An Apprentice Without Magic, page 8
part #2 of Magic Missing Series
Sam recognized a few crucibles and didn’t know the purpose from other tools. Everything had taken on a smaller scale. He guessed that Tru built the forge for Antina Mulch’s alloy.
He opened the door to Emmy’s room, but there were boxes and bags of things spread around the floor. Sam frowned. Taking over Emmy’s room wasn’t part of his agreement with Tru. He’d have to talk to him, but Sam didn’t have any idea when that would be.
He opened the door to the smaller room in the outside shed and found it cleaned out. Perhaps Tru needed more room for his materials. Sam had to shake his head. He wanted to be a firm landlord, but he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of his brother. The house was being leased to him, not Sam, although he paid the first year’s rent.
Any discussion of who used what in the house and grounds would have to come another day. He walked through the place. It didn’t look as messy as the first time he sneaked around. At least he would leave the house with an encouraging thought.
The walk to Antina Mulch’s shop seemed longer than usual, especially when Sam realized he had lost his way. He tried walking east towards the ocean, but the roads didn’t go directly east. Sam wandered around, not knowing where to go, until the smell of the ocean strengthened. The neighborhoods became run-down. More people seemed to be sitting or standing along the streets.
“What have we here?” A youth older and bigger stood in front of Sam.
“I am lost. I suppose I’m closer to the port. I can find my way from there.” Sam wasn’t so sure he could. “Could you give me directions?”
Two younger men closer to Sam’s age joined the young man. They jostled Sam a bit. He pulled out his wand. At least he hadn’t left a gold tip on it, or he would be in even worse trouble than he was.
“You can pay for those?”
“All I want to do is get back to central Baskin. I have something I need to pick up before I return to work.”
The oldest of the three chuckled. “You work? That means you have some money.” His smile suddenly turned menacing. “Give it over, and we won’t kill you. All boys need a good beating, though, don’t you know?”
Sam backed away from his would-be attackers before they surrounded him. He drew his wand.
The older youth snorted. “And we are supposed to be afraid of a boy with a stick?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Sam said. He didn’t want to get into trouble with Dickey, but thoughts of the beating that nearly killed him just before he left Cherryton came unbidden to his mind. “I am trained.”
“Trained for what?” one of the other boys said. “Running messages?”
The others laughed. One of them created a pollen knife, and another suddenly wielded a pollen rod. The oldest one curled his fists. Sam looked at each one to assess the risks, just like Harrison Dimple had taught him. The knife would hamper his fighting the worse, especially if the boy could make one with a sharp edge. The older boy could pummel him since he was stronger. He’d have to prepare himself for bruises from the adversary with the stick. It didn’t look particularly heavy.
“One last chance,” the leader said.
“One last chance for you, too,” Sam said.
That comment made the others laugh. Before they had a chance to stop, Sam launched his attack. He batted away the knife and followed up with a crushing blow to the wielder's fingers. The knife clattered to the stone cobbles, but Sam felt a blow to his left arm. The rod had struck. He stifled a cry and poked the sharp end of this wand into the leader’s stomach, making the assailant gasp in pain.
The wand had penetrated the boy’s skin, and the fists uncurled to staunch the blood. That left the boy with the stick. Sam used his wand like a sword, and the soft pollen of the stick bent so much as to make it useless. He struck the boy’s upper arm, and his opponents were unarmed until they made new weapons. Each one had suffered a wound. Sam’s arm ached, but not enough to keep him from running further east.
Two of his attackers pursued and were soon left behind. Sam gathered himself, despite the throbbing in his arm and finally emerged onto the docks. He found a constable talking to some pretty women, but Sam wouldn’t be deterred.
“I was attacked about a half-mile to the West,” he said with barely enough breath to talk. “I need some help.”
“So?” the constable said, “It looks like you survived.”
“I’m a constabulary apprentice. I know Dickey Nail and Chief Constable Bentwick.”
“You’re the new apprentice snoop at the main station?” the constable asked.
Sam nodded.
The constable grinned at the three ladies and gave them a little bow. “I’ll find a conveyance to the station. You said you came from that direction?”
“I did.”
The man pursed his lips as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t even go through there. That is the roughest part of Baskin. But as I said, it looks like you survived.”
“Tell my arm that,” Sam said. He could tell it wasn’t broken, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
“Follow me.” The constable led Sam across the docks to a central square surrounded by warehouses and stopped a carriage. “This is one of my fellow constables. He is an apprentice who hasn’t yet learned where not to poke his nose. Take him to the Central Constabulary.”
The driver nodded.
“What is your name?” Sam asked.
“Target Armstrong, Marine Constable,” he said. “We patrol the docks, the flophouses and the dives the sailors use. Put in a good word to Dickey Nail. I’ve always wanted to be a snoop, but…” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I will,” Sam said.
The carriage proceeded southwest out of the square. The rough cobbles jostled the carriage, making Sam’s wound ache more. He gave the man Antina Mulch’s address, and he disembarked at the woman’s front door. Sam paid the man a generous tip, although the driver didn’t seem impressed at all. He left Sam on the doorstep looking at the dwindling conveyance.
The door opened behind him. “Are you going to come in or gawk at the passersby?” Antina said.
Sam turned around. “I had an unwanted adventure,” he said. His arm twinged and he held it tightly as he stepped inside the shop.
“A fight?”
Sam nodded. “I got a good bruise on the arm. I was lucky to get away with only that. There were three of them.” He let Antina be the first person to get a complete version of his encounter.
“Maps aren’t that expensive,” she said. “I even sell them. Baskin’s streets twist and turn enough.”
“I thought I knew the way to your shop, but I took a wrong turn and then another.” Sam sighed. “I’ll buy one of your maps.”
The older woman smiled indulgently. “I’ll include one with the fee for your spectacles. Your brother created just what I needed. You sit here, and I’ll get your order and some painkiller for your arm.”
Sam took in the exotic smell of the shop. He didn’t wait long before Antina returned with a leather pouch with two sets of spectacles and something in a steaming cup.
“That is Senbark tea. It is better than anything in Baskin. I have it imported from Ristaria on Polistia. Let me help get your new spectacle frames adjusted as soon as you’ve had a healthy dose of medicine.”
Sam did as she said. The tea warmed him inside, but his arm still hurt. Antina took out a pair of spectacles, and she slipped them on Sam’s face and adjusted them each time. The alloy was a reddish silver color. Eventually, both sets of spectacles fit Sam’s face perfectly.
“Your third pair?” she asked.
Sam handed them over.
“This will give you an excuse to visit me again. Now, how is your arm?”
Sam rubbed the bruise and felt the pain, but the throbbing had disappeared. “It is gone.”
“No, it isn’t. Your arm is still attached to your shoulder,” she said.
“The pain,” Sam said, a little irritated by her joke.
“Good.” She smiled. “Your thief has been active again, because I had one of my clients in here to replace three pieces that were taken from her house.”
Sam explained the way the other theft had been conducted, and it seemed to be the same. “Can I tell Dickey Nail?”
Antina shrugged. “Don’t you want to solve the mystery on your own?”
Sam shook his head. “I am too unique as it is. I’m still in training, so no. I don’t want to find out who did it. I want Dickey to do so, and I will be happy to help.”
“Suit yourself,” Antina said. “I will be here when you need me. Is that all right?”
Sam nodded. “I really need to be getting back. I am two hours late.”
Antina shrugged. “They won’t even notice.”
Chapter Nine
~
S am walked into the constabulary, wondering about Antina’s parting words. Did anyone care about his existence in Baskin? Tru might. He knew Dickey Nail thought of him as a burden, a ten-pound stone hung around his neck. He needed Emmy.
His dog barked when she spied her master. Sam couldn’t help but grin at her. He stood in front of Emmy and rubbed behind the dog’s ears. Sam always liked the way Emmy closed her eyes, intent on his petting.
“You like me, don’t you?”
Emmy barked, just as she did whenever Sam asked her a question.
The Minister of Justice turned the corner and stopped to look at Sam with Emmy. “I hear you are taking your dog from the stable in a few days.”
“As soon as my trainer lets me,” Sam said.
“Ah,” the Minister knelt down and looked into Emmy’s eyes. “She acts differently around you, you know.” The man smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but he held himself as if he did.
“I said before if you ever need me, you can seek me out,” the Minister said. “My name is Issak Bolt.” He chuckled when he said it.
“Your name makes you laugh?”
The Minister nodded. “It does. When Vaarekian royalty ruled Toraltia, many Baskin citizens were given prosaic surnames. I would say Bolt to be one of the better ones given.” He gave Sam an amused look.
“Can anyone learn Vaarekian?” Sam asked.
Bolt frowned. “I suppose so. Why?”
“I’d like to learn. It would seem to me it would help me do a better job in Baskin, I need to acquire some of the language.”
The Minister frowned. “Commoners don’t need to speak in court language. But if you need to, always learn a foreign language from a native speaker.”
“Isn’t the court language your native tongue?”
Bolt’s good humor didn’t return. “It is.”
Sam stood. “I’d best be seeking out Dickey Nail, sir.”
“You do that. Nail is an old, respected name. I’ll keep your mutt company,” the Minister of Justice said.
After walking in, Sam turned the Minister’s words over in his mind. He thought the minister was a friendly type, but when Sam talked about learning court language, Bolt didn’t seem to like the idea.
“Did you get lost?” Dickey said as Sam walked into the snoop’s office.
Sam nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did. I learned there are areas of Baskin that I shouldn’t enter. I headed east towards the docks, hoping to get my bearings, but the buildings became more rundown. Three youths wanted my money, so I had to fight my way out.”
“Do you have proof of such an adventure?” Dickey said.
Sam thought for a moment and took off his shirt, showing the fresh bruise on his upper arm. “My proof. One of my assailants had a thick stick.”
Dickey poked at the bruise, making Sam wince. “And what happened to the others?”
“One decided to use his fists and the other brandished a knife. My wand is iron, and I knew how to use my weapon better than they used theirs. I did have to run for my life.”
“And how do you think the other apprentices would have fared?” Dickey asked.
Sam just shook his head. Without a sword, all of them would likely have emptied their pockets. “They wouldn’t have run,” Sam said.
Dickey’s eyes widened. “Are you so certain you are better than your fellow apprentices?”
Sam smiled. “Not better, but I think caught by themselves, they would have given the thugs their hearts’ desires.”
His partner smirked, “I suppose so.” He raised a few papers from his desk. “We had another burglary while you were out mixing with Baskin’s true nobility.”
“More jewelry was stolen?” It appeared that Antina Mulch was correct about another theft.
Dickey nodded. “Can you handle being ignored again?”
“I can!” Sam said. He put on his newly framed spectacles.
“The lady’s work, I imagine. Those could belong on a noble’s nose.”
“But they are on mine,” Sam said. “And I am ready to investigate!”
Dickey put on his dress coat again, and they rode back to the best section of Baskin. Sam stood next to Dickey at the servant’s entrance again.
A woman answered the door, speaking Toraltian. “You are expected, sir. The boy can stay in the servant’s quarters.”
“He needs to examine the scene of the crime,” Dickey said. “How can I train him to be a proper snoop if he can’t come with me?”
The woman frowned. “It would be my job if he were to accompany you, sir.”
Dickey looked evenly at the woman for a moment and nodded. “When I am finished interviewing the lady or lord, can you let him look at the scene when the nobles aren’t present?”
The woman weighed Dickey’s words. “I suppose so,” she said. “You’ll have to be quick about it.”
“Won’t take us long, missus.”
The woman stood straighter. “Miss.”
Dickey winced at Sam but turned it into a pained smile. “Forgive us.”
Sam wanted to shake his head. He had nothing to be forgiven for, but Dickey’s action surprised him. He would take advantage of the situation by talking to the servants. That was something that Harrison Dimple would do, talk to the common people in the taverns. Servants would have their own viewpoints about what went on in the mansion.
Sam followed Dickey and the woman into a servant’s dining room. Windows were facing the corridor on one side of the room, presumably to let the woman or a butler know if staff was eating.
“He can stay in here,” the woman said. “Follow me, Constable Nail.”
Sam took a chair, sitting by himself in the dining room. He looked around and spotted some bread on a sideboard, along with a pot of butter, and helped himself.
“Who are you?” a youngish man about Dickey’s age, well dressed, but definitely in servant’s garb asked. The man looked well-fed and had a bored expression on his face.
“I am Apprentice Constable Smith, sir,” Sam said rising to his feet. The buttered bread lay half-eaten on the table.
“Nail’s trainee?”
Sam nodded. He had no idea how much the servant knew or what he should tell him. The man frowned, but raised his eyebrows and cut a slice of bread and slathered on butter from the pot and sat down.
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His intent gaze made Sam uncomfortable, but he nodded, looking at Sam’s uneaten snack.
“I’ll join you if you tell me what is going on,” the man said. The bored look seemed to evaporate.
“I’m Sam Smith.” Sam felt the need to find out where the man stood in the mansion’s pecking order.
“Faran Rubble. I am the butler, but today is my day off. It isn’t that I am nosy, but I am nosy.” He smiled at his turn of words.
The man’s frank comment made Sam smile. “I don’t know what has happened here except for a jewelry theft.”
Faran nodded and took a bite from his bread. A shiny spot of butter reflected light from his upper lip. Sam withheld a smile.
“Do you know anything about the theft?” Sam asked.
“Things have been a bit odd recently,” the butler said. “I was hoping you knew why.”
“Odd?” Sam said, hoping the man would say more.
“The master has been acting absent-minded. He has been coming home, not knowing where he has been. I sometimes act as his valet if he comes in late.” He looked at Sam and cleared his throat. “It is my prerogative as butler. I was elevated to the position at a young age, as you can tell.”
“What about the woman who showed Constable Nail in?”
Faran shifted his eyes a bit. “We share chief servant duties. She, as the housekeeper, runs the women, and I supervise the men. It is how things work.”
Sam didn’t know. “What is odd about acting absent-minded?”
Faran shook his head. “I was hoping you could tell me.” He laughed. “I guess you are too junior. Perhaps I have wasted my time.”
“Maybe not,” Sam said. “Has he been buying new wall ornaments?”
Faran narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?”
“If I could see one of the new ones, I’d be able to tell if this case is connected to another.”
Faran chewed on his lip. “I can procure the latest. It hasn’t been mounted yet. Wait here.”
Sam had no other place to go, so he nodded and took a few more bites of his buttered bread while he waited. In a few moments, Faran returned with an ornate faceplate to some kind of helmet. It had the expression of an angry bird.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Faran said.
Sam hefted it. He put on his spectacles, but nothing changed. However, he reversed the mask, looking inside. When he took off his spectacles, the metallic lining disappeared showing the paint of the mask’s surface.
“This is a pollen mask,” Sam said. “It has been made to look like metal, but it is a fake.”
Faran held the mask in his hands. “The master has bought a number of these for more money than you will ever see. You have examined similar pieces?”
Sam nodded. “I —”
Dickey entered the room. “Sam, we must move quickly to let you examine the scene.”
Faran stood. “Can I tag along, Dickey?”
