The Amethyst Angle Read online

  “And what happens when it’s all over? You said yourself that the only reason you have this truce with Trip is this case.” Durmet’s claws click-clack across my desk until his face is mere inches from mine.

  I’m bathed by the heat from his nostrils and I liken it to being close to a freshly stoked forge fire. I lean away from him.

  His nostrils flare. “What’s to stop him from arresting you along with Anderest’s murderer? Or if it all goes terribly wrong?” He throws his hands wide. “Trip’s going to fill a cell tonight, and you’re as good a candidate as any.”

  I reach out with a calming hand, which nearly swallows his shoulder. I give him a gentle squeeze, trying to alleviate his tension, which as tangible and solid as his sharp bones. “I have to believe he’ll keep his word.”

  “I don’t like it,” he says in a defeated tone.

  I draw my hand away to pick up the wand, the one Anderest left for me, the one I’m bringing back to where he died. “Neither do I. But it is what it is.”

  “And if Haurice doesn’t come clean about the murder?” Durmet eyes the wand pointedly.

  “He will,” I say. “He’ll have too much pressure not to. But, if he doesn’t,” I match my partner’s glance to my wand. It would be fitting that the first time I use the weapon Anderest made for me would be to use it to take his killer’s last breath.

  “Using that will surely earn you no points with Trip,” Durmet remarks, though in no way does he sound like that would be a bad thing.

  “I’ll cross that bridge if and when I get there.” I holster the wand then head for my coat hanging by the door. As I slip it on, I glance around my office, hopefully not for the last time in a while.

  Not the most palatial of estates, mind you, but it’s mine, and it’s home. Not much, but still … my life is here. Our life, I correct myself, looking at Durmet and catching his unblinking gaze. I’ve been around him long enough to read him like a book. His tail’s gone limp, wings folded tightly against his back.

  “I’ll be back,” I promise. Or lie. All my bluster aside, I’ve no clue how this night will go down.

  Durmet suddenly takes flight, cutting through the air to swoop behind me, where he flips up my coat collar.

  “Storm’s coming in,” he says from behind, needlessly fussing with my collar. “Should be here fully by the time you reach the estate.”

  I grin. “When I get back, think we should spend what little coin we have left on an umbrella?”

  Ouch! Those little hands of his can really hurt. I rub the back of my head and he flaps around to face me.

  “Look, Durmet,” I say in apology. “Just do me a favor. If this doesn’t go as planned, take whatever you can from here. It’s as much yours as it is mine. Take it, and go back to whatever hell you call home.”

  His eyes glisten as he hangs in the air. Then he blinks and the corner of his maw stretches in his version of a grin. “This is home, Giddy, and trust me, working with you makes one hell of it.”

  I incline my head his way then look out the window. A soft rain has begun, a prequel to what’s to come, and through the bleary glass, the lights of Wrought Isles begin to haze and halo in the burgeoning storm.

  “Trip’s got to be downstairs waiting for me by now,” I say in lieu of farewell.

  Durmet glances down and he sinks a little lower in the air. After a moment, he looks up at me. “I wonder if he was smart enough to bring an umbrella.”

  Not the funniest thing anyone has ever said, yet we both laugh ’til our eyes tear up.

  —-

  No umbrella on Trip’s part.

  Seems tonight’s not to be a night of smart decisions.

  Trip and I squelch up the final rise leading to the Herchsten Estate, the storm heavy on our heels. It’s dark as a shade’s ass and my memory is the only thing keeping us on the right path. That, and the occasional brilliant flash of lightning from the impending storm.

  We’re not approaching from the front. We’re taking the same path I’d first taken when this case started, the same path I took in my younger years. Distant memories of Anderest and what he did for me fill my vision, playing out like a spirit mage’s illusions on a stage.

  “If you’re right and it is Haurice,” Trip says, pulling me from my thoughts and into the storm-soaked here and now, “he will answer to the law.”

  “As long as he doesn’t do anything foolish,” I say.

  “As long as you don’t do anything foolish,” he counters without missing a beat.

  I try to duck my head tighter between my shoulders and ignore the rivulets running down my back. “It’s just up ahead,” I say, changing the topic. “We’ll hop the wall then go in from the back.”

  Just then, the clouds overhead light up in chained succession and we both stop as the thunderclap hits, the reverberation traveling through the hillside like an unseen troop of charging cavalry.

  “Devil’s balls,” I say as the thunder dies down. Now that we’re at the wall, we can better see what the lightning had revealed. A large portion of the barrier has been broken. Blasted, maybe even ran through with a sizable cart. Whatever it was, it came from this side as stone fragments lay scattered about on the other side.

  Trip works his way closer to the ruined wall. “It looks like someone had the same idea as you.”

  “Someone with a grudge against stone and mortar.” I haven’t told Trip about the ward, and I’m praying the darkness will cover my pained reaction to it. “After you,” I say.

  We carefully step over the wreckage—Trip to keep his footing, me, more so in anticipation of the blood-boiling ward—and when we both pass through the gaping hole and stand on the other side, neither of us are the worse for wear.

  While I’m stunned that I hadn’t been stunned, Trip is bent over, nose practically in the mud and grass. It takes me a minute to gather what he’s doing and then I’m right next to him, doing the same. The next bout of lightning arcs and we both look at each other.

  “No footprints,” Trip says loud enough to be heard over the cascading thunder.

  I wait for the drum to peter out. “Means whoever did this did it before the storm washed in.”

  “They know we’re coming.”

  I shrug in the near-darkness. “That was the plan.”

  Trip turns to face the dark silhouette of the estate. A few lights spear out through the windows and into the storm like a lighthouse warning us of treacherous ground ahead. Trip’s shoulders swell. “I’m thinking the front door then. They know we’re coming, we knew they’d come.”

  “And they won’t do anything until they have the amethyst.” I lead the way, passing by Trip as he checks his sword and makes sure it draws easily from its scabbard. At the steps leading up to the front door, Trip halts me with a hand to the shoulder.

  “We do this,” he says, “we do it by the law.”

  I wave back toward the smashed-in wall. Lightning flashes and the wind kicks up from the estate’s main entrance, urging me forward. “I don’t think it’s entirely up to me at this point. Haurice has made some friends angry. Angry people are unpredictable.”

  Whatever else Trip has to say is lost to nature’s bellow and I make my way up to the front door. I contemplate knocking then think twice and simply turn the handle and ease the door open. The wind does the rest, pushing the heavy door inward to reveal the well-lit, cavernous foyer.

  The storm spits inside as me and Trip exchange a quick glance at each other. Now or never. We trail mud across the polished floorboards and Trip muscles the door closed behind us, blocking out the worst of the storm.

  “I hope this will be the last time you soil this house,” Haurice’s voice echoes out to us in the relative silence.

  He’s standing to the far left of the foyer, near the hallway leading to his appropriated office. The same short-haired scribe is standing next to him, a ledger in hand. There’s a small table next to the scribe, and I notice the tools of her trade laid out in precise arrange
ment on its surface, as if she plans on penning an angry letter directed toward me.

  I don’t offer them any pleasantries as I take in the house, peering into dark corners and trying to see if any of the heavy curtains flicker with hidden movement. The place is lit solely by telektric lamps. A few are placed on the tables and along the wall in sconces, but most light comes from the chandelier high above. Not a single hint of the flowers Vayvanette brought her grandfather, and that irks me so. At the far end of the foyer, the large circular stained-glass window grants me a glance outside. Lightning spears across the sky and the window comes alive in a brilliant, if brief, display of color.

  “So what is this about, Knell?” Haurice asks soon as the rumble dies down. “I see you brought the law. Captain Standard. It’s been years since last you’ve visited. How are you? Curious choice of acquaintance.”

  “I’m here with Knell to put this to rest, Haurice,” Trip says. “To ensure nobody gets hurt.”

  “A threat?” Haurice glances at his scribe as if to ask if he was the only one who heard it. “I had thought that Knell’s department. And in the presence of an esteemed College scribe?”

  “It wasn’t a threat—”

  “Oh, you’ll know when I threaten you, Haurice,” I say, cutting off Trip and earning a glare from him for the effort. Trip begins to lift a hand, either to quiet me or hold me at bay, but I step forward out of his reach. Tonight will see the end of this, and I’m losing my patience. “This is your last chance to admit what you did,” I warn the old man.

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  Four seconds, one minute, and ten years, I think.

  Four seconds is all I would need to draw my six-spell and loose a fireshot into Haurice’s gut. One minute for him to gasp out his dying confession of Anderest’s murder. And ten years for me to rot inside a cell as Trip would have no choice but to arrest me on the spot, the scribe being an infallible witness to my crime.

  It’s almost worth it.

  Trip’s fingers nearly bruise my shoulder as he grabs hold of me and keeps me from making a move. He comes to stand beside me, hand still on my shoulder, and says to all of us, “We simply wish to have your side of the story, Haurice.”

  “You already have it,” Haurice says. “Your lapdog seems to wish it different, and we both know if you weren’t tight on his leash he’d try to beat it out of me.” He spreads his hands, inviting all to see how frail he is. “I’m not as hale as I used to be. It wouldn’t take much to hurt me. Under pain, I’d say anything to make it stop, but we all know it would ring false.”

  “We’re here only for the truth,” Trip says.

  “And we’re here for the amethyst,” a gravelly and curt voice rings out from the far right of the foyer. I tense as I search and find the owner of the voice. Dark, voluminous robes hide his body and hands, which are folded at his waist, but his hood is back. The ebony fabric pools around the neck of a middle-aged man with gaunt features and short salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes are deep set, floating in pools of shadow cast down from the nearest telektric wall lamp.

  Behind and to his left is another figure, I assume the “we” this robed man was referring to. This other is in tight pants and an untucked shirt with flowing sleeves and dark splotches of stains. I may have never met either of these men, but I know them right away.

  “And I was wondering where the Arcanium was in all of this,” I say. “A caster and a thug. Must be serious if they sent you to keep Haurice safe.”

  Trip takes a step away from me, sword whispering as he draws it free.

  “What is this?” Haurice demands of the men from the Arcanium. “How did you get in here?”

  I glance Haurice’s way and I’m almost convinced at the anger in his voice. He’s even gone as far as to step behind the scribe, who at the moment, seems to be showing a bit more backbone than her employer. She’s hugging her ledger to her chest but assessing the robed mage with narrowed eyes.

  “We’re not here for the servant,” the arcane mage says, dismissing Haurice. “We’re here for the amethyst.”

  I flash my teeth. “And we’re here for a confession.” I point to Haurice. “Seems our goals align.”

  The mage doesn’t bother looking Haurice’s way. He takes a step forward into a pool of light, eyes locked on me. “The amethyst. Now.”

  I spread my hands. “Hey, don’t look at me. I don’t have it.”

  The mage unfolds his arms, drawing his hands from the heavy sleeves, and holds something up for display. “I believe this is yours,” he says, then lobs it underhand my way.

  I step back and to the side, wary of a trick, but at the peak of its approach, I notice the now oh-so-familiar dragonfly and I relax. It hits the floor with a thud and skitters to a stop between me and Trip.

  Trip and I exchange a meaningful glance.

  “I was told that item came from Herchsten’s vault,” the mage says. “It’s worthless.”

  “That makes the Arcanium the buyer, then,” I conclude. “I had my doubts, but,” I pick up the dragonfly and slip it into my coat pocket, “this verifies it. I figured whoever paid for the amethyst knew it came from the vault. All I had to do was let Julien think the dragonfly came from the vault as well. Once he spread the word, I knew whoever paid for the amethyst would come running, thinking I found the amethyst, that I snagged it when I snagged the dragonfly.”

  “Where is it?” the mage demands, voice changing from gravelly to grating.

  “Ask him,” I say, redirecting the mage to Haurice.

  The mage and his trailing thug counterpart come further into the foyer, stopping at the large oval table that is the centerpiece of the room. The stained-glass flares with bursts of color, and seconds later, the large chandelier rattles and lamps flicker as a resounding thunderclap shakes the house.

  When all is quiet save the rap of rain on the roof and windows and the lights have grown back to a steady glow, Haurice’s face is flush and he’s sweating so much I wonder if he’d snuck outside to stand in the rain when no one was looking.

  “I don’t have it!” Haurice cries, looking from mage to me and back again. Enemies abound and now he looks at Trip, the Captain of the Watch, the man sworn to uphold the law. “Tell them I don’t have it!” he pleas to Trip, aged voice cracking with fear.

  Trip inclines his head my way, giving me the lead. This is what we had wanted. The arcane mage and thug actually made it easier, though they took out some of the fun. Here I’d thought I’d have to threaten Haurice a bit before he buckled. In fact, I was looking forward to it.

  “Here’s the thing, Haurice,” I relate in a conversational tone. “You played too many sides, made promises you couldn’t keep. You killed Anderest, broke into his vault to steal his will and gave it to the Head Magistrate to secure your place as beneficiary and to keep Vayvanette from seeing a copper. Being as close to Anderest as you were, I’m sure you knew all about the amethyst, how much it was worth, and that it rightfully belonged to Vayvanette. You needed to sell it before the will could be executed so I’m guessing you went to Julien and secured its sale before you even decided to kill Anderest and steal it. Julien promised the amethyst to the highest bidder, who, as it turns out,” I throw a look the mage’s way, “happens to be the Arcanium.”

  I wave toward the anywhos from the Arcanium. “Julien always has friends who have friends. Well, these two are, I assume, those friends of friends. Friends who don’t like being cheated.”

  The arcane mage snaps his fingers and the thug pulls a narrow dagger from his hip. The polished blade seems to catch every source of light in the room, and he stalks forward toward Haurice.

  “I never sold the amethyst,” Haurice proclaims yet again, this time from his cowering position behind the scribe. “I never even saw it! Tell them,” he urges the scribe. “You helped catalogue everything. Tell them the amethyst was never in the vault, that we have no record of it even being here.”

  I feel bad for the scribe. Stuck between th
e proverbial rock and a hard place. Except in this case, the rock has a blade and the hard place is a cowering murderer. At this point, I can’t determine what’s gone wider, her eyes or her mouth. Poor girl, at least this will all be over soon.

  Trip steps closer to me but I lift a hand to keep him back. This is the plan. Trip knows it, but watching Haurice squirm and sweat, mere moments from wetting himself under threat of blade, is probably beyond the boundaries of his lawful fortitude.

  And that blade, in the capable hands of the Arcanium thug, is on its way to have a pointed word with the manservant.

  Perhaps realizing the scribe is a poor shield, Haurice backs up into a shelf and knocks over an empty vase, sending it crashing to the floor. “I never even knew it existed!” he screams, I think to the mage, or maybe to the thug and his blade.

  Realizing that his words aren’t stopping the thug, Haurice tries a different tack, hugging the shelf and looking our way. “Captain! You can’t let this continue! You’re sworn to protect the people of this city!”

  Now I drop my stalling hand, allowing Trip to play his part.

  “Haurice,” Trip says with an authoritative voice that fills the cavernous room. “If you admit to the murder of Anderest Herchsten, I will take you into custody immediately. Once in my charge, I will not allow any harm to come to you until you are tried and found guilty of your crimes.” Trip looks to the Arcanium mage, years of his dedication to the law hardening his voice. “I swear this.”

  “I didn’t kill Master Herchsten,” Haurice claims. “I will not confess to a crime I did not commit.”

  I glance over at Trip and receive a questioning look in response. Haurice has got some stones on him, I’ll admit. Stones that the Arcanium would separate him from in the most unpleasant way—as if there is a pleasant way.

  Trip turns back to Haurice, lifting a hand his way. “I can’t help you unless—”

  “Fine!” Haurice yells. His shriek stops the thug’s advance, who glances back at the mage. The mage gives some signal I don’t catch, but it’s easy to guess what it was as the thug’s shoulders slacken in disappointment.