A Storm in the Desert: Dragonlinked Chronicles Voume 3 (7 page)

“My first case,” she said, “not even two days after High Lady Hasana appointed me, involved a string of missing people. Now, to be sure, people disappear all the time. Usually, however, it’s due to some dire circumstance involving money or a relationship. None of these people had any problems, however, at least not any that were plain to see. They were just gone one day. Most were women, though there had been a few men and children, too. And all of them went missing while they were alone. Two years had passed with the constables unable to learn anything and with people going missing every few months. They’d tried to keep news of this multiple killer from circulating too widely, but it did anyway. People started to panic.

“The High Lady gave us the case.”

Her eyes narrowed as she thought back. “We could find nothing linking the people. Crafts, places of education, where they worked, where they went to for entertainment, where they lived, and even relatives. Nothing. I was certain that they had not merely gone away, but I could find nothing common between any of them. The disappearances seemed random. If true, keeping it from happening again would be nearly impossible.

“And it did happen again.” She shook her head. “I was incensed that I could not seem to get a handle on the case. I went to the latest missing person’s home, an unmarried man. The constables who’d arrived first had searched it already, but ignoring them as they watched me, I searched it again thoroughly. I found nothing. No clue as to where the missing man went, no sign of forced entry, and no evidence of a struggle—the same as every other person who’d disappeared.

“I stood outside the door of his apartment, staring into the main room. Where had he gone? Had he done so voluntarily? Was I wrong about these people? Had they actually left for whatever reason? But if so, why would they leave all their clothes and all their belongings behind? Furious at myself, I spun on my heel and stalked away.”

She smiled. “Doing so, I knocked over two empty milk bottles, just to the side of his door. In my anger, I cursed. One of the constables apologized, saying he’d seen them just inside and figured he might as well set them out for milkservice to pick up the next morning. I gave him a severe dressing down for altering the scene of a potential crime, but inwardly, I was ecstatic.”

Fillion frowned. “Milkservice?”

“As most people in cities have neither the room nor the time for a dairy cow, businesses have sprung up that will deliver milk to the home for a fee. They drop off an order of milk, a certain number of bottles, and pick up empties for reuse.”

“I see.”

“And people pay for this service?” Guildmaster Millinith asked.

Master Gella shrugged. “People love milk. Milkservice carts and agents are very common in larger communities. So common are they, in fact, that they melt into the background of everyday life . . . almost invisible.”

Fillion sucked in his breath. “No.”

Her gaze flicked to him and she smiled. “Yes. That was the thread tying them together that no one could see. For each missing person, we made a list of the milkservice agents that served their home. Some lists had as many as six agents, some had only four. But there were two names that appeared on every missing person’s list. We set investigators watching them, and within a week, we had our man.”

She stared at the seat across from her. “He would wait until his victim was alone and drop by, asking them to try a new line of cheese they were offering. The cheese was laced with a drug that put the victim to sleep. He’d then take them back to his place outside of town. An enormous chamber had been dug beneath the cottage. He’d shackle his victims down there and would torture them for days. When he tired of them, he’d kill them.”

She shook her head. “We found dozens and dozens of skeletons buried in the yard behind his cottage. He must have been doing this off and on for years.”

Fillion blinked. All those lives. Gone.

You seem upset.

I . . . I just learned something disturbing, is all. I’ll be fine.

Master Gella stared out the carriage window, blind to the bright city passing by. “The special cases we take on are important to the nation or are cases only we can handle.”

Fillion couldn’t stop thinking about all those poor people.

Shortly after, the driver called to the horses and the carriage slowed and stopped.

“We’re here.” Master Gella opened the door and stepped out.

Fillion took a breath. Focus, he told himself.

Master Gella led them up the steps of a large building. It was incredibly tall and imposing. Fillion spotted strange stone statues at the top. Once they passed through the two large doors, he noted a couple of guards just inside. People wandered all over the lobby or waited in lines. But there were a few people hanging around the space that didn’t look like customers. Their calm eyes watched everyone.

Master Gella took them through the lobby to a door at the back. Shiny brass letters spelled MANAGER on the dark wooden door. She said, “You two will wait here,” and knocked.

A man opened the door. She said a few words and entered the office. A few minutes later, she returned with the same man.

“Manager Bunty was quite clear,” he said. “She’s authorized me to give you access to his safe deposit box, but that is all. I cannot give you access to anything further concerning his accounts here.”

Master Gella glanced at him. She looked impatient. “That is all my documents authorize and all that I am interested in. So, if you would lead the way?” She gestured before herself.

With a curt nod, the man headed off.

All was marble, glass, dark wood, or highly polished brass. Everything was neat and clean and . . . lifeless. Fillion had been in places before that featured similar surroundings, like the library at Caer Baronel, or even the Residence itself, but they had felt lived in. This building felt cold. He couldn’t wait to leave.

The man led them down a flight of stairs and down a corridor.

How are you doing, big guy?

The sun is warm on my back and the guards are keeping the few people who came at a distance. All is well.

Good.

Hundreds of tiny metal doors, each with two little keyholes, lined the walls of the room they entered. Light from wall sconces glinted everywhere. Along the middle of the long space were wide, massive piers, supporting the ceiling. They, too, were faced with safe deposit boxes along the bottom six feet of their height. Rows and rows of the small, shiny rectangles, like hatches to secret treasures, surrounded Fillion. He smiled.

The man stopped in front of a set of doors and inserted a tiny key into one. Turning to Master Gella, he indicated the other keyhole. “If you would, ma’am?”

After they keys were turned, the man removed a long flat box and handed it to Master Gella. He led them to a small room with a table and then left, closing the door behind him.

Master Gella glanced at Fillion and lifted the lid of the metal box. It was mostly empty. She slowly removed items, examined them, and placed them on the table. A small leather pouch containing some kind of course powder, a sheet of paper with a report of some sort, a torn receipt of some kind, and a very old coin—a mil. There were two other things in the box, a leather pad, and a metal plate, but she left them alone.

Fillion stared at the items laid out on the table. “That mil’s ancient,” he noted.

“Hmm?” Master Gella glanced at it. “What do you mean?”

“Well look at it. It’s surface is hazy with years of fine scratches. It’s not shiny anymore.”

Brows drawn together, she lifted the coin, examining it. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Guildmaster Millinith leaned in for a better look.

“This version of the coinage is less than twelve years old.”

“Ah, yes,” the Guildmaster said. “I remember the older coins from when I was younger.”

Master Gella ran her thumb over the mil. “The crystal the new coins are made from is incredibly difficult to cut, much less scratch, so it does seem as if this coin is older than logic would—” she turned the coin over in her hand and grunted.

“It’s still shiny on that side.” Fillion stared at the coin.

Master Gella’s eyes narrowed and she studied both sides of the coin for a bit. With a look of distaste, she set it to the side of the other items.

She picked up the sheet of paper and read it again. “It’s a composition analysis, of that powder maybe.” She nodded to the pouch. “‘Sample contains various salts, see breakdown that follows, along with traces of very fine, homogeneous sand. Sand composition is ninety-eight percent quartz.’” She picked up the pouch, licked her finger, and stuck it into the powder. After rubbing it between her fingers a moment, she touched it to her tongue.

“Are you mad?” Guildmaster Millinith had reached a hand out to stop her, but was too slow. “That could be poison or some other substance that could make you ill!”

Master Gella shrugged. “I doubt he would have kept a pouch of poison. Also, the analysis was not of this powder. There is no salt in it. It’s completely tasteless.” She set the report aside and examined the last item, the torn piece of paper. “It’s a shipping receipt. Someone named Tiberius signed for two wooden chests. They were shipped via National Transportation to Stronghold.”

“National Transportation?” Fillion said. “I’ve not heard of them.”

“They’re a railroad company based out of Stronghold on the eastern coast.”

“Isn’t that where your, ah, the other investigator was?”

“Yes. They’re still recovering from the financial crisis there, and in the chaos, many have come up with various schemes to make money, most of which fall well outside the realm of what is legal. Hmm.” She reached into her jacket. “I wonder if that’s what he meant.”

Fillion caught a glimpse of what she removed from some inner pocket. A small, wrinkled scrap of paper.

“There wasn’t much left of the pages Gregor retrieved from his mouth, but this one says that the analysis led him to GF. GF led him to NT, and he got the grit from NT.” She glanced back at the pouch. “Perhaps he got the gritty powder from a National Transportation station or depot at somewhere indicated by GF.”

She picked up all the items and stared at the report. “This analysis led him to whatever or wherever GF is, so it should do the same for me.”

As she tucked everything into her jacket—Fillion wondered just how many pockets there were in there—she turned to the Guildmaster. “I’m going to find where this analysis leads, but I may need to contact you again.” She handed the satchel to her. “Here, it contains an ether writer for the guild, compliments of High Lady Hasana. It’s already linked to your regional ‘writer network. This will allow me to contact you directly without an intermediary. When you first activate it, you’ll need to set up a touch-code.”

Guildmaster Millinith took the flat, leather bag. “Thank you.” Her lips twisted. “Speaking of intermediaries, what shall I tell Lord Baronel of your investigation?”

“Nothing. He knows I asked for your help investigating a nahual attack, and that’s all he or anyone needs to know at this point.” She glanced at Fillion and back. “Make sure Gregor understand that as well.”

The Guildmaster looked at Fillion and nodded.

Once they were back at the Caer, the Guildmaster returned to her office. Fillion decided to brush down Coatl. It would give him a chance to think over the day’s events. Besides, he liked to groom his bond-mate after they flew anywhere, even after a short ride like this had been.

Gregor stood at his side, helping.

The young healer looked around and whispered, “So what was in the box? I’ve been wondering about it all morning.”

Fillion stopped brushing as Master Gella’s words came back to him. Should he tell Gregor what had been in there? Master Gella hadn’t actually said not to tell Gregor anything. She’d said to tell Gregor not to say anything. Right?

“What’s wrong?”

Fillion started brushing again. “Master Gella said we shouldn’t tell anyone anything about the investigation. And she told us to remind you of that. So,” he poked Gregor in the chest, “if you promise not to tell anyone anything . . .”

“I swear!”

Once Fillion finished the recap, Gregor said, “National Transportation, huh? I wonder if my father knows anything about that company. They’re in the same business after all.”

“I’ve been thinking about taking Investigation Craft as a secondary.”

Gregor turned to him. “Oh?”

“It seems so exciting.”

Gregor frowned. “It seems so deadly.” Then he grinned. “Maybe I’ll join you in it.”

“Golden!”

“Working with the Guildmaster at attack sites has been interesting, after all.”

Fillion nodded. “I noticed how focused you were at the cottage. And who knows, maybe we’ll get to travel the world.”

“The world?”

“The analysis I mentioned? It’s from the Stronghold Chemical Company, and National Transportation is based out of there, too. Gella said the investigator had been in Stronghold for a while checking into something.” Fillion frowned. “He’s been everywhere and I’ve only been to Cotter’s Grove and Caer Baronel.”

“And to Delcimaar, and to dragon hatchings, and don’t forget that you get to fly on the back of your very own dragon.” Gregor patted Coatl on the side, eliciting a happy rumble.