Magic Lost, Trouble Found

Chapter 6

You know it’s going to be a bad day when you can’t get privacy inside your own head.

I knew it’d only be a matter of time until someone came looking for me. When that time came, I had hoped that someone would trail me at a discreet distance. Aside from being invasive and rude, mind touching was just icky. Not to mention having somebody popping into your head starts to wear on you after a while. It makes you wonder which thoughts are yours and which ones have been planted and fertilized by someone else. After last night, my own imagination was doing a fine job of shoveling fertilizer all by its lonesome. It didn’t need any help.

Since it wasn’t an actual speaking voice, I couldn’t put a name to it. But the slimy trail it left behind left no doubt that it was a Khrynsani shaman. A certain elven Guardian had already put in an appearance, so why should the goblins be left out?

Ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. As uncomfortable and disgusting as it felt, I let whoever-it-was putter around for a little while. Too long and he would see everything I saw—and know precisely where I was. He wasn’t going to be there that long. But the longer he was there, the easier it would be for me to slam my mind’s door on his figurative fingers. I was overdue for some fun.

I ducked down a side street and stopped. It was early, so it was empty. I’d never been able to dispel a mind intruder and walk at the same time. Not coordinated enough, I guess. I stilled my thoughts and waited. My visitor was impatient, so I didn’t have to wait long. My action was rewarded by a pained shriek from the other side.

Visitor gone. Problem solved. For now. I knew he’d be back, and he’d probably bring a friend or two with him—or his boss. Sarad Nukpana must have either been a late sleeper or busy getting in a little prebreakfast torture. Before he had some time to spare for me, I was going to do everything I could to make sure my mind wasn’t such an interesting destination, or myself such an irresistible target.

One big way to do that would be to take off the amulet. Not recommended under normal circumstances, but I had been thinking. If I had the white stone box the amulet came in, half of my problem might solve itself. Quentin had dropped the box when the Khrynsani shamans came through the Gate. Through my link with Quentin, I had seen that there were runes carved into the surface—runes that were probably containment spells. If I could find that box, I might be able to take the amulet off. I’d worry later about what to do with an amulet-in-a-box. One problem at a time.

First stop, Nigel’s house. I’d done work for the city watch, and counted several officers as friends. I didn’t think it’d be all that difficult to talk my way into the house. Finding the box and having my idea work was another thing, not to mention a slim hope, but at this point I’d take what I could get. At the very least, it put a spring in my step for the rest of the way to Nigel’s house.

I took a shortcut through Brightleaf, the Elven District’s oldest and most elegant section. Trouble rarely came to Brightleaf, and on the rare occasions when it did, it had the decency to use the back door. The old blood disliked disruptions to their well-ordered lives, and maintained bodyguards to ensure it didn’t taint their doorsteps. High-walled gardens further insulated them from the baser elements. If they couldn’t make trouble go away, they at least went to great lengths to pretend it didn’t exist.

Just because I didn’t care to be around most elven aristocrats, didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate their taste. Mermeia was built on a marsh, but a stroll through Brightleaf convinced you otherwise. It was amazing what a lot of money and a little magic could do. Aristocratic elves had a thing for trees, and the more the merrier. Since this section of Mermeia didn’t have enough for them, the elves had planted additional trees. Now Brightleaf looked like a woodland park in the middle of the city. The flowers of the kembaugh tree attracted fireflies, and I had to admit it made for a pretty sight at night with all the twinkling lights. All in all, a nice way to live if you could afford it.

As I walked along the cobbled and tree-lined avenue that ran next to the Old Earl’s Canal, I caught an occasional glimpse of shaded courtyards through ornate—and securely locked—gates. Mermeia’s canals rose and fell with the tide, and the smell along with it. Not in Brightleaf. An elaborate system of filters had been installed at the entrance to every canal where it entered Brightleaf. The water was always pristinely clean, and smelled the same way.

A lone boatman leisurely poled his way down the canal. He sang as he went, a simple tune I had heard boatmen sing on canals all over the city. His voice was pleasant enough, but not really all that memorable. That was what I heard. What I felt flowing quietly under his song was something else entirely. Paladin Mychael Eiliesor was up early. I wasn’t the only one with a morning mind visitor, but the boatman seemed oblivious. Unlike the Khrynsani shaman, Eiliesor didn’t invite himself into my head, and using the boatman’s voice wasn’t all that invasive either. As far as doing something like that went, it was actually quite polite. It was also sneaky. The Guardian wasn’t inside my head, so I couldn’t do a thing to get rid of him. Eiliesor could follow me anywhere in the city using the same trick with any susceptible passerby.

I didn’t feel like being followed. Time for a little sneakiness of my own. I felt bad about involving the boatman, but I’d feel worse if Eiliesor tracked me long enough to locate me physically. I didn’t know if I could break Eiliesor’s contact with the boatman, but I could sure give him something else to think about. I could move small objects with my mind, and a gondola pole was a small object. I concentrated, yanked, and the boatman took a swim. When the baffled boatman managed to heave himself back into his gondola, his sputtering sounded a lot like a certain Guardian commander.

I grinned and darted around the corner and out of sight. Mission accomplished.

Nigel’s townhouse must be crawling with city watch by now. Considering who and what Nigel was, Janek Tawl would probably be in charge of the investigation. And the hands-on type that he was, Janek would be overseeing things himself. If that was the case, I should be able to talk my way into the house for a little investigating of my own.

After that, I’d put myself out of circulation for a few hours at one of Markus’s safehouses. The peace and quiet would be welcome. A nap, a bath, and a decent meal wouldn’t hurt, either.

I ducked out of sight once I crossed the canal at Wormall Mews. This part of the Sorcerers District was a rabbit’s warren of twisting streets and alleys that no one was going to follow me through—at least no one using feet. And if someone did pick up my trail, it was broad daylight, I was armed in more ways than one, and if my follower wanted a fight, I was more than willing.

The bridge across the canal to Pasquine Street was busier than usual for that time of day. Hardly surprising considering what had happened there last night. I stepped to the railing to allow a cart to pass, and a flash of red caught my eye. Pasquine Street had the dubious distinction of being the closest point in the Sorcerers District to the goblin embassy. The Khrynsani banner had joined the royal standard already flying over the compound. I guess after last night, there wasn’t much use in Sarad Nukpana denying that he and his boys were in town. The amulet thrummed under my shirt.

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered.

Wormall Mews was thick with small businesses popular with nonsorcerers. Fortune-tellers, alchemists, astrologers, and the like did a healthy business parting the local Mermeian population from their coin. Most of the proprietors were only marginally talented, but a convincing performance went a long way toward building a successful business.

I walked the two blocks down Pasquine, keeping to the side of the street opposite Nigel’s house. I spotted Janek talking to someone who looked like he might be one of Nigel’s wealthy merchant neighbors. Janek saw me about the same time.

Chief Watcher Janek Tawl was human, Brenirian by birth, and a watcher by natural talent. People trusted Janek, even people who weren’t particularly trustworthy themselves. His knack for getting results had put him on the fast track to second in command of the watch in the Sorcerers District. That was as far as he wanted to go. Janek liked being on the streets with the people. He looked like a watcher. It wasn’t just that he was built like a soldier, all ropy muscle—it was an attitude. An attitude that said “Don’t even think about trying that in my District.”

Janek had helped me in the past, and I had given him more than a few leads. He was probably hoping for one or two more this morning, but I didn’t see myself being helpful, at least not yet. Janek could toss me in jail for where I had been last night, what I had done, what I was wearing around my neck, and how it had gotten there.

I crossed the street. One of the watchers charged with keeping the curious away moved to head me off. I pushed back my hood just enough for him to see my face, and he waved me through. Sometimes it’s nice to be recognized.

More than a few seekers found their way onto the city watch. Logical enough, I guess, since things and people manage to get themselves lost on a daily basis. The money seekers made on the watch wasn’t good, but it was steady. I’d admit to being tempted from time to time, but never any more than that. I’ve always had problems with orders—especially the taking and following part.

From what I could overhear, Nigel’s neighbor didn’t realize what had happened until this morning. Janek took a few notes, thanked the man for his time, and strolled over to me, shaking his head in amazement.

“Goblins demolish the bedroom, break most of the windows on the back of the house, and have a full-scale battle in the garden, and Master Owen doesn’t hear a thing.”

It was my turn to be amazed. “He was home?”

“Yes. He said he slept through the whole thing.”

“You believe him?”

“No one could sleep through that. Though from what we found in the garden and canal out back, part of me can’t blame him for wanting to turn a blind eye.”

“That bad?”

Janek tucked a small notebook into his belt. “Pretty grim. No one liked Nigel, but more than a few powerful people are suddenly interested in his well-being now that he’s missing.”

“Nigel’s missing?” That was news.

The watcher nodded. “And when powerful people are interested, the commissioner’s interested. Which means I’m supposed to find Nigel, and fast.”

“Easier said than done this week.”

“Yeah, he picked a hell of a time to make himself vanish,” Janek said. “The city’s crawling with foreign nobles, so it’s not like we don’t already have our hands full. Everyone’s working overtime, and the local criminals are the only ones who don’t mind.” He chuckled. “To add insult to injury, they’re making more money at it than we are. First time to the big city for a lot of the nobles, and they don’t have the sense to keep their purses and jewels to themselves. Our locals just can’t resist that much temptation.”

I could attest to the craziness. Alix had been run ragged for the past month with costume fittings for Mermeian social climbers invited to the goblin king’s masked ball. Costumes weren’t her normal business, but most of the better robe designers had expanded their services to meet the sudden demand. It was the only chance some would get to rub elbows with goblin royalty, and they weren’t about to miss the opportunity. It was the aura of danger even more than the prestige that drew many of them to the ball, but they’d be better off—and a lot safer—if they just stayed at home.

“Where was Nigel last night?” I asked.

“He was scheduled to do a séance for the Marquis of Timur. The marquis’ gondola arrived at Nigel’s dock at nine bells last night. Nigel got in, the gondola pulled away. Neither he, the boatman, nor the gondola have been seen since.”

“What did the marquis have to say?”

“All he could do is complain that he was missing his best gondola and boatman. I think he was more upset by losing the gondola.”

“Kidnapping?”

“That’s my guess. I’ve got men out looking for Nigel, the boatman, and the gondola, but so far we’ve come up empty on all counts. When I got here this morning, I found my men busier keeping people out than gathering evidence.”

“The curiosity factor’s bound to be high,” I said.

A grin spread across Janek’s unshaven face. “I wouldn’t call these people curious. Desperate is more like it. Riggs said they were doing a pathetic job of covering it up. A couple of them turned out to be servants of some rather highborn ladies—and a few highborn gentlemen. If Riggs was the bribe-taking type, he could have earned his retirement this morning.”

I remembered the viewing screen concealed in Nigel’s bedroom wall. I was willing to bet Janek’s men were going to find all sorts of interesting evidence, and most of it probably wouldn’t have a thing to do with last night. Good for me. Bad for the local aristocracy.

“You heard what happened?” Janek asked.

“Everyone’s heard.”

I didn’t give anything away with that. One good thing about lack of sleep, you only had one expression—tired. Janek was wearing the same one.

“Nigel’s not too popular with the locals, goblins included,” the watcher continued. “There are probably more than a few people waiting to help him into permanent retirement.”

“You think the goblins expected Nigel to be at home?”

Janek shook his head. “I’d say the break-in was for robbery, but with Nigel missing, there’s no way to find out for sure just what was stolen, if anything. One hell of a fight is about the only thing we can say for sure happened.”

He’d get no argument from me on that one.

“That and a Gate ripped into Nigel’s upstairs front hall. Messy one, too. Rush job, and they didn’t stay around to clean up the residuals.”

I knew it. “Any idea who made it?”

“The Khrynsani are in town, so they’re definitely suspect. But they’re not the only ones in Mermeia capable of creating a Gate.”

“Any mages or sorcerers missing lately?” I asked. “Besides Nigel?”

Janek knew where I was going with that. The person killed to fuel a Gate’s creation didn’t have to be magically talented, but it made for a stronger and more stable Gate if they were. If Sarad Nukpana had gotten his hands on a magic user, punching a hole into Nigel’s townhouse would have been a lot easier. The pickings were plentiful in Mermeia. Retired Conclave mages, sorcerers, seekers, healers, mediums, exorcists, conjurors—the list went on and on, from truly gifted individuals making an honest living, to the mediocre only looking to part the gullible from their coin. In Mermeia, there were ample customers for both—and both offered ample victims if a goblin grand shaman was out gathering Gate fuel.

Janek’s expression darkened. “Nigel’s the sixth to vanish this week.”

I blinked. “The sixth?”

“A medium vanished two days ago and a healer was reported missing just this morning. The other three were street magicians, simple folk the watch know.” Janek’s jaw clenched. “Regardless of who they are and what they do, they’re my people, my responsibility, and all the paper pushers downtown care about is making a good impression on the dignitaries in town for the week. I get pressured to solve the cases, and do it quick, but stay quiet while I do it.”

Anything could have happened to any of them, but this week Sarad Nukpana had come to town.

In addition to being one of Mermeia’s best watchers, Janek Tawl was a respectable, and respected, sorcerer. It was one of the reasons he worked in the District. Crimes involving sorcerers were best investigated by someone with more than a passing knowledge of magic, and compassion for its practitioners. Janek had both.

I looked around at the onlookers swarming around Nigel’s townhouse. Give it another hour and it’d be a full-fledged circus. “Good luck.”

“We’ll need it.”

“Any chance you’ll be able to trace the Gate back to its source?”

“Possibly. It wasn’t that messy of a job. But anyone talented enough to open a Gate would have enough talent to clean up after himself better than that—or so you’d think.”

Unless he were annoyed or injured—or just didn’t care.

“The goblins who ripped the Gate must have taken their casualties back with them,” Janek said. “There’s too much blood for the number of bodies we’ve found. Apparently they tore a Gate right into the house to get in and left the same way.”

“That took a lot of effort,” I said.

“Blew every house ward Nigel had right to hell.”

So much for why Quentin hadn’t set off any alarms.

“Once all hell broke loose, I’d imagine neatness didn’t count for much,” I said.

“True.” Janek agreed. “Where were you last night? You’ve never struck me as the curious onlooker type.”

It was a casual question, but Janek never did or said anything casually. I let an easy smile spread across my face. It’s a talent I’ve developed over the years. “You suspect me of being in Nigel’s garden with a small army of goblins?”

He shrugged. “You know a lot of goblins. If there was trouble, and if you weren’t in it, you’d at least know about it.” His green eyes narrowed slightly. “But, if you knew something you could tell me, you would.”

Over the years we’d known each other, we had on more than one occasion known something about what the other was investigating. And on more than one occasion, we couldn’t immediately share that information. Once circumstances untangled themselves, we shared what we knew. My circumstances were about as tangled as they could get. Janek’s weren’t much better with the watch commissioner breathing down his neck.

“If I find out something myself, I’ll share it if I can,” I promised.

It wasn’t a lie, because I didn’t know anything that would help Janek with his investigation of Nigel’s disappearance.

“Any chance I could see the bedroom and hall where the Gate was opened?”

Janek shrugged. “I don’t see any reason why not. You might find something we missed.”

That’s what I was hoping for. Something along the lines of a small, white box.

Janek wasn’t joking when he said the bedroom was destroyed. Raised on the streets of Mermeia, Quentin knew how to fight and fight dirty. When cornered, the dirtiness escalated tenfold. That he was surprised by several Khrynsani shamans only made matters worse. After Quentin left the room through the nearest window, the Khrynsani and their underlings had conducted their own search. Judging from the destruction, they had to be quick about it, and they weren’t happy with what they didn’t find. Janek was lucky he had a room left to investigate. But he didn’t know what he was looking for. I did.

The floor was covered with broken bits and pieces of what were once Nigel’s personal possessions. I gave a low, impressed whistle for Janek’s benefit, then scanned the floor between the bed and shattered windows for the white stone box.

Nothing. I tried not to make my disappointment too obvious. Fortunately, Janek was talking to a young watcher posted by the door and didn’t notice. The compartment concealed in the headboard was open, the contents strewn across the bed.

No white stone box.

The bed had been moved at an angle and searched. It was massive, so I knew Quentin hadn’t moved it, and that left only the Khrynsani and their temple guards. They knew that Quentin had taken the amulet, so the object of their search could only be one other thing. The same thing I was looking for. And from the absence of that thing anywhere in the room, I’d say they found it. Damn.

A gleam of blue metal caught my eye next to the bed. I walked over and knelt next to it, but was careful not to touch it. Things were looking up. Maybe I could tell Janek who his culprits were without incriminating myself.

“What did you find?” Janek asked.

“Your house wreckers left a calling card,” I told him.

Janek knelt next to me. “It’s a medallion. Nigel has a lot of those.”

“Not one like this.”

“Like what?”

“This is goblin.”

He started to reach for it.

“Khrynsani,” I said.

Janek’s hand stopped midreach. My friend didn’t get to where he was by being stupid.

“You’re sure?”

I could feel the malice oozing from it—and so could the amulet around my neck. I was also treated to some sibilant goblin chanting. I could hear it. Janek couldn’t. I knew goblin. I knew what they were saying, and it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear. That particular piece of jewelry had been worn by a very bad goblin while he did some very bad things. And recently. My guess was Sarad Nukpana’s Gatekeeper. Or Nukpana himself. The chain was broken—maybe Quentin had helped him remove it.

“Unfortunately positive,” I said.

“Someone was careless.”

Janek turned to the watcher who remained steadfastly by the door. For the most part, Janek’s people were either sorcerers themselves or sensitives, those who were acutely aware of the presence of sorcery, but without talent themselves. From his clear desire to be elsewhere, I’d guess the young human was the latter. I didn’t blame him in the least. Khrynsani magical leftovers gave me the creeps, too.

“Willem, go downstairs and have Riggs bring up a containment box.” As the young man left, Janek lowered his voice so only I could hear. “So, you think I should pay a visit to the goblin embassy this afternoon?”

His words said one thing. His tone said something else entirely. Janek wasn’t asking my professional opinion. He was asking my opinion based on what I had seen when I was here last night, or my close association to whoever had. I glanced at him. He was wearing his best fess-up look.

“You wouldn’t happen to have an opinion on why the Khrynsani would bother to rip a Gate into this house, would you?” he asked.

I indicated the wreck of a bedroom. “They seemed to be looking for something.”

“Know what it was?”

“I have no idea what the thing was, or why they want it.” That definitely wasn’t a lie. Other than an amulet, I didn’t know what it was, what it did, or why they wanted it. But finding out had become my new life’s goal.

Janek took a small sealed envelope out of his cloak’s inner pocket. “Considering who sent this, I thought you might.”

I took the envelope from him. There was no return address and the seal had the outline of a dove in the center. That told me who it was from. Markus Sevelien. No one who knew Markus would ever equate him with a dove. Maybe that’s why he used it; maybe it was just his twisted sense of humor. My vote was for the latter.

“That red-headed messenger of Markus’s brought it,” Janek said. “Wonder how he knew to bring it here?”

I cringed inwardly and broke the seal and opened the envelope. “You know Markus is good.”

“Yeah, he’s good. So good he knew where you were going even before you got here.”

From what I’d told him in the note I’d sent from the safehouse, Markus had to have known I’d come back to Nigel’s. I’d be willing to bet an identical note had been delivered to the senior-ranking watcher working the crime scene at Stocken’s warehouse. Markus liked to be thorough.

I tried to ignore the scowl that had taken up residence on Janek’s face and scanned the note. After a quick read, my face must have been a perfect match for his.

Those few words scratched on parchment made me officially homeless. There were no safehouses available as of this morning. They were all being used by elven diplomats and their retinues arriving in town for the goblin king’s masked ball. No doubt Phaelan and Quentin had been asked to leave if they hadn’t already cleared out. For his sake, I hoped Bertran had asked Phaelan nicely. I sighed. The pack that hung over my shoulder was small, but it had suddenly gotten a whole lot heavier.

Janek drew breath for the question I knew was coming. Just then we heard someone running up the stairs. It was Riggs.

“Sir, come quick. They’ve found a body in the canal.”

I blew out my breath. Saved by the corpse.

The corpse in question was Nigel Nicabar.

The watchers had collected the bodies found in Nigel’s house, garden, and canal, and put them in the greenhouse located at the back of the garden. The necromancer’s talents weren’t with living things, so the greenhouse’s tables were pretty much empty—at least of plants. Dead goblins lay under sheets and tarps. I couldn’t help but feel that Nigel would have approved. What he wouldn’t have approved of was being included among them. Nigel wouldn’t have been caught dead surrounded by goblins, yet that’s exactly how and where he was. I don’t think he would have appreciated the irony.

Apparently the watch had run out of things to cover bodies with. From what I saw in that greenhouse, our fight with the temple guards was a lovers’ spat compared to what the goblins had done to each other after we left. Part of me wanted to run out of there screaming, but the other part couldn’t help but notice that while elves turn light gray after death, like living goblins; dead goblins turn pale, like living elves. Interesting. Also interesting was that all of the bodies wore Mal’Salin house badges on their armor, a detail I couldn’t see last night. That confirmed that I’d stepped in the middle of a bad case of sibling rivalry.

“They’re all Mal’Salin.” I tried to sound surprised. Act ignorant, get information. It’d worked for me before.

“Yep,” Janek said.

“I know the Mal’Salins aren’t exactly one big, happy family, but isn’t this a bit excessive?”

He ran his hand over his eyes. “Yep.”

The weariness evident in that one little word told me that something else had just been dumped on Janek’s already overflowing plate.

“Care to elaborate on that ‘yep’?” I asked.

“Rumor has it the king’s little brother is in town.”

Crap. Sometimes I hated it when I was right. So much for it being just the prince’s allies acting on his behalf. Looked like Prince Chigaru had decided to make a personal appearance. The goblins have a saying about their royal family: blood is thicker than water, and Mal’Salins aren’t shy about drowning each other in either.

“You think half of the dearly departed belong to the prince?” I asked.

“That’s my theory. Like I need an assassination attempt this week. Though if Prince Chigaru is in town to take down his big brother, at least he’ll probably do it in the Goblin District.” Janek flashed a grim smile. “Not my jurisdiction. Unfortunately their guards brought their feud across the canal into Nigel’s garden, which is my jurisdiction.”

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.”