An Import of Intrigue

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “The idea is there,” Evoy said quietly. “Now he just needs to be motivated.”

  Evoy plunged Minox’s entire head under the water.

  “Evoy!” Ferah shouted. She dove on top of them, trying to claw her brother’s hands off of Minox’s head. “You’re killing him!”

  “He needs this!” Evoy shouted.

  Granny Jillian tried to grab at Evoy as well, while Zura dropped to her knees in further prayer.

  Unable to pull Evoy’s hands off—how did he get so strong living in the stable like that?—Ferah grabbed Minox’s shoulders to try to pull him out of the water.

  “Give us the winter!” Evoy shouted.

  Ferah was about to knock her brother in the teeth when she noticed ice crystals forming around her hands. She shrieked and pulled out of the tub, and Evoy did exactly the same. Suddenly all the water became a solid block of ice.

  “Too much!” Evoy shouted.

  “Minox!” Ferah slammed her fist against the ice. She hit it again and again, and it started to crack.

  Then it shattered.

  And there was Minox, gasping for breath but alert, eyes taking in the whole room.

  “Ferah?” he asked. “Where—am I home?”

  “You are,” she said cautiously. “How do you feel?”

  “Strange,” he said. “Hungry. Confused. But . . . present.”

  “You weren’t before?” she asked.

  “His hand is still unclean!” Zura shouted.

  Minox lifted his hand up and looked at it with a strange regard. “Curious.”

  Evoy stood up straight. “That’s settled, then. Can’t stay.” He bolted out of the water closet.

  “Minox,” Ferah said, looking at his hand. It hadn’t changed much—still that almost glassy black. But now instead of looking dead and withered, it was flush and active. Minox flexed his fingers while studying his hand, ignoring her. “Minox,” she said again. “Do you think you’re all right now?”

  “I’m not . . . out of balance,” he said cautiously.

  She touched her hand against his forehead. The fever was gone. “What do you remember?”

  He looked about. “I know that I shouldn’t be sitting in the tub with the rest of you gawking. Zura?”

  Zura’s eyes went wide, looking at Minox as if he were a dog that started talking to her. “Yes?”

  “Would you be so kind as to bring me a clean uniform and vest?”

  She ran out of the room without answering, but she went up the back kitchen stairway, so Ferah presumed she was complying. Granny followed her out.

  “Let’s get you out of there,” Ferah said, grabbing his good hand. He took her assistance ably, standing up and stepping out of the tub.

  “The details of my experience are still . . . unclear,” he said. “But I remember reaching the stable, and working through some ideas about the case.”

  “I think you can let the case rest for now, Minox,” Ferah said, passing him a towel.

  “On the contrary,” Minox said. “The pieces are now clicking quite cleanly. Once I’m dressed I must—”

  Granny Jillian stuck her head in the water closet. “Hate to trouble you, dears, but right now an Inspector Mirrell is at the door with quite a few regulars at his back. He says if Minox is here, he’ll have to bring him in.”

  Ferah tried to think of what to do—perhaps hide him back in the stable, or down in the basement—when Minox answered.

  “Tell Mirrell to come in and sit. I’ll be with him as soon as I’m dressed.”

  Chapter 24

  MIRRELL WAS CERTAIN that Jinx was in the house now. If he wasn’t, they would have let him in right away to check it out. The Wellings were an old-blood Green and Red family; they’d cooperate, unless they were raising the walls for their own.

  “Specs!” A page came running over through the dozen regulars he had on hand. “They’re calling for you over at the Tsouljan place.”

  “Who’s calling for me?” Mirrell asked. “Is it Tricky or the captain?”

  “It’s Inspector Rainey,” the page said. “She says she needs you and your search team on hand.”

  “Well, she’s going to have to wait,” Mirrell said. He pounded on the door. Of course, he was expecting that old lady to show up again and try to shoo him off.

  The door opened again, the old woman giving him hard eyes. “Inspector Mirrell, was it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Like I said, I’m just here—”

  “I know why you’re here, son.”

  He wasn’t going to take that attitude, even from the old woman. “If I have to I’ll get a Writ of Search and kick the door down. We’ll all storm through.”

  “No such jot,” she said. “What are you, Third Class? I may be retired but I still outrank you.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “Ma’am is Inspector First Class Jillian Welling, thank you,” she said. “Probably sat at your desk in Inemar House.”

  He had to chuckle at that. “Yes, of course. My apologies. We are on the hunt for your grandson, who—let me make clear, we’re just looking out for his well-being.” He didn’t really have time for this.

  “You’ve got too much mouth for your own good,” the old lady said. “So shut it and listen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mirrell said, almost out of reflex. This woman reminded him too much of his own mother.

  “You can come inside, Inspector Mirrell. Just you. None of those babies with crossbows over there.”

  Mirrell’s gut told him this was some sort of trick, but he wasn’t sure what that meant. This was still a Green and Red house—they weren’t going to jump him or anything. Maybe a ploy for Minox to run away or something.

  “Fine,” he said. He turned to Iorrett. “Get the house flanked, watch the exits.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Mirrell turned back to the old woman and lifted up his hands. “All right,” he said. “You lead.”

  She backed up enough to let him into the antechamber. “Hang your belt on the hooks,” she said, pointing to the hangers on the wall. “You can leave your weapons here.”

  “You should know I’m not supposed to do that, ma’am.”

  “I know you aren’t coming into my house with a loaded crossbow, son.”

  Mirrell took off his belt and hung it on a hook. There were plenty of hooks there, but right now no one else’s belt was hanging. Probably because every other Welling who had one was out in the streets right now.

  She led him to the sitting room and showed him a chair. “You want tea or anything like that?”

  “I’m not here to sit and chat. This is—”

  “You don’t need to be rude, Inspector. I was simply—”

  “I am here to find Inspector Welling and make sure he is not a danger to himself or others. I don’t have time—”

  “Then you’ve done the former, Mirrell.” Welling stood in the doorframe, looking pale and drawn, but far stronger than he had looked earlier in the day. He was dressed in a fresh shirt and inspector’s vest, and his hair was damp. Oddest thing of all—odd being relative where Jinx was concerned—he wore a leather glove over his left hand. Mirrell didn’t know why anyone would do such a thing in this heat. “I suppose you’re going to burden me with proving the latter.”

  “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t,” Mirrell said.

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” Jinx said. “I’m fine here.”

  “If you say so,” the old lady said, giving Mirrell one more glare. “Call if you need anything. Ferah and I will be right in the other room.”

  She left, and Jinx came fully into the room, standing at a distance from Mirrell. Mirrell had to admit, he certainly seemed in his proper senses right now, as much as Jinx ever did. But that didn’t make Mirrell feel any better. Blazes, he was in his pr
oper senses yesterday, and today he made a thunderstorm in a hospital, and then spent the rest of the day on the run.

  “Well?”

  Jinx nodded. “Today has been a unique experience for me, one I would not wish on anyone. I was unwell on every level, and I respect that there may need to be consequences for that. Right now, however, I am in charge of my faculties. I will acknowledge that you have every reason to doubt that.”

  “That’s rutting generous of you.”

  Jinx blinked. “Was anyone seriously injured by my actions?”

  Mirrell had to be honest. “You didn’t kill anyone. When you—did what you did in the hospital, the ones who got it worst were the machs. And all of them will be on their feet and standing trial in no time.”

  “That is relieving.”

  “But somebody could have, Jinx,” Mirrell pressed. “Just because this time, things didn’t go too badly, it don’t mean it won’t next time. You’re a goddamn weapon, and that’s . . . that ain’t something you can ignore.”

  “Are charges laid against me?”

  “Not that I know of,” Mirrell said. “We ain’t exactly had the time to jump on that. We’ve had to find you, keep the streets safe, the station was attacked by some tyzo—”

  “Attacked?”

  “Some crazy tyzo skirt came through, took out half the people in the station, and broke out all her friends. Trick and Kellman both got knocked around.”

  “Inspector Rainey? Is she incapacitated?”

  “Nah, you know Trick,” Mirrell said. “She was a dog off the leash after that. She rounded up half the East with Writs of Compulsion.”

  “Has she? So she is still working the Hieljam murder?”

  “Unless she’s solved it by—” Mirrell stopped himself. He had let himself get drawn off course. “No, Jinx, we ain’t doing this. I should take you down to the stationhouse, put you in front of the captain, and have him start an official Inquiry into your place on the force.”

  “Perhaps you should,” Jinx said. “I know I would do the same in your position, unless new information was brought to light. I presume Inspector Rainey is also at the stationhouse, conducting her compulsion interviews?”

  “No, she—damn it, Jinx!”

  “I understand your frustration, Inspector Mirrell. What I’ve been through today, I share it. Do you know where Inspector Rainey is at this moment? It may be crucial for the resolution of the case, as well as her own safety.”

  Mirrell sighed. Jinx was annoying, but he was at least a straight shooter. If he wasn’t going to put up a fight in being taken in, put in for Inquiry, the least Mirrell owed him was honest answers.

  “She’s at the Tsouljan enclave, with all her suspects.”

  Jinx’s eyes moved back and forth, like he was reading a newssheet only he could see. Then he nodded. “Yes, of course. We must go there in all haste.” He headed toward the door.

  “We must what?” Mirrell chased after him.

  At the antechamber, Jinx was taking Mirrell’s belt off the hook. Before Mirrell could object, Jinx had offered it to him. “Despite my addled state for most of today, I’ve made some breakthroughs regarding the details of the case.”

  “Jinx, you can’t—”

  “Bring me in irons if you feel it’s prudent,” Jinx said, still holding out the offered belt. “But for the sake of the case, we must go to Inspector Rainey.”

  Mirrell snatched the belt out of Jinx’s hands. “Once we’re done there, we go back to the station, to the captain, hear?”

  “On my word, Inspector Mirrell.”

  Mirrell put the belt on as Jinx opened the door. They both found themselves greeted by half a dozen crossbows.

  “Stand the blazes down, boys,” Mirrell snapped. “We found our man, and we all got a job to do.”

  Jinx didn’t wait for them to put their arms down. He walked down the steps boldly, grabbing a crossbow off of one regular and a handstick off another. “I said with all haste, Inspector.”

  He was already to the street before Mirrell and the rest could get moving.

  A dozen shaved-headed tyzos came charging across the rutting lawn, led by a skirt with a crazy axe-like weapon, an armored arm, and death in her eyes. That woman dove in on Tricky and the tyzo boss, forcing Trick to let go and jump back.

  Corrie didn’t waste any time drawing her crossbow and taking a shot at one of the charging tyzos. Her aim was horrible—stupid eye—as she hit a completely different one. He went down, good enough. Another came right at her, and she had no choice but smash his face with her bow.

  The rest of the sticks jumped in, going at the mad group of tyzos. Corrie’s eye was on that leader, as she was taking hold of that boss like she planned to pull him out. Corrie might have hated every moment in this garden listening to Tricky prattle on, but nobody pulled this sewage on her watch. Certainly not some tyzo skirt old enough to be her mother.

  Corrie dropped the smashed crossbow and jumped in on the skirt, swinging a haymaker at her stupid bald head. She only managed to brush her knuckles across the woman’s jaw.

  Next thing Corrie knew, there was an elbow in her nose, delivered by the arm encased in metal. Then a kick to the knee sent her down to the ground.

  And in an instant that lasted a lifetime, that savage ax blade came thundering down to Corrie’s chest.

  The blade didn’t connect. The blow was blocked by a handstick, wielded by the last person Corrie would have guessed.

  “I am done with you,” Tricky growled at the tyzo. In a flurry she knocked the axe up with her handstick, and then snapped a shot to the kidneys, forcing the woman back.

  The tyzo wasn’t quashed, though. She came back hard and fast on Trick, who had put herself between the woman and Corrie. Trick didn’t give, blocking and taking shots and trading them back as best she could.

  And laughing.

  Rutting saints, she was laughing.

  “Specs!” That page who had been shadowing Trick all damn day shouted. “You can’t—” He charged in like a champ, but the tyzo barely wasted a breath clocking him down.

  Trick was laughing and turning red in the face now. But she wasn’t yielding.

  Corrie pulled herself to her feet and brought her best into the tussle with the tyzo, forcing her to deal with the both of them. She was on her game, blocking and dodging attacks from Corrie and Tricky, like she was doing the steps of a dance she had already memorized. This was even with that one arm, which clearly had something wrong with it. Skirt winced whenever she blocked with it. That let Corrie get a few solid hits in. One good one, with her handstick, knocked that axe out of the tyzo’s hand.

  Then the tyzo got a look on her rutting face, as if to say, “Now I’m done fooling around.” Like a cat she snatched Corrie’s handstick, and knocked her across the jaw with her own stick, and then did the same to Tricky. All faster than Corrie could blink.

  Tricky dropped like a stone, and Corrie wasn’t doing much better. She took a wild punch through her daze, but the tyzo blocked it easily and delivered another crack across Corrie’s head with her own handstick.

  “Let her go!”

  Blue fire wrapped around the tyzo, and she was yanked up in the air. She hung in the sky for several seconds, and then came smashing down to the earth, the fire splashing around her.

  Then the fire vanished, leaving only the tyzo flat on the ground, and Joshea Brondar standing behind her.

  “Corrie, I—”

  His hand was outstretched, still glowing blue with flame.

  “You’re . . . you’re . . .” Corrie was still winded. She wanted to say he was a goddamned mage, but she couldn’t get the words out.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t—I can’t—”

  His eyes were full of fear.

  This was why he and Minox were friends.

&nbs
p; A hand clawed at Corrie’s arm before she could say anything. Tricky, trying to pull herself up. Still laughing, face as red as a beet, desperately trying to draw breath.

  “I need some rutting help here!” Corrie shouted to anyone who’d hear. “I got an officer going down!”

  Satrine held on to Corrie’s shoulder like it was the only thing keeping her alive, digging her fingers into the woman’s uniform. Her lungs weren’t obeying anymore. Only laughter came.

  “Anyone!” Corrie shouted. “Get us a Yellowshield!”

  Hace came scrambling over, blood gushing from his nose. “I’ve got you, specs. We’re gonna get you help.”

  “Blazes is wrong with her?” Corrie asked.

  Suddenly an old Tsouljan woman, with blue hair, knelt down in front of her. She locked eyes with Satrine, also a rich, vibrant blue.

  She didn’t seem to speak, but words came to Satrine.

  “Calm your heart. Your fear will kill you.”

  Satrine wasn’t afraid, not anymore. She was moments ago. Afraid Yikenj would kill her, kill Corrie, kill everyone here. But her heart was racing. Pounding in panic, as she couldn’t get a breath of air. One hand stayed locked on Corrie’s shoulder. The other, she reached out and grabbed hold of the Tsouljan woman’s arm.

  The Tsouljan woman clasped both sides of Satrine’s head.

  And then, for a moment, she was elsewhere.

  She had stepped out to the balcony to watch the snow. Clwythnn winters were usually bitter, but this night was clear and crisp, the cold barely touched her.

  This night was the last night she was Quia Alia Rhythyn, Jewel of the Ironroot Clan. Kellin, the dear boy she had watched, guided, and protected now held the Scepter of the Throne as Kelldyshm II, Second King of the First Rule of the Rainstorm Clan.