Cast In Fury

“You won’t like it,” he said, leaving her in no doubt whatsoever that this was an understatement. “But it doesn’t matter whether or not you like it, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m serious, Kaylin. You get away with a lot when you’re dealing with Marcus, because he’s seen how much you’ve changed in seven years. He saw you at thirteen. He watched you struggle to become the Hawk that you are now. Part of him still thinks of you as if you’re thirteen years old, and that’s not likely to change.”

“And so?”

“Kaylin, please understand that this is important. All jokes about your punctuality aside, Marcus accepts you as you are. Not all of the older Hawks feel the same way, and not all of them have been won over.”

She stared at him dumbly and was surprised when he handed his polearm to the other guard, and caught her shoulders in both hands. His wings were high; he was worried. “I’m very fond of you,” he said, his gaze an unblinking shade of gray that was unlike any color she’d seen. “But I took my oaths, and I’m sworn to uphold them. I also need to eat, and feed my family.”

“Clint—what are you talking about? Why are you saying this?”

“Because the people you will now be dealing with will not be Old Ironjaw. And if you don’t deal carefully, you won’t be a Private. It’s as simple as that.”

“W-what happened?”

“There was an incident,” he continued carefully. “Involving the Leontine Quarter.”

“What happened, Clint?”

“We’re not entirely certain. Teela and Tain are trying to ferret out information, but any information we get is going to come to us when we’re off the payroll. Understand?”

She nodded, although she didn’t.

“Marcus has been stood down. He’s been relieved of duty.”

“On what grounds?”

“Kaylin—we don’t know what happened. But the case has been referred to the Caste Courts, not ours.”

“What case?”

“Someone died.”

“Pardon?”

“A Leontine from a prominent clan died. He was killed by another Leontine. That much, we do know.”

“How?”

“The death didn’t occur in the Leontine Quarter. However, none of the witnesses were harmed, and remanding all investigations involving that death to the Caste Courts is well within the dictates of the Law.”

“But—”

“Marcus was present at the scene of the crime.”

“What do you mean, present?”

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were clear, and his face had hardened into lines that Kaylin hated to see there. “He is currently in the custody of the Caste Court, awaiting a trial on murder charges.”

For once, Kaylin had no words to offer. A million questions, yes, but they were jammed up in the tightness of her throat.

“Corporal Handred?”

“Here.”

“You’ve been instructed to report for duty to the acting Sergeant.”

“The acting Sergeant? Clint!”

The Aerian to his left was an older man that Kaylin recognized. There wasn’t an Aerian on the force that she didn’t know by name, because there wasn’t an Aerian on the force who hadn’t been begged, pleaded with and cajoled by a much younger Kaylin. They could fly—they could carry her with them.

“Breen?”

Breen had clearly decided to let Clint absorb all the heat of this particular conversation, but his dusky skin, pale brown to Clint’s deep, warm darkness, looked a little on the green side.

“To whom am I to report?” Severn asked.

The hesitation was almost too much to bear. But when Clint finally spoke, it was worse.

“Sergeant Mallory.”

CHAPTER 4

Severn did not take Kaylin with him when he went to report for duty to the new acting Sergeant. He did not, in fact, report for duty immediately; instead, he grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her from the steps atop which the two Aerians stood. It took her about two minutes to realize that the dragging had a purpose: he was taking her home.

And she was exhausted enough to let him.

“I know what you’re thinking, Kaylin. Don’t.”

“What am I thinking?”

“That you should have been there.”

She winced. But she’d always been obvious to Severn.

“What you were doing affects an entire race. What we’ll be doing when we’re not dealing with the ugly fears of a mob will affect a much, much smaller group of people.”

“The Hawks.”

He nodded quietly.

“Why did he ask for you?” She couldn’t bring herself to actually say Mallory’s name out loud.

“I don’t know. I’ve met the man once.”

“You ran interference for me when we went to Missing Persons.”

Severn nodded. “But given his feelings about you—and he was quite clear on those—I imagine that he won’t find my role as a Hawk much more to his liking.”

“He probably doesn’t know where you’re from.”

“Then he hasn’t done his homework.”

“Doesn’t seem likely.”

“No, it doesn’t. I imagine that Mallory knows quite a bit about the Hawks at this point.” He stopped. She stared at the street, and he pushed her gently up the few steps to her own apartment door. She’d gotten a new key, and it worked, but it took her three tries to get the damn thing into the lock.

“You’re tired,” he told her, when she cursed in Leontine. “Tired and Mallory are not going to be a pretty combination. Sleep it off. But understand that when you walk into the office in the morning, the rules will be different and everything will change. You wanted to be a Hawk,” he added. “Be one. Tomorrow.”

“I want to talk to the Hawklord.”

“Do that tomorrow as well.” He paused, and then added, “We couldn’t have talked to the Hawklord without speaking to Mallory first. I imagine he’s guarding the tower. Kaylin, he’s made it clear from the start, if I understand things correctly, that you should never have been a Hawk. Nothing would give him more pleasure than correcting an obvious error in judgment. But if he is a vindictive man—and I don’t discount it—he also appears to play by the rules.

“Don’t give him the satisfaction. Do nothing that he can use as an excuse. He’ll have his own worries,” Severn said.

“What worries?”

“His disdain for Marcus was widely known, and Marcus was popular.”

“Is.”

“Is what?”

“Is popular.” She began to stumble up the narrow stairs to her rooms. “Don’t talk about him as if he’s dead.”

“Is popular,” he said, gentling his voice as he followed her. “Most of the department knows how Mallory regards the Hawks under Marcus, and if Mallory is to succeed, he can’t afford to further alienate them. But if you give him an excuse, he’ll use it.”

She opened the door to a darkening room, the shutters wired into a safe—and closed—position. She might not have cared much for Rennick, but she shared his view about morning. And still got her butt out of bed on most days.

“I’ll be good,” she told him in the darkness.

“Tomorrow.”

She nodded again and walked across the room, stepping around the piles of debris that littered it. She removed the stick that held her stubborn hair in place, and sank, fully clothed, into bed.

“Sleep,” he told her. Just that.

She wanted more. She wanted him to tell her that the bad dream would vanish in the sunlight, that she would wake up and the city would be sane, and Marcus would be chewing his lower lip and creating new gouges on his desktop while he moved offending paperwork out of the way.

But she’d grown up in the fiefs, after all, and she knew that what she wanted and what she got had nothing, in the end, in common. She didn’t cry.

But she came close when he kissed her forehead and brushed the lids of her closed eyes with his fingertips.

She woke up to a loud, insistent knocking at her door. Daylight had wedged its unwelcome way through the shutters. She had to remember to get them fixed. Say, by putting a block of stone in their place.

She checked her mirror before she made her way to the door, still wearing the rumpled clothing from the day before. She paused. Someone had messaged her. Someone had tried to get her attention, but they hadn’t tried for very long. She didn’t want to check, besides which, the pounding at the door wasn’t stopping anytime soon. She bypassed the mirror, because if the first thing she saw this morning was the afterimage of Mallory’s unwelcome face, she’d break the damn thing, and the mirror was the most expensive thing she owned. She wouldn’t have bothered with the expense—gods knew she never had money—but her duties at the midwives guild pretty much made it a necessity.

Severn was standing in the door frame when she opened the door. He handed her a basket. “Breakfast,” he told her. “Eat.”

“What time is it?”

“Not so late that you don’t have time to eat.” It wasn’t precisely an answer. She lifted the basket top, and the smell of fresh bread became the only thing in the room. That and her growling stomach. “Hey,” she said, as she sat on the bedside and motioned Severn toward the chair. “Is this enchanted?”

“The bread?”

Her frown would have killed lesser men. “Very funny. The basket.”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “I didn’t smell the bread at all until I opened it.”

“It keeps the rodents at bay. More or less.”

“Where’d you get it done?”

“Evanton’s.”

“He’d like it. It’s practical.”

“I think he thought it perhaps too practical. But he took the money.” He paused and then added, “It keeps the food fresher, as well. It won’t last forever,” he said, “but it lasts longer. Which, given the insane hours you generally keep, also seemed practical.”

“Wait—it’s for me?”

“It’s for you.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. “Thanks. Did you talk to Mallory?”

“Last night.”

“The Hawklord?”

“No. I’ll say this for Mallory, that paperwork is going to get done before the week’s out.”

“Ha. I’ve seen that pile—most of it was there when I got inducted.”

“Betting?”

“Sure. We can pool in the office.”

“Actually, we can’t.”

Silence. It didn’t last longer than it took to finish swallowing something that could have been chewed longer, judging by the way it lodged in the back of her throat. “We can’t bet?” To a fiefling, it was like being told don’t breathe.

“It’s not in keeping with the formal tone he feels is professional in office environs. He is looking forward to correcting the laxity.”

Kaylin’s bread now resembled clay. Her stomach was kind enough to stop growling, so her throat could pick up the sound.

“Change your clothing,” he added. “And you may have to get your hair cut.”

“What?”

“I think you heard me.”

“My hair?”

“It’s not regulation length.”

“Neither is Teela’s!”

“I believe he intends for all of the Hawks to sport regulation cuts.”

If she hadn’t swallowed the mouthful, she would have probably sprayed it across the room. “He thinks he can make the Barrani cut their hair?”

“He hopes to make his mark on the office,” Severn replied, a perfectly serious expression smoothing out the lines of his face. “I think he believes it will speak well of his tenure if he can be seen to have effected changes that Marcus could not.”

“Marcus never tried.”

“No. But there are no Barrani in Missing Persons. There are no Leontines. There are no Aerians.”

“So what you’re saying is you think he failed Racial Integration classes as well.”

“Pretty much. Oh, I imagine he passed them—some people can pass a test without ever looking at the content.”

“The Aerians pretty much go by regs. I keep my hair out of the way.”

“I don’t think that will be a convincing argument. Stay clear of it if he brings it up.”

“What does that mean?”

“Say yes, and ignore him for a day or two. Your yes will pale beside the very Barrani No he’s likely to get from twelve of his Hawks. He’s not a fool. I imagine that the dictate will be quietly set aside as insignificant given the flaws that he obviously sees in the present office bureaucracy. By which I mean reports and paperwork. He will feel the need to impress upon his superiors the qualities that he can bring to the job, particularly if those qualities are ones which his predecessor lacked.”

She nodded, and finished eating. Then she picked up what was hopefully a clean shirt, and began to change. It was going to be a long day.

“Kaylin?”

“Hmm?”

“Someone mirrored you.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t want to look in case it was Mallory. Who was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well look.”

He was silent for a moment, after which he said, “Your mirror isn’t keyed?”

“Hells no—that costs money.”

“Kaylin—the Hawks would pay to have it done. Some of our investigations would not be helped if anyone could listen in on more sensitive discussions.”

“Look, if someone’s listening in on my life, they’ve got no bloody life of their own, and they’re welcome to be as bored as they like. Usually it’s just Marcus screaming about the time, anyway.”

She could tell by the set of his lips that the conversation was not finished. He did, however, touch the mirror and ask for a replay.

The mirror hummed a moment, and then went flat.

“You said this wasn’t keyed.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s not playing.”

“Crap. If it’s broken, I’ll—I’ll—” She shoved a stick into the bun she had made of her hair, and stomped over to the mirror. What she did not need right now was anything she couldn’t afford. A new mirror being her chief concern.

“Mirror,” she said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for choice Leontine words. “Replay.”

The mirror shimmered, the neutral matte of its sleeping surface slowly breaking to reveal a face. A Leontine face.

“The mirror’s not keyed,” Kaylin said, her voice losing heat as she struggled with her very inadequate memory. The woman was familiar. Not one of Marcus’s wives—she knew all of them on sight, having been to their home dozens of times before she was allowed to join the Hawks.

“No,” Severn said thoughtfully. “But the message is. I can wait in the hall if you want the privacy.”

“Don’t bother. It’ll save me the hassle of repeating what it says. I know her,” Kaylin said suddenly. “I saw her when I went to the Quarter for the midwives. Her name was Arlan. But it was supposed to be—”

“Kaylin Neya,” the woman said, her voice so hushed Kaylin wasn’t surprised when the image in the mirror turned and looked over its shoulder furtively. “You came. You helped birth my son, Roshan Kaylarr. He has need of your aid, and there is no one else I can ask. I humbly beseech you, return to him.” She looked over her shoulder again. “I cannot speak freely. But come again this evening at the same hour you arrived in my den on your first visit. Come alone, if it is possible. Bring only people you can trust, if it is not. I must go.” She faced the mirror fully and said a phrase in Leontine before the mirror blanked.

Severn looked at her. “What did she say?”

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t understand all of the Leontine, no.”

“But you always understand more than I do.”

He raised a brow.

“She said her throat was in my claws.”

“That’s what it sounded like. What does it mean?”

“She’s begging. More than begging. She’s promising that she’ll do anything—anything at all—that I ask of her in return for this favor. No, it’s more than that—she’s saying that if I don’t do this, she faces a fate worse than death. Yes, it’s a little over the top. They don’t use it much.” She closed her eyes. “Her son was the only cub in her litter, and he barely survived the birthing. If something’s gone wrong with him—”

“She would have called you now, not at some unspecified hour.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Kaylin replied, rearranging her hair thoughtfully. “I’m also thinking that it can’t be entirely coincidence that something’s wrong in the Quarter at this time. I went in to help with the baby—Leontines don’t usually call in the human midwives, but … it was an odd birth. None of her wives were present and she was alone. The entire place was empty. I left the midwives behind because it was the Leontine Quarter, and they allowed it—barely.”

“She looks—and I admit I’m not an expert in Leontine physiology—young. Maybe she has no wives yet.”

“Maybe. And maybe she got my name from Marcus the first time I visited, and maybe she can tell us something about what’s happening to him.”

“Careful, Kaylin. You don’t want to start an intercourt incident.”

“I never want to start an incident,” she replied, opening the door. “Then again, I never want to stand in the rain getting soaked either. Some things are just beyond my control.”

As if in reply to this, he reached into his pouch and pulled out the heavy, golden bracer that she wore when she wasn’t with the midwives. Or, more accurately, when she wasn’t being called upon to use the strange magic that came with the marks on her arms, legs and back.

“That’s why you came?” she asked, taking the bracer and clamping it firmly shut around her wrist.

“That,” he replied, “and to make sure you get to work on time.”

Clint was on duty. If she had the timing right, he’d flown to the Southern Stretch, slept and flown back, without much else in between. He didn’t look surprised to see her and, given she had been on time two days in a row, this said something. It wasn’t a good something, but it was something. He let them both in without a word, although he returned Severn’s nod as they passed.

Her first stop was the Quartermaster. Given the silent war they’d been waging for the past several weeks—over a stupid dress, no less—she expected bad news. She had no doubt at all that the acting Sergeant had asked for a general inventory of items, and the various Hawks those items currently resided with. Kaylin’s minor problem was that she’d lost one hauberk, one surcoat and two daggers. If she had lost them in the line of Official duty—which did happen in some of the messier takedowns—that was considered an expense for the Departmental Budget; if she’d lost them—as she had—to work that must remain unofficial, she was going to be out the money.

Or out the door.

Begging was something she’d done in her time, but it didn’t come naturally now. Nor did letting down her guard. She had, however, decided to take Severn at his word. She needed to play nice, to be official.

The Quartermaster was clearly in the middle of the inventory that she guessed he’d been asked to take. He took about five minutes to look up, a sure sign that he’d seen her coming.

He surprised her. “I see you’ve managed to hold on to the surcoat for a day. Color me surprised.” He bent below the counter and came up with two daggers, in reg sheaths, in his hand. “Put them on. Don’t lose them.”

She was almost speechless.

“I don’t like your attitude,” he told her. “I never have.”

She nodded. The fact that she felt the same about him was not something the conversation needed at the moment. It seemed to be—miraculously—going well on its own.

“But you’ve earned your rank, such as it is. And you’ve got keen sight. Maybe in ten years, experience will grind the edges off you. Maybe it won’t. But if you want to get yourself cashiered, it’ll have to be for a better reason than losing armor and weapons while saving the City. I’ve marked the loss as in the line of duty. If he asks, lie.” He paused and added, “If you repeat that, I’ll have a sudden change of heart. Is that understood, Private?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go away. I’m busy.”

“Yes, sir.” She made it about four steps from the desk when he said, quietly, “Good luck, girl.”

Severn said, much more quietly, “If nothing good comes of Mallory, at least you’ve made peace with the Quartermaster. Try to make it last.”

Even before they made it to the heart of the office, Kaylin noted one change: the duty roster. It had been rewritten on a pristine roll of paper, in a fastidiously tidy hand, and the only holes in it were the ones beneath the pins. She saw that she was still marked for Imperial Palace duty, as was Severn. If she’d hated the idea when she’d first seen it, she was grateful for it now—it meant time away from the office.

To one side of the roster, in an equally neat hand, was a smaller piece of paper. On it, under a prominent heading that said Code of Conduct were a bunch of lines with numbers beside it. Usually, this was exactly the type of document the Hawks ignored, if they noted it at all. Kaylin, aware of how much she would have to change in order to remain a Hawk, grimaced and read.

1. All official documentation is to be written in Court Barrani.

2. For investigations in process: All reports are to be tendered no more than forty-eight hours after the relevant investigation takes place.

3. For arrests: All reports are to be tendered no more than twenty-four hours after the relevant arrest takes place.

4. There will be no betting or drinking on the premises. There will be no betting or drinking while on duty anywhere.

5. The Official City languages are not to be used to promulgate obscenities.

6. Before beginning your rounds, you will clock in. There are no exceptions to this rule. When finished, you will clock out.

7. Regulation dress and grooming is mandatory while on duty.

Kaylin said nothing while she read. She said nothing after she finished, taking a moment to school her expression. When she was certain she looked calm, she turned to face the rest of the office. The first thing she should have noticed was Marcus’s absence. But the first thing she did notice was that Caitlin was missing. At the desk beside the mirror from which most general office business was done, an older man sat. He was trim and fit in build, with a very well-groomed beard; his hair had grayed enough to be salt-and-pepper, but not enough to be white.

She hesitated for a moment, and managed to stop herself from running up to the desk and demanding to know where Caitlin was. But it was hard. Had Severn not been at her side, it might well have been impossible.

The rest of the office seemed to have taken the change in stride, if you didn’t notice the silence that hovered above a group of people famed for their gossip and chatter. One or two of them met her eyes in silence.

“Who is he?” she asked Severn, her voice a muted whisper.

“Caitlin’s replacement. Sergeant Mallory wished to work with a man who’s accustomed to him. It comes with the job,” he added, before she could speak. “His name is Kevan Smithson.”

“He worked in Missing Persons?”

“For eight years. Before that, he was part of the office pool here. Let’s get this over with,” he said, and began to walk toward the desk that Mallory now occupied.

She’d burn in hell before she called it his desk.

“Corporal Handred,” Sergeant Mallory said, looking up from his paperwork. Kaylin was barely willing to give him this: it was half the size of the stack she’d last seen, and it was a good deal more tidy. “Private Neya.” He rose as he said her name. She stood at attention. She wasn’t particularly good at standing at attention on most days, but on most days, it wasn’t demanded.

He didn’t, however, seem to notice. “You are both on call at the Imperial Palace.”

“Sir,” Severn replied.

“I have attempted to ascertain the duration of your work at the Palace, but the Imperial Court could not be precise.” He turned, then, to look at Kaylin. “You are not the Hawk I would have chosen for that duty,” he said, reaching behind him to pick up a folder. There was no immediately visible writing on it, but Kaylin had a pretty good idea of what it contained. “And I have spoken with the Hawklord about this matter. Apparently, you were specifically requested.”