CHAPTER FIFTY
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Iris Everton
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Mayos, 927 PC
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Not two days before the temperatures in Locke were pleasant and agreeable, just the right amount of wind in her hair, sunshine that had no interest in setting the earth ablaze. Now, that same sun wanted nothing more than to turn the university into an oven. Compound that with the actual ovens cooling off after several hours of use that morning and the common laboratory was simply insufferable. No place for a meeting. Especially not one with such a distinguished guest. However, Captain Meldar had barged in uninvited after the first year’s experiment had ended and demanded an audience. Not him per se, more so his black and gold uniform with no less than a dozen pins decorating his chest and shoulders, commemorating all his different ranks and accomplishments. It gave her great satisfaction to know that none of them were for solving Ceralline’s murder.
Iris had tried to slip out of the room but Master Rellin had put a hand on her shoulder and introduced her to the captain in such a way that leaving the meeting felt disrespectful. Or perhaps, suspicious. She would have spotted her own uncomfortable behavior a mile away. Either way, it was ridiculous that she was still here, sitting in silence at the front of the lab, relegated to stirring a ruined mixture left there by one of the students. If she held her head the right way the sweat dripped from her chin into the beaker. Entertaining, if not disgusting.
“We’re closing the case,” Captain Meldar said. He stood near the window, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief and scowling. He had a face that could tell a thousand stories but refused to do so and a voice that made it clear everything he said was non-negotiable. The tone of his skin suggested he spent hours upon hours outside, but his position did not, so she deemed him from somewhere in the west.
“Is that right? About time if you ask me,” Master Rellin said. His stout figure looked even stouter beside the slender captain. “A shame though. We were so close to making progress. Imagine what we could do for the world if we could pull evidence from the bones found at a crime scene.”
Captain Meldar scoffed. “An honorable thought but this was a fool’s errand given to a master of his profession. The High Chamber should have never burdened you with such a pointless task.”
She’d be lying if she claimed she wasn’t happy to hear the City Guard was done with Ceralline but the joy was duller than it would have been before Jameson had attacked her and Urman. Since that night, the only emotions that weren’t severely lacking were negative ones and those were amplified twofold.
Master Rellin gave a dismissive wave. “We alchemists never turn down an opportunity to explore new paths into the future. However impossible they may seem.” He sat the beakers in his hands on the table and leaned on it, pondering something. “Does this mean our agreement is coming to an end as well?”
“I’m afraid so. Eight to one vote against the continued research on corpses. Illegal once again. Like it should be. The world has lost respect for everything, even The Creator’s greatest creation.” This would have come as tragic news a month before, but they’d already shifted their focus exclusively to live subjects after they came tantalizingly close to success with Garrard. The only problem was Urman had finally realized he did in fact have some leverage in his agreement with Master Rellin. He refused to do anything unless he was shown proof that Harlow was still alive.
“Let me guess, Alaric?” Master Rellin said. The name lit a fire under Iris’ pot full of curiosity.
“Lost his mind in the middle of the main chamber. Demanded that the Crimson Nine allocate even more resources to the efforts to fight crime. Refuses to accept that our city is infested with scum. Thinks all the world's problems can be solved with hard work and the right people on the job. Thinks we can change the world, one person at a time. Pitiful state of mind.”
Alaric Sampson had not struck her a man to lose his cool. Of course, she doubted he suspected her as an accomplice to murder either though. One does wear their finest robes to meet new people after all.
“They’re voting on whether or not to relieve him of his duties in the morning.”
“And what do you predict?” Master Rellin asked.
“A formality. They’ll have his robe by noon.”
“When it rains, it pours. Poor man. His life will be a tale to tell someday.”
“Indeed.” Captain Meldar walked across the lab, wiping his sweaty forehead then his bald head. The sound of his boots on the stone floor stopped at the door. “Thank you for putting up with his demands, Donovan. I know this was beneath you.”
“Fear often presents itself as cooperation, doesn’t it?” Master Rellin grinned.
The captain nodded at Iris. She mimicked his stoicism.
“Captain,” Master Rellin said. The captain lifted his chin in response. “Be careful. You know how Alaric gets…”
*~~~**~~~*
Iris sat down at her desk in Master Rellin’s study and slid her shoes off. Glad to be out of the common laboratory and away from the ovens. Not that the study was much better. The sweat on her arms soaked the arms of her chair. The sweat on her back chilled her skin ever so slightly as she leaned back. “How long until you have proof for Urman?”
Master Rellin sat down opposite her. To this point he was the only person who had ever sat in the plush chairs she’d gotten for guests. Her unprecedented apprenticeship had resulted in little more than rude stares from other students. None of whom would ever consider coming to her for anything. The fame and recognition she dreamed of were still but a dream. Hard to be noticed outside walls you never leave. Especially when your work is a secret.
He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and put his fingertips together. “I don’t have any proof.”
She knew it! Her mixture hadn’t failed. Harlow’s system must have had one last breath in it. “So he’s dead?”
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“I didn’t say that.”
“Then I’m thoroughly confused.”
He laid a hand on her desk, his sweat smearing across the oak top. His finger tapped an annoying melody. “I don’t know where he is.” She let her glare pry more information out of him. “After I sent you away I fed him a heavy dose of Dreamweaver and waited for everyone to go home. While I waited I contacted a friend who contacted a friend who was supposed to bring friends to transport Harlow to the docks in a covered cart. I haven’t seen or heard from any of them since. Nor my connection in Iron Helm.”
“Did you tell your friend to tell you when the others were done?”
“Of course I told him to tell me when they were done!” The force in his words pushed her back in her chair but was nothing she was unfamiliar with. She and Jameson used to go round and round much worse than this. “He was supposed to come back here as soon as Harlow was loaded onto the ship.”
“Have you spoken to Captain Meldar about it?”
“Meldar is a friend by circumstance. An acquaintance at best. He wouldn’t put me above the law if he thought I had attacked a man and had him sent to Iron Helm in a cage. Nor should he.”
“Why send him away in the first place? Why not just kill him?”
“I ask myself that everyday. I tried but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t even put the Red Venom you mixed in his wine. Used Dreamweaver instead. More than anyone should ever take of course, but not enough to be fatal.” Finally, the truth comes out. She suspected something like this, but couldn’t bring herself to ask. “I always imagined it would be more difficult to kill a man that was fighting back. Fists have a way of doing that. But after looking at his stupid grin, hearing that damn prayer, watching him laugh at everything whether it was funny or not, I couldn’t do it.”
She recognized the emotions on his face, figured she had a decent idea of the horrible thoughts running through his mind. The image of Ceralline sitting on the iron railing in Walendar’s Tower appeared. And not briefly. She studied it, remembering the feeling she’d had as Jameson’s intentions became clearer. Then the much worse feelings when she’d gotten to the bottom of the shaft. She pushed aside any annoyance she felt toward Master Rellin and the delay he’d put on their project, understanding what something like murder can do to a person. “Why send him so far away though?”
“One doesn’t exactly plan for something like this… The only person I know that owed me a favor of this magnitude is in Iron Helm. Besides, Urman is a rabid dog. If he caught even the slightest whiff of his brother in Locke, or anywhere nearby, he’d have him in a matter of hours. You’ve seen him. A man possessed. If you hadn’t clocked him over the head he’d have killed me. Who knows what he’d have done to you. Or that.” He nodded at her round stomach. Not much longer and she’d be rid of the near immobility and constant pain. And then the real fun would begin; unbelievable amounts of responsibility that would take her away from their work. She needed to finish what they were so close to accomplishing sooner rather than later.
“Then we look for another way to secure subjects. Without Urman,” she said. His skepticism was in his brow. “I have an idea, but I doubt you’ll like it.”
He sat up in his chair. “At this point, I think I could be flexible. What do you have in mind?”
“We need Jameson.”
*~~~**~~~*
“Yormir.” She could barely see The Old Wolf from beneath her giant hood.
“Iris.” His beard was even thicker than usual and there were three thin braids woven into it now instead of the typical two. His eyes were a gentle orange. That was a good sign.
“This is Master Rellin. Master of Alchemy at the university.” She spotted a subtle flare in Yormir’s nostrils before he shook hands as Master Rellin presented a hand.
Both men leaned back in their chairs. Yormir lifted an empty mug to his lips, one of several in front of him, and let the large wad of suri fall out of his mouth. The bright red had been sucked out of the crushed leaves, leaving a dark brown blob behind. “Can’t say I ever thought I’d see you in a place like this.” There was something enjoyable about how he spoke to her and not Master Rellin. Let him spend some time in the shadows cast by irrelevance.
“Nor I.” The Roarin’ Lion was a two-story tavern full of the worst scum to walk the streets of Locke. A who’s who of criminals and low-lifes. You could find any profession that didn’t have a nicer home elsewhere in the city within these walls; pill dealers, sellswords, info brokers, smugglers. Anything, really. “But what can I say, a bit of Jameson may have rubbed off on me.” She let her hands lay on her round stomach.
Yormir pulled the only mug full of ale toward him and said, “Got a bit of him stuck on me too. Harder to get rid of than shit in the creases of your boots.” A sense of resentment? Doubtful. Yormir knew how to put words in your head that you wanted there.
“Aye, I so often try to keep my boots perfectly clean, but sadly, I’m going to have to step in shit once more.”
He shook his head. “Not supposed to go stepping in shit on purpose, Iris.”
“And yet, here we are.” She looked around at the filthy walls splattered with dry blood and dirt. At the people that didn’t notice it or didn’t care enough to acknowledge it. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t important.”
A scuffle broke out in the far corner. She slid her hand into her pocket, gripping the dagger. A man shouted, loudly, louder than all the other shouting people all around the perpetrators but the fighting continued, the cheering as well. However, the commotion came to an end abruptly when an axe so big she couldn’t imagine lifting it hit the bar top with an intimidating thud.
“Settle your asses down or take it to the streets. Ya hear me?!” The giant bartender looked as angry as he sounded. Which was furious. He peeled the axe from the bar and laid it over his shoulder and smiled at the obedience he’d been given. “Good. Now, which of ya two jackasses is buying the next round?” There was an outburst of cheers from the patrons, Yormir included.
Master Rellin shifted in his seat. He had barely stopped looking at the women walking about with their breasts hanging halfway out of their cheap corsets. Prostitution in Locke was encouraged to remain confined to the brothels. Not that that stopped anyone from doing so carefully elsewhere, but it was hidden here about as well as the bodies of the women who were selling them. She wondered when the last time was that he had a woman in his bed. Three hells, she wondered when the last time was that he was in his bed. He spent so much time at the university she barely believed his stories about his home.
“Can you deliver a message to him for me?” she asked Yormir.
“Suppose I could…”
She put a hand on Master Rellin’s wrist. It wasn’t quite enough to pull his eyes to her. “Donovan.” The use of his first name got his attention.
“What is it?” he said, still eyeing something over her shoulder. Perhaps two things.
“The Leos,” she whispered. If Jameson had taught her anything it was that no matter what people like this were looking at, their ears were focused on the outsider.
“Oh, of course. Is one hundred Leos enough?” He spoke much louder than she would have liked. How could such an intelligent man be so unaware? Different worlds teach different things, she supposed.
Yormir glanced at Iris, then back at Master Rellin. “Fifty’ll do. Anymore and I might not walk out of here alive.” A playful attempt to make them feel less like fools in a task they were unfamiliar with. At least she hoped that was the case. The idea that he might be telling the truth made her uncomfortable.
“Keep it all,” Master Rellin said. He leaned forward and spoke much quieter now. “Do good work and there’s plenty more where that came from.”
Yormir grinned as he twiddled a strand of his beard.