Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (15 page)

When
Sathrik Mal’Salin took the goblin throne after his mother’s death, one of the
first things he did was clean house. That cleaning involved exiling anyone and
everyone who could possibly pose a danger to his rule. His younger brother
Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin was at the top of the list. The prince hadn’t been
pleased to be swept out with the trash.

Janek
pulled back the tarp covering the necromancer and we both blew out our breath
at the stench. I looked over his shoulder at the corpse and was glad I hadn’t
eaten a big breakfast. Nigel hadn’t been much to look at on his best days, and
soaking in a canal hadn’t helped him any.

“That’s
Nigel, all right,” I said, trying in vain to breathe through my mouth.

Janek
put on a pair of healer’s examination gloves. He peeled back what remained of
Nigel’s collar to look at the throat. “Who found him?” he asked Riggs.

“A
silk merchant by the name of Eleazar Adlai,” the watcher replied. “Apparently
Nigel bobbed to the surface about an hour ago.”

That
earned Riggs a sharp look from his superior. “Why wasn’t I notified before
now?”

Riggs
tried not to grin and failed. “It took the merchant that long to recover from
the sight of Nigel popping up next to his dock, sir. We just found out
ourselves. Master Adlai had just arrived to open his shop and was tying off his
boat. He was still screaming when we got there.” The grin grew. “I didn’t know
a man could scream like that. He’s heavily sedated in his shop at the moment. I
could question him later if you’d like.”

“Were
there other witnesses?”

Riggs
nodded. “And they all corroborate his story.”

“Then
I think we can leave Master Adlai alone,” Janek said, still intent on the dead
man’s throat. “Raine, what do you make of this?”

I
bent to look where Janek indicated. “It looks like he was strangled, but the
windpipe wasn’t crushed. But then it also looks like a severe burn.”

“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.”

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.”

“Figures,”
I said. “Did Riggs believe him?”

“Not
a chance. A goblin grand shaman usually has business in town other than what
they list on their registration—and Khrynsani are never up to any good anytime.
I’ve had Nukpana watched. He’s due to leave after the ball.”

The
amulet felt icy cold and hard against my chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he
applied to extend his visit for a few days,” I said. “Know where he was last
night?”

“The
report said neither he nor any of his shamans left the goblin embassy—at least
not through the front or back door. I have to admit, for a Khrynsani trying to
sneak out after curfew, a Gate would be the way to go. Perverted and sick as
hell, but an efficient way to get around town.”

I
knew I was going to regret this, but Janek needed to know, at least some of it.