This month’s short story is not quite an epilogue to Ravenshore’s Antimagic despite happening immediately after. It’s also pretty far from a prologue to Ravenshore’s Memory despite happening before. I wouldn’t put it in either book.
But it’s a bit of a bridge of the two-year gap in a way I might have more of later – hence the title implying that this is just one of several case files.
On her first day as a king’s brigadier, Kat unpacked her supplies: notebook, pencils, two bottles of Palawan dark whiskey, one glass, and a cold-enchanted whiskey stone.
Kestrel scowled at the bottles and the single glass. The other brigadier was at her desk, face-to-face with Kat’s, buried in files and documents. Kat could see the bulk of Kestrel’s bandages under her loose-fit shirt – no room for the utilitarian light stealth armour Kestrel had worn on the job before.
The room was dim. An old storage room in the depths of Protectorate headquarters. Kestrel could make them give her a better office, but Kat assumed she didn’t want to throw her weight around and make the Protectorate even surlier. A few of the detectives and officers Kat had known for years scowled at her on the way in. Probably thought she was a sellout.
“Got your first assignment,” Kestrel said, and slid a folder across the gap between the desks to Kat’s empty one. She grunted and touched her stomach, where she’d been badly injured in the counter-assault on the Baron Ravenholm.
Kat ignored the folder, plunked the cold stone into her glass, and poured herself a drink. More to annoy Kestrel than because she needed or wanted it. “No hello or welcome or training or orientation? Straight to work?”
Kestrel stared, impassive. “That’s not necessary.”
“What’s not necessary?” Kat pretended not to understand.
“We were at odds recently, but we worked together, too,” Kestrel reminded her. “We’re both going to have to get used to this arrangement.”
Kat shivered despite the unseasonably high temperature. She drew her sheepskin jacket tight. “I guess,” she grunted.
She didn’t have to accept this job. Neither this particular case – Duncan promised her she be able to choose her assignments – or the title of king’s brigadier for special counter-magic operations. It was her choice to join up, just like it was Kestrel’s, so she may as well not be too antagonistic. Even if Kestrel was one of the spies who’d helped soften up Ravenshore for King Duncan MacReady’s takeover.
She took the folder. Literally had her name on it.
The file wasn’t terribly thick, containing only a few short Protectorate reports on complaints about an extortionist psychic that didn’t end up going anywhere. Strangely, no one wanted to talk about why they were being extorted. And there was a typewritten log with dates, times, and locations, under the heading IMDS.
“What’s an IMDS?” Kat asked, looking up.
“Read the briefing,” Kestrel replied, and went back to her paperwork.
Actually, there was a single-page typewritten briefing clipped to the back of the folder, behind the IMDS report. Front would’ve made more sense, Kat thought, but she’d already decided not to antagonize Kestrel, so she read without comment.
The Illegal Magic Detection System has been tracking a pattern of mind-reading magic, violating the personal autonomy and privacy laws of both Ravenshore and Aulonia. Attached are the times and locations of detected mind readings. Method, purpose, and targets unknown.
Priority: apprehend the mind reader(s).
Secondary: ascertain their purpose and targets if possible.
Complete the mission as your judgement dictates.
That was it.
Kat lowered the folder and raised an eyebrow at Kestrel. “This was assigned to me specifically because…?”
Kestrel didn’t even look up. “Don’t play dumb. Not after the way you interfered with our operation and stopped Ravenholm.”
Kat shrugged. She finished her drink, intentionally spilled a couple of drops on her desk, and conspicuously failed to offer Kestrel any as she dropped the bottles into a drawer.
Kat spent her first day on the case scoping out the sites listed on the Illegal Magic Detection System report.
Ravenshore’s characteristic fog clung to Kat in spite of the heat as she left Protectorate headquarters towards the upper city. As usual, people she passed on the blackstone streets looked at her sheepskin coat in disbelief. Many took steps back or around when they spotted the rapier and revolver on her left thigh.
She passed city hall, the converted old blackstone manor now ominously surrounded by chain-link fencing and barbed wire. A sole checkpoint was manned by Aulonian soldiers in their brown-and-red fancy uniforms, rifles on their backs.
She was focused enough on the job to avoid thinking too hard about how Ravenshore was changing. Easy to ignore a few soldiers and focus on normalcy after the Baron’s Nightmare storm. Especially when she was taking the stairs up the cliff.
The bulk of the IMDS reports came from the edges of the financial district in the upper city. Kat strolled, apparently aimless with coffee in hand, where mildly-dated blackstone mid-rises gave way to modern concrete skyscrapers tinted or painted to blend with the old.
Mind readers were hard to nail down. The practice was illegal and her P.I. work dealt with ghosts, spirits, and dreams, so Kat hadn’t met or dealt with psychics. She’d read and heard enough reports and fiction about them to know experienced mind readers could spot most protective wards and counterspells.
Antimagic abilities like Kat’s were vanishingly rare. So much that Duncan had taken a personal interest in her. With luck, the psychic wouldn’t see her protection unless they focused on her specifically.
For now, Kat was in recon, gathering intel, which sounded better than looking around. She noted locations of cafes and businesses, streetcar stops, street parking, which benches or windows would make good vantage points. Even where the crows perched, in case the city knew more than she did.
She sat on the bench at the streetcar stop, idly watching the suited business crowd go about their affairs and breaks and informal lunch meetings. Kat assumed they’d make better targets for the psychic than the newsstand vendors, the trash crew emptying bins, the few kids who should be in school, and the random passers-through. But what did she know? That’s why she was observing.
Kat sipped her coffee as the suits started to file back into their buildings. She didn’t expect to run into the psychic on her first day – wouldn’t know them if they were the man eating a sandwich on the bench next to her.
She kept a focused antimagic sphere around her head, invisible and almost undetectable by magic. Couldn’t allow the target to happen across a king’s brigadier hunting psychics. It took some mental energy, but it gave her the luxury to wonder, instead of worry, what a psychic would pull from her.
She stretched her legs out and sipped the cold remnants of her coffee, let the atmosphere of the city roll over her, wisps of fog between her boots.
Uninteresting days went by. Kat tried to follow the reported pattern of mind-reading magic, but not so close as to stand out. The crows watched her from their perches on street signs and windowsills. No people seemed to recognize Kat’s pattern, but the crows began to anticipate her.
This was going to be a long case.
“Kestrel. Can I get a more recent report on the psychic from IMDS?”
The other brigadier blinked at Kat, as though trying to focus through the lamp light. Kestrel’s desk had only piled higher with files and documents, and the field operative – spy, really – appeared haggard and overwhelmed.
Kestrel sorted through a stacked inbox and held out a freshly typewritten sheet. “Came in a few hours ago. Listen, there’s -”
“Sorry,” Kat forced as she accepted the report. She’d resolved to play nice, or at least try to, and maybe this didn’t sound convincing but she was trying. At least, if she had no allies left in the Protectorate, she should have Kestrel on her side. “I know we’re supposed to be splitting the case load and you’re not up for field work yet.”
Kestrel’s eyes went wide, perhaps even a bit watery, though thankfully she stayed professional. “Appreciated, and it’s alright. That case was assigned to you, and I knew it would take time.”
Kestrel was used to having a partner, Kat knew – but out in the field, not trapped behind a desk. Kat’s job was exactly the kind that Kestrel isually worked and here she was watching Kat do it instead.
Kat understood. She’d feel the same.
“Have you asked your wizard friend for help?” Kestrel said as she returned to her own file, yellow in the after-hours lighting.
“Not yet,” Kat said, as if she planned to. Maxus would likely be able to spend a few days building a spell that would detect and pinpoint mind reading in real time. But she and Maxus weren’t talking. Kat knew he was upset with her, though he pretended otherwise.
No, she could do this herself.
She scanned the new report. There actually had been a couple of hits when she’d been on her stakeouts. “This is good, thanks,” Kat said, “I”ll cross-reference with my notes and start building a list of suspects.” She paused. “I can work some other low-priority cases on the side. This one isn’t taking up all my time. The psychic seems to mostly operate around lunch and dinner times, so I can help out. With the paperwork. Or something.”
She continued to stand there, folding the corner of the report.
Kestrel continued writing for a moment, as though she hadn’t heard Kat’s offer. She set her pen down. “And?”
“And,” Kat sighed, “I’m wondering where these reports come from. What is this Illegal Magic Detection System, and how did Dunc – King MacReady get it up and running so fast in Ravenshore?”
Kestrel leaned back in her chair. It squeaked. She crossed her arms over her bandages, winced, and thought better of it. “It’s above your pay grade,” she said finally.
Kat frowned. “We’re the same rank.”
“You’re on probation,” Kestrel said.
That was news to Kat.
After four weeks of rotating stakeouts, Kat was pretty sure she’d identified the psychic.
The newspapers and radio had been going on about how King MacReady was changing the city. Kat didn’t understand the panic.
There’d been soldiers in the streets temporarily, when the king took the city and helped fight off the Baron. Since then, Aulonian forces mostly left, taking with them the refugees who’d camped outside the city walls, fleeing arrest for unlicensed use of magic. Maxus had been one of them, but he’d been pardoned to remain in Ravenshore. The only soldiers left were the ones guarding city hall.
Sure, the king left a few new rules behind when he went home, but those rules were exactly why Kat agreed to work for him. She’d seen magic out of control and answerable to no one, understood why Duncan wanted to rein it in.
It’s why she’d taken the case, too. Mind reading had always been illegal under privacy and autonomy laws. It actually would have been impossible a few months ago, under the archmage’s city-wide protections that brigadiers Talon and Kestrel had broken, but Kat was trying not to hold a grudge. She knew where that could go.
She thought about all this again from her seat in the window of the warmest coffee shop she’d been able to find. The pane glass was a bit dirty from delivery truck exhaust. She knew where her target would sit, so the grime would help – she only had to see when he arrived, and he wouldn’t see her.
It took paintstaking observation and cross-referencing to identify the psychic, and several more reports from the IMDS. Kat took notes on who she saw at each location each day, then checked for matches with the IMDS hits, and narrowed it down. She might’ve been able to find him two weeks ago, if he’d followed his own patterns as closely as Kat did.
He sat at the streetcar stop across the road. An ordinary, balding man in a sharp tailored suit, black with the slightest silver shimmer, and well-polished pointed shoes. For three and a half weeks Kat thought he worked at one of the banking offices, until she’d taken a chance on following him and realized he never actually went into any of the skyscrapers.
Through the dirty window she watched him eat his sandwich from the corner deli. He never looked at any of the business lunch crowd passing by. Simply kept to himself and ate. After he finished, he would sip his coffee, still looking at nothing in particular. And after about half an hour, he would leave.
To Kat’s left, the coffee shop radio beeped three times fast, interrupting the casual jazz broadcast. The shop owner gave the receiver a tap and the music resumed.
That was the signal: confirmation via high-power military radio that the IMDS registered mind-reading magic.
Kat waited and watched the man sip his drink. She left her newspaper and coffee cup on the table. Her target would be up any minute, and Kat would follow.
The man in the black suit dusted crumbs off his thighs and tossed his trash in the bin. He waited for the light, looked both ways, and crossed the street.
Kat followed. This was her fourth time tracking him. She’d been cautious the first two times, until she realized he wasn’t looking around at all. Relying on his ability to read minds, she supposed. Seemingly confirmed on her third short follow, where she let herself get quite close, if briefly.
This time she would follow until she had him alone.
He cut through the financial district, heading east. The sun was at her back, and as they crossed New Main Street, Kat couldn’t help noticing how clear the southern horizon looked without the Baron’s perpetual storm. She was still getting used to it.
This man was the easiest tail Kat had ever followed. Not that she’d had many, given the type of cases she was used to, but still. He seemed so unaware as he strolled casually through the black-and-golden afternoon that Kat began to wonder if she was following the wrong man.
He crossed the canal and finally entered a middle-aged, mid-rise apartment building. A somewhat shabby place, its planters overgrown and blackstone partially grey with dust. The man appeared so blissfully oblivious that Kat took a chance and quickened her stride, entering the faded red lobby with him. He actually held the elevator door for her and pressed the button marked three.
“Which floor?” he asked with a bland smile.
“Top,” Kat replied with her best imitation.
The elevator doors began to close and the man lunged for them. On reflex, Kat hauled up her leg and kneed him hard in the thigh so he stumbled against the wall.
The elevator doors closed and the lift jerked up in fits.
“Realized you couldn’t read my mind?” Kat asked.
The man said nothing.
She rested her hand on her rapier, just below her revolver. She did carry actual bullets these days, but still preferred not to use them. “Show me into your place. I have a few questions. I’m not going to hurt you.”
To her surprise, the man nodded and obeyed. He led her down the hall over faded carpet, only fumbled twice with his keys, and stepped into his apartment. He actually held the door for her.
Kat gaped. The building was shabby, but this unit was lavish. Fine art in gilded frames and on marble pedestals, vintage furniture, high-end wood-and-chrome audio equipment, imported carpets, huge exotic crystals mounted in wall niches with their own custom lighting. This man seemed to not just have money, but I-don’t-know-what-else-to-do-with-it money.
And yet he lived in a cheap older building?
“You’ve made a big mistake coming here,” said the man. He stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and retrieved a bottle of sparkling wine. Kat was too surprised to worry he’d been reaching for a weapon.
He poured himself a glass and offered one to Kat. She shook her head. He shrugged and sprawled on a paisley royal purple antique sofa. Much calmer than he’d been in the elevator, strangely.
“Mafuba sent you, right?” the man asked. “If he can afford you with that kind of protective enchantment, maybe he needs to be paying me more.”
Sounded like all Kat had to do to learn the man’s motives was… nothing. She put her right hand on her hip and kept her left near her weapons, making a show of it. “I’m here to take you in,” she said, and let him fill in the blanks.
The man laughed and sipped his fizzy drink. “You can’t take me in. If you do, everything I have on Mafuba goes out.”
“I don’t care about that,” Kat lied, curious.
He leaned forward, sloshed a bit of wine out of his glass as he jabbed a finger at Kat. “You should. If I don’t check in every day, everything I have on Mafuba and everyone else goes straight to the Protectorate and the news. Paper and radio. You’ll be out of a job.”
Kat couldn’t keep her face straight any longer. She snorted and laughed. “My boss is King Duncan MacReady. I’m brigadier Morowa-Arnesdotr. You’re under arrest for illegal mind reading and, I guess, extortion. I bet the Protectorate will be happy to receive your package.”
The man had practically turned himself in – the case felt rather anticlimactic after four weeks of stakeouts and cross-referencing notes.
It was all worth it for the stunned, open-mouthed, jaw-forward stare on the man’s face as he spilled expensive wine all over his luxury carpet.
Kat gave her best impression of a sweet smile. “May I please use your radio?”
“Good work with the psychic,” Kestrel said. Her voice was less pained, but she still wasn’t cleared for field work, despite visits from a healer. Something about how once you saw yourself as injured, it was harder to repair.
“Thanks,” Kat replied. She poured herself a whiskey, put her feet up on her still-bare desk. She hesitated, then nudged the lone glass toward Kestrel.
The other brigadier, half-buried in files, shook her head, but with an almost-smile tugging at her lip.
Kat folded out today’s newspaper. The psychic’s blackmail files had gone out, as threatened. Three safe deposit boxes in separate banks, with instructions to mail the packages to various news outlets and the Protectorate.
She read with a smirk. The files were all proof of insider trading, cheating on marital partners, embezzlement, drug use, and so on. The psychic hadn’t known he was threatening her with a good time. They all deserved it.
She wondered if word would get to the Protectorate that she was sort of responsible for the wave of slam-dunk cases they’d just received. Maybe it would help soften the blow of her new job. Detective Bollart in particular was upset that Kat had become law enforcement overnight, with no formal training, and outranked even the Protectorate commissioner.
Kat folded the paper and tapped it on her thigh. She probably should have some kind of training, or at least guidelines beyond complete the mission as your judgement dictates. Kestrel and Talon spent years undercover in Ravenshore and clearly knew how she operated, but still.
Most of all, Kat wanted to know where her intel was coming from.
“So when can you tell me what this IMDS is?” Kat asked. “Might help me do my job.”
Kestrel’s smile vanished. “Your probation is six months and you’ve served one.”
Kat snatched back the whiskey.
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