The Assassin's Blade

by H J Peterson

  “Why do you need to talk to me?” Adelric asked. His grip on his violin case was getting tighter, and even then, he could feel the plastic beginning to heat up, near to a melting point.

  Brooks raised an eyebrow. “Whoever said we wanted to talk to you because of something you did?”

  Brooks put a hand on the butt of his gun. Adelric knew that second that he’d given himself away. And if he didn’t get the hell out of there, they were going to pin Saaltz’s murder on him.

  Panicked, Adelric opened up one of the small pouches that lined the cuffs of his jacket and allowed some fine, metallic powder to fall into his hand. He knew without looking at it exactly what it was: potassium, a metal that burst into flames when combined with water. It was one of the basic “weapons” Bator had him carry on him at all times: it could be used as a sort of stunning weapon in the hands of an Alchemist, or it could really hurt someone.

  He planned on doing the first option, of course: it wouldn’t do to let them stick two counts of assaulting officers onto a murder charge.

  Adelric threw the powder at Brooks and Ikeda, forcing the air around it to condense into water.

  He hardly had enough time to run to a safe distance. The powder caught fire first, then exploded, making Brooks curse and Ikeda yelp in surprise. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder to see if they were alright; he couldn’t waste time doing that.

  What he did do was focus his thoughts on the gunpowder in both Brook’s and Ikeda’s guns. Like pretty much everything else in the world, it was surrounded by air, which almost always had some sort of water vapor in it. He focused on that water vapor with his mind, imagining it condensing into water. If he managed to do it, they wouldn’t be able to shoot him. If he couldn’t… well, he guessed that dying was better than going to prison, where Fekete Halál and the New Dawn could get to him.

  And a curse behind him let him know the answer to that.

  Success!

  Of course, the inspectors could still, technically, use their guns. And one of them did: he felt one of the guns smack him in the back of the head after they’d thrown it, hard enough that Adelric was starting to see stars.

  Despite that, Adelric kept running. He couldn’t stop; he couldn’t stop, no matter what.

  A few seconds later, Adelric saw something that turned his blood cold: police officers, wearing the colored epaulets that marked them as members of the Shaper unit.

  “Stop that man!” Brooks yelled from behind him.

  The Shapers looked over from what they were doing.

  The second they saw what was going on, they reacted: a Doc, judging by the green epaulettes, reached out to him with one hand.

  He could feel the muscles in his legs constrict, as if someone were stretching them. It made him fall to the ground, and all he could really do was twist so he landed on his back and not on his violin. When he looked at his legs, he could see that where his pants were once tight, they were now baggy. It looked like the Doc hadn’t just made his legs stop: he’d shrunk the size of his muscles. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to stand on his own.

  That wasn’t the only thing that happened: his arms tensed up around his violin, as if he was being wrapped in a strait jacket. It hurt a whole lot more than he would’ve liked, to the point where he actually cried out in pain.

  When Brooks and Ikeda caught up with him, he saw something that surprised him: Ikeda actually looked concerned, as if she’d never seen a Doc at work, before.

  “What’s with his arms?” Ikeda asked as she and Brooks picked Adelric up by the shoulders. He tried to stand on his own, but sure enough, they didn’t really do anything; they were just kind of twitching, useless with the Doc’s grip on him. “They look all… gross.”

  “I take it that you’ve never seen a Doc do this,” Brooks said as he tore his hands away from his violin. Luckily, Ikeda grabbed the violin case before it could drop from his arms. “He really doesn’t look too good, does he?”

  “I’m not letting go of him until we get some cuffs on him or something,” the Doc said.

  Brooks agreed: he pulled out some handcuffs and cuffed his hands behind his back.

  The Doc sighed as he let go of Adelric, seemingly relieved. Adelric was relieved, too: his legs and his arms returned to their normal state, and he was able to stand on his own, again.

  “What did this guy do, anyway?” the Doc asked.

  “Well who else would me and Ikeda here be chasing down?” Brooks asked. “This guy is our suspect for the assassination of Lord Saaltz.”

  X. HIRO

  Hiro looked through the window into Biermann’s interrogation cell, proud. She’d done it: they’d caught the man who’d killed Lord Saaltz. Her first case with the Königstadt Metropolitan Police was solved, though Berkowitz still wanted a confession. They were letting Biermann stew for a few minutes, though Hiro didn’t think they would need it. Biermann was looking pretty squirrely, jumping about a foot in the air at every unexpected noise. She guessed that it wouldn’t take that long for him to spill everything he knew about Lord Saaltz’s murder.

  “How does it feel, knowing that you’re about to get your first conviction within days of becoming an inspector?”

  Hiro looked over her shoulder to see Brooks standing there, two cups of coffee in his hands. He had a smug look on his face, the kind that made her want to smack him.

  But, it was hard to smack a man that had just brought her coffee.

  “Milk and sugar, and a hearty helping of both, right?” Brooks asked as he handed her the cup.

  “That’s right,” she said. She looked into the room as well as she sipped at her coffee, enjoying the slightly bitter taste of victory. “It feels excellent, by the way. Like I’ve died and gone to heaven or something.” She looked up at Brooks, again. “Speaking of heaven, don’t Vorbereichers like yourself have to go to church at some point today?”

  “Wrong religion, actually,” Brooks said. “My grandparents are from Dirkham; we all go to church tomorrow.”

  Hiro nearly choked on her coffee when she heard that. Dirkham was one of the countries that made up the Lindtin Powers, the countries Vorbereich had that horrible war with twenty years ago, while she was a little kid. She’d known that there were plenty of people with Dirkham descent in Königstadt, and she’d figured that Brooks would have some of that in him based on just how Dirkhamish his name was, but she hadn’t quite expected him to have any of that so recent. In fact, it surprised Hiro that the academy allowed him to enroll with ancestry like that.

  Then again, the academy had also let her enter, and Hanjans didn’t exactly have the best reputation in Vorbereich, either.

  “So, are you ready to go into your first interrogation?” Brooks asked, taking her mind off of the subject.

  Hiro nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Observe at first, then do your best to interject when you feel like it’s needed,” Brooks said. “Apply pressure, but don’t yell or aggressively berate him. And whatever you do, don’t disagree with me: we need to maintain a unified front.

  “Got it.”

  “This’ll be a good first interrogation for you,” Brooks said. “Something tells me that you aren’t going to have to say much to get him to crack.”

  “And if he doesn’t crack?” Hiro asked.

  “Then we improvise,” Brooks said. “Just follow my lead.”

  The two of them walked into the interrogation room.

  Biermann almost seemed to jump out of his skin when they walked in.

  Brooks was right: this wasn’t going to be all that hard.

  “So, Mr. Biermann, how does it feel to be the man that committed the most scandalous murder Königstadt’s seen in years?” Brooks asked as he and Hiro sat down at the table across from Biermann.

  He didn’t respond: he was looking down at their hands, as if he was trying to decide whether or not they had some sort of weapon up their sleeve.

  “Nice try on the
mute act,” Hiro said. Brooks shot a quick glance over at her, surprised, but he didn’t say anything. “We know that your tongue is in there and operational; you were talking to us back in front of Our Salvation, when you thought you were getting in trouble for being a public nuisance.”

  “I guess that’s a whole other charge we can add on to your capital murder charge, since we couldn’t find that license you swore you had,” Brooks said with a nonchalant shrug. “Even without that, we have enough on you to send you to the gallows. Is that what you want?”

  Biermann didn’t say anything, but he managed to look even more frightened than before. It wasn’t going to take long: all they had to do was push in the right spot, and he would tell them everything he knew.

  And Hiro thought that she knew exactly where to push.

  “I know that you don’t want to die, Adelric,” Hiro said. “We know that someone put you up to all this. If you tell us who that was and why he did it, we can take the gallows off the table and change the sentence to life in prison.”

  Brooks didn’t do much to hide his surprise, that time. He actually turned his head to look at her, frowning. Of course, he still didn’t say anything. That fell under the very first thing they taught you at the academy about interrogations, and the rule that Brooks had already reminded her of: no matter what methods you used, you and your partner needed a united front.

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  Hiro and Brooks looked back at Biermann. His eyes were still trained at their hands.

  “What don’t we get?” Brooks asked.

  “You might as well go ahead and kill me,” Biermann said quietly. “If I go to a prison, I’m going to get killed; they’re not going to let me live if they think for a second that I squealed.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?” Hiro asked.

  Biermann stopped talking. It looked like he was going to take that secret to the grave, after all.

  “You know, Biermann, you might as well say something if you’re going to die either way,” Brooks said.

  For the first time since Biermann got there, he looked up at them.

  Man, he really did look pretty scared. Hiro actually found herself starting to feel a little sympathy for him. She really didn’t think that he did this on his own; someone had put him up to this, and if they didn’t find out who, he was going to get executed for killing Lord Saaltz.

  Finally, Biermann sighed and looked down at his hands.

  “The Archangel,” he said quietly. “It was the Archangel.”

  Brooks looked skeptical. It seemed like he was familiar with this Archangel character.

  “So, what you’re telling me is that some religious figure came down from heaven and told you to kill Lord Saaltz?” Brooks asked. “And that if the Archangel thinks that you’re going to give everything away, he’s going to get someone in prison to kill you?”

  “Not the religious figure,” Biermann said. “The revolutionary.”

  Hiro was just as confused as she was when Biermann mentioned the Archangel, but Brooks seemed to understand. And, judging by the look on his face, the connection wasn’t a good one.

  Before they could ask anything else about it, the door to the cell opened and a man with the red epaulettes of an Alchemist poked his head into the room. “Brooks, Ikeda: you’re needed out here.”

  “Think about this Archangel fellow while we’re gone,” Brooks said as he and Hiro stood up. “You’re going to tell us every last detail about him when we get back, got it?”

  The two of them left the room before Adelric could respond.

  Hiro waited until the door was shut behind her to speak.

  “We were just about to get him to talk about whoever did this!” Hiro hissed to the Alchemist. “Why the hell did you interrupt us?”

  “Sorry, inspector: it’s important,” the Alchemist said dryly. “I wouldn’t have interrupted if it weren’t.”

  “It’s fine,” Brooks said. “What’cha got?”

  “We’re done analyzing the letter found at the crime scene, sir,” the Alchemist said. “We’ve determined that it was printed at Jonkers Press.”

  Hiro frowned. “Why do I know that name?”

  “That’s the same press Two-Face Maloye used to use for his letters,” Brooks said quietly, his body suddenly tense.

  She shouldn’t have brought that up in front of Brooks. Back in the day, Two-Face Maloye and his gang, the Know Nothings, practically ran the city. Maloye was extorting half the city, from immigrants fresh off the boat to the heads of noble houses as high as House Eltz. About seven years ago, Brooks, fresh from the academy, and his partner, Inspector Mosconi, were put on the case to take him down after Commissioner Buchard was appointed and decided it was high time to clean up the city. The two inspectors had gotten caught snooping around one of the Know Nothings’ hideouts, and went missing for nearly two weeks. They didn’t find them until Maloye died in a high-speed chase with the police. They managed to get the lone survivor of the wreck to talk and tell them what happened. They found Brooks tied up in a basement in Vergesse, and Mosconi’s body washed up on the shores of the Trübe in a tiny village nearly twenty miles south of Königstadt. One of Maloye’s signatures was leaving printed notes at crime scenes: a rarity, since most mobsters couldn’t read.

  “You think the Archangel’s involved with the Know Nothings?” Hiro asked.

  “Only one way to find out,” Brooks said. “You and I are going to head over to Jonkers Press, have a look around with a beat-cop or two.”

  Hiro frowned. “R-right now? Shouldn’t we finish up with Biermann, first?”

  “Why? Not like he’s going anywhere,” Brooks said with a shrug. He looked over at the Alchemist. “Do we need to make a stop at the judge’s, or is everything taken care of?”

  “Berkowitz figured that you’d want to get at this right away, so it’s been taken care of,” the Alchemist said. “He also asks that you keep it quiet: doesn’t want the whole city in an uproar over the idea of overthrowing the nobility.”

  “Naturally,” Brooks said. He pointed at the door to the interrogation room. “Nobody goes in that room, got it? Unless they’re higher ranked than me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “C’mon, Ikeda,” Brooks said. “Time to go find a beat-cop to drag along with us.”

  XI. FRIEDRICH

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Friedrich?” Chayim asked. Friedrich, Katalin, and Chayim (their chaperone) were all in one of Lord Eltz’s carriages, heading for a café that Katalin really liked. The city was in quite a bit of a stir, and according to Chayim, it had been since Lord Saaltz died. He said that there was some sort of social revolutionary who called himself the Archangel who was stirring up trouble, having his followers hand out pamphlets filled with propaganda about how the wealth needed to be redistributed, whether it be voluntary or by force. Of course, nothing had gotten too serious, as of yet: just a bunch of talk, but Chayim still seemed worried about it all. He didn’t like the idea of a high noble like Friedrich and a young noblewoman like Katalin in the city with the way things were. Friedrich didn’t love it, but… he needed to do it. For Katalin.

  Lord Eltz had given him an ultimatum at the beginning of the week: he had to find one good reason why he should allow Friedrich to marry Katalin, or he would have to make a decision between his love and his family. He hadn’t told her about it, but with one day remaining in that ultimatum… he had to tell her.

  “I feel like Katalin deserves some sort of apology after what happened at the Überhaus the other night,” Friedrich lied. “What better way to do that than by taking her to her favorite restaurant?”

  “Friedrich, you don’t have to apologize for that whole mess,” Katalin said. “None of that was your fault.” She looked out the window of the carriage at the people walking around outside. They were all glaring at the carriage, and Friedrich found himself feeling even worse about this excursion than he had, before. “Besides, it doesn’t really look
like we’re all that welcome right now: I would’ve been just fine if we’d gone to one of the restaurants back in Weinberg.”

  Friedrich was starting to think that same thing. He was right on the verge of telling the driver to take them back to Weinberg to go to one of the restaurants there.

  After a few more minutes of going through the city, they arrived at the café. It was in one of the nicer areas of the city, so there weren’t too many people staring at them all, but… well, one person ready to kill them was too many.

  Luckily, the owners of the café weren’t like that. The hostess smiled when she saw them and bowed. She was young woman, one with the dark, nearly black hair and olive skin of a Borusali.

  “Welcome, Lord Eltz and Lady von Thurzó,” she said. “Where would you like to sit?”

  “Anywhere’s fine,” Friedrich said.

  The hostess seemed a little puzzled by that answer, but she didn’t say anything about his choice. Instead, she lead them to a table out in front of the café, one that was right by the door and in the shade, so they wouldn’t have to sit in the sun, while Chayim sat at a table next to their table and behind Friedrich.

  “Would you like something to drink other than water, my lord and lady?” the hostess asked. “We just got some red wine in from Rochereux.”

  “Do you want some wine?” Friedrich asked Katalin.

  “If you’re willing to buy it, then yes,” she said as she looked at the menu. “I mean, it is rather expensive.”

  Friedrich looked back at the host. “Some wine sounds good, thank you. Rocheran white of a good vintage. The brand doesn’t matter.”

  The hostess nodded and looked over Friedrich’s shoulder at Chayim. “Would you like some wine, too?”

  “Water’s just fine with me, thank you,” Chayim said. The hostess nodded and went inside, leaving Friedrich, Katalin and Chayim alone at their tables.

  With the hostess gone, Friedrich began to look at the menu. The food was very simplistic, as was to be expected of a restaurant in a portion of the city that was mostly inhabited by middle class business owners. Of course, that didn’t mean that the food didn’t sound good. Most of the dishes were high-quality peasant dishes: variations of stews and pasta dishes were the main things on that menu.