Breaking and Entering 101 (The Case Files of Henri Davenforth Book 4)

by Honor Raconteur

  “Eddy’s the eighth child of twelve, so resources are already tight in the family, and while he does have some education—his grandmother made sure every child went to school up until they were twelve—it got cut short. Parents can’t feed every kid; they all need to work when they’re old enough. Eddy supposedly has a job with the docks as one of their runners, but he keeps getting docked pay. He’s too busy breaking into places, so he doesn’t always work his shifts.”

  Seaton finally cleared his mouth of cinnamon roll long enough to get a question out. “I’m surprised you got all this from the mother.”

  “Eh.” Jamie shrugged, a twinkle in her eye. “Not so much. I just delivered Eddy to his loving mother, reported what happened, then asked her to deal with her son. I stepped outside and lingered. Walls are thin. I could pretty much hear everything and make the necessary educated guesses.”

  Colette sniggered. “Now that makes more sense. Where else has Eddy broken into?”

  “I didn’t get the full list, but Mrs. Jameson mentioned an art gallery, a judge’s house, and—this is the kicker—the police commissioner’s house.”

  I exchanged surprised looks with the others. “We would surely have heard about break-ins with some of those locations if the wards had been disturbed. I know for a fact they’d have wards.”

  “I don’t doubt it. But the palace wards should have reacted too and didn’t. I think Eddy’s some kind of anomaly. He’s got something about him that can squeak past even tough wards. And he likes the challenge of getting in. Maybe because he only wants to get in, not actually do anything, the wards don’t recognize him as a threat? That’s just a guess, but it seems he can come and go through them as he pleases, as long as he doesn’t violate the restrictions of the wards. Even though the wards should be blocking him because he doesn’t have permission to be there.” Jamie cocked her head at me, expression sympathetic. “I think he’s the antithesis to a burglar alarm. Like a ward’s kryptonite.”

  I didn’t recognize the last word but took her meaning. And I didn’t like it, as the whole thing threatened to give me a migraine. Another migraine, I should say.

  Licking some icing off his thumb, Seaton said, “What I’m hearing is that this boy is uncontrollable, his parents can’t even keep him in check, and unless we have some flash of genius, he’s likely to do it again.”

  Jamie shrugged, still sympathetic. “That’s about the size of it.”

  More chocolate was called for. I bit into another and mourned my life.

  Silence descended for a long minute while everyone thought. No one offered a suggestion. A flash of genius did not seem to be forthcoming. Darn the luck.

  Seaton mimed picking something up and setting it off to the right. “Putting that aside, how goes the train robbery?”

  “Ah. Well, that’s kinda hard to judge at the moment.” Jamie ticked things off on her fingers, closing each digit into her palm as she spoke. “We know they used Raskovnik to get through one of the locks, but have had no luck so far figuring out their source. Gibson and I tracked down one of the sources before you messaged me about Eddy. No one’s reported any missing, and that’s a highly controlled substance. For good reason. He’s going to keep asking around. We did discover that the station employees get no advance warning about gold shipments, so whoever planned this had to be sticking pretty close by in order to move quickly enough.”

  That information pulled me from my peregrinations and I blinked at her. “Wouldn’t it also mean they would need an inside source informing them the gold was onboard?”

  She waffled a hand back and forth. “Gibs and I are still debating that. We’re not sure about an inside source or not at this point. Maybe? But even if they had an inside source, the people at the yard don’t know they have gold until about fifteen minutes before they load it up. Fifteen minutes is not a very long span of time to get your thieving friends a ticket and on board the train.”

  I nodded slowly, letting the logistics of that whirl about in my mind. Perhaps ten years ago, it would have been feasible for someone to be waiting at a nearby apartment or tavern, waiting on word to board. But now? With traffic conditions as they were? Sometimes it took fifteen minutes just to cross the blasted street.

  Colette reached for another apple tart, encouraging Jamie, “What else?”

  “Hmm, we have a theory that the thieves had to ride the train on a regular basis, a just-in-case measure. The gold is always shipped out in the evening, it turns out. There are no stops, so it’s a more secure line. Our guess is the thieves rode the evening train for several days—maybe even a full week—in order to hedge their bets. The station manager is compiling a passenger list for the last two weeks for us. It might get us a suspect pool.”

  That sounded like a great deal of cross-checking, and I made a mental note to try and help with that. Most trains carried upward of a hundred and fifty passengers, after all. Still, this information gave us something more to go on, which was helpful. “That might explain a few matters. The lack of notification in advance, I mean. Like why they weren’t able to take all the gold.”

  Jamie nodded at me. “Yeah, they didn’t know how much to plan for. I had the same thought. It must have grated, actually, to be forced to leave some of it behind.”

  “I imagine it did.” Seaton seemed much more replete with the two cinnamon rolls in his belly and sat back, a man once again at his leisure. “While you wait for those lists, I suppose you’ll focus on the Raskovnik?”

  “For today, at least. Mrs. Watts has our trial run set up for tomorrow. We’re going to see if we can reenact the heist.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t realize she would have it ready so quickly.”

  Jamie nodded. “Maybe if we can figure out exactly how they did it, it’ll give us a leg-up in the investigation. Henri, you never did answer me earlier. Do you think they had a magician or not?”

  “I’m of two minds on that myself,” I admitted frankly. “There were no spells in use that I could see. The vault had anti-theft spells on it, so unlocking spells wouldn’t have been able to penetrate. Still, cleaning spells would have been safe to use. Silencing charms. Even the re-application of the wax and bands would be easily accomplished with a few spells. But none of those were in evidence.”

  “But they knew to use the Raskovnik,” Colette protested.

  I splayed a hand in acknowledgement. “And that’s my issue. How would they even know what that is, much less how to use it, if they didn’t have at least some magical training?”

  Seaton shook his head. “I think you’re all overthinking this. The first case you and Jamie worked was in all the papers. Everyone knew the details of how the thieves were getting into places, stealing things. Their theft of the Raskovnik from the Conservatory was headline news a year ago.”

  Jamie smacked her forehead with a palm, the meaty slap of skin loud in the small room. “I’m an idiot. I’d forgotten that completely.”

  She’d also not been able to read a newspaper at that point, but I charitably refrained from saying that aloud. Instead I mentally kicked myself. “Seaton, that’s an excellent point. Jamie, I think that provides our answer. Everything they used is something a layman would know about—odds are likely there was no magician in the group. Or, if there was one, he was third-rate at best and his spellwork so unreliable they chose not to implement it.”

  “Fair enough. Also makes my life easier. I’m looking for good old-fashioned criminals this time.” She rubbed her hands together briskly, anticipation lighting up her face. “I do love me some good heist.”

  My partner truly did enjoy a good intellectual challenge. I had no doubt that was the reason she made such an excellent detective. In this case, I was relieved she seemed to have things in hand for the moment. I had little time to spare to help her.

  “Returning back to the wards,” Jamie warned, glancing between Seaton and I. “Have you considered an alternative method for people getting in? I know you said cer
tain personnel, like the Kingsmen, have a seal on the back of their neck that allows the wards to recognize them.”

  “We can’t put a magical seal on every single person who enters palace grounds,” Seaton objected strenuously. “Those seals are simple to place, certainly, but the magical drain that would take to apply them on all the visitors—”

  She held up a hand, staying him. “I’m not talking about anything so fancy. I mean, the palace grounds receive tourists daily. That would be an insane headache. No, I meant something easier. Like an ID chip—ah, crap. Uhhh…something like a card? And the bearer of the card would be able to pass through.”

  Seaton’s mouth was still open on an objection that never seemed to quite form. He closed his mouth with a click, frowning absently at the wall dead ahead.

  I personally saw her reasoning and worked through the logistics aloud. “The cards would be something we could re-issue over and over. Not something that had to be replaced every day. Short term, it would be a burden on the maker, but long-term it’s feasible to sustain. But that doesn’t prevent the possibility of someone nicking a card for their own use.”

  “It has its drawbacks,” Jamie admitted, “but it might also help settle people’s panic some. If you’ve got a possible solution, it looks better than, ‘I got nothin’,’ if you catch my drift.”

  Seaton slouched into his chair. “That I do. I certainly can’t think of anything better, and it might keep our wayward thief out. Especially since we’re raising security levels at the same time. What do you say, Davenforth?”

  “I say it can’t hurt to try.” I gave Jamie a nod of thanks. “We’ll try it. Thank you for the suggestion. And breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll let you guys get back to it. I’ve got to figure out where that Raskovnik came from. It’s giving me grey hairs.” She popped up, ready to leave, but I stayed her with an upright hand.

  “I was contacted yesterday by the mage who created Clint,” I informed her. “He wishes to visit and evaluate Clint. And I think he has many questions for you, as well. Are you amiable?”

  “Sure? Is this a formal thing?”

  “Not at all. But Clint is the first Felix to be out and about in the world, and you’ve put him to a use that Magus Felix didn’t think of. I think he’s very curious.”

  “Ah. Then sure, set it up. Dinner or something should work.”

  I nodded agreement. “I shall, then.”

  Jamie headed for the door, then paused in the doorway to address Colette. “You still on for Girls’ Night this week?”

  “Yes, of course,” Colette answered readily. She had the most intrigued look about her, an expression I hadn’t seen in years.

  With a salute, Jamie was off, her usual long stride eating the distance quickly. Sometimes she forgot to move at the same pace as the rest of humanity. It was part of the reason I always huffed and puffed while trying to keep up with her.

  Seaton asked the question I wondered. “Girls’ Night?”

  “She invited me over to her flat to meet some of the other ladies she’s friends with,” Colette explained, drifting back to the work she’d set aside. “Apparently she gets together with them a couple times a month. She cooks, then we all sit about and gossip and play board games. Sounds smashing.”

  Seaton looked dubious at this description so I further explained, “I can hear it play out whenever she has those nights. There’s a great deal of giggling and thumps. I guarantee you they have the time of their lives. Usually until the wee hours of the morning.”

  “It must be interesting, living next to her.”

  “And fattening.” I mournfully looked down at my vest that strained at the buttons. “She’s entirely too good of a cook.”

  “Davenforth.” Seaton’s eyes twinkled in that devilish way that never boded well. “Not to tell you your business, old chap, but considering your occupation, and the very active partner you have—not to mention her cooking skills—have you considered regularly exercising?”

  “Why do you say such hurtful things?”

  Colette threw her head back and howled.

  Some friends I have.

  Mrs. Watts was good to her word and had everything set up and ready to go. We were a short little train—an engine, passenger car, and baggage car. The passenger car was in case we chose to just ride back from Bristol. I had a feeling we wouldn’t use it—I at least wanted to do two dry runs. I had the feeling a lot of fumbling would happen in the first one.

  We’d assembled a four-man team, as we suspected our thieves had: me, Henri, Gibson, and Foster—a new Kingsman. A werefox, he had no magic abilities, unlike most Kingsmen, although I understood he’d aced the physical exam. Foster wasn’t a typical red fox in looks, although he had some red fur. Mostly he was grey in the face and body, a bit of white fur peppering the dark, his ears tall and mobile. I liked the spark of intelligence in his golden-brown eyes. He came with five years of experience being a palace guardsman. I had an overall good vibe with him, and the suspicion I’d like him if we got the chance to know each other better.

  Clint also accompanied us and chose to sit on top of the vaults and observe. We had dummy lead shot and bricks to substitute the gold, plus a bag full of the tools we guessed necessary to do this.

  Lots of guesswork on this.

  I stood at the side of the engine, greeting our engineer, a snappy young woman named Fotina. She had a quirky, almost genteel look to her face that did not match the strappy body lurking in her coveralls. And the voice really didn’t match either, all smokey sounding, like a lounge singer. “Detective. Ready to go?”

  Before I could answer, Gibson stopped me. “First let me introduce Henri to our colleague helping us out.” Gibson waved to Foster. “Foster Osborne, this is Dr. Henri Davenforth. He’s both a Magical Examiner with the Kingston PD and Jamie’s partner. Davenforth, our latest Kingsmen recruit, Foster Osborne. I’m still training him, thought a bit of investigative work would do him good.”

  Foster gave Gibson a wry look. He clearly knew exactly why he was here, but he politely gave Henri a nod. “Pleasure, Doctor.”

  “Yes, quite, Kingsman.” Henri signaled me with a nod and loaded in the car.

  I smiled at the engineer. “Okay, we’re ready now. Thanks for this, Ms. Fotina.”

  “My pleasure. Have to say, none of us have been happy about the recent theft. Paints our railroad in a bad light. If this will help, I’ll take you as many times as you like.”

  “You’re good people, Ms. Fotina, thanks.” With a wave, I took myself back to the baggage car and hopped the short distance inside. Turning, I slid the door shut and secured it.

  The inside was dim—with no windows, and only a small top skylight, no natural light could seep in. Two lanterns bracketed either end of the train car, illumination solely for the guard’s and baggage carrier’s convenience. It was also insanely crowded, with barely enough room for a single person to walk the breadth of the compartment. Put four grown adults and a curious cat in here, and there wasn’t much room left to maneuver.

  “I vote we assume they started the minute the door closed,” Gibson stated.

  I raised a hand. “Seconded. Let’s get to it. We’re also assuming they only had some of the keys necessary, so I’ve got a sprig of Raskovnik to get through the vault door.”

  Henri held out a hand for it, and I passed it along, as that was easier than trying to slip past everyone. As he worked on that, I pulled out a pocket watch and set it there, encouraging Clint to move over to the shelf. “Field cat, I need you to keep track of the time for us.”

  “Okay,” he said seriously, hunkering around the watch so he could look at its face and us.

  Henri had a copy of the guard’s keyring and used it to spring the padlock, then he inserted the sprig of Raskovnik into the key hole of the vault. With that open, he used the ring of keys and opened the three compartment doors. Then he pulled out the safes containing our ‘gold’, unlocking the top of each safe b
efore passing two of them along to Foster and Gibson.

  I could feel time ticking by in the back of my head with a loud tick-tick, because just doing that took five minutes. Wrestling that much weight in these tight quarters was not at all easy. With me in the very front of the car, I couldn’t help during this process at all, either. In fact, I shouldn’t—I was stronger than all the men, and me helping might throw things off.

  I went with what I could do—get ready to get those bands off the boxes. The carpet bag of tools waited nearby, and I pulled that closer, bringing out the pliers to handle the bands.

  Gibson put a safe on the shelf nearby with a grunt.

  “Can’t do that,” I warned him. “The baggage car was full that night. Shelves wouldn’t have been usable.”

  He let out a vile curse and then struggled to get it off again and onto the floor, letting it land the last two inches with a thump. “That is not as easy as it looks.”

  “It doesn’t look easy at all. That’s a lot of dead weight, and it’s an awkward shape to boot.”

  The wooden boxes inside all had a rope handle along the top lid so it was easier to lift them in and out. Some frustrated person had probably thought that one up. Gibson used it to lift the box free and hand it to me.

  I took it with an oof of effort. It wasn’t so much the weight, as the awkwardness of it. Setting it down at my feet, I hunkered over it as I bent the iron bands off with the pliers. Which was a lot easier to say than it looked. It took a lot longer than I anticipated to wrestle them off, but I finally did. “Victory! First one free.”

  “Okay, give that to me. I’ll swap things out while you work on the next one.”

  “So, I’m in charge of bands, huh.” I shrugged, amiable to this.

  We swapped boxes, Foster handing me the next one to work on. Henri, still in the padlock area, worked on yet a third safe.

  It became something of an assembly line. As soon as I had the bands off, I found myself with the first box back, having to put new bands back on. And wax seals, of course, to top it off. I had trouble keeping the wax lit—going sideways like that, the flame kept trying to sputter out. I lit it three separate times just to get the one box done.