The Imposters of Aventil

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “You praising them or us, Vee?” Blute asked.

  “Give me a moment, Blute,” Veranix said. “I am saying these boys were worthy adversaries, and we should treat them with honor as we raise up our glasses. They played hard and strong, and it was only due to the power and teamwork each and every one of you brought to this match that you came out on top. You put blood and sweat and heart on that field.”

  “Aye!” they all shouted.

  “I left a fair amount of blood out there,” Catfish said. He still had some caked on his face from the hit to the nose he took during the match.

  “That’s because you’re a bleeder,” Veranix said. “If I can give you all any advice, it’s this—don’t get hit in the face, less you want to be as ugly as Catfish here.”

  “Aye!” they all shouted again.

  “So drink up,” Veranix said, “You’ve all earned it.”

  They raced to finish their beers, while Veranix just took a meager sip from his own. No need to get lost in his cups tonight, for any reason.

  “Another set!” Blute shouted.

  “Another set!” Tosler echoed, and he went back to the bar.

  The Prince captain was at the table, standing far too close to Veranix for his own comfort. He recognized her now. She had been the one who fought Blackbird with Jutie the first time he encountered her.

  Emilia, he reminded himself, not Blackbird. Treat her with the honor of her own blazing name.

  “Boys,” she said sternly. “I gather you are celebrating a victory.”

  “We are!” Catfish said, moving a little too close to her for his safety.

  “Bring it down, steve,” she said, pushing him back into his chair. “We ain’t really a raucous, yelling sort of establishment. Most of ours are just . . . tolerant of you Uni boys, you hear?”

  “We hear,” Veranix said before anyone else could respond. “We’re doing a victory crawl, so we’ll just have one more here and move on to the next place, right?”

  “Right,” she said. She gave him another look, eyebrow up. “You got good sense for a Uni.”

  “Vee!” Tosler yelled from the bar. “Help me carry!”

  Far too much attention was being placed on Veranix for his comfort. He moved over to the bar to help Tosler.

  “You managed on your own last time,” he muttered to Tosler.

  “Last time there wasn’t that dark-eyed nimble asking for you to come talk to her,” he said back with a grin. “Vee, you’ve got the magic, in every way.”

  Veranix noted the young woman he was indicating. She was stunning, no doubt, and almost every eye not on him and the tetch squad was looking at her.

  Veranix’s attention was completely on her, because he knew perfectly well who it was, even without her bladed hoops spinning around her body. She slinked closer to him as Tosler carried some of the beers over to the table.

  “Hello, Thorn,” Bluejay whispered.

  “You must be confused, miss,” he said.

  “I’m not. I saw you last night, and I know damn well who you are.” Her voice was almost silky with her eastern Druth accent, but Veranix wasn’t enticed at all. “You’re going to play nice and follow me to the alley.”

  “And why would I—”

  “Because if you don’t, ‘Vee,’” she said with a purring smile, “I’m going to kill every last one of those boys over there. So it’s your choice.”

  She strolled over to the back doors, casting an eye over her shoulder as she went.

  Tosler was back over. “What did she want?”

  Veranix answered honestly. “She wants me to follow her.”

  “Then you better get out there, my friend, or you’re an idiot.”

  “Tosler,” Veranix said, taking a gulp of one of the beers. “You’re more right than you know.” He went to the back door after Bluejay, and as he left, he could tell that the old man had definitely noticed him.

  Satrine had embraced the fact that there was no going home on time this evening. Everything about this case had sent Welling into his mode, where things like rest or signing out or spending time with family went completely out the window. Of course, none of those things were ever particularly high priorities for Welling in the first place.

  Though, if anything, working with Jace had brought out an interesting new spark. In the past few months of partnership, she had seen Minox Welling be excited, intrigued, and invested in solving a case, but usually for the sake of the answers, for the sake of justice. But she had never seen him so animated, and it seemed entirely about working with his brother for the first time.

  Jace was fascinating to observe—he had all his brother’s better qualities, wrapped up in youthful enthusiasm.

  “Are you going to tell me where Minox is right now?” she asked Jace as he led them down the street. Welling had gone off somewhere to further investigate his ideas, and Satrine once again had to carry the water of sending official messages back to the captain at the Grand Inspectors’ Unit on their behalf. This time Captain Cinellan wrote back that she should not sign out or leave the neighborhood without Minox. She knew damn well that what the captain meant was that she should drag him out and bring him back home, but in practice it meant she was stuck with him until he was satisfied that he had done everything he could.

  Welling was never satisfied.

  So Satrine had sent word home to her daughters and Missus Abernand not to expect her anytime soon. Corrie, amazingly, had agreed to do that for her, though she shuddered to think what a few minutes of exposure to Corrie Welling would do to her daughters’ vocabulary.

  “I’m showing you,” Jace said, half jogging down the street. Saints, that boy had energy.

  “Did your mother never teach you boys about giving straight answers?”

  “That all went to Corrie,” Jace said, flashing a grin.

  “She also signed out and went home.”

  “Yeah, maybe she got all the common sense.”

  Jace led her to a pub in the heart of the part of the neighborhood controlled by the Waterpath Orphans. “Don’t tell me he’s in there.”

  “They serve food,” Jace said.

  “You go in there?”

  “Not in this coat,” he said. “I don’t know what you’ve got in Inemar, but here, we don’t go into any of these pubs unless it’s business. Blazes, Lieutenant Benvin got straight up poisoned by the Red Rabbits.”

  “Really?” That was information Satrine would have thought was relevant. “The same Red Rabbits that the Thorn embarrassed?”

  “Yeah,” Jace said plainly. Then realization crossed his face. “Oh, you think—but there are none around no more.”

  “Except the ones who were killed by the other Thorn on Orchid, according to the report.”

  “I don’t know, specs,” Jace said.

  “Well, that’s why you’re the cadet. So, if not the pub, what? You all have a flop up top there?”

  “Yeah, come on.”

  The flop in question was crowded. Welling was in there with Tripper and Pollit, the latter of whom was dozing on the bed. Tripper had left campus while they were questioning associates of Emilia Quope. Welling was going through papers and documents—the same sort of files that ought to be at the stationhouse.

  “Looks like quite the party,” Satrine said. “Should I have brought cider or wine?”

  “Tea would be better,” Welling said dryly. “The lieutenant’s squad have been doing good work here, Rainey. They’ve compiled quite a bit of information. Not—”

  “Let me guess,” Satrine said. “Nothing actionable for arrests, right?”

  “Is this a familiar song?” Tripper asked.

  “Quite,” Satrine said. “We’ve got a thing we call ‘unresolved.’”

  “Oh, we’ve got that in cords,” Tripper said. “That’s the order
of the day in Aventil.”

  “All right,” Satrine said, taking a seat at the table. “Do you want to hear what I have?”

  “Eagerly,” Welling said, though he didn’t look up from the files he was reading.

  This was nothing new.

  Satrine took a seat. “So, a bulk of my day, when not trying to rattle gang members or getting screamed at by magic professors—”

  “Screamed?”

  “You don’t even want to know. Needless to say, Professor Alimen was not cooperative with my investigation.”

  “So, no further questioning of Delmin Sarren?”

  “Not a chance, unless we get a Writ of Compulsion.”

  “You ain’t going to get that, not from our Protector’s Office,” Tripper said. “He ain’t about to piss off anyone above him to Compel someone on campus, especially not a professor.”

  “Especially not a magic professor,” Pollit added, not rising from the bed.

  “Anyhow,” Satrine said. She was eager to get through this. Maybe with her information, Welling would be willing to go home, sleep, and let his brain work on things. “So I looked into Emilia Quope.”

  “That’s a waste of your time,” Tripper said. He had been dismissive of that investigation the entire time.

  “Student at the Royal College of Maradaine, in her fourth year. Was competing in Floor and Beam, and had been the ranking contender after the first day of events. But none of the RCM chaperones or athletes had much of a strong opinion of her personally. Seemed she was distant with them.”

  Welling looked up. “She should have been housed on campus for the games. All the athletes are.”

  “She had a room. I was shown it. Nothing of note to be found there.”

  “Yes, but my point is more, she had a room. So what was she doing at the Tower Tenement last night?”

  “Carousing? Celebrating?” Tripper offered. “She was in the lead.”

  “Well, I have something on that,” Satrine said. “She was at a social house party last night until about seven bells, and she left abruptly.”

  “We don’t know why,” Welling said.

  “We don’t,” Satrine said.

  “We also don’t know why she was wearing that outfit and mask, near the Thorn. I must do some further research.”

  “Here’s what we do know. The night before she had been seen out on the town, and several boys on the U of M tetchball squad remembered her. She had wandered off with their batting coach.”

  “While her personal dalliances might be relevant as to why she was at the Tower, I don’t think it is appropriate—”

  “I’m hardly gossip mongering,” Satrine said. “Because this is where we have an interesting coincidence.”

  Welling raised his eyebrow at her. “Coincidence” was always a word to get his attention. “As you know—”

  “Yes, coincidence rarely occurs naturally. I’ve been listening.” She went on. “The coach is one Veranix Calbert. Who you might recall is—”

  “The magic student, friends with Delmin Sarren,” Welling said. “That is certainly curious.” He took a moment in thought, and then dug back into his box of papers.

  He was going to keep this up unless Satrine actively stopped him. “I know you love a box full of papers to sort through, especially if there are newsprints involved—”

  “Saitle’s out collecting those,” Pollit muttered from the bed.

  “Shouldn’t that boy be home in bed or something?” Satrine asked. “Saints, shouldn’t all of you?”

  “Pollit is in bed,” Tripper said.

  “I’m just resting my eyes.”

  Satrine sighed. “I’m saying, I admire this devotion, gentlemen, but—”

  Welling looked up from his papers. “You can feel free to sign out and go home, Inspector. I do know your family needs your devotion as well.”

  “Yeah, except the captain sent word not to let you spend the night here in Aventil without me.”

  “That is an unreasonable order. If it helps you, Rainey, I can go in to sign out with you, and then you can go home.”

  “And then you come back here,” she said. “No, nothing doing. You’re going to kill yourself slogging through work. I’m not about to—”

  Suddenly Welling’s left hand—his gloved, altered hand—shot up and pointed to the window.

  “What the blazes is that?” Tripper asked.

  “I am not certain,” Welling said, straining to bring his arm back down. “A curious sensation has just intensified.”

  “Like last night?” Jace asked.

  Welling raised an eyebrow. “Not dissimilar.”

  “What, what last night?” Satrine asked.

  “When we encountered the Thorn,” Welling said. “Our use of magic . . . synchronized. I’ve been feeling some of that throughout the day, but it has taken on a different flavor. It is difficult to explain.”

  “What is he talking about?” Tripper asked.

  “It don’t matter,” Jace snapped. “Point is, maybe the Thorn is nearby?”

  Welling was on his feet. “Yes, I believe so. Actively.”

  “Wait, what?” Tripper was hard-eyed. “How the blazes is he—what’s with his—”

  “That’s of no moment, Sergeant,” Satrine said harshly. “Point is we’ve got a lead, and we should move. On your feet, Pollit.”

  Pollit was up with crossbow in hand. “Let’s get this bastard.”

  “In irons,” Satrine said firmly. “We do this clean and right, hear?”

  “Heard,” Tripper said. “Let’s move.”

  They filed out of the room, Satrine taking up the rear with Welling. “You now a compass with that thing?”

  “I do not profess full understanding of the altered nature of my hand,” Welling said. “As you well know.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t put complete faith in it.”

  “Nor do I,” he said. “You do know that I don’t believe the Thorn is responsible for Lieutenant Benvin.”

  “I don’t either,” Satrine said. “But that’s hardly the only wrong the Thorn has to answer for.”

  Welling gave a noncommittal nod, as if he did not fully believe that either.

  Satrine gave it no mind. It wasn’t their call if the Thorn was guilty. They just needed to deliver him into the hands of law and justice. Hopefully those hands would do the right thing.

  Once on the street, Welling looked around, and then pointed north. “This way,” he said. “Something is definitely happening.”

  “What is it?”

  Welling didn’t answer. Suddenly he broke into a run, as if his feet had taken hold of him.

  “Where’s he—” Tripper started. Welling was already half a block ahead, he had run so fast.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Satrine said, sprinting after her partner. “Run!”

  By the time Veranix was in the back alley, he had shed any illusion, putting on his appearance as the Thorn, rope in hand. He willed it to coil up around his arm and move like a snake. Maybe that would put a bit of fear into Bluejay.

  Of course, she was the one who damaged the rope in the first place.

  She was there, her circular blades in her hands. She didn’t have the bladed hoops spinning around her waist—perhaps too impractical to take into the Turnabout.

  “So you had the guts to come out, bastard,” she said.

  “You’re the one who threatened to murder people,” Thorn said. “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  “Good. I only want to kill you.” Her eyes showed none of the madcap joy she had when they had fought before. She was pure anger.

  This wasn’t a hired hit. This was her, looking to settle something.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You have the audacity to even ask that?”r />
  “Humor me.”

  She launched herself at him, her whole body a whirlwind of strength and grace while the blades came spinning at his head.

  He ducked and rolled, willing the rope to lash out and wrap around her ankle. With a sharp yank, he threw her at the brick wall by the backhouse. She spun in the air to hit the wall feet first, and jump off to land on the ground.

  “Not going for the kill with me, Thorn?” she snarled.

  “You’re the one trying to kill me.” There was no space here in the back alley to move, get out his bow. He needed to change that if he was to have any chance here.

  “You’ve earned it,” she said, her blades coming in toward his neck. Easy to dodge. Her anger was making her sloppy. That was something in his favor.

  “Tell me why!” A blast of quick magic, covering one of her blades in sticky resin.

  “What the blazes is going on out there?” A door in the alley opened up, a huge man with a Prince tattoo coming out.

  “None of yours!” Bluejay shouted, throwing her other blade at the Prince. It hit him in the gut, and he shouted in pain.

  “Help! Murderers!” he cried.

  Too little space, too much attention. “Follow along if you want to kill me,” he shouted at Bluejay, and magicked a jump up onto the roof.

  He only had a moment to breathe once he was up there, drawing out the bow. He had an arrow nocked when she came over the ledge, one blade still stuck to her hand.

  “Hold it right there, Bluejay,” he said.

  “So this is how you kill me?”

  “You came after me!”

  “Because you killed her!”

  That startled him, and he lowered his bow. “You mean Emilia?”

  “You don’t get to use her name!” She launched into a furious attack, pulling out a new blade. Veranix pulled up and fired, which she blocked easily. He had another arrow nocked and fired before she was on him, but the shot went wild when he jumped out of her way.

  “I didn’t kill her!” He swung his bow around and cracked her over the skull. It probably would ruin the bow, but that didn’t matter right now.

  She was already turned back toward him, blade whirling in one hand. “She helped you and that was how you repaid her?”