Inspector Locke sighed as she dropped onto the small sofa across from me.

  When Inspector Asher had mentioned an interview room, I’d been expecting a utilitarian meeting room, or maybe a tiny office. I hadn’t expected the Inspectors to lead us to what looked like the Watch Commander’s private parlour.

  The furniture was worn but comfy, shelves full of books and knickknacks lined the walls, and a cozy fire crackled in the small hearth. Someone had even taken the time to polish the dented tea service and lay out some cookies on a lightly chipped fine china plate.

  Cecil and Sam finished checking the cupboards and under the furniture for tiny assassins, then nodded to me before slipping back out the door. Presumably they planned to lurk in the hallway outside and loom at anyone foolhardy enough to pass by.

  Inspector Asher sat down beside her, the ancient sofa creaking as it settled beneath him. He rapped his stack of papers on the worn coffee table to straighten it, setting it off to the side.

  “Thank you for coming in, Earl Southsea.” He interlinked his fingers, his hands in his lap, sitting stiffly upright. “I’m Sean Asher. This is my partner, Jennifer Locke. We’re the investigators in charge of your case, and will be taking your statement today.”

  “Jenny’s fine,” Inspector Locke added, lounging against the backrest. “Seeing as you work with that old goat Wren, I’m assuming you won’t mind if we drop some of the formality.”

  “I don’t mind.” I began pouring tea for everyone. Inspector Asher raised an eyebrow in surprise — nobles did not pour tea for commoners either. “Please, call me Violet, or Lord Dusk if you want to be formal. I’ve only been an Earl for slightly over a day. This is my retainer, Cael Mattis.”

  Locke rolled her eyes. “We’ve met.”

  Cael smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

  I handed Asher a cup. “Forgive me, Inspector, but your name seems familiar.”

  He took it with a frown, his professional expression slipping. “My uncle twice removed is Marquis Rothvale-Asher.”

  “I’ve heard the Marquis can be … difficult to deal with.” He was another council member, one Tempest bitched about regularly. ‘Petty tyrant’ was probably the most complimentary thing he’d said about the man. I doubted the Marquis had taken a relative of his joining the Watch with grace.

  Locke snorted in derision. “He’s a pompous jackass. Which reminds me. Wren.” She glared at the old man. He’d slipped into the room behind us and was lurking nearby, eyeing the cookies. “What in the dark hells are you still doing here!? We already have your statement! Go Away!”

  Wren casually took a cup for himself and slurped it loudly as she glowered. “Brat ‘n Punk’re me boys. Couldn’ae leave ‘em.”

  “I … You…” She growled and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You can stay. But you will shut up or gods help me, I will arrest you.”

  “But I haven’ae done anythin’!”

  She pointed at me. “I took your damned statement, you mad bastard! You gave explosives to a child!”

  “Brat’s old ‘nough te handle ‘em.” Wren sniffed. “Hellufalot smarter’n either of ye at ‘is age.”

  “He’s an apprentice under your care!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “What if he’d dropped one? Or, gods forbid, one had gone off in his pocket? He could have been killed! Who knows what you put in those things.”

  “Saltpeter, sulphur and charcoal most likely.” I took a sip of my own tea. It was a nicely balanced jasmine blend — the Commander had excellent taste. “The smell was unmistakable. It should be stable unless I drop an anvil on it.”

  Wren beamed at me. “Hah! Knew ye were special. Yer close. Took the Mad Astok’s recipe’n made couple changes of me own. Less burn, an’ more bang.”

  “Really? Like what?” I asked, fascinated. For all his faults, Wren was a genius-level alchemist. Whatever he’d done, it was going to be wild.

  The Inspector slumped, cradling her head in her hands. “Gods. There’s two of them.”

  Asher cleared his throat. “As much as I would enjoy raking Wren over the coals for his many infractions, We should get down to the matter at hand.” He pulled a notebook out of his stack of papers and turned it to a fresh page. “If you’re ready, Lord Dusk. In your own time, please.”

  —————-

  Our third pot of tea was empty and our cups stone cold by the time we finished. I had to admire their skill — I’d done enough interviews that I knew what sort of information they were looking for, and not only were they thorough, they were sensitive.

  Maybe Wren wasn’t terrible at this ’apprenticeship’ thing after all.

  Locke regarded me sombrely. “You, Lord Violet, are one very lucky young man.”

  “I know,” I agreed shakily, dabbing my eyes with the handkerchief Cael had handed me. It was my second one. I’d known that revisiting the events would be traumatic. I was surprised by just how traumatic it had turned out to be.

  “Ye did good, Brat.” Wren clapped my shoulder warmly. “I’m proud’e ye.”

  Asher leafed through his notes. “You’ve given us a lot to work with. Thank you.”

  “… but you don’t seem to be very happy about it.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lord Dusk. I don’t mean to be dismissive. Our problem right now isn’t a lack of information, but a flood of it. What we’re lacking is a place to start piecing it together.”

  Wren snorted. “Don’t be daft. Ye’ve got one.”

  “… And that would be?”

  He pointed at me. “Brat. Ye find out who hired’em te get ‘im, an’ ye got yer lead.”

  Locke eyed Wren curiously. “You think he wasn’t a random target like the others?”

  “Brat says they’d got a buyer waitin’. It’s too fast. Some’n wanted ‘im.”

  “I get it. That makes it more likely he wasn’t just a target of opportunity… Lord Violet, did it seem like they knew you?”

  “I think they knew who I was. One of them called me ‘little lording.’”

  “They would have had to be familiar with the buyer.” Asher tapped his pen on his notepad. “It’s too risky. Kidnapping a noble the way they did… It’s too risky a job to accept from an unknown.”

  Locke groaned, rubbing her face tiredly. “Which is great. Except we still don’t have a lead on who that is.”

  “… I think they might be a noble.”

  Asher tensed, his pen going still. “What makes you believe that’s the case, Lord Dusk?”

  I thought back. Why had I…

  Right. “… ‘The nob’s bitch.’ Their boss called me ‘the nob’s bitch.’ Not ‘the nob bitch.’ Possessive. I think that whoever wanted me isn’t just rich, but that they are or can pass as nobility.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Not just rich.” Cael gestured with the remains of his cookie, flinging a few crumbs across the table. “Fucking rich. Damned cuffs were custom work.”

  Asher swept a crumb off his notepad with a mild look of disgust. “The ones Lord Dusk kicked into the river? Why do you think that?”

  “Been arrested before, remember? These were different. Yours adjust — never know who you need ‘em for. Those didn’t.” He held up my arm and pulled down my sleeve a little bit, showing the room my blotchy yellow wrist. “Fit him pretty damned close. And Princess isn’t exactly standard-sized.”

  Locke leaned forward intently. With deliberate slowness, she reached for her belt and pulled out a set of handcuffs. She placed them on the table in front of us.

  “What else?”

  I picked them up and ran my thumb over the runes stamped into the metal. The magic felt… different. Every other enchantment I’d dealt with was distinct. I could sense the spell’s edges. This one was more like an angry fog bank, itching to swallow the wearer’s magic. No wonder I hadn’t picked up on it at the time.

  “The runes. They were smaller, and there were more of them. The spell work was more complex. And they were etched into the metal, not stamped.”

  She glanced at Cael.

  He shrugged. “Thief. I’m no enchanter. But he’s right — there was more of ‘em. Better locks too. Could pick these with a fucking battleaxe. Those? Those ones made me sweat.”

  “Well-connected as well then.” Asher scribbled a few more notes. “Workmanship like that… is not something you can buy off a street corner. And the implications. You can hardly take a commission like that to anyone reputable…”

  “All of which makes sense if they’re a noble. Damn it all.” Locke sighed and dropped her head. “Of course this had to get complicated.”

  “Inspector?”

  “Investigating nobility’s a godsdamned nightmare. The House closes ranks, the family makes you jump through hoops for even the simplest requests, and every idiot down to the damned scullery maid won’t even breathe in your direction without permission in triplicate.” She groaned. “Everything takes four times as long. And if you want to arrest them…” She shuddered.

  “‘Cept you did.” Cael’s lip curled in disgust. “That fucking bastard earl.”

  “There wasn’t much they could do to stop us.” She laughed darkly. “We left a couple of constables in plainclothes on watch while we were inside. He rolled his coach right up to one and demanded we ‘fetch the little urchin rat he’d paid for.’ Arrested him on the spot.”

  Asher sighed. “Unfortunately, we’ve yet to search his residence.”

  I tilted my head in confusion. “I thought you’d already dug up his garden looking for corpses.”

  He grinned humourlessly. “Not yet. Without his House’s permission, we need to wait for official authorization. Unless…” Asher squinted at me and began riffling through his stack of papers. He pulled a single document from the bottom, and placed it on the table in front of me.

  “What’s this?” I picked it up and began to skim it.

  “A release form. As the new Earl of Southsea, you would have inherited not only the territory, but the Earldom’s estate here in the capital. If we have your authorization, we don’t need—”

  I signed it with a hasty scrawl. “Take whatever you need.” I wanted nothing to do with the property. I had a very bad feeling about what they would find there. “Please burn the rest.”

  “Thank you, Earl Southsea.” He carefully tucked the signed paper back into his pile. “We appreciate your co-operation.”

  “I’m glad to help.” I really meant it, too.

  “So. We’re looking for a rich noble. That… is still a very long list.” Locke stole the last cookie off the plate just as Cael reached for it. She grinned at his disappointed expression and took a bite. “Can you think of anyone who has a grudge against you?” She gestured at me, spreading even more crumbs. “Or maybe someone who’s been acting odd?”

  Shit.

  “… I … don’t have the frame of reference to answer that.”

  Locke frowned, and Asher’s brow shot up.

  I swallowed, a sick feeling curling through my gut. “I was hurt a couple months ago. Head injury. I’m fine now, but I have no memories of my life before it. The strangest person in my life right now… is me.” I looked down, staring at my hands folded in my lap. I couldn’t bear seeing the pity in their eyes. It would hurt too much.

  I shouldn’t care; I had nothing to be ashamed of. But the Inspectors… Wren… In my past life they would have been my co-workers. My peers. Their respect mattered. Losing it wouldn’t just sting, it would cut me to the bone.

  A warm hand came to rest on my shoulder. “Ah, lad. Ye shoulda told me sooner.”

  “I’m sorry.” My shoulders hunched. “You were already upset about me becoming your apprentice. I didn’t want you to think I was broken as well.”

  He snorted. “Don’t be daft, Brat. Yer already more use th’n either o’these numpties ever was. Ye think I’d ever told’em about me basement?”

  I looked up slowly, daring to meet his eyes. I didn’t see pity. I saw quiet pride.

  “Le’me tell ye, lad, ‘bout the time Lout’ere—“

  “What basement. Wren.”

  “…Eh?” He blinked.

  Both of the inspectors were staring at him intently. Asher’s face had gone blank, his pen poised unmoving above the notepad. Locke was smiling at him, but it was the smile of someone holding on to their patience by their fingernails.

  “Wren.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “What basement.”

  He smiled ingratiatingly and wrung his hands. “S’nothin’.”

  Her smile widened. “What. Is. In. Your. Basement. Wren.”

  “S’nothin‘! Jes a little greenhouse. Figured I’d grow som’uv the interestin’ stuff myself. Teachin’ Brat, an’ th‘bloody apothecary wants me bloody firstborn… S’nothin’ dangerous.”

  “… and how much of it is legal?”

  The old man withered under the blowtorch of her toothy smile.

  She groaned like a rusty gate and rubbed her temples. “For the love of all that’s holy… Wren. Stop doing things I should arrest you for! I’ll be raiding your office in three days. The most ‘intetesting’ thing growing in that basement had better be fucking tomatoes. Am I clear.”

  “… Brat needs supplies te practice with—”

  ”Wren!”

  “… Fine…” he grumbled, glancing at me.

  I could already see the wheels spinning. I’d have to warn Tempest to make some space in the solar.

  “I’ll get it set up. We have some new constables who could use the experience.” Asher made a note in the margin of the page. “Thank you for telling us, Lord Dusk. It was important, but I can’t imagine it was easy. We appreciate your trust.”

  “And we’ll keep it in mind.” She rubbed her face and sighed tiredly. “Knowing helps. Keeps us from chasing ghosts.”

  “Which brings me to another issue.” He drained the dregs of his tea and levelled a stern look at me. “Your involvement in this case. I know you have his Majesty’s permission to investigate, but I’d like you to reconsider. We have no idea who targeted you or why. I’m concerned they might try again. Please. Leave the matter to us.”

  “I’m sorry. We can’t.”

  “Hells ye can’t!” Wren drew himself up, his face ceased in an angry snarl.

  I flinched a little. This was the first time I’d seen him actually angry with me.

  His face fell.

  I flushed. Damn it all. I hadn’t meant to do that. I wasn’t afraid of him — he’d surprised me, and I was emotionally strung out and seventeen. All my emotions felt… bigger.

  “Princess here made a deal with the king to keep me alive. Either we help, or we die.”

  Stunned stares met Cael’s bald announcement.

  “We have one year,” I added. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to look out for me, Wren. But I can’t just sit back and wait.”

  “Brat…”

  “I’d only heard some of the broader details. I’m sorry, Lord Dusk, I wasn’t aware of the stakes.” Asher flipped his notebook open again and began scribbling furiously. “It’s a complication, but nothing insurmountable. We’ll adjust.”

  “We’ve basically emptied the damn warehouse.” Locke sighed tiredly, peering over her partner’s shoulder. “If we pull a couple constables keeping watch, we can drop them at Wren’s…”

  “Hells ye will. Yer thugs’ll scare me customers. C’n handle it meself…”

  “He won’t sit still…”

  “Protective detail would be cumbersome. He’s already got bodyguards…”

  “What if—”

  “Hire us.”

  The discussion ground to a halt, and everyone peered at Cael.

  “You wanna keep an eye on him, and we want in on the case. So hire us.

  He waved casually. “Princess’s a hero and an earl, and his brother’s on the council. No one’s gonna tell the shortass to ‘fuck off.’ You get a nob who can nob with the nobs, and we keep you in the loop. We get to keep our end of the deal, and you say nice things to the king.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Everybody wins.”

  Wren cackled and clapped Cael on the shoulder, hard enough to make him jolt in surprise. “Knew I liked’ye, Punk. Good ‘ead on yer shoulders. Watch’s got a budget fer consults. We’cn find a fair fee—“

  “No charge,” I interrupted flatly.

  “But–“

  “No. Charge.”

  “Now Brat, ye can’t jest–“

  “Our lives are on the line here, Wren.”

  He glared at me for a moment, crossing his arms with a huff. “Fine. Only fer this, though. Anythin’ else, they’re payin’ fer.”

  “Deal.” I reached out to shake his hand.

  Asher frowned. “It’s very unorthodox. I’m not sure the policies allow for—”

  “It’s not a bad idea though.” Locke looked thoughtfully at her partner. “Solves a lot of our problems.”

  He sighed. “… It would. Alright. I’ll … see if I can figure out what forms we need for this. Hopefully the Commander’ll sign off on it. But.” He waggled a finger sternly between us. “This means you’re acting under our supervision. No going off on your own, and everything runs through us. You’re not Watchmen, you’re consultants. Understand?”

  “Yessir.”

  “We understand.”

  Locke nodded. “Then we’ve got a deal.”

  “Great!” Cael leaned back with a satisfied smile.

  And pulled his small, battered mirror out of his pocket.

  … Was he serious?

  He rolled his eyes at my bewildered expression and nudged my knee with his foot.

  He was serious.

  “Are you sure, Cael?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure we’ve got a choice — we trust ‘em, or we’re already screwed. Gut says go for it.”

  And with Sight fuelling that instinct, it likely wasn’t just a guess.

  “… Alright. I understand.” It was his magic. He had every right to make this choice. I’d back him.

  “Gentlemen?” Asher quirked an eyebrow. “Is there something you want to share?”

  Cael spun the mirror between his fingers and grinned impishly. “We’re gonna get you guys a fucking clue.”