Bronze Gods (24 page)

His face. His eyes.

She clamped down on the nausea and tried to stop thinking about how it looked when a person died.
You can actually see the moment when the mind slips away.
Clenching her jaw, she set the damp towel on the bench beside her.

Silently, Mikani came over, offered her a mug, steaming and sweet-smelling. She stirred, then shook her head. “No thank you. Are we finished here?”

He nodded and sipped the tea with a shrug, making a face. “Unless you want to help with the reports, we’re done.”

“I’d prefer to get back to Central.”

To get away from this place and all those bodies.

“The sooner we talk to Gunwood, the better, probably.”

He set the cup aside and led the way to the exit. Constables, the usual morbid onlookers, and journalists formed an inchoate mess right outside. Mikani shoved a path to the cruiser; and Ritsuko appreciated his willingness to do it, so she didn’t have to. She followed in the channel he cleared and crawled into the passenger side after he unlocked the doors. The vehicle jerked into motion, forcing the crowd to give away. For a few seconds, Mikani was quiet, focused on getting them out of the area without running down any pedestrians.

“That was your first shooting.”

“Yes.” The movement of the vehicle didn’t make her feel worse, at least. There was comfort in driving away.

He made a soft sound of acknowledgment. “You know it was you or him. It had to be done. And . . . that doesn’t make it any easier.” He glanced over at her, briefly, then returned his attention to the road. “You can, what, hear him? See him, still?”

Startled, she asked, “Is that what it was like for you, the first time?”

I’ve never asked him how many . . . or when.
Mikani had more time on the street than she did by far. The years she’d spent filing and working down in the Dungeon as a lab tech, he had been an inspector.
Which is a lot more opportunities to shoot people.

“The first time. The second time. This last time.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, partner, but it doesn’t get any easier. What helps me is focusing on the people that I save.” He paused, chewing his bottom lip. “You’ve been to my cottage. You saw the religious medallions, cameos. Knickknacks.”

“I did,” she agreed, not understanding what he meant.

“Some belonged to victims, those I couldn’t help. Their families sent things as a way of thanking me for finding their killers. Others came from the people I
did
save, as gifts. I cherish those most.”

She took a deep, gulping breath, hanging together by a thread. “I really need you to pull over now.”

He swerved against the curb, startling a couple of scavenging urchins. As soon as the cruiser stopped and he engaged the brake, she came up on her knees. Ritsuko felt sure he expected her to bang open the door and cast accounts into the gutter. But she needed something else entirely, and she felt too awful to care if it was appropriate. So instead she crawled over the cruiser’s hand brake and into his lap.

He shifted, then wrapped his arms around her. In response, she wound hers about his neck and buried her face in his chest. She couldn’t cry, but his warmth was what she needed, something to push back the cold. Shivers ran through her for long moments as she listened to his heartbeat, steady, soothing.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she eventually mumbled.

“You’re no fun.”

She pushed out a shaky laugh and pulled back, retreating to her seat with as much dignity as she could muster. “That never happened. I’m well enough now. We can go.”

Mikani gave her a long, appraising look. As he turned his attention to getting them out of there, he said, “Larceny and thews. At least I know why you stay with me.”

You have no idea at all.

Half an hour later, they entered the duty room to deafening cheers. More boisterous yells followed and the clamor of congratulations. Men toasted each other, and they raised glasses to Ritsuko and Mikani. From the smell, it wasn’t tea, either.

She cut a look at her partner, wondering aloud, “What’s this?”

He looked around, ignoring the calls directed at them. “I don’t know. Let’s ask Gunwood.

Ritsuko dodged around men determined to whack her on the back, those who had never bothered to speak to her before—except to ask for a sandwich or a hot beverage. The commander’s office was quieter, at least, but Gunwood’s nose had the red shine of someone who had been drinking, too. His eyes sparkled when he spotted her in his doorway.

“Come in, you two. I don’t remember being happier than I am now. Well done!”

Mikani stepped in, taking his usual stance in the corner. “While I’m glad you’ve finally come to appreciate our genius, Gunwood, care to fill us in on what the hells is going on?”

“Toombs is dead. The Summer Clan are calling off the blockades. Aevar is, of course, arguing that he needn’t pay the reward, as Toombs was killed before being formally judged and charged.” The commander reached for a document that bore his stamp and signature, offering it to Ritsuko. “If you two will sign this, I intend to recommend you both to the Council for commendation.”

“Gunwood . . . Commander. It’s not over. Toombs wasn’t working alone.” Mikani unfolded his arms and stepped forward, looking to Ritsuko for support.

She offered, “He
said
he wasn’t. But criminals will say anything. Do we have evidence to validate his claims?” She considered the button and the coins, but wasn’t certain if they constituted indisputable proof.

Mikani frowned, then closed the door. Gunwood sat up straighter, his joy fading to the more usual
what have you done now
expression he wore around them.

“Someone sent those men after us, and Toombs. He was trying to flee the city . . . he didn’t hire his own assassins. And you saw him, Ritsuko—there’s no way he could’ve moved those things on his own, disassembled or not.”

She nodded at that. “True. He was in bad shape. Thin, starved even. Did you notice the ligature marks on his wrists?”

Gunwood interrupted, coming to his feet. “He probably hired the thugs to help him move the machines. They killed him when they feared he’d hand them over, too.” There was doubt in his eyes, though. “Or maybe he didn’t pay them, as promised.”

“That doesn’t explain why they chose death over incarceration,” she noted.

She had a bad feeling that worsened with every inconsistency Mikani pointed out. The men in the duty room seemed to think they had cracked the case, put the maniac down in a glorious gun battle. But she feared there was more to come, between what Toombs had told them, the suicide squad, and the unexplained clues.

“Some of the penal farms are quite nice.” Mikani shrugged at Gunwood’s glare. “You must admit the pieces don’t add up, Commander. And we still have no idea where Toombs got the money to pay for everything.”

“Plus the coins that paid his debts,” Ritsuko added.

Gunwood leaned on his desk, his jaw clenched. “You two can’t let me have even one good day, can you?” He eased back into his seat, rubbing his jaw, and was silent for a full minute, breathing deeply. When he put his hands down, he gave them both long, searching looks. “I hope to hell you’re wrong. But if you’re not, well. We can’t tell the Summer Clan and Houses that Toombs wasn’t working alone. Or there will be more riots, or worse. Pursue this quietly. And for gods’ sake, do it quickly.”

Ritsuko knew that tone and headed for the door. “Yes, sir.”

Mikani followed close behind, uncharacteristically quiet. She cut through the celebration in the duty room with murmured apologies, and breathed easier when she got into the lift. As soon as the cage lurched into motion, Mikani touched her shoulder.

“I couldn’t tell Gunwood.” He rubbed his temples, as if one of his migraines was setting in. “But when we first got to Toombs, I read him, Ritsuko.” He met her worried gaze. “The man was scared, tired. And there was something more . . . that cold, dead feeling? It coiled around his mind like a snake, but . . . it wasn’t
him
.”

CHAPTER 23

T
HE BUTTON
R
ITSUKO HAD FOUND AT THE CRIME SCENE WAS A
vital clue, and Mikani figured it was time they followed up on it. A history professor might shed some light on its provenance and point them in the right direction, so they’d come to the Academy in search of an expert opinion.

Mikani hadn’t been back here since his abrupt departure more than fifteen years ago. He didn’t regret searching for his father, but he
did
regret not completing his studies. According to his mother, if he had, he might be a gentleman now, and not a ruffian who made his living by getting into fights with criminals.

She’s not far off, some days.

Glancing around, he said, “This is more your field of expertise, partner.”

“I don’t know why you’d say that. I never attended here.”

The buildings hadn’t changed, just become more weathered. He thought he recognized a couple of professors ambling around the covered walkways.
But these kids look so bloody young. And carefree. You wouldn’t think the city was on the verge of starving or burning a few days ago.

“You have a natural affinity for academia. And you were last here a few days ago. Which way?” He turned toward her with a grin that hid his inner turmoil.

When he looked at Ritsuko, it was hard not to think about how she’d felt in his arms or the smell of camellias in her hair when she tucked her head against him. As he remembered, he got a twinge in his chest.
I liked being the one who could make things better for her.
Mikani didn’t know exactly what that meant.

“The history department is over here.” She held a map of the campus, indicating a shady path that wound through the quad.

Students aimed curious looks in their direction from time to time; Mikani guessed they didn’t resemble the typical enrollment. It was a quick walk to the desired building: gray stone, classical architecture, multiple floors and exits. He led the way into the darkened atrium, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Shelves full of books and sculptures crowded the walls and covered most of the windows. It felt more like the library, down to the dusty smell of old tomes. Small tables were scattered around a central space, mostly empty at this hour. It took him a few seconds to realize that the spindly figure looking in their direction wasn’t part of the décor.

Seems history’s not in vogue this term.

“Good morning, Professor. I wonder if we could ask a few minutes of your time.”

“Certainly. I don’t have class or office hours at the moment.” The man shuffled toward them with steps so pained that Mikani wondered if he wasn’t years past retirement.

Ritsuko moved to one of the vacant tables and set out her interview accoutrements: pen, notebook, and the research they had done at the archives related to the coins and button. This morning, her suit was immaculate, despite the fresh bruise on her cheek. He ran a hand over his own jaw, stubbled and still sore from the last few days.

I swear she has a team of house sprites to help her tidy up every morning. Probably pack her bag, too.

“I’m Inspector Ritsuko.” She tilted her head. “My partner, Mikani. If you’d care to join us, we could use your expertise.”

“Inspectors, are you? That’s fascinating. I can’t imagine what help I could be.” But the professor toddled to the table nonetheless, apparently eager to be of service.

Mikani leaned against the nearest shelves while the professor leaned in close to his partner, scanned her work, then praised her research. They conversed quietly, so he looked around the room. He’d never been to the history wing before; it was across campus from his old haunts in mathematics and accounting. He wondered, idly, if his old desk still bore the marks of his wandering attention during long lectures, then glanced over when Ritsuko and the professor straightened from their task.

“Got something?”

“Professor Tarrant has translated the Old Ferisher. It’s a House motto, Mikani.”

He raised a brow. “What does it mean, then?”

Professor Tarrant replied, “‘Under this sign, we shall conquer.’ It belonged to an old House, which lapsed, oh, four hundred years ago. There was a bloody war of succession, as I understand it, and their line never recovered. I don’t believe there are any Nualls left.”

Mikani pointed out, “Their coin’s still around. If they’re gone, who might have access to their treasury? Or their estate?”

Four hundred years is a hell of a gap to try to find paperwork.

Tarrant seemed astonished. “Their currency is back in circulation after all this time? I can’t imagine where it might’ve come from.”

A frown creased Ritsuko’s brows, and Mikani knew exactly how she felt. “This doesn’t make sense. Do you have any records or documents that discuss the holdings that were divided when the family name lapsed into disuse? Or who might have inherited any property left?”

Mikani suspected he knew what she was driving at. Wealth such as the Houses accrued didn’t simply vanish. The challenge lay in locating whoever inherited it, found it, or stole it, though. It wasn’t typical CID work.

“Yes,” the professor said. “There are ledgers and historical sales records in the archive downstairs, mostly filed away for posterity. People don’t tend to care how much a nobleman paid for a silk carpet three hundred years ago.”

Mikani suppressed a grimace and smiled at the professor. “Oh, we live for old ledgers. Fascinated by the minutiae of people long since turned to dust, especially my partner here. Which way to the cellar?”

Lifting her hand, Ritsuko muffled a chuckle. “Thanks for your time, Professor.”

After two hours of digging through old scrolls and leather tomes, Mikani paused to stretch. He glared at the rows of stacked papers and documents, trying to intimidate them into giving up any useful information that they might be hiding.
Hells and Winter, I’ve spent more time among books the past two weeks than in the last two years.

“It’s a valiant effort, but I don’t think the documents find you frightening.”

“They should. I have the power to burn them all.”

“And then we’ll get arrested for destroying valuable city property.”

“I’d charge them with obstructing an investigation.” He groaned, aiming an imploring look her way. “Tell me you found something. Anything, to get us out of here.”

Her eyes twinkled at him. “I discovered a woman can be traded for two goats, a laying hen, and a wheel of cheese.”

Mikani eyed her, speculative. “I’m sure I could get at least three goats for you. Think Rudo’s still accepting offers?”

“Please. I’m worth at least four goats and an ox.”

“I don’t know. Do you cook?” He smirked.

“Not much, but I’m an immaculate housekeeper and amenable to meeting a gentleman’s every other need.”

Every other?

“I’m telling you, I’m a bad influence.” He let out a mock sigh.

I missed the banter. But I miss the blue sky more, though.

“I was meeting certain needs before I encountered you, Mikani. You give yourself too much credit. And perhaps it’s slipped your notice, but . . . women have needs, too.” The oblique words came with a teasing grin.

“My inflated sense of self-worth’s part of my charm. The other part’s my adamant devotion to—” He frowned, staring over her shoulder. “We need birth records, not accounting ledgers. If we can find out where the Nualls lived, we’ll have a place to start.”

She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He watched as she went to the shelves and rummaged, running her fingers along the spines to find the book they needed. “Here.”

The book looked enormous in her arms as Ritsuko carried it back to the table. It appeared to be some master log of all the births recorded in noble families, going back centuries. Mikani couldn’t imagine how boring that job must’ve been. Ritsuko flipped through, which took another fifteen minutes, and he finally sat down beside her. Eventually, she tapped a page.

“This is the strangest thing, Mikani.” He stepped closer to peer over her shoulder at the faded scribbles on the yellowed paper. “The last entry I can find for the Nualls is over six hundred years old.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t the professor—”

“Said they died out four hundred years ago, yes. There may be records missing; but here. Look.” She touched the page again, so he looked closer.
I can barely make out the writing. Would it kill them to put more lamps down here?
He was getting restless; he had hoped for a solid lead from their trip to the Academy.

He couldn’t read the old tongue, but he discerned the numbers and what looked like names. “Ah. Three hundred and . . . ninety-four?”

“That’s the old reckoning. Roughly the year fourteen hundred by the reformed calendar.”

He arched a brow and kept reading. “Keenan . . . Keenan Nuall, Feid o’Nuall. Three hundred and sixty, Keenan Nuall and Gairdh o’Nuall.” He shook his head. “I can’t make out half of it, partner. What . . . ?”

“Read the last entry.”

What the hells has her so excited?

He bent closer once more. “Three hundred and three, two born in the same year. Must be twins. Lorne and Theron—” He paused and met his partner’s eyes. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“That’s the name of the man Miss Wright followed a few nights ago. Someone who easily took out four thugs, hand to hand. Tore them to pieces.”

“And who seemed to step right out of the old stories, from her description.”
Damned be. We’re chasing a seven-century-old bogeyman.

She nodded and set the book back. “We have directions to Mr. Nuall’s home, from Miss Wright’s statement. And it happens to be in the same general area where the ledgers place the old Nuall estate.”

He let out a long breath and motioned for her to lead the way back up. “Let’s hunt up a ghost, partner.”

•   •   •

T
HE ESTATE WAS . . .
eerie. From the records they’d found, Ritsuko expected a ruin, though Miss Wright hadn’t given much detail on what the place looked like. But it was beautiful, if oddly out of step with the city a couple of hours distant. They had left the main trade route half an hour before.

In a strict sense, CID cruisers weren’t meant for long-distance, nor were inspectors supposed to take them so far outside the city limits, but when they were so close to figuring things out, it made no sense to cavil over trifling rules. Mikani had been confident he could find the place, between Miss Wright’s account and the records they’d unearthed at the Academy—and here they were. Her nerves prickled as they slid out of the vehicle.

“What do you think?” she asked.

A frown between his brows, her partner looked around. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose before answering. “Lovely view. Can’t say I care for the ambiance, though. There’s something odd about this place . . . Let’s take a look around?”

From his expression, she could tell something was bothering him, but he seemed unwilling to explain it just yet. It was difficult to act as if nothing had happened around him, as if she hadn’t crawled into his lap and demanded comfort like a child. So far, he hadn’t made a joke of her vulnerability, but she didn’t know how she’d respond if he did.

Banishing such worries, she raised the knocker on the gate and slammed it down four times in quick succession.
Mr. Nuall must have money if he retained possession of the family estate. But how strange that his family’s been reported defunct.
Eventually, she heard movement within.

A servant opened the gate, clad in old-fashioned livery. He raised his brows.

She stepped forward. “We have a few questions for your employer, Theron Nuall. I’m Inspector Ritsuko. This is my partner, Mikani. May we come in?”

The man looked at each of them briefly. With a nod, he stepped back, ushering them in with a gesture. Mikani tilted his head at him in what she took to be a speculative fashion, then shrugged and motioned for her to lead the way. Still no words from the man as he led them through the front gate and toward the villa, which was . . . breathtaking.

She had never seen anything so lovely or archaic. It sprawled across the land as if it had a perfect right, and the grounds were beautifully landscaped with emerald hedges and feathered fronds that nuzzled up against the stone walk. In Dorstaad, buildings were closer together, and most private gardens were bits of greenery tucked behind high walls. The air felt warmer and softer, too, as if they’d stepped through more than a garden gate. Above, the sun shone a little brighter, dazzling compared to the city. More telling, flowers bloomed, ones for which she had no name, in colors lush and luxurious. Ritsuko didn’t see the servant go. One minute she was following him; the next, she glanced away to admire the garden, and he wasn’t there anymore.

Ritsuko studied Mikani, walking beside her. “I hope you have a theory.”

He wore a puzzled expression. “I have several, but they all sound like fairy tales. This whole place just . . . sings.”

“What does it sound like?” she asked, curious.

“It’s a low hum, but there’s an ebb and flow to it. Like the wind through a forest . . . only there’s no wind, and no trees in here. Or a wet finger on crystal—”