Bronze Gods Page 28

  Rather than drag out the farewell, she rose and briskly returned to the duty room, where she showed Shelton and Cutler their part of the letter from Gunwood. No point in enraging them. Perhaps this way, they would think she’d been removed from the case. Nothing would make these two happier, she suspected.

  “Good evening,” she said to Miss Wright, who had followed. “And keep safe.”

  This time, there was no delay to her departure. She left the CID without incident—and without her umbrella. By then, it was pouring, so she was a shivering mess when she reached the underground station. The air in the car wasn’t warm enough to do much good, so she was still damp when she got off at Southie.

  At least it’s dry inside my attaché case.

  It was still drizzling when she reached the street, just enough to set her teeth to chattering. Wish I had that toddy right now. But physical discomfort wouldn’t keep her from Mikani. Not when she had news like this. Oh, she could’ve trusted it to a courier, summoned him to the CID, but she wanted to see his face, watch his eyes light up.

  His cottage lay ahead, down the slope. It was slick and rocky going, but the windows were lit up and golden. Welcoming. The rain kicked up along with the wind as she neared the edge of the city. At this point, she was freezing, but she pressed on to rap hard at his kitchen door.

  When Mikani answered, he looked warm and tousled; his relaxed smile squeezed at her heart in the sweetest way . . . because she thought it was for her. For a mad moment, she considered walking into his arms, then she heard a woman’s voice calling from within, followed by a quiet laugh.

  “What’s wrong, partner?”

  Yes. Partner. And obviously there’s a problem, or I wouldn’t be here. I’m the work woman, not the home-and-hearth woman. Remember that, Ritsuko.

  She forced a triumphant smile—or what she hoped looked like one. “You mean what’s right. I have here a writ issued by Commander Gunwood, stamped with the Council’s seal, authorizing us to arrest Theron Nuall.” At his incredulous look, her grin widened. “What? It’s been a busy night.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “IDIOT. ASK HER IN. SHE’S GETTING DRENCHED.” Mikani started; he hadn’t heard Saskia come up behind him. “Or at least get an umbrella, if you’re rushing off pell-mell. Hello,” she added, while he stepped aside, “I’m Alexandra Braelan. Saskia.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” That was Ritsuko’s neutral tone.

  I’ve had more damned visitors in the past couple of weeks . . . maybe I should hire a housekeeper.

  He watched the two women, trying to put his finger on why he felt awkward. “. . . if you’d like to have some tea and a chat, I’ll go arrest this gent, shall I?”

  His partner shook Saskia’s proffered hand. As he took a closer look, he noticed her lips held a blue tinge, and he’d never seen her quite so wet or disheveled. “I’ll pass on the tea,” she said. “I’d rather get Nuall.”

  Saskia glared; Mikani held up a hand and smiled apologetically at Ritsuko. “Sit, dry off. I’ll get my things, then we’ll head out, partner.” He headed for his rooms while Saskia fussed over Ritsuko, trying to convince her to drink something warm. He grabbed his coat and checked the pocket for his sidearm, got hold of his walking stick.

  Hells. I still need a new hat.

  He grabbed an old spare coat on his way out. When he returned to the sitting room, Ritsuko was eyeing Saskia with exaggerated patience. Most people wouldn’t have been able to read her quiet annoyance, but he’d gotten used to her subtle expressions. Her mood washed over him, sharper than her mien let on.

  Well. I’d rather be out in the rain chasing a killer, I think.

  He slipped on his coat and offered Ritsuko the spare. “Shall we?”

  After pushing a hand through her damp hair, she shrugged into the jacket without protest. Her tone was polite when she addressed Saskia. “Good evening, Miss Braelan.”

  “To you as well, Inspector. Be careful out there.” As Mikani followed Ritsuko, Saskia gave him a smile that seemed far too amused. “I’ll let myself out, shall I?”

  What the hells did I miss?

  “Yes . . . sorry about . . .” He made a vague gesture, meant to apologize for their interrupted dinner. At least I cooked it, as promised.

  “Run. I’m used to it.” She turned away, and Mikani hurried to catch up with his partner, who was moving at a brisk pace away from the cottage.

  As he did, he said, “It’ll be faster to grab a carriage, I think. There’s a mirror station on the way; we can send out a call for some men to meet us there. If Nuall’s strong enough to haul those machines, I’m not sure we can take him down without reinforcements.”

  “I’ve already sent word. I suspected you wouldn’t want to wait until morning. I gave orders nobody’s to make a move until we arrive, though.”

  That’s my partner. Always two steps ahead.

  “Excellent. We can head straight in, then; I can get us there in just over half the time if you don’t mind ignoring a few traffic laws for the duration.”

  “Half the time . . . in the rain. And it’s dark.” Ritsuko sounded skeptical, then she shrugged. “Why not? I won’t let this monster get away again.”

  With his reckless driving, it took an hour and change to reach the villa. Over the course of that time, his partner told him what she’d learned about Miss Wright, including the woman’s family connections. He swore. If we’d known that sooner—

  Ah, well. We know now.

  “Gunwood’s making sure she’s safe?” he asked, as they pulled up to the gate.

  “As houses.”

  It was a cloudy night, dark away from the city lights, and the pale walls of the estate reflected the barely there moonlight. The ground was wet and muddy beneath his feet as he moved toward the gate, Ritsuko close behind him. Once he drew closer, he spotted a number of constables already waiting, but they were quiet enough that they shouldn’t have alerted anyone inside the walls.

  “Ready?” Ritsuko whispered.

  He nodded, signaling for the nearest constables to take position behind them. I hate raids. Something always goes wrong. Mikani couldn’t stop grinning, though, as he gave the silent order to breach the gate. Four men rushed forward with a reinforced ram, snapping the lock with a scream of tearing metal.

  “Go!” He ran in as the bearers moved aside. “Watch the sides. One team left, another right; looking for two male subjects.” I’m forgetting something. Oh, right. “CID! Official Council business! Come out, now!”

  At this point, there was usually a flurry of activity as the suspects realized they were about to be nabbed. This time, however, the villa gave back only silence. Stillness. Foreboding washed over him. To either side, the constables followed his orders, but they searched all the way up to the house and reported no signs of life.

  “Perhaps he’s inside,” Ritsuko said. “And not trying to run.”

  “With any luck, he tried to move the machine, and it fell on him. But I don’t feel lucky.” He looked around the garden, frowning. He knew we were coming. As soon as he went after Wright, he must’ve guessed we would come. “Let’s take a good look around, shall we? Even if he’s not here, he didn’t have time to clean everything, surely.”

  Ritsuko called, “You heard the man. Room-by-room search. Set aside anything you think might be of interest.”

  “What are we looking for?” a young constable asked.

  “Papers, correspondence, any sign of where he might have gone to ground. There might also be a servant hiding somewhere on the premises. We need to question him. If there are no further questions, get moving!” She moved toward the house then, head down.

  Something’s different. Mikani braced himself and opened his senses. Underlying the eager anxiety of the constables, he could barely discern the hum. It’s moving. Maybe he’s not gone after all. He tracked the sound, ignoring the men opening drawers and cabinets, upending furniture as they pored over the villa with thorough efficiency.
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br />   As the sound got louder, he checked his sidearm and paused at an open door. “CID!” He stepped around the corner to find Ritsuko searching a massive oak desk. “. . . but, you know that already.” He looked around, confused. “There’s something here.”

  When her gaze met his, her eyes were distracted. “Many somethings. Nuall has correspondence dating back three hundred years. Just . . . casually, in his side drawer. The ink’s a bit faded, but he kept the letters, as if he might reply.”

  He’s spry for an old man. Wonder if his correspondents are still alive, too.

  “Anything more recent?” He scanned the room slowly, trying to pinpoint the source of the grating reverberation in his head.

  “I—” She broke off, her face pale. He’d never seen that look before.

  “Ritsuko? What?” He joined her, pistol up to lay a hand on her shoulder. He tuned out the buzzing as her fear rippled against him through the contact.

  “This will sound crazy, but . . . something touched me. On the arm. It felt like the wind, almost, but it wasn’t.”

  “We’re chasing a seven-hundred-year-old bogeyman who’s killing innocent girls with dark magic. Think we’re past crazy, partner.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, instinctively stepping closer. The breeze she’d mentioned—that shouldn’t exist in a closed house—rippled the pages of a book sitting on the edge of the desk. The sense of another presence intensified, as if something was swirling directly around them, but Mikani spun, and he saw nothing. Then it vanished—or rather moved off. Away from them until it was just a tug at the edge of his consciousness.

  “Tell me I didn’t imagine that,” Ritsuko said. She seemed to reconsider. “Or tell me that I did. I’m ridiculously tired, so possibly—”

  “I think we found his manservant. Or some part of him . . . I don’t know.”

  Ritsuko angled her head, looking thoughtful. “When we were here last, did he ever actually speak to us?”

  “Not a word. Don’t think he can. I’d rather not think about the rest. Let’s see if we can find anything of use.” He felt the thing watching from the edges of the room.

  “That reminds me. I’ve already rummaged through the desk, and this is the one piece of correspondence that looks new enough to help us. Care to do the honors?” With a flourish, she offered him a sealed envelope.

  The disembodied servant became agitated. Mikani ignored him and cracked the seal. “I think you found something you weren’t supposed to. ‘I have the information. See me at once. Erebos.’ Hm. Have you heard that name before?”

  Ritsuko knitted her brows, obviously searching her memory. “Though I’m not certain, I believe he runs the shady end of business in the Patchwork. I don’t know his whereabouts offhand, though. Is there an address?”

  “Just a marker for the transmitting mirror station. Patchwork District, east side. Let’s hit up the local constabulary. They can point us at him.”

  “Very well. There’s only one question left, then.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Do you intend for us to sleep before we follow up?” By her half smile, she already knew the answer.

  • • •

  RITSUKO SNATCHED A little rest despite the jouncing of the cruiser. By the time it stopped, she felt incredibly disheveled and exhausted; her eyes burned, dry as bones, and her residual headache from the night before had turned into a full-on pounding in her temples. Gunwood probably wouldn’t approve of pushing herself so hard, but he’d made it clear getting Nuall off the streets was a top priority.

  Bronze gods, I feel rotten.

  She probably should’ve stayed awake to make sure Mikani didn’t drive them into a ditch, but he woke her when they entered the Patchwork District. It was the middle of the night, a prime time to be robbed, but with their weapons and a keen eye, they should be safe enough, even here. Ritsuko slid out of the cruiser and glanced at her partner.

  “Don’t know who’s in charge here. I’m not sure how cooperative they’ll be, so let’s be careful.” On the other side of the vehicle, Mikani stepped out and stretched.

  The constabulary for the Patchwork District was a squat, old building crammed between even-seedier-looking establishments. Even though it was past midnight, light seeped from blackened windows along the street. A nervous-looking young officer was guarding the door, ensconced in a cramped, barred booth next to the entrance. The tents, pavilions, and jury-rigged construction were in constant flux; the only permanent structures seemed to be the constabulary and the taller, scarred building that housed the mirror station. A few blocks north, the shadow of the Patchwork’s looming warehouses and repurposed buildings was a dark backdrop to the tent city.

  At this point, she wanted a warm bath and her bed almost as much as she’d like to lock Nuall up and throw away the key. Her clothes were still damp, clinging to her skin in the clammiest and most unpleasant way. There was a reason she always made sure she was tidy and unruffled. Men were more inclined to take her seriously if she didn’t look like a wet kitten.

  Nonetheless, she marched to the guardhouse and flashed her credentials. “I need an address for Erebos. It’s urgent.”

  The young man started, his gaze darting between her credentials and the street. “Oh. I, yes. But first, I need to check with the officer of the shift, ma’am, and he’s out at the moment. Maybe if you would care to wait . . . or return in the morning?” He gave a hopeful smile. His eyes had a hard time focusing on her; they kept twitching away.

  “Kid’s on something,” Mikani whispered. “Thorn, maybe.”

  Ritsuko searched her memory for what she’d heard about the stuff. There were lots of chemicals with fanciful names; House scions preferred the expensive ones, but the poor had their own habits and vices, too. Thorn was a hallucinogen—cheap, dirty and quite addictive. Unlike Dreamers, she’d never heard of anyone successfully shaking Thorn, once it dug in. Hence the name.

  At this point, Ritsuko was in no mood to be polite. So she leaned both arms on the counter, got up in the constable’s face, and said, “You can get me that address right now, or I’ll wait until the shift officer returns. Then we’ll chat about why you smell like you’ve been smoking blackthorn all night.”

  The gate officer blanched, then shook his head vehemently. “You don’t know what you’re asking, you’re not—”

  “You heard the inspector, boy. Move.” Mikani tapped the bar with the handle of his walking stick, calling the kid’s focus. “You don’t want to make her mad. Trust me.”

  The panicked constable looked at Ritsuko, then scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Fine, just get out of here, please.” He offered the address with trembling fingers.

  “Excellent. Thanks for your cooperation.” She took it, scanned the locale, and headed east. “Looks like he’s fairly brazen, operating a scant six blocks from here. They must be on his payroll.”

  “He’d use the locals to keep rivals in check. The district’s fairly quiet since there are no gang conflicts.” She was conscious of him close behind her, his walking stick tapping on the rough cobblestones. “Pragmatic, if not entirely what the Council intended, I’m sure.”

  Ritsuko set a bruising pace, a near run; and it took only moments to cross the necessary streets and make the turns. She surveyed the run-down structure, noting the number of stories and how many windows. From this vantage, she couldn’t spot all the exits, and a man like Erebos probably had bolt-holes all over the place.

  Like a rat.

  “He’ll have to forgive us for calling after business hours. How should we play this?”

  Presuming he’s even here.

  Mikani looked up and down the street and shrugged. “We were spotted as soon as we arrived at the constabulary. So let’s knock?” With a grin, he struck at the door. “Mr. Erebos! Need a word!”

  After some muffled sounds, the door opened wide, answered by a large man with colorful tattoos up and down his arms. He tapped a lead pipe into his palm in silent exp
ectation. Ritsuko took that to mean they’d better have a good reason for showing up.

  Three men sat behind him at a table, cards strewn before them. From the combined stink of hard liquor and smoke, a gaming session must’ve been in full swing. Or maybe that was how all thugs smelled at this hour; she didn’t have the practical experience to be sure. She nudged Mikani, a silent signal telling him he should do the talking. These eyes didn’t look friendly, and anything she said might cause a fight.

  “Gentlemen.” Her partner stepped forward, planting his walking stick firmly between his feet. “Frightfully sorry to intrude on your revels. But we’ve the need to speak to your boss. A friendly chat would be much easier than going through official channels, so what do you say one of you goes and rousts him?”

  The nearest man stood slowly while the rest rumbled and shifted, exchanging dark looks. The tattooed doorman slowly circled behind them.

  Mikani smiled. “Well.” He whirled, thrusting the tip of his walking stick into the throat of the man behind them. As the doorman staggered in pain, Mikani cracked the stick across the nearest man’s cheek, kicking him back into his stumbling friends.

  Before they had the chance to swarm him, Ritsuko drew her weapon. “I’m truly not in the mood for this. I bet I could shoot at least three of you before anyone could get to me. Or you could go get your boss. On my word, we just want to talk. He’s not a person of interest.”

  Mikani leaned closer to the men. “I’d wager on all four, actually. She’s fast.”

  With a huffed sigh and a muttered word that sounded like bitch, the tattooed one broke from the pack and loped toward some shadowed stairs. Ritsuko didn’t lower her sidearm until she heard footsteps returning. From the sound of them, it was more than one man. Good.

  She couldn’t make out much of the boss’s features, but he summoned them with a gesture. “We’ll speak upstairs. Don’t mind their diligence. I pay them for precisely that.”

  Her partner bowed to the men and motioned for her to keep her gun ready. Erebos turned and led the way up the rickety steps to an office perched above the main warehouse space. Mikani stayed by the door, keeping an eye on the men below. She passed him to step into a surprisingly opulent office with silken carpets and expensive crystal touches. None of it was tasteful, though, or matched in any particular design scheme. In that regard, it suited the man settling behind his desk with that desperate clutch at refinement, where none of the pieces lined up quite right.