A Murder of Mages (9 page)

“That’s enough,” Leppin said, grabbing the boy’s head and shoving him back toward the desk.

Welling coughed uncomfortably. “Well, plenty of work for us, then. Which first, butcher and barber, or Firewings?”

“Firewings,” Satrine answered, surprised that it was even a question. “If we can learn who the victim is, then we have a better sense of what we’re looking for in the butcher shop.”

“Well-reasoned,” Welling said through tight lips.

“Do they have a house or something in the neighborhood?” Satrine asked.

“They do,” Welling said. “About five blocks from the crime scene, I believe. Boy, have a clerk pull the Firewing file. They can brief a page and send him to us at Missus Wolman’s stand out front.”

“Missus who?” Satrine asked.

“A necessary stop.”

Leppin spoke up. “Do you still have those spikes used to pin the victim down?”

“Here,” Satrine said, taking them out of her coat pocket. “You think you might figure something out about them?”

“Worth looking into. Give me one,” Leppin said. “You might learn something out there with the other one.” Satrine did as he asked, pocketing the one she was keeping.

“All right, Inspector,” she said to Welling. “Let’s go meet the Firewings.”

The look on her partner’s face was one of distinct nausea.

Chapter 5

S
ATRINE SIMPLY WASN’T GOING to be able to eat every time Welling did, if this was the way he ate every day. As soon as they walked out of the stationhouse he crossed the street over to the cookstand.

“Fast wrap if you please, Missus Wolman,” he said to the woman in the stand. He turned to Satrine. “You want one?”

“Saints, no,” Satrine said. “We just had cresh rolls.”

“Did we? I’m famished.”

Satrine watched the woman toss a flat strip of dough on her grill. She reached into a bowl filled with cooked meat, cold with congealed fat, and threw it next to the dough.

“What is that?” Satrine asked.

“It’s meat,” the woman said indignantly.

Satrine wasn’t going to let that suffice. “Lamb? Beef? Pork?”

“That’s right,” she said, glaring at Satrine. She flipped the dough and stirred the meat around, letting the grease render down. She focused her eye at Welling. “You getting to bad ones today, Inspector?”

“Trying, Missus Wolman.”

“That’s one of the bad ones,” Satrine indicated the simmering meat. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s meat,” Welling said. That seemed to be answer enough for him.

“Aren’t you curious?” She sniffed at it. “That is rancid. Or kidneys. Or both.”

“I have enough to think about,” Welling said.

The woman scooped the pile of meat into the dough—now a finished flatbread—and rolled the whole thing off the grill. “Here you are, Inspector.”

Welling dropped a few ticks on the counter. “Very obliged. Inspector Rainey, after you.” He bit greedily into the wrap.

Watching him eat it made Satrine’s stomach turn. “Did you know that in Poasia eating in public is a crime on the same level as murder?”

“I did,” Welling said. “One of many reasons not to live there.” He took another bite, juice dripping down his chin.

“Lovely,” Satrine said.

A page ran over to the cookstand, fortunately not the same one who had counted the time in the alley. This one was tall and muscular; he looked almost ready to become a cadet.

“Inspectors?” he said, crisp and serious. “Senior Page Henterly reporting.” This boy certainly was running for cadet.

“Go ahead, Page,” Welling said. “What’s your report?”

“I’ve been briefed on the contents of the file regarding the Mage Circle dubbed ‘Firewings.’”

Forget cadet, this one was going for station captain.

“The Circle is fully acknowledged by the Royal Registry of Guilds and Associations, founded in 1045. Their founding chapter is located in Kyst, but they have chapterhouses of acceptable standing in several cities, including Maradaine—”

“Henterly,” Welling said curtly, “first, where is their chapterhouse?”

“They have three within the bounds of the city, but the address of the most local one is Jewel 817. I can provide directions or lead you personally.”

“I know Jewel Street, Henterly,” Welling said. “Brief us on what we can expect from them. Members, goals, charter, and so forth.”

Henterly nodded, though he looked slightly uncomfortable. “The Firewings have exercised their various rights of privacy, in full accordance with the rules of the Royal Registry of—”

“Yes,” Satrine snapped. “What can you actually tell us?”

Anger flashed in Henterly’s eyes, white hot at Satrine, and he focused back on Welling. “In full accordance with the rules of the Royal Registry. Member names are not disclosed. Charter is not disclosed. We have no record of associations with the Firewing Circle, nor do we have record of arrests or altercations involving a known current member.”

“That’s a lot not disclosed,” Satrine said.

“They have a right to privacy,” Welling said. Satrine shrugged, certain that there was a records room over at Druth Intelligence that had a file on every Circle in Druthal with every bit of information not disclosed. Right to privacy was a very different matter over there.

Welling took another bite of his wrap. “Is that all?”

“There were some notes regarding deceased members. The only ones of note involved the Circle Feuds of 1212. I have memorized—”

“Not necessary right now,” Welling said. “Write the salient points down and deliver it to Miss Pyle on the inspectors’ floor for my attention. Dismissed.”

Henterly gave a sharp salute and went back inside the stationhouse.

“That was useless,” Satrine said. “Except we have the address now.”

“Which is perfectly useful,” Welling said. “But the rest, not entirely useless. They have invoked full rights of privacy, for one.”

“Most Mage Circles do.” Though she had only tangential experience—a few Red Wolf associates, mostly.

“To some degree, but even to the extent of charter and roster is, I believe, uncommon. And they have maintained a clean face, at least as far as our stationhouse is concerned. Given that their chapterhouse is in our district, it is unlikely they could maintain a clandestine,
illegal agenda without us getting wind of it.” He signaled for them to start walking.

“What about the Feuds?” Satrine had read some news of the Circle Feuds when it happened three years ago, but as it had stayed confined to the south side of Maradaine, she didn’t pay it much mind. A handful of Circles were involved in some sort of feud that boiled into the streets.

“I did not investigate any specific aspect of that at the time. I know that mages of several Circles—I presume the smaller ones—were killed in it. That Firewings had members involved is not distinctive, nor does it give us much insight.”

“Unless this is connected to the Feuds somehow.”

Welling shrugged, as if considering it. “It’s not a theory I’ve dismissed.”

“That sounds dismissive.”

“Perhaps so.”

“Are you trying to be deliberately ignorant of Circles and mage matters?”

Welling was taken aback. “Absolutely not. However, I’ve reached the conclusion that our killer—or killers—is most likely not a mage of any sort.”

“And how did you decide that?”

“Consider the nature of the spike used in the murder.”

“It seems magical in nature.”

Welling’s eyes lit up as he snapped a finger. “Not so. Just the opposite, in truth. It is anti-magical.”

“Is that a real word?”

“If not, it needs to be. Consider the fact that the most brushing contact with it left me weak and dizzy. The prolonged contact necessary to subdue and bind our victim would be intolerable. Therefore, our killer cannot be a mage. The Firewings are therefore not going to prove a useful avenue of investigation.”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” she asked.

Welling stopped walking and chewing, and gave Satrine a strange regard. “Why do you think that, Inspector Rainey?”

“You’ve been noticeably out of sorts since we first decided to come here.”

“We have only been in acquaintance for three hours, Inspector Rainey. I would be surprised if you could determine that in so short a time.”

“Aren’t we supposed to make quick assessments of people, Inspector?” she asked.

“And what is your assessment?”

“Would you agree that the most logical action right now is to go to the Firewings chapterhouse? If for no other reason than to help identify our victim?”

Welling made a face that reminded Satrine of pulling out her daughter’s tooth years ago. “Granted.”

“Yet you seem to be deliberately delaying going.”

Welling nodded in acquiescence, taking another bite of his wrap. “Another block to Jewel, and then we turn west.”

“You don’t want to see any Circled mages, do you?”

His voice dropped low. “It’s me they won’t see.” He quickened his pace, eating the last of the wrap.

“Of course they’ll be uncooperative, Welling. Most Circles want nothing to do with Constabulary.” Since protecting member mages from spurious legal action was a primary function of Circles, not cooperating with law enforcement was standard business.

“Me, especially.” He pressed his lead, and Satrine hurried up to catch him.

“Trust me, Welling,” Satrine said. “They won’t be any nicer to me. I’m sure—” She crashed into a man carrying a pile of books. The man hit the ground, books scattered all over the walkway. “Sweet saints, I’m so sorry, sir.”

The man, a narrow-faced young man with short hair and spectacles, stood up quickly, brushing himself off. “Not at all, lady, not at all. I was carrying far too much, as you can see.” He started collecting the books on the ground.

“Let me help you.” Satrine started picking up the books closest to her. The title of one of them caught her eye. “My goodness.
Lost Poems of the Sarani
?”

“You know it?” the man asked.

“Know it?” Satrine smiled warmly. “This book saved my life.”

The man’s eyes went wide with surprise. He looked delighted to hear that. “Really? Tell me!”

“This book—it’s a long story, you don’t—”

“No, I do!” The man was breathing heavily with excitement. Welling had slowly returned to the vicinity, but he kept a wary distance.

“Well, I—I was a street girl, just a few blocks from here. And I was sitting on the corner when Old Man Plum threw it at me—I mean that, he threw it at me.”

“Old Man—that was my grandfather!” He shuffled the books in his hands to be able to offer one to her. “Nerrish Plum.”

“Satrine Rainey. So do you still run his bookshop down there?”

“I’ve just recently taken it over. But tell me, then what happened?”

“He yelled at me. He said, ‘You stop wasting your time sitting and causing a nuisance. You read that instead!’”

Plum laughed. “Sounds like him. But it saved you?”

“Well, I had the book, then. I couldn’t read it at first, of course. But I kept it, and used it to teach myself to read.”

Plum nodded, his tone now more muted. “Of course. That would have saved your life.”

“I still have the book.”

“That’s excellent.” He took the books from her, completing his pile. “He would have been very pleased to know he had that effect on someone’s life.”

Welling edged closer. “Inspector Rainey? We really should continue.”

“Of course, Inspector,” she said. “A real pleasure, Mister Plum.” She shook his hand again, and continued down the street with Welling.

“You’re smiling quite broadly, Inspector,” Welling said. “It’s a bit disturbing.”

“A rare happy memory of this neighborhood, Welling,” she told him. “Don’t worry, they’re unlikely to come up often.”

“It is odd, though,” Welling said. “He seemed to be excited to hear your story about the book, but almost disappointed in the actual story.”

She shrugged. “An old man throwing books at a child is more or less the climax.”

Welling nodded. “So correct me if I make any mistakes.”

“All right,” Satrine said, not sure where he was going with this.

“You grew up in this neighborhood, but haven’t been here since adolescence. Self-taught street girl, and this was in the 1190s, so at the height of wartime scarcity. A fair amount of scrapping and scraping to stay alive. Probably more than one altercation with Miss Hoffer.”

“You’ve been paying attention,” Satrine said.

He took this as a sign to continue. “At around the age of fifteen, you left Inemar, in an atypical way. I couldn’t possibly ascertain the specifics at this point, but I’m willing to wager that it was some form of recruitment into Druth Intelligence.”

“Fourteen,” Satrine said, trying to keep a straight face. She wondered how much else he had figured out.

“Of course, that is not the secret you are keeping from Captain Cinellan,” Welling said. “But it does explain your skillset, and his interest in taking you on at this rank without previous Constabulary experience.”

“If it concerns you so much, Welling—”

“It doesn’t,” Welling said. “I am reasonably certain that your secret does not present a danger to the Constabulary or myself, and I’ve already observed sufficient competence on your part that I have no desire to root it out.”