Magicians' Trial

by H. L. Burke

  Jericho forced himself to shrug. “I’m certainly not the only tall, dark-haired fellow in the Capital. I’m sure there are a dozen men, perhaps a hundred, who could easily be mistaken for me.”

  “Indeed. Which is why I’m here to search, not to arrest—yet.” Hovawart turned to watch his officer poke through drawers. Rill’s trembling fingers slipped around Jericho’s. He squeezed her hand.

  Auric crossed his arms. “Really, Cordon, this is ridiculous.”

  “It’ll only take a few minutes, then it will all be over with.” Styles shrugged. A smirk flitted across his mouth. “I don’t wish to linger here longer than you do. I have unfinished business down in the factory district.”

  Auric recoiled. Jericho’s hands clenched instinctively, and only a gasp from Rill, alerting him to how hard he was gripping her fingers, snapped him out of his tense stance.

  “Sir, I think I found it.” The peace officer emerged from the bedroom carrying a vial identical to the one stuffed down Rill’s dress.

  Rill gasped. “You planted that!”

  Hovawart raised his eyebrows. “A bold accusation, miss.” His gaze swept to Jericho. “Is that your assertion as well?”

  “I don’t necessarily think you planted it, but someone did.” Jericho held his voice steady, ignoring the hammering of his own pulse in his ears. “What motive would I have for killing this Alvin? We never even met.”

  “Stealing magical vials, perhaps?” Hovawart waved the glass container in front of Jericho’s face. Jaspyr growled.

  “Seems like a lot of work for one vial.” Jericho shrugged. Rill released his hand and slipped behind him.

  “This is ridiculous.” Hedward pushed forward. “My son-in-law is an upstanding citizen with no criminal record.”

  “Yet we find him in possession of a dead man’s merchandise.” Hovawart tucked the bottled magic into his breast pocket. “Far be it for me to judge a man by his clothes, but I somehow doubt this upstanding citizen could afford Alvin’s exorbitant prices. Can he explain how he came to have the vial?”

  Jericho folded his arms. “No, because it isn’t mine.”

  “Yes, you said that, planted.” Hovawart chuckled, but his eyes remained cold. “Forgive me, but as someone who has investigated crime in this city for over a decade, I’ve heard that excuse one too many times.”

  “I’m sure this is distressing for Miss Spellsmith—” Styles began.

  “Mrs. Spellsmith-Carver, you mean.” Auric’s eyes glinted.

  “Of course, but either way, perhaps we should take this discussion downstairs … or to the station. I can keep her company while you’re occupied, Carver.” Styles played with the ends of his mustache, his head tilted and a faint smile on his insufferable, quite punchable face.

  “I thought you had business to see to in the factory district?” Jericho said.

  “That will only take a short while, just one small loose end to tie up.”

  Jericho’s chest tightened. He had no way to warn Lotta. Yes, Ezra was keeping watch, but one old man with a revolver could only do so much. Even if Styles didn’t manage to kill Lotta, how could she defend her generator against him? He’d be able to tear up her work before she could prove it to anyone. They couldn’t afford another setback. Jericho needed to get out of this. He needed more time. Of course, Auric and Rill could go after Lotta. Maybe that was the best course of action.

  “If I’m being officially charged, I won’t resist arrest. Auric, you’ll be able to take care of things while I’m detained?” He shifted his glance to his brother-in-law who gave a sullen nod.

  “I’d suggest going with him to keep an eye on things, Auric,” Styles said, his voice dripping with concern. “After all, I heard a prisoner recently died while in Hovawart’s custody. You wouldn’t want to risk that happening to Carver.”

  Rill gasped.

  Hovawart grunted. “That was an unfortunate anomaly. No harm will come to him under my watch, unless the courts deem it a fitting punishment for his crimes once he’s been tried, of course.”

  “Of course.” Jericho drew a deep breath. “Auric, I can handle myself. You know where you need to be.”

  “This isn’t right!” Hedward slammed his fist into his open palm.

  “Jerry.” Rill’s voice quavered.

  He turned towards her. She leaned against the wall, stylus grasped in one hand, the now open magic vial in the other. Stepping forward, she revealed a line of magical symbols etched directly into the wood paneling, sloppily, as if she’d drawn them behind her back while the men bickered. A grin captured Jericho’s face.

  “Aurry, Jerry, run,” Rill said. She dashed through the last symbol in the spell. A sheet of golden light shot across the room and wrapped around Hovawart, Styles, and the peace officer. The men cried out, but their voices were muffled by the energy around them.

  “You brilliant little vixen.” Jericho darted forward and kissed her.

  She pushed him. “Go! Hurry! That won’t last long.”

  “Auric, come on! Hedward, look after Rill.” Jericho grabbed Auric by the arm and yanked him out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Auric’s heart pounded in his chest as he and Jericho raced out of the house and into the darkening street.

  Jericho reached the corner and whistled loudly at a passing horse-drawn cab. “Factory district,” he shouted, diving into the carriage.

  Auric hesitated. He might be able to go back, explain away what just happened or at least deny his part in it. They did suspect Jericho, but Auric didn’t need to be a fugitive. Wouldn’t he do Jericho more good if he could work on the right side of the law?

  “Hurry!” Jericho snapped.

  Pushing doubt out of his mind, Auric obeyed. No, whatever the cost, he couldn’t let Jericho face this alone. They were in this together.

  Jericho fished money out of pocket as the cab pulled away. “There’s an extra note in it for you if you can get us there fast,” he called up to the driver.

  The man snapped the reins, and the cab jerked forward.

  Auric rested his forehead in his hands.

  “You all right?” Jericho asked.

  Managing to nod, Auric drew a steadying breath. “Yes, but what now?”

  “We get to Lotta, keep her safe, and hope Hovawart figures out where we are headed.”

  Auric sat up straight. “Hope he figures it out? Don’t we want to avoid him?”

  Jericho’s mouth formed a firm line. Beams of yellow light from the passing street lamps glinted momentarily on his dark eyes, then slipped away, leaving him in shadow, only for another light to take their place a few hoof-beats later. “I’m not living as a fugitive. I can’t raise a family that way, and I’d rather hang than not be able to see Rill again. No, our best chance is to get someone of influence to see Lotta’s generator in operation. Once that’s accomplished, we can figure out how to clear my name of the Alvin murder. I’ll tell them what I saw, that Blackthorn was behind it, and with Rill to back me up and Blackthorn’s reputation, maybe it will be enough.” He pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Dear Lord, please let it be enough.”

  Auric put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll get you home to her. I promise.”

  “Let’s focus on making sure Lotta is safe.” Jericho shifted his gaze to the window. “Styles doesn’t mean her any good.”

  Cold hands gripped Auric’s throat. Dear God, please, let us be in time, he prayed. Yes, Blackthorn and Baltazar were dead, but who was to say Styles didn’t have other agents? Auric’s one-time friend had proven himself capable of just about anything.

  “Don’t worry,” Jericho said as if reading Auric’s mind. “We have a head start. Styles will be trapped with Hovawart, and I doubt he wants an audience there when he deals with his ‘unfinished business.’ I got a pretty good read on Hovawart. Yes, he’s determined and ruthless, but he has an air of a man who thinks he’s in the right. He’s not in cahoots with Styles, I don’t think, or on
ly is because he thinks Styles is on the up-and-up.”

  Auric ran his fingers through his beard. “You sure?”

  “If I were a gambler, I’d put money on it.”

  “You’re putting more than money on it now.” Auric glowered. “You’re putting your life … both our lives, actually.” His stomach churned. “And Lotta’s!”

  “Settle down.” Jericho held up his hand. “Look, we’re almost there.”

  The cabby pulled rein and reached for his fare.

  Jericho handed him every cent the two men had. “That’s double what I said you’d get because I have one more thing to ask of you. Go back to where you picked us up and ask for an Inspector Hovawart. If he’s there, bring him to the textile factory.”

  “Which one?” the cabby asked.

  “Hopefully the one with the lights on.” Jericho frowned. “The Jennings Building.” He pointed down the road to the large, dark-windowed structure.

  “Will do, then.” The cabby nodded.

  Auric stared at the outline of the factory as the cab rattled away. “I wish we could use magic here.”

  “Well, we’ll simply have to make do with our brains. Come on.”

  The two men jogged down the street to the open tunnel hatch.

  “Stop!” The click of a revolver’s hammer chilled Auric’s blood. He froze and held up his hands.

  “Ezra, it’s us, Spellsmith and Carver!” Jericho called out.

  The brawny man stepped out of the shadows, the glow of his pipe casting an eerie red light across his face. “Back already? Something wrong?”

  “Long story. Suffice it to say, we got wind that Styles was planning to come here and mess with Lotta.” Jericho motioned towards the tunnels. “She still down there?”

  Ezra nodded. “No one’s gone in after her. She’s safe.”

  Even though he’d known they were well ahead of Styles, relief flooded through Auric.

  “Good, we need to talk to her. Do you have a spare lantern?” Jericho took the lantern Ezra offered and hurried down the stairs. Auric drew one last breath of fresh evening air before trotting after him.

  Their footsteps echoed from the brick casings, combining with the rush of the river and the drip of condensation from the ceiling in an uncanny symphony. Auric shuddered.

  Another circle of light appeared before them. A shadow moved within it. Auric’s breath quickened, and he burst into a run, leaving Jericho behind.

  Lotta stood and wiped her grease-stained hands on her trousers as he rushed to her. Her eyes widened. “Auric? Oof!” She went rigid when he embraced her. “What’s wrong?”

  He allowed himself a moment to simply savor that she was safe … and warm … and soft in all the right places. His eyes snapped open, and he jerked away, forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Face warming, he avoided eye contact.

  “Styles is onto us,” Jericho said, catching up to Auric. “Is this all ready to go?” He waved at the generator.

  She flushed. “I was just about to fire it up for a test. I just have to finish plugging it in so the power bypasses the Styles Device and goes straight from my cords into the machines … but if Styles knows, he’ll be coming here.”

  “Let him.” Jericho frowned. “I’m ready to face him head on. We’re hoping Hovawart won’t be far behind. Once he sees the factory operational, you’ll be set. He’s influential with the Magicians’ Congress.”

  “Yes, the name is familiar. He’s one of the people I tried to get an appointment with to pitch my generators in the first place.” Her hands shook. “But I haven’t had time to test it yet. What if it doesn’t work? What if it isn’t ready?”

  Auric swallowed. “Lotta, you’ve got this.”

  Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

  “We need to start the generator and then make sure Styles doesn’t destroy it before Hovawart gets a chance to see it,” Jericho said. “What do we need to do?”

  Lotta opened her eyes, her mouth set firm. “I was going to have Ezra set up the factory end for the test, so I could keep an eye on the generator.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “I made a diagram for him. All pictures, but I think it’s pretty clear.”

  Auric took the paper. “I can take care of that.”

  A crack rang out in the distance. Jericho stiffened. “Was that a gunshot?”

  Lotta pushed forward. “Uncle Ezra!”

  Auric grabbed her arm. She shook him off, but didn’t run.

  “Please, get the generator running. We’ll check on your uncle.” Auric glanced down the dark tunnel. “Will you be all right, though? Do you have anything to protect yourself with?”

  “I set traps.” She motioned towards the wall behind her. Several hooks had been hammered into the wall, and each hook held the end of a long rope.

  Auric whistled, remembering the two times he’d seen her traps in action—including the one that had him swinging by his ankles. “Yeah, you’ll be fine. We’ll go see about Ezra and set up the factory half of this. Come on.” He motioned to Jericho, and the two men took off back down the tunnels at a run.

  At the top, of the stairs a yellow light shone, different from the wavering light of the distant gas lamps. This glow sparkled and pulsated like waves of sunlight. A familiar prickle and a smell of burnt sugar rose in the air. Jericho put out his hand and pulled Auric short.

  “That’s magic,” he whispered.

  Auric nodded.

  “Ezra?” Jericho hissed.

  No answer. They hurried to the top of the stairs, hugging the wall and the sheltering shadows there.

  At the top the light intensified, focused around a writhing, man-shaped bundle wrapped in golden cords of Fey energy.

  “Basic binding spell. There should be enough energy left for me to counter it.” Jericho dashed through a spell on his quire. The paper illuminated, then disintegrated in his hand. The magical ropes burst into a cloud of golden dust.

  Ezra leaped to his feet. “He went towards the factory! He appeared right in front of my face, out of nowhere. I got off a shot, but missed him.”

  “Styles must’ve used a homing spell.” Jericho kicked at the cobblestones. “Blast it, I had hoped we’d have more time.”

  “Go look after Lotta. We’ll take care of Styles,” Auric said.

  “Be careful. He’s got magic!” Ezra warned.

  “So do we,” Auric and Jericho spoke at the same time.

  Ezra’s footsteps faded down the tunnel stairs as Auric and Jericho faced the factory.

  Auric took out his wax tablet. “Do we have magic, though? There can’t be much Fey energy left to play with, even if he opened a vial.”

  “It’s possible he has another vial on him. We don’t know how many he took from Alvin.” They rounded the corner into the other alleyway. Light pooled from an open door Auric recognized as the entrance to the basement room with the Styles Device. Cords ran through the doorway, coming up through a nearby drain grate, Lotta’s additions, Auric assumed. It didn’t look as if Styles had meddled with them.

  “What do you think he’s up to? Why go in there instead of after the generator?” he whispered.

  Jericho shrugged, his stylus twitching in his fingers and his opposite hand gripping another paper quire. “Best guess: he figured out we intend to power the factory and cares more about preventing that then going straight for the generator. Easier to cut a few wires than dismantle the full thing.”

  “But he didn’t cut the wires.” Auric pointed to the still whole cables.

  “He’s your old school mate, not mine.” Jericho snorted. “Don’t ask me why he does anything.”

  Auric noted that Jericho’s extreme powers of perception seemed to turn off at inconvenient times, but kept silent.

  Jericho placed his foot on the first step. The board squeaked under his weight, and he winced. Clanking echoed up the stairs. It continued in a slow rhythm. Clank, clank, clank.

  Auric inhaled sha
rply. Was Cordon already dismantling Lotta’s work? He burst past Jericho, half way through a spell on his wax tablet. If Cordon had opened another bottle of magic, Auric would be ready to get his spell out first.

  “Careful!” Jericho breathed.

  Auric reached the bottom of the stairs. The room before him was empty except for a large metal wrench, swinging like a pendulum from a rope tied to the ceiling, banging against a metal pipe.

  Where was Cordon?

  Jericho came up behind Auric, bumping into him. “What the …?” His eyes narrowed then widened. “Let’s get out of here!”

  “Too late.” Cordon chuckled from behind them.

  Auric whirled as his former friend strode down the stairs, a revolver clasped in one hand.

  “Too late and too easy.” Cordon grinned. “I figured you’d be ready if I came at you with magic, Auric. You were always better at it than I was, but I doubted you’d have the foresight to pick up a more practical weapon.” He trained the gun on Jericho. “No, that sort of thinking is where I have you beat.”

  Auric raised his hands above his head. “You don’t want to do this, Cordon.”

  Cordon laughed. “Do what? Shoot your obnoxious friend? Because if that’s what you mean, I very much disagree.”

  Jericho stood tall, not so much as raising his hands.

  “You don’t want to hurt anybody!” Auric drew a deep breath. “Look, I know things have been rough since the rifts closed, but this won’t reopen them, and in the meantime, think of all the men out of work. Lotta’s generators can remedy that.”

  “You actually bought that line?” Cordon’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I don’t give a bad coin about the workers. That isn’t what this is about.”

  “Then what is it about? Money?” Jericho frowned. “You don’t have enough of that?”

  “It’s about power! Magicians have held the Republic together for centuries. The Magicians’ Congress controls the peace officers, trade regulations, taxation … how long will any of that last once the power shifts from magicians to engineers? If instead of magic, people are dependent on electric and steam power, what need will the people have of the old magical families? I get why he doesn’t understand.” Red-faced, Cordon jabbed the revolver barrel at Jericho like an accusing finger. “But you, Auric? You’re old blood magic, a Spellsmith. You know what we’ve given to this country, and you should know what we deserve in return.”