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The dead man had no face.<\/span><\/p>\n All that remained where a face had once been was a gruesome mess of flesh, bone, and hair. The rest of his body was no better. Satrine Rainey was astounded that it was still recognizable as a man.<\/span><\/p>\n She also astounded how, after two months as an Inspector Third Class in the Constabulary of the city of Maradaine, she had grown accustomed to sights like this. Too many of her case assignments involved dead bodies, and Captain Cinellan still delighted in assigning, in his words, the \u201cstrange ones\u201d to her and her partner, Minox Welling.<\/span><\/p>\n Since Captain Cinellan was still letting her be an Inspector Third Class, and draw the salary she needed to care for her husband and daughters, she wasn\u2019t about to complain.<\/span><\/p>\n Inspector Welling responded to the sight by pulling his pipe from his coat pocket and stuffing it with his favorite Fuergan tobacco. \u201cWe were told this one was horrible,\u201d he said. \u201cWe were certainly not lied to.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine stepped out of the refuse-strewn alleyway where the body had been found, finding little comfort in the busy streets of the Inemar neighborhood. Plenty of people were crowding a small distance away, held back by the footpatrol officers, gawking at the spectacle. Near the front of the crowd were a group of girls, around twelve or thirteen years old. Blouses with the sleeves torn off, most likely to deal with the sweltering summer heat, and tough smirks on their faces. Twenty-some years ago Satrine would have been one of those girls, trying to get a peek. There was always comfort in seeing that Inemar had chewed up and spit out someone else.<\/span><\/p>\n She turned back to the alley. \u201cBased on the heat and the smell, he couldn\u2019t have been out here very long.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAgreed,\u201d Welling said, crouching by the mauled body. \u201cWhoever dumped the body here made little effort to even hide it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSo our suspect is someone who would bring a dead body and dump it with other garbage in the middle of the day,\u201d Satrine said. \u201cIn other words, an idiot.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhich are, unfortunately, not in short supply.\u201d Welling stood up and took a puff on his pipe. Looking at the cracks in the cobblestone he added. \u201cAlmost no blood flowing from the body. The poor soul probably lost it all quite quickly.\u201d Satrine was amazed how calm he looked, not even seeming hot, despite still wearing his overcoat in this swelter. She had left her coat at the stationhouse, wearing just her inspector\u2019s vest and shirtsleeves. Even with that she was sweating up a swamp.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAnything in the trash with him that helps you determine where he came from, who he is?\u201d Satrine asked. Welling was gifted at making brilliant observations based on minimal details.<\/span><\/p>\n He shook his head and stepped out. \u201cNothing incriminating or remarkable. The past few days\u2019 worth of the South Maradaine Gazette<\/em>, but all that indicates is it\u2019s probably from this neighborhood. Which I already presumed. Whoever dropped the body likely didn\u2019t go very far to do it. Probably no more than two blocks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhy do you think that?\u201d Satrine asked.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFor one, as we\u2019ve determined, idiocy. Second, the method of disposal hints at laziness. Whoever did this wanted nothing more than to get rid of the body with as little effort as possible. Come here with a wheelbarrow, drop it in the alley, and get away.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine turned out to the crowd. \u201cI don\u2019t suppose anyone saw someone come by here with a wheelbarrow? Maybe carrying a dead body?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The girls in front chuckled, but no one gave a useful response.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI suppose it was worth the effort to try that,\u201d Welling said.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine shrugged. Inemar residents weren\u2019t particularly known for helping out the Constabulary. That had been the case in her childhood, and during her months serving here she hadn\u2019t seen anything to show it had changed.<\/span><\/p>\n A mule-drawn wagon approached the alley. The driver reined it to a stopped and hopped down. Leppin, the stationhouse\u2019s examinarian and bodyman, came over with a wide grin on his tiny head, looking all the sillier wearing the leather skullcap with various lenses in place over one of his eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the word, specs?\u201d he asked in his think northeastern accent. \u201cHeard it\u2019s a real mangler.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cQuite,\u201d Welling said. \u201cIn fact I doubt this was done by human hands.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine thought on this. \u201cFactory accident? That hurts your proximity idea.\u201d The closest works shop was over in Dentonhill. There were a couple sewinghouses in this part of Inemar, but nothing capable of threshing a man to this extent.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt does.\u201d Welling puffed on his pipe a bit more. \u201cThough that is the sort of thing it puts me in the mind of.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leppin had gone back to the alley and whistled low. \u201cI ain\u2019t seen anything like this in a while.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine came a bit closer. \u201cAll right, consider this. The body is horribly mangled, but casually dumped off. If this had been a true murder, someone who wanted him dead, they would have been as emotionally invested in getting rid of the body as they would in killing him. But if it\u2019s an accident\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Welling said, snapping his fingers. \u201cThen there\u2019s no investment. The dead man is an inconvenience, as he mostly represents\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d He thought for a moment. \u201cHe represents something dangerous they\u2019re trying to keep quiet.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLike what?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSomething with animals,\u201d Minox said. \u201cThose injuries could be from an animal.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Leppin nodded. \u201cSomething vicious.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAnother dogfighting ring?\u201d Satrine offered. \u201cWe\u2019ve broken up a few in the past couple months.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think this was dogs,\u201d Leppin said. He pointed to one of the enormous gashes on the man\u2019s chest. \u201cThat\u2019s not a bite. Not of any dog I\u2019ve ever seen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine\u2019s eye moved from the wound to one of the bits of unsullied flesh. Near where the neck met the shoulder, a reddish-purple mark. \u201cLeppin, clean off the blood by his neck.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cEh?\u201d He pulled out a rag and wiped it away. It was definitely purple, and not an injury from the mauling. \u201cThat\u2019s a birthmark, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cPretty strange one,\u201d Leppin said.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOf note?\u201d Welling asked.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOf note, indeed,\u201d Satrine said. Memory flared up. \u201cI think I know who our dead man is, Inspector. And I have a suspicion that fits our theory.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n * * *<\/span><\/p>\n Gregor Henk had been a few years older than Satrine. A boy always pulling a grift or a hustle, usually for his uncle, when he wasn\u2019t trying to get girls\u2019 skirts off. He was also one of those boys who thought the best way to get girls\u2019 attention was to walk around their corners with his shirt half open. That had never gotten Satrine\u2019s interest, but she couldn\u2019t deny that it worked on several of the neighborhood girls at the time.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine could never even contemplate it, since she had always been repulsed by the ugly purple birthmark on his neck and shoulder.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cGregor Henk,\u201d she told Welling as they walked down Selim. \u201cA lot of mouth on that boy, and not much else. To be honest, I\u2019m surprised he lived this long.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re certain of that?\u201d Welling asked.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat birthmark is quite the giveaway.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSo where are we going?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cGiles Henk was his uncle. Kept a few tenement flops in one of the side alleys off of Selim. Was one of those guys who did his best to put crowns in his pocket by getting kids to work the streets for him. You know the type, gives them a place to bed down, but at a price.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou ever?\u201d Welling asked.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI did a lot things back then to stay warm and fed.\u201d She had done even worse as an agent in Druth Intelligence. Despite that, she had then been blessed with fourteen years of \u201cnormal\u201d life with a doting husband in the Constabulary and two brilliant daughters. Everything had fallen on her shoulders when her husband was beaten and drowned nearly to death. The work she was now doing, on her old streets, if that was her account coming due, she could live with that.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSo you\u2019re saying Giles Henk is our killer?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m saying Giles is probably who dumped the body. A block away and incredibly lazy. So he was involved, or knows who is.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cPresuming he\u2019s still alive,\u201d Welling offered. \u201cHe\u2019d be an old man now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure he is,\u201d Satrine said. \u201cHe\u2019s the sort of man who always manages to survive.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n They approached the door, shabby and paint peeling, tucked away in a below-ground stairwell in the back of the alley. Some of Inemar had cleaned up over the years, but this part certainly hadn\u2019t. Even the backhouse was still there at the end, though it was little more than a rotten skeleton of wood and shingles. The slightest touch would likely collapse it.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine wondered if that was the one she had been locked inside that one winter night. The memory of it happening was so clear, but now that she thought about it, she couldn\u2019t quite recall which backhouse it was.<\/span><\/p>\n Inspector Welling was already rapping his knuckles on the door.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo response,\u201d he said after a minute.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLet me try something,\u201d Satrine said. She gave a single hard knock, followed by six quick raps, and then waiting a moment, concluding with another hard knock.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cReally? A secret knock?\u201d Welling almost looked offended.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s the kind of bloke this guy is,\u201d she said. \u201cThat\u2019s what he thinks clever is.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The door opened a crack, and a leathery face covered in white hair appeared. \u201cThat\u2019s an old code. Ain\u2019t heard it in years.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBut you remembered it,\u201d Satrine said.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCourse I did. Who the blazes are you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCity Constabulary, Mister Henk,\u201d Welling said. \u201cWe\u2019d like to ask you a few questions about your nephew. May we enter?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSuppose,\u201d he said, stepping back. \u201cWhat\u2019s that fool gotten into now?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine entered the place, which smelled like sewage and rotten meat. Her stomach rebelled for a moment, but she held it down.<\/span><\/p>\n The old man was still every inch Giles Henk, wearing nothing but dirty skivs, his scrawny body covered in a shaggy fleece of white hair. There was little furniture, and that which was there\u2014a table and a couple chairs\u2014Satrine would swear were the same ones from twenty years ago. The floor was covered in refuse\u2014mostly newsprints, the kind often used to wrap potatoes or strikers or fish crisps.<\/span><\/p>\n Henk sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of vinegary-smelling cider.<\/span><\/p>\n Welling took the place in stride. \u201cWe\u2019ve found your nephew Gregor, dead from multiple injuries, in a nearby alley.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDid you?\u201d Henk took a long drink and poured another cup. \u201cSomebody get a jump on him?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt didn\u2019t seem to be someone\u2014\u201d Satrine started.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBecause he ran up debts, I can tell you. Someone was going to grab hold of him one day or another and make him pay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCould you name anyone who might have a particular grievance? That could help our investigation.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Henk screwed up his face. \u201cName anyone? I\u2019d have to think about it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t hurt yourself,\u201d Satrine said.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI know you, red?\u201d he asked. Even with Satrine\u2019s uncommon hair color, he didn\u2019t recognize her. Maybe his eyes were going.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve met before,\u201d Satrine said. \u201cI\u2019ve been down here before.\u201d She pointed to the door in the back of the room. \u201cI remember some of the things that happened back there.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, what?\u201d Henk asked. \u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSo you don\u2019t have kids sacked out back there? Maybe a couple you can lend to your friends?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAw, blazes, no. Been a long damn time since anything like that happened here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The man had no shame about his past. She almost admired that.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSo what\u2019s back there now?\u201d Welling asked, approaching the door.<\/span><\/p>\n Henk jumped out of his chair, quite spryly for an old man. \u201cSome of my mates are, you know, sleeping off their cider. They\u2019d be pretty cranky if you go back there.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Welling raised an eyebrow, and then pounded on the back door. \u201cCity Constabulary! Come out and be identified!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n A sound came from the back room, but it definitely didn\u2019t come from one of Henk\u2019s friends. Or anything human.<\/span><\/p>\n Henk was unfazed. \u201cSee, pretty cranky.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine was on her feet. \u201cYou aren\u2019t keeping kids back there anymore?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, no, red. I got nothing back there with kids. I tell you, I don\u2019t do that no more.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n She looked to Welling. \u201cCause?\u201d A complex question reduced to one word. Legally they had no right to charge into a private residence. Even having been invited inside to one room, they couldn\u2019t arbitrarily go through a closed door. The City Protector would throw out their arrest if they did that. Unless they had cause\u2014a sincere belief that there was active crime or imminent danger that required immediate action.<\/span><\/p>\n Welling responded by drawing his handstick, which she took for agreement.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey, you don\u2019t wanna\u2014\u201d was all Henk got out before they were at the door, pushing it open. Satrine pulled out her crossbow and took point. She\u2019d been in this place before, after all. She doubted it could really surprise her.<\/span><\/p>\n She took only a few steps into the dim room before her foot slipped. She lurched forward, and realized that there was now a pit dug into what had been an earthen floor. She forced herself back, almost crashing into Welling.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSaints,\u201d she muttered, and Welling\u2019s hand on her shoulder steadied her. \u201cWhat is this, Henk?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI think we\u2019ve found Gregor\u2019s killer,\u201d Welling said, pointing into the pit. Satrine couldn\u2019t see into it very well, but even in the darkness she could see something large and hairy moving about.<\/span><\/p>\n Then it bellowed up at them.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cA rutting bear?\u201d Satrine asked.<\/span><\/p>\n Before Welling could respond, they were struck from behind, sending the both of them careening into the pit with the bear.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine landed badly\u2014her left leg still hadn\u2019t fully recovered from getting stabbed during her first case with Welling\u2014but rolled with the impact. Her crossbow fired wildly, striking the bear in its leg.<\/span><\/p>\n Welling landed like a cat, and moved to Satrine to aid her to her feet.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cGood luck down there, officers!\u201d Henk yelled from the lip of the pit. \u201cHe\u2019s probably not too hungry, so you might make it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The bear roared and charged at the both of them. Getting shot probably did not improve its mood at all. Its massive claws swept in at Satrine\u2019s head.<\/span><\/p>\n Before she could move away, the bear\u2019s paw slammed into a patch of empty air as if it were solid steel.<\/span><\/p>\n Welling\u2019s hand was held out in front of him, a blue nimbus surrounding it. The bear struck again, its paw again bouncing off of apparently nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThanks,\u201d Satrine said. Welling avoided using his magic, since he was Uncircled\u2014no Mage Circle would ever cooperate with the Constabulary or take an active officer as a member. It was dangerous for an Uncircled mage to do magic in public, with no legal protection against a mage-fearing populace. Also as an Uncircled mage, he was untrained, using his magical abilities mostly on instinct.<\/span><\/p>\n Sweat beaded up on his brow. \u201cI cannot hold it back indefinitely,\u201d he grunted through tight teeth. The bear growled and pressed against the solid wall of nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine reloaded her crossbow, took aim and fired. She hit, center of the bear\u2019s chest. It howled and slammed its paws against the force the Welling was holding up. Welling dropped to his knees, both hands held above his head.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTakes more than that to kill a bear, red!\u201d Henk yelled from the top of the pit.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine grabbed Welling\u2019s crossbow off his belt. \u201cHold it still!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI will endeavor,\u201d Welling said. Making a noise like a wagon crashing, he came up on his feet and brought up his other hand. The blue nimbus shifted to an angry green, with sparks and snaps flying from his left hand. The bear flung back against the wall of the pit, its arms pinned by the green. Its great maw opened wide in a deafening roar.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine took her shot.<\/span><\/p>\n The bolt buried itself deep in the back of the bear\u2019s throat. With a pathetic whine, it dropped to the ground.<\/span><\/p>\n Welling did the same.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou all right?\u201d Satrine asked him.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cJust need a moment,\u201d he wheezed out. \u201cMister Henk.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine needed no further prodding. She jumped up on the rough wall of the pit\u2014crudely constructed, easy enough to climb once there was no bear trying to maul her. In a matter of seconds she was over the edge of the pit and back in Henk\u2019s sitting room.<\/span><\/p>\n She had her handstick drawn, but Henk wasn\u2019t there. His front door hung open, swinging idly. Not that she could blame him for running. Trying to kill two Constabulary inspectors was going to get him many, many years in Quarrygate.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine ran out into the alley. Her bad leg twinged, not wanting to work this hard. She ignored it as best she could and pressed on. Henk was stumbling his way toward the street, trying desperately to go as quickly as he could while pulling his pants on. He was carrying his boots in his teeth.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHenk! Stand and be held!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The old man gave a frightened cry, letting the boots drop to the ground. He tore off, barefooted, into the street.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine sprinted down after him, pushing through the protests her leg was giving her. As she ran, she felt a small smile creep on her face.<\/span><\/p>\n She was going to enjoy this far more than she should.<\/span><\/p>\n Satrine closed the distance in moments\u2014it wasn\u2019t hard to catch up to a barefoot old man in half-fastened pants\u2014and brought her handstick down on his shoulder. As he tumbled down, she added another shot to his back. As soon as he was on the ground, she pinned him with her knee.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMister Giles Henk, you are lawfully bound,\u201d she said, pulling her irons off her belt. \u201cYou are accused of crimes and will receive fair trial.\u201d Shackling his hands behind him, she pulled him back up on his feet.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cName my crimes,\u201d Henk said. This was the common response, and lifelong sludges like Henk were familiar enough with the rituals of arrest to know that the specific crimes they were to be charged with had to be identified. Much of the law involved protecting common people from spurious arrests and Constabulary abuse, including this.<\/span><\/p>\n Welling came up, still looking pale and winded. \u201cYou are charged of harboring a dangerous animal in residence without license. You are charged with reckless care of that animal, resulting in the death of Gregor Henk. You are charged with attempting to kill two officers of the City Constabulary.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey, hey,\u201d Henk said. \u201cI never did nothing of that sort. I just bumped into the two of you, it was all dark in there, and you fell in the pit.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTell it to the City Protector\u2019s Office,\u201d Satrine said. \u201cYou are obliged to come without incident.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Henk shrugged and started to walk.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t look well,\u201d Satrine said to Welling as they made their way back to the stationhouse.<\/span><\/p>\n