WOLF

22

WHEN HETTY ARRIVED at the forge, Sy was busy assisting a customer. Lost in her thoughts, Hetty didn’t think much of the sight until the older bearded man slapped a hand against the table. The lantern rattled and Sy took a step back.

“That’s not what I said!” the customer bellowed. “I brought in a wagon to have the axel fixed last week and I’m here to pick it up!”

“It’s not here—there’s no wagon.”

“Listen to me, young man. Mess with me and the next thing that’s disappears will be you—”

“Is there a problem here?” Hetty forced her voice into the conversation. Relief flooded Sy’s face, although the belligerent stranger only puffed up as she stepped forward.

“Stay out of this,” he sneered. “My business had nothing to do with you.”

“What business is that?” Benjy joined them then, his hammer propped casually over his shoulder. His expression was something slightly north of foreboding as the rude man turned to him. “There’s no wagon here.”

“Then we have a problem. Is it your forge’s policy to let people come and take what isn’t theirs?”

“Only if they pay us first.” Benjy picked up a book off the table. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. “You say it was a wagon. The only wagon we have on record for the week had its account paid by Morris Stevens. Is that you?”

“No, my name is Preston Stevens,” the man grumbled, “but Morris is my brother.”

“I see.” Benjy handed the book back to Sy. “Go ask your brother about the wagon. Sounds like he’ll know where it is.”

“You have no right to speak to me like that!” Preston began, but Benjy had already turned away. He snapped his fingers and suddenly Preston’s lips were moving but the only sound Hetty could hear was slightly muffled.

Realizing something was afoot, Preston did the only smart thing Hetty had seen him do. He strode off and slammed the door behind him.

“You didn’t sign off on a wagon, did you?” Benjy asked Sy.

“No!” Sy shook his head. “I always make sure to give it to the person who brought it in after what happened with those teakettles.”

“Then it was Nathaniel.” Benjy grunted. “He doesn’t care about keeping things in order. Why did Amos hire him?”

“He married Amos’s daughter.”

“And has been nothing but trouble since.”

“Will this man be a problem?” Hetty had her eye on the door, half expecting Preston Stevens to return.

“There’s always customers like that,” Benjy said. “Not the first, nor the last. Now what brings you here? Again, I should add.”

“What do you think?” Hetty asked. “I found something.”

“Not who?” Benjy led the way back into the forge. The hammer in his hand went onto the table, and he absently rolled a tea kettle forward, stopping when it neared the edge.

“It’s complicated,” Hetty began.

“That only makes it even more interesting.” He flipped the kettle over, revealing holes on its bottom. “Tell me the story.”

As Benjy worked on patching the kettle, Hetty described everything that occurred, from Penelope telling her about the coded song to chasing Judith’s student through the streets.

“She told me nothing of note, and only grudgingly agreed to pass a message along to Judith if she saw her. But I already found enough before she surprised me. The classroom itself had nothing of importance. But there was a small room in the back.” Hetty settled against the bench, rolling the nearest chisel along the surface to hide her shaking hands. “The door was slathered with wards. Carefully done too. I had to pick them away layer by layer. Once I got inside, I knew why. I found”—Hetty licked her lips and she flipped the tool between her fingers—“I found the cursed sigil gouged into the wall.”

At her words, the hammer struck a new hole into the kettle’s bottom, undoing all of Benjy’s careful work.

“The Serpent Bearer!” he exclaimed. “Was it active?”

Hetty closed her eyes, picturing herself standing in front of the wall once more.

“No, the sigil was just a carving,” Hetty said. “No magic. Or if there had been magic, none remained.”

“That makes sense,” Benjy murmured. “You said the door was covered in wards. I wonder how long ago they’d been set.”

“I think the better question is by whom?”

“That’s tied together.” Benjy twirled his hammer between his fingers as he spoke, deep in thought. “How did you dismantle them?”

“Not carefully. I made a mess of the wards. Anyone who returns will know someone had been there, might even be able to trace my magic.”

“No. Those wards were set to ring an alarm, nothing more. You would have faced more than that student otherwise.”

“Set by Judith?” Hetty wondered.

“If she’s teaching Sorcery, I doubt she’s that good with Celestial magic.”

“Then that discounts her sister, too. Though Alice did do that clever bit with the note she left me.”

“That was just a party trick. Someone else set those wards.” Benjy let go of the hammer, but it continued to spin, floating in the air next to him. “Could it have been Charlie’s murderer? That mark ties Judith to Charlie and the nameless man we found.”

“I don’t know why!” Hetty threw her hands into the air. “Why do you think I’m here? This changes everything if she’s involved in this. And if that’s the case, how? Charlie wasn’t even interested in learning star sigils, let alone Sorcery.”

“The answer to that will explain why she’s missing.” Benjy held out his hand. The hammer fell into it as he turned back to the kettle. “I only hope we don’t find her body.”

“I know.” Hetty groaned, collapsing forward onto the workbench. “Believe me, I know. I don’t like her sister very much, but I don’t want to tell her terrible news. I’ve done that once already this week, and it went poorly.”

“Of course it did.” Benjy tilted the kettle forward, fingering a hole he’d made by accident. “Marianne lied to you about several things.”

“She didn’t kill him,” Hetty said to the assorted tools facing her. “She gave us Charlie’s watch to fix. She could have sold it or buried it with him.”

“That’s not proof.”

“Yet you haven’t fixed it.”

“I don’t have the right tools at home,” Benjy protested. “They’re all here.”

With a smirk, Hetty dangled the watch in front of him. “Any more excuses?”

Eyes on the watch, he asked, “You want me to fix it right now?”

“You aren’t doing anything else, are you?”

Benjy glanced at the kettle, which was now even more ruined than when she’d first arrived. He sighed and held out his hand. “Since you insist.”

Once he found the proper tools, Benjy dragged a stool over and set to work.

“Why do you want this done now?” Benjy asked as he teased open the casing. “Did you want to give this back to Marianne?”

“No. It’s about the astrolabe. I want to use it. The watch should be fixed before then.”

“Use it to do what?”

“To look somewhere,” Hetty sputtered, her excuses unwavering at his unimpressed gaze. “It could lead us somewhere we haven’t considered before.”

“Even it does, you’ll still have to give it back to her.”

“Why don’t you?” she countered. “Marianne has made it clear these past few months she doesn’t consider me a friend anymore. It’s not just one argument or ten—it’s just she made it clear she no longer considers me important to have in her life.”

“Then don’t consider her a friend anymore.” Benjy prodded the gears. “I never understood why you did for so long. She hadn’t been a good friend to you for years.”

“But she was once, a long time ago,” Hetty said. “I think that’s what makes this so hard.”

“Don’t let that get in the way of this case. If we’re going to solve Charlie’s death, you need to let go of the past.”

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

Benjy plucked something from the watch’s gears and held it up to her. It was a long, slender piece of silver. A pin, she thought at first glance, but then she took a closer look and saw how the end was twisted and curled. It was a key. A tiny key that could unlock a number of secrets.

Benjy placed the key into her hand. “Because I think talking to Marianne has just become very important.”