Mikani hadn’t been back here since his abrupt departure more than fifteen years ago. He didn’t regret searching for his father, but he did regret not completing his studies. According to his mother, if he had, he might be a gentleman now, and not a ruffian who made his living by getting into fights with criminals.
She’s not far off, some days.
Glancing around, he said, “This is more your field of expertise, partner.”
“I don’t know why you’d say that. I never attended here.”
The buildings hadn’t changed, just become more weathered. He thought he recognized a couple of professors ambling around the covered walkways. But these kids look so bloody young. And carefree. You wouldn’t think the city was on the verge of starving or burning a few days ago.
“You have a natural affinity for academia. And you were last here a few days ago. Which way?” He turned toward her with a grin that hid his inner turmoil.
When he looked at Ritsuko, it was hard not to think about how she’d felt in his arms or the smell of camellias in her hair when she tucked her head against him. As he remembered, he got a twinge in his chest. I liked being the one who could make things better for her. Mikani didn’t know exactly what that meant.
“The history department is over here.” She held a map of the campus, indicating a shady path that wound through the quad.
Students aimed curious looks in their direction from time to time; Mikani guessed they didn’t resemble the typical enrollment. It was a quick walk to the desired building: gray stone, classical architecture, multiple floors and exits. He led the way into the darkened atrium, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Shelves full of books and sculptures crowded the walls and covered most of the windows. It felt more like the library, down to the dusty smell of old tomes. Small tables were scattered around a central space, mostly empty at this hour. It took him a few seconds to realize that the spindly figure looking in their direction wasn’t part of the décor.
Seems history’s not in vogue this term.
“Good morning, Professor. I wonder if we could ask a few minutes of your time.”
“Certainly. I don’t have class or office hours at the moment.” The man shuffled toward them with steps so pained that Mikani wondered if he wasn’t years past retirement.
Ritsuko moved to one of the vacant tables and set out her interview accoutrements: pen, notebook, and the research they had done at the archives related to the coins and button. This morning, her suit was immaculate, despite the fresh bruise on her cheek. He ran a hand over his own jaw, stubbled and still sore from the last few days.
I swear she has a team of house sprites to help her tidy up every morning. Probably pack her bag, too.
“I’m Inspector Ritsuko.” She tilted her head. “My partner, Mikani. If you’d care to join us, we could use your expertise.”
“Inspectors, are you? That’s fascinating. I can’t imagine what help I could be.” But the professor toddled to the table nonetheless, apparently eager to be of service.
Mikani leaned against the nearest shelves while the professor leaned in close to his partner, scanned her work, then praised her research. They conversed quietly, so he looked around the room. He’d never been to the history wing before; it was across campus from his old haunts in mathematics and accounting. He wondered, idly, if his old desk still bore the marks of his wandering attention during long lectures, then glanced over when Ritsuko and the professor straightened from their task.
“Got something?”
“Professor Tarrant has translated the Old Ferisher. It’s a House motto, Mikani.”
He raised a brow. “What does it mean, then?”
Professor Tarrant replied, “‘Under this sign, we shall conquer.’ It belonged to an old House, which lapsed, oh, four hundred years ago. There was a bloody war of succession, as I understand it, and their line never recovered. I don’t believe there are any Nualls left.”
Mikani pointed out, “Their coin’s still around. If they’re gone, who might have access to their treasury? Or their estate?”
Four hundred years is a hell of a gap to try to find paperwork.
Tarrant seemed astonished. “Their currency is back in circulation after all this time? I can’t imagine where it might’ve come from.”
A frown creased Ritsuko’s brows, and Mikani knew exactly how she felt. “This doesn’t make sense. Do you have any records or documents that discuss the holdings that were divided when the family name lapsed into disuse? Or who might have inherited any property left?”
Mikani suspected he knew what she was driving at. Wealth such as the Houses accrued didn’t simply vanish. The challenge lay in locating whoever inherited it, found it, or stole it, though. It wasn’t typical CID work.
“Yes,” the professor said. “There are ledgers and historical sales records in the archive downstairs, mostly filed away for posterity. People don’t tend to care how much a nobleman paid for a silk carpet three hundred years ago.”
Mikani suppressed a grimace and smiled at the professor. “Oh, we live for old ledgers. Fascinated by the minutiae of people long since turned to dust, especially my partner here. Which way to the cellar?”
Lifting her hand, Ritsuko muffled a chuckle. “Thanks for your time, Professor.”
After two hours of digging through old scrolls and leather tomes, Mikani paused to stretch. He glared at the rows of stacked papers and documents, trying to intimidate them into giving up any useful information that they might be hiding. Hells and Winter, I’ve spent more time among books the past two weeks than in the last two years.
“It’s a valiant effort, but I don’t think the documents find you frightening.”
“They should. I have the power to burn them all.”
“And then we’ll get arrested for destroying valuable city property.”
“I’d charge them with obstructing an investigation.” He groaned, aiming an imploring look her way. “Tell me you found something. Anything, to get us out of here.”
Her eyes twinkled at him. “I discovered a woman can be traded for two goats, a laying hen, and a wheel of cheese.”
Mikani eyed her, speculative. “I’m sure I could get at least three goats for you. Think Rudo’s still accepting offers?”
“Please. I’m worth at least four goats and an ox.”
“I don’t know. Do you cook?” He smirked.
“Not much, but I’m an immaculate housekeeper and amenable to meeting a gentleman’s every other need.”
Every other?
“I’m telling you, I’m a bad influence.” He let out a mock sigh.
I missed the banter. But I miss the blue sky more, though.
“I was meeting certain needs before I encountered you, Mikani. You give yourself too much credit. And perhaps it’s slipped your notice, but . . . women have needs, too.” The oblique words came with a teasing grin.
“My inflated sense of self-worth’s part of my charm. The other part’s my adamant devotion to—” He frowned, staring over her shoulder. “We need birth records, not accounting ledgers. If we can find out where the Nualls lived, we’ll have a place to start.”
She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He watched as she went to the shelves and rummaged, running her fingers along the spines to find the book they needed. “Here.”
The book looked enormous in her arms as Ritsuko carried it back to the table. It appeared to be some master log of all the births recorded in noble families, going back centuries. Mikani couldn’t imagine how boring that job must’ve been. Ritsuko flipped through, which took another fifteen minutes, and he finally sat down beside her. Eventually, she tapped a page.
“This is the strangest thing, Mikani.” He stepped closer to peer over her shoulder at the faded scribbles on the yellowed paper. “The last entry I can find for the Nualls is over six hundred years old.”
He shook his head. “Didn’t the professor—”
“Said they died out four hu
ndred years ago, yes. There may be records missing; but here. Look.” She touched the page again, so he looked closer. I can barely make out the writing. Would it kill them to put more lamps down here? He was getting restless; he had hoped for a solid lead from their trip to the Academy.
He couldn’t read the old tongue, but he discerned the numbers and what looked like names. “Ah. Three hundred and . . . ninety-four?”
“That’s the old reckoning. Roughly the year fourteen hundred by the reformed calendar.”
He arched a brow and kept reading. “Keenan . . . Keenan Nuall, Feid o’Nuall. Three hundred and sixty, Keenan Nuall and Gairdh o’Nuall.” He shook his head. “I can’t make out half of it, partner. What . . . ?”
“Read the last entry.”
What the hells has her so excited?
He bent closer once more. “Three hundred and three, two born in the same year. Must be twins. Lorne and Theron—” He paused and met his partner’s eyes. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“That’s the name of the man Miss Wright followed a few nights ago. Someone who easily took out four thugs, hand to hand. Tore them to pieces.”
“And who seemed to step right out of the old stories, from her description.” Damned be. We’re chasing a seven-century-old bogeyman.
She nodded and set the book back. “We have directions to Mr. Nuall’s home, from Miss Wright’s statement. And it happens to be in the same general area where the ledgers place the old Nuall estate.”
He let out a long breath and motioned for her to lead the way back up. “Let’s hunt up a ghost, partner.”
• • •
THE ESTATE WAS . . . eerie. From the records they’d found, Ritsuko expected a ruin, though Miss Wright hadn’t given much detail on what the place looked like. But it was beautiful, if oddly out of step with the city a couple of hours distant. They had left the main trade route half an hour before.
In a strict sense, CID cruisers weren’t meant for long-distance, nor were inspectors supposed to take them so far outside the city limits, but when they were so close to figuring things out, it made no sense to cavil over trifling rules. Mikani had been confident he could find the place, between Miss Wright’s account and the records they’d unearthed at the Academy—and here they were. Her nerves prickled as they slid out of the vehicle.
“What do you think?” she asked.
A frown between his brows, her partner looked around. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose before answering. “Lovely view. Can’t say I care for the ambiance, though. There’s something odd about this place . . . Let’s take a look around?”
From his expression, she could tell something was bothering him, but he seemed unwilling to explain it just yet. It was difficult to act as if nothing had happened around him, as if she hadn’t crawled into his lap and demanded comfort like a child. So far, he hadn’t made a joke of her vulnerability, but she didn’t know how she’d respond if he did.
Banishing such worries, she raised the knocker on the gate and slammed it down four times in quick succession. Mr. Nuall must have money if he retained possession of the family estate. But how strange that his family’s been reported defunct. Eventually, she heard movement within.
A servant opened the gate, clad in old-fashioned livery. He raised his brows.
She stepped forward. “We have a few questions for your employer, Theron Nuall. I’m Inspector Ritsuko. This is my partner, Mikani. May we come in?”
The man looked at each of them briefly. With a nod, he stepped back, ushering them in with a gesture. Mikani tilted his head at him in what she took to be a speculative fashion, then shrugged and motioned for her to lead the way. Still no words from the man as he led them through the front gate and toward the villa, which was . . . breathtaking.
She had never seen anything so lovely or archaic. It sprawled across the land as if it had a perfect right, and the grounds were beautifully landscaped with emerald hedges and feathered fronds that nuzzled up against the stone walk. In Dorstaad, buildings were closer together, and most private gardens were bits of greenery tucked behind high walls. The air felt warmer and softer, too, as if they’d stepped through more than a garden gate. Above, the sun shone a little brighter, dazzling compared to the city. More telling, flowers bloomed, ones for which she had no name, in colors lush and luxurious. Ritsuko didn’t see the servant go. One minute she was following him; the next, she glanced away to admire the garden, and he wasn’t there anymore.
Ritsuko studied Mikani, walking beside her. “I hope you have a theory.”
He wore a puzzled expression. “I have several, but they all sound like fairy tales. This whole place just . . . sings.”
“What does it sound like?” she asked, curious.
“It’s a low hum, but there’s an ebb and flow to it. Like the wind through a forest . . . only there’s no wind, and no trees in here. Or a wet finger on crystal—”
Their quarry, Theron Nuall, emerged from the main house before he could finish his thought. Nuall wore a grim expression, probably more dire than their visit warranted. It’s not as if we came to arrest him. Yet.
“What is the meaning of this . . . intrusion?” he demanded.
No invitation to enter the premises, no hospitality. It definitely sets the tone.
Mikani’s abstraction told her all she needed to know, so she answered for both of them. “As we told your servant, we’re with the CID. We have a number of questions for you, regarding multiple murders in Dorstaad.”
“And I have no time for your city, Inspector. Or your questions.” He made a dismissive gesture with a long-fingered hand.
“Right now it’s only an interview,” Ritsuko said, “but if you give me reason, I’d love to haul you in for refusing to cooperate.”
Theron seemed taken aback. Then he laughed. “You . . . threaten me?”
“She’s warning you.” Mikani finally spoke. He sounded strained, but he stepped up beside her, his walking stick braced under an arm. “Really, though, wouldn’t you rather get rid of us quickly?”
The suspect’s face darkened ominously. “I would rather plant you in my garden.”
Mikani’s brows rose, and he stepped closer to the other man. “And I’d rather—” He stopped, let out a long breath. “Just answer the bloody questions. We have an eyewitness report linking you to four murders and evidence tying you to a couple more. So unless you give answers, we’ll call a horde of less courteous friends to trample your garden while asking you the exact same questions in much louder voices.”
Mr. Nuall’s face froze. Something shifted in his dark gaze—then froze. His demeanor changed in a way Ritsuko didn’t like or trust. “I . . . see. Those are serious charges. It would, indeed, be best for all concerned if I cooperate. Come with me.”
He wheeled abruptly and led them around the corner to a pretty park at the side of the house. There was a wrought-iron bench with matching table and chairs. The verdant plant life was an intoxicant—such a mixture of scents and colors.
Mr. Nuall gestured. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll endeavor to address your concerns.”
She chose the bench, facing him. Mikani sat beside her, walking stick across his knees. There are no insects. How can a garden like this exist without them? The whole time she had been within these walls, she hadn’t seen a fly or watched a bee buzz around a flower. I wonder if Mikani’s noticed. But it wasn’t the time to ask.
“Sir, a witness placed you in the Patchwork District on the night of a disturbance. Furthermore, it has been reported that you’re responsible for the death of four men.” Ritsuko checked her notebook and read off the date and approximate time. “Follow-up investigation revealed that four bodies were discovered in the street, early the next morning. Urchins notified the local constabulary. It has since fallen to us to determine the facts in this matter. Where were you that evening, and is there anyone who can substantiate your statement?”
“I was attending some business near
the Patchwork District, yes. After concluding it, I came home. My man will vouch for that.”
Mikani raised a brow. “Can anyone vouch for you who isn’t in your employ?”
She stifled a smile. That’s fairly polite; a nice way to state servants can be bought.
“I keep my dealings with outsiders to a minimum.”
“So you deny that you had anything to do with those four deaths?” Ritsuko asked.
Mr. Nuall offered a thin, cold smile. “People allege many things for many reasons. Jealousy. Envy. Ambition. If you had evidence to support my involvement, you wouldn’t be questioning me, would you, Inspectors?”
Time to wrap this up before he kicks us out.
“What can you tell us about these coins?” She produced a sketch, both front and back, that showed the stag’s head and the family motto.
For the first time since they’d settled in the park, she detected genuine surprise. She peeked at Mikani to see if he’d noticed, too, but he had his eyes closed. Lines of pain framed his mouth, making her think that the hum he’d mentioned before wasn’t getting easier to bear. She wanted to get up and massage his head, but he probably wouldn’t thank her for it at the moment—and it was shockingly unprofessional.
“Where did you get this?” Nuall demanded.
“As I mentioned earlier, we have evidence linking your family to two other crimes. These coins are directly related. Do you have any knowledge of them?”
“Last I knew, they were in my safe,” he said flatly. “If they’re being used in the city, it is without my permission.”
“You’re saying these are stolen?” Mikani opened his eyes, fixing the other man with a look Ritsuko couldn’t read. “Did you file a report?”
“How could I? I didn’t know they were missing until just now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to take an inventory. I’ll contact your office with a list of missing articles. Perhaps you can make yourself useful and locate my stolen property.” Mr. Nuall rose, a clear dismissal.
The suspect escorted them quickly, even impatiently, to the gate, which slammed behind them as a good indicator of the man’s temper. She noticed the shift in the air again—now cool and crisp, touched with the onset of cold weather. Along the road, the grass had turned brown, withered. But inside, it’s eternally spring.
Bronze Gods Page 25