An Apprentice Without Magic, page 18
part #2 of Magic Missing Series
Dickey nodded his head. “Could that explain your uneasiness?”
“It is beyond my experience, but yes. I can see that happening. The body was certainly strange.”
“Did you examine the first guard?” Dickey asked.
“I did. The body wasn’t like this one. That crime was definitely recent,” the doctor said.
Dickey rubbed his chin.
“Can you examine this body again, with the clothes off?” Sam asked.
“Why would I do that?”
“I’m wondering if there is a sign that the man was killed another way. The strangulation marks weren’t as purple on this corpse,” Sam said.
Dickey looked at Sam with astonishment. “You kept that from me,” Dickey said.
“And you didn’t tell me about the ice,” Sam countered. He folded his arms in a show of defiance, but in reality, he had forgotten about the marks until now.
Dickey shook his head with a momentary look of exasperation. Sam would hear more about his comment.
“Other than another examination, which I may or may not be permitted to do, is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Nothing,” Dickey said. “I’ll have the Chief Constable over the Investigative Division make a formal request. Thank you for your time, Doctor Apple.”
Sam bowed slightly as Dickey took him by the arm and directed him out of the clinic.
“I’ll have none of that attitude, little man,” Dickey said as they reached the sidewalk. “If I choose not to share with you, then you accept it. Now, why didn’t you point out the strangulation marks?”
Sam deserved Dickey’s reproof. “I had forgotten it until we talked to the doctor. I guess the sergeant and Captain Fork’s unfriendliness distracted me. You didn’t share your suspicions about the ice…”
“We are not equals, understand?”
“I do,” Sam said. He wanted to counter that he had special talents, too, but he didn’t think Dickey would be amenable to arguing. Also, he didn’t want to ruin the compliments that Dickey had uncharacteristically given him.
“So what do we do next?” Dickey asked.
“Two things that I can see,” Sam said. “First, find out when the sergeant went missing, and second, we locate ice merchants in Baskin. There can’t be that many.”
“Is locating good enough?”
“No,” Sam said. “We inquire about who would have bought enough ice to store the second body.”
Dickey nodded. “You have some promise despite your adolescent attitude.”
“I am an adolescent,” Sam said.
Dickey nearly smiled. “No attitude is permitted when you are a snoop’s apprentice.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said, wanting to appear chastened. The attitude still remained within.
~
Two days later, Dickey reported that the guard refused to permit Doctor Apple to examine the dead sergeant’s body despite the permission letter written by Chief Constable Bentwick.
“So what do we assume?” Dickey said.
“That the wound exists on the body?”
Dickey shook his head. “No way to prove that. We assume that the Minister of Justice gave the guards permission to ignore the Chief’s permit. Normally, the guards would comply as a gesture of goodwill, one force to another.”
“I chased down the list of ice merchants,” Sam said. “It wasn’t easy.”
Dickey smirked. “Should it have been?”
Sam shrugged. “I guess not. Here is the list. There are eight in Baskin. Three are close to the West side.”
“And if our murderer wanted to coverup the ice deliveries?”
Sam thought for a minute. “He would order ice from a source far from the scene of the crime.”
“And where was the scene?”
The way Dickey said it made it sound like a trap, so he thought about the answer for a while. “Not the alleyway. Maybe not where the body had been iced, if that’s a word.”
“Probably a stable,” Dickey said. “Why?”
Sam hated it when Dickey asked him leading questions.
“Because of the straw,” Sam said. “Straw can insulate the ice from getting warmer. When it wasn’t winter, my mother would use some when she made cold desserts back home. She would get some blocks of ice, put the dessert in the ice and cover everything with straw to make it very cold. The ice merchant in Cherryton, there was only one, had a cellar filled with ice and straw.”
“I could have used a shorter answer, but you are correct. So a stable would work. There aren’t any farms in Baskin.”
“So we have some investigative work to do,” Sam said.
“You do indeed,” Dickey said.
“Me?”
Dickey nodded. “You obviously know the ice business better than I do,” he said. “I think I’d just get in the way. Find the ice merchants…” He flitted his fingers. “Find the one who sold the ice to the guard who killed the two sergeants. Meanwhile, I’ll be checking the movements of the guards in that guardhouse. Time for both of us to get to work.” With his orders given, Dickey left Sam alone in the office.
Sam grabbed his list and one of the printed maps the other snoops used all the time and plotted the locations. He checked his wand, removing the gold tip, and left right after lunch, on his way to do some snooping on his own.
The late morning sun did little to warm the winter air. Sam didn’t have a heavy coat at the constabulary, so he walked briskly towards his first ice merchant, close to the docks and the one farthest away from the scene of the crime.
He poked his head into the two-story roughly-built building. The place looked like a warehouse used as a stable.
“Hello!” Sam called to the empty room.
“Down here,” a muffled voice responded.
Sam spotted a ladder poking up from the floor and used it to descend to a basement. A dirty-faced woman looked up at him as he descended.
“How much do you need?” she said.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Sam said. “I’m not buying any ice.”
The woman did look disappointed, anyway. “I didn’t think you were when I saw how young you are. Can you spin some fluffy pollen for me, since you have interrupted me? I use it as well as straw.”
“I can’t spin anything,” Sam said.
“Just give it a try. Here,” she grabbed a tuft of natural pollen, the color of straw and gave it to Sam.
As he held it, the fine strands began to crinkle.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Pollen has an aversion to me,” Sam said. “I can’t even see it unless I’m wearing these.” He pointed to his spectacles.
“I nearly believe you.” She seized the tuft and looked at it. “I guess you speak the truth. Never thought that anyone couldn’t make their own pollen.” She let the tuft tumble to the floor and wiped her dirty hands. “So, if you aren’t buying, what are you doing here?”
Sam had made the mistake of not thinking about what he’d ask the woman. He let her see his apprentice’s token and told her about the murders. “How much ice would someone need to preserve a dead body?”
“A man? Were his clothes sopping wet?”
Sam shook his head. “Dry. I checked.”
She put one hand on a hip and scratched her head. Her hair had been pulled back into an unruly bun. The scratching made her hair worse.
“So, the guard was wrapped up, probably in pollen, which acts as an insulator, although it isn’t as good as straw, but it is waterproof.” She looked up at Sam, who noticed how little the woman was. “How many days between murders did you say?”
“We were thinking maybe five days, if the men were killed at the same time,” Sam said.
“Let me show you what the ice looks like,” she said as she took a pitchfork and began uncovering the straw.
Sam began to shiver. The basement was even colder than the crisp air up above.
“See? We cut the ice into small blocks, so we can transport it more easily.”
“So if I needed to cover a man for five days, even with straw I’d need a bunch of blocks.”
“You would. A normal man would take five or six blocks long and three wide. If he weren’t squashed in any way, you would need to make a chamber.”
“Is that hard to do?”
The woman shook her head. “Not really, but you would need about fifty blocks this size.” She uncovered blocks less than two feet square. Sam doubted if she could lift one, she looked so frail.
“You didn’t get an order for one-hundred blocks?”
The woman shook her head. “Not me. I cater to restaurants. Ice keeps fishermen's catches fresh longer.” She looked past Sam. “You can come out now, Harty.”
Sam looked back to see a large, bald-headed man emerge from the darkness of the basement. Now he knew who handled the ice.
“Thank you for your information. I can ask more intelligent questions when I speak to the next ice merchant.” Sam pulled out his list. “Are there any other ice merchants that aren’t listed here?”
The woman perused the list. “One. Not my favorite person. Emmer Wicket. He lives on the northern edge of the city, close to the river docks.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “If I ever need some ice, I’ll come to you.”
The woman laughed. “A youth needing ice?” She pointed to the ladder. “I needed a rest, but I don’t now. Good luck, lad.”
She took a pair of tongs with pointed tips and pulled a block of ice out from the straw. She struggled with the big block. “You need a job? Harty’s back is getting bad.”
“Not really,” Sam said smiling, “but I can help with that.”
He left the merchant’s warehouse after not doing much better than the woman. He found a bench to write up his notes and add Emmer Wicket’s address to his list from the spot on the map made by the woman.
Sam had worked out his question list by the time he reached his second merchant. The next three merchants didn’t have any orders from anyone consisting of approximately one hundred blocks.
He sat down in the sunny part of a local square with a roasted sausage and a corn cake, reviewing the first half of his ice merchant investigation. Sam would have to take a carriage to Emmer Wicket’s establishment if he had any hope to finish before the sun went down, or he’d have to buy a new coat or go home.
If he went home, he’d probably stay there until the next day, so he rode to the northwestern edge of the city by the river docks. He found Wicket’s Ice tucked between two larger warehouses.
He walked in to see two boys, old enough to be apprentices, and a burly man with disheveled bright red hair. One of the boy’s hair matched the owners, so he must have been a son.
“What do you want? I got no work for you,” Emmer Wicket said to Sam as the three of them stopped talking to gawk at Sam’s entrance.
“I don’t need work,” Sam said. He produced his apprentice token.
Emmer examined the identification and peered at Sam. “You don’t look old enough for a snoop.”
“Apprentice,” Sam said.
The non-red-haired boy gasped. “Snoop apprentice? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither had I,” Sam said, “ and yet, here I am.”
“You’ve got questions?”
Sam nodded. “I’m inquiring about a decent-sized order of ice. Maybe one-hundred blocks of ice?”
Emmer threw his hand at Sam. “No way, not from here.” He looked at the younger redhead. “You don’t remember any such order, do you, son?”
The son shook his head. “Nope.”
The other apprentice inhaled as if to speak but then exhaled. Sam made eye contact with the youth, but the boy quickly turned his head away.
“If you remember an order, contact Dickey Nail or me at the Central Constabulary.” Sam wrote their names and a reminder that he was looking for a large ice order. “I’ll be leaving.”
Sam walked out of the constabulary but didn’t rush to find another hired carriage. He’d never been to this part of the docks, so he decided to walk briskly for a bit so he could take in this part of Baskin.
“Constable Smith?”
Sam turned around to see the other apprentice. “Yes? Did your memory return?”
The boy looked back over his shoulder. “We were finishing up for the day when you walked in. I’m on my way home.” He pointed toward the South. “That way.”
They walked in silence until they had made a few turns.
“We had a strange order about a couple of weeks ago,” the boy said. “I’d say maybe one-hundred-twenty blocks.”
“Strange?”
“Two women ordered the ice. They talked and dressed like nobles. They even had accents.” He gave Sam detailed descriptions. “Red and I took the load to a mansion on the Southside.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
The boy made a face. “I don’t much like Emmer, but I don’t mind the ice trade. He does deals that don’t always include ice. I have to help.”
Sam could imagine anyone with a cart could be involved with transporting illegal goods if they wanted to.
“In exchange for your cooperation, I will give you a lead for another ice merchant who might be looking for work.” Sam thought of his first visit of the day.
“Really?” The youth gave Sam a rough description of the women.
Sam wrote the address of the first ice merchant by the sea docks of Baskin. His exchange was finished. The youth hurried off, leaving Sam the task of finding a carriage for hire in an unfamiliar part of the city.
He had walked aimlessly for too long. The air turned bitter cold, but he finally walked into a shop district and found a hired carriage to take him home. He reread what the apprentice had told him and was disappointed that neither of the women fit Banna Plank’s description, but then the woman could change her appearance. He was surprised she ordered the ice herself. That didn’t seem to fit his impression of the woman. He figured she would have someone else do the dirty work like she did during the revolt that summer.
He struggled to document his encounter at Emmer Wicket’s as the carriage bounced and jounced on the way to his house. It was too cold to continue, and Sam didn’t look forward to telling Dickey that he had to stop due to the weather.
When he arrived home, he reviewed his notes a few times. He made sure the apprentice’s account was as accurate as it could be.
Chapter Twenty-One
~
T he next day, Sam presented his five interviews to Dickey.
“So we can investigate the mansion?” Sam said.
“Have you ever been to the South side of Baskin?” Dickey asked.
“No.”
“Nobles don’t live to the South. No mansions.”
“None?”
Dickey shook his head. “You’ve been had, lad.” His smirk re-appeared on his face.
“I’ve been lied to?”
“It might be your first time, but it will not be your last. Wicket was playing you for a fool. He probably put his apprentice up to it. I’m sure they all had a good laugh.”
“Isn’t it illegal to lie to a constable?” Sam asked.
“Not generally, unless the liar is a partner in the crime. You still have four more ice merchants, don’t you?”
Sam nodded. “I’ll be out first thing.”
Dickey smirked again. “Why so early?”
“So I can get the interviews done before the day ends.”
“When do you think the ice merchants make their deliveries?”
Sam thought for a moment before he understood Dickey’s question. “I’ll be working on my report in the morning and head out after lunch, so I’ll have a chance of catching them at their warehouses.”
Dickey nodded. “We haven’t talked about thinking like our quarry,” he said. “Part of what you need to learn is putting yourself in other people’s shoes. It is more than being smart. You are certainly smart enough, but you aren’t experienced enough to know how your interviewees will likely react, because when you do, it will be harder for them to fool you, but not impossible. Even I get fooled more than I’d like to admit.”
“I’ve seen people lie before, but they were part of the revolt conspiracy,” Sam said, but that wasn’t true. Hiron Smith, the blacksmith that knew Harrison, had a wife that didn’t want to tell the truth about her father. “People have their own motivations for lying. For some, it’s to tease, like Wicket and his apprentices. Others might be protecting friends or family.”
“Or business associates, or other connections,” Dickey said. “The awareness that someone is lying to you comes with practice, but I think you’ve had some of that. A snoop has to be flexible to consider all the alternatives. It isn’t good work to narrow down the possibilities too quickly. What you think are facts shift as more evidence comes to light.”
“It is like being naive, isn’t it? As a snoop, I’m very naive.”
Dickey’s grim smile returned. “As a person, you are very naive. As a snoop, that is why you are an apprentice. It is more than noticing the facts at the scene of a crime. You are already good enough with that, but the rest you’ll just have to be patient. You’ve only just begun your journey to becoming a real snoop.”
Sam nodded. “So what do I do now?”
Dickey pointed to Sam’s notes. “It is report time, I believe.” He got up and vacated his desk chair so Sam could start to write.
Sam got to work. As usual, the other snoops mostly ignored him as he concentrated on documenting his afternoon, including the false trail Wicket had blazed for him.
He stopped to think about the counsel Dickey had provided. A casualty of being a snoop was trust, he decided. Harrison Dimple didn’t seem to have the same instinct for veracity that seemed ingrained in Dickey. He didn’t consider Harrison to be as cynical, but then how well had Sam really known his summer friend?
Despite his healing, Harrison remained a man of action, but an enigmatic one. Harrison had become an expert at being a man with a high noble past who had to keep a low profile.
He shook his head to change his thoughts. His report was taking as long as the time he had spent yesterday afternoon. He finally finished in time to have something to eat before heading out. Dickey hadn’t returned from whatever he was doing.
