The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6)

by Richard Raley

  Number Seventeen, he has at least seventeen of them? Or is it the seventeenth he’s made and he just ain’t down with names? I thought that conundrum over. Labeling them as a number: gross. Using their old name from when they were a person: grosser. Giving them a new name like they were some pet or a battlebot: maybe grossest of all. Necromancers . . . just scum from head to toe.

  Root blinked at the students still standing around, instead of following his orders. “Why aren’t you moving?” he asked. Not a yelling command like Fines Samson or my former P.E. teacher Harvey Pride, just the same neutral tone, slightly confused. It still did the trick, students finally breaking up. I noticed Makayla and Falcon Smart go over to whisper their names to one of the Constructs before fleeing in opposite directions.

  “Come on, King Henry, we can go to Miranda’s room and check on her, okay?” Val tried to redirect my anger. “We’ll even let the two of you snipe at each other as long as you don’t get too carried away.”

  Didn’t want to move, but everyone else was. Including the Three Queens . . . who also gave their names as witnesses. The fuck? Catherine lingered long enough to catch my eye and give me a wink. The fuck are they gonna tell Root? They weren’t there . . . right? So what could they say? Don’t like this, don’t like it at all.

  Root leaned in to whisper at the Lady. “Mr. Price isn’t wrong for once,” I heard him say. “Mr. Sarducci fell over backwards. That is not consistent with a suicidal jump. Perhaps from a greater height, but from this distance he would be far more likely to hit feet or face first . . . this means the likelihood of him being pushed rises considerably.”

  “Are you saying . . . it was murder?” the Lady mouthed slowly.

  Root nodded. “I’m finished with the scene; Number Fifteen has taken the photographs I will require. The body can be moved. Tell Miss Strange I will require a full autopsy, as well as one of his excised knucklebones.”

  “That’s not allowed, Mordecai,” the Lady reminded him.

  “Directly as evidence, no, but if it leads me to evidence or to the killer himself, it will be worth bearing any of the family’s grievances.”

  “Very well,” the Lady agreed to some evil as shit Necromancy ritual, “the special circumstances demand we do all we can, surely. You’ll have a special dispensation along with your W.I.S.P. Now, if this gruesome show is finished, I need to care for the students who are still with us.”

  Oh great, don’t just get a grilling from Root cuz I’m a witness, probably have a shit ton of psychological sessions in my future too.

  [CLICK]

  Miranda’s room was shockingly homey.

  Not that I’m an expert on homey. Never something I experienced at Shithole Price, especially not once the ‘Bad Days’ started to rack up. Didn’t even experience it at my friends’ . . . if you can call those assholes my friends. Eddie . . . Ethan? Fuck if I can remember, we called him E-Man most the time. Whatever his name was, he didn’t actually come from a bad family, just wanted to act like it, so his house had some middle class to it, but as for Jake and the others, they were barely better off than I was.

  Not like Miranda should know middle class any better than I do—not since the Daniels kids get shipped off to prestigious boarding schools the minute they’re ready for kindergarten and the Asylum the minute they hit fourteen—but I guess coming at middle class from above is easier than from below.

  Miranda had like . . . nested.

  Nested the shit out of that apartment. I mean, she’d always been one of the more fastidious members of our class. Caught her picking up someone else’s dirty clothes more than a few times in our first week as Singles, probably added up over a thousand by the time we finished as Quads. We were pampered little shits with our own crew of maids, tailors, wash ladies, even our own personal handyman to fix the plumbing, and yet still she found the time to clean her area in the communal bedroom, always made her own bed in the morning and turned it down like a proper lady at night, and had decorated her table, desk, and the walls surrounding it with pictures.

  Now that she had a whole dorm room, it was filled with picture frames. Some held portraits she’d done herself. Wasn’t odd on our off days to see Miranda walking around with a sketchbook and a packet of color pencils, looking for inspiration to send her sketching. A few of them were framed on the wall. No Ceinwyn Dale crayon art, but it’s pretty good.

  There was also a good sized family portrait, not just of her immediate family but the entire Daniels house or clan or whatever you want to call them. Lot of women and girls, all of them aeromancers, the majority Ultras, a vast, rust-tinged sea made from varying degrees of the ginger affliction. The lucky few managed auburn hair or maybe blue eyes, but most stuck to red or redder-than-red, green or greener-than-green.

  The grandfather that had married his mancer bride was there in the center, as well as Georgiana Daniels herself, red hair gone gray many years ago. She had popped out seven girls as her part of the deal. Those seven had in turn popped out even more of them. The men in the picture had all agreed to give up their surnames for their wives’, each one either an Intra or Ultra, all in the attempt to breed a Daniels mancer that wasn’t female or an aeromancer. So far there had been no such luck, all brothers and nephews and uncles born completely mundane.

  It just me or do their expressions look like they’re getting pegged every night and twice on Sunday?

  Blink if you need rescued!

  Miranda’s urge to nest didn’t stop at decorating. Her kitchen was decked out too and she was currently using every inch of it to bake cupcakes, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and what looked like a red velvet cake, all in progress.

  Valentine had forced me to take a quick shower and change, but for the better part of an hour the four of us had only been sitting around numbly, watching Miranda move about the kitchen with a quiet intensity. Without a word, she set down the first batch of cookies, returning moments later with four glasses of milk on a tray.

  “So you’ve been hoarding this secret power of hers for the better part of five years?” I asked.

  Val smirked over at me as she took a bite of cookie. “Maybe you’d have gotten more treats if you weren’t such a jackass most days.”

  Seconds later, everyone on the couch took a second cookie, rapidly making them disappear as well. Never been one of those people turns to food in times of grief, but the geomancer in me does like it some chocolate on occasion. Always go with booze first, loneliness second, and finding someone to punch third. No food, no hugs, no sugar and spice and all things nice. Not that I had much experience with mourning, outside of Mom dying at the beginning of Tri. Unless you count all the violent shit I did growing up as a continually grieving perpetual motion machine.

  Can’t even be sure if I was grieving over Leo.

  Odds are . . . nope.

  I’m fucked up, know it, and casual connections ain’t my thing. Leo Sarducci was dead. Don’t know if I really cared. I held his hand when he was dying cuz . . . I don’t know. Read it in one of those damned books people read. Mostly, Leo disappearing from my life wouldn’t change a thing. I didn’t even talk to the guy much, left that to others. Sabine was always the one I went to if I wanted to pull Class ’08 into some scheme or feed them some rumor.

  Not Leo.

  Never Leo.

  Most I did with Leo was to give him a grunt or nod of recognition before continuing on my way.

  Leo’s grades and popularity put him in with the Old Mancy kids. He was handsome in that old-school Italian sort of way, black hair, blue eyes, tanned skin. Had a band, best friends with Jacob Walden. Don’t get more Old Mancy than the Waldens. Maybe the Welfs and the Dales. Popular with the girls . . . not in the way I am though. By the time I’m with a woman they’re usually admitting they got primal parts of their body they need rubbed till it pops. What Leo had was that teenage-heartthrob-crush-target thing.

  Romance.

  I don’t get romance.

  They give him t
heir hearts, their feelings, tied strings around their fingers to join themselves together. Don’t know if I’ve ever been given a heart . . . doubt it. Not even Val’s. Or, maybe she did . . . maybe I dropped it or stepped on it somehow and it was just more proof I didn’t know how to keep one beating along.

  Not whining.

  Just trying to understand how normal people grieve for someone they barely know. Like Val did . . . Val seemed honestly sad and empathetic with what happened to Leo. Not just for her best friend, but for him. Focusing on Miranda and her pain, I can get that. She dated the guy, probably had sex with him . . . since that’s apparently a thing she does, spanking not-approved, but yank on that red hair all you want.

  At least I can fake being nauseous with the way the mental image of Miranda and Leo grunting and humping keeps invading my mind.

  “Care to explain what you shouted outside, El Rey?” Jesus finally worked up the nerve once the cookies had all mysteriously disappeared.

  “Sorry I yelled at you all,” I managed to say if not feel. Was expected of me, I guess. “But yeah . . . pretty sure Leo was murdered.”

  Miranda dropped a batter-filled spoon on the floor.

  There had been the usual announcement over the PA system from some Administration flunky, same one they gave every time this happened. “Students are confined to their rooms until they are otherwise informed. Teachers or student-advisors will soon be present in Single to Quad dormitories, please prepare for a roll call. Graduate students, please remain on your apartment floor unless told otherwise. Teachers, please check in with Administration for information on this situation. The Dean will be addressing the student body at a later hour.”

  No mention of suicide, much less murder.

  “I heard screaming,” I tried to explain, all attention in the small apartment on me. “So I went to look, ran into Welf. Both of us got to the railing and saw the cryomancer colors and a crowd of Tri’s and Quads. Noticed it was Sarducci. Vicky’s friend Makayla was there . . . holding him. He was on his back and . . . well, barely breathing. Barely anything. Welf took charge, like always. Only thing I could do was hold Leo’s hand. I’m a shit person to be your last human contact, but there was no one else stepping up, and not like geo-anima could do anything to save him, so . . . seemed like something you’re supposed to do. Just before he died, Leo tried to tell me something. Eventually managed to say ‘he pushed me’ and then pointed at Welf. After that Strange arrived and . . . couldn’t do anything. You saw the rest.”

  “Welf?” Pocket asked in disbelief.

  “Heinrich would never do that!” Valentine defended the douchebag immediately. I would’ve disliked her for the loyalty, but she shows it towards me too. “I know you’ve never gotten along, King Henry, but he’s not—”

  “I know,” I forestalled the rest of her opening arguments. “Like I said, I was with him. He was in his room with Hope. Doesn’t make sense unless he got super tricky. Maybe if he had a Construct already . . .”

  “Which he doesn’t, lucky for us,” Jesus said.

  “Then why did Leo believe it was Heinrich?” Miranda asked, voice and body shaking.

  “I think the Three Queens just struck back,” I told them. “They tried to kidnap Welf last time, make it look like he assaulted or raped someone maybe, don’t know what the plan was since we stopped it. Something to get him expelled or embarrass him into leaving the Asylum. Only this time Catherine upped her game. She’s trying to get him thrown into the Pit for murdering Leo.”

  “But why would Leo think it was Heinrich?” Miranda repeated, even shakier.

  “Mentimancer?”

  “So either the Three Queens are Moriarty-level criminal masterminds, or Heinrich and Leo got into an argument early this morning, Heinrich lost his temper and pushed Leo, who tripped and fell over the railing,” Miranda laid out another theory. “After the accident—I’ll admit it wasn’t premeditated, I would never think that of anyone in our class, not even Hope—Heinrich panicked and slipped back into his room quickly. Then arrived a completely hung over King Henry Price as an alibi when he heard you bumbling about down the hallway.”

  “That’s the way some will spin it,” I agreed with Miranda, feeling Catherine Hayes would enjoy every time she heard that version repeated. “Need you all to trust that I’m right on this. Ain’t good at a lot of things, but I’m good at knowing when I’m being attacked. Danger senses are buzzing like crazy.”

  “Or we could say goodbye to both conspiracy theories and it could’ve actually been an accident,” Pocket found the most reasonable way forward, like he always tried to, “and Leo just wasn’t all there after he fell. He could’ve been drunk too, dudes. Everyone at the school broke into their booze stash last night. I mean . . . look at Raj. We just left him in that bush. What if he’d tried to walk up the stairs and he was the one who fell?”

  Miranda went back to baking, moving with an extra bit of temper as she struggled with the thought of losing Raj in addition to Leo. “Mancers aren’t supposed to fall to their deaths,” she sniffled. “He must have been pushed.”

  “If it’s between Heinrich getting angry or the Queens causing trouble, then I lean towards King Henry’s opinion,” Valentine decided after thinking all the angles through for awhile. “Heinrich would never do that sober or drunk, he simply doesn’t have that type of temper. Catherine . . . I’d have been more shocked if she didn’t try something before she’s graduated and gone forever.”

  Nice to have Val on my side, but I needed more and kept trying to win them over. “Look, Miranda, he wasn’t even the one who came out of the apartment first, it was Hope. Half naked, I might add—just disgusting the things kids get up to these days.”

  Val smacked my shoulder to stop me before I even started.

  “Anyway,” I realigned, “I did my usual back and forth with her, which was why Welf came out to stop us. Don’t know if Catherine got lucky I was there to lead him right to Leo or if it screwed her up now that Hope’s not his only alibi.”

  “You need to tell all this to Root, El Rey,” Jesus pointed out.

  “Yeah, yeah, if I have to.”

  “You have to,” Pocket also pointed out.

  “Fine . . . I told the stupid Construct I’m a witness, so now it’s just waiting around for the call.”

  Val reached out to pat my knee in sympathy. Funny how sympathy can hurt so much when it’s done in a platonic manner and you want something deeper, ain’t it? Even that shoulder smack . . . what I wouldn’t have given for her to touch my chin or clasp my hand or . . . think she’ll cry for me when I die? Know I’ll go first. Be lucky I make it another eighteen years before something snuffs me out. Be nice to have someone to cry at my funeral . . . maybe even a few someones. Pocket and Jesus would just tell old stories about me and get wasted in my honor. That’s okay, that’s how I’d want them to do it. Raj . . . he’d probably cry. No idea if Val will . . . but I hope so.

  “We’ll wait with you then,” she told me, hand still on my knee.

  Wait we did.

  [CLICK]

  “This is Maudette Lynch, your Dean, speaking to you from my office in the Administration Building. First, I must thank all of you for keeping calm, with an understanding attitude throughout the day as the faculty came to grips with the horrible situation we awoke to this morning.

  “While facts and evidence are still being gathered, what we know is this: Sixth Year graduate student Leonardo Sarducci was found grievously injured this morning, from an apparent accident after a night of revelry. It is believed that Leo, as he preferred to be called by his friends, fell from the fifth floor balcony railing of the Ultra dormitories. Later, he was found by fellow students, who called for help.

  “Infirmary Director Evelyn Strange and myself were reached as quickly as can be expected and this quick thinking on the part of our students makes all of the faculty extremely proud. Sadly, though Miss Strange and her nurses arrived in time to perform emergency hydro-anima co
njurations, the damage from the fall was too severe. Leo Sarducci died early this morning.

  “Like every student who leaves us, Leo’s mark remains upon us all. Despite being a cryomancer, Leo’s grades were exemplary enough to win three captaincies of his Ultra class’s Winter War team and saw him graduate Second in his Year. He was a proud member of many clubs, including his spot as Chill Out! Club Vice President. He also entertained many students by playing drums for both the Music Club and his own band. His parents and family are expected to arrive at the Institution tomorrow. Please be understanding in showing them your sympathy and your heartfelt wishes in their time of grief.

  “Though there is no evidence as yet of suicide or of something more ominous, I have ordered Head of Physical Theories Mordecai Root to investigate the matter fully. If you believe you can shed light on what happened, please step forward. If Mr. Root contacts you, please cooperate.

  “For the rest of the day, students will remain confined to their rooms, under student-advisor or faculty supervision. Tomorrow, classes will resume as any normal Monday. Please be sensitive towards your fellow students as they grieve in their own way and also be aware that Winterwarden teacher Rin Yukimura has scheduled group sessions from 7PM to 9PM, open to all students, for the next two weeks. If you would like to share your stories of Leo, or only wish to listen, then please join her.

  “Furthermore, a school memorial will be held for Leo on Friday night and classes are cancelled for Saturday. Once again, I thank you for your understanding and for your bravery in this trying time. We mourn our lost bright mind, our future Winterwarden, we mourn Leonardo Sarducci, but we will always remember him.”

  [CLICK]

  Don’t know why I was expecting my meeting with Root to take place in his Admin office, but it very much didn’t. Instead I was led to his classroom in the Ultra building. The one that Plutarch never uses. Root apparently uses his . . . a lot.

  First time I’d ever been in it.