A Murder of Mages: A Novel of the Maradaine Constabulary

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “Up in the Cove?” The boy’s voice almost screeched.

  “That’s why half a crown. Else I’ll carry them myself.”

  The boy grumbled but nodded.

  Welling produced another coin. “Take it straight to the stable in the back. Tell the man it’s from Minox. You understand?”

  “’Stood,” the boy said, snatching the coin away. He took the pile of newsprints and headed away.

  Satrine shook her head. “You paid that boy two crowns, plus his hitch fee. Which was probably a hustle.”

  “And he’ll remember at least one stick who paid him generously for honest errands,” Welling said. “Consider it an investment in this neighborhood.”

  Satrine leaned against the hitchpost and took another bite. “Who’s in the stable?”

  “My cousin, Evoy. He . . . shares my enthusiasm for researching newsprint articles.”

  “You’re a very interesting person, Minox Welling.”

  He paused in his eating. “Your husband. Inspector First Class, stationed out of the High Commissioner’s Office, over in Trelan. All correct?”

  “Correct.” Satrine wasn’t clear where Welling was going with this.

  “Attacked on the West Hetrick docks, specifically outside the customhouses, at nearly midnight on the evening of Maritan the fourth.”

  “Correct again.” Was this punishment, bringing up something unpleasant for her? If so, she’d bear it.

  “Maritan the fourth was Fenstide. So the docks were shut down. No legitimate freight was coming in.”

  “Which may have been the very point of his investigation.”

  “You don’t know what he was specifically investigating.” This wasn’t a question from Welling.

  “No,” she said. “We had a small celebration, just the family and Missus Abernand—”

  “Your landlady, who lives above you.”

  “How did you—” She was sure she had never mentioned her.

  “Obvious deduction. Continue.”

  “We aren’t particularly traditional or religious, so after dinner, Loren left. Said he had something to investigate. I didn’t press or pry.”

  “Or think it was strange he did that on a holiday?”

  “The job is every day,” she said, repeating Loren’s usual mantra.

  “I’m familiar with that.” Welling unhitched the horses. “I happened to have read some of the official reports, newssheet articles, and such. Before I met you. Are you familiar with what they claim he was working on?”

  “I wasn’t paying close attention, frankly,” Satrine said. She finished her striker, though her appetite had soured.

  “It says he was investigating a smuggling operation. Investigating alone.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Though she had to admit, it was a bit odd that he was working alone that night.

  “I’m not as sure,” Minox said. “Onali was full on the fourth. And the sky was clear. Bright night, minimal legitimate traffic for cover. Poor conditions for smuggling. It is also atypical for an inspector of your husband’s rank and stature to be investigating crimes of that nature.”

  “You know a lot about that sort of thing?”

  “My cousin Thomsen works river patrol.”

  She mounted her horse. “What exactly are you driving at, Welling?”

  “If you allow, Inspector Rainey. Another point, which may be uncomfortable.”

  “By all means,” she said. He was definitely punishing her.

  “Your husband was beaten severely, and supposedly left for dead in the water. By all rights, he should have drowned.”

  Should have, indeed. It might have been easier for her if he had. Then they couldn’t deny her the widow fund. “If you have a point—”

  “I am approaching it. He should have drowned, but was rescued, in the loosest sense of the word. In the water just long enough that his mind was lost, but not dead. The window of that rescue is very narrow.”

  “He was lucky that river patrol happened to be—”

  Welling pulled himself up on his horse with surprising grace. “Lucky and happened to be are terms I find troubling, Inspector Rainey. In my experience, coincidence rarely occurs naturally.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “The points of record on your husband’s case do not add up.” Taking up the reins, his face screwed up in thought. “Therefore, I believe my count of unresolved cases is now twenty-six.” He kicked his horse and started riding east, back toward Inemar.

  Chapter 18

  MISS PYLE WAS DOWN in the stables when they returned. “You better watch yourselves,” was the first thing she said.

  “Are we in trouble?” Satrine asked.

  “Hilsom is up there, raving mad. I think you really burned his hair, Minox.”

  “Does it matter?” Satrine asked.

  “It would be ill-advised to build too adversarial a relationship with the City Protector’s Office,” Welling said.

  “He can make our lives difficult if he wants to,” Miss Pyle added. “Don’t hide from him this time, Minox.”

  “So you were hiding last time,” Satrine said.

  Welling shook his head defiantly. “I was engaging in other activities elsewhere. That they occurred during his last visit to our office is merely a coincidence.”

  “I thought you don’t believe in coincidence,” Satrine said.

  “I said it was rare.”

  Miss Pyle smirked. “His belief in coincidence changes when it conveniences him.”

  “I take great exception to that, Nyla.” His effect was so flat, Satrine couldn’t tell if he was joking with his cousin, or actually offended. Miss Pyle laughed, so Satrine took it to be jovial.

  “Come on, Welling. We can’t put off facing him too long.”

  Welling nodded. “Then shall we, how do they say, ‘step on the beach’?”

  Satrine grinned, remembering “The Ballad of Benson’s Best.” “And thus we stand, we hold, shields aloft; each inch we claim, we claim with blood and bone.”

  Welling raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that poetry?”

  “You should read more, Welling. Let’s go.”

  Hilsom stalked across the inspectors’ floor, pacing back and forth in front of Cinellan’s office. He had deep circles under his eyes—Satrine realized hers must look the same—and his fingers twitched like they wanted to get around someone’s neck.

  “Welling!” he shouted across the floor as soon as the two of them reached the top of the stairs.

  Welling didn’t break stride, walking past the man. “There is no need to shout, Mister Hilsom.”

  “A writ of search on a Circle house! You bully your way into another! And you make a Riot Call! And how many arrests did we make from all of this?”

  “So far none,” Welling said calmly. “The day is not over yet.”

  “My neck is out, Jinx!” Hilsom snapped.

  “Your neck, Mister Hilsom?” Satrine asked. “Welling is the one on the line here.”

  “As am I,” Hilsom said. “The Circles will file a suit, and Justice Review is already screaming at my office over the Riot Call. When they look into the original writ—”

  Welling waved Hilsom off, walking past him to the desks behind the slateboards. “Nothing will be out of order, Mister Hilsom. Are you calling into question the grounds for which the original writ of search was justified?”

  Hilsom stomped along with them, not letting it go. “It’s not a matter of justification. It’s a matter of results.”

  “Indeed,” Welling said. “Though as you have said to me a number of times, there is knowing and there is proving.”

  “If you can’t prove it, it doesn’t matter.” Hilsom raised an eyebrow. “Do you know something, Jinx? Something at all useful?”

  W
elling stopped, and Satrine could see his eyes darting back and forth, like the gears were spinning in his head. “I know several things which are relevant pieces of data to solve this case. That said, they are not substantiated enough to warrant discussion with you.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “They’re theories, Protector,” Satrine interjected. “Sharing them prematurely could bias you, and thus poison your own attempts to successfully prosecute this case.”

  Hilsom threw his hands up. “Is there anything you can give me, Inspectors? Something I can use in the inevitable moment when the Circle counsel has a suit filed against me. And the two of you as well, I am certain.”

  “We know that there existed enmity between the Firewings and the Circle of Light and Stone,” Welling said. “A point they tried to conceal from us. I haven’t intertwined all the connections yet, but I am certain that enmity plays a key role in the murder of both Hessen and Jaelia Tomar.”

  “You didn’t need a writ to learn that,” Kellman said from his desk. He crossed over. “Blazes, they almost burst out in a magic fight in the middle of the street outside the Stone house.”

  “Light and Stone,” Satrine said.

  “Sure, sure,” Kellman said. Mirrell had quietly come over, and Captain Cinellan was watching the whole exchange from his office door. “Two Circles fighting. Plus Jinx in the middle of it.”

  Hilsom spun on his heel and glared at Welling. “You engaged them? Magically?”

  “Not directly, no,” Welling said. His eyes went down to the ground. “I did forcefully subdue one of the Light and Stone members, but entirely with standard Constabulary procedure.”

  “Would that be Wells Harleydale?”

  “I believe that was his name, yes.”

  Hilsom opened up his leather satchel and thumbed through his papers, muttering the whole while. “You believe that was his name. Rich, Jinx, very rich.”

  Welling’s nostrils flared. “Inspector Mirrell, in your observation, did I use undue force or unorthodox methods in subduing Mister Harleydale when he took aggressive posture?”

  Satrine looked over to Mirrell. He looked like he’d rather eat a live cat than answer, but he shook his head. “Not at all. I would have done the same.”

  Hilsom grunted. “Light and Stone has already sent word that grievances will be filed against you, and me, and the whole Constabulary for his treatment, both at their chapterhouse and anything that happens in his questioning. This is going to be a big problem, Jinx.”

  “Let them have a problem,” Kellman said. “They had a dead girl on their front steps.”

  “Circle Law protection or not,” Mirrell added, “they can’t let that slide in the river.”

  “So charge the man then,” Hilsom said. “Don’t just let him sit in the cell!”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Welling asked. For once, Satrine thought, her partner looked utterly confused.

  Hilsom rolled his eyes. “I’m saying bringing Harleydale in for questioning isn’t going to do us much good unless I can level some kind of arrest charge on him. When you subdued him, did he—”

  Welling didn’t wait for the question. “Protector Hilsom, what are you blathering about?”

  Hilsom buried his face in his hand for a moment. “All right, Welling. Is Harleydale who you like for the Tomar murders? Are you hoping to get him to crack in Interrogation?”

  Satrine couldn’t take this man any more either. She put him in his place in the most effective way she easily could. “Zebram, why are you being so obtuse? We haven’t brought in Harleydale.”

  Hilsom stammered, clearly put out of sorts by her casual use of his first name. “Of course you have. It’s one of the Circle’s key complaints.”

  Welling opened his mouth, then stopped and walked away. He took five steps and turned back, looking at Kellman and Mirrell. “Inspectors, did you bring him in?”

  “Not our case,” Kellman said. “You two dragged us into it enough.”

  “Nor did we,” Welling said, looking to Satrine for confirmation.

  “First I’ve heard of it.” She turned to Hilsom. “Who says we brought him in?”

  “His own Circle!”

  “And . . . is he here?” Satrine glanced about until her eyes found Miss Pyle. “Is Wells Harleydale in the building?”

  “I’ll find out,” Miss Pyle said, and in a moment she was off the floor.

  “Do not play stupid with me, Inspector Rainey.” He pulled a sheet out from his satchel. “They’ve already sent unofficial complaints to the Protector’s Office of how a patrolman came and collected Mister Harleydale for questioning under the authority of the two of you. I’m sure Olivant is talking to my superior right now writing up the formal papers!”

  “We sent no patrolman,” Satrine said. “We didn’t have him brought in.”

  Hilsom looked at his paper, then back at Satrine and Welling. He shoved it back into his bag and got uncomfortably close to Satrine. “You better be straight with me here, Inspector Rainey.”

  “Why would I lie about that?”

  “Why else?” Hilsom glanced over to Welling with an open sneer. “Protect your partner.”

  He stalked off. Captain Cinellan stayed in his doorframe, unlit pipe clenched in his teeth. “So what the blazes are you two going to do now?”

  “Go over our evidence again,” Welling said quietly. “There’s some pattern we’re missing.”

  Cinellan crossed over. “Listen, Welling. I know when the Protector’s Office is only stoking the furnace, and this doesn’t sound like it. Have you taken too big a bite on this thing?”

  Satrine saw doubt on her partner’s face. She didn’t need that. She couldn’t afford that, not yet. “We’ve got it, Captain,” she said. “Might take another day or two, but we’ve got it.”

  Cinellan gave the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah, you’ve got until the end of the week, Rainey.” He glanced over at Welling again. “Where’s your weapon?”

  “Lost in the scuffle, sir,” Welling said. He didn’t look at the captain or anyone else, his eyes focused on some empty spot of air in the middle of the floor.

  “Damn careless, Welling,” Cinellan said. “Have a page bring another one up from the armory for you, all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Welling said. Without any sign from the captain, Welling spun around and went back behind the slateboards.

  “You both look like you’ve had a hell of a knocking, Rainey,” Cinellan said.

  “It’s been an eventful morning, sir,” she said. He grunted and went back to his office. She felt she couldn’t leave it at that. “We will close this one, sir.”

  He shrugged and shut the door.

  Satrine went to her desk to find Welling erasing things from the slateboard.

  “Trying to get a fresh look at it?”

  He shook his head, “I’m a detriment to this case, Inspector Rainey.”

  “I don’t see how.” She sat down on the edge of the desk. “You wouldn’t see the likes of Kellman or Mirrell putting in this kind of dedication.”

  “Dedication or obsession?”

  “Does it matter?” She took the rag out of Welling’s hand. He stared at the board, not looking at her.

  “Makes no difference to Jaelia Tomar,” he said. “My devotion to the case made no difference to her.”

  “Perhaps,” Satrine said. “But we might make a difference for whoever the next victim might be. And I think we’re both agreed there will be a next victim.”

  “Certainly,” Welling said. “It’ll be Wells Harleydale of the Circle of Light and Stone.”

  Satrine nodded. “Because the killer has already grabbed him, under the pretense of being a patrolman collecting him for questioning.”

  “My thoughts exactly. It’s impossible for me to be certain, but I am reasonably confident.”
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  Satrine nodded. She had to admit it made a degree of sense. “So then, what’s the goal? Is this some sort of new Circle Feud? Is he trying to incite one?”

  “The murder of Jaelia Tomar may have set that in motion, but I do not believe that is the explicit goal.”

  “Because Hessen Tomar’s murder doesn’t serve that end.” Satrine needed more tea to think through this. “I could see it if this were just about the Tomars, but then how might Harleydale fit in? Is the killer part of one of these two Circles? A third Circle? Or not even—”

  “Is Uncircled the word you want, Inspector Rainey?”

  Silence hung uncomfortably for a moment. “Is that why you think you’re a detriment?”

  “My presence has done little but hinder our investigation. It’s caused active hostility among our witnesses. And victims.”

  “No, Welling.” Satrine got between him and the board, forcing him to look her in the eye. “We can’t let that be a factor. Your mage status is not relevant to the case. It’s not the problem.”

  “Don’t tell me it hasn’t caused trouble.”

  “We’re both trouble,” Satrine said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But don’t tell me we aren’t the best chance for justice on this case. Don’t tell me that the likes of Kellman and Mirrell would give a blaze over two dead mages like you would.”

  “Or would be as hungry to solve it as you?” Welling returned, giving her the barest of smiles.

  “We’re both hungry here, Welling. You know I’m right.”

  Welling nodded, and then picked up his chalk. “Location has to be important to the killer. The question is why.”

  Satrine got out of his way so he could start writing on the boards.

  “Excuse me, Inspector Rainey?” Phillen had come behind the slateboards. She was about to snap when she got a look at his face. In addition to the yellowing bruises on his face from his beating earlier, the young man looked like he had just eaten a live snake.

  “You all right, Phillen?” she asked. “Have you slept at all?”

  “I, uh, had a nap in the page bunks,” he said. “I had left word with one of the other pages, but the message didn’t reach you, I think.”