An Apprentice Without Magic, page 25
part #2 of Magic Missing Series
“You were mixing with Hardstone kids, as you call them. Why are you asking me that? I was invited to a soiree to talk to students in court language, and one of the girls there asked me to the dance.”
“The tall blonde girl? I’ve seen her before. She seems way out of your league, Smith, but for some reason, she looked really interested in you.”
He meant Winnie since Jenna had dark hair.
Sam shrugged. “I was asked to go, and not by Winnie.”
“You even know her name. Is she a noble?”
“The one who asked me is, but Winnie? No. She’s older than I am anyway.”
“That didn’t seem to bother her,” Minson said. “I nearly went to Hardstone. My precocious fourteen-year-old sister attends as a first-year. I should talk to her.”
“Suit yourself,” Sam said. “Why aren’t you a Hardstone student?”
Minson blushed. “I am more suited to being a constable. Apprentices are selected for their promotability, so I’ll place high in the constabulary when I am older. I might make Chief in another city or town.”
Sam didn’t have any ambitions. He just wanted a job and a place to be himself, so he didn’t respond.
Minson seemed to soften just a bit. “You can make some solid connections through the students. Make sure you meet the fathers. They are all influential.”
“I found that out. I’ve met two of them.”
“Maybe I underestimated you.” Minson lifted his cup of water as a salute and left.
Sam watched him leave. The apprentice had been one of his attackers. He returned to the snoop office immersed in thought. Minson seemed to finally accept him, not for helping to solve crimes in the months he had been an apprentice snoop, but because he attended a single high-class dance.
It seemed that people were more impressed by connections than by accomplishments. Sam compared that to his experience in Cherryton. People were aghast at his lack of pollen sense, not his accomplishments. It all seemed unfair, but he didn’t regret going to the dance. Winnie Bentwick still lingered in his mind, especially now, since Minson had noticed them together.
Sam shook his head. Most likely he’d never see Winnie again. He ran into the Chief Constable walking out of the snoop office.
“Sam, I was looking for you. Winnie persuaded me to have you over for dinner this weekend. Are you willing to expose yourself to your boss’s boss?”
“I wouldn’t dare expose myself to you, Chief Constable,” Sam said, not able to resist the comment.
Bentwick laughed. “I’ll expect to see you at five after noon or thereabouts. We eat at six. You’ll come?”
Sam gave the chief a weak smile. “I can’t refuse, can I?”
“No, you can’t. I’ll send a carriage to your house to pick you up.”
Sam walked into the snoop office and sat across from Dickey.
“The chief was looking for you,” his partner said.
“He isn’t anymore.” Sam didn’t say another word and took a sip from his cup. “What do we do next?”
“The chief wasn’t just looking for you. We just were assigned a job. Not another guard murder,” Dickey said, “an arsonist.”
“Someone set the fire?” Sam asked.
“We wouldn’t be assigned the job if everyone thought it occurred naturally, now, would we?” Dickey’s voice was filled with sarcasm.
Sam could only nod. So much for any respect, but then he didn’t deserve any for going to a dance. He clenched his fist and thought he needed a good crime to get his mind cleared of social things. He wondered if he had blundered into saying he needed more social exposure. So far, it nearly seemed like too much trouble, nearly, thinking of Winnie Bentwick and the invitation to dinner.
“Wake up, Sam.” Dickey snapped his fingers. “I was talking to you.”
“Certainly. A fire. Where was it?”
“The fire isn’t quite put out yet, but it may be by the time we arrive. Grab your coat.”
In their hired carriage, Dickey pulled out some notes. “Bentwick gave me this.” He read it aloud while Sam looked out the window. “The Royal Recorder’s Office. A fire broke out in a provincial file room early this morning. It looks like pollen was set aflame, making the blaze grow slowly. The arsonist was discovered in the room by the night watchman. He had the choice to let the arsonist go or summon the fire department.”
Sam sat up and looked at Dickey. “Are there main files?”
“And they were untouched. What do you think?”
“Was the fire set on purpose to destroy files or used as a device to cover the getaway? Perhaps the arsonist’s true mission was to replace real files for forgeries.”
Dickey smiled. “How did you come up with that?”
“Banna Plunk would do something like that,” Sam said. “If there is a crime committed, I usually think of how she would do it. She was sneaky.”
“Is sneaky, especially if you are correct, and she’s behind the pollen thefts.”
Sam nodded, but he had to admit, “That is just a guess. You told me not to guess.”
Dickey shook his head. “That isn’t a wild guess. Wild guesses aren’t good, but educated guesses are.”
Sam didn’t know if he knew the difference, but he surmised that an educated guess meant a guess with some evidence of a pattern. That was good enough definition for him. “Do we know what province? I’ll bet it is where Mountain View lies.”
“That information wasn’t given, but we will find out when we get there,” Dickey said.
The carriage rolled into a commercial district that Sam had never seen. They passed progressively fancier business fronts and stopped in the middle of the street because of other vehicles parked haphazardly on one side of the street.
When Sam exited the carriage, he could smell a hint of smoke in the air. One of the buildings had the doors open. Since it was very chilly, he expected that was the Royal Recorder’s office. Next door, Sam noticed the sign announced Red Marine Shipping, Hander Pot’s business.
They walked past two constables flanking the door. Firemen in their yellow jackets conferred with a man in a black uniform and lifted their heads when one of them noticed Dickey walking up to them.
“Nail,” the oldest of the firemen said. “You can go on up. It’s on the fourth floor. The fire is out except for traces of smoke. We’ve got a bit of cleaning up to do before we let the employees back in.”
“Don’t let anyone in until we get a chance to take a look around and talk to the watchman.”
“That would be me,” the man in the black uniform said. “I heard noises on the fourth floor and ran up to see a person dressed in black, but not like me. The outfit was clingy, since I only saw a totally black figure, including face and hands. The person was messing about with the files when I barged into the room. A fire was set. Fires are not encouraged at the Royal Recorders for obvious reasons. I threw a file at the masked intruder and then ran downstairs to fetch the firemen.”
“The figure was gone by the time you returned?”
The watchman nodded. “Gone, and the fire hadn’t spread very much. Thank Havetta.”
Sam let Dickey talk more to the firemen and the watchman as he headed upstairs to the file room. A back wall filled with windows illuminated the central stairway. On his way up he checked for signs of breaking and entering, but the firemen’s ash-laden footprints had ruined any chance of finding anything on the carpet.
At least it was easy enough to find the victimized file room. Sam looked at the placard outside the room, Mount Vannon - Mountain View Districts. His eyebrows rose. This was what he expected. Banna Plunk had to be behind the break-in.
He walked the perimeter of the room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, other than the section of the files that were charred. He donned his spectacles and spotted an adjacent file cover that looked odd to him.
Sam looked closer and wondered if he might be looking at a ward. He ran downstairs. Dickey was interrogating two well-dressed men, obviously leaders at the Royal Recorders.
“I think I found a ward,” Sam said. “We need to have some firemen up in the room in case I can’t eliminate it.”
Dickey looked at the men. “If you will excuse me, I’ll go upstairs for a bit. Disturb as little as possible.”
“But we have to get back to work. You don’t know what kind of pressure we work under,” one of the men said.
“You should be happy the building didn’t burn down,” Dickey said. “Then you’d be out of work for a long time.”
“A lot you know about records, young man,” the older of the two men said.
Sam raised his hand. “Then they would have even more work reconstructing deeds and property records from the provinces and in other places in Baskin. Am I right?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the older man said.
“Then we need to get our business done as soon as we can, and that includes making sure there isn’t a trap anywhere else in the building,” Dickey said.
“Trap?” one of the men said, looking at the other. “By all means. We aren’t used to this kind of stress.”
“Then let us get on with our business, so you can do yours.” Dickey gave them a curt bow and dragged Sam outside.
The firemen were packing up.
“We will be in to clean up. Don’t worry,” the lead fireman said.
“It’s not that. Sam, here, thinks there is a ward set up as a trap in that same file room. We’d like a few firemen there to take care of any damage that might arise.”
“Of course. I’ll be up shortly with some of my men.”
Dickey and Sam trudged up to the fourth floor. Sam walked around the room.
“Why isn’t there any water? How did they get the fire out?” Sam asked.
“Pollen blankets. Firemen make them pretty much inflammable. Being able to do so is a requirement. Not everyone has that magical talent.”
“Pollen blankets,” Sam said.
He still wore his spectacles and approached the ward. “Here it is. I don’t know what activates it, but I can eliminate it easily enough with my wand.”
“Show me,” Dickey said.
Sam shrugged at the command and screwed on one of his gold tips.
“Gold will do the job,” Dickey said.
“And somehow, through the wand, I can make pollen dissipate much more quickly. I’ll do it after the firemen arrive.”
“Are these rooms locked? I wondered how the arsonist got in. Could they have had a key?”
“We will have to ask,” Dickey said, who walked around the room and looked out the dirty window to the ground below. “No way they’d be able to get in here. It’s a long way up.”
Sam arrived at the same conclusion, but he looked more closely at the window. He could see a pollen string running from the latch through a hole carved into the frame.
“The window,” Sam said. “A fine pollen string runs outside.”
He handed his spectacles to Dickey who had to squint to see the pollen.
“I’ve never seen pollen produced so fine. It is like spider silk.”
Sam didn’t know what spider silk was, but he agreed. A pollen artist made that line. It had to be strong enough to pull the latch shut. “I can’t touch it, or it will be damaged. We will have to take a sample and show Antina.”
Dickey growled at the mention of her name, but he pulled out an envelope. The pollen was like a little wire and had to be cut off with Dickey’s sharp knife. Sam opened the window to see where the line led, but it went straight down. He looked right and then left. There was a ledge not far away on the next building, the Red Marine building.
“The arsonist probably got in from next door and left the same way. I don’t think anyone would trust that thin line of pollen to get them down four stories,” Dickey said.
Sam nodded and turned when the firemen finally arrived.
“Where is the ward?” the head fireman said. His men were already creating thick blankets out of pollen.
Sam looked at the blankets without his spectacles and couldn’t see a thing. “Over here,” he said. “The ward is here.” Sam pointed to the book cover that didn’t look quite right.
The head fireman leaned over putting his hands on his knees and squinted at the file box cover. “I believe you are right. Stand back while I activate it.”
Sam put out his hand. “I will try to disable it first.” He thrust out his gold-tipped wand, and as he touched the ward, his hand began to shake uncontrollably. The feeling quickly turned into an agony of jerking and pain before he fell to the floor and mercifully fainted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
~
“H e’s waking up,” someone said.
Sam blinked his eyes. His body felt like it had when his brother Mark and two Cherryton bullies had beat him up. His eyes finally came into focus. He was in a healer’s office or a hospital.
“Where am I?” Sam asked.
“The hospital,” Winnie Bentwick said, sitting next to the bed. A healer nodded to Sam and left the room. “You’ve been out for four days. It’s the weekend and nearly time for dinner with my family.”
Sam struggled to a sitting position. His head began to hurt as much as the rest of him. “I’m in no shape to go anywhere,” he said.
She giggled. “I know. Father didn’t want you waking up alone, and Tru had to leave to feed your dog.”
“You know my brother?”
Winnie smiled. “I do now. He’s nearly as nice as you are, and he gave me one of his pieces. It’s worth more than I am,” she said.
Sam nodded, but even his neck muscles hurt. “What happened to me?”
“No one knows. Your friend Antina Mulch has been summoned and should arrive any minute.”
“Why are you here?” Sam said. He knew that wasn’t a polite comment as soon as he said it. “I mean, thank you for being here, but why are you so nice to me? Is that better?”
Winnie smiled. “It is. Father told me you were in the hospital, so I decided to visit. You aren’t a very lively host, or weren’t until you woke up.”
Sam tried a smile and found his lips didn’t hurt. An older healer arrived with the one who had left.
“You are lucky to be alive, Constable Smith. The ward that you decommissioned was one of the most deadly I’ve heard about. It mimics a lightning strike. No one in Toraltia knows how to make one, no one in the army, and they make the most wards.”
If Sam had any ability to manipulate pollen growing back, he figured the ward had destroyed it. “My wand?”
“You’ll have to ask your brother. It didn’t look any different to me, other than it burned the palm of your hand.”
Sam looked down and noticed the bandage. He was hurting so much it hadn’t registered someone had wrapped up his hand with pollen. He could see his scarred palm. The burn looked bright pink.
“Can we unwrap it?” Sam said.
The healer nodded. “It’s time to change the dressing, anyway. It’s likely to be quite a sight.”
Sam sighed. “Go ahead.”
The healer made an astonishing sound as the pollen bandage was removed. “The bandage is already shredding.” He turned Sam’s palm over and looked at the scar. “It is well on its way to healing!”
“I recover faster than most,” Sam said. “It is because of my disability.”
The healer furrowed his brow. Sam told the two healers and Winnie a very condensed story of when he lost his ability to do magic with pollen and his talent at healing much faster than other people.
“You are Havetta-blessed,” the woman healer said. “She takes away your pollen magic, but allows you to heal faster than anyone.”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “A minor blessing for a major curse,” he said.
“A major blessing, this time. You survived when others might have been killed,” the older healer said.
Sam looked over at Winnie, who looked quite astonished. “I’m sorry you had to learn the awful details.”
“Not awful to me. Father told me some of it. I know you heal faster than most people, but your hand.”
Sam flexed his hand, and it felt a little stiff, but not too bad. “I still could have been killed. If I touched the ward with my finger, I might not have been so lucky,” he said.
“Maybe not. You won’t know,” the healer said.
Sam guessed not. He wasn’t invulnerable. His body was telling him that, but he was very glad he could breathe. Winnie took his scarred hand. “You are unique,” she said.
“Too unique,” Sam said, wanting to withdraw his hand, but he let her hold it since it distracted him from the pain he still felt.
“Maybe that’s why you irritate people. Jenna is still upset about your behavior at the dance.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“You told her you couldn’t work pollen, and that made you so much less than anyone else in her eyes. She felt violated by your dancing with her.”
Sam shook his head. “Violated? Really?”
He didn’t understand why, but he had experienced the same reaction in other people often enough. “Is that how you feel, too?” he said, regretting the words as he said them. Sam felt like he was blundering about talking to Winnie.
“No, of course not. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You hardly know me,” Sam said.
She nodded. “I hope to remedy that. For now, just think of me as my father’s emissary.”
“I will,” Sam said.
~
He wasn’t up to sword practice on his return, so he went directly to the office. The snoops all applauded as Sam entered the room. He could tell they weren’t really sincere.
Dickey showed Sam to his customary seat. “Are you ready to get back to work?”
“The pain is mostly gone, if that is what you mean. I’m more than ready after spending a few days in a hospital bed.”
“Six days,” Dickey said.
“I was out for three of them,” Sam said. “What have you found?”
“You were right. Antina said a pollen artist made the thin thread of pollen, and it had to have been a Polistian one. Toraltians do not know how to make such a thin thread so strong.”
