Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  It’s not over yet. Stay aware. There may be malorum nearby, he thought. Check your partner. Your partner is all you have in the field. Those words now made sense in ways they hadn’t before, and in that instant, he forgave Tavian. Drusus didn’t really have a choice because to do otherwise would’ve ultimately risked his own life.

  The stench in the narrow alley was overwhelming. “Tavian? Are you all right?”

  Another coughing spasm was the only reply.

  Covering nose and mouth with a hand, Drusus risked edging closer to the remains. His gaze drifted from body part to body part as if unable to take in the whole. A small, dead hand cupped a shadow in its palm. The two shortest fingers ended in jagged wounds. A few feet away, a tiny gold earring glittered in the lobe of a delicately pointed ear. The victim, an Eledorean slave girl approximately thirteen to sixteen years of age, judging from the size of the torso and the clothing, had been dragged into the narrow alley where her killer had finished his work.

  Drusus looked for but didn’t find the assassin’s token that might explain the body.

  What’s next? He glanced again at the reassuring full moon. Light. We’ll need more light. Best get that seen to before Valarius arrives. He set the hooded lantern he’d been carrying on the filthy paving stones near the remains before wriggling out of his pack. “Tavian?”

  Tavian spit and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. “What?”

  Drusus avoided gazing directly at Tavian’s weakness in an effort to afford him some dignity. That could’ve been me, Drusus thought. “Do you have your spare lanterns?”

  “Of course.”

  “Get them out.” Drusus waited for Tavian to protest. Tavian was of higher social rank. It was his right.

  Instead, Tavian straightened, closed his eyes, swallowed, and nodded.

  They worked in silence as they unfolded, assembled, lit, and arranged a total of five camp lanterns in a half circle near the body. The lanterns, combined with the oil lamps bolted to the alley’s walls and the full moon, accomplished two things: it would make the alley as safe as they could make it and it would provide light for the investigation. Drusus scanned the windows above the drying blood-splashed bricks. No witnesses appeared to lurk behind the small, blank rectangles of glass. He paused while curiosity and ambition tugged him in opposing directions.

  We must finish this before the residents wake.

  Or would it be better to wait for Valarius?

  Tavian straightened, and Drusus caught the pungent scent of vomit before it was overpowered again by the stench of gore and excrement. Tavian’s marks were the highest in the cadet class. Drusus himself hadn’t placed nearly as high. It didn’t make sense that he, Drusus, was performing well, and Tavian wasn’t. Maybe this is a fluke? Maybe he’ll get better with time? But Drusus knew there was little chance that Tavian would have the luxury of time. If Drusus knew it, Tavian certainly did. That was now obvious. Tavian’s face was pale, and his uniform collar was unbuttoned.

  His expression bordered on panic. “Drusus?”

  “Don’t worry.” Drusus knew what Tavian would ask, and he was annoyed with himself. How long have I longed for an advantage over him? And now I’m not going to act on it. I’m sorry, Severus.

  “But I—I was the one that reported— I’m the reason they reassigned Severus.”

  Drusus blinked. Severus was—had been—Drusus’s closest friend. The news that Tavian had been the one to speak to the director wasn’t particularly shocking. Drusus had known that for more than a month. What was surprising was that Tavian was now admitting to it. Honesty had been the last thing Drusus had expected from Tavian. That, along with the past month’s assignment, altered Drusus’s perspective, and he didn’t like it.

  That’s probably why the lieutenant inspector assigned us as partners. Drusus hated feeling manipulated. “I know.”

  “But now you can—”

  “I said, don’t worry about it,” Drusus said. Revenge wouldn’t bring Severus back. Only Severus had that power now, and knowing Severus, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. “Just … forget it.”

  “Thanks,” Tavian said. “If I wash out, my father—he won’t understand. He’ll be angry. Me being a Warden means everything to him. He—”

  “Just pull yourself together before Inspector Valarius sees you.” Suddenly, it occurred to Drusus that he hadn’t followed procedure as well as all that. “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Drusus rushed to the alley’s entrance, reached for the brass whistle hanging from a chain at his neck, and then blew into it with three short bursts. He paused for a count of five and then blew the signal again. A body has been found. Situation secure.

  With that done, Drusus returned to the alley. He told himself that it was most likely an assassination and not a rogue. But if that’s so, where is the token? Blood was everywhere. Assassins weren’t this sloppy, not unless there was a message involved. And why would they bother with such a thing when the victim is an Eledorean slave? It then occurred to him that it would require a great deal of work to clean up. It was obvious that Tavian wouldn’t be able to handle it, and Drusus didn’t want to end up doing all the work himself. If a rogue was to blame, then proper procedure would be to send for the Watch. When the Watch arrived, the cleanup would be their responsibility.

  However, Drusus was technically junior to Tavian. He couldn’t make the decision. Tavian had to. Drusus said, “Someone should bring Captain Drake from the Watch house. Tell her to come at once. Alone. Tell her it’s a special case.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure enough.”

  Tavian looked away. “You know the rules.”

  “It’s a full moon. We’ve all this light. It’s safe enough. Go on. It’ll get you away from here.” It would also mean that Tavian would be the one to pay Captain Drake, and Drusus found he was fine with that. Tavian could well afford it, and the Brotherhood would reimburse him anyway. Eventually.

  “We’ll get into trouble.” Tavian wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. The unbuttoned collar of his Academy coat gaped, and the hem was stained with his own vomit. It was clear he didn’t want to be anywhere near the body.

  “We’ll get into trouble if we don’t. This isn’t a practice,” Drusus said. “We’re supposed to act as full Wardens. The Watch house isn’t far. The Inspectors will have heard my signal. They’ll be here soon. I’ll be fine.” And you don’t want them to see you like this, Tavian.

  “All right.” Tavian fixed his collar and combed his fingers through his hair. “How do I look?”

  “You’ll pass. It’s not like the Watch is all that observant.”

  “And you won’t tell anyone I was sick?”

  “Are you going to make me swear?” Drusus grabbed a few bits of trash and flung them over the steaming vomit. “There. No one will be the wiser.”

  “Thanks,” Tavian said. “I’ll remember this. I will. Oh, I know. My horse?”

  “The blood bay?”

  “End of the week, she is yours if you want her. I’ll talk to Father. It’s as good as done. I promise.” He then sprinted to the street and was gone.

  Maybe Tavian isn’t such a bad sort after all, Drusus thought. His mother wouldn’t approve of the extra expense a horse would present, but she’d be thrilled with his resulting visits.

  Alone with the body, he decided to gather as much information as he could while he had the chance. He patted the pockets of his greatcoat, locating his graphite holder and sketchbook. Then he crouched near the head of the corpse and, taking care to avoid staining his clothing, he gently lifted the remains of the girl’s dress with two fingers. The blood-stiffened cloth stuck to a stab wound over the heart. He paused, considering how to proceed. If he forced the fabric free, the action might destroy the signs he sought. He settled for shifting the cloth out of the way. When he did, bloody handprints on the shoulders and neck were revealed. The throat had been cut with a dagger, and the e
yes removed. The wounds in and around the eye sockets were thinner than the ones at the neck and in the chest, indicating they had been made with a second, smaller blade.

  Malorum never take trophies, he thought. Neither do assassins. This wasn’t an unpaid debt or an angry lover. He now felt justified in sending Tavian for Captain Drake.

  Drusus stuck the graphite holder behind one ear and measured the bloody handprints with a tailor’s tape. Then he used his jet-handled dagger to raise stiff cloth from the lower half of the body. Another swell of stench brought tears to his eyes. His stomach rolled, and he turned his head, pausing until his senses adjusted before looking back down. A knife had punctured the stomach and the organs beneath. Based upon the diamond shape of the wounds on the chest and the abdomen, Drusus deduced the blade used was double-edged.

  An old crate toppled to the ground. Drusus sprang up, abandoning his sketchbook and drawing his pistol. His heart lodged itself in his throat. He scanned the area again for signs of a malorum. Every detail was sharpened by his terror.

  A rat scurried from the garbage, then skirted the bottom of the brick wall. Drusus let out the breath he’d been holding.

  “Cadet Drusus, where is Cadet Tavian?”

  Drusus whirled to face an older Warden with a solid build and thinning gray hair. Inspector Warden Lucrosa Valarius. Valarius stood in the mouth of the alley and Five Sisters Road with his arms folded across his chest. Valarius’s partner appeared at his side.

  “I sent Tavian for Watch Captain Drake.”

  “And why would you do that?” Valarius asked.

  “It’s a special case, sir,” Drusus said, and pointed to the remains.

  Valarius’s expression remained flat. He nodded to his partner and then stepped into the alley. His partner stationed himself at the mouth of the alley, keeping watch.

  “You are not a full Warden, cadet. You’ve broken regulations, endangering yourself and your partner.”

  “I know, sir,” Drusus said. “But I felt it was—”

  “Don’t give me excuses.” Valarius frowned. “Do you understand how few cadets survive their first year in the field?”

  “Yes, sir.” Drusus put away the pistol and dagger and waited for Valarius to finish.

  “A pistol is very little protection against a malorum.” Valarius stooped over the body. “One shot won’t stop an adult. It takes silver to bring one down. If I’d been a malorum, you’d be dead about now.”

  “The moon is full, sir.”

  “They’ve been known to risk the light when hungry enough.” Valarius paused, looking closer. “Ah. Been at it again, has he?”

  “Again? Who?”

  Valarius muttered, apparently to himself. “The first was two weeks ago. Near the sector’s northern wall.”

  “What is it?” The second inspector Warden asked in a loud whisper.

  Valarius made a few hand signals, explaining the situation to his partner. Drusus understood most of what was said until Valarius turned. Possible rogue. Watch is on the way. Keep everyone quiet. “I told the inspector-captain we had a rogue hunter on our hands. You did well to send for Drake.”

  “Is it really a rogue?” Drusus asked. Rogues were rare. The last one had been caught long before he’d joined the Academy.

  Valarius’s expression softened. “I wouldn’t go repeating that, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Drusus said. “What did the inspector-captain do when you told him?”

  “My partner and I were assigned cadet training. That’s what happened.” Valarius hunkered down next to the body. “Interesting. No rogue ever left anything like that before. What do you think it means?” He pointed to Drusus’s leather-bound sketchbook. It had landed on the girl’s chest, just missing the pungent remains of her stomach.

  “Oh. Sorry, sir.” Drusus retrieved his sketchbook and then searched for something with which to wipe off the cover.

  Valarius asked, “More scribblings? Haven’t you been cautioned for that?”

  “How is reading signs left on a target any different from tracking?” Drusus asked. “If there are signature differences between hunters, such information could help quickly identify rogues. We could keep records. It would prevent repeated offenses.”

  “Why bother with all that?” Standing up and dusting off the knees of his breeches, Valarius said, “No rogue has escaped the Brotherhood of Wardens since it was founded.”

  “But—”

  “And neither will this one,” Valarius said.

  “Nonetheless, the information may prove useful.” Drusus suddenly realized he’d forgotten himself. He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I can’t fault you for enthusiasm,” Valarius said. “But there’s been talk. You’re making people uncomfortable. Take care, or you’ll never rise above patrol Warden.”

  “Who said I wanted otherwise?”

  “Trust me. Your purse will.”

  “It suits you well enough, sir.”

  Valarius’s half smile was a little sad. “Never love an ideal more than your career, boy. Principled men are rarely happy in this world.” He took a deep breath. “Now it seems we have a bit of a problem. A rabbit was reported less than a mile from here. We tracked her to Northbrook Street, but Quintus and Noster are also on her trail. Bastards will collect the reward, if we’re not quick about it. And I have some hefty debts to pay.” Valarius looked up at the night sky and then scanned the alley. “Can you take care of yourself until Drake arrives?”

  “I think so.” Wouldn’t leaving me here alone break regulation? Drusus bit back that question lest it antagonize his superior. Maybe this is a test?

  Valarius nodded. “All right. Blow an alarm if anything seems out of place. You hear? I’d rather lose the reward than a cadet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Drusus?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Inform Tavian he’s been issued a verbal caution.”

  “What for?”

  Valarius pointed to the cooling puddle of vomit. “Loyalty to one’s field partner is admirable, but do it again, and you’ll both go on report, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Drusus said.

  “I won’t put it on record. This time. But do see it doesn’t happen again.”

  “How did you know it wasn’t me?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Valarius said, “Patrol Wardens survive on their ability to rapidly observe details. I have been in the field for twenty years, cadet. I would’ve smelled it on you.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  STINA LEICHT is a science fiction and fantasy writer living in central Texas. In 2012, she was short-listed for the Crawford Award for her debut novel, Of Blood and Honey. Her second novel, a sequel, And Blue Skies From Pain, was on the Locus Recommended Reading List for 2012. She was a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer in 2012 and in 2013. She is currently working on book two of the flintlock fantasy series The Malorum Gates, titled Blackthorne. She may be found online at csleicht.com and on Twitter at @stinaleicht.

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  ALSO BY STINA LEICHT

  The Fey and the Fallen

  Of Blood and Honey

  And Blue Skies From Pain

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any re
semblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2015 by Christina Leicht

  Cover illustration copyright © 2015 by Alejandro Colucci

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  First SAGA PRESS paperback edition July 2015

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  ISBN 978-1-4814-4255-8 (hc)

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