Chapter 26

NO WHISTLES FROM the Watcher had quelled the charge of the Pirrell squad, nor had the rules of the game or boundaries of the field halted their actions. In moments, they were on the Maradaine squad, showing no interest in points or scoring, simply doling out violence.

“I need to—” Veranix started, before he realized one of the Pirrell players, having slammed Catfish into the dirt, was coming straight at him and Jiarna.

Jiarna yelped, as Veranix kicked up a tetchbat from the ground into his hand. Despite the massive presence of the player, Veranix put himself between the man and Jiarna, poised to crack him over the head if he kept coming.

The implied threat did nothing to stop the player. As he charged in, his eyes vacant, drool dripping from his mouth, Veranix leaped up and smashed the tetchbat across his skull, sweetening the blow with magic.

The bat shattered, but it barely slowed the player down.

Jiarna scrambled out of the way, and Veranix flipped over the player, adroitly dodging the massive arms that threatened to crush him.

At this point, the spectators were in a frenzy, and they charged from the stands into the field. Veranix grabbed hold of Jiarna and magically fueled a jump to the only place he could see that was remotely safe—the announcer’s perch. The young woman—magic student—was still up there, away from the madness.

Veranix shed his illusions while he and Jiarna sailed through the air, fully in Thorn persona when he landed. He had to hope no one had been paying much mind in the chaos.

The magic student cried out when they landed in her box.

“Sorry,” Veranix said. “We need a plan.”

“A what?” the magic student shouted. “Who—what—why—”

“There’s no plan,” Jiarna said. “They’re in a mad rage.”

“You have a bow!” the magic student said frantically. “Shoot them!”

Veranix hesitated for a moment. Even in this state, none of the Pirrell players deserved to be killed. Also, while they were the most dangerous on the field, it was now a mess of players, spectators, and other folk. Simply taking out the Pirrell squad would hardly quash the full riot.

He looked to Jiarna. “You’re brilliant, she’s magical, come up with something. I’ll do my best.” He leaped up on the railing of the perch and drew out the bow. Behind him, he could hear Jiarna rattling off ideas to the terrified girl.

Amid the madness, one of the Pirrell squad had Marmot pinned to the ground, and was smashing his face into bloody meat. Veranix took aim and fired. The arrow landed square in the Pirrell player’s thigh.

That got the Pirrell player’s attention. He spun around and howled at Veranix.

“Come on, clam-eaters!” he boomed out, magically augmenting his voice to echo throughout the field. “Why don’t you try a real fight!”

The rioting stopped for a moment, all eyes on him. Most of the brawlers went right back to the fight they were in. Some of the Pirrell squad kept their attention on him.

He took another shot, nailing a Pirrell player in the leg.

“What are you doing?” Jiarna hissed.

“I’m drawing the real danger out of here. Figure out a way to cool the rest of the crowd.”

“I’m thinking,” she said.

The Pirrell players were coming toward him now, just about all of them.

“You salt-scrubbers couldn’t stop a real runner!” he shouted out. Firing another shot, he jumped down to the ground below. “Thorn for the Triple Jack!”

With that, he ran away from the field. Hopefully the Pirrell boys were in such a state they wouldn’t realize he was running in the opposite direction of the Triple Jack line.

They came. All eleven Pirrell boys, heaving rage-filled masses of muscle and bone in crimson and white, came pounding after him as he cleared the field and went to the south lawn.

“Saint Senea, Saint Justin, anyone else who’s listening,” he muttered as he ran. “This may or may not be the stupidest thing I’ve done, but if you have any grace left for me, I could use it right now.”

In the middle of the lawn, far enough from the field that they were no longer embroiled in the riot, Veranix spun on his heel and drew another arrow. He fired, then another, then another, aiming for the legs and knees.

Four of the players stumbled and fell.

Four.

He had fired three arrows.

Before he could register the meaning of that, before he could bring up his guard to defend himself from the first of the Pirrell bruisers to collide into him, a pedalcart came flying through the air, smashing into the lot of them.

Inspector Minox Welling dropped down on the ground next to Veranix, loading his crossbow as he regained his footing.

“Don’t stand there gawping, Mister Thorn,” he said. “Let us dispatch these madmen with due haste.”

“As you wish, Inspector.” Veranix put up the bow and brought out his staff. With magically assisted leaps, he flipped over the Pirrell squad, cracking one in the skull as he went.

“This is off your usual beat,” Welling said, blocking a punch with his handstick in his left hand.

“And yours. But I won’t complain about the assistance.” Cries and screams came from every direction. “We shouldn’t waste time on these fools.”

“No,” Welling said. A pulse of numina blasted from his hand, sending more of the Pirrell squad to the ground.

More screams. Veranix saw Kaiana running, half carrying Delmin, with Phadre right on their heels. They didn’t stop as they passed him, which meant something worse was happening. Veranix turned to see what they were running from.

What he saw could only be described as grotesque. A young man, wearing a crimson cloak and carrying a bow—but misshapen and monstrous. The muscles on his arms, legs, and chest were bulging with terrifying yellow and purple veins. His muscles appeared to be still growing, all at different rates. He roared as he chased after Veranix’s friends.

Veranix didn’t blink. Arrow drawn, fired right for the monster’s eye.

The arrow hit him in the face, sticking in the engorged muscle of his cheek. He turned his attention toward Veranix.

“The Thorn,” he boomed. He then glanced at Inspector Welling. “And the constable. I’ll enjoy tearing you apart.”

Welling flashed another wave of numina from his hand, and suddenly the fallen Pirrell players were coated in a layer of ice. Then he looked to Veranix with hard, determined eyes.

“It appears we have a new priority.”

Satrine’s head was fully clear of the doph by the time she found the rest of her clothing, and her leg was hurting like blazes. Twice this year she had taken a hit to the same spot. She had reached the point where it had nearly healed completely, now she had to start all over again.

That seemed like a message in her life.

The stationhouse was quiet once she had dressed, certainly no sign of Benvin or his squad. Which meant Welling’s theory was probably right on target. No time to waste getting to the Turnabout.

Given her leg, she pulled rank on a horsepatrolman and took his ride.

When she made it to Rose Street, it was clear that Benvin was already about to work his not-so-quiet Quiet Call. Three lockwagons were staged a few blocks away, and clusters of Constabulary were milling about, looking like they were trying to make the pretense of just doing a regular patrol. But any fool could see that two dozen of them were about to converge on the Turnabout. Benvin, Tripper, Wheth, and Pollit were strolling up Rose Street on the opposite side from the Turnabout, making like they were about to race up to the door at any moment.

Rainey brought her horse in front of the lot of them, making a racket right in front of the Turnabout’s doors.

“What’s your action, Lieutenant?” she said loudly. If the Princes inside hadn’t noticed her yet, they certainly would now.

“I don’t answer to you,” Benvin said, starting to move around the horse.

“Like blazes you don’t.” Satrine dismounted with a hard drop. Her leg screamed out—it was not going to forgive her for that—but she didn’t let it show on her face. “I am an inspector—an inspector with the city’s Grand Inspectors’ Unit—and you are interfering with my case, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t you—”

“Do not underestimate what I am empowered to do here. The rules about investigating an attack on a constable exist for a reason. You are not allowed to take action on your own attack—or someone in your squad or your house—for a reason. So you don’t pull half-cocked sewage like this.”

“I have a writ—” He held up the paper, ink on the stamp barely dry.

She took it from him, reading aloud. “Any and all self-proclaimed members of the organization Rose Street Princes for collusion and coordination of the assault and murder of—” She stopped reading. “Are you an idiot, Benvin? The wettest, freshest lawyer in the Justice Advocate Office could get this thrown out, and no magistrate would accept it as just cause.”

“These bastards—”

“I don’t care, Lieutenant. I do not care what you think. You want to crack skulls and make arrests on this writ, you know they’ll be set free in hours. You’ll end up with a street full of angry Princes in a day.” She tore the paper up. “It won’t hold, and does nothing but soothe your pride.”

“Don’t you—” Benvin’s hand went up, coming at her face.

“Boss!” Tripper said, but it was too late. Satrine grabbed Benvin’s arm mid-strike and twisted it behind his back. She considered shoving him to the ground as well, but that seemed a step too far. His dignity was already injured.

“If you had struck me, you’d be eating your hand,” she hissed in his ear. “And then be busted down to shoveling out the horsepatrol stables.”

“You can’t—”

“Now walk with me,” she said, pulling him along toward the alley.

“I am going to file . . .” Benvin said once they got in there.

“No you aren’t, Benvin,” she said. She tossed him over to the wall, now that they were out of view. “Don’t give me your sewage right now, hear?”

“How do you even dare—”

“Because I actually like you,” she said honestly. “I read your jacket, and it’s an impressive list of pissing people up and down. You don’t give a blazes what anyone thinks about you, and that’s bounced you through two cities and three houses.”

For once he didn’t sputter something for her to interrupt.

“Also you’ve got a squad who are damn fine constables, who’ll walk through fire and damnation for you. You’ve earned that.”

“So why are you giving me the rutting, Inspector?”

“Precisely why I told you. That writ was sewage and it would have caused you nothing but grief. I’m shocked your Protector even wrote it up.”

He looked guiltily at the ground. “Protector Ossick never really looks at what he’s signing.”

“Goddamn it, Benvin,” she said despite herself. “In this house, in this neighborhood, you’re the one who’s supposed to be better than that.”

“Who the blazes are you to say?”

“I’m the one who’s been listening to Jace Welling. He’ll go on and on about how rutting amazing you are. I’m the one who took an arrow in the leg chasing your obsession with the Thorn.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yeah, well, you got it anyway. So cool your head.”

He sighed. “Being the better man got my people killed, my skull cracked open. I got to end this before we lose anyone else.”

“This isn’t the right way.”

He scowled at her. “I know your story, Tricky. You’ve got no place talking about the right way.”

“You’re probably right,” she said. “But this could have trashed your career, and that of your squad. They deserve better. You are better.”

“You can’t tell me—”

“You got right now to walk away from it. Or I walk you in front of them all.”

He held her gaze for a good long while before backing off. “Fine,” he said. “Then what?”

“You send your folk back to the house, or on patrol, or whatever. And hopefully the Princes will think you’re unhinged enough that you just might come in cracking skulls any damn time.”

“They already do,” he said with a slight smile.

“All right.” She gave him the smile back. “Look, I’ve seen your house. It doesn’t give much of a blazes about anything. Most of the sticks in there are either lazy or too anxious to crack skulls.”

“I’m aware,” Benvin said.

“So if you need help cleaning up Aventil—after you have a real case, built strong—then send word to me at the GIU.”

“Don’t they hate you there?”

“Sure they do,” Satrine said. “But I’m like you. I don’t give a blazes.”

Arrows weren’t stopping him. Veranix had put four in the Hunter, and Welling had two more crossbow bolts. It didn’t even slow him down.

The only thing that was keeping either of them alive right now was the fact that the Hunter insisted on fighting with his bow, and his fingers and hands were far too engorged to properly hold it.

Finally in a rage, he threw the bow away and then swung out with a massive fist, knocking Inspector Welling several yards away. Veranix dodged another punch, while drawing in enough numina to coat the Hunter in magical paste, stuck to the ground. The Hunter thrashed and howled as he tried to pull himself out of the goo.

Veranix used the chance to breathe, assess the situation. He jumped over to Kaiana while lining up another shot. “What the blazes happened?”

“The drug,” she said. “He took a lot of it.”

“What do you mean, a lot?”

“As in he became that,” she said.

“And the drug was magically augmented,” he said. “Jiarna realized that might be . . . bad.”

“You think?” she said.

Welling approached, looking shaken but unharmed. He glanced over at the Hunter, who was pulling his leg out of the paste. “That will not hold. A better strategy should be employed.”

“Open to suggestion, Inspector.”

Jiarna sprinted across the field to the lawn, stopping some distance from the monstrous Hunter. “Sweet saints, what did we do?”

Veranix took Kaiana’s hoe from her, passing it to Welling. “You’re a Racquin, Inspector. Ever play Knock-a-Vase?”

“I—once.”

“Then let’s act like his head is filled with sweets,” Veranix said. He raised his staff and leaped at the Hunter, fueling his jump and his arm with numina, swinging at his head like he was going for the Triple Jack.

The staff shattered over his skull, but didn’t seem to hurt him. Before Veranix could land, the Hunter swatted him out of the air. He didn’t smash into the ground, thanks to a magical catch from Welling.

“That was ineffective.”

“You have an idea?”

Jiarna had slipped over to Phadre and Delmin, and called out, grabbing the rope from Phadre. “Got one!”

“Who’s she?” Welling asked.

“Someone brilliant. Keep him busy while I find out her plan.”

“Busy it is.”

Veranix dashed over to Jiarna.

“The drug was magically excited, causing enhanced effects,” she said, her words stumbling over each other in a rush. “That numinic excitement is still there, coursing through his body.”

“Del?”

“Clear as day,” Delmin said.

“So if you can perhaps drain that excitement—” she prompted.

“I don’t suppose those mage shackles are handy,” Veranix said.

“No,” Kaiana said. “I could—”

“You’re not thinking,” Jiarna said, holding up the rope. “Napranium.”

“Draws numina,” Veranix said, her point clicking in his head. He took the rope from Jiarna, looking back to Inspector Welling, who was attempting to hammer at the Hunter with raw magical force. “I’ve got a crazy idea.”

Veranix leaped over to the other side of the Hunter, hurling the rope out so it wrapped around the man’s massive torso. The other end then flew over to Welling, who caught it in his left hand.

“Follow my lead, Inspector!”

Welling nodded, and Veranix felt his own numinic energy harmonize with the inspector’s. Through the rope, he could feel the energy drumming through the Hunter’s veins. He could only hope that Welling was sensing what he did, sensed his plan, that their harmonization could work like it did at the Tower.

The Hunter howled and grabbed at the rope, pulling both Veranix and Welling in close, smashing them into each other.

No more time.

Veranix first sent a charge like lightning through the rope, which Welling matched. Hunter screamed and dropped them to the ground.

“Now, Inspector!”

Veranix imagined what the mage shackles felt like, feeling for the numina pulsing through every part of the Hunter’s body. Then he pulled that energy away, drawing it into himself as if he was a mage shackle.

Welling did the same, his hand like dalmatium.

The Hunter screamed again, this time horrific and unearthly. His whole body began to wither and shrink as he collapsed to his knees.

Then there was nothing left to pull. The Hunter had fallen to all fours, now an emaciated body wheezing and gasping.

Welling dropped his end of the rope and grabbed one of the Hunter’s hands, putting him in irons. “You are lawfully bound. You are accused of crimes and will stand a fair trial.” Veranix was amazed he had the strength to do that. Despite pulling the numina into himself, he felt drained and empty.

The Hunter made no attempt to resist or question. The poor fool looked like just breathing was all he could manage.

Delmin came over. “His name is Enzin Hence. He’s an athlete with Pirrell University. Just like that lot over there.”

“Mister Sarren,” Welling said. “I appreciate your good character in identifying the suspect.” He looked back and forth at Veranix and Delmin. “I’ve also determined that this is the man who attacked the church last night, injuring Inspector Rainey and Sergeant Welling. He’s also wanted for the murders of Emilia Quope and three other women.”

“You’re certain?” Veranix asked.

Welling gave a knowing nod of his head. “Despite the physical changes, I think it’s quite clear. Establishing a case won’t be challenging.”

Kaiana stepped forward. “He’s also been distributing drugs during the games.”

“Drugs? What sort?”

Jiarna took the lead on this. “I can only give you a cursory analysis, Inspector, but it seems to be a strength and aggression enhancer. All these boys took too much—”

“Much too much in this one’s case,” Phadre added, shaking his head at the Hunter’s prone form.

“And this is the result,” Jiarna said.

“Is there evidence?” Welling asked.

“There’s still some of the drug in his room, Inspector,” Delmin offered. “I’m one of the prefects of that dorm, so I can authorize a search without a writ.”

“Then I will need to make use of campus cadets. But this man, between the drugs, the attacks at the church and on Lieutenant Benvin—”

“This is not who attacked Lieutenant Benvin,” Veranix said quickly. Campus cadets had kept their distance during the fight, but they were now approaching. “You helped me when you didn’t need to, so I’ll do the same. The Rose Street Princes have that imposter in a safehouse at number nineteen Branch Street.”

“He was a Prince?”

“Not at all,” Veranix said. He coiled the rope to his belt. In addition to campus cadets, he could see in the distance Professor Alimen coming up the lawn. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Inspector.”

Veranix shrouded himself, and channeling what numina he still could muster, he leaped high and far away, landing on the roof of Almers. From there, he could see the aftermath on campus. Cadets and Yellowshields swarming into the disaster. Injuries, destruction.

This wasn’t his fault.

This was the Hunter, this was the drug he was giving to the Pirrell players. This was them cheating, and it built to an explosion.

This wasn’t his fault.

This would have happened even if he wasn’t the Thorn.

This wasn’t his fault.

No repetition of those words made him believe that.

He slipped down from the roof to his third-floor window. Quickly he stashed away his gear and Thorn costume and changed to regular clothes. He was exhausted, especially after taking off the cloak, but he needed to have enough strength to do a little bit more.

Shrouding himself without the cloak, just on his own magic, was much harder than he imagined it would be, but he needed to do it. Climbing up to the window, he pushed numina into his legs and leaped back over to the tetchball field.

There was still a crowd—a subdued crowd, but a crowd. Many were slumped down on the ground. Some were being put in irons by campus cadets, some were being tended to by Yellowshields.

Veranix saw someone lying facedown in the dirt. Dropping the shroud, dropping all illusions of the bruises on his face, he went over to them.

Marmot, the squad’s Deep Double. He was out of his senses, but still breathing. Blood and dirt were caked onto the side of his head. On top of that, his left arm was broken in at least two places.

Veranix pulled Marmot up, putting him over his shoulder in a rescue carry. He ran over to one of the Yellowshields.

“Hey! Hey! I need some help over here!”

Kaiana breathed a sigh of relief that Veranix had vanished before the cadets and Professor Alimen had reached them. With everything that had happened, there was no need to also include getting caught with that.

Which puzzled her all the more about this inspector, who not only helped Veranix stop Hence, but didn’t try to arrest him. He was busy making whistle calls when the cadets and the professor came over. The professor was already in a frenzied state, shouting as he approached.

“Inspector, how dare you come on this campus—”

Inspector Welling seemed unbothered, writing out several notes as he interrupted the professor. “My position in the Grand Inspectors’ Unit gives me broad jurisdiction authority in the city, Professor. We sought permissions from you and the campus cadets out of courtesy, not legal necessity.”

Alimen looked very put out by that, his face turning beet red. “And then you harass my students—”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort, Professor,” Inspector Welling said. He finished his notes and handed it to a cadet, who ran off.

“It’s true, sir,” Delmin said quickly.

Alimen scowled at Delmin, but nodded in acceptance. Looking around at the damage, he asked, “Can someone explain to me what the blazes is happening? Not you, Inspector.”

“I wouldn’t bother trying, Professor,” Inspector Welling said, going over to confer with the campus cadets.

“I can try, Professor,” Kaiana said.

“Miss Nell,” he said, his tone softening. “I trust that you’ve been instrumental in quelling whatever calamity has befallen our campus.”

“I don’t know all the details, sir, but these boys were all using some sort of drug—”

“A magiochemically altered drug, sir,” Jiarna offered.

“Which caused them to do . . . all this.” Kaiana waved at the chaos all around.

“And how do you know about it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I had discovered signs of it on campus, but nothing that the campus cadets would be able to take action on. It was really Delmin who figured it out, of course.”

“Mister Sarren?” Alimen raised his eyebrow.

“Yes, sir? Right, sir. Well, this morning there had been that blast of numinic energy . . .”

“Indeed. It woke me up.”

“Me as well, sir. Shot up right in my bed. My bed in Almers, of course, sir.”

“Lit up my instruments as well, sir,” Phadre said plainly. “Quite a powerful phenomenon.”

“Indeed. Something—or someone—powerful and volatile must have caused it.” Alimen was staring at Inspector Welling with loathing when he said that.

Delmin jumped back in. “But that’s when I realized that there was a strange source of numinic energy right in Almers. In this young man’s room. I confronted him on it, and he then drank the substance and turned monstrous.”

“Pamph, I believe,” Inspector Welling said. “Also called The Soldier’s Fist. Not often seen in Maradaine. More common on the Sauriyan coast and Corvia.”

“Thank you, Inspector, I have heard enough from you.”

“And we saw Delmin in trouble, chased by him,” Kaiana said. “We came to help him, and then the inspector stopped the rampaging boys.”

“Hmm,” Alimen said, still looking at Inspector Welling with skepticism.

Veranix then came limping over from the tetchball field, looking battered and bruised. “Are all of you all right? Was it as bad here as it was over there?”

“Mister Calbert, you look a fright,” Alimen said.

“And I feel it, sir. The Pirrell boys went crazy, charging the field, and then the spectators rioted, and, before I knew it, I was trampled by a bunch of people.”

Kaiana stifled a smile. Just like that, Veranix gave himself deniability in everything that happened.

Inspector Welling gave him a curious look. “You are fortunate, Mister Calbert, that your clothing was largely unscathed by this encounter.”

Professor Alimen moved in on the inspector, his eyes hard. “This is enough from you. It is clear you are an Uncircled menace, and working against the very—” He paused, shaking his head. “I suspect all this is damage caused by your careless magic. I imagine you were the source of the . . . I should have you—” Energy seemed to swirl around the professor, strong enough that Kaiana could feel the hairs on her arms stand on end. Veranix jumped in between him and Welling.

“Professor, sir. He’s still an inspector. Still a constable.”

The professor huffed, glowering at the inspector, who seemed to return a cold anger back. After a moment, the professor nodded. “Well reasoned, Mister Calbert. Inspector, I demand that you leave this campus at once. I will be contacting your superiors. I may even file formal complaint.”

“No need, Professor,” Welling said. “I have nothing else to do here at the moment.” He looked to the rest of the group. “I thank you for your able assistance in apprehending Mister Hence. All of you.”

That last part seemed aimed at Veranix.

He nodded and went off to the south gate.

“A disaster, a disaster,” Alimen said. “Veranix, you should get to the hospital ward.”

“A Yellowshield checked me over, sir,” Veranix said. “There are far too many people who need more serious care for me to take up their time.”

“I will trust in your judgment,” Alimen said. He shook his head. “This will cost, it certainly will come down. And I am not done with that Uncircled inspector.”

“Sir?” Kaiana said. “He did fight that beast of a man. He saved us all.” It wasn’t right for the professor to pursue Inspector Welling when he did nothing wrong. He certainly shouldn’t get punished for the magic blast they all caused to find the drug.

“That isn’t the point, Miss Nell,” Alimen said.

“Isn’t it, sir? And now we have a campus to clean up.”

“Indeed,” he said, a bit calmer. “I’m sure you will have your hands full for the days to come. I will see what aid I can be. The rest of you all should probably stay clear.”

“Yes, sir,” Delmin said. Alimen went off, and Delmin let out a enormous breath. “I’ve never lied that much to him. Or to anyone. This is what you’ve done to me.”

“We should clear off,” Phadre said. “Perhaps retire to the carriage house or some other venue.”

“A venue with food,” Veranix said. “I am only standing on my feet out of sheer force of will.”

“Let’s do that then,” Phadre said. “I think I know a place that’s enough away to be unaffected by this.” He led them toward the west side of the campus.

“Are you all right?” Kaiana asked Veranix.

“Nothing a hot meal and three days of sleep shouldn’t fix,” he said.

“That inspector, he—he definitely knows—” There was no way he wouldn’t be coming back to arrest Veranix. Perhaps all of them.

“A problem for another time,” Veranix said. He nodded solemnly. “And when it comes, it won’t be your problem, I’ll make sure.”

“But—”

“Another time,” he said again. “For now, hot meal. Sleep for three days.”