An Import of Intrigue

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Saints and sinners,” Cinellan muttered. “No, you’re right. The commissioner is going to want to have this closed properly, given everything we have going on. What do you need?”

  “Let me draw up a list of names and addresses. We’re going to need Writs of Search and Orders to Compel.”

  “For how many people?”

  “Eight, nine. Maybe more. Do we still have the men stationed at the Tsouljan compound?”

  “Yeah, but I was going to pull them off.”

  “No, I’ll need them there.” Ideas were cementing in her head. “Is Hilsom around?”

  “He went back to his office.”

  “I’ll send the list to him, and he and his scribes can meet me there. We should have someone from Justice come over as well for good measure.”

  “You’ll compel questioning there?” Cinellan asked.

  “We’re in no state to do it here, and I can’t be running back and forth,” Satrine said.

  “She really can’t,” Leppin said. “Not in her condition. She shouldn’t even be left alone.” Satrine had forgotten the bodyman was still there.

  She looked around the room, until she spotted the very person she hoped was still around. “Hace!”

  Phillen Hace looked up and ran over to them. “Inspector?”

  “Leppin here says I can’t be left alone, so you’re my shadow for the rest of the day.”

  “All right,” Phillen said, looking at Leppin and the captain. “Why can’t she be left alone?”

  “Because she’s been poisoned and has a powerful stimulant in her system,” Leppin said. “Things might turn left on her.” Leppin dropped one of the lenses on his skullcap over his eye and leaned in to Satrine. “You shouldn’t do anything that gets your blood excited. Running, shouting, fighting?”

  “Those are my favorite things, Leppin,” Satrine said dryly.

  He turned to Phillen. “Keep an eye out for sweating or giddiness. If she starts laughing, something’s probably wrong.”

  “I’d presume that anyway,” Satrine said.

  “What do I do if that happens?” Phillen asked.

  “Throw her over your shoulder and run like blazes to a hospital ward or another doctor.”

  “You’re saying that’s gonna happen?” Satrine asked.

  “It might. Or you might just black out and collapse in a heap. You feel dizzy or disoriented, you sit the blazes down, hear? Else you really will be on my table.”

  “Get me that list, Rainey,” Cinellan said. “I need to get my house in order.”

  “Come on, Hace,” she said. She ran up the stairs to her desk on the inspectors’ floor. Leppin must be out of his skull—she felt better than she had for months.

  Hace was right with her. “Should you be running, ma’am?”

  “No time to lose, especially if I might drop dead,” Satrine said back.

  “Inspector, I don’t think you should joke about that.”

  “If I’m laughing, you know what to do.”

  The desk was a mess, still. Of course it was, since she hadn’t sorted it since Welling exploded all over it. His notes and pinned papers were damn near madness, that was all there was to it.

  “Just let me get this all down, Hace. Then we’ll be off to the East.” She found a blank sheet of paper and wrote out the names and addresses. She knew who she was dealing with—the parties were painfully clear. The Hieljam family; the Kierans, Kenorax, and Iliari; the Lyranans, Taiz, Nengtaj, and of course Pra Yikenj; the Imachs, Hajan, and Jabiudal. Getting Writs of Search and Orders to compel was a pure fishing expedition, but between the riots and the breakout, there was no way Hilsom could object.

  There were still missing pieces to it all. Fuergans bringing Imach goods—sukkar—into Maradaine for the Kierans. Lyranan stamps all over it. Satrine pulled the sheets she had taken from the warehouse out of her pocket. She still couldn’t make sense of it all—the goods were to leave the warehouse—via Kenorax—and come back three weeks later, and then be put on an Imach ship. Hajan’s name was on that part.

  But the goods were coming from Kadabal in the first place, which meant Jabiudal, not Hajan.

  That made no blasted sense. All the players were in the mix, but she couldn’t see the why behind it.

  Still she copied the addresses.

  “Why bring it here at all?” she muttered.

  “Ma’am?” Hace asked.

  “How well you know geography, Phillen?”

  “I can get to any street in Inemar with a blindfold on.”

  “World geography. You ever look at a map of the world?”

  “Ain’t never seen such a thing.”

  “All right,” she said, realizing she needed to talk this out, and Phillen was all she had. “Fuerga, Imachan, Lyrana, the Kieran Empire—all to the east of us. Thousands of miles.”

  “If you say so.”

  “So why would the Fuergans bring in stuff from one part of Imachan, have the Kierans take it, just to send it back with different Imachs. Why would they do that?”

  “They make their money being in the middle of it, right?” Hace asked.

  “They could do that and never take the goods out of the east. Why ship them all the way to Maradaine?”

  “I guess to do something to it,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, this is a real city, not like they have in Fuerga or Imachan.”

  “You’d be surprised.” She glanced back up at Welling’s scrawlings. Two things suddenly jumped out. “Sweet tar.” “Shaleton purchase.”

  She grabbed the sheets Welling had affixed to his slateboard under those words. Records relating to Kenorax. Mostly import and export forms, and a few real estate purchases. Specifically, Iliari had purchased land out in Shaleton. Way out in West Maradaine, where they were building more gearhouses and factories. “Minox Welling, you magnificent bastard,” she muttered as she wrote down the address.

  “What is it?” Hace asked.

  “Let’s get this list to the captain and head out to the East,” she said. “I think I’ve got an idea what’s going on here. We’re going to have to bring up some lockwagons.”

  “Some?” Hace asked. “How many do you think?”

  “How many do we have?”

  Fever and confusion had taken Minox’s senses again—he had lost track of where Joshea had brought him. More than once he had forgotten where he was or why, and only knew that he was hurting and didn’t know why he couldn’t go home.

  “Why can’t I go home, Joshea?” he found himself saying.

  “We can go there,” Joshea said, sounding a world away. “Is that where you want to go?”

  “I don’t, I—where are we?”

  “Near the Tsouljan compound. You don’t want to go there anymore?”

  Minox let that sink into his mind. It was what he needed. Balance. Restoration. Fel-Sed could help him. She would. Unless she was the killer and wanted him dead.

  “Does she want to what?” Joshea’s voice again.

  “No, that’s not it,” Minox said. “I’m . . . I can’t think straight and—”

  “I know, Minox.” Joshea placed Minox on something. A seat or a crate. “Do you want to go in there?”

  “Yes. I think. Yes.” Everything was just so much haze and fire.

  “All right. Just stay put for a few clicks.”

  “I can’t . . . I’ll just . . .”

  “Right back.”

  Joshea’s hands let go of Minox’s shoulders—he had barely realized they were there. Minox slumped back against a wall. There was a breeze on his face. Where was he? Why couldn’t he go home?

  He looked around. Alleyway. Why was he in an alley? Where was Inspector Rainey? Why had she left him here, when they needed to arrest—

  The thought went away in a puff of smoke.

&nbs
p; He tried to grab at it. But the thought wasn’t actually smoke in front of him, and his hand grasped at nothing at all. His right hand. His left hand wasn’t doing anything. He snatched at empty air again, until he lost his balance and fell forward.

  His face was pressed against cool cobblestone. It felt oddly comforting.

  Inspector Rainey really should be here. He needed her help. They had to get to—

  Where was he?

  Hands pulled him back up. Pulled his vest off.

  “It really is quite inappropriate,” he said to no one in particular. “I should remind you . . .”

  “Minox.”

  “Yes, Inspector Rainey? Why haven’t we gone to—”

  “The Tsouljan compound?” It wasn’t Inspector Rainey. It was . . . his friend. His magical fellow. The name had escaped him.

  “Yes, exactly,” Minox said. That was where they needed to go. He needed Fel-Sed to help him.

  “All right, here’s the challenge. The compound is still being watched by Constabulary. Two men at the door.”

  “I’ll order them off.”

  “Yeah, that won’t work,” Joshea said. That was his name! Joshea Brondar, Uncircled mage. Three years in the army. Works in the butcher shop.

  “Many of my cousins fancy you, you know,” Minox said.

  “Saints, you’re bad off. Look, I heard some talk. There’s a search for you—what do you call it? All-Eyes.”

  “Nyla is always threatening to call one on me.” Minox felt that made perfect sense.

  “Yeah, I think this one is because you aren’t in your right head and blasted magic all over Ironheart.”

  “I did that?” Minox had a vague memory of something like that happening. Lightning and storm clouds from his hands. Hands. Hands on his face. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to make you look a bit more Racquin. And hopefully with some quick talking and your vest, I can get us past those sticks at the door.”

  “Impersonating an inspector is a serious offense, Joshea.” Somehow clarity floated in for a moment, long enough to say that, and then wisped away into nothingness.

  “Then I’m doing you a big favor.” Something went over Minox’s head. Woolen and heavy.

  “Too hot for this.”

  “Just for a few clicks.”

  Joshea had him on his feet; they were walking. Bodies brushed past him, Minox unable to see more than a few feet in front of him. His vision faded with everything else.

  “What’s this, specs?” a voice said. Minox focused on the green-and-red uniform in front of him. A regular of some sort.

  “We got a Quin here, got a snootful of some tyzo poison. He’s in a bad way.” Joshea was speaking with glass clear confidence, talking exactly like Mirrell or Kellman would.

  “Right, he looks it. So why you got him here?”

  “Well, it made sense. Ironheart is a mess, and if anyone knows how to deal with some tyzo poison, it be more tyzos, eh?”

  “Fair point, sir,” the regular said. “He a witness or something?”

  “Something like that,” Joshea said.

  “You ain’t from the Inemar House,” the regular said.

  “No, I’m not,” Joshea said without a blink. One hand came off Minox’s shoulder and reached out to the regular. “Inspector Cal Eaton, from East Maradaine. A bunch of us from the East House were called in to help fill out the ranks. This fellow knows something about the feek case you all are working on—I don’t know the details. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Makes sense,” the regular said. “That why the tyzos tried to kill him?”

  “I think so,” Joshea said. “Forgive me, footman, but time is crucial here.”

  “Of course, Inspector Eaton,” the footman said. “Head on in; hope they can do him some good.”

  Minox was brought across the threshold, and as soon as they were in the Tsouljan enclave, his whole body shuddered. The tremor in his hand became a frenzied shake.

  “Saints, Minox,” Joshea said. “Maybe this—”

  “No, here,” Minox said. “Fel-Sed . . .”

  Minox felt himself being hauled up on Joshea’s shoulders. “Where is Fel-Sed?” Joshea shouted. “Where is she?”

  They went into one of the huts. Joshea put Minox down on the table. Hands on either side of Minox’s head. “Stay with me, Minox. You hear me?”

  “Hear you,” Minox said. Magic was building up as a fire in his gut. “Something is happening.”

  “That’s the truth,” Joshea said. He opened up the trapdoor.

  “This place . . . something . . . the Tsouljans are doing.”

  “I don’t know,” Joshea said. He looked about the room, like he was trying to see the magic. “But we’ll figure it out, get you right.”

  Joshea dropped out of sight, down the trapdoor. Minox could still hear him shouting for Fel-Sed, screaming for someone to come help them.

  Then there were more hands on Minox, hands on his face, chest, and arms. His eyes were pried open wide, and his vision focused on a face.

  The face of Sevqir Fel-Sed.

  She muttered for a bit in Tsouljan, and then looked right at him. “You’ve made yourself into a mess,” she said in heavily accented Trade. “You Druth treat your bodies like the trash in your streets.”

  Then she pressed a finger against his head, and again he burst into lightning.

  Chapter 20

  “INSPECTOR RAINEY!”

  Hilsom came running up to Satrine as she was about to hop onto the runner of one of the three lockwagons they were bringing up toward the Little East. Those and a handful of the freshest regulars were all that she could be spared. A crusty sergeant assured her that there were plenty of horse and foot in the area she could whistle for if she needed.

  “You get my note, Hilsom?” she asked. Based off her own instincts and Minox’s scrawls, she had come up with a list of names and addresses for Hilsom, as well as additional tasks for Leppin.

  “I did and it’s absurd. Writs of Arrest and Compulsion on this many people? And given how Mister Kenorax has already leveled a complaint—”

  “I really couldn’t care less about that, and neither should you.” She stepped up onto the runner, where Hace was already waiting. “If you want to continue this conversation, hop on. I need you up in the Little East.”

  Hilsom looked hesitant, but gingerly stepped onto the runner and held on to the outer bar. “Is there a reason we don’t ride inside?”

  “Because it’s a lockwagon, man,” Hace said lightly. “You don’t ride in it unless you’re locked up.”

  Satrine whistled to the driver, and it trundled into the street, making its way in the procession of lockwagons to the Little East.

  Hilsom sighed, then gave his attention to Satrine. “I wasn’t intending to come up to that part of town just yet, Inspector, but you aren’t giving me many options.”

  “My day hasn’t exactly been filled with the things I intended,” Satrine said.

  Hilsom gave her a conciliatory nod. “I heard you were injured in the attack here.”

  “Not as bad as most.”

  “You’ll tell me—” Hace started.

  “Yes, Phillen,” she said. Back to Hilsom, “I have a saint watching over me now.”

  “I’m still not clear on what you intend to achieve, Inspector. We have Assan Jabiudal. He will go to Quarrygate, unless the Imach government makes some sort of extradition request. That would be out of my hands, but—”

  “Jabiudal didn’t kill Hieljam,” Satrine said. She hadn’t quite figured out everything she was thinking, but that part was clear. “But whoever did wanted Jabiudal to be considered. Not suspected, considered.”

  “I see working with Welling has had an effect on you.”

  “Quite possibly,” Satrine said. “We�
��re going to need to know the official status of these people, Hilsom. I presume not everyone in the Little East is a proper Druth citizen.”

  “Hardly,” Hilsom said.

  “Starting with the Lyranans. Not just the ones who escaped, but the ones I named to you: Taiz, Nengtaj, Yikenj.”

  “That’s hard to say,” he said, scratching his head.

  Heavy panting proceeded a young man dashing after the wagon and jumping on the runner, his sweating body interceding between Satrine and Hilsom.

  “Cheed Cheever, Justice Advocate,” he said between wheezes.

  “I know who you are,” Satrine said. “We met this morning.”

  “Lovely,” Cheever said. “Then you know why I’m here now. You’re intending to issue Writs of Compulsion.”

  “All within scope, Cheever,” Hilsom said drolly. “Your office shouldn’t worry—”

  “We don’t worry,” Cheever said brightly. “Because I’m going to be observing your practices. It should be quite enlightening.”

  Corrie knew that the All-Eyes for Minox was a real blazing search, not just some rutting alert to keep a lookout. She knew a sweep of the roads in the making when she saw one. Just outside the stationhouse that specs Mirrell was giving all sorts of orders to his small army of regulars. Corrie didn’t have a clue who half of them were, probably borrowed from East Maradaine and Dentonhill. Maybe Eddie was around.

  She didn’t check in with Mirrell, though. He could roll himself for all she cared. She gave a nod to the sergeant on duty and made straight for the stables. The stationhouse was in a state, that was clear—she half listened as some horsepatrol on day shift nattered to her about the place getting attacked, a jailbreak of the tyzos. Today was a blazing bad day for everyone, but that wasn’t her problem. But it meant no one called her out when she saddled up and rode out like she was on patrol. Probably they wanted whatever boots on the streets they could get right now.

  Corrie needed to find Minox, and he was probably with Joshea. Even though she knew Mirrell had sent a couple boys to check on his family, giving it a second go around wouldn’t hurt. They might take kinder to her than they would any old stick regular.