant we walked in the increasingly warm summer day.

  We’d barely crossed the street when she broached the subject I’d meant to discuss with her. “Did Gregson tell you the Kingsmen want us for consultants?”

  “He did, yesterday afternoon. I’d not found a good time to talk with you about this. What did you think of the offer?”

  “I’m a little surprised, honestly. I mean, you’ve seen how Weiss reacts to me.”

  My nose wrinkled up in distaste. “Yes, quite. I think in this case he’s been overruled by both Queen Regina and Seaton.”

  “That’s my take on it.” Her eyes scrutinized me, a query open on her face. “Are you for or against this idea?”

  “I’m open to it. But Jamie, if it means working under a superior who so openly dislikes you, I’m not inclined to accept it. Such situations are not just uncomfortable, but potentially dangerous. What if he ignores a call for backup? What if he gives you a case that’s dangerous just because he wants to safeguard his own people? He might be the type to think of people as expendable.”

  She didn’t discount my fears. Her stride steady, she walked at my pace, and mulled for a time. “I think if we do this, we’ll need to stipulate that Seaton’s my supervisor. Or he has to sign off on any assignment I take. I mean, really, my core is unstable enough that he should be alerted to where I am anyway.”

  “An excellent point.” It was also a sound plan. Seaton would agree to such a term in a heartbeat. “So you truly wish to do this, then?”

  “I was hesitant to take any sort of consulting position with the Kingsmen because I’m not literate and don’t know the culture. I’ve got a better grasp on both at this point, so I won’t be a fish out of water. Well, not as much as I was. But you’ll be with me,” she added with heartfelt simplicity. “There’s not much I can’t do without you.”

  Those words, that sentiment, hit me with the force of a spell right in my chest. It was empowering and humbling all at once. I wanted to wrap her up in an embrace tight enough to make bones squeak in protest.

  Perhaps this showed on my face. More likely she shared at least part of the same impulse, as she wrapped an arm around my shoulders and hugged me tight to her side for a moment. It threw off my balance and stride and I didn’t care a whit. I leaned into her, and indulged for a moment. It wasn’t exactly appropriate, and I didn’t care. For once, I wished for propriety to go hang itself.

  It was over in seconds, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. A bright smile graced her face and there was a noticeable bounce in her stride. “Are we doing this, then?”

  “Yes. Assuming they agree to our conditions.” I must be mad. Why was I agreeing to yet even more work?

  I blamed her for this.

  There were far too many lists of names for my peace of mind. Henri and I had some, Sherard and Penny had another, and there was the stack of letters to go through. I expected the truly troublesome ones to be anonymous, but you know what they say about assumptions…better to cross-check them. Anyone who was either a magician themselves or had intimate ties with a magician went on the chalkboard.

  The hotel, bless them, had readily given the small conference room back to us to work out of. Constable Parmenter had joined us, apparently talked into doing so by Penny. Having one local in the group to help sort out people would save a lot of time.

  Parmenter was patient in this process the first hour, calling out names along with the rest. We were all around the table, me slouching, Clint lounging on the table’s surface nearby and dozing. Penny manned the chalkboard, which left the men to handle the various lists and call out names. It was a tedious, tedious process and more than once I wished for a computer. A good database would have sorted this all by now and given us a list to start from.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not clear on this,” Parmenter stated. His pointed ea
rs lay flat against his head. He’d been fidgety and confused for the past hour so it was no surprise he objected. More of a surprise it had taken him this long to voice it. “I thought it would take a powerful magician to get through a royal mage’s wards.”

  “Technically, you’re right,” Sherard explained absently. “But in this case, the wards never failed. They were bypassed entirely. Amelia Johnson.”

  Penny dutifully wrote it down.

  Seeing Sherard lose the thread, I picked up the explanation for Parmenter’s sake. “You see, our murderer was clever enough to slip in when the wards were off. He waited while Burtchell was talking with his friend, slipped in through the front door in between the morning deliveries, then waited upstairs until everyone was gone. Went down, killed Burtchell, then went upstairs again. When the housekeeper came, she left both doors open and unlocked as she ran for help. All he had to do was walk out.”

  Parmenter stared at me incredulously. “You know that for a fact?”

  “No, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Even now the wards are still up and functional. If someone had battered through them in order to get inside or out, we’d see damage. They wouldn’t be humming merrily along. And the only place no one occupied at all that morning was upstairs. It was the perfect place to hide.”

  “It’s also why we’re fairly sure the murderer either lives or works in this area,” Penny added. “Any stranger would have been remarked upon. He was able to walk about without gathering notice. It has to be a familiar face.”

  “Familiar enough that he could watch RM Burtchell’s house long enough to get his patterns down, too,” Parmenter said slowly, the pieces visibly falling into place for him. “Cor mighty, makes more sense now why you’re doing all this. This person, would they need to be physically strong? Fast, or dexterous?”

  I shook my head. “No. It didn’t take any of that in order to perform the murder. I wish we could narrow the suspects that way, but unfortunately the only thing we’re sure of is that they had very good control of wind spells. That, and they were enraged enough to ambush a royal mage in his own home.”

  Parmenter frowned at the stack of letters in Sherard’s hands. “And you’re including them because you think someone was mad enough about the sunken ships to kill him? That’s your motive?”

  Henri cast him a glance over the papers in his hands. “Possibly. It’s the only thing recent. Every other case Burtchell was on that ended with either death or incarceration is years old. And those people all had alibis.”

  “That’s what you went into Kingston to check.” Parmenter grunted in understanding. “Still. I know some people were upset RM Burtchell didn’t save every ship—and one of them lost almost the entire crew—but Burtchell was only one man. None of us really blamed him for it.”

  My ears perked. “Wait, this the first I’ve heard one of the ship’s crews was lost. I thought the ships themselves were lost, but the people largely saved?”

  Parmenter shook his head and corrected, “Three of the ships were saved intact, vessel and passengers both. Two of the ships were larger trading vessels. I was standing near RM Burtchell when we called him to help. It was a bad storm, miss. Ah, Detective. Powerful bad. Not seen a storm like that one in fifty years. I could barely see my nose on my face, and RM Burtchell had to light up the area with all sorts of spells just to get some visibility. He told me outright he couldn’t save all five. Said even in the height of his power, he couldn’t do that. And the two trading vessels were powerful large, both six masts and a good seven hundred feet sparred.”

  I had to translate that last bit. I believed he meant the hull alone was seven hundred feet. And if that was correct, then that was a stupidly massive ship. You couldn’t get much bigger than that and keep something afloat and steerable. Not for a wooden sailing ship. I let out a low whistle.

  He gave me a nod, agreeing with the unvoiced sentiment. “I didn’t blame him for the decision. Only sensible one to be made. If he tried for all five, he’d have lost all five. He went for the three smaller ones first, as they were passenger ships, and closest. Got them lifted out of the sea entire and set them at the docks. By the time he could react to the trading ships, one of them was already dashed onto the rocks, and there was no helping it. The other he held steady until we could get rowing boats out there, try to get the crew off at least. The ship was a loss—it and the cargo went down after he released his magic. Lost three hundred and sixty-two souls that night. But he saved over fifteen hundred.”

  “Someone thinks he should have saved all two thousand,” I noted with a sigh. “Or at least, a different fifteen hundred.”

  Parmenter hesitated a long moment, eyeing the lists and letters with a perturbed look on his face.

  “Out with it, man.” Sherard poked him with the eraser end of a pencil.

  “It’s just…there were two windwhisperers on the trading vessels.” Parmenter worried on the end of his once immaculate mustache. I recognized a nervous tic when I saw it. “One of them’s laid up, now, had two broken legs as a souvenir. He’s resting up in the next town over, I think, with his folks. The other was a survivor of the ship that lost the entire crew.”

  I shared a glance with the other three. That sounded like a good possibility.

  “He’s not going to be on your lists,” Parmenter added, frown deepening. “Martin…was I think his name. He was powerful upset about what happened, I had to throw him in the drunk tank one night. Got six sheets to the wind and raving about how wrong the whole situation was and everyone involved was a—” he cut himself off, glancing between me and Penny. “Well, you can no doubt guess what he said. He was angry enough to start random fights with people, although I’d thought I’d talked him out of it. We went into all that happened, how Burtchell couldn’t save them all. How all the rescuers on scene had done everything they could. I thought he’d seen reason.”

  “Anger and grief normally don’t.” I knew that from painful and personal experience. “Why do you say he won’t be on the lists? He’s not from here?”

  “No, Detective, he was just here temporarily until his company got him on a new ship. Stayed in the boarding house here a while. Not sure when he left, only I stopped seeing him in the pub…” Parmenter trailed off and buried his head in one hand. He looked ruddy from either embarrassment or some other emotion. “Blight the bastard. You think he did it?”

  “I think he’s a good candidate. What’s the shipping company he works for?”

  “Reed and Bell.”

  I was all for abandoning the lists. This sounded like a much better lead to follow through on. “Let’s look him up, see if we can’t have a chat. Even if it isn’t our man, he might well know someone else for us to talk to.”

  Reed and Bell was a large enough company to have a building, warehouse, and a set of docks all for their private use. The reason why I know this? Because it took several phone calls to find the right number for their office. For all they were listed in the directory, the numbers weren’t in the right order, and my first try for the office instead got me the dock foreman.

  Standing in the hotel lobby with the receiver cradled between my ear and shoulder, I went through the numbers. Each person I tried wasn’t sure who could answer my question, which left me trying someone else. I felt the keen stare of people passing me by. I tried to keep my voice down, but the mic sensitivity on these phones was crap. I had to half-yell and keep each word distinct. Whoever invented these things, it wasn’t Graham-Bell. Maybe I needed to sic Ellie on this problem.

  Finally, I got the right woman on the phone. Or at least, the head office. “Hello. I’m Detective Jamie Edwards with the Kingston PD. I need to speak with someone who’d know your employee roster.”

  “Yes, Detective, I can help you with that.”

  Thank all the saints. “Excellent. I’m looking for Robert Martin.”

  “Oh, my,” a raspy alto voice answered me, sounding both alarmed and ready for some juicy gossip. Ah. TH
AT type. “Dear me, has Mr. Martin done something?”

  “More like, I think he witnessed something.” I wasn’t about to air it around that I wanted him for a murder suspect. The man would disappear completely even if he hadn’t done anything. People spooked easily when the police came knocking. “Can you tell me where to find him?”

  “Yes, one moment, Detective.” I heard the sound of some file cabinets opening and closing, paper rustling, all of it muted and distorted with the scratchy, underwater sound of the lines. I winced and kept the receiver a good three inches from my ear. Seriously, Ellie and I were having a talk after this case was done. The phone made a clack as the woman picked it up again. “According to the schedule, he’s on the Windsprite. He’s due back in to Kingston port in two days.”

  Two days, huh? That gave us a day to follow up on leads here, see if anything panned out. “Afternoon or morning?”

  “Oh, I’d think afternoon at earliest. They’re coming from Wind Capers.”

  I had a vague idea where that was. At some point, I really needed to sit down and study the geography, get it memorized. “Thank you very much for the help.”

  With great relief, I hung up and massaged my aching ear. Owww. But at least the pain was worth it. Or would be, if this was the right guy. I went back into the conference room, taking a look at the chalkboard as I moved. A few more names on the list had been added while I was yelling into a phone. We were up to four people now.

  Penny looked round as I came in and asked hopefully, “You found him?”

  “I did. He’s on a ship at the moment, and due back into Kingston in two days, probably the afternoon. I made it sound like he was a witness to something. Let’s not spook him.”