“No Siseal?”
“Not a trace.” A muscle worked in the watcher’s jaw. “Siseal said it protected him against curses. Looks like it’s worthless against anything else.”
He put it on the desk between us. I let it sit there.
I knew what he wanted me to do. I just didn’t know if I wanted to do it.
Something to understand about seeking: sometimes finding people involved handling objects that belonged to them. The closer the person was to those objects, the better. Better for connecting with that person, but mostly better for seeing stuff you’d rather not know existed. Problem was, you never knew if you’d get visions of fluffy bunnies, or creatures from the lower hells snacking on said bunnies—or on the person you were looking for.
Siseal Peli had been carrying the charm when he was grabbed. Therefore, it was probably chock full of nice, fresh, horrific visions. Mine for the watching. Though at least I wouldn’t have to listen. Some seekers could get sound, smells, sensations, basically everything the victim experienced. I wasn’t that gifted—or that unlucky. I didn’t know Siseal personally, but I had seen him on the steps leading up to the Herald Bridge. He spent his days there selling the charms he made to passersby. He was always smiling.
I picked up the charm.
I didn’t expect to see anything at first; a connection usually took a few seconds to establish. Not this time. The amulet I wore thrummed to life and I immediately saw Siseal Peli’s final moments.
I knew they were final. I smelled his fear. Heard his screams. Felt his death.
I never considered shadows lethal. Siseal must have known something I didn’t.
His killer detached itself from the darkness of a doorway. It was tall, almost hobgoblin in shape—if hobgoblins were made of black ink. Siseal’s breath froze, then came in panicked gasps. He knew what was about to kill him. He tried to run, but his killer was fast. Blink-of-an-eye fast. The magician’s fists sank into a body warm and pulsing like living quicksand. The blackness flowed up his arms and legs, paralyzing his muscles and taking Siseal’s life as it went. The magician found breath to scream just before his head was pulled inside.
Swift and simple. And sickening.
For the second time since arriving at Nigel’s, I was glad I hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. As a result, the only thing I tossed on the desk was Siseal’s charm. But it didn’t stop me from having a serious case of the whirlies.
“Are you all right?” Janek looked concerned. All three of him.
I think I might have nodded. Head direction was questionable right now.
“Well, did you see anything?”
So much for concern. I gripped the arms of the chair as the whirlies faded. “Nothing nice.”
The watcher swore. “He’s dead?”
“I assume so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
I met his snap and raised him a snarl. “It means he was there, then he wasn’t.”
Neither one of us meant it, and we knew it. That and friendship also meant not having to apologize. Saved a lot of time with hurt feelings. While I was feeling entitled, I decided not to mention the screaming, among other things. Janek knew what I was capable of. I’d rather not answer any awkward questions, like how I acquired my new talent.
“Just gone?” Apparently Janek had problems with that part. “Like through a Gate?”
“No. Gone as in ceased to exist. I’d say that qualifies as dead.”
His eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”
I didn’t particularly want to recount it, but Janek wasn’t going to let it go until I did.
“It was big, black, and fast.”
“Hobgoblin? Nebian?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I wish.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know, but I think he did.”
“Describe it.”
“No features, no face, no limbs, tentacles, claws, or anything remotely resembling something used to kill. Just shadows. Solid black shadows. Then nothing.”
I couldn’t express what I had felt. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to think about it.
“Were there any Khrynsani around?”
“Not that I could see.” That was the truth. I wish I had seen Khrynsani. It’d be better than knowing that some nameless, faceless, soulless creature was on the nighttime streets of Mermeia sucking sorcerers from the world of the living.
But I had to give Janek something. I owed him that much.
He needed to know about Simon Stocken and Sarad Nukpana, and their connection to what happened here. I just couldn’t spill my guts without revealing my involvement, at least in part. Nothing like being indirectly involved in a pair of murders to test a professional relationship—and a friendship. But I knew where I could start.
Sorcerers at the level of mage had to register with the city watch on entering Mermeia, as well as several other larger cities. It let local law enforcement keep track of people with that kind of power. Public safety, and all that. Interestingly enough, Guardians didn’t have to register. They’re the ones local law enforcement reported their registrations to. Sarad Nukpana was a grand shaman, the goblin equivalent of a mage. He also had diplomatic immunity, which didn’t do anyone any good except Sarad Nukpana. The most powerful and dangerous mages were often employed by governments and their officials. They were encouraged to register as a courtesy to the city they were visiting. But if they chose not to, there was nothing the local watch could do about it. I wonder if Sarad Nukpana had been courteous. I was willing to bet he had.
“Did Sarad Nukpana register when he arrived?” I asked Janek.
Puzzled lines appeared between his eyebrows at the shift in topic. “Yes, he did.”
“You registered him?”
“Riggs did.”
“Did he give his business while here?”
“Advisor and counselor to His Royal Majesty, King Sathrik Mal’Salin.”
“Figures,” I said. “Did Riggs believe him?”
“Not a chance. A goblin grand shaman usually has business in town other than what they list on their registration—and Khrynsani are never up to any good anytime. I’ve had Nukpana watched. He’s due to leave after the ball.”
The amulet felt icy cold and hard against my chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he applied to extend his visit for a few days,” I said. “Know where he was last night?”
“The report said neither he nor any of his shamans left the goblin embassy—at least not through the front or back door. I have to admit, for a Khrynsani trying to sneak out after curfew, a Gate would be the way to go. Perverted and sick as hell, but an efficient way to get around town.”
I knew I was going to regret this, but Janek needed to know, at least some of it.
“I think Nigel’s house was just the Khrynsani’s first stop of the evening,” I said.
The watcher sat motionless. “The first. You think.”
I nodded. “Simon Stocken’s warehouse was probably second.”
Janek’s face was devoid of any expression. It was his watcher’s face. I found I didn’t like being on the receiving end.
“Is this your opinion, or do you know it as fact?” he asked.
“I was at Stocken’s warehouse and sensed the remnants of a Gate. A few minutes later I ran into Sarad Nukpana and a handful of his shamans.”
“A Gate, Sarad Nukpana, a murdered Simon Stocken—and you.”
“Well, and a few other people, but they don’t enter into the equation.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
“I’d rather not.”
Janek took a deep breath and quietly let it out. Then he just sat there for a few moments. He looked at me. I looked back at him.
“And this is related in some way to how Nigel ended up in the canal.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “More than likely.”
“Are you going to tell me or do I have to wait a couple of days for the next installment?”
“Simon Stocken was fencing what the goblins came here to steal.”