Bronze Gods Page 11

  Mikani ended by asking, “Do you have any idea what the lenses are or how the killer used magic to murder her?”

  “First, we’ll be talking bits, crescents, and talons, yer investigorship. Or if you prefer, I also accept notes. The more I get, the more you’ll get.”

  Mikani wasn’t sure whether the boy knew anything of value, so he put five silver crescents in his palm. “Is that enough for an answer?”

  The coins disappeared. “Just one. And the machine sounds like a siphon.”

  If Ritsuko were here, she’d be scratching notes, determined not to miss a single word. Mikani cracked his senses wider and let them drift; the amount of raw power in this room was staggering. Any one of these people could easily be a killer, and their living conditions were such that he could almost understand if they were driven to it. The boy before him felt like a shard of ice, frozen sharp, and tight with hatred. Not of Mikani, precisely, but for the whole world order.

  “What’s a siphon?” He knew what the word meant in a general sense, but not in this context.

  The boy opened his palm, and Mikani sighed as he paid five more crescents. “Sometimes people want power they don’t possess. There are ways to steal it.”

  Hm. So magic can be transferred? He made a mental note to talk to Saskia; though if she’d had any insights about the device, surely she would’ve shared them.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

  “Oh no. You couldn’t pay me enough to answer that.” Which was a frustrating and fascinating answer.

  “Do you fear reprisal? I must remind you, this is an official CID investigation. If you fail to share knowledge that could lead to the arrest of the perpetrator, that constitutes obstruction.”

  The boy held out his thin wrists, eyes mocking. “You want to lock me up, yer inspectorship? Have at it. At least then I’d get fed regular.”

  It was impossible to threaten someone for whom gaol represented a step up the social ladder. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Were there any conductors present?” The boy answered with a question.

  “Metal is a conductor. Can you direct me to someone partial to such creations? Or at least theorize a purpose for the contraption, the reason she died like that.”

  “My life wouldn’t be worth a copper if I aimed you at my fellows. As to the other, if I had to guess? He killed her to steal what power she possessed. But for some reason, he couldn’t absorb it directly.”

  “Are you sure you can’t—”

  “Forget it. That’s all you’re getting out of me.” The boy finally yielded to the silent demand all around him that he stop cooperating with the authorities. He turned and bounded out a nearby window, limber as a half-starved cat as he went over the sill, the stained leather shade flapping behind him.

  In that moment, the mood turned.

  An older man with bent shoulders stepped out of the mob. He gestured and spat an unintelligible sound. Mikani’s chest went tight, and the bitter hint became an overwhelming, nauseating taste that made him want to throw up. He felt something cocoon him, a sticky and vaguely slimy sensation on his skin. Bronze gods, what’s he done? No. Then, just as suddenly, the feeling vanished. He panted for breath, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and glared at the old man.

  “That was a lesson. The Houses gobble every hint of the old ways up and pretend they’re keeping people safe by hoarding the power, but it’s still out here, still among even the lowest of us.” The man’s eyes burned black, so dark that the pupil and iris overlapped, just holes that fell endlessly into his head.

  “You’ve made your point,” Mikani croaked. His throat felt raw; his skin tingled.

  “Have I? You tell me how it’s fair that the Houses control everything. The mirrors, the ember spheres . . . all the elementals and all free trade. The rest of us are left scrambling for scraps from the high table.”

  “I don’t quite see how this relates to my line of inquiry. I’m just trying to discover who killed a young girl in a quite horrific way. And why.” He was cool, not intimidated by the way the ragged men drew closer. He’d faced worse odds . . . and the anticipation of trouble was already rushing through his veins, better than whiskey or Dreamers. Granted, either of those would likely make what’s coming a lot less painful.

  “Why?” The old man offered a dry laugh. “Those who possess power are always in danger of having it stolen.”

  “I think it’s time you moved along,” another man said.

  “If I don’t? Are you going to glamour me again?”

  “No magic,” the old man ordered. “Otherwise, do as you will.”

  Their collective rage and resentment blistered his skin, and five men encircled him. Mikani no longer felt sure his badge and official status would be enough to protect him. He wondered if they were hiding the killer, covering for him. There was no telling what they imagined they’d gain by offing a House scion, but maybe they saw it as the opening salvo of a slow-building class war.

  “Your shiny badge don’t mean nothing here.” A tall, thin man spat at Mikani’s feet.

  They didn’t wait for a reply; they all came at him at once, and he answered with a sweep of his walking stick. So long as they didn’t bespell him, he’d fight at these odds—and not report them for the magical infractions he’d observed, much to his partner’s chagrin if she ever found out. But Ritsuko had surprised him with her willingness to overlook the Dreamers; maybe she’d understand this, too. His cane connected with a ferocious thwack, and blood spattered from the man’s busted lip.

  It’s such fun, after all.

  • • •

  MIKANI HAD BEEN gone most of the day. Bronze gods, she hoped he was staying out of trouble. He had a propensity for stirring the pot when left to his own devices . . . and that had been happening more of late. They were running leads separately to cover more ground, but also because . . . well.

  Best not to think of the pub . . . or the Moment.

  It just seemed best to get some space between them, in addition to being more efficient. He had an angle on the magical connection to follow, which had left Ritsuko following up on Academy leads. None of the interviews had produced anything concrete though she’d frightened one of the students badly enough to confess to several unrelated misdemeanors. Now she was wrapping up their paperwork—and she’d noticed how often her partner skipped out on the busywork, but since she didn’t have any gifts to augment her flare for organization, she figured it was fair that she did the lion’s share of the filing. Such tasks suited her nature anyway; she liked putting everything in order.

  With a faint sigh, she reviewed the latest report. It took days for the lab to determine anything, but they thought the ash she’d found at the murder scene had an herbal origin. She couldn’t make any sense of that. Who bound a woman to a giant metal slab and cooked her with lenses and sprinkled herbs around the perimeter? The case had no precedent. After her interviews, she’d gone through many old files and found nothing similar.

  Mikani’s consultant had confirmed—the reason the murder seemed so clean and impossible? Magic. That’s all I need. To make matters worse, House Aevar was leaning on the City Council for a fast arrest. They didn’t care about the truth; they might even prefer a scapegoat. Ritsuko didn’t operate that way. More than most, she had to be sure of her facts because they would be called into question simply because she was a woman. Some officers would deal only with Mikani, and when they did acknowledge her, they acted as if she were obligated to run their errands.

  At last she tidied her desk and tried to slip from the office, but as she headed toward the lift, the gruff tones of the commander stopped her. “Ritsuko, I’d like a word.”

  Damn. And I was nearly gone for the night.

  The commander had taken to working late because he didn’t want to deal with the constant interruptions during the day. Messengers had been in and out of his office all week long—from the high Houses, the Council, and even the Ward Re
presentative Assembly. They all wanted to know the same thing: How could this happen? Who would dare assail so many centuries of unquestioned superiority? Thugs and commoners fell into low company and came to bad ends. Not lovely, innocent House scions.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, altering course.

  The old man looked tired tonight. He peered at her over his desk, over the edge of wire spectacles. Commander Gunwood was deceptively bookish, but his mild exterior hid the heart of a lion. “You know I took a great risk in appointing you to the CID.”

  She nodded. Every other city branch had refused her anything but a spot in the clerical pool. They thought she was only suited to taking notes and fetching tea. From the first, she’d fought for every inch she gained; it had required five separate recommendations before they agreed to let her to do lab work. Getting herself accepted as a field agent had required even more determination. She laced her hands together, hoping she wasn’t about to be demoted.

  “But you turned out to be one of my best officers,” the commander went on. “I’m not sorry I backed you.”

  “However,” she prompted.

  “If you and Mikani don’t resolve this soon, I’ll have to pull you off the case.”

  Her teeth clenched. He didn’t need to explain. She knew why. The brass would be telling him there was no way a man, saddled with an incompetent female partner, could be expected to crack a case like this. Why not slide it to one of the other teams? A decision like that would mar her record.

  “I understand.” Ritsuko worked to keep her features blank and expressionless. “We suspect the Aevar murder may be connected to the Royale, so we’ve been watching.” Trying to read his expression, she hastened on. “But that’s not the only angle we’re pursuing. I have a list of Academy students with the skill to build such a device, and I spoke to some of them today. I’ll also be checking the emporiums for purchase records. It’s only a matter of time until I run this monster to ground.”

  See how thorough I am? For obvious reasons, she didn’t mention the magic angle. Her status felt shaky enough already.

  “I pray you’re right,” Gunwood said tiredly. “Go home, Ritsuko. Get some sleep. You’re no use to me if you’re dead on your feet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pressure tightened her chest as she turned away; the coat over her arm felt heavier than usual. She suspected she’d just glimpsed the end of her career. Oh, they wouldn’t fire her; they were too proud of what she represented. So they’d just shuffle her off to desk work while pretending she still possessed the full confidence of the CID. That way, whenever suffragettes picketed the building, they could trot her out and explain that they did, in fact, give proper consideration to all female candidates but only chose the best.

  That was her. So why couldn’t she get a handle on this thing? Nobody had seen anything. Nobody knew anything. It was as if a great, dark shadow had scooped Cira Aevar up. They didn’t even know whether she’d been taken from her home, or on the streets, from the theater, or somewhere in between. But there were no hungry ghosts haunting the city. Someone made of flesh and blood had affixed her to that infernal apparatus, though for what purpose she could not even begin to guess.

  Her mood was glum as she rode down on the puffing lift. But to her surprise, she found someone waiting for her in the lobby. Security hadn’t permitted him past the first checkpoint, so he sat on one of the benches, staring at the red-veined marble floor. When his head came up, she recognized Mr. Gideon at once.

  “If you’d explained to Tolliver that you needed to speak with me regarding an investigation, he would’ve notified me of your arrival.”

  The stagehand pushed to his feet, twisting his hat in his hands. “I remembered after you left . . . but I wasn’t sure if it was important. I thought I should tell you—”

  “Yes, of course. Any information might prove unexpectedly valuable.”

  “There was an actor who paid attention to Cira. He teased her, flirted with her. I recall thinking he was a bit old for her. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.”

  Nineteen, she corrected silently, then produced her notepad. “Do you know his name?”

  “Toombs. Gregory Toombs.”

  “Can you give me a description?”

  “He’s nearly forty, I think. Dark-haired. Women seem to find him irresistible.”

  “So Cira favored his attentions?” She watched him. His reaction would tell her a great deal, whether he’d known the girl better than he claimed.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did he come on strong?”

  Mr. Gideon considered. “To a girl half his age? Yes, I believe so.”

  “Do you have any idea where we can find him?” This was the final question and the most important one.

  “No,” he said. “That’s the odd thing. I haven’t seen him since Cira disappeared.”

  Could this be the lead they’d been waiting for? Perhaps the actor had wanted to turn Cira into some form of macabre art. Perhaps her death was, in itself, theater. Ritsuko was already mentally making plans to circulate a picture of Toombs.

  A happy shiver worked its way through her; her career might not be over after all. This was another piece of the puzzle, and she believed the solution must lie in hard work, logical thinking, and methodical investigation. So instead of going home, she went back upstairs to search the files on Greg Toombs. Fortunately, it wasn’t so late that the Records department would be closed.

  The commander arched both brows when he saw her stride into the duty room. “You’re not very good at following orders, Ritsuko.”

  “New lead. A man from the Royale came down with a tip regarding Miss Aevar and an actor. I suspect he didn’t want his colleagues to see him as an informer.”

  “Understandable,” Gunwood admitted. “Very well, you’re clear to pursue this, but promise me you’ll rest sometime soon.”

  “I will.” As soon as we catch this maniac. “After I check with Records.”

  After filling out the form, she took it downstairs personally, hoping the clerk would be kind enough to get into the archives immediately. The woman on duty looked tired and overworked, much as Ritsuko felt. Further complicating matters, she had a backlog of document requests all over her desk. Most male inspectors would respond to this by barking; Ritsuko took another tack.

  “I worked in this department for years. Why don’t you let me help you get caught up? Unless the filing system has changed. I don’t want to make more work for you.”

  The other woman stared up at her with exhausted eyes, pale in the gaslight; she looked queasy as well. “Why would you do that for me?”

  There was no point in pretending altruism. “Because I’ll get what I need sooner.”

  A smile creased the clerk’s wan face. “The system hasn’t changed. Come on back.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE DAY WAS WELL ADVANCED BY THE TIME MIKANI ROLLED out of bed.

  Damned be. No point in going to HQ at this hour. Which was just as well. The case had run him ragged, giving him no chance to tend to the little civilities of life. After a quick bath to soothe the bruises from the fight at the warehouse, he got his walking stick, inspected it for damage, then unsheathed the blade to oil and clean it. He propped it against the desk and saw some unanswered letters from his sisters, so he took the chance to reply.

  That done, he went into the kitchen to make the week’s bread. While it was baking, he went to the mirror station to post his sisters’ letters and sent a quick message to let his partner know he’d see her at the theater for the 6 P.M. interview they’d scheduled with Leonidas the other night.

  Later, Mikani met his partner down by the stage at the Royale. Rehearsal was in full swing; though the dancers weren’t in costume, they seemed to have mastered more of their routines. There was less yelling from Miss Wright, at any rate. He glanced around in search of their quarry. Leonidas was a riddle he meant to solve; this time, neither good manners nor procedure would get in
the way of figuring out why the Royale owner felt like so much nothing. As Ritsuko had said, just like the machine.

  Mikani tilted his head and listened for the absence that marked Leonidas. Like a hound after his prey, it took him only a moment to trace the eddying lack of trail of the owner, heading somewhere backstage. “This way.” With a brief glance to Ritsuko, he headed in, smiling absently at those he gently shouldered past. “He’s in the office, I think. Wright’s with him.” The flare of the choreographer deepened Leonidas’s shadow, rendering it more tangible.

  He led the way, as they’d visited once before, and found the two waiting. Ritsuko greeted them politely with a handshake while he stood back and tried to read the prevailing mood. The owner’s interference made the whole room fuzzy; his partner barely registered, between Wright and Leonidas. But he could tell the choreographer was nervous, her mood flickering.

  “Mr. Leonidas. Thank you for granting us this interview.”

  “Unless I craved more invasions to my privacy, I had little choice but to comply. Aurelia made it clear you won’t simply go away.”

  “Speaking of which.” Ritsuko turned to Miss Wright. “While I appreciate your desire to support your friend, I’m afraid you must go about your business. This shouldn’t take long.”

  It was the nicest method of saying go away that Mikani had ever heard.

  He waited for Miss Wright to give Leonidas one last long look and leave, before turning to the theater owner. “Miss Aevar worked as an assistant in the costume department. Were you two acquainted?”

  “I knew her by sight. To the best of my recollection, we never spoke. She seemed shy.” Leonidas gestured, indicating his forbidding appearance. “I’m not one to put young women at their ease, either.”

  “Then you had no dealings with her outside the theater, and don’t know her circle of acquaintances?” Mikani frowned, listening for any shift in the man’s emotional barrier.

  “No, I told you I never spoke to her. I certainly didn’t pay attention to her friends.” He sounded terse, annoyed even, but due to the mask, it was impossible to verify via facial expression.