Brian McClellan: Murder at the Kinnen Hotel

“What,” Aleksandre said, throwing a handbill identical to the one Adamat still held down on Hewi’s desk, “is that?”

Adamat considered informing him that it was a cheap handbill, but one look at Hewi and he swallowed the quip.

“I was just discussing that with the special constable here,” Hewi said. She stared Adamat in the eye as she said it, and her face clearly said, This is your problem. You deal with it.

“Oh?” Aleksandre whirled on Adamat. “Would you like to explain it to me, then?”

Adamat pretended to examine the handbill in his hand. “It appears that my investigation yesterday was leaked to someone at the Yellow Caller and they’ve printed a gross misinterpretation of my conclusions.”

“A gross … “ Aleksandre sputtered, his face growing even more red.

“I can start an internal investigation immediately if you’d like the culprit found,” Adamat continued, “but I think it’s better to ignore this entirely. After all, you’ve instructed us to disregard the powder mage theory and focus on Ricard Tumblar. It’s just the Yellow Caller , sir. No one will remember this within days.”

Hewi made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and began coughing pipe smoke.

Aleksandre’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know you did this?” He snatched the handbill out of Adamat’s hands and tore it in two, letting the pieces flutter to the floor. “What do you hope to accomplish, aside from the complete destruction of your career?”

Adamat glanced at Hewi, who gave the slightest shake of her head.

“Sir,” Adamat said, “I swear I had nothing to do with this. I’m not even on this investigation anymore. I have no interest in the proceedings.” He prayed that Hewi had not mentioned Adamat’s previous relationship with Ricard.

“The constable has an impeccable record,” Hewi said. “That’s why I brought him with me from the Twelfth. He’s honest to a fault.”

Adamat felt the sweat beading and rolling down the small of his back. Hewi had just put her head on the block next to his, and now all he could do was hope that Aleksandre chose to ignore the entire debacle until it went away. Based on the quality of police work at this precinct, it wasn’t out of the question.

Aleksandre slowly let his smoldering gaze fall then began to pace the length of the room. He continued to do this in silence for almost a full moment before turning on Adamat once more.

“You are going to the newspaper this instant. The Adopest Daily . The owner is a friend of mine. You’re going to give an interview that will be on the front page first thing tomorrow morning, in which you state that your theory of a powder mage assassination was a foolish, silly proposition, and you have no idea what came over you. You’ll tell the newspaper that you’ve gladly handed the investigation off to Lieutenant Dorry, who will no doubt close the case in a matter of days.”

Adamat swallowed. This was not what he’d expected at all. The commissioner’s anger? Absolutely. An attack on his credentials and his career? Certainly. But for the commissioner to order Adamat to debase himself publically?

“Those aren’t the facts of the case, sir,” he said, ignoring Hewi’s furious hand signals to shut up.

“This is the First, constable,” Aleksandre said, “and the facts are what I say they are.”

Adamat’s hands were trembling. He was furious now, and he knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but bite his tongue and head to the Adopest Daily where he would sully his own name and be glad to do it.

There was a knock at the door.

“Tell me,” Aleksandre said, “that you understand me perfectly.”

Adamat looked at Hewi, then at his hands. The knock came again, more insistent.

“Oh, what is it?” Aleksandre snapped.

The door opened to reveal a woman in her fifties. Of medium height, with long bony fingers and a gaunt, pockmarked face, she wore a frayed brown suit that had seen many years of use and held a matching bowler hat in her left hand. Her hair was short and gray, cut just above the ear. She was the type of person who looked like she had somewhere particular to be but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where.

“Constable White reporting for duty, sir,” the woman said to Commissioner Aleksandre. “I’m here to help Special Detective Adamat in his investigation.”

Aleksandre looked at Hewi, then back at White. “I don’t know who the bloody pit you think you are, but I’m going to give you until I finish this sentence to get out of this room.”

There was something peculiar about White’s eyes. They had a vibrancy that defied her dour, pockmarked appearance, and they seemed to smile when the rest of her face appeared to not know the meaning of the word. White’s long fingers rolled gently and she produced a small slip of paper as if from thin air. “My card,” she said.

Aleksandre’s chest puffed out as he drew himself up, taking a step toward White. “You will damn well leave when I … “ the rest of his sentence disappeared in a wheeze when White turned the card to face him so he could see the front of it.

It was stamped with the high mountain flanked by two lesser peaks over the teardrop of the Adsea. It was a common symbol, found on the Adran flag and most everything associated with the government. Beneath the symbol was the title Attaché White, monogrammed in gold. A government employee of some kind. Certainly not a common constable.

“Step into the hallway with me for a moment, commissioner,” White said in a quiet, confident voice.

Aleksandre followed White without a word, and White pulled the door closed, leaving Adamat alone with Captain Hewi. Adamat glanced at the captain, feeling like he’d missed something entirely.

Hewi slowly lowered herself into her seat, tapping one finger thoughtfully on the side of her pipe.

Whatever White was saying to the commissioner, their voices were too quiet for Adamat to make out through the door. He rocked back on his heels, trying to decide what, exactly, was happening. Answers, or at least theories, came to him so easily that it always left him feeling a bit disconcerted when they didn’t.

“What,” he finally asked Hewi, “is happening?”

Hewi’s eyes were half-lidded, fixed on the door. For a moment Adamat thought she hadn’t heard him, then she said softly, “I’ve seen one of those cards before.”

“I haven’t.”

“No, I suspect you haven’t. They’re very rare.”

“Looks like a card any government employee might carry.”

“No,” Hewi said, “not just any.”

“Then who?”

“What do you know about the Adran Royal Cabal?”

Adamat knew that his note to the Yellow Caller last night had been in the hope of attracting the cabal’s attention. But that woman out there, Attaché White, was not a Privileged. She didn’t have the gloves or the telltale mismatched skin discoloration from her hands to her wrists that indicated someone who wore gloves for most of their lives. “As much as anyone else. Elemental sorcerers who serve the king.”

“Who do the king’s dirty work, more like,” Hewi said. “Well they have people that do their own dirty work and I very much suspect that White is one of them.”

The door opened as Hewi finished speaking. White returned without the commissioner and closed the door behind her. “Detective constable.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Adamat said.

“I’m just a constable,” White said with that smile that touched her eyes but not her lips. “White will do.”

Adamat swallowed, wondering if perhaps he hadn’t thought his idea out entirely. He’d expected a Privileged to sweep into the precinct building with their bodyguards and take over Ricard’s case, overruling the commissioner and tracking down the real killer as a matter of public security. He hadn’t expected … whatever White was.