A Murder of Mages (21 page)

The father lit the second candle. “Blessings of Saint Jaspar, bless these men and this meat. May we eat knowing you watch over us, and our safety is in your hands.”

“May we be blessed.” The elder Brondar boys said it rotely, eyes hot on the food. Joshea’s eyes were closed, reverent.

The father lit the third candle. “Blessings of Saint Ilmer, whose day just passed. We honor and respect you with this bountiful meal.”

“May we be blessed.”

The father sat down. “Now we can eat.”

The Brondars—save for Joshea—smiled while grabbing chops or ribs and savagely biting into them. Joshea refilled his wineglass and poured another for Minox. “So what is it, Inspector?”

Minox studied Joshea’s face, arms, and hands. No sign that he had been in a fight of any sort this evening. Boots clean, no appearance of having trudged through the sewers. Finally, Minox realized upon this inspection that Joshea Brondar did not have the right body type to have been the assailant at the lockwagon—he was a good six inches taller, and broader in the shoulder.

Plus there was an energy coming off of Joshea, but it had none of the flavor of the current that had led Minox here.

Minox picked up the cup of wine and sipped. “An incident occurred earlier tonight, connected to the murder from this morning.”

“An incident!” the father said. “You mean someone beat you, hmm?” He pointed to Minox’s face. “You’ve been hit pretty hard there, stick. Eat!”

The only thing holding Minox back had been a sense of Constabulary etiquette that needed to be maintained. “As with the murder, it had been suggested that Joshea had some connection. I came to ascertain that possibility.”

“And?” Joshea asked.

“Have you all been here together all evening?”

“Yes,” Joshea said.

“Anyone else here?”

“Just the four of us,” Jonner said.

Minox picked up a roast rib of beef. “Then I believe that it is highly improbable Joshea was involved.” He took a bite of the meat. It was succulent, perfectly prepared, with a sweet spiciness he was unprepared for.

“Good, yes?” the father said, watching Minox’s face. “This stick is a good man, I think. I like you, Inspector. Eat more!”

Minox took another bite. The style of seasoning was from eastern Druthal. All the pieces fit: the late hour for supper, the specific prayer to Saint Jaspar, the hint of an accent from the old man. Minox asked the question to confirm, “Are you originally from Monim?”

“Born there, yes,” the old man said. “After my tour, I stayed here in Maradaine. We go back from time to time. The boys visit their cousins, who then drive good Monic beef back to Maradaine. Best beef you can buy, no one else brings it all the way out here.”

“It’s very good,” Minox said, helping himself to more.

“You have a big appetite, Inspector,” Gunther said.

“Just like Joshea,” Jonner said. “He eats and eats and is still a runt!” Jonner grabbed Joshea by the arm and twisted it behind him. Minox noted that Joshea would be a runt only in the context of his two brothers, who were ox-like men.

“Saints, Jonner!” Joshea shouted. “Grow up, would you?”

The large hand of the father swung out and cuffed Joshea on the back of the head. “Don’t blaspheme.”

“You all served in the army, eh?” Minox asked, doing his best to give an impression of convivial joviality. He was surprised, though, at how the three Brondar sons, especially the elder two, acted more like boys just out of school instead of men of nearly thirty years. They also acted like his cousins. In a way, Joshea reminded him specifically of his cousin Davis.

“Blazes, yes,” Jonner said. He put Joshea in a
headlock, though the younger Brondar didn’t really resist. In the process Jonner showed his muscular arm to Joshea, including his army tattoo. “Five years.”

“You five as well?” Minox asked Gunther.

“Absolutely.” Gunther showed his tattoo with the five hash marks. “Jonner and I did a Kellirac border skirmish together four years back.”

Joshea had served only three years. Minox made a note of that aberration, but didn’t vocalize it. He suspected that it might, at least, be a point of soreness between Joshea and his brothers, or possibly be tied to a larger issue. Either way, mentioning it was more than likely to evoke an emotional reaction in Joshea Brondar, and Minox recognized it would not serve his purpose.

Minox ate more of the meat, and as he was chewing it occurred to him that he didn’t know exactly what his purpose here was. He had already ascertained the key point that he had come to investigate; neither Joshea, nor any of the Brondars were directly involved in the attack on the lockwagon and the abduction of Jaelia Tomar.

Minox helped himself to another serving, while the two elder Brondar brothers continued to torment and berate their younger sibling, as if they were all schoolchildren. Despite the ludicrousness of continuing to sit and join in their dinner, Minox felt compelled to stay.
This is patently irresponsible,
he thought.
You need to devote your full attention to finding—rescuing—Jaelia Tomar.

And it would be a rescue, if he could find her in time. The likelihood of Jaelia Tomar’s abductor being her husband’s killer was too high to give other possibilities serious weight. It was also likely that, despite being a notable mage, she would be unable to protect herself. Minox had made a direct magical attack on the assailant that had proved ineffective. Just as Jaelia Tomar had on Satrine this afternoon, when she held the spike used in the murder of Hessen Tomar.

“I’m very sorry,” Minox said, getting to his feet. “But I’ve just had a sudden realization about a case. I really must go.”

“What?” Old Mister Brondar asked. “No, sir. You need to eat. You’re too skinny, you know, like Joshea.”

“Believe me, Mister Brondar, I would find it highly pleasant to remain. I do not have the luxury.” He pushed himself through the tight space of the room to the door. Joshea was already there.

“I’ll see him down and latch up, Pop.”

“Good, good,” his father said. “Hurry back.”

Minox reached the door to the street before Joshea had been able to get into the stairwell.

“Hold up, Inspector!” He tore down the stairs, bounding three steps at a time. Joshea grabbed the door as Minox was opening it, pulling it shut. “What do you think you are doing?” he hissed out.

“I was investigating something that led me here.”

“Investigating me, you mean.”

“Not precisely,” Minox said. “Though I was attacked by someone well trained in the fighting arts, who was able to block my magical attacks, and the trail led me to this alley. You have to admit that cast some reasonable suspicion in your direction.”

Joshea grunted. “But no more?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Minox said.

“What sort of trail?”

“Come over here,” Minox said, leading Joshea down to the end of the alley. The current was weak, but still present. “Can you feel that?”

Joshea’s eyes went wide. “What is that?” He ran his fingers through the air, as if trying to touch something that wasn’t there.

“My killer has another victim. Another mage. I believe he grabbed her, took her through the sewers and out the alley. This . . . current is connected to her, I think. But it falls apart before leaving the alley.”

Joshea walked up the alley. “Right by our door,” he said.

Minox nodded. “You can see I had a good cause to think you may have been involved.” He followed after Joshea. Then he noticed the current was gone throughout the alley. Right after Joshea had walked through there. “Did you go out in the alley earlier tonight at all?”

Joshea nodded. “I came out to dump the mop bucket.” He pointed to the puddle of greasy water by the door. “Why?”

“Blazes,” Minox muttered. “I think—it’s possible you disrupted the current when you came out.”

“What?” Joshea’s face turned hard. “Are you accusing me—”

“I don’t think it was intentional, Joshea,” Minox said quickly. He lowered his voice and moved closer. “Neither of us exactly has perfect control over our . . . ability. I don’t fully understand what it was I was following, or what it means, or how delicate it may have been.”

Joshea cooled. “Fair enough.”

“You should go back in,” Minox said. “And there is still a life at stake. We’ll talk again later.”

“Tomorrow night?” Joshea said.

“Barring my duties compelling me otherwise, I should be at my home,” Minox said. “By all means, come by and we’ll talk.” They shook hands, and Joshea went back inside.

Minox went out to the street. Somewhere out there, Jaelia Tomar was being held, and it was likely her life was in danger. The last thing Minox could do was go to sleep. There was work to be done.

Chapter 13

S
ATRINE WENT INTO HER BEDROOM. The sickroom. Loren lay on the bed, eyes open. His eyes flashed over to her when she entered. She couldn’t tell if it was recognition, or just reaction.

“Evening, love,” she said, bending over to kiss his forehead. “You’re awake now.”

His eyes stayed on her, his mouth opening as if to say something. No words came out.

“You feel all right? Any pain?” She brushed her hand against his face. No fever. The doctor had told her they had to keep a close eye on that. His head shook—no, she only imagined that. It just lolled to one side. “Warm enough?”

She knew he wasn’t going to answer. She hadn’t heard a word from him since the attack. She still asked the questions. She still talked to him. She had no intention of stopping doing that.

Satrine checked under the blankets, rolling his broken body to the side. He moaned with pain. She touched his ribs. They still hadn’t healed. “Today was quite the day, back in Inemar. Hope you were all right with Missus Abernand all day. I know she’s brusque. You never really were fond of her.” The dressings on his wounds were all clean and fresh. Missus Abernand had done good work nursing him.

“I know you don’t approve, but my plan worked. They made me an inspector. Third class. Money will be tight, but I can make it work.” She pulled the blankets back over him.

She sat down in her chair next to the bed, pulling off her boots. “So I was given a partner, of course. Quite the inspector, that one. Though no one else likes him, that’s clear. Mostly because he’s smarter than the rest of them. And he’s strange. Like that one I knew back in Intelligence. The one in the map room.” She snapped her fingers at Loren, as if he would be able to jog her memory. “Holsing. Knew every town in Druthal, but didn’t care when he had said something mortally insulting. Welling is like that guy.”

She took off the blouse and pants, draping them over the back of her chair. Loren’s eyes were still on her. She imagined he was smiling, watching her undress. His lips had moved open. They shut and opened again. His left hand waved over to the bedside table. In a rush, she poured a cup of water from the clay pitcher and put it to his mouth. He drank readily.

“You were thirsty, I’m so sorry, my love. I should have known.” She put the cup back down on the table.

“Quite the day, though,” she continued, removing her underthings. She sniffed at them. They still smelled faintly of the sewers. Missus Abernand wouldn’t be happy about laundering them. “A dead body, a mage, killed in a ritual. And I saw Idre Hoffer.” She shuddered involuntarily just saying the woman’s name. “She’s a mother of many children. And about as awful as I imagined she would be. And sad.” She felt her shoulders tense. “It’s not worth talking about. I’ll just get upset. You don’t need that.”

She put on her nightgown and sat back in the plush chair. She touched his hand, gripping it tightly. She needed to reassure herself that he was physically real and there with her.

“You know who else I met today? The grandson of Old Man Plum. The bookstore man. I told him the story
about the poetry book. I still have that book here. I could read you some poems. Would you like that?”

She mused to herself. “I remember I used to try and read you poems. You never liked it. You’re a captive audience now, though.” Her eyes were heavy. She leaned her head over in the chair, so she could look him in the eyes.

His eyes were still bright, and beautifully blue. Still full of life and intelligence. Looking into his eyes, she was sure that the true Loren, the man she loved and married, he was still in there, and he could see her. He could hear her. He could understand her.

She lost herself looking into those eyes, and in moments she was asleep.