Magic Lost, Trouble Found

“Does that mean what I think it does?” Janek asked.

“If you’re thinking that Nigel was killed by another sorcerer, then yes, that’s probably what it means.”

Riggs spoke. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, how do you know that?”

“Some sorcerers can generate a shock internally, kind of like lightning, but not as strong,” I explained. “They can conduct that shock into an object, or a body, through touch. Given enough power behind it, it’s usually fatal.”

“So someone didn’t want him coming home last night,” Riggs said.

“Raine, do you think the goblins may have arranged to have a chat with Nigel, then used him to fuel a Gate when they were finished talking?” Janek asked.

“If he left at nine bells, that would have been enough time for almost anything—from anyone. There’s a long list of people who would like to see Nigel dead.” I had run into some of those on a shorter list last night, but this wasn’t the place to tell Janek.

Riggs cleared his throat uneasily. “A Gate? Are you saying that he was sacrificed? Wouldn’t they want a virgin or something? Or even a nice person?”

Janek laughed. I settled for a snort.

“That’s an old wives’ tale, Lieutenant,” Janek said. “Nice doesn’t matter, and I don’t think anyone could ever mistake Nigel here for an innocent.”

A rope had bound Nigel’s ankles together. There was evidence of a frayed knot at the end. “Whoever the culprit was, they wanted to hide their work for as long as possible,” I ventured. “This rope was probably attached to a weight of some sort. The killers wouldn’t have to look far to find something large enough to keep their work submerged. How long do you guess he has been underwater?”

“Not long,” Janek said. “The knucker bites and the sludge from the canals just make it look longer.”

I had seen the knucker bites on Nigel’s body, and had been doing my best to ignore them. Knuckers were smaller, distant relatives of the dragon family that thrive in Mermeia’s deeper canals. They’re scavengers, feeding on whatever meat they find. The city’s canals were teeming with them at one time. The city’s engineers had decreased the population, but had not eradicated it, much to the delight of the local criminals. Quentin once remarked that an assassin acquaintance told him that nothing disposed of a body like tossing it into a nest of knuckers.

Janek pulled the canvas back up over the necromancer’s body, and turned to me. “Let’s go where the air is more breathable. We need to talk.”

Chapter 7

We need to talk.

Innocent enough words coming from most people, but rarely a good thing from a chief watcher. Too much talking right now on my part, especially honest talking, and I’d end up in the city jail. I’d killed a Khrynsani temple guard last night. Most people would consider that worthy of an award, not jail time. Still, I’ve never been one to tempt fate.

We were in Nigel’s study. I had seen it before, though not in person. Quentin’s viewpoint last night had been more than sufficient—and I was spared knowing what it smelled like. The air was cloying, sweet, and reminded me of dead things. Nice.

Janek sat down behind the massive desk. I took a seat in one of Nigel’s guest chairs. Janek looked exhausted. That made two of us. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a collection of colored beads and wood held together with some bits of copper wire.

“What can you tell me about this?” he asked.

He made no move to give it to me, and when I saw the runes carved on the bits of wood, I made no move to take it. It looked like a primitive charm. Most things like that were innocent enough, but looks could be deceiving. I learned that lesson the hard way a couple of years ago—and was wearing a refresher course around my neck right now.

Janek turned it over in his hand. “It belongs to a street magician by the name of Siseal Peli. He never lets it out of his sight. We found it yesterday morning at the foot of the Herald Bridge.”

“No Siseal?”

“Not a trace.” A muscle worked in the watcher’s jaw. “Siseal said it protected him against curses. Looks like it’s worthless against anything else.”

He put it on the desk between us. I let it sit there.

I knew what he wanted me to do. I just didn’t know if I wanted to do it.

Something to understand about seeking: sometimes finding people involved handling objects that belonged to them. The closer the person was to those objects, the better. Better for connecting with that person, but mostly better for seeing stuff you’d rather not know existed. Problem was, you never knew if you’d get visions of fluffy bunnies, or creatures from the lower hells snacking on said bunnies—or on the person you were looking for.

Siseal Peli had been carrying the charm when he was grabbed. Therefore, it was probably chock full of nice, fresh, horrific visions. Mine for the watching. Though at least I wouldn’t have to listen. Some seekers could get sound, smells, sensations, basically everything the victim experienced. I wasn’t that gifted—or that unlucky. I didn’t know Siseal personally, but I had seen him on the steps leading up to the Herald Bridge. He spent his days there selling the charms he made to passersby. He was always smiling.

I picked up the charm.

I didn’t expect to see anything at first; a connection usually took a few seconds to establish. Not this time. The amulet I wore thrummed to life and I immediately saw Siseal Peli’s final moments.

I knew they were final. I smelled his fear. Heard his screams. Felt his death.

I never considered shadows lethal. Siseal must have known something I didn’t.

His killer detached itself from the darkness of a doorway. It was tall, almost hobgoblin in shape—if hobgoblins were made of black ink. Siseal’s breath froze, then came in panicked gasps. He knew what was about to kill him. He tried to run, but his killer was fast. Blink-of-an-eye fast. The magician’s fists sank into a body warm and pulsing like living quicksand. The blackness flowed up his arms and legs, paralyzing his muscles and taking Siseal’s life as it went. The magician found breath to scream just before his head was pulled inside.

Swift and simple. And sickening.

For the second time since arriving at Nigel’s, I was glad I hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. As a result, the only thing I tossed on the desk was Siseal’s charm. But it didn’t stop me from having a serious case of the whirlies.

“Are you all right?” Janek looked concerned. All three of him.

I think I might have nodded. Head direction was questionable right now.

“Well, did you see anything?”

So much for concern. I gripped the arms of the chair as the whirlies faded. “Nothing nice.”

The watcher swore. “He’s dead?”

“I assume so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

I met his snap and raised him a snarl. “It means he was there, then he wasn’t.”

Neither one of us meant it, and we knew it. That and friendship also meant not having to apologize. Saved a lot of time with hurt feelings. While I was feeling entitled, I decided not to mention the screaming, among other things. Janek knew what I was capable of. I’d rather not answer any awkward questions, like how I acquired my new talent.

“Just gone?” Apparently Janek had problems with that part. “Like through a Gate?”

“No. Gone as in ceased to exist. I’d say that qualifies as dead.”

His eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”

I didn’t particularly want to recount it, but Janek wasn’t going to let it go until I did.

“It was big, black, and fast.”

“Hobgoblin? Nebian?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I wish.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know, but I think he did.”

“Describe it.”

“No features, no face, no limbs, tentacles, claws, or anything remotely resembling something used to kill. Just shadows. Solid black shadows. Then nothing.”

I couldn’t express what I had felt. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to think about it.

“Were there any Khrynsani around?”

“Not that I could see.” That was the truth. I wish I had seen Khrynsani. It’d be better than knowing that some nameless, faceless, soulless creature was on the nighttime streets of Mermeia sucking sorcerers from the world of the living.

But I had to give Janek something. I owed him that much.

He needed to know about Simon Stocken and Sarad Nukpana, and their connection to what happened here. I just couldn’t spill my guts without revealing my involvement, at least in part. Nothing like being indirectly involved in a pair of murders to test a professional relationship—and a friendship. But I knew where I could start.

Sorcerers at the level of mage had to register with the city watch on entering Mermeia, as well as several other larger cities. It let local law enforcement keep track of people with that kind of power. Public safety, and all that. Interestingly enough, Guardians didn’t have to register. They’re the ones local law enforcement reported their registrations to. Sarad Nukpana was a grand shaman, the goblin equivalent of a mage. He also had diplomatic immunity, which didn’t do anyone any good except Sarad Nukpana. The most powerful and dangerous mages were often employed by governments and their officials. They were encouraged to register as a courtesy to the city they were visiting. But if they chose not to, there was nothing the local watch could do about it. I wonder if Sarad Nukpana had been courteous. I was willing to bet he had.

“Did Sarad Nukpana register when he arrived?” I asked Janek.

Puzzled lines appeared between his eyebrows at the shift in topic. “Yes, he did.”

“You registered him?”

“Riggs did.”

“Did he give his business while here?”

“Advisor and counselor to His Royal Majesty, King Sathrik Mal’Salin.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">