River District
There are, Berend knows, two establishments in the River District appropriate for the hushed exchange of information. One is a tavern, poorly lit and more poorly maintained, but adequately supplied with good liquor; the other could generously be called a coffeehouse though the substance it served was only tangentially related to coffee. He chooses the former, and leads Isabel through the growing crowds of returning sailors.
The money from the Belisia job is heavy in his pocket. He’s done well for himself. Still, he trusts Lord Edwan about as far as he can throw the man, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s just been paid to cover up the murder of the poor girl he saw in the light of Lucian Warder’s device.
He tells himself he’s done what he can. He almost believes it.
Berend gives the bartender enough money for whiskey for him, wine for Isabel, and a table in the corner facing the door, along with the promise to keep other patrons at a distance for at least a little while.
“So,” he begins, taking a drink. The whiskey tastes, not entirely unpleasantly, of wood. “What has occupied you since last we spoke?”
Isabel folds her hands on the tabletop. The wine glass catches the last of the daylight, coming through a narrow bar of a window above their heads, and casts a beam of red onto her chalk-smudged fingers. “I suppose you’ve heard of what happened up at the lighthouse last night,” she says.
“I haven’t,” says Berend. “I was away on a job all night, and asleep most of the morning.”
“The lighthouse keeper was murdered,” she says, blunt and unhesitant. “He was strung up in front of the light by his entrails, and a miniature version of the diagram we saw in the Shell District was carved into his forehead.”
Berend swallows, grimaces. “I see.”
“I spoke to him this morning. He was…affected, but it was nothing out of the ordinary—nothing like we saw with your friend.”
He’s never been acquainted with a Sentinel before. He supposes they all speak so casually of talking with the dead. “I meant to ask you, earlier: what happened with Mikhail, that isn’t normal, is it?”
Her answer is brief. “No.”
Berend nods and takes another sip, expecting her to continue. When she doesn’t, he says, “In what way, exactly?” Setting the glass down, he continues, “I ask because of something that happened last night. I’m afraid I can’t give you all the details—I was under the employ of a noteworthy family, and they wanted to keep the specifics away from the ears of the church.”
Isabel raises a brow at that, but says nothing.
“What I can say is that I worked with a man by the name of Lucian Warder to dispose of a restless spirit that had taken over a manor,” Berend says.
“Lucian Warder,” Isabel repeats. “That’s a name I’ve heard before.”
“Well,” Berend goes on, “he has a curious contraption that produces some sort of light, and it either illuminated the ghost or forced it to appear, I’m not sure which. After a short while, there was another flash, and a piercing shriek, and the ghost was gone.”
Isabel frowns. “Yes, the Warder device. I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it. Interesting.” She picks up her glass and sets it down again without taking a drink. “Did the sound come from the spirit? Or was it produced by the device?”
He remembers the girl’s face, contorted in rage and grief. “From the spirit. I think. It reminded me of what happened with Mikhail, and I was wondering if it might be related.”
“You must understand that what happened with your friend was not supposed to happen.” Isabel takes a steadying breath, and the dust hovering in the beam of light from the window stirs in lazy spirals. “To my knowledge, it has never happened before. A spirit cannot be damaged; it cannot be made unwhole. That has been the teaching of both science and the Church from time immemorial. But, what we saw with your friend—he was unable to manifest fully, and he was unable to speak—there really isn’t another explanation. I’ve been advised not to allow this to become common knowledge, for what it might do to people’s faith.”
She turns her palms up in a helpless gesture. “As of right now, I don’t know what could have caused it. I don’t know if it’s reversible. I’m sorry.”
It’s a poor omen, when even the expert on death is at a loss. Berend finishes his whiskey and considers signaling to the barman for another, but decides against it. He should have all his faculties about him. “You were able to summon the lighthouse keeper, though,” he says.
“Yes. The ritual proceeded normally. There was magic involved, based on his description of events and the state he was in, but it doesn’t appear to have produced any effects.”
“Did he see who did it?” Berend asks.
Isabel shakes her head. “He couldn’t see a face, but he did say this person was dressed as a priest of Alcos. That’s why he opened the door.”
Berend isn’t much of a follower of Alcos, himself, preferring the tenets of the god of war for whom his former company was named. Still, the idea that someone might have impersonated a priest in order to commit a murder is unsettling. “Interesting. I don’t like that,” he says, with a self-deprecating smile that’s more of a wince.
“I don’t either.” She picks up the glass again and takes a small sip. “Lucian Warder was the last person to sign out for the Luminous Codex at the university library. Are you familiar with that text?”
Berend is at a loss. “Should I be?”
“It’s a catalogue of demons, first compiled in the late 500s. The diagram we saw in the Shell District was a faithful recreation of a summoning circle from the text. It’s meant to call up a demon of pestilence and corruption.”
She must be joking. But her face is as serious as ever, and she’s never said anything in jest during the course of their short acquaintance. Berend is beginning to suspect that she simply isn’t capable of humor. “Why in the world would anyone want to do something like that?” He had assumed Mikhail had been killed in a dispute between criminals, an unfortunate casualty in the struggle for territory, or perhaps because of the debts he had undoubtedly accrued since Braeden Hill. The idea of demons has thrown all his theories out.
“I don’t know,” Isabel says with an expansive shrug. “There’s no record of anyone successfully summoning a demon in the last several hundred years, and the earlier accounts are…embellished, at best. It doesn’t seem to have worked in the Shell District, either. There’s no mysterious and devastating plague moving through the city, as the Codex indicates would show the demon’s passing. However, someone would have to have access to the Codex and know it very well in order to create the diagram we saw.”
Berend sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He is so far out of his element that he fears he’ll never find his way back. “You said you saw the same diagram on the lighthouse keeper,” he says.
“Yes, though it was much smaller and missing several details. According to the information in the Codex, it would not be sufficient to complete the ritual; but again, someone would have to be familiar with the text in order to reproduce it even to that extent. The easiest explanation is that the same person murdered both men.”
“But that person can’t have been Lucian Warder,” Berend says. “He was at the manor with me last night.”
“That’s correct. Tell me about his device.” Isabel leans her head forward with interest.
He’s a bit taken aback by her directness. “Well, I haven’t the faintest idea how it works,” he says, and he sounds defensive even to his own ears. “But it did work. You could feel the difference in the house. It was a harrowing night. I’ll spare you the details, but—”
Isabel lifts a hand to cut him off. “Mr. Horst, there is no need to spare me anything. I’m quite familiar with hauntings.”
“Of course,” he says, but he bristles a bit. He was only being polite. “I would tell you more, but I swore to maintain the details in confidence, and I value my reputation highly.”
“That does complicate things.” Isabel picks up her glass again and holds it in both hands. “I was about to suggest that you take me to the manor so I can attempt to call up the ghost again. If it did not appear, we would know that the Warder device worked. If it did, and the ritual proceeded normally, the device did not work, but Warder has nothing to do with the murder of your friend and was merely curious about the Luminous Codex.”
The third possibility remains unsaid: that the girl in the Belisia estate had ended up like Mikhail, and Warder’s device had done something impossible to her soul.
“That would be specifically against what I had agreed to,” Berend says. “I’m sorry.”
“You said that your employer didn’t want the church involved.” Isabel sets the glass down again. “Why not?”
Berend shakes his head. “That was the reason why they hired Warder, instead of a Sentinel, but other than that, I wasn’t told.”
“What was the summoning like? Did Warder mark out any circles, or attempt to communicate with the spirit?”
“No. We—or rather, I—exhumed the body, and he turned the crank on the device for a while. She was trying to speak, but I could hear no sound until the scream at the end. I have to say, he doesn’t seem like the sort to be involved in murder. He’s an academic through and through. Though I did expect him to be a little more squeamish at the horror.”
Isabel considers that for a while, and takes another small sip of her wine.
“Is it not to your liking?” Berend asks. “I can get you something else.” He does have money to spare now.
“What? No, it’s fine. Thank you.” She sets the glass down again. “I spoke to Warder’s former research partner. They’ve had a falling out since they began work on the device, but he described it as something that would push a spirit away, giving them time to bring in a Sentinel for a proper banishment. Lucian Warder and his uncle, who is his wealthy benefactor, wanted to take their research in another direction, toward the permanent removal of spirits. I’ve sent a letter of introduction to the elder Warder’s estate outside of Mondirra, and another letter to my church in Vernay. There may be Sentinels still active who worked with the Warders and Professor Smith in the early stages of the device’s development. They should be able to tell me something.”
She becomes more animated, the longer she talks, Berend notes. He had thought that grim stoicism was her perpetual state. It’s a shame the only things they have to talk about are unpleasant.
“I’d like to talk to Warder again,” he says, “but he’s probably resting from last night, and I don’t know where he lives. Hopefully your letters will bear fruit. In the meantime, were there others who looked into that book?”
“Well, yes, the library keeps meticulous records. But it’s not exactly a popular title,” says Isabel.
“We might look there for more leads. We should look for someone disguised as a priest, as well.” Don’t think about spirits or demons, Berend tells himself. There is a man of flesh and blood who killed Mikhail and the lighthouse keeper. You know how to handle flesh and blood.
Isabel nods. “I wanted to go to the church and warn them. After that, I’m not sure. I could go back to the library.”
“I have a better idea,” Berend says. He’s not back in his element yet, but he’s a bit closer. “I know this city. In the daylight, the mayor and his council oversee the comings and goings, but there are other powers at work in the shadows. Whatever petty king of thieves holds sway in the Shell District will not be happy that someone is committing horrible, visible murders in his territory. We should find out who that is and speak with him.”
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