Luthor went hurriedly through the rest of the papers in his folder and shook his head. “Sadly, Detective Sugden wasn’t necessarily all that thorough in this report.”
“Nor in this one,” Simon said, gesturing toward his strewn file.
He paused and sat upright. Pushing his paperwork aside, he retrieved the file beneath it and opened it before him. His finger traced the page until he found the signature at the bottom of the page. Charles Sugden. Sliding the file aside, he looked through the next and the next. Uniformly, each investigation was conducted and compiled by Detective Charles Sugden. Simon frowned and stacked the files neatly before him.
“Sir?” Luthor asked, after remaining quiet as Simon reviewed all the documents. He knew better than to interrupt the Inquisitor when he was focused.
“Detective Sugden investigated every murder in this stack,” Simon said.
“Is it truly that unusual? He’s a homicide detective, after all.”
“True, but certainly not the only one in the entire district. Yet he uniformly responded to every murder involving the dismemberment of these young women. What are the chances?”
Luthor shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m sure given enough time, you could calculate the odds.”
Simon frowned, knowing he was being mocked. “It’s statistically significant.”
“Then you believe Detective Sugden could be, what, involved in some way?”
The Inquisitor paused, unsure he was ready to make so great a leap. He slowly shook his head. “Probably not in the traditional sense, but he certainly knew about the connection between the murders, yet said nothing when I listed the names of the victims. In fact, he seemed genuinely perplexed at each of the names in turn, as though he couldn’t draw the logical conclusion as to their connection.”
Luthor dropped his folder on the top of the stack and leaned back into the sofa. “Then what, sir? Is he a surprisingly great actor or…”
“Or he’s a simpleton,” Simon concluded. “Detective Sugden doesn’t strike me as a simpleton.”
“Then it appears we’ll have to pay the detective a visit,” Luthor said.
“Indeed,” Simon replied.
The two men departed the townhouse while the sun was still a sliver over the tops of the nearby buildings. Turning toward the bridge that would take them to Solomon’s Way, they walked in silence, each lost to their thoughts. Simon scowled in general at the case before them. There were far too many unanswered questions, the least of which was Detective Sugden’s involvement. Involvement or incompetence, either way, the detective had made a mess of the investigation.
Only a few blocks from the townhouse, a black car pulled to a stop beside the walking men. Simon thought nothing of it, other than to avoid the front bumper that jutted over the sidewalk. As the driver’s door opened, however, the scowl that Simon wore deepened considerably. The bald man emerged from the car and smiled disarmingly toward the Inquisitor.
“Inquisitor Whitlock,” Inquisitor Creary said. The Pellite ran a hand over his bald palate before walking around to the sidewalk.
“Inquisitor Creary,” Simon said flatly. “What brings you to our neighborhood at this hour?”
“You, as a matter of fact,” Creary explained. The Pellite opened the back door, inviting Simon inside.
Simon glanced toward Luthor, who could offer only a confused shrug. It was dark within the car, made more so by the setting sun. Simon could tell someone was sitting within the backseat, but he could make out none of the man’s details.
“Please come with me.”
Simon shook his head. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m on a rather important errand.”
“It can wait,” said the person from within the automobile. A gray-haired man’s face emerged from the shadows. “I would have a word with you.”
Simon froze. Luthor seemed unfazed by the man’s appearance, solely because the apothecary had never seen the elder man at the Grand Hall, decorated in his livery, sitting upon one of the two high-backed chairs reserved in the center of the meeting hall.
“Grand Maester,” Simon said, startled.
Grand Maester Arrus motioned toward the interior of the car, inviting Simon to join him. Simon hesitated and Inquisitor Creary stepped forward, clearly prepared to invite Simon with a bit more force.
“Duncan,” the Grand Maester sternly said. “Leave our guest be. Inquisitor Whitlock, you’re clearly on your way to somewhere. Allow me to offer the use of my automobile. It’ll give us a brief moment to talk, which is all that I require.”
Simon knew that the invitation was anything but. He had no choice, no matter how the invitation may have been phrased. He turned knowingly toward Luthor and apologized. “Forgive me, Luthor, but it seems I’ll be otherwise indisposed. Continue toward the police station, and I shall meet you there.”
Luthor looked as though he wanted to rebut, but he kept quiet. Instead, he nodded before turning away from the car and continuing on his way. Begrudgingly, Simon turned back toward the Pellite’s offered vehicle and climbed into the cool interior, choosing a seat across from the Order of Kinder Pel’s leader. Inquisitor Creary closed the door before climbing into the front seat behind the wheel. With a lurch, the car rolled down the street.
“Did I hear correctly that you’re going to a police station?” the Grand Maester asked.
Simon nodded. “The Solomon’s Way police station, to be precise. It’s not a long walk and an even shorter trip by car, so you’ll forgive me if I’m eager to get to the point of this visit.”
He could sense Creary’s tension in the front seat but ignored the Pellite’s disapproval.
“Bluntness,” Maester Arrus said. “It’s one of the qualities I appreciate about you, Simon. Forgive this impromptu meeting but you were so busy during the last meeting in the Grand Hall, and we never got a chance to speak. Next thing I hear, you’re on your way to another assignment on the opposite end of the kingdom, this time slaying a den of vampires. You have been busy.”
“I’m flattered that you pay so much attention to the goings on in my life, as mundane as they may be.”
The Grand Maester laughed heartily. He seemed full of energy, such an antithesis to the Grand Inquisitor, who often seemed to bear the burden of a decade of magical inquiries. “Your life is anything but mundane. Were it mundane, the king never would have made time for a personal appearance.”
Simon swallowed hard, unhappy with his life being under such scrutiny. “You do seem well informed, sir.”
“When it comes to you, I am. You’ve done an exceptional job hunting magical creatures across the kingdom, uncovering plots that would very well endanger the crown if left unchecked. Your reputation is thus that even my Pellites have taken notice of your escapades. That is precisely why we’re meeting today.”
Maester Arrus leaned forward. “Do you know from where our namesake comes, Simon? The Order of Kinder Pel?”
Simon shook his head but didn’t reply.
“Kinder Pel was a temple in the Kingdom of Kohvus, a religious sect dedicated to the purity of the human mind. They were monks, you see, living in quiet solitude until nearly a decade ago, when the Rift tore the southern continent asunder. The temple at Kinder Pel, a fabulous structure built by silent monks over decades, was along the very fault line which the Rift formed. The temple and its followers were swallowed whole. Only small factions of monks remained, those away from the temple proselytizing.
“When they returned, they found their temple destroyed and their brethren dead. Worse was what they found crawling from the Rift, magical abominations stealing their way into their lands. At that moment, the Order of Kinder Pel realized their true destiny, not as an order of quiet monks dedicated to the wholeness of the human mind, but as warrior monks dedicated to the purity of humanity. They could not abide the magical creature, seeing it as an affront to the wholeness of mankind.”
The Grand Maester smiled wistfully at the thought. “I named our orde
r after those very monks, the Order of Kinder Pel. With their name, we assumed the mantle of responsibility, keeping the Kingdom of Ocker likewise safe from magical creatures, by whatever means necessary.”
“I have seen your Pellites in action, sir,” Simon said dryly, refraining from adding any number of adjectives that were synonymous with “barbaric”.
“Of course you have. You even summoned us to your aid.”
“A decision I regret,” Simon replied. Again, he felt Creary tense in the front seat.
“No, Simon, you don’t. Hindsight being what it is, I’m sure you wish you had taken a different route, but at the time, no other means of escape had presented itself as clearly as my Pellites. For what it’s worth, you were right to call us. We contained the vampire horde, something that could have been devastating to the kingdom if not destroyed.”
Maester Arrus shook his head as the car rumbled over the bridge. They weren’t far from the police station, which meant that the uncomfortable ride was nearly at an end. “None of those things are why I invited you to ride with me, Inquisitor. You have shown that your beliefs and ours are not so different. You want what we want, to contain and destroy the magical abominations.”
Simon furrowed his brow. “Are you inviting me to join your order, sir?”
The Grand Maester smiled broadly. “That level of deductive reasoning is what makes you a great Inquisitor and why you would be perfect amongst our numbers.”
Simon’s mind spun as he sought a polite way to excuse himself from the conversation. He despised the Pellites, even if the Grand Maester was clearly unaware of his feelings. The thought of joining the Pellites made bile rise in the back of his throat. Surely, there was a way to avoid what would inevitably be an awkward conversation.
Simon smiled as he stared at the Grand Maester. “Your offer is most generous, sir, but I must respectfully decline. Part of the very meeting with the king that you referenced was an offer—an appointment, really—as the new Grand Inquisitor. I’ve already accepted the position and am currently apprenticing with Grand Inquisitor Highworth. So you see, it would be impossible for me to join the Order of Kinder Pel.”
The Grand Maester frowned deeply as the car rolled to a stop. Simon glanced out the window and saw the front of the police station.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, it appears we’ve arrived at my stop.”
No sooner had Simon stepped out of the car than it sped away, leaving him in its smoky wake. Luthor arrived just a few minutes later, only further proving the inefficiency of automobile transportation in Simon’s mind.
“Would you care to tell me what that was all about, sir?” the apothecary asked.
“They wanted me to join their order,” Simon replied, still in disbelief.
“I hope you told them to sod off. In the most polite way, of course.”
“As polite as I could muster. Now, I believe we came here for a purpose. How long do you suppose it is until Detective Sugden leaves for the night?”
Veronica sat on her apartment’s only couch and glared at Mattie, while the redhead stood by the window, staring at the street far below. Mattie wasn’t sure what she expected to find or if she thought she’d see anything at all. There wasn’t a telltale unmarked automobile parked beneath the glow of a streetlamp, but staring out the window meant that she didn’t have to see Veronica’s stern scowl.
“How long do you intend to stay?” the dark-haired woman asked, her arms crossed over her chest.
Mattie sighed and turned toward the irritated woman. “I don’t know. This plan wasn’t exactly discussed in great depth before I came to stay.”
“It wasn’t truly discussed with me at all,” Veronica complained.
“Or me, either.” Mattie walked away from the window, which had become her safe haven since they arrived at the apartment. “I have no intention of interfering in your life any more than necessary. I won’t invade your privacy or dishonor the memory of your roommate by staying in her room. I’ll sleep on the sofa, and you’ll only need to see me as little as possible.”
“Then you’ll, what, follow me to work?”
Mattie nodded as she leaned against the wall separating the living room from the narrow kitchen. “When you’re there, I’ll be an invisible audience member. When you leave, I’ll leave with you.”
Veronica huffed loudly.
“I’m not a fan of this arrangement, trust me,” Mattie said. “I’m only doing this out of a mutual respect for Simon.”
Veronica placed her feet on the coffee table in a most unladylike way. “Simon doesn’t trust me. Why else would he send one of his minions to watch me?”
Mattie arched her eyebrow. “Minion? I’m nobody’s minion,” she growled. “You think I’m here because he doesn’t trust you? I’m here because someone is out there carving up beautiful young women in your neighborhood.”
Veronica looked startled at the mention of the murders. The wound of Gloria’s death was still fresh and painful. Mattie had just rubbed salt into that open wound. She started to speak but words failed her.
“If there’s someone out to harm you,” Mattie continued, “I’ll make sure they live to regret that decision.”
“You?” Veronica said, though her words lacked the derisive edge she desired. “You don’t look like a bodyguard.”
Mattie smiled. “I’m full of surprises.”
Both women seemed temporarily content with a pregnant silence. Mattie walked into the kitchen and helped herself to a glass of water while Veronica turned aside and stared at the far wall. Taking deep breaths, Mattie tried to let her anger bleed away. There was a clearly poor side effect of her magical infection. She may be a violent and malevolent werewolf when transformed, but aspects of her boundless rage often bled into her life, even when in the form of the seemingly fragile human woman.
Sufficiently calmed, she walked back into the living room. Veronica was still facing away from her, but she sighed loudly enough to draw the dark-haired woman’s attention.
“We don’t have to be enemies,” Mattie said matter-of-factly. She was sure there were more tactful ways to express her sentiments, but tact wasn’t one of her strengths. Her tribesmen outside Haversham were notorious for speaking their mind. Though she’d never admit it to Simon, she longed for an inkling of his skills of diplomacy. “Neither of us wants to be in this situation, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the best of it. Once Simon’s certain the trouble has passed, we can go back to our otherwise simple lives.”
Veronica turned and offered a wistful smile. “Do you really think I’m in danger?”
Mattie shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, but there’s enough evidence to make Simon worried. That’s good enough for me.”
Veronica slid to one side of the sofa, offering Mattie a seat. She sat and returned Veronica’s faint smile.
“Why me?” Veronica asked. “For that matter, why Gloria?”
Mattie wasn’t sure how much Simon wanted her to reveal, but it seemed as though their relationship was balanced precariously on a precipice. Honesty might be the best way to turn the proverbial corner.
“There have been murders in Solomon’s Way, always young, beautiful women. If I may speak bluntly—”
“It does seem to be your forte,” Veronica joked.
Mattie smiled. “You’re one of the more beautiful women I’ve seen since arriving in Callifax. Simon knows that as well, and he worries about your safety.”
Veronica’s smile considerably broadened. Mattie wasn’t sure exactly what it was that she said, since she was only being honest, but it seemed to have an endearing effect on the woman.
“That’s sweet of you to say,” Veronica said. She looked at the clock behind Mattie. “The sun’s setting, and I’ll have to get ready for work soon.” She looked at Mattie’s leather pants and white tunic. “Are you planning on wearing that tonight?”
Mattie glanced down at her outfit. It was practical and useful. Most importantly, she could
remove it with haste during a transformation. “I had intended to, yes. Is there a problem?”
“No, of course not,” Veronica hastily replied.
Mattie frowned. “There’s something wrong with my outfit, isn’t there?”
“There’s nothing wrong, per se. It’s just not very feminine.”
“I prefer function over fashion.”
Veronica smiled. “Oh, Miss Hawke, we can do both.”
A few minutes later, Mattie stood before a mirror and scowled. Her hair was pulled up into a loose bun at the back of her head, allowing a few well-placed tendrils to drape over her long neck. She wrinkled her nose, feeling the thick makeup around her eyes crinkle from the effort. Veronica had squeezed her into a tight red-and-black leather corset, with a matching loose skirt that fell to her ankles. A pair of tall-heeled shoes, in which Mattie admittedly struggled to walk in, finished the ensemble.
“I feel that my staunch refusal wasn’t as convincing as I thought it had been.”
Veronica shrugged. “You put up a good fight, but I’m very convincing, just ask Simon. How do you feel?”
“Breathless,” Mattie replied.
“You are looking fairly breathless,” Veronica replied.
“No, I mean that I’m struggling to breathe,” Mattie said.
She laughed at the comment. “It’s a small sacrifice for beauty.”
Veronica had changed for work, which consisted of an outfit that didn’t seem nearly as restrictive as the one in which the werewolf had been stuffed. She would change at work into outfits far more revealing and, were Mattie honest, easier to slip free from than the one she was currently wearing. Mattie had personally seen how easily Veronica could slip from her clothes during their last visit to the Ace of Spades.
Turning away from the mirror, Mattie followed Veronica toward the front door. As Veronica’s hand closed over the handle, she paused. Instead of opening the door, she turned around.
“I wanted to thank you, Matilda,” Veronica said.
“For what?”
“I smiled and laughed just now. I didn’t think that possible so soon after… well, after…”
The Golem of Solomon's Way Page 12