Prologue
The young
man stood in the office of his superior, his posture containing the appropriate
amount of deference without sliding into sycophancy. Gwendolyn Askew,
Chairwoman of the Physicians and Healers College at Rosewall Academy, studied
him as she sat down behind her desk. Benson Miles, Physician of Mental Health
and Healer Prime Certificate, had been one of her best students and was still
one of the best operatives the Rosewall Parliament had dealt with mental health
issues of both refugees from the Plague Wars and citizens. His current
assignment, however, was neither and seemed to vex him to no end.
Four years
ago there had been a rash of odd thefts in the city among the merchant nobles
and the mages. Someone had deftly circumvented security measures, both arcane
and mundane, to steal oddities that were then returned a few nights later. Even
magic could not identify the thief other than to say someone was there.
But that someone never registered as an intruder to the matrices of Weave that
formed the mystical security in many of the afflicted homes. It wasn't until Mistress
the Honorable Charity Jones walked into the Garden Street Guard Precinct, at
the end of the second year of the thefts, and began detailing several of her
exploits. Unfortunately, the thief was the sister of Earl Cygnus, Mathias
Jones, which made the matter even more sensitive. Rather than prosecute her
directly, Charity was turned over to the city's Board of Mental Health for
evaluation, and the conclusions had been startling.
Charity's
mental state was stable but her intelligence levels rose well beyond even the
brightest students at the Academy. She admitted that the thefts had been a way
to keep herself sharp as the only employment a woman of her estate was expected
to pursue (at least in her brother’s mind) was that of marriage. This was
especially true since Charity not only no ability to manipulate the weave, thus
could not succeed to her brother's dignities, but she moved through the
Weave without disturbance, thus the traps’ magic never “saw” her, easily
allowing her access to the secrets of the powerful. But while she was both
mentally and physically agile, Charity displayed little ability with people to
the point of needing something of a translator who could keep up with her
intelligence. So instead of sending her to prison, the Mistress Jones was
employed as an investigator for the city and one Doctor Benson Miles had been
assigned as her handler. That had been six month ago, and in that time,
Mistress Jones had solved some of the most serious crimes in Rosewall. However,
her inability to function within normal human spheres remained, and so had Dr.
Miles, much to his own frustration.
“Please,
Ben, be seated,” Askew waved to the chair on the other side of the desk. The
doctor shifted his stance and sat with an economy of movement. It was easy to
forget before Miles received his original training as a medic with the Steel
Gauntlet, the mercenary company which held the contract for protecting Rosewall
for over a century.
“My
apologies, Doctor Askew, but Mrs. Tate and Mistress Jones had a small tiff
before I left.”
“A tiff?”
“Mrs. Tate
has always been aware of Mistress Jones presumed social status, and as such
believes that a well-born young woman should not leave the house in trousers,
especially when she has a wardrobe full of gowns acquired for her by her
brother. I swear Earl Cygnus' 'generosity' might be as bad as Charity's
pigheadedness, or even the cause of it.”
Gwen
swallowed a laugh as she spoke, “Oh my,” she took a breath and managed,
“Mistress Jones and my daughter would agree on that, I think.”
Ben nodded,
“Sigrun began her Journey year with the Wayfarers, hasn't she?”
“Yes, and I
don't expect I will hear from her until she's passed through White Ridge Cross.
She's never traveled that far from the city before, and in winter no less, so
by the time she reaches the Cross, the excitement of being on her own will most
likely have worn off,” Gwen cleared her throat, “but we're not here to discuss
Sigrun, Ben.”
“Of course,
ma'am, I'll begin with saying...” the frantic knock at the office door stopped
Miles dead, as Gwen's face hardened.
“Come in.”
A guardsman
diffidently made his way inside and bowed to the Chairwoman. “Apologies, Ma'am,
but there's been a body found on the Academy grounds, and the Guard Captain
would like one of your people to take a look.”
Before Gwen
could say a word, Miles offered, “I will fetch Mistress Jones,” slipped by the
unnerved guardsman on his way out the door.
***
The steam
carriage pulled up in front of the Seven Sails tavern, a surprisingly well kept
place for the Harbor Crescent of Rosewall. Miles requested the carriage driver
wait, handing him a half dozen silver coins in exchange for his patience, and
went inside. The owner's wife waved to him from behind the bar as he made his
way down the stairs to find the tail end of a boxing match in play.
Standing
over a much larger man was a wiry young woman, whose strawberry blond hair was
tired in a serviceable knot at the nape of her neck. She turned to the stairway
allowing Miles to observe the rest of her condition with dismay. Her shirt was
a man's cut, white, with the sleeves rolled up, and a button undone- something
that must have driven Mrs. Tate to apoplexy. Her knickers were tweed, but
allowed for freedom of movement, but the most distressing part of her attire
was the recently acquired black bruise that ringed her right brown eye. And
adding to Miles' distress was the bleeding cut above the left matching eye.
“Ah, the
good Doctor Miles has come to minister to the wounded victor in her hour of
need,” she called out as she took her winnings from the owner. Counting the
coins out quickly, she handed several back to him with a smile. “There's your
cut, old man, but I think I must bow out of the next match as Doctor Miles
looks about to have some sort of fit, which means something is afoot that needs
my undivided attention.”
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