A Murder of Mages (46 page)

“Yes, I believe that’s right,” he said. He shook his head slightly as they both stumbled down to the passage. “Quite extraordinary, indeed.”

Chapter 31

O
NCE OUT OF THE BOOKSHOP and in the street, Kellman and Mirrell didn’t even bother calling the lockwagon for Plum. Keeping him ironed by wrists and feet, they half dragged him to the stationhouse, making a shameless public spectacle of the event. Satrine fashioned a sling for Welling’s arm out of his vest and helped him walk a few paces behind them. Satrine suspected he did not wish to be assisted in any such way, but he voiced no objections. Given the condition of her leg, she needed his assistance as much as he needed hers.

“Call the Yellowshields,” Minox said. “For both our sakes.”

Mirrell blew the call on his whistle, but their march to the station continued. A small crowd formed around the parade, people shouting and calling out. One man stepped out from the crowd. “Inspector Welling! Inspector Welling!”

Welling whispered low in Satrine’s ear. “Mister Rencir from the
South Maradaine Gazette
.”

“Nothing right now,” Satrine said, holding up a hand to the man.

“But what’s happening, who have you arrested here?”

“This is not a matter for the press yet,” Satrine said.

“You’re Satrine Rainey. Tricky!” Rencir said, pointing
an accusing finger. “The woman who faked her way into being an inspector!”

“Word gets around,” Satrine muttered.

“Surprisingly fast,” Welling responded.

“If you’re a fraud, why are you helping the Constabulary with—”

“She’s not a fraud.”

Satrine had expected that Welling would say something along those lines. Which was why she was so surprised that Inspector Mirrell was the one saying it. He had left the escorting of Plum in Kellman’s hands and crossed back to confront Rencir.

“Three murders were solved, and the life of an inspector was saved, thanks to Missus Rainey. She’s blazing well a model citizen is what she is.” He poked two fingers into Rencir’s chest. “And I blazing well better not see anything different in your newssheet.”

Rencir nodded and slunk away, and Mirrell grabbed Welling’s arm. As they continued, Satrine noticed another face in the crowd, hanging back from the action but far more intense in gaze. It was the youngest of the Brondar sons from the butcher shop. Joshea. He was entirely focused on Welling. Satrine glanced back to her former partner and saw that he was giving Joshea the same degree of attention. There seemed to be an unspoken moment between the two, and then Joshea nodded and slipped off into the crowd.

He didn’t figure into the case anymore. If he and Welling were friends, that was their business.

Yellowshields finally arrived. They went to work laying Satrine and Welling out on the shields. There was a brief argument between the Yellowshields and Mirrell over where to take them, which Mirrell won out, insisting that Satrine and Welling be brought to the stationhouse’s infirmary ward.

Once in the stationhouse, there was a whirlwind of clamor and action, shouts from the desk clerks and floor sergeants and all three inspectors, everything happening in such rapid succession that Satrine didn’t entirely
realize when Plum had been taken off to the holding cell, or when she and Welling had been escorted to the infirmary ward. She had barely been aware of the cup of Fuergan whiskey that had been shoved into her hand before the dour ward matron started sewing up the gash in her leg. She glanced over to the cot next to her, where a surgeon was hard at work setting Welling’s arm. They had already stitched the gash in his head, but the bruise surrounding it was ugly. The ward nurse muttered something about how Welling must have a thick skull.

“Lucky the break was clean,” the surgeon grunted. “Else we’d have to cut it off.”

“Let’s avoid that if we can, Doctor,” Captain Cinellan said, approaching their two cots with Protector Hilsom right behind him. Mirrell and Kellman hung back by the doorframe, both waving off the attempts by the other matrons to tend to their scrapes.

“I’d prefer that as well,” Welling said.

“So we now have our mage killer caught and locked up,” Cinellan said with an appreciative nod. “Tomorrow morning he’ll be escorted to Quarrygate. You’ll be excused from that duty, Welling. Though, technically, his arrest will go to the credit of Mirrell and Kellman.”

Cinellan hadn’t even glanced at Satrine, and she didn’t speak up. Mirrell and Kellman both looked distinctly uncomfortable with the credit.

Welling, apparently, had focused on another point. “Quarrygate? Without trial?”

“No need,” Hilsom said. “Fortunately, Mister Plum has spared us the trouble by giving us an eager confession. I’m recommending ten years of incarceration, which I’m confident the city court will uphold.”

Welling sat up hard, only prevented from getting off the cot by the clamp holding his arm in place. “Ten years? For three murders and the attempted murder of an MC inspector?”

Hilsom shrugged. “Not ideal, but it saves us from public trial that would inevitably involve members of various mage Circles.”

“And no one wants that,” Welling growled, staring hard at his clamped arm.

“Keep still,” the surgeon said. “Or you will lose it.”

Cinellan clapped a friendly arm on Welling’s good shoulder. “What no one wants, Welling, is another Circle Feud.”

“Was that an issue?” Welling asked.

Hilsom spoke up. “It was possible. Mister Olivant tells me that the two Circles were in a state, and Light and Stone were incensed by losing their chapter leader. Things could have gone badly, but the arrest of Plum has appeared to calm both Circles.”

“At least in terms of wanting to fight each other,” Cinellan added.

“That was quick,” Satrine said.

Cinellan only gave her the slightest of glances, and then returned his focus to Welling. “The point is, this case is closed, good and solid.”

Welling turned back to Hilsom. “Plum confessed everything?”

“Murder of three mages, attempted murder of you.”

“That’s all?”

Hilsom shrugged. “There was a bit about why—revenge on the Circles for the death of his wife, some sort of attempt at ritual magic to bring her back. It was all a bit fantastical, but the salient points were covered.”

Welling frowned. Satrine sensed there were elements of this result that didn’t sit right with him, but she wasn’t sure what.

“Good, then,” Cinellan said, stepping away from the cot. “It’s good work, Minox. Take some time to heal. No new cases until the doctor says. We’ll let you rest now.” He made for the door, gesturing to Hilsom to follow him.

“I don’t think so,” Welling said.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not leaving, Captain, as our conversation is not over yet.”

Cinellan raised an eyebrow and returned. “You have something else to ask?”

“There is the matter of Missus Rainey.”

“What about Missus Rainey?” Cinellan finally looked at her, really looked. Satrine couldn’t get a read of his face.

“As the saying goes, we’re not talking about the dead mouse on the floor,” Welling said.

“I’m a dead mouse?” Satrine asked.

“I’ll talk about it,” Kellman said. “Tricky there did some smart thinking, letting us find Jinx. Then she fought like blazes to save him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for her.”

“Blazing well good,” Cinellan said. “We’ll patch her up and not let the city charge her a tick.”

“Not good enough,” Welling said. “Missus Rainey is an extraordinary individual with a singularly adroit mind.”

“I don’t doubt her talent,” Cinellan said. “But what do you want me to do about it, Welling?”

“Failure to appoint her with an inspectorship would be a severe error on your part.”

It may have been from the whiskey, but Satrine burst out laughing.

“You think this is funny?” Welling asked her.

“No, I . . . I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m touched, Inspector Welling.”

“Touched in the head, maybe,” Hilsom said.

Welling turned back to Cinellan. “If you don’t, I’d be forced to turn in my vest.”

“Minox, don’t say that,” Satrine said.

“Really, Minox?” Cinellan said. “You’d resign? Let’s say I did take her on. After what she did, every other inspector would resign.”

“I wouldn’t,” Kellman said.

Cinellan turned his attention to Mirrell. “What about you, Henfir?”

Mirrell spat on the floor. “I wouldn’t like it, Cap. But I can’t deny, I ain’t seen a heart as Green and Red as hers.”

“Hmm,” Cinellan said.

Hilsom coughed. “I would remind you, Captain, that even if you are considering this, you do not have the authority to appoint a civilian to the rank of inspector.”

“That’s true,” Cinellan said. He gave a quick glance at her and Welling. “All I can do is remind you that the clerkship offer from this morning is still on the table.”

Satrine had a hard time believing that. “That’s very kind of you, Captain, all things considered. But that doesn’t—”

“Take the clerkship, Satrine,” Welling said.

“What?” She couldn’t believe he’d change his attitude that quickly. “But you said—”

He turned his head to meet her eyes, a hard trick considering he was still clamped to the cot. “Just take it.”

Satrine ground her teeth. The weekly crowns of a clerk wasn’t going to cut it, but it was better than no crowns at all. “Fine. I’ll take the blasted clerkship.”

“Good,” Cinellan said. He went over to the ward matron. “Have you written up your report on treating Missus Rainey?” The matron nodded. “Deliver your report to her for filing.”

The matron, looking utterly perplexed, handed the scribbled piece of paper to Satrine. Satrine took it, and equally confused, started to get to her feet. She then noticed the sly half-smiles on the faces of both Welling and Captain Cinellan.

“Where does this get filed?” she asked.

“I believe it gets delivered to the ward matron on duty,” Welling said.

Satrine handed the paper back to the woman.

“Excellent work,” Cinellan said. “So now that you have served so ably in your clerkship, I have the authority to promote you to the position of Inspector Third Class.” He extended his hand to take hers. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir,” Satrine said.

“You’re still partnered with him, of course,” he said, pointing to Welling.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Satrine said.

“Good,” Captain Cinellan said. “Since you two will be the ones getting all the freak cases.”

“I prefer to think of them as special challenges, sir,” Welling said.

“You would,” Cinellan said.

Hilsom looked especially out of sorts.

“There a problem, Mister Protector?” Cinellan asked.

“Legally, no. Inspector Third Class is the highest rank that you have the authority to promote someone to,” Hilsom said. “However—”

“Anyone who does have a problem can report to me,” Cinellan said. “And I’ll tell him to roll his own hand.”

“But—”

“Including the commissioner. But I’ll tell it to him more diplomatically.”

“Very well, Captain,” Hilsom said. “It’s no business of mine, anyway, as long as all the inspectors stick to proper procedure.”

“We’re all agreed,” Cinellan said. “Are we done now, Welling?”

“I believe so, sir,” Welling said. He looked to the surgeon. “Are you done?”

“You all don’t shut your mouths ever,” the surgeon said. “But it’s set. You’re free to go.” He undid the clamp and went off to his office.

“Home. Rest. Both of you.” Cinellan gave a small point of his finger to Satrine. “See you tomorrow, Inspector.” He left the ward, Hilsom in tow. Kellman gave her a wide grin as he left. All Mirrell managed was a slight nod of approval.

Satrine and Welling sat alone in silence on their respective cots for some time.

Satrine finally said, “So they’re really getting the arrest credit?”

“I’ve never done this for the credit,” Welling said. He flexed the fingers of his broken arm and winced. “And that isn’t the point for you, either.”

“All things considered, it’s probably best I keep my head down for a while.”

“No, that’s not it.” His eyes danced over her face. “When you first came in, you were holding back, lying for the sake of getting the work, working for the sake of the salary.”

“The salary’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“Never was for me,” Welling said. “And if it was for you, you’d never have come down to that mausoleum.”

Satrine laughed, despite herself. “Still, getting paid is important.”

Welling got to his feet. “I suspect I will not be too useful a partner for the next few weeks.”

Satrine stood up. Her leg screamed when she put weight on it, but she could bear. She could always bear. “Hardly. Your arm is not your most useful feature.”

“I’m presuming that’s a compliment on my mind, Inspector Rainey.”

He was calling her Inspector Rainey again. For some reason, that made Satrine incredibly happy. “It was indeed, Inspector Welling.”

“You’ll be all right getting home, then?”

“I won’t be running any time soon. I could ask the same about you.”