An Apprentice Without Magic, page 7
part #2 of Magic Missing Series
Chapter Seven
~
“P ink, you say?” Antina Mulch said, sounding intensely interested. “Come into the back!”
Dickey and Sam followed her into the back of her establishment. The afternoon sun lit up a workshop filled with mostly small tools hanging on hooks over spotless work surfaces.
“Let me see,” Antina said, holding out her hand.
Dickey had retained the folded paper at Sam’s request. “Here. There are five strands of pollen. Sam says they are pink, but I can barely see them.”
Sam couldn’t see them at all with his naked eye as Antina opened the fold. With the spectacles on, Sam could tell they were definitely pink. “Look at them with these,” Sam said.
“Ah, the spectacles. I forgot about those.” She took the spectacles but didn’t put them on, looking through the front to the back. Antina nodded her head. “Definitely pink.” She glanced up at Dickey, holding up the spectacles. “These will help.”
Dickey snorted and made a face before taking the spectacles at the impatient urging of the woman. “Hmmm. Pink, as you said.” He looked at the strands again without the spectacles and then used them again. “These do help,” he said, looking sideways at Sam before handing the spectacles back to Antina. “What do you think?”
“I could make pollen that looked like this, but it wouldn’t have the same effect.” She put the spectacles on this time and touched the pollen and quickly withdrew her finger. “Deer pollen.”
“Deer?” Dickey said.
She nodded. “A certain kind of red deer unique to continent of Polistia produces this pollen when in danger. They hide in a thicket or something and drape this pollen around. If you or I or any other animal roamed around and touch it, we would forget we walked past. It stops you from remembering, but it is a rare thing and illegal to use on the continent of Polistia. Banna Plunk’s doing?”
Dickey shrugged. “Why do you mention her?”
“Sam told me about the woman when we first met. Anyone growing up on the continent of Holding wouldn’t know about the prohibition. She used sheep’s pollen to encourage her people to follow orders, but I don’t know what kind of motivation she would have to use this. Where did you get it?”
“At the scene of a crime,” Sam said.
Dickey kicked Sam in the leg. “Constabulary business, Mrs. Mulch. If we need your expertise again, we will be in touch.”
“I am past touching,” Antina said.
Sam looked at her in shock, but she just laughed.
“I will help you any way I can. I rather enjoy doing things other than jewelry-making and collecting gossip.”
Dickey pursed his lips. “Have you heard of a jewelry thief operating among the aristocracy?”
“Should I be alarmed?”
Sam’s partner snorted. “I suppose you have this place secure at night?”
She gave Dickey a sly smile. “And during the day, too. I can still create a pretty mean ward.” She winked at him.
“I’m sure you can, Mrs. Mulch. We will be on our way.”
“Don’t forget your pollen strands,” she said.
Dickey took the strands, now back in their folded paper and walked out. Sam smiled at Antina. “Any progress on my frames?”
“Your brother was in this morning going over the recipe for the alloy. He is a very nice young man, but quite different from you. He will have the work done in a few days, and I’ll have your frames ready to be adjusted to your face in a few more.”
Sam grinned. “I have two other spectacles that are beginning to soften.”
“He will make much more of the alloy than I need. I’ll do three sets.” She looked out the door to see Dickey pacing in the shop and smiled. “Your superior is eager to leave,” she said archly.
~
Dickey was lost in thought as they traipsed to the constabulary. Sam ended up thinking of how many more days he’d have before he could move out and take Emmy from the stables.
They entered Dickey’s office, and his partner pointed to the chair at the side of his desk. He put the folded paper into an envelope.
“The constabulary has a pollen expert,” Dickey said.
“Then let’s get a second opinion. We can check out to see if Antina Mulch is telling us the truth.”
Dickey’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t trust her? You already seemed like friends to me. She has consulted the constabulary before, but not recently. Don’t you wonder why?”
Sam shrugged. He was feeling defensive about the woman, and he hardly knew her. “Tell me.”
Dickey laughed. “I can’t since I don’t know the story. Maybe we can pry it out of Bentwick.” He lifted up the envelope. “If this eradicates someone’s memory, it can’t be good for constables. Do you know why?”
“People can’t witness what they don’t remember,” Sam said.
His partner nodded. “Exactly. We are going to report to the chief. Don’t volunteer information, but be honest if Bentwick asks you anything. I want you to observe what goes on during my report. Got it?”
Sam nodded and dutifully followed Dickey to the Chief Constable’s office. After a bit of a wait, Bentwick’s aide nodded to Dickey when one of the other investigators walked out.
“Did you get any information out of the victim? Those kind of people are stingy with their tongue to the likes of us,” Bentwick said.
Sam thought the chief’s comment said a lot about him, and he had to agree that he was just like Bentwick, although he suspected the chief could speak the court tongue.
“The theft occurred while the lady was visiting her sister in Deep River. From what the woman says, her husband and the staff denied knowing anything about the theft, but from where the jewels were kept, it had to be an inside job. Sam was able to get a closer look at the drawer. It hadn’t been forced.”
“That he could notice,” Bentwick said.
Dickey shrugged.
“Did you find anything else?” Bentwick looked at Sam. “Did you?”
Sam glanced at Dickey. “We did. Someone used something that Antina Mulch identified as deer pollen. I found five strands, four in the drawer and one on the rug. Also, there were pollen-made decorations in the sitting room. They were similar to the ones that Lennard Lager had in his dining room.”
Bentwick turned to Dickey. “What does deer pollen do, anyway?”
“Sam wanted us to see Antina Mulch. She said that red deer in Polistia could cast pollen that will help them hide by clouding a person’s memory.”
Antina hadn’t told them that, but Sam guessed that was how Dickey interpreted her words. For all he knew, Dickey was more accurate.
Bentwick snorted. “Antina Mulch. A character if I ever met one. Her problem is she wants to be too engaged with an investigation.” He eyed Sam. “Some would call her meddlesome.”
“I asked for a second opinion,” Sam said.
Dickey growled. Sam realized he had overstepped his supervisor’s instructions on responding only when spoken to.
“Hand it over. I’ll send it over to the Interior Ministry,” Bentwick said.
Dickey gave him the envelope. “The strands are in a folded paper. I could hardly see them, but Sam could with his spectacles.”
Bentwick nodded. “What is your next step?”
“We will wait for further developments. I asked the victim to notify us if the jewels are found.”
“Do you think they will be replaced with fakes?”
Dickey shrugged. “Pollen isn’t cold to touch like real jewels, so they might not show up.”
“Write up a report. Something tells me the thief isn’t finished. Especially if they are able to replace costly decorations with pollen versions.”
Sam opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Unfortunately, Bentwick noticed.
“You have something to say, boy?”
Sam looked at Dickey who gave him a barely noticeable nod.
“Maybe the jewels are a diversion. The victim’s drawer was still filled with other gems. The victim said the ornaments were worth twenty lions. No one will touch those like they would the jewelry,” Sam said.
Dickey made a face, but it was one that indicated that Sam had a point.
“You can put that in your report as speculation. It might help to note that later on, if this becomes a string of thefts,” Bentwick said. “You can go now. You will be primary on this theft, Nail.”
They returned to Dickey’s desk.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I spoke out of turn.”
Dickey glared at Sam. “Lesson learned?”
Sam nodded, but he didn’t know what lesson other than obeying every little command Dickey gave him.
“Write out the report, and while you do, I will do some research into deer pollen.”
Sam smiled. “We have a pollen library?”
Dickey shook his head. “The constabulary has a worthless pollen library. I’m going to the Royal University of Baskin. I have a contact who will let me into where they keep the good books,” he said with a smug expression.
“You don’t want me with you?”
“Adults only,” Dickey said. “Besides, you have a report to write.”
Sam pursed his lips. “Yes, sir,” he said, walking around to Dickey’s chair and sitting down emphatically. “I know what to do.”
Dickey nodded. “We will see about that.” He turned towards the door and left Sam alone with his paperwork.
~
Sam spent the next week in class, but he followed orders to stay away from swordsmanship. The week was over, and when Sam reported to class, his weapons instructor sent him to the constabulary healer to check on his stomach wound.
“I expected you would need two or three weeks for the stitches, but they dissolved before I needed to remove them. You heal quickly,” the man said.
Sam gave the healer a half smile. “I’ve been told that before. I feel better. Can I go back to weapons training?”
The healer shrugged. “I’d still take it easy, but that is more because you might be out of practice than a precaution that your wound will open again. It won’t. I’ll write a note to that effect.” The man scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Sam.
He walked back to the practice hall, wondering if the jewel theft was a one-time thing. Dickey hadn’t mentioned another incident. Sam passed the front counter.
“Note for you, Smith,” the duty sergeant said. He handed the missive to Sam.
It was folded in a unique way Sam had never seen before. He sniffed it. It had to be from Antina Mulch. It smelled just like her shop. The paper took some concentration to unfold without tearing, so Sam sat while he worked on the note.
Dickey walked past him and turned around. “Aren’t you supposed to be in weapons training?”
“A note,” Sam said, holding up his nearly-finished work. “It’s from Antina Mulch, I believe.”
Dickey grunted. “Hurry up and read it. How did it go with the healer?”
“You know I saw him?”
“You are my charge, Smith,” Dickey said as if he knew everything Sam did.
Sam was heartened by his partner’s interest. “I can go back to sword practice. The stitches have healed, and I just have to take it a bit easy. Not like before, though. He cautioned me because he thinks I’m out of shape.”
Dickey laughed. “An understatement. Hurry and get back to your training. The sooner you are done, the sooner we can do real work.” He left him without another word.
Sam’s eyes followed Dickey back to his office. He only needed a few more folds, and the message opened. It appeared the woman had crafted new frames from the alloy that Tru had made. A compliment for Tru and an invitation back to her shop for a fitting. He folded up the note in a conventional way and shoved it in his pocket before rising and heading to the training room.
The clattering of wooden swords stopped the minute Sam walked in.
“Back to your practice!” Kened Rider, the instructor, said. He turned to Sam. “I will spend the rest of the session testing you.”
Sam nodded and grabbed a wooden sword, but Kened stopped him. “Real steel,” Kened said. “I want to see how you work with the weight.”
“The healer said I shouldn’t overdo it. I’m not in good enough shape, he thinks,” Sam responded.
“Don’t worry. Just keep at it until you feel you’ve had enough. I won’t work you too hard.” Kened chose two shorter swords of a type Sam had never seen before. “These are Norlankian cutlasses. Short, sharp, and dangerous. These are blunted, but they will still raise a good welt or even break a bone. Swing it a bit to get the balance. More than a few constables choose a cutlass over a sword with a longer reach. In the confines of an angry tavern, this is more effective.”
Sam did as he was instructed. The sword was blade-heavy, despite the shortness. He thought about how he could apply what Harrison had taught him on the road and on the battlefield. His mind didn’t give him much help, so he swished the blade around a bit more. The sword was nearly too heavy, but he would do what he could until he felt fatigued.
“Do we spar like duelists or fighters?”
Kened smiled. “Fighters.”
Sam heard a groan of disdain from one of the other apprentices. He wondered if every one of his peers were listening to their every word. He had to assume they were.
Kened took him to an empty corner of the training hall and raised his sword. “We start with courtesy,” he said, raising the flat of his sword to his forehead without touching and sweeping it away.
Sam mimicked his teacher and took a step back. Kened hadn’t warmed up, so he had no idea how the man handled the sword. His teacher didn’t advance but stepped back as well.
He laughed. “How are we supposed to spar if we both retreat?” He lunged at Sam, who was still out of range, and then he lunged again. Sam wiped away Kened’s sword with his own. He twisted with his back to the teacher to step to Kened’s rear. However, his teacher circled in the other direction, and it was all Sam could do to parry.
“That was a nice move,” Kened said, blocking a thrust.
Sam could tell that Kened was playing with him, so he continued to figure out how to get under Kened’s guard, but the instructor was too good. They sparred until Sam’s strength was beginning to fade. He raised his hand to stop the session.
“I’ve had enough for now,” Sam said.
Kened narrowed his eyes and gave him a smile. “I was about to stop. You did rather well. Harrison Dimple would be proud of you.”
“But you toyed with me.”
Kened chuckled. “Few men in the constabulary can keep up with me. There is an advantage to teaching arms, you know.” He eyed the apprentices and made a motion with his hand to get them to work harder. “I’m going to put you on a different schedule than the rest of the boys. With your experience, you need to work with constables, not apprentices.” He looked at the others in the room. “Not that they aren’t good opponents, but your style suits men with more experience. The apprentices will get frustrated with your more, uh, practical approach, and you will be just as frustrated. I’ll get the rest into fighting shape, and then perhaps you can return.”
Kened had Sam follow him to a little table by the weapons racks. He scribbled out a note. “Early in the morning, I’m afraid. You might chance breakfast after you work out. The class will be a challenge in a few ways. You are dismissed, Smith.”
As he walked back up to the dormitory room for a change of clothes, Sam didn’t know if he should be happy, or disappointed, or fearful. He thought fearful was the best term since he was concerned that he had been singled out for advancement out of the class before he had barely begun, and he would be matched up against men much older than he.
He walked back down with a fresh shirt on. At least his wound had healed properly, and he didn’t worry about any blood. He now had two notes in his pocket. Sam decided he would ask Dickey if he had any idea of what might happen to him.
Dickey sat up straighter when Sam walked in. “So?” was all he said.
“I am to train with the constables, not the apprentices. My style isn’t suitable for young men.”
Dickey’s lips curved in a slight grin. “You won’t get any chances with the big boys,” he said.
Sam snorted. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “I’m too young for them and too experienced for my peers. I will just have to endure it all, won’t I?”
“Endure?” Dickey said. “I suppose that is the best way to look at it. What did the Mulch woman want? She’s the only person who would be sending you a private note like that. A Baskin female isn’t quite so inscrutable.”
Sam shook his head. “I’m no judge of the opposite sex. Any girl my age would be inscrutable. That is an area where I have less experience than my fellow apprentices.”
“That may change.” Dickey pursed his lips. “Snoops have duties other constables don’t. I’ll tell you after you visit Antina Mulch. I am guessing she had finished your spectacles?”
Sam nodded. “You give me leave for that?”
Dickey shrugged. “Why not? Visit your brother while you are at it. See if your house still stands after all his hot work in the backyard.”
“Hot work?” Sam asked.
“He set up a little forge in the garden.” Dickey raised his hands to fend off an objection. “Don’t worry. Constable Bentwick knows, and your brother has told him he has made everything safe.” Dickey narrowed his eyes. “Well, maybe not quite safe. Go inspect the place, will you?”
Sam smiled. “I will take advantage of the opportunity.”
“Take your wand. You never know when you might need some protection, Constable Smith.”
“Yes, sir. When can I move in?”
“Let’s call it a week from today? Will that suit you?”
Sam felt like he had been given a sweet treat. “It will.”
Chapter Eight
~
T he back garden was cleaned up when Sam walked through the back gate to the house he was to share with his brother. Tru had removed all the weeds, and towards the rear, he had constructed a small brick forge under a tin roof, open on all four sides. His brother had obviously banked the small fire, but it seemed to have gone out.
