by Ben Reeder
“Indeed it is, Honorable Sheng,” I said, bracing myself for what I had to say next. “And as such, its security falls to you and you alone. Thus, you incur the burden of honor for any damage done with anything stolen from you. I assure you, there is burden enough to share, even for the mightiest of dragons. Let the Sentinels help you.”
“What price would you exact from me for your generous offer?” the curator asked said .
“Along certain lines of inquiry, one need only value the answer itself,” I said. Sheng looked at me for a moment, then his lips moved in the barest hint of a smile.
“Your need for this information is...urgent.”
“In the worst possible way,” I admitted.
“Your desperation...and your candor...is refreshing. Very well. You may have access to my library. Find who did this. You have my permission to do so.” He smiled, and I heard the skin of his cheeks stretch. “That is all you are to do. I will exact my own justice, in my own way and time. Do we have an understanding, Corwin?”
“We do,” I said as I inclined my head. “I will find the one who violated your library, and stole from you.” I laid the book down on the coffee table and tried not to notice how out of place it looked against the art deco style of the room.
“I will give you access to my library,” Sheng said. “You have seventy two hours. After that, your efforts must be pursued outside these premises. Lodging will be provided to you, and meals if you choose to partake of them. Everything else is...negotiable.”
“Thank you, Honorable Sheng,” I said, this time giving him a deep bow. “I’m honored.” Sheng flicked his hand toward the guard, and the man gestured toward the elevator. Evidently, it was time to go.
The ride down was as quiet as the ride up. This time, when the door opened, I found myself facing bookshelves, the smell of ancient tomes tickling my nose. Sheng didn’t believe in dawdling. At least not for those working within his library.
“Time to make the donuts,” I said with a fake smile. My chaperone didn’t skip a beat in his scowl. But, comedy was never my strong suit. Magick, on the other hand? Magick was my jam. I made a beeline toward a pair of tables in the middle of the aisle and set my leather briefcase down on it. The guard kept his distance while I opened it up and pulled out two of my more useful tools: a flashlight and a pair of glasses with extra lenses attached to the sides. Similar to the Charger’s windshield, the lenses were enchanted to show Mage Sight, with each of the extra lenses being attuned to different spectrums.
I slipped the glasses on and uttered “Revelare,” and the library lit up before me. Wards on the walls, ceiling and floor glowed with brilliant clarity, the kind of crystal clear focus I’d only seen with dragons. But someone had gotten in and out of this place with things that didn’t belong to them, and Honorable Sheng had not been aware of it. That gave me a starting point: the book’s location in the stacks.
The external lenses in my spectacles dropped into place smoothly, and I quickly remembered why I didn't like using them often. Mixing the various levels of Sight was a fine art even when I did it by myself. Trying to mix and match lenses to do the same thing was a little harder. Bring the wrong combination of lenses down, and you could end up looking into different dimensions. Not a good way to start an investigation. I reached the shelf where the Codex Malekon should have been missing from, only to find it right where it belonged. A light dusting of powder covered the shelf in front of it, and when I lifted the spectacles, I could see the book itself, but not the powder.
The guard was at my side at a gesture. “There aren’t two of these, are there?” He frowned and shook his head. “And Sheng hasn’t replaced it yet, right?”
“Honorable Sheng knows not to disturb the scene,” he said. I lowered the spectacles again, and looked at the powder. A slight adjustment revealed a glowing fingerprint. More than enough to trace someone. Which begged the question: who had put the powder on the shelf? And had they tracked the thief down? But the bigger question centered on what I was seeing on the shelf in front of me: What in the Nine Hells was I looking at?
“Honorable Sheng is on his way now,” the guard said when I turned to him, forestalling my request. Talk about good help. With that already taken care of, I flipped the lenses back down and kept looking around. There had to be more traces of the thief in here somewhere. And whoever else had been in here before me. My slow scan finally showed another trace of powder, this time on a pair of wooden double doors that glowed with layers of wards. Adjusting the lenses cycled the wards out of my view, and I saw the same thing: a faint dusting of powder surrounding a glowing smudge.
Practically invisible to the naked eye and, apparently resonating with a person’s energy signature, the powder I was seeing under the lens was most likely one thing: Aura Dust. Testing that theory, I put my index finger down on a few of the glowing grains of it, and was rewarded with the prickly texture of powdered crystal and the tingle of something interacting with my aura. Aura Dust was made of crushed quartz crystals and usually malachite, but the texture here felt too smooth for that. When I pulled my finger away, it felt a little cooler, and I tilted my head to one side. Unless I missed my guess, the second component in this compound was jade. It was one of the few minerals that pulled heat and sweat away from the body, and it was among the more receptive stones as far as energy was concerned. Combined with the piezoelectric properties of quartz that allowed it to interact so well with the human aura, it would have made a perfect mix for Aura Dust. The problem was, the Sentinels guarded the exact formula for Aura Dust with a vengeance, since it could be used to link a spell to a person’s aura from a distance, or, more frequently, to track a person. The possibilities for abuse were mind boggling.
“What’s in here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” my chaperone said. The guard stepped back with a bow, then turned and walked to the door as Sheng approached.
“I am occasionally asked to hold certain documents as a neutral third party,” Sheng said as he stopped beside me. “I keep them separate from my collection.”
“In there,” I said, pointing.
“Indeed.” He smiled. “I am afraid I can not allow you access to that room.”
“Your thief went in there,” I pointed out.
“I will punish him accordingly, once I know what he took. But you must extract that information from the thief. I have given my word to multiple people not to enter that room without a client.”
“Oookay,” I said. “Then there’s this.” I led him to the new copy resting where the Codex Malekon ought not to have been.
“Intriguing,” Sheng said before he pulled the tome out. He turned and laid it next to my briefcase, then snapped his fingers. A servant came forward with the other version. The dragon in human form took the original and laid it beside the one from the shelf. One page at a time, he flipped through them, eventually stopping on a page near the middle.
“Something was placed here,” he said, running his hand across the page. “I can feel an energy that is not mine imprinting against the page, and the indentation in the page. Here.” he pointed to a place in the book, and I put my hand on the page. Sure enough, I could feel a very slight line in the vellum. As one, we turned to look at the sealed door, then back at the book. Sheng frowned, the reached for the substitute book and plucked a tiny strand of thread from the bottom, near the spine.
The result was quick, the replacement book vanishing in a cloud of embers, and Sheng was left holding only the tiny bit of thread. He frowned and I smiled.
“You find something amusing?” he demanded.
“I simply value the answer itself,” I said. “I believe I know the true crime here. The items in the other room. Since they aren't part of your collection, you don’t have the same connection to them as you do the other books, correct? So, you would only feel it if they left the stacks.”
“This is true. So long as they were within the building, I would be able to sense them if they w
ere taken.”
“So, the thief takes a little piece of the Codex and creates a thaumaturgical copy of it. Then they put whatever document they grabbed inside the real thing and leave the library with it.”
“And since the copy feels exactly the same as the real thing, I did not sense either item leaving the library. The book masked the document.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Has anyone else been in the library stacks recently?”
“Several people. We are, after all, a library, even if most of our books are...not of this world.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded. “Besides we don’t know how long it’s been gone. However, I do know someone else has been here before me, looking into this very same thing. I found traces of tracking magic in a couple of places.”
Sheng closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. “I smell jade and quartz on you,” he said without opening his eyes. When he did, he smiled. “Yakuza blend Aura Dust.”
“Yakuza?” I said.
“Of course. There was a world before the Sentinels were formed, and even in China, we had need of those who enforced the Laws. What you know as the Yakuza has its roots in the secret magickal societies of ancient China. Kotutama, the spirit language of the wu jen was taught to them by the kitsune, who learned it from my people. Who do you think taught your European ancestors to mix malachite and quartz?”
“Your European counterparts?”
“We prefer the term cousins,” Sheng said. “Now, go. Follow the trail the Yakuza laid for you, find what they want you to find.”
“And why…” I muttered as I went to join my chaperone.
One of the first rules of divination was to cast a wide net. And when you’re looking for someone capable of stealing from a dragon, you go global. And when you’re looking for someone who did steal from a dragon, it only made sense that my divination crystal landed on Germany, home of the Drachenjäger, the Dragon Hunters.
Since the thief had to know about the Veiled world, I stuck with the Kestrel for the trip to Germany. After refueling in New York and London, the Kestrel touched down in Bad Salzdetfurth at some unholy hour in the morning. After too little sleep, I watched the sun climb higher into the sky as I rode north on the first train to Hanover. It took a little less than an hour to get to Hanover Hauptbahnhof, and about half an hour in the train station to pick up my rental car from the Sixt rental office.
One of the things I missed about being a Sentinel was the almost unlimited budget they had access to, and while I was doing this investigation for them, I was going to make use of it. I sped out of the rental lot in a BMW X5 instead of a Ford or a VW and headed north toward a town called Celle. The luxury SUV made short, comfortable work of the forty kilometer drive, and from there, I turned onto a small road and headed northeast, into the less populated areas.
The clock on the dash showed that it was nine-fifty AM when I pulled into the long driveway of an estate out in the country. The heavy iron gates were open, and the guard shack was empty. My first thought was that the place was abandoned, but the grounds were too well kept. I drove up the driveway toward the house, and found a man in a black suit waiting for me at the base of the steps. The white gloves and serious expression he wore said “bulter” better than any badge.
“Guten morgen, mein Herr,” he said. “Willkommen im Scharnhorst Manor. Er hat dich erwartet.” The last phrase caught me off guard. ‘He was expecting you.’
“Was he now?” I asked, my hand drifting toward the Glock on my hip.
“Indeed, sir,” the butler said in cultured English. “For some time now. Almost three years. Herr Volkman is taking his morning ride. I’ve taken the liberty of having a horse saddled. May I ask sir, can you sit an English saddle?”
“I suppose so,” I said. “I can ride well enough.”
“If you wish, I can take you ‘round to the stable, or you may wait here for him. If there is to be any...unpleasantness, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from damaging the house.”
“Unpleasantness?” I asked and gestured for him to lead the way.
“You are one of the American Sentinels, yes?” he asked as he started walking to my left. “May I ask your name, sir?”
“Corwyn,” I said.
“Dr. Trevor Corwyn?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. “The Doctor?”
“Is that what they were calling me?” I asked.
“When you were active, yes. You were known to be rather precise and subtle. Today is no exception.”
“I must be slipping,” I said. “You saw me coming.”
“We were expecting someone...else. He will explain when you see him.” We rounded the edge of the house and came to a rail fence. A beautiful roan horse was standing on the other side, its reins tied to the fence rail. I let my guard down while we approached, and felt her presence. With a gesture, my mind formed the matrix of a communing spell, and I could hear and feel the horse’s thoughts, which were more impressions than words; images and smells made up the bulk of her mental vocabulary.
Warm sun, fresh wind, open fields, sweet apples and fresh oats, I projected to her by way of greeting and good wishes.
Laughter, comfort, sunlight, she projected back. I visualized us riding through the fields nearby, giving it a sense of asking permission. She whickered and tossed her head, and I felt her eagerness to be out free, instead of standing still. With a nod, I put a foot in the stirrup and mounted.
“Her name is Ember,” the butler said.
“Thank you, um…” I faltered.
“Castian,” he said. “Herr Volkman will be along the trail to the north.”
Riding with an English saddle was an adjustment. It took me a few moments to get the balance right and realize I had to sit a little more upright than I would with a Western saddle. After a couple of minutes, I got the hang of it, and urged Ember into a trot. Scharnhorst’s grounds were huge, and it took me a while to finally find Volkman.
When I did, he was in a field atop a hill, with a view of the countryside for miles around. He turned in his saddle as I came into the open. Gray hair peeked from beneath a riding cap, and his face was weathered and tanned. A prominent nose over a well trimmed moustache focused the gaze on deep blue eyes. There was no humor or anger in his expression, just a sort of sad resignation.
“I was expecting the Japanese woman,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “The ping on my aura felt the same.”
“You sound disappointed,” I replied.
“She was pretty, and I’ve seen little enough beauty these last three years. I got the impression that she would make it...gentle. After all this time, that would be nice, at least.”
“I used the same trace she did,” I said, riding up beside him. “Or at least I think I did. I’m Dr. Corwyn.”
“Miles Volkman. I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but we both know that would be a lie. So, the Americans sent the good Doctor after me,” Volkman sighed. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that. I rather thought it would be the Zaubererjager or an Inquisitor looking to appease an angry dragon, if Sheng didn’t just send Yakuza. So, why you? Why not the Left and Right Hand of Death?”
“The codex ended up in my city,” I said, letting a sharp edge creep into my voice. “And it put one of my students in serious danger. To say nothing of the rest of my city. If it hadn’t been for my student, you would have been hearing about the results of your handiwork on the news networks a few days ago.”
“One of your students?” Volkman asked. His face went a few shades whiter as he looked at me. “That should never have been the case. The book was intended to be a contingency for the client, not a weapon.” He dismounted and slapped his horse’s rump, sending it galloping off. “I resigned myself to my fate when the Yakuza woman first visited me three years ago, Corwyn. I will not go peacefully. And I will not let you take me alive.”
“I’m not here to kill you,” I said. “I’m not even here to arrest you. I only want to know who hired you.”
>
“I’m afraid you’ll have to grow accustomed to disappointment, then,” he said with a laugh. “I’d much rather die in combat against you than face his wrath.”
I gave Volkman a cold smile. “That’s too bad. Because I already know it was Etienne who hired you to take the codex.” Volkman gasped, and I saw his hands start to tremble. “But what I don’t know is if he also hired you to steal the other document, and what that document was. Now, Etienne is beyond any retribution. And Honorable Sheng will exact his own justice soon enough. But I need to know what else you stole and who you stole it for, before things get any worse.”
“You don’t understand,” Volkman said with a flick of his right hand. A scarlet circle rose around him, leaving a shimmering curtain the air between us. “It isn’t me he would punish.”
I dismounted and sent Ember to find the other horse, then turned to face Volkman. “I can arrange protection for your loved ones,” I said as I studied his circle. It was strong, and I could see the layers of protective wards laced through it. I reached out with my senses and found the source of its strength, a ribbon of silver that had been buried about an inch deep. And on top of that, he’d powered it from a local fire ley line. With an external power source for his circle, I could beat on it all day and still not bring it down. But that same strength could also be a weakness, if you knew how to exploit it.
“Not from him,” he said. His hands wove in an intricate pattern, and I recognized fire symbols in its makeup. “No one can.” The ley line flared, a sure sign he was drawing power from it, and I brought up a shield. Crimson flames erupted from the circle, only to flare around my barrier, then flicker out a moment later.
“If you’d ever met my apprentice, you’d sing a different tune,” I told him, circling around to the right. Another jet of flame crashed against my shield.
“You’re never going to beat me on your own, Corwyn,” he said. “I may not be a wizard in name, but I have all of the skills. Summon your staff, or you’ll die here.”