An Apprentice Without Magic, page 4
part #2 of Magic Missing Series
“No, you didn’t. I’ll hand these into Bentwick. He can do what he wants with them. Go get some lunch. We have work this afternoon. Our assignment is the boring part of snooping.”
~
Dickey and Sam walked around a crowded square in a seedy part of Baskin for the fourth time. They traded off keeping track of the comings and goings of a shop selling garden implements and ornamental iron. Sam wrote down the descriptions of those entering and exiting the shop. They had been at it for three hours.
“How long do we do this?” Sam asked, as Dickey pointed to a newly empty bench facing towards the shop. They both sat down.
Dickey smirked. “How long do I have to keep answering that question? When we are done?”
“But what are we looking for?”
Dickey pointed to a man entering the shop. “A certain kind of person. Get out your notebook again.”
Sam obliged as Dickey dictated the descriptions of more men and a few women entering and leaving.
Dickey tapped his finger on the journal. “What do our observations tell us?”
“More people are entering than coming out,” Sam said, “that is obvious.”
“Do the descriptions tell you anything about those who have gone in and not returned?”
Sam snorted. “How am I to find that out? I haven’t been paying attention to that!” He certainly would have been more intent in his observations if Dickey had pointed that out to him earlier.
His partner shrugged. “Look at your descriptions.”
Sam sighed and analyzed the observations. “All men. The best-dressed men went in and came out, as did the women, as far as we noticed.”
Dickey nodded. “Can you come to a conclusion?”
Sam shook his head. “Harrison Dimple told me not to make wild guesses.”
“You don’t have to make a wild guess. Make an educated guess.”
“Maybe the men who didn’t come out the front went out a different way? Is there anyone watching the back of the shop?”
Dickey finally smiled and nodded. “Yes, there is. We’ll sit here for a bit more.” He described a pair of men going into the shop.
The shadows were lengthening in the square when Dickey took Sam’s notebook and scanned the pages. “That should be enough. Exciting afternoon, wasn’t it?” He stood and looked around the square.
“Is that it?”
Dickey nodded. “That is it, so let us head back to the constabulary. The rental agreement for the house should be on my desk. As soon as you approve, you can get your brother to sign. You are a minor and can’t legally sign binding contracts. Your law class hasn’t gone over that, and it might never come up, but that is the way it is. I suggest that you live in the constabulary for another week or two with the other apprentices. I think your dog can handle the delay.”
“Why must I wait? The other apprentices don’t like me, except for one.”
“That is why. You are isolated as it is, being the only apprentice in the investigative division. I’m your trainer, and that is an order.”
Sam bit his lower lip. He didn’t want to stick around the constabulary, but he also didn’t want to get into an argument with his trainer in the first week. “I will do what you suggest…or order.”
“That’s better,” Dickey said.
Sam didn’t say another word during their walk back to the constabulary. The duty sergeant called to Dickey. “Bentwick wants to see the both of you in his office.”
Sam followed his partner. There were five Chief Constables reporting to the Head Constable at the Baskin Royal Constabulary. Bentwick oversaw the Investigative Division unless sent into the field, like he had been during the summer. Dickey had said that the chief constable didn’t need to direct the snoops as closely as the others.
Bentwick stood as they entered. “Sit down. I have a few things to discuss with you.”
Dickey nodded, and Sam did the same, not knowing if he looked foolish mimicking his partner.
“I received a complaint from a citizen about Sam.”
“Using the poker?”
Bentwick nodded.
“Who complained?”
“Someone who was at the restaurant, or so he said. I don’t believe it. I saw the individual, and he looked like the other thugs who were out and about causing trouble that night.”
Sam sat up straighter. “Why me?”
Dickey snorted. “I know the answer to that question. You are the youngest and the easiest to get into trouble.”
“Was what I did illegal?” Sam asked.
Bentwick shook his head. “There are boys as young as you carrying swords in Baskin. They need a permit, but that isn’t an issue, since the constabulary issues them. The gangs continually cause trouble for us in Baskin. It is a form of harassment. I wanted you to understand how things are in the city. The gangs already know about Dickey, and now they know about you. This is a warning to watch yourself.”
“I am a marked man?” Sam said, hardly believing his words. He’d been marked as an oddity in Cherryton since he couldn’t see pollen, but in Baskin, he had been identified as a snoop. “We don’t work undercover, do we?”
Bentwick looked at Dickey. “You just did. Now, was your observation successful?”
Dickey nodded. “The ironmongery is definitely a gang front. I haven’t yet shared my afternoon’s work with Killwren, but unless there were a steady stream of people heading out the back, I’d say there is likely a gang compound under the shop, spreading out underneath the other buildings, just as we thought.”
“Good work. Did Sam help?”
“We did better as a team. I didn’t have to stare all day at the shop,” Dickey said. “Perhaps the boy has a tiny bit of promise after all.”
Bentwick smiled. “Good. We’ve done what we can, and I can let others work on that particular gang.” He sighed and looked at Sam. “Gangs are a never-ending problem. Just when you have broken one ring, the same criminals re-form into another.”
“So we have another assignment?”
The Chief Constable nodded. “You do. A string of thefts has the ministry upset. The Justice Minister wants to know if any of them are linked to a particular gang. The victims haven’t been very forthcoming.” Bentwick tossed a paper to Dickey. “So far there have been five of the thefts. See if they are connected. My gut tells me they are, but interview these men and arrive at your own conclusion.”
“What about my legal training?” Sam asked.
Bentwick pursed his lips, but there was a bit of a smile in that expression. “Continue it. Constable-Investigator Nail knows how to work on his own.”
Sam felt his skin heat up from the mild rebuke.
“It’s all right, boy,” Dickey said. “Learn enough from your law instructor to teach me a few things.” His laugh felt more like a jeer to Sam. “We have some personal business to discuss.” Dickey looked at Bentwick. “Is that all?”
Bentwick nodded and turned back to his paperwork. Dickey led Sam to his desk and tossed a few pages to Sam.
“This is the agreement. I had a solicitor draw the contract up.”
Sam read over the contract. It was simple enough to him, but he had to admit he was not a lawyer.
“It seems straightforward.”
Dickey nodded. “I’ll read it back to you and explain all the little pitfalls.”
Sam sat back listening to his partner tell him about what had seemed so simple, but that ended up being more complicated than he had thought.
“It isn’t what is written, but what goes unsaid,” Dickey said after verbally shredding the document.
“Then we will have to get a new one drawn up?” Sam asked.
Dickey shook his head. “Why? If we know where the weaknesses are in a contract, if the provisions aren’t onerous, then we can sign it. If you know the details and can live with them, that often is enough. Is the price acceptable?”
Sam did some calculating, and the house would cost him half of one of his golden tips. “I can afford it, but can I get a better deal if I pay the rent for an entire year at one time? Fifty percent off?”
“Still haggling, eh? You have that much money?”
Sam nodded. “As good as.” He pulled out one of his golden tips. “Half of this would cover the rent at the asking price, but if I’m going to sacrifice this, I only want to do it once.”
Dickey pursed his lips. “I’ll have to talk to Bent—” He cleared his throat. “The owner. I don’t think she will go that low, but perhaps if you don’t make any other changes, the owner will be willing to work out a discount of some kind.”
“Let me know,” Sam said. He folded his arms and sat back. “Now, what is next?”
“I think you are done for the day. You probably have some studying to do. We will go out again tomorrow afternoon. If you are good for anything, it is getting me out of doing useless paperwork.”
“Like our report on today’s observations?”
Dickey nodded. “You might be organizing that tomorrow morning after your classes if Bentwick and the team he assigns to the gang think they need it. I can always go out on my own,” he said. “Meet me here after your morning class. Hopefully, I’ll have a counteroffer on your rent proposal. Be prepared to do a lot of writing, but who knows?”
Sam groaned inside, but he was an apprentice, and apprentices did not get the best of jobs. If anything proved that, it was Tru’s experience with Potter’s apprentices. Sam still remembered the look of boredom on those apprentices’ faces.
~
When Sam entered an empty classroom, he knew he had forgotten that the current day was weapons training. He had to ask around, but the constables laughed at him for not knowing where he was supposed to be, and he was given bad directions from the first three constables he had asked. At least the fourth one had some shred of honor and told him the truth. He entered the practice hall on the third floor above the constabulary jail.
The apprentices were dressed more like him, in that none of them wore a uniform. They all had rolled up their sleeves and were clattering away, playing with wooden swords. None of them seemed to be as far along as Sam. Harrison Dimple had worked with him every day when they were on the road, and his training seemed to have given Sam a better perspective about using a sword than what the apprentices were getting from their instructor.
He stood watching them practice, trying to think of ways not to show his moves. The instructor stopped sparring with one of the older apprentices. He straightened up, and that signaled to the rest of the apprentices to stop.
“You are the new apprentice?”
Sam nodded. “I am Sam Smith, apprentice to the Investigative Division.”
“Already in action, I heard. I was surprised an apprentice fought well enough not to embarrass the constabulary.” He walked over to Sam and extended his hand. “I am Kened Rider. I used to duel with swords in the Baskin Trials.”
Sam had no idea what the Trials were, but he guessed it had to be some kind of contest. No one dueled with swords in Cherryton when Sam was growing up. He shook Rider’s hand. The instructor grabbed Sam’s wrist. Sam tried to pull away, but Rider put a wooden sword into his hand.
“You all can continue to spar. With Smith, here, we have three pairs. Go on.” Rider grinned.
Sam didn’t like the expression. The instructor backed up against a wall and gestured with his hand. “Show us what you’ve got, Smith.”
His opponent crushed Sam’s intention to play the incompetent when the apprentice began a series of thrusts and slashes, delivered hard enough to cause damage. Sam parried as well as he could, but then he felt his stomach wound complaining. He looked at the rest of the apprentices observing their match. Sam would have to quickly stop it as soon as he could before his wound re-opened.
He let his opponent’s sword slide down to the hilt and twisted his sword away from him like Harrison had taught, then he swung his sword back up the inside of the apprentice’s sword and slapped the edge into the boy’s armpit.
The instructor grunted as Sam slammed the sword back down on the apprentice’s wrist, causing him to lose his grip on the sword. It clattered to the floor. Sam stepped away. He put his hand to his stomach and felt a spot of dampness. His wound had opened up a bit.
“Blood?” Rider said, frowning. “Are you cut?”
“From the other night,” Sam said. “I guess I was a bit too active there.”
“You fought wounded? You should have complained.”
Sam shook his head. “I was taught not to. Soldiers often have to fight wounded.”
Rider walked to Sam. “I wondered where you developed such an uncouth style. It wouldn’t do in a duel.”
The comment brought a frown to Sam’s face. “I didn’t learn to duel; I learned to defend myself.”
“And you were taught by?”
“Harrison Dimple took me on a healing tour this summer. He spent some time teaching me how to fight and how to improvise.”
The instructor’s eyebrows went up. “Dimple taught you personally?”
Sam nodded. “We fought together at Shovel Vale.”
“I should have taken the time to read your file,” Kened Rider said. “You are excused from instruction for the next two weeks.”
“I’d rather not,” Sam said. “Perhaps if I don’t have to spar, I can work on forms during this time. I need the exercise.”
Rider pursed his lips. “I suppose that will work. You can return and do that in our next session. Right now, go downstairs and have the healer check your wound. I don’t want to be held responsible for any bloodshed during my session.”
“Can I go with him?” Sam’s opponent said, glaring at Sam. “He might have broken something in my hand.”
“Certainly. No fighting, verbally or physically on your way. The match was hard fought, but it was fair. Do you understand?”
The apprentice blushed and nodded, grinding his teeth. Sam wondered if the boy would have pushed him down the stairs or something. He gave the instructor a bow and left the room, after making eye contact with Mark, who gave him the ghost of a smile. He had learned to like the apprentice Mark much better than his brother Mark.
The apprentice pushed his way past on his way to the healer’s office, which suited Sam just fine. He would rather have the boy in front of him than behind him. By the time the pair of them arrived at the healer’s, they had to wait for a while.
The other apprentice didn’t say a word and avoided eye contact. Sam rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to make enemies, yet he was sitting across from one in the small waiting room.
“I’ll take the one who bleeds first.”
Sam rose to his feet and went into the treatment room. He had returned to the healer far sooner than he intended. The healer had him take his shirt off and lie on the table.
“A few stitches tore, probably because of your pollen aversion. Sit there while I see to your friend,” the healer said.
He wasn’t a friend of his, Sam thought. The apprentice walked into the examination room and sucked in through his teeth. “Are those real?”
Sam guessed he was talking about his scars. “They are, indeed. I had an active summer,” he said.
“I didn’t believe what Mark said about you. He has a tendency to overstate things.”
That was new information to Sam. Was that why Mark was willing to be a friend? The others shunned him for telling stories? It was a fact that Sam wasn’t happy to learn. But he would rather know and verify what Mark said than be caught in an unfortunate situation. His apprentice friend had warned him about apprentices telling stories. Perhaps he was warning Sam of himself as much as the others.
“This one,” Sam pointed to the stitches, “is my first Baskin wound.” He smiled.
He had expected the other apprentice to return his smile, but all Sam got was a frown. “Is your intent to show us up on everything?” the boy said. “I am the best swordsman in the group, yet you come in injured and disarm me. I knew you were holding back.”
Sam sighed. “I had a summer of concentrated training, and I had to fight in real battles. I could have been killed any number of times. It changes how much attention you pay to your opponent. I never learned to duel, and I’m sure I would have been disqualified from any tournament.”
The apprentice grunted. “That is what you think. Just watch yourself around us.”
“That’s enough of that,” the healer said. “Your turn. Give me your hand.”
“Wrist,” Sam said. “I doubt if it’s broken, but I’m sure I bruised it.”
The healer blinked his eyes. “I’m the healer here.” He took the apprentice’s hand and poked and prodded with his eyes on the boy’s face, looking at when he winced. “Bruised. There might be a break,” the healer said, looking at Sam as he put on his shirt. “I’ll wrap it up the same, anyway. Don’t use it for anything strenuous for a week, and then as long as you can tolerate the pain, you can increase your activity. If anything feels wrong or the pain doesn’t get better, get back in here.”
“Can I go?” Sam asked.
“Yes.” Both the healer and the boy simultaneously said. “Same goes for you. Nothing strenuous.”
As Sam exited the clinic, he turned towards the central part of the constabulary buildings. He looked down to see the damage to his shirt. The blood spot wasn’t too large, so he decided to check in with Dickey to see if there was something he could do since the swordsmanship instructor had cut his session short.
Dickey was at his desk talking to another investigator. He spied Sam and shooed the man away. “Why aren’t you crossing swords with your fellow apprentices?”
Sam pointed to the stain on his shirt. “I overdid it,” he said. “The healer put a few more stitches in.”
His partner shook his head. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
After a weak smile, Sam nodded. “My opponent made a spirited defense a necessity.”
Dickey grunted. “I trust you had to make a spirited offense?”
“I did.”
Bentwick walked into the office with papers in his hand. He stopped and blushed when he spotted Sam. “Uh, these are for you,” the chief constable said to Dickey.
