As he trudged across his darkened room, Jasper Windward brooded
drowsily on
the effects of old age. 'Here we are, masters of the mystic forces
which
bind the world together,' he thought, 'and still prisoners to the
flesh.' He
was returning from his second trip to the jakes that night, having
indulged
in a few too many cups of wine over dinner. He sat heavily on the edge
of
his bed and glared at the timepiece across the small room. Powered by
arcane
forces, the dual arms marched their endless courses past the gilded
numerals. Judging by the position of the longer hourly arm, with its
stylized topaz sun perched at the end, he had a few hours yet before it
would be time to prepare his shop for the day's business. Windward
heaved a
weary sigh and settled back, mentally resolving to hire an apprentice
soon.
Much as he seemed to enjoy complaining about the ravages of age, time
had
yet to blunt Jasper's notoriously keen hearing. The crash of delicate
crystal breaking, muted as it was by distance and the stout bedchamber
door,
was enough to bring him upright. 'Thieves!!' He immediately reached for
the
wand he kept by his bedside. Several of his fellow dealers in arcana
had
been robbed of late, and he held no doubt such an intruder was the
source of
the noise. Rather than the terror most of his associates expressed,
Windward
found a steadily rising anger within himself. Damned if he would sit by
while some hoodlum invaded his business and pawed through his
merchandise
like a beggar scrounging in offal! 'And when I'm done with him, I'll
find
that -- that pompous hedge-wizard and shove his "impermeable" wards
where
the wind doesn't blow!' Tightening his grip on the gnarled wand, he
stood
and walked to the door. Windward extinguished the softly glowing ball
of
magelight with a dismissive gesture and slowly pushed the door open.
At the far end of the short corridor was the shop floor. Moonlight
streamed
in through a single large window, lining the items on display. Moving
slowly, taking care to pick his feet up rather than shuffling, Windward
made
his way down the hall. He was forced to squint in the weak light, but
the
shop floor seemed deserted. The old man paused at the doorway at the
edge of
the moonlight. Wand held ready against his chest, barely daring to
breathe
as he strained to hear, he peered about. Determined to bring the
intruder
out, he strode out of the doorway glaring fiercely. "Who's there?" he
barked.
The effect was immediate, although not quite what Jasper would have
hoped
for. A sudden clatter drew his attention to the left. As he turned and
pointed the wand, an unseen force slammed into the shopkeeper. The wand
flew
aside as he flailed his arms, trying to recover his balance. To his
amazement, both hands struck a solid object -- the intruder, by the
feel of
it. Windward grabbed as firmly as he was able, dragging the invisible
thief
along as he stumbled. The opponent pushed one hand away, but Jasper
only
managed to latch on again. The pair continued to careen about, crashing
into
several valuable displays. Windward cringed at every collision, but
doggedly
held on. Fortunately for both of them, none of the more powerfully
enchanted
items were broken; it was unlikely the shop would survive if one of these had been damaged, and they
most
certainly would not.
Finally with a cry of frustration and one last mighty shove, the thief
broke
free. As he tumbled back, Windward's hand closed around a pendant
dangling
from his attacker's neck. The slender chain gave way as the man turned
and
fled. His head struck a wooden counter and stars burst across Jasper's
vision; the pendant was flung from his hand and came to rest in a pile
of
detritus. The last sight Jasper Windward would remember was that of his
front door seeming to burst open of its own accord.
It had been a busy day for Corporal of the Watch Keene Fëadîn, despite
the
fact that he was not yet two hours into his shift. Upon reporting for
duty
that morning, he had been summarily informed that his shift sergeant
had
been transferred. No one, including the senior inspector in charge of
the
station house, would admit to knowing the reason behind Sergeant
Eisenberg's
sudden departure. No qualified replacement was readily available, and
with
fellow squad leader Tate Baldwin away visitng family in another city,
Keene
was appointed to act in the sergeant's stead for the time being. His
"promotion" carried a number of burdens, many of which he had never
realized
the sergeant was responsible for. Although most of the matters were no
great
challenge for the able young watchman, the sheer volume to be dealt
with
seemed to expand until every spare minute was fiiled. When a message
runner
arrived with news of another arcana-shop break-in, Keene squashed a
glimmer
of perverse relief at the excuse to get away from the station.
By the time he arrived at Windward's Emporium, a small crowd had
gathered in
the street, curious about the presence of so many watch officers in
the
respectable shopping area. He gently nudged his way thorugh the small
throng
and stepped inside. Three officers from another squad were there
already,
two sifting through the debris of several displays while the other
attempted
to question the shop owner. She was having little success, as was the
flustered healer looking to to tend Jasper Windward's wounds. The old
man
was in a foul mood, dividing his attention and invective between the
two
young women. After a moment, one of the officers examining the wreckage
saw
Keene and approached. "Fair morning, Corporal Fëadîn," the man said
with a
sharp salute.
Keene returned the gesture. "To you as well, Officer Miller," he
replied.
"What have you learned so far?"
Miller sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Very little, I'm
afraid,
sir. It appears the thief came in through the front door, though
there's no
sign of violence to it." Keene turned and studied the jamb as well as
the
edge of the door itself. Neither appeared damaged in the least. "The
proprieter insists he had all of the wards amplified just last week,
but it
seems our boy found a way around. As near as I can tell, he simply
strolled
in and went about his business."
"Which would be what, exactly?" Keened asked. "Was he planning to
steal any
particular item? Are we even certain this was, in fact, only a
robbery?"
"Well, as to the second part, sir, the evidence does suggest." Miller
waved
a hand at the combative shopkeeper. "Frowm what Mr. Windward has told
us --
when he wasn't yelling at Bauer there -- the intruder seemed to have no
interest in violence until he was interrupted. And when he did fend off
Mr.
Windward, he fled the scene immediately. Unfortunately we're still not
sure
of what's missing." Turning away from Windward, Miller muttered, "The
old
fellow won't sit still long enough to for the healer to care for him,
and
she won't let him up to check the store. They've been at each other
since
she got here."
Keene nodded thoughtfully, considering how to resolve the situation.
After a
moment, he walked over to the trio. Tapping the watch officer on the
shoulder, he gestured for her to step back. "Excuse me, Mr. Windward,"
he
said firmly, cutting the healer off in the midst of her latest retort.
He
ignored her glare and bowed slightly.
"Who would you be, then?" the old man snapped. His face was bruised and
a
line of dried blood trailed down one cheek from under his thick white
hair.
"Can you get this she-beast away from me?"
Keene raised a hand to forestall the indignant healer's riposte.
"Please,
sir, she's only trying to assist you -- as are we." His calming tone
seemed
to relax both of them slightly. "I am Corporal Keene Fëadîn, senior
watch
officer for this investigation. If you could, Mr. Windward, please
recount
what occurred after you interrupted the intruder."
"The dog was invisible," Windward grumbled. "He jumped on me from the
left,
that corner there. I barely had time to get my arms up before he plowed
into
me."
Turning to look at the shop floor, Keene pictured the brawl. His gaze
traveled to the corner Jasper had indicated, an undisturbed area of the
otherwise chaotic shop. The third officer, a cadet by the name of
Goldsmith,
was there now, looking over the shelving. "Thank you, sir. That will be
all." The shopkeeper, baffled at his new questioner's brevity, opened
his
mouth as if to speak but could think of nothing to say. He ultimately
leaned
back against the counter he had collided with after his struggle with
the
thief and surrendured to the healer's ministrations.
Goldsmith acknowledged Keene's arrival with a salute even sharper than
Miller's, nearly bruising himself in the process. Keene found himself
stifling a chuckle at the youth's eager formality. He acknowledged the
salute with a nod and a friendly smile. "Tell me, Cadet," he asked
pleasently, "what do you see here?"
The trainee cleared his throat nervously. "Well, ah, Corporal, it
appears
the thief was in this area of the shop when Mr. Windward came out of
the
hall. There's no damage over here, with the exception of that crystal
globe." He pointed to a pile of rose-tinted shards on the floor in
front of
the shelves. "Judging from Mr. Windward's statement, that was the crash
he
awakened to." Goldsmith fell silent, but the look on his face made it
clear
he had more to say. Doubtless he was afraid of embarrasing himself;
most
cadets found even the single stripe of a corporal intimidating. Keene
motioned for him to continue. After a moment of deliberating, Goldsmith
seemed to have the words arranged to his satisfaction. "It's nothing I
can
really place my finger on, sir, but I'm certain whatever the thief
wanted
was here, in this section."
In his apparently cursory examination of the displays, Keene had
already
located what he believed to be the item in question. He was intrigued
by
Goldsmith's display of intuition, however, and refrained from pointing
out
what he had seen. "Can you be specific at all, Cadet?"
"It...it's only that it seems, sir," Goldsmith sighed, "as if nothing's
really missing anywhere else. Yes, a lot is broken, but if you look at
the
pieces compared to the displays it's clear that most of what was there
still
is -- only not all together." He smiled nervously at the small joke,
then
faced back toward the coner displays. "And something here feels...out
of
place. But I can't tell what or where exactly." Frustration began to
surface
in his voice as he stared at the magical trinkets.
Keene shook his head, truly impressed by Goldsmith's acuity. With time
and
training, he would become an excellent investigator. His inexperience
was
blinding him here, however. "Sometimes, Cadet Goldsmith, the answer
lies in
what the eye does not see." He pointed to an array of wands in a
glass-topped case, set in a fanlike pattern. "See here, this gap in the
set.
Perhaps intentional, until you notice the indentations in the cloth."
Goldsmith peered intently at the display. Sure enough, the cloth was
pushed
down slightly, as if an object had rested there. Keene turned back to
the
shopkeeper. "Mr. Windward," he called, "in this group of wands here,
could
you describe the fourth one in from the left?"
Having satisfied the healer he was fit, Jasper stood with one hand on
the
countertop. "Sure, a wand of purifying scent. About a handspan long,
grayish-green with some runes down the handle."
"Are you absolutely certain, sir?"
Windward bristled. "Of course I am! I know every piece in this shop!"
"Thank you, Mr. Windward," Keene responded, turning back to the
display. No
such wand was in or even near the base. "It would seem we have our
stolen
item." He was about to offer Goldsmith a word of encouragement over
having
failed to notice the wand when a cry of "Damnation!" brought their
attention
back to Windward. He was staring at Bauer, who dangled a white gold
pendant
from her hand. The old shopkeeper began chuckling, then laughing as the
other three officers converged on him.
"I must have forgotten when I cracked my head," Windward said when he
was
composed enough to talk. "Just before he pushed me away, I yanked that
chain
off his neck. The rotten snake didn't seem to realize it; he just took
off
as fast as he could go. I suppose that will give your diviners
something to
go on, eh?"
"It will indeed, sir," Keene said as he took the pendant from Bauer. It
seemed fairly nondescript, but the odds were good a diviner could
discern
its former owner's identity. "Excellent work, Officer Bauer."
A shadow suddenly appeared in the front doorway. Casting it was a large
man
dressed in an impeccable uniform, his tunic bearing the grade insiginia
of
Senior Inspector. Still clutching the necklace, Keene walked forward
and
saluted. "Corporal Keene Fëadîn, acting shift commander."
The inspector nodded, not bothering to return the salute. "I've little
time,
so this will be brief. This is the eighth such incident in this ward,
and
the fourth in this station's area, since the year began. As the lead
investigator, Sergeant Eisenberg -- your shift commander, I beileve --
has
proven completely incapable of achieving any measure of success. The
council
has therefor ordered that he be removed from his position, effective
immediately. As the next ranking officer present, you are hereby
charged
with leading this investigation in his stead. You will remain in this
post
until the case is solved or a more suitable replacement can be found."
Ignoring the stunned looks on the officers' faces, the inspector turned
and
began shoving his way through the crowd.
Keene was not quite prepared to let the matter rest, though. His
suspicions
as to the reason behind his sergeant's sudden disappearance had just
been
confirmed, and he was determined to defend his superior. Keene swiftly
caught up to the inspector and laid a hand on his shoulder. The man
glared
fiercely at him, but Keene refused to be deterred. "Sir, I mean no
disrespect, but what is happening here? Sergeant Eisenberg is more than
capable. The thief -- or thieves -- with which we are dealing have been
extremely efficient -- "
The inspector cut Keene off with a sharp gesture. "Your loyalty to your
sergeant is commendable, but the decision is made. Carry on." He
shrugged
Keene's hand from his epaulette and stormed away, the crowd now
actively
parting around him.
Keene turned to find the others standing in the entryway. Bauer, still
wide-eyed at the presence of such a high-ranking official, turned to
him.
"Corporal Fëadîn, why...why would they do this? It's like you said,
sir, the
sergeant knows what he's about. How could the council just dismiss him
like
that?"
"Simple, girl," Miller responded in a cynical tone. "It's not just
shops
getting burgled. The first two and one after were private collections.
The
nobility are getting skittish, so they decided Sergeant Eisenberg was
the
problem." Disgust was evident in his voice, and Keene shot him a
warning
glance. He held no great love for the city nobles, but some did, and
talking
so openly against them was a poor example for young Goldsmith.
"Nevertheless, we now have an advantage." Keene held aloft the pendant,
watching the abstract swirls gleam in the early morning sun. "Our thief
wasn't so cautious this time."
Miller cleared his throat and glanced aside. "Begging your pardon,
Corporal," he said, "but how much good will that do? Sergeant Goodbody
won't
be up and about for a week yet, and if you think Weaver is up to it..."
He
was referring to the city watch's chief diviner, who had been injured
recently during a bit of spell experimentation, and his
less-than-capable
assistant. Weaver, the youngest offspring of a minor noble, had been
granted
the post as a political concession. The young man considered himself a
fine
diviner, but in truth he was almost completely talentless. It was a
popular
joke among the watch that he was the only diviner who could cast a
spell to
learn someone's name and wind up forgetting his own.
Smiling at his subordinates, Keene pocketed the trinket. "Not to worry.
After his injury, Sergeant Goodbody left the name of a reputable
civilian in
case of an urgent matter. Once we've completed our report on this
morning's
incident, I will take the pendant there and learn what I may. Now," he
said,
guiding Goldsmith gently by the arm, "let's help Mr. Windward
straighten up
some and then get on with solving this business."
There were times when Channing despised her job, fitting as it was for
her
particular skills. She always had customers, she always learned
something
new or relearned something old, she always refined her spectacular
skills,
she always had excitement in her life. If Channing were any other
diviner,
she'd have nothing to grumble about. Unfortunately, she wasn't another
diviner, and she did grumble about it. Her customers asked stupid
things,
her knowledge only brought her trouble or headaches, her chicken still
embarrassed her despite having so many years of practice, and Channing
could
do without the excitement. She could definitely do without that.
Especially
the excitable people. This was one of those times that she was tempted
to
choose another profession.
"I want to th-thank you a-again for-for making me see th-the light,"
burbled
Meila Widad, bobbing up and down as if she wasn't quite sure what to do
with
her body when she thanked someone. Normally Channing didn't mind the
gratitude of her customers -- it fed her ego quite nicely to have it
flattered and petted like a cherished but respected pet -- and she
didn't
mind intimidating them until they stuttered, but when they thanked her
for
the umpteenth time and were apparently afflicted with a nervous
stuttering
disorder... Well, then it became plain annoying.
"Really, it was a mere trifle of my abilities, Miss Meila," Channing
replied
slowly, firmly, hoping that by slowing down her words she could somehow
beat
it into this girl-child's head to stop thanking her. Meila nodded and
smiled
faintly, eating up Channing's bluff hook, line and sinker, the silly
girl.
At lease she isn't trying to talk anymore, thought Channing irritably,
it
takes her five minutes to say one sentence! The divination itself must
have
taken thrice as long as it should have, and all because Meila was hung
up on
what she wanted to ask and how to ask it! To hurry the girl home before
she
opened her mouth again, Channing bowed, but only enough to imply she
had
done so without actually doing it. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have
other,
more important business to get to..." she trailed off suggestively. As
if to
support his Mistress' words, Tas clucked rapidly, glancing upwards at
the
wobbly girl the way a bird would regard a worm.
The girl nodded her head vigorously, looking just a wee bit chastened
and
yet, at the same time, proud of herself, as if Channing had just shared
a
wonderful secret with her. "A-a-a-aye." She took a step backwards
hesitantly, staring at Tas curiously for moment before turning around,
and,
with a swish of her skirts, was returning to the marketplace. Good
riddance.
Channing rubbed her temples wearily as she walked back into the
tent-like
structure that was her abode while she worked and sat down on the table
where her crystal ball sat innocently. Sometimes it wasn't worth the
trouble
of getting up in the morning when she dealt with people like that.
"A diviner's work is never done," she complained to Tas as he pecked
contentedly on the ground for the leftover grain used in the
divination. His
mocking cluck-cluck-bawk didn't help her mood, which she decided to
ignore
while she idly polished her neglected crystal ball. It was fairly large
for
a sphere and clear as air itself. On its own it didn't look like much,
but
in the hands of a proper diviner it became an instrument of power,
foretelling the future, revealing secrets of the past, prying into the
present. One day she'd be able to harnass its potential properly, but
for
now... Tas cackled rudely when another person, presumably another
customer,
opened the flap of her tent.
At first glance, she thought it was the young man who was there to ask
a
question or three, but when she spied the well-dressed lady looking a
tad
annoyed by her pondering, she wondered what the nobility would have to
do
with the likes of her. Well, why wouldn't they want to deal with the
likes
of her? No one wanted to anger a mysterious diviner with the ability to
find
out every last nasty secret they had. Channing set the precious scrying
object in its cradle, slid off of the table, and stood at the
now-opened
entrance of her tent. Before she could ask what business they had with
her,
however, the woman said:
"I need you to locate a lost object for me."
"I can do that," replied Channing automatically. "If you can tell me
enough
necessary details." Tas clucked innocently from the safety behind
Channing's
skirts. She motioned for the lady to step into the privacy of her
workspace.
"We can talk inside, if you please."
"It was stolen, you see," began the woman, moving closer to the
enclosure,
but was startled when Channing blinked and cleared her throat
uncomfortably.
"That's not my business. That's something the guards should take care
of,
not me. I find lost things, not stolen property." The last thing
Channing
wanted to do was get mixed up in something as dangerous as this. More
often
than not thieves had friends, friends who would not appreciate her
involvment in their profession, and the fact that she wasn't the
guards's
diviner meant she was without protection. She doubted the guards would
like
civilian intrusion without their permission, either.
"They," she accented the word with disgust, "are incompetent. I could
pay
you suitably for your trouble, if that's what you're worried about,
young
lady. Payment is payment."
Channing arched a brow at the woman's pushiness. Nobility were used to
getting their way, especially around the scruffier lower class. "This
is
beyond me, madam. Go to their diviner, I'm sure he could be of service.
It's
their job. And this is not mine." She snatched the tent flap from the
servant's grasp and let it close as she stepped in. It would have been
a
marvelous exit of a tempermental diviner with her familiar chicken were
it
not for one thing: the chicken. Forgetting that the fowl was curiously trailing
behind her and concentrated on eating, Channing's foot stepped on his
glorious red tail and forced an indignant squawk from the bird, which
in
turn surprised her. With a gasp she stumbled over herself and landed on
the
floor.
"Hmph. Some diviner. Come along, let's go find ourselves someone
sensible
and talented instead of this ... this girl," the lady said regally as
they
presumably walked away.
Groaning inwardly as she picked herself up off the dirt floor and
dusted
herself off. At least things couldn't get much worse.
