The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) (14 page)

Loch showed the guards her docking paper, and the dwarves glanced at it, then nodded and smiled politely at the strange humans who were hurrying out of the city in the middle of the night as if it were entirely normal. “You’re remembering that that was my sister, Kail?”

“Yes, Captain. Sorry, Captain.”

“I’m not saying
stop
. I’m just saying tread lightly.”

“Besides,” Tern added as they started—at a jog, this time, all unwilling to do a full run with the guards right there watching them, “it’s not like Kail is one to talk. He fell for the death priestess.”

As they passed the first row of airships and the guards went out of view, they all picked it up to a run again. In the moonlight, the polished wooden hulls gleamed, and the ropes creaked here and there in the breeze. They ran in silence.

“Over the line?” Tern asked after a bit.

“Slightly,” said Icy.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Kail.

“Desidora
did
get better,” Tern added. “She probably can’t suck anyone’s soul out through their nostrils anymore or whatever it is she does. Did. Could have done.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kail said with no change in inflection.

They reached their airship, and Kail scrambled aboard and extended the gangplank. Loch and the others came up and took positions of comfort while Kail got the airship ready to take off. A moment later, a snowy white dove landed on the deck and shifted into Ululenia, her pale horn shining like a rainbow made of stars.

“Okay, so,” Tern said, in the deliberately casual voice of someone changing the subject after saying something stupid, “something was off about the earth-daemons.” She glanced back through the rows of airships at the city in the distance. Following her glance, Loch thought she saw lights near the main gate. “That explains some of what happened at the museum.”

“Along with you setting off the alarms with your crossbow?” Kail said, not looking up from the control panel where he was currently fiddling with crystals and levers.

“I
said
I was sorry about the death priestess thing!”

“And I said not to worry about it,” Kail said. “You
did
set off the alarm, though.”

“Ululenia, what about a Hunter?” Loch asked. “Could that have done it?”

“Wait, big-H hunter?” Tern asked. “The golems who go after fairy creatures?”

Though their fangs bite deep, the shape is wrong for what we have seen on the torn carcass of this evening,
Ululenia said.
Incidentally, are you saying that one such Hunter
is
here?

“Just what I was going to ask,” Tern said, “because the Hunter was
scary
last time. Where was he?”

“You
saw
it,” Loch said, shooting Tern a look. “The Imperial woman who wasn’t Princess Veiled Lightning?”

Tern blinked. “She was a girl, though.”

“A girl in the ringmail of a Hunter golem,” Loch said acidly.

“Yeah, you know how I don’t really
do
armor?” Tern asked.

“Tern’s lack of observational ability aside,” Icy said—ignoring Tern’s annoyed “
Hey!”
—“some other factor must account for the alarms. I recall one triggering as you reached for the book, Kail.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Kail spared Ululenia a look. “The big blue flash of light on my hand? What was that?”

There were definitely lights near the gate, and Loch saw moonlight glinting on armor in the distance. “Keep that take-off moving, everyone.” She frowned, looking down at her hand. “Tern and I had the same problem with a flash of blue light. It was on my hand. No, my sleeve, near the cuff. “

“Yeah, same for me.” Kail pulled a lever. “Icy, ropes clear, please.” He looked back at Loch for a second before getting back to take-off preparations. “What do you think? Because we were armed, maybe? Enchantment tied to our weapon hands?”

“It would be more logical for such an enchantment to trigger upon the weapon, not on what was, at the time, an empty hand.” Icy answered for her, undoing the ropes. “We are cleared.”

The airship that was still possibly going to be known as
Iofegemet
lifted gently into the air, the deck shifting beneath Loch’s feet. The armored shapes in the distance were yelling something that Loch couldn’t quite hear from so far away, but the dwarves at the guard station nearby were turning to look at them now, too.

“It can’t be the hands,” Tern said, “since it triggered for me at the bottom of my skirt. I don’t think I have anything dangerous in pockets near there.”

They sailed up into the night sky, and Loch closed
her eyes.

“No,” she said. “It’s not about weapons. Kail, remember the elf in the museum?”

“Ear-something?”

On the ground far below, dwarven guards shouted up at them. Loch looked down and nodded. “Irrethelathlialann.”

“Ethel. Got it. Yeah. What about him?” Kail paused, and after a moment, added, “Oh, crap. He grabbed my sleeve, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. And mine, when he shook my hand,” Loch said.

“He didn’t touch my skirt!” Tern protested.

“Not even when he bent down on the floor next to you?” Kail asked.

“Oh, well maybe in passing as he . . . oh,
damn it
.”

Loch held out her hand to Ululenia. “Sense anything?”

Ululenia took Loch’s hand gently and turned it over, her pale, pretty face still but her horn pulsing with flecks of multicolored light. “Ah,” she said after a moment. “The grain of sand from which the oyster forms the pearl.”

“Let me guess,” Loch said. “Residue from a small magical something-or-other that tripped the dwarven alarms even after we thought we’d disabled them.”

“Indeed.”

“That asshole set us up,” Tern muttered.

“But if he wished to stop us from procuring the elven manuscript,” Icy said, “why not inform the authorities about our intentions?”

“Because he didn’t
want
to stop us,” Loch said through gritted teeth. “He wanted to draw attention to us. Icy, the book?”

He handed it over. Loch flipped it open and read.

This tale of an old elven orgy

Might leave human readers engorge-y

They missed in their aim

But for taking the blame

I am happy to leave them this forg’ry.

Loch looked up at her team, took a deep breath, and smiled.

“Well, at least we know who we’re going after.”

Eight

C
APTAIN
P
YVIC WALKED
into his office the following morning, hoping that things had been quiet while he’d been out yesterday chasing books and running away from magical crabs.

As in most things relating to life in the justicars, he was almost immediately disappointed.

“Captain,” said Derenky, popping through the door even before Pyvic had sat down, “we’ve got a priority crystal from Ajeveth. They have complaints about one of our people being involved in some sort of theft?”

Derenky, a friendly-looking blond man with freckles and a crooked nose, put a lilt in his voice as though it were a question. Pyvic knew that the damn office was a sieve of information, and everyone knew perfectly well that Pyvic had pointed a justicar in that direction. Pyvic also knew that Derenky knew that it was Loch.

And that Derenky had voiced
concerns
about the captain of the justicars having a
relationship
with a member of the team. Especially one who had
problematic
past activity. Because Derenky was a politically motivated pain in the ass.

He was also, unfortunately, extremely good at his job. “Put it through,” Pyvic said as he sat. “Then requisition airship transport for one passenger, open destination.”

“Open destination will be expensive, sir,” said Derenky.

“You don’t say.” Pyvic shot Derenky a glance, and Derenky blinked, smiled his friendly smile, and went off to do it.

Pyvic’s message crystal had delivered Tern’s update late last night, while Hessler and Desidora had been trying to make sense of
Ruminations upon the Unutterable by the Queen of the Cold River.
They hadn’t had much luck, and it appeared that neither had Loch. Loch thought a trade was
in order.

“Captain?” He looked up, and saw that it was Jyrre who had rapped on the doorframe. She was a heavyset woman, light-haired but with deep tan skin that suggested a bit of Urujar blood. “Library’s requesting an update on when the lower stacks will be safe to open.”

“As soon as the damned magical crabs are gone, I imagine,” Pyvic said.

“I’ll just pass that on to them, shall I?” Jyrre had grown up near the uncivilized edges of the Republic, and knew which magical creatures to leave saucers of milk for and which ones to shoot with silver bolts from a safe distance. She’d also spent a year studying with the lapitects before deciding she’d rather work with people than crystals. “They’re really happy about the fire, by the way.”

“Do you have a
helpful
suggestion for how to handle this,” Pyvic asked, “understanding that I’m dumping it on you as soon as you suggest something?”

“The
Lapitemperum
has some wizards on staff. I can call in a few favors.” Jyrre chewed on a fingernail thoughtfully. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll call in the priests of Jairytnef.
It sounds
like a conjuration, and they’ve got some abjuration experts who can break down whatever magic pulled those things together.”

“Good. Do it.”

“The lapitects have to come first, though,” Jyrre added. “Whatever made those things cannibalized existing crystal-tech from the inner workings of Heaven’s Spire. There could be safety concerns—”

“Just make it go away, Jyrre.”

She shot him a grin. “Don’t blame me, Captain. I’m not the one who gave you crabs.”

Pyvic raised an eyebrow. “Cute,” he said, finally. “When you’re done with the crabs—and being cute—I need you to coordinate an intel request.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Irrethelathlialann,” he read before handing the paper to her.

“An elf?” Jyrre shook her head, taking the scrap with the name. “That’s going to be trouble.”

“You know him?”

“No.” She grinned. “No way anyone but an elf would have a name like that, though. I’ll put out the word. I might know a few people on the side, too.”

“Appreciate it.” Pyvic ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s high priority, but it’s got to come after—”

“It comes after getting rid of your bad case of crabs,” Jyrre finished. “Got it, Captain.”

“Pushing, Justicar,” he called after her as she left, and then looked down at the pile of paper on his desk.

Once, in the days before becoming captain, he’d worked cases himself. Now he read reports, except in the rare cases when he had to write them after being attacked by magical crabs at a library that had subsequently been set on fire.

According to the reports, the past week had seen an increase of incidents of violence with visiting Imperials, as well as Republic citizens of Imperial ancestry. The Empire was performing military exercises on its border, complete with flamecannons. The Republic had un-retired military personnel with specific skillsets and experience from the last war with the Empire.

Villagers who lived under Heaven’s Spire’s projected flight path were leaving their shops and fields, worried that the Republic’s capital city might decide to rain down lightning again at any time.

Archvoyant Silestin had left behind a grand mess in his insane quest for power.

“Captain?”

Pyvic looked up, carefully not glaring at whoever was interrupting his day for the third time. “Justicar Tomlin.”

Pyvic hadn’t cut Tomlin from the justicars after being granted the captain’s position, but he had removed the man from the field. Whatever intangible quality let a good justicar spot a clue in the field or tell when a witness was lying, Tomlin didn’t have it. In his new position, Justicar Tomlin coordinated reports from the various justicars scattered across the Republic, which was helpful, because Pyvic had been dreading doing that himself.

“The guards in Ros-Oanki responded to our request to check on Justicar Fendril,” Tomlin said, clenching large, heavy-knuckled hands into a fist. “It looks like he’s dead.”

Pyvic went blank for a moment, knowing that the name was familiar but not how. Then he remembered who had passed the information about Ajeveth up to his people, followed shortly by a text-only alert message.

He let out a long, indulgent breath, then looked up at Tomlin. “They have a cause?”

Tomlin held up a sheet of paper, his knotted hands crumpling it at the sides. “They say there wasn’t enough of a body left for a full determination, but judging by residue left in the area, he was eaten.”

Not a knifing in an alley, not a bad heart and too much rich food at supper. Pyvic could have slept soundly at night for those, after writing a letter to Fendril’s family.

Eaten, though? Whatever the hell did it, that was on him.

Or Loch . . . or Silestin, really, or even the whole damn problem between the Republic and the Empire, that Pyvic was trying to
fix
. The blame could, in the peace of Pyvic’s mind, go up the chain of power and history a long ways.

But he was the one sitting at the desk.

“Order a team down there.” Pyvic kept his voice low. “Whatever they need to find out who and how, they’ve got authorization. Shertan and Dawn.”

Tomlin’s brow furrowed. “Shertan just picked up a death-curse case. Off in the hills, looks like one Jyrre worked a few months back. And Dawn . . . uh, you saw the reports. Send in a justicar who looks Imperial, you could get trouble.”

Shertan was the best Pyvic had at reading people. Dawn was the best he had at pulling information off of dead bodies.

“If they want to come yell at me,” Pyvic said, “that’s what I’m here for.” He smiled at Tomlin. “Just as soon as they get back from finding out what happened.”

Security Enforcer Gart Utt’Krenner spent the next several days recovering from being electrocuted by the Imperial woman.

None of the other dwarves had died, either in the fight at the museum or the fight across the street at the hotel where the Imperials had first been engaged, which was a minor miracle.

Gart shuffled from his bed on the second day and gave an offering to Ael-meseth for that. It
was
miraculous. The Imperial man’s magical ax had torn through the department’s ringmail with little resistance, and the other Imperial, apparently female, carried a net and spear that had also proven significantly dangerous. By all accounts, there should be a few dead dwarves after that night.

It was unclear whether the Imperials had been acting in league with the Republic humans or whether both sides had been attempting to abscond from the museum with the elven manuscript. It was unclear how the security systems on the rooftop had been altered to manifest earth-daemons (which Gart learned had been brought back under control after a prolonged fight and help from the divine enforcers, a security branch tied to the priesthood).

Quite a few things were unclear.

Gart Utt’Krenner despised confusion and uncertainty. He despised even more the very certain fact that his museum had been robbed and his people assaulted.

On the third day, after a lengthy discussion with his physician about his fitness, Gart left the healing hall and made his way to the Security Guildhall.

Gart gave his badge to a guard at the door, checked his weapons (but not his armor), and passed into the processing room. He filled out an application, passed it to the clerk behind the counter, and took his seat with other dwarves, some of them part of the Security Guild, others part of the Crafters or Miners, but here with complaints or concerns.

One dwarven crafter had brought her young child while she waited. Gart helped the girl put together a puzzle-hammer, giving the grateful crafter a chance to use the restroom and get some air. The girl was clever and quick, as most of the Crafters were.

Finally, Gart was called in the guildmasters’ hall.

“Security Enforcer Gart Utt’Krenner, museum security,” the bailiff declared unnecessarily as Gart walked into the room, which was set entirely in angled stone. The three guildmasters assigned to his request were seated. Each wore black robes, open in the front to show the fine ringmail they wore underneath, as well as ax-shaped pendants of
yvkefer.

“Chief Utt’Krenner,” said Master Utt’Narinn, smiling over her spectacles. “I suspected we might see you soon. You have recovered?”

“Enough to speak, Master,” Gart said politely. “I judged it necessary to make this request before the trail of the humans grew too cold.”

“Indeed,” said Master Utt’Murrick, looking at a copy of the form Gart had filled out. “You wish to pursue the humans outside the boundaries of Ajeveth, despite our nonexistent authority outside the city?”

Master Utt’Murrick had overseen decades of the city’s safe development, but Gart had been known to admit privately that he disliked the man’s habit of stating the obvious with implied judgment.

“I do, Master.” Gart nodded at his report. “As I understand it, the Republic has confirmed that this ‘Loch’ is a justicar, but neither approved nor denied her actions here in the city. As such, I believe that her legal authority as justicar is suspect in this matter, and I wish to apprehend her and question her further.”

“And the Imperial assailants?” Master Utt’Nazef asked. He was a dark-skinned man transferred from deep in the mountains after years of service, and Gart knew him only casually. “They caused most of the injuries to our people. Why are we not hunting them?”

“We have no information regarding their identities,” Master Utt’Murrick said with a touch of impatience. “The identities with which they entered the city were fakes, and the Empire has not deigned to answer our request for assistance. Chief Utt’Krenner has no other viable targets in his hunt.”

“This is true, Master,” Gart said. “My hope is that finding Loch will lead to the Imperials, along with the recovery of the stolen elven manuscript.”

“Chief Utt’Krenner,” said Master Utt’Narinn, “your desire for justice is laudable, but our treaty with the Republic is clear. We have no word from the Republic that these actions were sanctioned, in which case we could request damages, or unsanctioned, in which case we could request extradition.”