The Amethyst Angle Page 29

  26

  FINAL TALLY

  The sun is steady, stealing the remnants of the last night’s storm from the city. I’m at my desk, nursing a cup of triple-distilled, wishing the sun could work its magic the same on me. Consolation? The case has been solved. Not in a manner to bring me much satisfaction, but I’m not in this game for satisfaction. That ship sailed ages ago.

  I’ve cracked my window open, allowing the day to breathe into my office, to wash over me as I read through Anderest’s letter once again, trying to understand what he was trying to tell me about his creation.

  Amethyst or wand?

  The amethyst turned out to be a fake, but the six-spell—that was real. He created it and it saved my life, saved Trip’s life. And, for the life of me, I still can’t fathom what I did with it back at the estate, can’t understand why Anderest sounded so ominous about it in this letter. How could the wand be as dangerous as he made it out to be? Is there something I’m missing?

  I shake my head. Whatever it is, he entrusted me with it, and I sure as hells am going to do my best to keep it safe.

  At the sound of a whooshing pop, a smile finds purchase on my lips. I fold the letter and set it on my desk, using my old broken wand as a paperweight.

  “Boss!”

  I stand and Durmet flaps his way over, crashing heavily into me. My world is all claws, wings, and acrid demon’s breath, and yes, a bit of laughter on my part.

  “Get the hells off me,” I exclaim, managing to pry the morph-imp from my torso.

  “Just testing your reflexes,” Durmet clears his throat and says when he realizes his over-exuberance. His short stint back in his hell has healed him quite nicely. Wish I had my own personal hell to retreat to. My side still pounds with each heartbeat but Vayvanette’s poultice was surprisingly potent. Not to mention my own dosing of good ol’ fashioned doctor-ordered whiskey.

  I rub the top of Durmet’s head then push him completely off of me, where he flitters in the air for a moment before landing on my desk.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He shuffles his feet. “Well, thanks for not getting yourself killed.”

  I grin. “Not for lack of trying.”

  He dips his head and his tail twitches nervously. Then, with a talon of his foot, he absently scratches at the open newspaper on my desk.

  “What?” I prompt him.

  Still looking down, Durmet says, “Not that I’m not glad you’re still alive, but,” he glances up with concern, “what do we do now?”

  I scrape my chair back, ease down into it, and cross my hands behind my neck. “We relax.”

  “What?” He does a little sparrow-hop closer to me. “But I defied your orders and showed myself—”

  “Saving my life in the process.”

  “And you went and let everyone know what you are—”

  “Saving your life in the process.”

  “And now we’re likely to have every able body, from the Arcanium to the Magistrate to the Watch, knocking on our door, ready to string you up.”

  “We should be fine,” I assure him.

  In his best mimicry of a concerned owl, Durmet nearly turns his head upside down in doubt. “Trip?” he asks.

  “I had Thelin see to him. Trip won’t be a problem. Silverman paid me a visit earlier this morning and I cleared everything up nicely, sent him back with a letter for Trip.”

  “The Arcanium?”

  “No witnesses left to speak of what happened. As far as they know, the two they sent died on a wild-goose chase.”

  “The amethyst?”

  “Never existed. At least, if it did, it was only on paper. Anderest overstated his work. In time, I’m sure someone will use his notes to accomplish what he started.”

  “And the Magistrate is in control of those notes.”

  I nod then lean forward and pick up my cup. “They can have it,” I say, burning my throat and gut with the oldest form of medicine.

  Durmet gives me time to swallow before asking, “What about Haurice?”

  “I doubt he’ll be a problem. It’ll be up to the Aristocracy to see where he fits in now that the dust has settled. My guess? He’ll be left in charge of the Herchsten Estate. The Head Magistrate is in a tough spot. Arrest him for robbing his dead master’s vault and she’ll publicly admit the city paid him to do so. So, they’ll leave him be.”

  “Doesn’t seem right,” Durmet says in a small voice.

  “Oh, I couldn’t think of a better punishment for the old bat. He wanted to be in charge, to live out his days in luxury. Now, he’s going to have the Aristocracy breathing down his neck, telling him what fork to use to eat dinner, how many times to wipe every time he goes to the bathroom. He exchanged a loving master for a controlling one.”

  Durmet watches me drink and gloat. He waits for me stop both before asking, “Then the murderer? The reason we were hired in the first place?”

  The wound in my side flares and I put a hand over it.

  “Boss?”

  “The case came ’round full circle,” I say, then proceed to tell him the entire story.

  By the time I finish, he’s seated back on his haunches, wings folded tightly against his body. “I never trusted her, boss,” he says. “You should have killed her.”

  “I know.” The words come out before I realized they were on my tongue. “But,” I add, “I did make a promise to Trip.”

  “You could have easily said she was there last night, that she died during the fight.” Durmet shrugs.

  “Haurice hid during the last of the fight, didn’t see me for what I am, but he definitely knows Vayvanette wasn’t there. I start laying false claims and more questions get asked.”

  “Haurice wouldn’t dare go against your word with what you know about his part in the whole thing. As far as Trip knows, your word could be the truth.”

  I wave a hand in the air, banishing would bes and could bes. “What’s done is done. We were hired to find Anderest’s killer, and we found her. Case closed.”

  Durmet bobs his head in agreement but I can tell he would rather have Vayvanette dead than alive. I wonder if it’s because she was a murderer, or because she tried playing us. Or maybe it’s a classic case of jealousy. Durmet and I have carved out a nice little niche for ourselves here, and having a woman intrude probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

  “And now?” he asks.

  Good question. I glance around our office. “We can take a vacation,” I suggest. “A bit of time off to relax.”

  “And what do we do for coin in the meantime?” he asks with demonic practicality.

  “You need to have more faith in me, partner,” I say. “We’re set for a while.” I raise a hand and start ticking off fingers. “Not only did we solve the case and earn the original terms of our payment, but you forget everything else. First, I managed to get every one of our crystals charged at the expense of the city. Then I’ve paid a year’s worth of tithe to the Arcanium, giving us plenty of time to relax. And that favor I owed Julien for having his man save my life? Considering I proved that he was in the middle of the mix, trying to make a finder’s fee on the amethyst, there’s no way he can collect on that favor. We’re even now. Not to mention, I got him to front an entire evening at the Far and Wide. That set him back a cool copper, and I doubt he’ll admit I out-played him.”

  Durmet chuckles at that.

  “Plus, I got you back the dragonfly amulet, like I promised I would. And to top it all off, this case will be talked about for weeks.” I flick my brows at the newspaper on the desk. “There are already a few stories about it. All speculation and overdramatic reports, but once Trip makes his formal statement, Wrought Isles will know that it was us, well, me, that brought the murderer to justice.”

  Durmet cocks his head in confusion.

  “Free advertisement, partner. Clients with actual coin will come seeking us out. No more cheating husbands, no more rescuing cats from trees. This could be our big break.”
>
  “As long as it doesn’t go to your head,” he says. “And I still get anything arcane.”

  “Of course.”

  “And sweet pies.”

  “Wouldn’t dare deprive you.”

  He nods. “Then I’m on board.”

  “Never doubted you would be.”

  “Keep bringing home murderers and mating with them and that might change, boss.”

  “I’ll try to ensure I don’t bed murderers in the future,” I promise. “For your benefit.”

  Durmet opens his mouth to say something but a steady knock on the front door echoes up into my office and he turns. “Expecting someone?”

  I glance at Anderest’s clock on the shelf behind me. It’s just before noon. I expected to hear from Trip, but not ’til much later. I turn back around and open my top drawer. The dragonfly amulet sits next to Anderest’s six-spell and I pull out both, along with the spare cartridge. I toss the dragonfly to Durmet, change out the cartridge, then slip the six-spell back in the drawer and close it.

  “Whoever it is,” I say, “I’ve got it covered.”

  “Fine with me.” Dragonfly in hand, Durmet vacuums out of this plane and back to his, leaving me to head downstairs where I open the front door, startling the dark, wavy-haired man in pressed clothes standing on my stoop with one hand raised to knock again. He’s wearing a short-tailed jacket over a dark tunic with tan trousers and worn boots. All in all, I’d say middle class. Paid well enough to keep his clothes presentable, but not enough to keep his feet in new shoes.

  My visitor lowers his hand, clears his throat, then withdraws a pair of thick glasses and perches them on his nose. Through the heavy glass, his eyes look twice as large, almost comical. I’m at a loss to guess his age. He’s got smooth skin but something tells me he’s older than he appears. He could have a dash of elven blood in him.

  “Forgive me,” he says, inclining his head.

  “Not at all,” I say with a curious lilt. “May I help you?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help you.” There’s a hint of question in his voice, as if he isn’t entirely sure he’s in the right place.

  “How so?” I still haven’t invited him in. There’s been a rash of unwanted visitors lately. I prefer to break that streak.

  After another nervous adjustment of his glasses, a step back to take in my building, then a step toward me, he asks, “You are Gideon Knell, yes?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Urdran. Philam Urdran, sir.”

  “Well, Urdran, Knell is fine for me.”

  “Yes sir, I mean, Knell.”

  If Urdran messes with his glasses one more time before getting to the point, I’ll tear them from his face. I show restraint and raise a brow.

  “The Head Magistrate sent me,” Urdran says. “To check on you.”

  He must be some runt in her employ. That explains the clean clothes and worn boots perfectly.

  “Hmm. Well you can let her know I’m just fine.” I’m ready to close the door but Urdran presses forward. Anybody else and I’d have knocked them cold for the intrusion, but this middleman is anything but threatening.

  “I have instructions, sir—”

  “Knell,” I correct him.

  “Yes. Knell. Well, the Head Magistrate wanted me to thank you for your services these past days. Inside, perhaps?”

  I sigh. Fine. I stand aside and wave him in, then direct him up to my office. I notice he walks with a slight limp that he tries to hide. Maybe he is older than he looks.

  He declines my offer of whiskey but does take the chair before my desk. I sip and study him and he in turn studies my office with a scrupulous eye for a long while. Looking at him there, I conclude the only thing to fear from him is having the few books I have on my shelves rearranged in alphabetical order.

  I clear my throat and his double-sized eyes focus on me.

  Urdran bibs his head. “The Head Magistrate is concerned with your well-being. The Herchsten Estate was in terrible shape after your,” he stops, clears his throat. “After you kept parties working against the Magistrate at bay.”

  Parties working against the Magistrate. That must be the official title given to the dead arcane mage, his thug, and the smoldering corpse of the ogre. Almost makes it sound as if all that happened was a slight argument.

  Urdran continues. “As such, she is concerned you may have been terribly injured.”

  “Oh, my organs kept the knife thrust into my side from doing me much harm.”

  Urdran winces at the imagery and I berate myself for being so flippant with him. It’s not his fault.

  “Yes, Urdran,” I say in an amenable tone. “I was injured. But I’ll live.”

  “Very good, very good. Even so,” he slips a hand into his coat pocket and withdraws a clear-cut diamond the size of an olive. “With her gratitude, I am to heal you.”

  “You’re a healer?”

  “No, no.” He holds up the diamond and I note it has a slight lavender glow to it, tell-tale sign of the spirit energy within. “But I do know the incant to this healing crystal. May I?”

  I don’t want to be in the habit of taking hand-outs from the Head Magistrate, but on the other hand, I don’t want to be in the habit of ruining every shirt I put on for the next week. “If you insist,” I say, and start to stand.

  “Oh, no need to get up,” Urdran says. He stands and shuffles around my desk. I can definitely tell he’s trying to hide his limp and he nearly trips, having to grab hold of the shelf behind me to steady himself. He mumbles something, probably a curse, and I bite back a smile.

  “Sorry,” he says after he recovers, clearly embarrassed by his misstep. I almost feel bad enough to tell him to use the crystal on himself, but of a gut wound and an arthritic hip, I think I get priority. He rights himself, then his glasses, and stands by my side. “If I may?”

  I nod and lean back, offering him a view of the crimson stain on my shirt.

  He leans in and gently touches the crystal to my side, just above the stain. X marks the spot and all that. He mouths more than whispers the incant and a cool rush permeates my skin, followed by a sudden drain of my physical energy as my wound knits itself closed. The tingle and itching subsides and I know I’m no longer leaking like a sea-battered skiff. I incline my head.

  “My thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Job done, Urdran limps away to stand on the other side of my desk again, quiet as a mouse in a snake burrow. For lack of anything else to say, I offer him a drink, which he turns down for the second time.

  “For your trouble,” Urdran says, handing over the diamond. “There is still some charge to it. I have a feeling that in your line of work, you may find yourself in need of this.”

  I wouldn’t want to insult the man, after all, so I take the proffered diamond.

  “I should be getting back,” he says in a practiced manner, to which I take the cue. I stand, toss the diamond onto the shelf between clock and amethyst, and see my visitor back downstairs to the door.

  Before he heads down the front steps of my porch, I stop him. “Will I be seeing much more from her?”

  Urdran looks back over his shoulder. “I dare not presume what the Head Magistrate thinks, but I am quite sure in this instance that she wishes this to be the conclusion of your relationship.”

  “Fine by me. Feel free to tell her I said so.”

  “Very well.”

  I close the door and head back on up. Before settling into my chair to enjoy my whiskey and newspaper, I pull up my shirt and remove the crude bandage wrapped around my side. I wipe away a thin film of blood and reveal a nicely healed, slightly puckered scar.

  All in all, this case has left me better off than when I’d first taken it, as long as I don’t dwell on Vayvanette and what she had begun to mean to me. If only there were a crystal to heal wounds that couldn’t be seen.

  Then again, that’s why the gods created whiskey.

  27

  INHERITANCE<
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  “Letter for you, Captain.”

  Seated at his desk in the Station, Trip looks up slowly, as his head is still swimming from the hit he took last night at the Herchsten Estate. Silverman’s standing there with letter in hand and concern on his face.

  “You sure you’re good, Captain?”

  “I’m fine,” he says, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

  Silverman hands over the letter. “Taking a beating from an ogre and coming to work the next day,” he says reverently. “You’re setting the standard with that one.”

  Trip laughs and taps the envelope on his desk, feeling something other than paper inside. “If one of you is so foolish enough to go toe-to-toe with an ogre, I won’t expect you to come in the next day, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Thank you,” Silverman says through a smile. The smile melts away though and Trip knows there’s something on the man’s mind.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  Silverman chews his lower lip. “Well, sir, just wondering if anything else has come back to you.”

  “You mean after I was swatted aside by an ogre with nothing smaller than a ship’s mast?” He laughs. “Sorry, but nothing else’s come to mind. That hit took me out good. I know I somehow managed to drag my sorry butt across the room and pin the huge bastard’s foot to the ground with my sword, but that’s about it. Next thing I remember is you dragging me out of the carriage last night.”

  “I was as surprised as any to see you show up, more so when it looked like you couldn’t even remember your own name.”

  “Huh, I must have been in bad shape.”

  Too bad I can’t remember anything else.

  “Not too worry, Captain, we secured the Herchsten place right away. I personally went to Knell’s place this morning. He told me what happened. He said without you, the ogre would have torn him to shreds. He fried the beast with lightshot, and was worried he might have hurt you in the process. Seemed truly apologetic, but I have to say, sir, I think he acted in the right.”

  “I’m sure he did what he felt he needed,” Trip replies, not entirely understanding the nagging doubt that has taken root in his gut. “You said Knell was injured?”