Chapter 24
SATRINE WAS SURPRISED THAT Welling hadn’t yet arrived when she reached the stationhouse. The whole inspectors’ floor had an eerie quiet to it. Miss Pyle moved about like a hummingbird. No lamps were burning in Cinellan’s office. The other desks were empty, save for Kellman and Mirrell, who conferenced in hushed voices at their desks. Satrine was more than aware of the nervous glances they gave her as she passed them, though Kellman had the decency to say a brief good morning to her.
Satrine sat at her desk behind Welling’s slateboards. After a moment, she realized that she had barely spent more than a few minutes at her desk, and had done very little to make the space her own. It was still covered with Welling’s own mess. Satrine had no clue how to even start to sort through it.
The same was true of the slateboards. A few parts popped out as sensible. Hessen Tomar, Jaelia Tomar. Street names. Single words with question marks. Lines drawn between those words. Welling had a system, she was sure it all made sense to him, but she didn’t have the patience or energy to crack it herself.
Miss Pyle came over with two cups of tea, placed them on the desks and began clearing the old cups.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to do that,” Satrine said.
“I say a lot of things to Minox,” Miss Pyle said.
“I’m surprised he isn’t here already,” Satrine said. “Or is he already out on another call?”
“He was still sleeping when I left the house,” Miss Pyle said. “Which is unusual.”
Given the abuse Welling took from the major, and the killer, and the Light and Stone mages, it wasn’t at all surprising to Satrine that he slept in. “You live in the same house?”
Miss Pyle laughed. “Three generations of Wellings. My parents, Minox’s mother, our brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and Grammy Jillian.” She nodded her head to the charcoal sketch on the wall.
“She’s one I’d love to meet,” Satrine said.
“You should have been at dinner last night, then. She rarely comes down anymore, but she surprised us last night when Joshea joined us.”
“Joshea?” Satrine asked. “Do you mean . . . Joshea Brondar?”
“You know him?” Miss Pyle said. “He’s very handsome, I think, but Ferah had her eyes on him—”
“Joshea Brondar was at your home last night?” Satrine couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“He’s Minox’s friend,” Miss Pyle said, though doubt was crossing her face. “Right?”
“Of course,” Satrine said. She waved it off like it was nothing. “I’m just surprised Minox didn’t go right to sleep after the past two days.”
Miss Pyle opened up her mouth to respond, but whatever she was about to say was lost in Captain Cinellan’s storming through the doors of the inspectors’ floor.
“Miss Pyle,” he called out. “Tea on my desk. Kellman, Mirrell, in my office.”
Pyle jumped to her feet. “Yes, Captain.”
Kellman and Mirrell hurried over to the office. Cinellan glowered in Satrine’s direction. “Where’s Welling?”
“Haven’t seen him yet,” Satrine said.
Cinellan grunted. “Send him in here when he shows.” With Kellman and Mirrell in his office, Cinellan secluded himself inside and shut the door.
Miss Pyle rushed back, tea in hand.
“Is this a typical morning for him?” Satrine asked. Miss Pyle shrugged and let herself into the office. She all but ran out seconds later.
Satrine sipped at her own tea. Without specific directive, other than wait for Welling, she wasn’t sure what she should do. And once Welling arrived, she should send him in to Cinellan’s closed door meeting, whatever that was about. Though she definitely wanted words of her own with Welling. What the blazes was he doing having Joshea Brondar at his house, with his family? Welling may have dismissed the man as a suspect, but he was still involved in the investigation. If it went to trial, he might be needed as a witness, and that could sour the whole mash.
At least it would put Hilsom’s nose out of place. That was something.
Welling came up the stairs, out of breath and wild-eyed. “My apologies,” he said to no one in particular as he crossed the floor. “Where is—”
“Captain’s office,” Satrine said, crossing over to him. “You’re supposed to join them.”
Welling raised an eyebrow. “Did the captain say why?”
“No,” Satrine said, putting as much edge as she could onto the word.
“Ah,” Welling said. “I believe I understand.”
“Good,” Satrine said. “Perhaps you could explain it to me.”
Welling glanced around, his eyes finding his cousin, sitting at her desk. “I am not at liberty to at the moment.”
“Perhaps you could explain why a person of note in our case had dinner at your house last night, then,” Satrine said.
That stopped Welling short. After blinking several times, he nodded and said, “I really should join the captain now.” He didn’t wait for her response, going straight into the office, shutting the door behind him.
“Well,” Satrine said to no one in particular. “I guess I should clean my desk, or tune up my crossbow or something.”
She took two steps before the office door opened and the captain came out. “Miss Pyle, be so kind as to fetch three pages. Specifically Hace, Painter, and Quint.”
“Hace, Painter, and Quint,” Miss Pyle said, getting to her feet. “I presume this is . . .” She let it hang. The captain nodded, and she dashed off.
Cinellan sighed deeply and said, “Rainey, join us in here, would you?” He walked back in, leaving the door open.
Satrine entered the crowded office, where Kellman and Mirrell were leaning against the wall, and Welling sat in the chair, coolly tapping his fingers on the arm.
“Shut the door,” the captain said. Satrine did so, trying her best to ignore the sudden cold sweat that was breaking on her brow. They were all acting strange, being secretive, talking in code. This couldn’t be good.
“What’s going on?” she asked, forcing her voice to be as calm as she could manage.
“You’ve been a stick’s wife for a long time,” Cinellan said. “So I’m presuming you’ve got a sense how some things work.”
“Some.” Guarded tone.
“Have you heard of a Quiet Call?”
She had. Quiet Call was when they gathered up a bunch of sticks, the ones they knew they could trust, without letting the word get out to the rest of the stationhouse.
It was what they did to handle corrupt sticks. Someone who had forged orders to become an inspector would do just as well.
“So that’s what this is about?” No emotion in her voice, but her head was racing. None of them were making a move on her, not yet. They were probably waiting until the boys Nyla was fetching could block the door. No windows or other way out of here. Her hand inched closer to her belt, ready to draw her handstick, ready to beat her way out once any one of them made their move.
“I wouldn’t normally bring someone brand-new in on one,” Cinellan said. “But we’re going to need every hand we can pull together, and Welling vouches for you.”
“He . . . he does?” She almost jerked her hand away from her stick.
“Stop gibbering, Tricky,” Kellman said. “This is what Hennie and I do.”
Hennie? “You two are watchdog inspectors.” It made perfect sense. The first case she heard about them on was the murder of two horsepatrol.
Mirrell nodded. “We’ve been putting together some pieces, long-term work. Some of our more . . . morally questionable boys, the ones we’ve been building a long case on, we hear they’re meeting some of their connections at a warehouse this morning. Something large is happening at nine bells, and we’re going to crack it as hard as we can muster.”
Welling’s head was down, scrawling a list of names. “Kelsey and Prandt. Night shift horse. You have your eye on them?”
“Had a whisper,” Mirrell said. “You have something harder?”
“Just more whispers,” Welling said. “But ones I trust.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky,” Kellman said. “They’ll be on the scene now.”
Satrine let herself breathe. This had nothing to do with her at all.
“You have that list ready, Welling?” Cinellan asked.
Welling handed over the paper. “These men are solid for the Quiet Call. Seventeen was the best I could do.”
“It’ll have to be good enough,” Cinellan said.
A knock came on the door, and Miss Pyle entered. “I have the pages. And Mister Hilsom is here with a writ of search.”
“Perfect,” the captain said. “All right, you four. Heavy coats and caps will be on the wagon. Let’s crack some skulls.”
Minox checked the straps on his leather cap. He always hated wearing one when he was horsepatrol. It made his hair soak with sweat, and the straps always bit into his ear. As uncomfortable as it was, though, it was surely more comfortable than an unshielded blow to the head.
Inspector Rainey looked out of place with her cap and heavy coat. Her long red hair spilled out the sides, which then puffed out in a ridiculous manner.
“Tie it back,” Minox offered. “That’s what Corrie does.”
“Tie what back?”
“Your hair,” Minox said. He glanced out the alley, half a block from the warehouse they were about to target. They, as well as Kellman and Mirrell, were in the forward positions, ready to move when the bells of Saint Limarre’s struck nine. Other men, out of uniform, moved through the street like merchants or beggars.
On some level, the whole subterfuge struck Minox as absurd. Any Constabulary worth his badge would recognize a Quiet Call in motion if he saw what was happening in the street. It would be more plausible if they recruited from another stationhouse. The last two times he had been involved in this with Mirrell, he had suggested having one of his uncles put together a team from their stationhouses, but the captain wouldn’t hear of it. This time he made no such attempt, instead opting to argue for having Rainey at his side. The past two days had been especially trying, and were only tolerable due to her presence. He looked back to her. Her hair was now tied back, one of the leather cords of the heavy coat sacrificed to the cause. “Are you ready?”
“Is anyone really ever?” She drew out her crossbow, checking its readiness. “I’ve never really done anything quite like this before.”
That was surprising. “You have shown yourself to be a capable combatant.”
“Street scrapper, Welling. I can hold my own in a brawl, but an organized raid? We never did anything like that on my corner. Or in Intelligence.”
“Stay alert,” Minox said. “This is Mirrell’s engagement, so give him deference. We’re here as support.” He pointed to the warehouse, notably the large wagon doors on the south wall. “At the first chime, we all make our move. South doors are ours.” He pointed to two footpatrol, dressed as streetsweeps. “They’re our lampmen. They’ll be right behind us.”
“What are we going after, exactly?”
“Not sure,” Minox said. “Mirrell was deliberately obtuse on the matter. Whether that was out of ignorance or a desire to hold knowledge over me, I am not sure.”
“What’s your guess?”
“I haven’t been studying this case—”
“Welling,” Rainey said, touching his shoulder. “What’s your guess?”
Minox repressed the grin. “Warehouse is two blocks away from the riverfront, which makes a pure smuggling operation less likely. Large building, almost half a block. Solid brick walls, few windows. A fair amount of noise could come from inside with little notice.” He took a deep sniff of the air. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“The stench of human and animal waste is noticeably stronger here than, say, a block away. But closer to a kennel than a stable or a backhouse.”
“Dogfights?” Inspector Rainey asked.
“Sensible deduction, Inspector. Though puzzling, as dogfight rings would hardly bother in bribing multiple constabulary officers to cover their operations. Such establishments thrive on being an open secret.”
Rainey bit her lip in thought. “Maybe the dogs are the cover.”
The idea clicked in his thoughts. “Scent of the dogs covering a different odor? Intriguing. But covering what?”
Rainey was about to answer when the first bell rang. She closed her mouth and held up her crossbow. Minox drew out his own. They moved out into the street. Kellman and Mirrell were already charging at the western doors. Rainey ran out ahead toward theirs, and Minox chased on her heels.
All the scattered footmen in disguise moved at once, converging on the three sets of warehouse doors. Rainey reached the barn doors a full forty feet before he did. She didn’t stop, ramming her shoulder at the door at full speed. The door splintered and cracked, but didn’t yield.
At the same moment, Mirrell and Kellman kicked open their door, shouting out, “Hold fast! You are all bound by law!”
Rainey stepped back, waiting for Minox to reach the door. Out of pride, he couldn’t allow himself to not make the same attempt to knock open the door that Rainey had. He charged at it with full strength, and she hit it again in the same moment. This time, the doors flew open.
At least a score of men were in the warehouse, knocking down lamps and snuffing candles. Minox’s eyes couldn’t adjust to the darkness fast enough to see more.
“Hold fast!” Rainey shouted, crossbow up. The two lampmen took a place right behind them, holding their lanterns high. Soft beams illuminated the dark corners of the warehouse, while several bodies scrambled and darted for the shadows like the rats they were.
The twangs of crossbow fire came quickly. The lamp over Minox’s head shattered. Rainey fired into the darkness. A man cried out, so in all likelihood she shot true.
Minox stepped ahead of her as she bent down, one foot in her cocking stirrup. Another shot flew past, taking out the other lantern.
There were definitely Constabulary inside, making a point of taking out the light instead of the man. They didn’t want to hurt fellow officers if they could help it, but they didn’t want to get spotted either.
Snarls and barks rushed at them, and Minox barely had a chance to shoot before he saw three sets of jaws flying at him. One dog dropped with a sharp squeal. The other two were on him, clamping hard on the sleeves of his coat.
Rainey dropped her crossbow and pummeled one dog with her handstick. The lampmen tackled the other. Minox wormed his arms out of the coat and pushed forward, staying close to the ground. He couldn’t see anything. More light was needed.
He focused his concentration on creating a ball of light in his hand.
Nothing happened.
More crossbow shots whistled past him. One brushed the top of his cap. No time to mess around with magic, or do anything that might make him an attractive target.
He lifted up his hand to shoot back. No crossbow. He must have dropped it.
Men with lamps came streaming in the other door, behind Kellman and Mirrell, where at least ten officers held up their weapons. “Cease fire now!” Kellman’s voice boomed. The light hit several men, who were in the process of loading the bows or opening dog cages. On Kellman’s voice, they all dropped what they were doing and put their hands up.
“Goddamn bastards,” Rainey said. Minox looked over to the cages and saw why. Not all the cages had dogs in them.
Some cages had children. Two or three per cage, covered in rags and filth.
Minox started to get to his feet when a man—someone in the shadows he hadn’t seen—burst past him and knocked him down. He slam
med hard onto the ground. Flat on his back, he was barely able to see the man barrel through the lampmen into the open street.
“Bastard!” Rainey screamed again, and ran out after him.
Chapter 25
THE BASTARD WAS RUNNING NOW, out in the open street. The lampmen had been useless in stopping him, so all he had to do was get out of sight and he’d be free as a lark.
Satrine would be damned if she let that happen.
She pounded after the man. He had a strong lead, but she would close that distance once she got her feet under her. He stumbled as he ran. Drops of blood on the ground. He must have been the one she hit with her crossbow. Despite that, he had good speed, but he wasn’t fast enough to beat her.
Only a few feet separated them when he crossed around a shopkeeper’s table, kicking its leg out as he passed it. Brass trinkets and glass careened onto the ground, forcing Satrine to jump out of the way, losing her stride. By the time she found her footing, he was down the next alley.
She turned the corner. The alley was a dead end, but he was beating on a door, his only possible escape. He looked back at her. Despite the bleeding wound in his shoulder, he grinned at her.
“I thought the Jinx was chasing me,” he said. “Not the skirt.”
Satrine didn’t bother with a response, other than charging at him. For a moment, his grin was about to become laughter, and then his face froze, melting into fear.
She had him.
He kicked at the door again. This time some fool opened it to yell at whoever was hitting the door. The bastard knocked him down and ran into the building.
Satrine tried to go right after him, but the fool who had let him in grabbed at her legs, dragging her down to the ground with him.
“How dare you!” the man shouted.
“Constabulary!” was all Satrine responded with, wrenching herself away from his hands. She reined in the urge to kick the man in the face.
“Rutting sticks!”
She pulled away and got back on her feet. Where was she? Looked like the backroom of a tailor. She ran through the separating curtain to the shop floor. Drops of blood led to the front door. Satrine followed, to see her quarry chasing after a tickwagon.
A Murder of Mages: A Novel of the Maradaine Constabulary Page 28