Aisling Trilogy

"THIS ONE'S yours, Brayden."

Dallin watched the leather folio skid across the desk and come to rest with a smart slap against his mug. Coffee slopped over the rim, and he scowled. Elmar stood grinning at the chief's elbow, snorting wolfishly. Dallin ignored him. He'd never liked Elmar.

Lips pursed, Dallin wicked up his lamp and tipped a nod to Jagger. "Chief." Swiping coffee from its flyleaf, Dallin opened the folio. "What's this, and why's it mine?"

"You're good at this sort of thing," Elmar supplied, still with that arsy grin. Dallin wondered what that grin would look like with a few less teeth. "That is, it's within your purview of interest, I should say." A waggle of thin eyebrows beneath a lank fringe of greasy brown hair. "A pretty little piece too, innit, Chief?"

Jagger rolled his eyes with a slight clench of teeth, then turned on Elmar. "Have you got that request to the Ambassador finished yet?"

Elmar's grin finally fled. As did he. "Right away, Chief" was all he said as he scarpered.

Jagger watched the back of him with a sour grimace. "That's the sort as gets shot by his own in the army." Dallin covered his smirk as the chief turned back to him and waved a hand to the folio. "Witness," he said. "There was murder done at the Kymberly last night."

Dallin snapped his glance up. "Murder?" He stared. He'd lived in Putnam for more than twenty years, been a constable for nigh on ten of them, and yet, even after two tours in the cavalry and all the violence inherent therein, murder in the more civilized Putnam still gave him a mild shock. Dallin focused on the few sheaves of paper inside the folio. "And at the Kymberly, by the Mother." He shot another glance at the chief. "Was it robbery?" The significance abruptly caught up with him, and his heart did a bit of a flip. "Not Ramsford?"

Medeme Ramsford--respectable proprietor of the respectable Kymberly, onetime companion, and best friend in the long years since.

The chief shook his head. "Master Ramsford is unscathed, but for p'raps a few bruised knuckles." He shrugged at Dallin's quizzical look. "He had to pull the brigand off the victim, and the brigand didn't want to let go."

"Bloody damn." Dallin sighed in relief. "Is this the man, then?" He held up the prisoner profile. "There isn't much here."

"And I wouldn't make bank on what is," Jagger told him. "That's the witness--or the instigator, depending on what you manage to wring from him." A frown from Dallin got another shrug from the chief, this one a little uncomfortable. "It would seem that the fight started over who would keep company with this...." He took the paper and scanned it quickly, then handed it back. "This Calder."

A prostitute. Bloody hell. Dallin slumped. Now he understood Elmar's sly digs.

"And you want me to slap him around a bit." His voice was flat, but he couldn't keep his jaw from tightening. He'd thought that was finished, at least between himself and Jagger. "I never touched the woman, damn it, and I won't be used as some sort of ogre to scare the whores into--"

"I want you to *question* him because I don't fancy letting Elmar or Payton at him. Have I ever done else to make you think otherwise?"

The chief stared, gaze level and hard, until Dallin's hackles smoothed again and he glanced away. "You have not, sir," he said, chastened. In fact, he'd asked Dallin the question once, and when Dallin had testified that--as little as even he'd believed it--the woman had bounced her own head off the table before screeching her accusations, Jagger had merely nodded, accepted Dallin's word, and signed off personally on all the reports. Dallin supposed it wasn't Jagger's fault the other smarmy gits wouldn't let it go. Payton had bloody *congratulated* him. Slimy little shit. Dallin cleared his throat. "My apologies."

Jagger accepted this with a small nod. "It isn't like it was before." His mouth set in a thin, bitter line. "These men aren't veterans of Aldrich's army like you and me--honor is something they talk about, not something they know, and it's only got worse since Wheeler took command. People view this truce as a victory and affirmation that Wheeler's ways are the right ones, not the capitulation it really is, and all the while, we become more and more like our enemy every day. Men like us are getting steadily pushed out of positions of rank and authority to make way for the types who would as soon pull a few fingernails as ask a simple question." He shook himself with a surly snort. "Which is neither here nor there at the moment, but the bottom line is that as long as I am in charge here, we do things the old way--our way.

"Here is this Calder's statement, and those of the other witnesses." He slid more papers at Dallin. "The truth is, even had I not already decided as much, Ramsford asked that I assign you. He says you've been a friend to him, and he's concerned for the... lad." He cleared his throat. "And in truth, I'm not sure I trust any other with this witness. This man, this... this *boy*... I can't tell." The chief looked away. "I'll say no more. Ask your own questions, draw your own conclusions, then report them to me."

"But... wait--witness, not suspect?" Dallin lifted his gaze from the papers. "We have the murderer in custody, yes? So why did we bring this man in? Did no one interview him at the scene?"

"I interviewed him at the scene. I decided the... situation required further enlightenment."

Dallin shrugged. "As you wish. But I'm not sure I understand what I'm to do with him. All these statements seem to say the same thing. One man killed another--one is on a slab, and one is in a cell. What exactly am I meant to wring from this one?"

Jagger sighed, pulled out the chair opposite the desk, and lowered himself into it tiredly. There were circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his skin was pallid gray. He must have been dragged from his bed for this some hours ago. He leaned into the desk and folded his hands atop it.

"The victim and the assailant were both Dominionites."

Dallin's stomach gave a little flip. "That's...." He pushed a low whistle between his teeth.

"It is," Jagger agreed. "The talks in Penley go bad enough as it is. The last thing Cynewisan needs is to give the Dominion an excuse to make them go worse. If I can help it, Putnam will not be giving them that excuse." His big hands opened. "I'm sending a courier with a request to their ambassador for instructions on what they suggest we do with this Orman."

"The suspect." When Jagger nodded confirmation, Dallin smirked. "May I suggest Corliss for courier duty?"

"You may. She's due for a day away from the brood, I imagine--an overnight will be good for her. Anyway, she's likely the only one I can trust not to get drunk and start a fight at the inn."

Dallin loosed a mild snort as he flipped through the papers. "I wouldn't take that bet."

"A good subordinate allows his chief an illusion or two."

"All right, then." Dallin peered down at the papers, all innocence. "In that case I'll let you believe I made the suggestion because Corliss is the better rider, and not because I'll be chuckling myself to sleep tonight, imagining the looks on a bunch of Dominionites' faces when they receive that request from a woman's hand."

"Ha!" Jagger sat back with a dreamy look in his eye. "A woman in trousers, no less. I think I'd pay to see that. Devious bugger, you are." He grinned when Dallin gave him a modest little flourish of his hand. "Even if you weren't so good at your job, I think I'd keep you about for sheer comic relief."

Dallin took the gruff, left-handed compliment with a shrug and a stifled grin.

Jagger snorted, then turned serious again. "I'll want your report ready for the afternoon's post. I mean to send it on to their ambassador and ours, plus copies of everything we have to the Elders in Penley. I want them there with the morning post so Corliss can bring back...." He sighed. "Whatever word they choose to send with her."

"Don't suppose I could pull courier duty and let Corliss take the statement?"

"No, but it was a nice try. We need to go by the letter on this, no mistakes. The scrap is said to have started over this Calder person, and I'm not satisfied he's been truthful thus far. I would know all I can before I send those reports." Jagger shifted uncomfortably. "There was talk of conjuring."

"There's always talk of conjuring."

"True. Still, two of the other witnesses--including Ramsford himself--said the victim, if you can call him such, and the assailant both seemed tranced, and this Orman accused as much during his interrogation."

"Don't they all," Dallin muttered. "Do you believe it?"

Jagger sighed, weary, and rubbed at his stubbled chin. "As you say, they all claim witchery when caught. Still, I've met the man, and I must admit to... entertaining the possibility."

Dallin looked again at the scant information he'd been provided. "His papers look legal."

"They also say he's from Lind," Jagger told him. "And if that man is from Lind, or even from Cynewisan, I'll don petticoats and ask you for a dance come Turning Night."

Ah. Lind. Better and better. Shaking his head, Dallin tucked the page back into the folio and flipped it closed. "Never place a bet on which you have no intention of making good, sir."

"Not unless you're dead certain." Jagger stood and turned to quit the room. "You'll see."