A Murder of Mages (5 page)

M
INOX EMERGED FROM THE ALLEY, the bright sunlight forcing him to blink. This wasn’t the first time he had come across a dead mage in the course of his duties—there were the three found dumped on a trash barge just a few days before. Something about this one unsettled him, beyond the presence of a new partner.

Inspector Rainey came out into the street and stood uncomfortably close. “This was specifically about killing a mage, wasn’t it?” she said in a low whisper. She had homed in on exactly the key point that was troubling him. His instinct told him that the specific identity of the victim mattered less to the murderer than what the victim represented.

There wasn’t enough empirical information to match to that feeling, only the removal of the victim’s clothing. There could be a host of reasons for a killer to do that.

“Indeed,” he told her. He addressed the patrolmen, still waiting at the entrance. “One of you, return to the stationhouse, have them send the bodywagon. The rest, keep the alley clear until it’s here.” The patrolmen had a brief, unspoken moment of glances, where the implicit pecking order of rank, size, and seniority singled out one to run back to the stationhouse.

“We’ll be across there at the teashop,” he told the
remaining patrolmen. “When the cart gets here, come fetch us.” He left them and crossed to the shop—Madam Rosemont’s Steeping Pot.

Inspector Rainey was again at his elbow. “Why are we going to the teashop?”

“Two reasons,” he explained, though he wished he didn’t need to. Nevertheless, Inspector Rainey was proving herself to be adequately capable, even pleasingly inquisitive in the proper ways. That was definitely an improvement over Inspector Kellman, who only wanted a quick resolution to any case that crossed his desk, and thus despised anything complicated, or Inspector Mirrell, who rarely let actual facts penetrate his skull if they didn’t fit his initial notion. “The first is I want some literal distance from the scene of the crime from which we can observe the surrounding area with a small amount of discretion.”

“And the second?” She asked an obvious question, but that still put her three rungs up from all the sods who never think to ask.

“I need to eat something.”

Madam Rosemont’s—a cramped wood and iron shack inartfully wedged between two brick tenements—served both reasons, though far from perfect in terms of the second. He found the fare tolerable at best, but the requirements of the first need had to take precedent over the preferences of the second. Minox took a seat at one of the iron tables that pushed outside the boundaries of the teashop proper and into the walkway. Inspector Rainey, looking less than pleased with his decision, took the opposite chair.

“What are we observing, exactly?”

“We are taking a chance on a quirk of human reaction,” Minox offered. “Whoever committed the crime has a high degree of emotional connection to it, don’t you agree?”

“A ritualized murder where they removed the victim’s heart? Do you think?” She said this as if she were making a joke, and indeed the look in her eye was one of bemusement.

Minox failed to see what was funny, exactly. Though that was often the case.

He must have let his irritation show, as her expression sobered. “Sorry, yes, I see your point. You think they’ll return now?”

“I think the crowd before was little more than common rabble turning their neck for the spectacle, though the killer may have been in there. But if my suspicions are correct, now that we have given the body its official due—the inspectors have inspected, if you will—now the real nibbles will be placed on the line cast.”

“You’re talking fishing, yes?”

“Fishing, yes,” Minox said. Fish sounded good, though he recalled it rarely being an option at Madam Rosemont’s, which was odd, given how they were a scant two blocks from the river. Not a matter of import. A young man, who Minox was reasonably certain was the nephew of the eponymous Madam Rosemont—herself a lifelong spinster—approached their table.

“What can I bring you both?”

“Tea and cresh rolls,” Minox said.

“Same,” Inspector Rainey told the young man. When he walked away, she shook her head with wry amusement. “I haven’t had cresh rolls in a very long time.”

“Since you lived in this neighborhood?” She hadn’t specifically told him, but her knowledge of the alley, and the regular looks she would give to elements of the area—looks that marked they held deeply entrenched significance to her—gave her away.

“There’s no keeping secrets around you, is there?”

“I’m sure some people succeed,” he said. “By doing it so well I don’t notice.”

“You were talking about fishing.”

“I was. The crime scene was filled with reverence and meticulous care, but it had another quality that stood out just as strongly.”

Inspector Rainey nodded. “Daring.”

That was the exact word. Her assessment of her own skills was well founded. “For whatever reason, our killer
has chosen to commit a murder that is audacious, even foolhardy.”

“Elaborate setup, no easy escape.”

“I hypothesize that the reason for that was to prove that they could.”

“Just to prove it to themselves? Or do you think it was aimed at the Constabulary?”

“Possibly. Following my theory, our killer wanted us baffled. There’s no point in doing that unless you get to see it.”

“But now they’ve seen it.”

“At a distance! I would believe that such a person, having now baffled the inspectors, would take the next logical step.”

“To observe the inspection closely to see how baffled we are.”

Minox couldn’t hide his own excitement. Previous partners would not have followed this conversation, nor have cared. Inspector Satrine Rainey possessed a unique mind. Minox dismissed that thought as meaningless—every person had a unique mind. But hers was one of outstanding clarity and character. “Yes, precisely. And what better way than at this moment, after the crowd has dispersed, for someone to show a casual interest in the affair?”

“Whoever walks up to the patrolmen is the killer?” Her voice had the necessary skepticism.

“Of course not,” Minox said. “Given the care taken in the murder itself, such a method would be sloppy. And I think our killer is too smart for that.”

“So you want to casually observe who, in the corner square, is casually observing?”

Teas and cresh rolls were delivered as Inspector Rainey asked this, so there was no time to adequately form a response. The faint hunger that had struck him when he touched the spike drove him to eat as quickly as possible in polite mixed company. He was used to hunger, the gnawing need that arrived with his magic ability, but the sudden onset of this bout was a new sensation.
The cresh rolls—fried pork sausage and potato wrapped with buckwheat griddlecakes—were serviceable satiation. Inspector Rainey ate her own rolls leisurely.

Inspector Rainey put her first cresh roll down and sipped at her tea. “You never did answer my question.”

“You have asked several questions this morning. Do you mean your most recent?”

“Not at all. If it’s not for being a mage, why do the other inspectors call you ‘Jinx’?”

Minox grit his teeth. This was inevitable. He had made it clear to her that he would not be discussing his Uncircled status, so she would naturally gravitate to the other uncomfortable question. This one, however, had an answer she deserved to know.

“I’ve held the rank of Inspector Third Class for eight months now. In that time, you are my fifth partner.”

“Fifth?” She chewed on her cresh roll deliberately, as if the act of eating helped her swallow the information as well. “I presume the other four weren’t promoted out?”

“You presume correctly.” Minox held his breath for a moment, building up the strength to continue the narrative. “The first died during an investigation. Not killed in the line of duty, but accidentally struck by a runaway horsecart. The random incident was ignored until my second partner—the morning after the first snow—slipped on ice and broke his neck.”

“On the job?”

“Prisoner escort. However, for many of the others at the stationhouse, two points is enough to form a pattern. They told my next partner, during lunch, to be careful, as I was a ‘jinx.’ He laughed, and consequently choked on his meal.”

Inspector Rainey’s eyes went wide, and her face quavered in that nebulous expression where either laughter or tears could suddenly erupt.

“And from there it stuck.”

“Indeed. My last partner was Inspector Kellman, who clearly did not have a fatal accident.”

“A near fatal one?”

“We were arresting a group of smugglers when we were ambushed. Badly outnumbered, I . . . resorted to magic.”

“You’ve said you’re untrained.” Inspector Rainey said it as a statement of fact, with no level of rebuke or confusion.

Minox lowered his voice to a whisper, involuntarily glancing to either side to see if anyone was listening. His status as a mage was not a secret among the Constabulary, but it wasn’t explicitly spoken of, and it certainly was not something he talked of too openly in public. “My use of magic tends to be instinctual. Raw. In this case I released a wide blast of energy, knocking down everyone else in the room.”

“Including Kellman.”

“Who requested a new partner shortly after the incident.” Magic made most people nervous, including Minox himself. He had heard, and even made, arguments against mages like the classic Unseen Knife justification. The apprehension Inspector Kellman displayed was not unexpected. The young horsepatrol officer Minox had been five years ago would have been as troubled by the man he was today.

Inspector Rainey sat quietly, taking further sips of her tea, her face for the first time completely inscrutable. Finally she said, “How much stock does the captain put in this?”

“He’s never used the epithet, at least in my hearing. But he cannot ignore the record of my partnerships. And his demeanor was strangely gleeful when he introduced us.”

Inspector Rainey gave a strangely wry smile. It was all too familiar—the kind his mother or sisters made at him far too often. A mixture of warm affection with mild, teasing condescension. “You clearly have one fan on the inspectors’ floor. I think Miss Pyle might be sweet on you.”

That was why. It was an obvious conclusion to make based on the short interaction she had witnessed, no doubt. Minox had to give Inspector Rainey that credit. But she missed the important details.

“Nyla is quite fond of me, as is only proper,” he said. “She is, after all, my cousin.”

“Oh!” Rainey’s face flushed. Mild embarrassment. “Of course. I know all too well about Constabulary families.” She bit at her lip for a moment. “How much family do you have in Green and Red?”

“A significant portion,” Minox said. “However, at the Inemar station, there is only Nyla, and my sister Corrie, who is assigned to night shift duties.” He had no urge to further elaborate his family history. It wasn’t relevant to the situation.

“The rest are . . . all over the city?” A slight line of sweat formed at her brow. Whatever secret she was hiding from the captain, the idea that he had family at other stationhouses made her worry. Why would that trouble her? Unless she didn’t want her duties as an inspector to be common knowledge in other parts of the city.

Across the river, where her husband had been Inspector. A simple way to test the theory.

“Mostly Keller Cove or East Maradaine. All south side houses.”

The muscles in Inspector Rainey’s neck relaxed. Clearly, that had been the issue.

There was no need to press it further, not at the moment. She was proving astute and intelligent. If Captain Cinellan insisted he have a partner, she was by far the most tolerable option he had had to date.

Inspector Rainey finished her cresh roll. “Pork sausage is too greasy.”

“It usually is,” Minox agreed, taking her statement as a cue to change the subject. “I’ve observed several people loitering in the square, but none have taken more than a passing interest in the alleyway.”

“Any you want to take a closer look at?”

“Possibly,” Minox said. “First, if you’ll excuse the crudity, I need to make use of the water closet.”

Inspector Rainey waved him off lightly, saying, “I’m amazed that there are water closets in this neighborhood.” Right after she spoke, her face changed, some
idea crashing across her thoughts. She leaped to her feet and dashed across the street back to the alley.

Minox had little choice but to follow, the call of nature needing to wait. He dropped a few coins on the table and went after her.

“What is it?” he called as she passed between the two guards, leaped over the body of the victim, and charged into the back of the alley. It wasn’t until she stopped at the end that she turned back around and acknowledged that he was there.

“Years ago, this alley led to a few backhouses. No water closets back then.”

“Right.” Minox nodded.

“So the backhouses are gone.” She focused her attention on the ground, which was covered with refuse and trash, most likely thrown out the windows above. She scraped some away with her foot, revealing metal grates in the ground. “But the way to the sewers isn’t.”

“Are you proposing the killer entered through the sewer, or escaped?”

“Either. Both.” She pulled out the grate, which came up easily. So easily it added credence to her theory. She put the grate down and glanced down the hole, covering her face. “I’m not sure, exactly. It’s something to consider.”

A valid point, Minox had to acknowledge. In fact, Minox wished she hadn’t pushed aside the covering refuse so carelessly. A close inspection might have revealed if it had been placed deliberately to hide the killer’s method. “It may not currently bring us closer to solving the case, but it certainly could be crucial information.” He realized he made that sound more condescending than he had intended. “Good thinking.”

“How far down does that go?”

He bent down and peered into the darkness. “Ten feet, perhaps. Though I understand there is layer upon layer of underground, especially in this part of the city.” Perhaps it was due to this particular section of sewer not receiving direct use anymore, but the scent was nowhere near as bad as he had feared.