A Murder of Mages (42 page)

Minox ran at full tilt to the Brondars’ butcher shop. It was crowded this morning, customers shouting out their orders while all four Brondars shouted back, chopping and cutting meat.

“Joshea!” Minox called, trying to push through the crowd. Joshea was focused on his work, as were his brothers.

Minox didn’t want to waste further time. He pulled out his whistle and gave it a shrill blast.

Everyone stopped.

“Blazes, Inspector!” the elder Brondar shouted. “What you trying to do?”

“I really do apol—”

Joshea’s father’s face turned deep red, and he shook his knife in Minox’s direction. “You think you can come into a man’s business and just disrupt—”

“Pop,” Joshea said, stepping forward. “I’m sure—”

“I’m blazing well sure that the sticks aren’t leaving us alone!”

The customers all cheered, far too heartily for Minox’s taste.

“I didn’t mean to cause—”

“It don’t matter what you meant to do!”

“Get out, stick!” one of the customers shouted.

“Leave them be!” another followed.

Minox’s hand went reflexively to his belt.

“I just have some questions.”

“More questions,” Brondar said. “For Joshea. Still hassling him?”

“No, it’s not—”

“Pop, it’s fine—”

“Get out!” a customer screamed, grabbing Minox by the vest.

Minox drew out his handstick, ready to club down the citizen, but Joshea had leaped over the counter and tackled the man to the ground.

The crowd lunged at Joshea and Minox, hands clawing and pawing at both of them. Minox couldn’t understand how the situation had turned so ugly so quickly.

He brought down his handstick on one arm that had gotten a grip on him, a resounding crack that dropped its owner. Another person got in a blow at Minox’s head, soft punch glancing. Minox struck back across his jaw.

Two more people grabbed hold of his shoulders, tried to push him at the door. A fist came rushing past Minox’s head, knocking one of his attackers clean down: Joshea at his back. A smile naturally came to Minox’s mouth as he grabbed his other attacker and spun him out of the shop.

“Oy!” Brondar senior shouted. “Stop brawling in my shop!”

Joshea’s brothers had jumped into the fray, grabbing
the patrons and casually tossing them out the door. They both had expressions of solid glee on their faces, as if they could hardly care about why they were fighting, as long as they got to fight. In moments, Minox and the Brondars had cleared the shop floor.

“Now we got no customers!” the father shouted.

“Oy, Pop,” Jonner said. “Serves you right for raising a smell over the inspector coming in here.”

Joshea brushed off Minox’s vest. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Minox said. “I really had no intention of causing such disruption.”

“Folks are in a state,” Joshea said.

“And they don’t like sticks,” the father said. “For good cause.”

“I assure you, I only am looking for information that I hope Joshea can help me with.”

Joshea’s father scowled, and put down his cleaver. “Go ahead, then.”

Joshea’s face froze. Minox understood his fear, especially since his friend had no idea what Minox would ask. Minox also understood that he had to phrase things delicately, as Joshea’s family might have no idea that they met the night before.

“I believe that the murders I’ve been investigating were committed by someone with military training. A former soldier.”

“Come on, now, stick!” Gunther said. “You’re not really not going to keep at us—”

“Please let me finish,” Minox said, holding up his hands. “I am making no accusations to any member of your family.”

“Go on,” the father said.

“Joshea, when you were discharged, was anyone else discharged at the same time? Anyone who came back to this neighborhood?”

The other Brondars looked to Joshea. Joshea nodded. “Yes, there are a few others.”

“Then I’ll need their names.”

Satrine didn’t reach her home until after the noon bells. The door was unlatched, which Satrine was grateful for, as she still wasn’t carrying her key.

“Missus Abernand?” Satrine called out. “Are you here?”

Missus Abernand came out of the kitchen. “What are you doing here this early?”

Satrine shrugged. “Things didn’t work out today.”

Missus Abernand scowled. “That’s not too good.”

“No, it’s not. How is he?”

“He just ate some broth. Half the bowl got down his throat, at least.”

Satrine nodded. “Good.” She managed to put on a smile. “I know I owe you some money, Missus Abernand.”

Missus Abernand walked over to her stairwell. “I’ll be up on the roof hanging the laundry. Go sit with him.”

“But—”

“Sit with your husband, Satrine.”

Missus Abernand left Satrine alone.

Loren lay awake in the bed, propped up with pillows. He looked comfortable, even as his dead eyes hung toward the corner of the room. She placed the poetry book on the bedside table and kissed his forehead.

“So I’m back,” she said. “I thought it would . . . it doesn’t matter. I rolled it up. I wanted . . . would you believe, it was Rian and that stupid rich boy? I got up in his face, and he went to his father. And his father called on Wendt. So my whole web fell to pieces.”

Her stomach churned. The memory of the morning drummed again and again in her skull.

“And they thought they were doing me a favor, can you believe it? Sitting there in the captain’s office, smoking and laughing. Offering me a clerkship. Five rutting crowns a week. I told the captain and Wendt to go roll themselves.”

Loren made a gurgling noise. She wanted to believe it was laughter.

“So that’s it, then,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed. Loren’s head turned toward her, most likely just from her weight shifting the bed. She smiled at him, as if
that meant anything to him. “But the day over in Inemar wasn’t a complete failure. I did get a book. I know I shouldn’t have, but . . . I needed something for me. You couldn’t blame me for that. Tomorrow we’ll . . . I’ll figure out tomorrow when tomorrow comes.”

She picked up the book. “Would you like me to read one to you? When I was a girl I must have read all of these a hundred times.” She opened the book, it naturally falling on a page where the spine had cracked slightly. One of the love poems, possibly a favorite of Plum’s. He had even written a note on the margin.

Our love, our passion,

Lasts beyond this lifetime

Life everlasting, love everliving

Paired hearts lifted up on wings of fire

You hold me, hands as strong as stone

You gaze deep into me with eyes of light

No ring keeps us apart,

Body and blood forever joined

Reborn in the blaze of a setting sun.

Satrine stopped reading. The words, ancient and familiar, suddenly clicked into new patterns.

Paired hearts. Wings of fire.

Hands and eyes. Light and Stone.

Plum had crossed out the word
ring
and written in
circle
.

No circle.

Uncircled.

Welling.

The bell above the shop door jangled as Minox came in. The third and final person Joshea had given him—the first two Minox had easily dismissed as being unlikely suspects as soon as he met them—worked in a convenient enough location to all three murder sites. That alone wasn’t damning, as Minox could say the same thing about Joshea, or anyone else in this block of the neighborhood.

“Can I help you?” a voice called out from the back of the shop.

“City Constabulary, sir,” Minox responded. “I have a few questions for you, if it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all, Inspector.” Nerrish Plum emerged from behind a shelf of books. “In fact your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”

Chapter 28

“M
ISSUS ABERNAND!” SATRINE POUNDED up the stairs to the roof. “Missus Abernand!”

“What is it?” The woman was already in the doorframe, wet shirts in her hand. “Is Loren all right?”

“He’s fine,” Satrine said. Of course, that would be what Missus Abernand would think would be wrong. “I’m going to have to go back out.”

“Something happen? Another job?”

“No, it’s . . . I think my partner is in danger.”

“Partner?” Missus Abernand clearly didn’t understand what Satrine was talking about.

“Inspector Welling.”

“I thought you weren’t an inspector anymore.”

“No, but—”

“You need to worry about your own right now.” Missus Abernand went back out to the roof. Satrine followed after her.

“Look, I figured it out, the murders, the poem . . .”

“I just don’t see why it concerns you. They got rid of you.”

“It’s not about the job, it’s about—”

“Remember you do still owe me, Satrine.”

“Why am I arguing this with you?” Satrine said. “You’ll get your money, don’t worry. Please just keep an eye on Loren. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Satrine didn’t wait for a response. Missus Abernand
had enough of guilt-driven sense of responsibility that she would do the job, regardless. She’d be resentful as all blazes later, but she would do it. Satrine raced down the steps and out the front door.

“You just recently finished a stint in the army?” Minox asked. Plum nodded, only giving Minox a portion of his attention.

“If three years could be considered a ‘stint,’ Inspector,” Plum said. “I’m not entirely sure of the semantics.”

“And on your return, you opened up the bookstore again?”

“My mother had, technically, kept the store operational, though she had been rather negligent in its care. It has taken quite a lot of work on my part to get things back to where they are now.” He slumped around the shadowed stacks, his body hunched slightly. Probably spent inordinate time reading at a desk.

“A family business, then?”

Plum nodded. “Indeed, Inspector.”

“A family passion, even?”

“For books?” Plum shrugged. “For knowledge, definitely. You know, Inspector, we met briefly the other day, if you don’t recall.”