Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (14 page)

Chapter 13

Owen closed the study door, the ward sealing on its
own, just as he had designed it to do, against such a day as today
.

His eyes took in the shelves lined with books against the
walls, the comfortable chair with the mage light on the end table. To be
honest, he was simply stalling. He knew what he had to do. He removed his coat
and tossing it on the chair, followed it with his cravat, in a splash of purple
against black, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

The theories on the need to be
naked to perform a
Greater Working
had always struck Owen as specious at
best. If Magia was not inhibited by stone walls, he didn’t see how mere cloth
could stand in the way of his Will. In the same way, the notion that it added
to the power by forming some connection to every Sorcerer in the past who had
also gone bare skinned, did not really make sense to him either.

Owen suspected that the true
reason was much the same as it was for Sorcerous dueling. It was impossible to
hide mastery of an element if the blood-bond etched into the skin glowed when
called upon. Normally invisible, the sigils would light with an inner fire on
the Sorcerer’s body, showing clearly what elemental forces they were bound to,
and could call upon. No matter the truth of it, he wasn’t about to ignore any
of the forms tonight if he could help it.

Naked, he padded across the rich
Persian carpet that covered the floor to the cabinet set into a bookcase. His
Air
sigil glowed faintly on his chest as he unknotted the spell lock on the door.
Reaching within, he removed the electrum brazier, charcoal, and a small box of
herbs, locking it again with a gesture and the power of
Air
.

Looking carefully at the pattern
of the rug, he judiciously set the brazier at the rug’s exact center and filled
it.  You could say what you would about the Persians, but they understood Sorcery.
The rug had been made for exactly the kind of
Working
he was going to do
tonight. It would save him hours of drawing lines in blood and herbs, in order
to prepare to channel the energies he would call upon. When the brazier was filled,
he crossed back to the chair, moving it so that was no longer on the rug, and
picked up his cane. He faced a full length mirror that stood near the opposite
wall from the chair.

In the mirror, he saw a tall man,
dark of hair, beardless, and strong like his name, stare back at him. His arms
were crisscrossed with faint scars from sword fights, with one along the left
side of his chest from a fight he had nearly lost. His eyes looked back at him,
shrouded and dark rimmed. He looked older than he remembered looking, and then
banished such thoughts as he focused his inner power.

Unlike the slap-dash spell-slinging
that made up every day Sorcery, this would require calling on the full extent
of his powers, for what he intended was nothing less than the manifestation of
a powerful being from another world.   

Fire
was the easiest to call and the hardest to control.
He called to it, feeling the wild power of it fill his veins with heat. Burning
suns and stars exploded across his vision, and he felt
Fire’s
exaltation
threaten to overwhelm his reason. Wrestling with it, he tamed the wildness to a
warm glow ready to flare at his Will. He saw in the mirror the deep red bond
glow to life just below his belly button, and breathed out as the glow
steadied.

Water
was next, to balance the
Fire
. He called out
with his spirit, feeling the blood flow through his body, pulsing in rhythm to
the currents of the deeps, mighty and rolling with all that had been and ever
would be. He felt the powerful pulling that would drown him in its drum-beat,
where he might be lost forever. Using a whisper of
Fire
, he brought the
rhythm into harmony with his heartbeat. Looking into the mirror, he saw the
flickering blue glow ignite just below his throat, and exhaled.

Air
followed. He called to it, feeling a wind caress his
skin in the closed room, the wind lifting his feet off the carpet. The rush of
a million voices filled his ears, threatening him with madness. With a touch of
Water
, the voices dimmed, soothed by the compassion of the endless
depths. The sigil flared into golden light over his right breast and his feet
touched the floor again at the winds’ retreat.

Next he called upon
Earth
,
feeling his body grow ever heavier. The low slow grumblings of the stone miles
below him filled his bones, calling him to lay down with them, to claim the
release they offered. A caress of
Air
buoyed him up with the knowledge
that it was not time for him to yield to such a siren song. A deep emerald bond
mark appeared over his left nipple as he exhaled.

Balanced between the Elements
that made the World, he reached deep within to call upon
Spirit
, the
Power that all the other elements flowed from, that held the very World in its center,
as lightly as a grain of sand. His heart was flooded by the infinity of that power,
and he longed to dance among swirling stars and endless blackness until he
dissolved into the beauty of it all.

He called on all four Elements
together and returned to gaze at the body in the mirror, seeing a brilliant
design of white fire, lined in blackest black, spring from the center of his
torso.

Before he would call on the next
bond, he doused the Mage light in the ceiling with a hand, and covered the
mirror with the black shroud that was rolled up on top of its frame. Mirrors
could be windows to any Demon or Sorcerer that flew on the
aether
between the worlds.  Owen had no desire to be either spied upon, or
interrupted.

Turning to the brazier, he
pointed at it with his cane, and the charcoal glowed into life, the special
herbs sending up wisps of light as they gave up their essences to the heat. It
was the smoke that would give the
Other
a means to anchor in this World. 
 

Owen called upon the raw power
of all five bonds and began speaking in the tongue of the Shining Ones, a
language that human mouths could only speak with the greatest of difficulty.
The sounds twisted the very
air
, booming off the walls of the study,
then fell into whispers, only to surge in volume once again. Owen felt the corresponding
bond respond to the
Calling
, burning like a brand on his forehead in its
attempt to rend the walls between the Worlds. The tendrils of radiant smoke
swirled together faster and faster as he spoke. With a final word, he thrust
his cane to strike with a loud bang on the floor.

The smoke coalesced into a tall
figure, more beautiful than any mortal woman, more handsome than any man. Owen
felt his body respond to its beauty, even as he fought down the responses.
Where eyes would be on a mortal, violet fires shone. The figure turned these glowing
orbs on Owen.

“So you have called to me,” it
said in a voice that soared sweeter than a thousand Bards, screeching like the
legs of a million beetles. The figure seemed to nod in satisfaction. “As I have
predicted you would.”

“Nothing has changed,” Owen
rasped out. “I am still of the same mind as when you branded me with this Bond,
against my will.”

The figure wavered in the air.

“Indeed? Do you not recall that
it was only by the bond that your life was saved? Let me remind you.” The
figure made a tossing motion towards him. 

Owen stood again on the Crimean
battlefield, the infernal weapon of the Austrians sending out its rending
vibrations. Owen knew that the next wave would disintegrate him, as it had
every fighter on the field. With his heart filled with defiance and fear, he
aimed his cane at the machine, channeling every grain of energy that a Master Sorcerer
could summon. The wood of the cane exploded into splinters and a tear appeared
in the World, a tear that Owen fell into.

“Without the bond to my world,” the
Shining One said, “you would not have been able to survive there, nor return to
your world with your spirit and mind intact.” It regarded him curiously, “Why
do you still begrudge this?”

“You told me a lot of things,”
Owen growled. “If I am not to believe in your—country folk, why should I
believe what you say?”

“Why not,” the voice soothed. “Have
you found any of what I told you to be untrue?”

When Owen came to after falling,
it was in a place where even the colors were strangely wrong. His memories of
that place were mercifully dim, but he knew that the being who now stood before
him had cared for him, had even healed him. The being had told Owen that others
of his kind had been dealing with the Obsidian Order since the Order’s founder
had learned their language, nearly three hundred years earlier. The Great
Doctor had made the Shining Ones the Order’s allies, helping to shape the
British Empire as it spread across the globe, or so the humans had thought.

Owen’s rescuer had revealed that,
to them, humanity’s affairs where merely an amusing diversion, despite the high-minded
rhetoric they espoused. They viewed the Order much like favorite pets, as they
played their own games with the flesh and blood of mortals.

His rescuer believed that this
meddling had created a dangerous imbalance in humanity’s evolution, and that
the Austrian’s alchemical
physicks
, devoid of any understanding of
Spirit
or
Balance
, threatened to tear the very universe apart. After revealing
these terrible understandings, she/he had offered Owen a gift of the Electrum
cane he now carried, and had sent him back.

Owen had appeared in a small
Greek fishing village, with the cane at his side. The revelations of the
Shining One has caused him to resign from the Order. He could not bear the
thought that all he had done, all the suffering he had caused, and had seen,
was merely some grand chess game for bored Spirits. He had wandered the world until
he came to this city half-way around the globe, and eventually now to this
meeting.

“No,” Owen said between gritted
teeth. “I have found that what you said about the Order was true, at least. But
men were not meant to be pawns in your games.”

“Then why have you called upon
me?”

“I need your aid,” Owen
admitted. “There is a scheme to ignite a world war by assassination. You have
ways of knowing things, as well as power beyond what we might know, it has
always been said. I need your aid in stopping this.”

The Shining One flared more
brightly for a moment causing Owen to shield his eyes. It took him a moment to
realize this was a form of laughter.

“You object to our interfering
on one hand, then ask for that interference on the other. How typical of your
kind. No, I will not stop what is to be.”

“Then at least tell me the
identity of the assassin,” Owen pleaded.

“The killer is greed and fear,
as it so often is for your folk,” the Shining One replied wearily.  “The seeds
of the Shadowed Ones that you call the
Austrians
begin to bear their
terrible fruit.” 

“I do not understand,” Owen said
perplexed. “Are you saying that an Austrian is the assassin? Who are they? How
can I unmask them?”

“Yes and no, no and yes,” the
being answered. “You already have seen the mask, but your eyes do not notice,
and it is so easy. The one you seek is the one that you should expect to be at
the side of dying men first.”

Owen frowned. That made no sense
to him at all. The beautiful being in front of him began to dissolve back into
the incense smoke.

“You bore me,” He heard as if from
a great distance. “I shall go elsewhere unless you have something more
entertaining, or…” the voice picked up just the slightest bit, “you wish to let
me out of this smelly circle, into your world.”

Strong smiled to himself, pushing
more energy into the defense of the circle. He’d awaited this. The thought of
an unbound Old One loose in his world was more terrifying than a world war, and
he wasn’t about to let it happen.

“No, I think not,” Strong said
clearly, “I Close the Door.” 

The two wrestled back and forth,
their Magia almost a physical thing to Owen, like a strong wind he leaned
against. He heard a loud sigh, and felt the air pressure slump as the doorway
closed.

He remembered to turn on the oil
lamps with his
fire calling
. That took the last bit of his energy, and
he slid to the floor, unconscious before he came to rest. 

Chapter 14

Owen awoke on his lounge on the outside terrace. He
was wrapped in blankets, with Jinhao hovering near him
.

“Good, you are awake,” she said briskly. “Drink this.”
This
turned out to be strong coffee with a heavy brandy chaser. Owen found that a
few sips laced warmth through his body, while also clearing his head.

He wet his lips. “How did you get into the room,” he finally
managed to ask.

“I convinced Barton that something not covered by his orders
must have happened,” Jinhao said. “Did you really expect that some alien spirit
would possess you or destroy the house?”

“I cannot answer that,” Owen croaked. He sipped more of the
coffee and brandy. It was quite invigorating. He felt the cobwebs fly from his
head as he remembered the events of last night, and his failure to learn
anything useful, despite the danger. “It would appear that I’ve been something
of a wishful fool.”

Jinhao frowned at this. “And you will not tell me more about
what you are talking about?”

“I promise you, Jinhao…” he began.

“It is not safe for me to know,” Jinhao finished for him
disgustedly. “I will accept that you have secrets, Owen Strong, but if you are
inviting powerful Demons into my dwelling, I believe that I have a right to
know, and to know what it is.”

Owen opened his mouth slowly. “You are absolutely right, and I
apologize,” he said finally.

Her eyebrows shot up at this.

“Almost this possession I could believe. Did you just apologize
and
agree with me?” She held up her hand before he could speak. “We can
talk of this later. Roberet had something interesting to say about the little
metal shard, and Lady Hastings has sent word that she will call on us.”

Owen almost groaned.

“Why ever is she calling on us?”

“She claims to have gathered a
clue
using her Truth Sense.”
Jinhao cocked her head at Owen. “You look terrible. Did you at least find the
answers you were seeking?”

Owen preceded to tell Jinhao what the Spirit had said, without
going into the Spirit’s origins.

Jinhao frowned. “The one who should already be there.” She
shook her head. “That makes no sense whatsoever. Are you sure this is not a
prank?”

Owen drained the coffee mug, handing it to Barton.

“I am not sure. They do not think like we do, you know. It
could have been legitimate, or he could have simply wished to torment me with
the hint that he knows more than he does.” He shakily sat up.

“What did Roberet have to say?”

Jinhao replied excitedly.

“He examined it and pronounced that it was the casing of a
round from a magnetic gun. Not only that, but that there were traces of frozen Tesarine
oil as well.”

“Magnetic gun…” Owen asked.

Jinhao nodded.

“Yes. It works by using magnets to propel a bullet to unheard-of
speeds. The frozen Tesarine would liquefy as soon as it pierced the skin.” She
smiled.

“Yes,” Owen mused. “Now we know how they were murdered. Did
Roberet say how big the weapon had to be? Or who could make such a thing?”

“That he was not sure of, but from the shard, he would guess a
tube no wider than a cigar.” She shrugged. “As for who, he told me that he
could make such a thing in a year now that he knows about it. It would take a
very smart Alchemist indeed.”

“Which still points to our friends the Austrians,” Owen said.
“But why kill their own man?” He thought aloud. Suddenly he snapped his
fingers. “Tube. Concealed so along the arm. You aim it as if you’re going to
shake hands with the target.”

Jinhao brightened visibly.

“Yes, it would take practice to aim but could work.  But if it
is the Austrians, how will we find the killer?”

Owen shook his head.

“We shall not if it is. But I am inclined to think that it is
someone the Austrians have hired or suborned in some manner. ‘The one you
expect to be there’ is not some nameless assassin.” He struggled to stand up
straight.  “You should be careful,” Jinhao said, offering her hand for
assistance. “I thought you dead not that long ago.”

“Nonsense,” Owen said heartily, “Nothing that won’t pass. Barton,
give me an arm will you?” The clank man extended an arm. “That’s a good
clockwork gear,” Owen said approvingly. “Now get me to my room, get a basin of
hot water, and see to some food for me immediately, and tea for company.” He
turned to Jinhao, “When is Lady Hastings expected?”

“Her note said eleven o’clock,” Jinhao answered.

Owen glanced through the doorway into the front parlor.

“And it is now just after half ten,” he said with satisfaction,
“Plenty of time.” He looked at her diaphanous night-gown pointedly. “While that
may indeed be charming, would you also like to change into something more appropriate
for tea with a guest?”

With that, he had Barton assist him up the main stairs. Jinhao
frowned again as there was a scratching at the front door, a sound that,
fortunately, only she heard. When she opened the door, there stood one of the
street urchins that roamed the city freely.

Often times they were mixed children that no one wanted, or
orphans thrown on the streets by bad luck. The dirty child’s fingers quickly
flashed in an intricate pattern. Jinhao gestured for him to come inside, and
quickly.  “You should not be here,” she said to him. His response was to make
the finger patterns as before.

She strode over to the writing table. She began to write
angrily.

“Alright,” she said coldly. “But this is the only time, until I
can meet him face to face, you understand me?” She rolled the scrap of paper up
into a tube, and held it out to him. He snatched it away from her hand as if
she might bite him instead.

“Good,” she nodded in approval. “You should fear me. And if
that message goes astray, I will give you cause to. Now, go.” The urchin flew
out the front door. Jinhao looked at the clock, and sighed. She just had time
to don a presentable Western dress.

She came back downstairs to find a nattily-dressed Owen seated
in the front parlor. He was gulping tea and destroying a series of finger
sandwiches. On seeing Jinhao’s look, he looked up defensively.

“It takes a lot of energy to do what I did last night. This is
the fastest way to replenish it.”

Jinhao nodded her understanding.

“It is the same after I have used my abilities. Perhaps the two
disciplines are not as foreign to each other as we have been taught.” Her lips
curled upwards, “Perhaps you should teach me some of your Western tricks.”

Owen chuckled around his food.

“And you will teach me how to spring through the air across a
room? Wonderful,” he said drily. “Then we shall have two governments with a
reason to hang us both.”

The Front bell rang.

“That would be Lady Hastings, I presume,” Owen remarked. “Let Barton
get the door. It would not do, to answer it ourselves.” He put down his cup and
plate. “Now that hunger is abated, let us see what Lady Hastings has to say for
herself.” 

Barton announced the Lady Hastings as she swept into the room.
Discreetly behind her, came the House Healer, Lady Ap Rhys. She looked for all
the world as if she had eaten a sour lemon as she glanced around at the furnishings.

“Lady Hastings,” Owen stood, bowing in an exaggerated court
style. “You do my home too much honor.”

The young woman dipped a short curtsy in response.

“Ah no, it is you that does me honor in receiving me, Lord
Strong!” She raised a fan, opening it with a snap. “I believe I have discovered
the murderer of Papa,” she announced, all the while fanning herself.

“Truly,” Owen responded lazily. “Still, I can see that this has
put you all out of sorts, do sit and partake of some tea won’t you?” At a nod
from Owen, Barton pulled back a chair for Lady Hastings. She looked at the
chair for a moment, and then with an audible sigh sank into it. Owen gestured
to the House Healer that she take the remaining chair.

“No thank you, Milord,” the older woman replied. “It would not
be proper.”

Owen flopped down at the day table across from Lady Hastings
and next to Jinhao.

“Oh, we are anything but proper here, Lady Ap Rhys, but you
must suit yourself.” Taking up the tea pot, he poured for Lady Hastings,
“White, and sugar?” When her tea had been placed in her reach he refilled both
Jinhao’s cup and his own. He sipped with satisfaction and leaned back in the
chair.

“Now, Lady Hastings, please tell me how you’ve come to such a
conclusion. Please omit nothing.”

“Well, last night you asked me to keep my Truth Sense open for
clues, and I did just that,” the young woman said with pride. “Even though it
gives me the most horrible headaches and the most depressing view of people.”
She sighed, “It’s easy to forget that everyone lies when you’re not confronted
with it all the time right in front of your face, so to speak.”

The young heiress took another sip of tea.

“I believe that it has paid off however,” Lady Hastings said animatedly.
“I would casually ask everyone I came into contact with if they were sad that
Papa was gone.” She looked at Owen sharply over her cup, “Only one person was
lying when they said they were, and that would be Terrance McDougal, our chief
engineer.” She paused for dramatic impact.

“When I questioned Master McDougal as to his latest project,
construction down on the docks, he lied again, although I could not say what
specifically he was lying about, the sense doesn’t work quite that well without
more pointed questions that I was sure would arouse his suspicions.  Instead, I
went to look at the records for the project.” She set her now empty teacup on
the table. ‘I am no engineer Lord Strong, but it seems to me that the project
is costing much more than it should.”

Owen sat his own cup down, straightening in his chair.

“And so you surmise that Master McDougal killed your father in
an attempt to hide his larceny. Who else have you told this to?”

“No one save Ann here,” Lady Hastings indicated the House Healer.
Her face bore a distinct frown.

“Besides, who would I tell that it would do any good? The
constabulary would be no help, nor would the governor. I know what I have found
would not be seen as evidence, yet, I am convinced!”

“If I might suggest, Lady Hastings,” Owen said sympathetically,
“leave the entire matter in my hands. I promise you I shall see the person, or
persons, responsible for your father’s death are brought to justice.”

“Persons,” Lady Hastings said sharply. “Then you think it that
more than one person is responsible?”

“I think it entirely possible, but by no means certain,” Owen
replied.

Lady Ap Rhys, the House Healer, stirred from her relaxed guard
behind Lady Hastings.

“There is always another alternative, Milady.”

Hastings nodded at this.

“Yes, I have not forgotten.” Seeing Owen’s question, Lady
Hastings said, “Ann has reminded me that I may invoke the right as Head of
House to try and, if need be, convict Master McDougal myself, a fact that I
must confess to you brings me a certain satisfaction to think on.” She shrugged.

“Papa, though, always said that taking the law into your own
hands was seldom just, and never really removed doubts.” She clenched her jaw,
“I will have no doubts, Lord Strong.”

“I’m glad that your father was such a wise man Lady Hastings,”
Owen said quickly. “I shall leave you with no doubts, you have my word on it.”

The young heiress nodded as if in relief.

“I shall leave it in your hands then, Lord Strong,” she said
and then leaned forward, “Mind you, if I am not satisfied within the fortnight,
then I shall convene that special House Court.” Her smile held all the warmth
of the frozen plains of the north lands.

Owen bowed his head to her.

“As your Ladyship wishes,” he replied. Raising it again, he
held up the teapot. “More tea, My Lady?”

Lady Hastings abruptly stood bolt upright.

“No thank you,” she answered. “I have already taken up enough
of your time, and that of Lady Jinhao, as it is. Besides, I’m sure that you wish
to go about spelling or investigating or whatever you do.”

Owen and Jinhao rose as well.

“Of course, Lady Hastings. I shall inform you when events
warrant giving you news. Let me see you out.”

“No thank you,” the heiress said again. “I’m sure that we shall
be quite well served by your clockwork man here. Wonderful conceit by the way,
Papa did away with all of ours some years ago, too much trouble to upkeep.”

“His name is Barton,” Owen said stiffly. “And he is a valued
member of this household.”

Lady Hastings face showed her surprise at this.

“Well, of course,” she finally said. “My favorite clank man was
named Samuel. I cried when Papa sent him away.” She turned towards the
mechanical butler. “Please show us out, Barton,” she requested softly.

Barton whirred, and from his speaker grill came a chirpy voice.

“This way, Lady Hastings.”

Owen and Jinhao watched the two Englishwomen leave. Once they
had gone Jinhao turned to Owen, whose brow was creased deep in thought.

“Do you believe that her theory is correct?”

Owen started himself from his internal study.

“What”? He waved a hand in dismissal. “No. I doubt it very
much. There are too many unanswered questions.  How did he manage to come
across so sophisticated a means of killing? Why was he not remarked upon by
anyone as having been there when Lord Hastings was murdered? And what about the
other killings? What possible reward could the Chief Engineer of a House hope
to gain by sabotaging the trade talks?”

Jinhao stood up.

“As to your first question, he is an engineer, yes? Among your
people does that not mean that he has both Magia and the gear-making knowledge?
Perhaps that is how. As to your other questions,” she shrugged. “It seems there
is only one way to get the answers you seek.”