52

It was the High Summer crafter’s market, one of the busiest days in Sunhampton’s calendar. Not only was the north-facing market plaza filled from end to end with stalls, tents, and the people selling things from them, but the procession of traders and vendors had spread onto Coiner’s Way and beyond. The roof slates of the shops and townhouses nearby were scorched by the heat of the midday sun, and the air was almost dense with a sugary mist comprised of fried doughnuts and cinnamon stick aromas.

Mick cut a path through the throngs of tourists and shoppers, reminding himself that as much as he hated rare days like this when his beloved Sunhampton was so busy, these occasions were a boon for local store owners. Mr. Leabrook trailed behind him, not being so generous in his evaluations.

“Hey! You! Pick that wrapper up or I swear to the saints I’ll…”

“Calm down,” said Mick. “She’s just a little girl. She’s, what, four years old?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot it was perfectly fine to litter if you were below a certain age.”

“Just take deep breaths.”

“What are we doing, anyway? You know how I like to stay in my office on days like this.”

“Got something to show you.”

He led Mr. Leabrook to the northeastern part of Coiner’s Way, where a vendor had set up shop with a wooden table and two chairs. This bloke was a little different from the rest of the marketers who’d flocked to Sunhampton; he wasn’t selling a physical product, but instead, a game of chance.

Mr. Leabrook read the sign out loud. “’Beat me at Five Dice and win fifty gold.”

Five Dice was a simple game that most people in Easterly had played at least once in their lives. You and an opponent each rolled a six-sided dice. The person with the highest number won. If it was a draw, you rolled again. Whoever won three out of five rounds was the overall winner. It was a game of pure luck, and as such was often used to settle disputes where all options were equal, such as ‘where should we eat tonight?’

“He’s charging five gold to play him at Five Dice,” said Mr. Leabrook, clearly unhappy with what he was seeing, “Yet pays fifty gold to whoever beats him? It’s a fifty-fifty game, is it not? There’s something fishy going on here. He’s using loaded dice.”

Mick shook his head. “I checked him out. For one thing, he showed me his license from the Easterly gambling commission. He’s a certified game of chance vendor, which means although he can play games where the odds favor him, he can’t outright cheat or manipulate them.”

“Do I need to explain to our resident sleuth that just because people aren’t allowed to do something, doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“He lets folks bring their own dice. See on his sign? Using loaded dice wouldn’t be enough of a sure thing for him to risk paying out fifty gold.”

“Magery, then,” said Mr. Leabrook. “The man’s a mage of some sort.”

“That could have worked, but it isn’t what’s going on here. Watch him for a while.”

Mick and Mr. Leabrook stood in the middle of a crowd that was ever-present around the Five Dice vendor’s table, even if the cast that made it up kept changing as new people joined it and others drifted off elsewhere. The chance of making fifty gold for a five gold outlay on a game of pure luck was too good to be true for many folks, and one by one they took their seats next to the vendor and paid tribute to the saints of fate.

Over the course of twenty games, the vendor didn’t lose a single time. When unhappy patrons accused him of cheating, a big, burly man wearing brown leathers towered over them, reminding them that they had voluntarily paid to play the game and had been allowed to supply their own dice. This settled the crowd down some. Then, in the next game, the vendor lost.

Mick nudged Mr. Leabrook. “No point seeing any more of this. He’ll go on a winning streak for a while now, and then lose again. Follow me.”

The pair walked across Coiner’s Way to where Mr. Leabrook had first shown Mick one of the little imp statues hidden in a brick cavity. “See where it’s pointed?” said Mick.

“In the direction of the dice man.”

“And that’s not all.”

Mick led Mr. Leabrook to the second statue by Rolls and Dough bakery, and then across Coiner’s Way yet again to a third one that he himself had found, after some thorough investigation.

“Now do you see?” he asked.

Mr. Leabrook absentmindedly played with the bottom of his tie. “The three statues seem to point at the dice vendor, but from different directions. I don’t understand.”

“They’re three statues called the Tri Imps of Yarmouth, otherwise known as the Blessers of Fortune. I read about ‘em in the library. ‘If the statues enjoy unbroken stares, the point where their gazes meet will enjoy great luck.’ When I read that, it made everything pretty simple. We knew where two of the statues were. Just needed to find the third, mark the spot where their stares met, and see who turned up to capitalize on it.”

“Our dice man.”

Mick nodded. “Not just any dice man. Recognize him?”

“No.”

“Oh, of course you don’t. You don’t know Lena Coarty, do you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Well, this is Billy Coarty, her cousin. Their family just can’t seem to stay out of trouble. They’re just not very good at it, is all. Anyway, watch this.”

Mick took from his pocket a thumb-sized vial of alchemically formulated dissolver that he’d gotten from Janey Morgan. He used the pipette to let four drops fall around the base of the little imp statue. A few tendrils of foul-smelling smoke rode in the air. Unlike before, when Mick tried to move the statue now, it didn’t resist. He put it in his pocket.

With the imps’ stares broken, the dice vendor suddenly found that fate had turned against him. Watching from the crowd, Mick and Mr. Leabrook witnessed him lose three games in a row, win a fourth, and then suffer one more defeat. At this point, he seemed to twig that something wasn’t right, and simply packed up his dice, table, and chairs, and disappeared into the crowd before anyone could stop him. What he didn’t realize, though, was that Mick had already reported him to the gambling commission, and he’d soon be stripped of his license.

Three days later, in a surprise to everyone, Ma and George announced they were getting married not in the distant future, but very soon. For Mick, their announcement consisted of inviting him for breakfast at the Sunny Café, buying him a Mick Special, and then delivering the revelation that they were going to the Full Striding registry office in a few days’ time.

“Bit quick, ain’t it?” said Mick.

“Get to our age, and you either do something quickly, or before you know it, you’re dead,” said Ma.

“Come off it. You’re not that old.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Let’s not make a big fuss. I’d like you, Kiera, Granny Wells, and Zip to be there. It’d mean a lot to me if you could act happy about this.”

“You sure about this, Ma?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then fine, I’m happy. It’s all well and good by me. George is a decent bloke.”

“Thank you,” said George.

Weddings at the Full Striding registry office were usually brief affairs, catering to people who didn’t want to spend their life savings on a day’s celebration. Mick didn’t begrudge folks a wedding, but he tended to agree with this point of view.

Ma said she was too old to be wearing a big, white wedding dress, and in any case, the symbolism of such a color no longer applied to a woman with two children who was getting married for a second time. Instead, Mick bought her a nice dress of her choosing from a store in the posh part of Striding, and also treated himself to a new suit. He’d normally just raid his wardrobe and scavenge together something vaguely smart-looking if he was going to a wedding, but this was different, it was Ma and George. And besides that, she’d asked him to give her away. He wanted to appear at least a little bit presentable.

“No fuss,” Ma said to him the evening before the ceremony, the morning of it, and ten minutes before their agreed time slot.

“No fuss,” agreed Mick.

He kept to that promise. Mostly. The only thing he arranged that might be described as a fuss was to have a spotted sparrow fly into the registry office bearing George and Ma’s rings, and deposit them in Mick’s hand. Ma looked delighted when it happened, while George stared at the winged animal in wonder as it performed its role and then exited with a squawk and a flap of its wings.

“It’s technically an ex-con,” Mick whispered to Kiera, who was sitting next to him. “Remember I told you about the missing jewelry? Anyhow, they’re all at a sanctuary, now, the birds. I went and had a word with the sanctuary folks.”

The rest of the ceremony was nice and authentic, if a little functional. Then again, that suited Ma. She and George were insistent that they didn’t want a celebration afterward. All they wanted was to go for a meal at a pub near the registry office. Ma, George, Mick, Kiera, Zip, Granny Wells, as well as Beth and Les, George’s adult children.

George gave a quick speech, and Mick got over his dislike of public speaking and gave an even quicker one telling everyone how great his ma was. With that done, beers and wines were drunk, food was eaten, and a lovely time was had by all.

A couple of weeks passed with Mick getting a few odds and ends here and there. No major cases. Mostly just ones so dull they wouldn’t even make the Sunhampton newspaper.

One weekend, he and Lill Gill met up in Full Striding, where they then took a commuter carriage to a village west of the city, named Ridgethorpe. Twenty minutes’ walk from Ridgethorpe along a muddy bridleway was an animal sanctuary. Though, this was no normal sanctuary.

“You ready for our graduation?” asked Lill as they walked toward a huge sign bearing the words ‘Ridgethorpe Mimic Sanctuary.’

“I just have to turn up, don’t I?”

“You need a cap and gown. Don’t you know that?”

“Never been to a graduation before,” answered Mick.

“We can stop by a store when we get back to the city. I still need to buy mine. Oh – don’t forget that you need to buy tickets for whoever’s coming to see you graduate.”

“I have to buy those as well?”

“Well, you can ask your guests to pay you back,” said Lill, “but I don’t think that’s quite the done thing. It’s tradition, right? The person graduating buys the tickets.”

Mick did some mental calculations. He needed tickets for Ma, George, Kiera, Zip, Lee Hunter, Spruce, Nell, and Sammy Lee. Sammy was the most surprising name on the list; she’d told Mick that she wanted to be there, and could he make the arrangements? He’d answered that yes, he could.

So that was eight tickets, assuming he didn’t need to pay for his own, and Lill was saying that custom dictated he, as the person graduating from the token program and the new owner of the sleuth class, had to stomach the cost.

He half wondered if he should ask them all to pay him back, but it didn’t feel right. Maybe he could trim the guest list a little? But no, that’d feel even worse. His friends and family wanted to see him graduate, and not everyone had that kind of luxury. He was just going to have to put his hand in his pocket and dig deep. Actually, when he really thought about it, it didn’t feel bad at all. There were worse things to do with your gold.

“There was something I wanted to ask you,” he said. “Remember our first day at the token exam?”

“Sure.”

“This might sound weird, but the back of your neck was all red. I was just wondering why?”

Lill stared at him, puzzled. “I was wearing a necklace the night before, and it must have reacted with my skin. That’ll teach me for going cheap.”

“That simple, huh?”

Taking out his notebook as they walked, Mick quickly drew a line through an entry.

Mysteries to take a look at

The Lady with the Red Neck

Reaching the mimic sanctuary, they told the receptionist who they were and why they were there. Yes, Lill answered him, they did have an appointment. After a twenty-minute wait, they were greeted by Rex Mallard, one of the sanctuary trainers. Rex was tall, tanned, and very toned. He wore sand-colored khaki shorts and a similarly colored short-sleeved shirt with a ‘Head Trainer’ badge pinned above his right breast. He smiled wide and freely, and looked like the kind of person for whom the saying ‘love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life’ was written about.

“You’re the detectives?” said Rex.

“A sleuth and an inspector, actually.”

“Beg your pardon. You’re the ones who found the mimics?”

Lill tipped her head sideways at Mick. “It was him.”

“Well, they’re nicely settled in now. Follow me and you can see them.”

Mick had never visited a mimic sanctuary before. He didn’t quite know why he was here now, really, only that he hadn’t seen Lill in a while, and something in his head told him maybe he ought to go check on the creatures and see how they were getting used to their new life.

“How many mimics do you have here?” said Mick, as they walked along a corridor and toward a set of wooden doors at the end.

“Twenty-seven,” said Rex.

“That’s a lot of mimics.”

“Our sanctuary is on the smaller side, believe it or not.”

“You get a lot of ‘em recovered like the five I sent to you?”

“From illicit breeders? That’s where most of our mimics come from. Sad. Very sad.”

“At least some of them wind up here, though,” said Lill.

Rex pushed open the double doors to reveal a huge expanse of land covered by various different types of terrain. There was a forest, marshland, hills, and even a manmade river winding in a circle around the enclosure, the water kept flowing by a series of wheels and pumps. Surrounding it was a clear wall made from a material that seemed to shimmer blue, indicating the presence of mana. It was some kind of protection to keep the mimics from escaping, most likely. Regular cages and bars didn’t work for a creature that could copy a butterfly’s form and flutter to freedom. As such, there was also a see-through roof preventing an aerial escape. He wondered if the ground had some kind of mana in it, too, to stop them from adopting the form of a mole and digging for freedom.

Rex peered at the enclosure. “Now, the five that you found are…let’s see here…”

He took out a slate from his pocket. Mick didn’t know a great deal about artificery, but he knew this slate was artificed by how a map appeared on it, and on that map were lots of names moving around.

“We tag them,” said Rex. “You can never be too careful. Ah, here we go. Follow me.”

They took a clockwise route around the enclosure, finally stopping at a section near a huge rock that stood bigger than a house. Underneath it, five cats were curled up together in the shade.

“That them?” asked Mick.

Rex nodded.

“How come they’re cats?”

“Mimics often revert to a base form that feels comfortable to them. One that feels right, you might say, though their brains don’t exactly work like that. Anyhow, these are the ones you saved from the house near Sunhampton.”

“I didn’t know they could turn into cats, though.”

“They most likely couldn’t, until they came here. Probably acquired the form from one of our other mimics. Can’t really do much about that, unfortunately.”

Mick kneeled right up by the see-through enclosure walls and watched the mimics all curled up together. No chains in sight, no reason for them to have to take the form of a postmaster and make a bid for freedom. He stayed there longer than he intended, finding a strange sort of peace in watching them.

“Mick, I’m going to get a coffee,” said Lill. “You want one?”

“Please,” he said.

One of the mimics stretched out its cat legs. Disentangling itself from its family, it looked around, blinking in the light. Then, its gaze settled on Mick. They stared at each other for a while, man and mimic. Mick wondered if it remembered him. If it resented him, maybe, for foiling its scheme back in ‘hampton.

Slowly, the mimic approached him. As it neared, its form began to change, turning from a cat into a little terrier dog. It reached the enclosure wall so that it and Mick were right by each other, separated only by an inch of material. The mimic dog looked just like the one he’d always pictured having in his head. It was uncanny, really. The mimic gave a happy little yap, and sat on its haunches, staring at Mick and wagging its tail.

“If you’re telling me you like it here, then you’re welcome,” said Mick.

After a pub dinner at a tavern near Ridgethorpe and two commuter wagon journeys, he arrived back in good old Sunhampton just as Douggie Fernglass was lighting the lamps on Coiner’s Way.

Rather than go straight home, he instead went to his office to finish some paperwork on a case. When he unlocked the door, he found a little envelope waiting for him. He picked it up and took it to his desk, where he sat down. On his desk were his five sleuth skill tree tokens. Nearby, still in a paper bag, were his cap and gown for the upcoming graduation ceremony.

Tearing open the envelope, he took out a card. On it was an illustration of a man holding a magnifying glass. Written underneath it were the words, ‘Happy Uncle’s Day.”

“Uncle’s Day,” Mick said aloud. “Didn’t even know such a day existed.”

Inside the card, Zip had written him a short message. ‘To Uncle Mick, thanks for everything. Looking forward to your graduation. I’m very proud of you. Love, Zip.’

The End of Book 1