Bronze Gods

by A. A. Aguirre

  Damn it. Mikani squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Listen, Gun—Commander. It was the only way to stop the riot. We’ll find Toombs. Just fill us in on the last couple of days, and we’ll hit the ground running.”

  With a frown, Gunwood relinquished his outrage and reverted to weary professionalism. “We’ve gotten some reports from the emporiums. Not all of them have responded to our requests to check their records. But one shop looks likely as a point of purchase for the components used in the devices. It’s possible the killer may buy from them again. It wouldn’t be smart, but . . .” The commander shrugged, indicating he hoped to get lucky.

  Mikani nodded. “Where are Cutler and Shelton now?”

  The old man smiled. “They’re waiting outside the emporium. Just in case.”

  “Anything more?” Ritsuko asked.

  “There was a hotel that responded to our circulated sketch.” Gunwood checked his files, then added, “Toombs stayed there a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Was he alone when he checked in?” Mikani wanted to know. The devices were too big for any one man to move around on his own. If he had accomplices, though . . . three or four men would be easier to spot than just one, surely.

  “He was on his own, just a small bag, according to the clerk.”

  Mikani frowned. “How’s he moving the machines then? Even if he could lift them, he couldn’t tuck them under an arm and carry them home.”

  His partner brightened, the unmistakable gleam of an idea in her brown eyes. “Delivery. We’ll talk to the shipping concerns. Somebody hauled those supplies for him.”

  Gunwood bestowed a rare, appreciative smile on them, though it was tired, too. “You have a place to start hunting. Get out of my office and try not to get killed.”

  “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. Sir,” he said, heading for the door.

  • • •

  RITSUKO SPOKE A little while longer with Commander Gunwood, smoothing over the ruffled feathers Mikani left with his grand exit. I’ve missed him. Though she had been busy—and she was nearly finished bundling up things to give away, others going in boxes to be conveyed to her new residence when she got a chance—she’d wondered what her partner was doing. Until recently, he hadn’t been a part of her life outside work . . . and now she couldn’t seem to get him out of her head.

  Before she joined Mikani, she summoned a neutral expression; only then did she stride into the duty room and over to her desk. She beckoned. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

  “First, let’s send a message to the emporium, asking about their shipping policy.”

  “Good idea.” She pulled a pen from the well in her desk slotted to organize such things, wrote the inquiry, then hailed a junior officer to take it to the mail tubes. “We should hear back in a little while.”

  He bent to examine the work she’d laid out. “Is that how you spent your time off? Collating papers?”

  No, I spent it reshaping my life. I don’t want to be lonely anymore. I wish to meet new people and find some excitement that isn’t job-related.

  “Funny. Actually, I’ve been researching the button.”

  Mikani arched a brow, looking dubious. “We already know it belongs to Toombs. What else is there to learn?”

  “You’d be surprised. I thought since it’s obviously expensive, stamped, and engraved, that there might be a record about its manufacturer. If I can figure out who made the button, then I can narrow down what tailors buy from them. This button looks too elegant for a ready-made jacket, don’t you think?”

  He seemed to catch some of her excitement. “Tailors generally keep good records. They measure their clients, work with them personally—”

  “Exactly. There’s a chance that we could locate Toombs through this button. It’s a slim one, granted. But if he’s using another name, he might feel safe giving his current address to the man who makes his coats.”

  “So this is . . .” He paged through the sheets on her desk. “What? Button designs? Manufacturing records?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been comparing patterns, looking for a match.”

  “I hate to bear bad news, partner, but what if this button’s old? And someone poured it by hand, ages ago?”

  Disappointment cascaded through her. Ritsuko had thought of that, of course, but she’d wanted so badly to do something productive that she’d worked rather than think about the suspension, or the growing complexity of her relationship with Mikani. She’d cared to think least of all . . . about anything unrelated to the case. Sometimes the rest of her life just seemed too difficult to deal with. So apart from sorting through cartons and packing them, she’d dedicated her free time to the button.

  But she rallied. “Then there might be a record of that, too. Somewhere. There are tomes devoted to all manner of minutiae in the city archive. My grandfather was fond of reading about the historical significance of the ceramic teapot.”

  Mikani smiled. “You’ll have to tell me about that another time. I’ve a couple of teapots at home that have all sorts of historical significance, I’d wager. Shall we do some research, then?”

  She couldn’t remember feeling more astonished. “You . . . want to go poke through old books with me?”

  “I figured I could charm the information out of librarians, but your idea does have a certain attraction. We can read sweet descriptions of historical buttons to each other and make an evening of it.”

  Bronze gods, that tone. I’ve heard him use it on his women. Please don’t let me be blushing. I doubt he’d ever let me forget the infamy.

  “That’s not what I meant. You’ve teased me endlessly about my affinity for the tedious aspects of our work. Now you admit it’s . . . useful?” She fought a smile.

  “You’ve a knack for it. And . . . well, you’ve shown me that it pays off, sometimes.” He scratched the side of his neck. “And I’m tired of running around without you.”

  Without another word, because she didn’t know if she could speak, Ritsuko advised the junior officer to forward any replies to the city archive. Perhaps she was wrong, but that had sounded like a convoluted way of saying I miss you. These days, Mikani made it difficult to see him as only a lighthearted rogue.

  After a ten-minute walk, they arrived at the city archive, a gorgeous stone building that Ritsuko had always loved. Stark white walls towered above them, a clean facade punctuated by three narrow bas-reliefs depicting the history of the Isles from the earliest records to the present day. Every few years, a team of artists carved a new panel, adding it to the frieze. The bronze dome crowning the archives shone in the afternoon light, casting a golden glow on the nearest Council buildings.

  This place was the one reason her grandfather ever left the seclusion of the Mountain District. She remembered the joy and anticipation she’d felt before each trip, as if they prepared for a long voyage. He used to pack a flask of tea, a packet of biscuits, and they ate them in the park while paging through their reading material. She’d loved the bustle of the city, the electric mix of so many different faces and skin tones instead of so much homogeneity. As a child, she’d only ever felt free during those outings.

  Without understanding why, she told Mikani as much. “When I was a little girl, we came here once a month. Later, my grandfather blamed the archive for my desire to leave the Mountain. He said if he’d never taught me to read and speak the common tongue, I’d have been content in my role.”

  “I don’t think that’d have made much of a difference. You’re far too smart to be content in a cage, partner.” Here, he hesitated, cutting her a considering look through the tangle of his lashes. In combination with his unshaven jaw and the blue glint of his eyes, she had to strangle a frisson of . . . well. Stop it. “So . . . how did he end up raising you?”

  A personal question. From Mikani.

  It was silly, but her heart actually skipped a beat. She wondered if he knew these things about his women, or if there were no questions asked, no answer
s given.

  It was a pleasure to reply, “I was two when they died. There was an epidemic . . . a fever, I’m told. When my parents fell ill, they sent me to my grandfather, who lived on the other side of the district. I . . . never went home.”

  He stopped and turned toward her, seeming concerned. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t even remember them.” She dismissed the faint discomfort she read in his furrowed brow, climbing the steps toward the archive. “What about you? You don’t talk about your family.”

  He followed closely. “Boring, really. Mother lives up north, helping my sisters care for their broods. Five and counting, last I heard, between Helena and Daphne. I see them now and then.” He was silent for a few seconds. “Dad served the Olriks. House Guard. Went after some pirates out west and didn’t come back. I’m half-convinced he found a pretty island girl, and I’ve a little clan of half siblings running around.”

  “You have sisters,” she said, fascinated. “Are they older, younger? Five nieces and nephews? How many of each?”

  She’d never pictured him coming from a large family, never thought about it much at all. If anyone had asked, prior to this, she might’ve even speculated that he’d sprung fully formed from a bottle of whiskey. The hint of pain when he spoke of his father—well, she thought it best to pretend she didn’t see it. Annoy him with the questions instead.

  “I told you, boring,” he muttered, as they reached the research offices. “Helena’s older by a full minute. Or so she claims—”

  “You have a twin,” she exclaimed, delighted. “Does she look like you?”

  He scoffed. “I’m the handsome one.”

  “I’m sure.” She kept her tone neutral, aware his self-opinion didn’t need padding.

  Ritsuko led the way toward the shelves she had haunted for the last few days. The librarian recognized her and lifted a hand in greeting as she passed. A few patrons did as well, but they only smiled, as she’d come here long before she needed to research a case. This place felt like home.

  “And Daphne?” she prompted, as she settled her things on a polished table.

  “The baby of the Mikanis, spoiled like her little monsters. Four nieces and a nephew, but only one of them takes after their uncle. Rest of them will grow up to be hardworking, decent artisans and smiths, no doubt.”

  “You may not be part of a crafting guild, but you’re hardworking and decent.” The words came out fiercer and more heartfelt than she intended.

  He arched a brow. “Why, partner, I’d almost think you approve of my lax ways.”

  “I may not think everything you do is advisable, but you’re a good man.” Time to step away from the sincerity. So she added, “One nephew? Please tell me his name is Janus. I think I speak for the whole CID when I say, we’d love a miniature of tiny Janus in short pants.” She laid a finger against her cheek, feigning innocence. “I should write your sister. I bet she’d send me one.”

  “It’s a traditional name, I’ll have you know.” He started pulling books at random from the nearby shelves. “And, I already have one such at home.”

  She laughed and fetched the volumes she had been using, then she stopped to ask the librarian for some guidance on texts that dealt with antique buttons. The man seemed surprised, but a few minutes later, he delivered a hefty stack for them to sort through. Serious now, Ritsuko divided up the stack. Mikani eyed his share as if it were a coiled snake about to bite him.

  We have our work cut out for us.

  They read in silence for over an hour before the courier came.

  Mikani took the envelope, cracked it open, and offered a sharp smile. “I hope you aren’t too enthralled here because we have something more exciting to do.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE ALSTON SHIPPING COMPANY WAS A FAMILY CONCERN, PRIVATELY OWNED AND OPERATED. They had offices down by South Bay docks, not far from the Port Authority, where ships bearing both goods and passengers required clearance. A brisk breeze blew in from the sea, carrying tinges of fish and salt, along with a powerful chill. The long days were coming to an end; night fell faster as the cold came on, so Mikani quickened his step accordingly. Businesses tended not to stay open down here after dark.

  The office offered no elegance, just a weathered-brick facade with sagging peaked roofs. Inside, workers hurried between piled crates and barrels, maddened by the influx of new business, likely driven by Summer Clan blockades. While the embargo was terrible for merchants, it appeared to be good for local transport, as the sea routes were booming, and the docks were overwhelmed with shipments. Mikani led Ritsuko through the maze of supplies, up an open staircase to the first floor, where the managers worked. There were three offices; he chose the largest one. No point in wasting time on underlings.

  The door was ajar, saving him the pretense of politeness. He stepped into the well-appointed room: large desk set before a window, a wall full of shelves and cupboards, two chairs, and a table with various documents strewn across it. A fortyish gentleman glanced up from the papers, a frown knitting his brows.

  “Can I help you?” By his irritated expression, Mikani guessed the other man felt someone ought to have stopped them before they got this far.

  “Mr. Alston?” He smiled and produced his credentials.

  “Yes, what do you need?” Alston’s tone became less impatient, however, when he registered the significance of the proffered badge.

  “A moment of your time. And the full manifest of your shipments for Edgehill Metalworking and Foundry over the last two months if you’d be so kind.”

  Mr. Alston worked his jaw in a manner that suggested he was already out of patience. “You don’t need my personal supervision for this.” He scrawled a note on a blank sheet of paper and handed it to Mikani. “Take this to my clerk, two doors down. He can help you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Ritsuko said.

  “That was too easy,” Mikani commented, as they retraced their steps to the smaller office.

  In here the carpet was threadbare, the shelves made of unfinished wood, and the man staring at them across the desk wore the thickest glasses Mikani had ever seen. But the clerk perked at the sight of Ritsuko, as if he’d never seen a woman before. He stumbled to his feet, banging against the chair, and came around to offer his hand.

  “Here’s the real gauntlet,” she whispered.

  “I beg your pardon?” the clerk said.

  Ritsuko offered a smile, then her badge. “Never mind. Mikani, you have the writ from Mr. Alston.”

  He suppressed a smirk and handed the clerk the note. “Your employer said you could help us with this.”

  The clerk scanned the document and nodded to the point that it seemed likely his spectacles might fall off. “Let me just get the ledgers.”

  His eagerness to please resulted in a quick return, at least. The clerk seemed quite proud of the hefty tomes he handed over. But the records requested were written in a tiny, spidery script in columns that might make Mikani go blind. He gave one of the books to Ritsuko, who arched a brow at him.

  “This is supposed to be more exciting than the archives?”

  He laid claim to the nearest desk in the clerk’s office, scanning the entries. Each page was devoted to a separate cargo, row after row of minutiae clearly labeled, weighed, and counted. He shook his head and examined the nearly indecipherable writing for mentions of polished brass mirrors and cylinders of the right dimensions. It took nearly two hours of exhaustive searching, but by the time the clerk packed up his briefcase in an unmistakable cue—the man was no longer so enamored with Ritsuko’s mere existence—they had an address.

  “This is where they took the matching order,” Ritsuko said, standing. She arched her back, then rolled her head side to side, presumably to work out the stiffness. “Thanks for your time,” she added to the clerk.

  Mikani stretched and jotted down the address. Then something on the ledger caught his eye. “Ritsuko, Toombs�
�s mother mentioned he was deep in debt, yes?”

  She nodded. “Something about those theater people with their whoring, gambling, and drinking. She wasn’t amused.”

  “Then how could he afford all this? From the value listed for insurance, seems that the brass and copper components alone cost a small fortune.”

  Before Ritsuko could reply, the clerk put in, “Sir, I don’t mean to trouble you, but I need to lock up.”

  Mikani took the hint, and they left, heading down the stairs in silence while Ritsuko clearly mulled his question. He could tell she was thinking by the neat furrow between her brows and the way she quirked her mouth to the side, then bit her lip. Outside the shipping offices, it was nearly dark, a sky full of emerging stars.

  “Either he borrowed the money for . . . this. Or he has a patron,” she offered.

  Mikani nodded, thinking it over. “There’s one more thing, partner. The manifest listed several other items. He’s definitely building another device.”

  “That tracks with what you sensed at Miss Bihár’s flat. The third victim.”

  He smiled at Ritsuko. “We need to find out if he’s alone in this.”

  “I think we should check out the address where they sent his goods. If he’s there, our search is over. If not, perhaps we learn something that will help us find him.” She curled one hand into a fist. “I hate that he has the whole city to hide in.”

  “Look at the bright side. Between the constables, the Free Traders, and the Summer Clan, he’s stuck in the city. Hells, he’s probably unable to leave whatever hole he’s burrowed into for fear someone will spot him and turn him over to Bihár. So let’s go smoke him out.”

  “Did you see that House Aevar has posted a bounty on his head? A thousand talons for his capture, alive or dead.” She moved toward the cruiser, parked some distance away.