Towers of Blood

One

The boy fell from the tower, his yellow robe billowing out to the sides. From a distance he looked like a large bird, wings spread ready to land on the ground below, but unlike a bird he did not slow as the ground approached, but instead landed with a wet thud. A red blanket began to spread out from the crumpled robes as observers flocked towards him.

Kari and Elathir arrived at the crime scene half an hour later. Mages were a secretive bunch and loathe letting the outside world into their domain; problems were to stay in the college and handled internally, as had always been the way. Even death was a matter for the senior mages to handle, as most of the deaths were caused by some sort of magical error in the first place and murder was a sort of hobby between the higher ranking officials vying for position. Killing someone senior to you in a way that looked completely accidental was considered a suitable way to gain a promotion as long as you didn’t tell anyone about it. If you did, then you would be brought to a polite and seemingly accidental death yourself.

Deaths among apprentices were considered a different matter. Unlike their superiors, they did not indulge in the leisure activity of planning people’s murders, mostly because they had neither the experience nor the time to do it properly. They also were kept strictly in line when it came to magic use, not gaining the opportunity to take on risky and dangerous experiments, and when they did it was always under strict supervision. One reason why they were kept safe and coddled was that they came from wealthy families who could afford the tuition, and, perhaps most importantly, they could also afford very astute lawyers who had some time ago written air-tight contracts stating that any injuries or deaths that occurred during apprenticeships would be the responsibility of the college. Serious injury or death would result in hefty compensation for the family, with the college footing the bill.

That’s four now, Kari said, as she stepped closer to the body. Looking closely she noticed the boy’s eyes, staring up at her from a bloodless face. Well, most of a face anyway. The youth had landed slightly on his side. The impact had started with his right shoulder, quickly followed by the side of his head and torso. His limbs seemed to be mostly intact, which was something of a blessing. Kari probably thought it was preferable to die instantly if you jumped off a fifteen-storey magical tower. Some of his hair had escaped the blood and blew across his face; she brushed it out of his eyes, noting it had been washed that morning.

Four? the elf asked from her left. He seemed to be examining the pool created by the blood that had leaked out of the back of the boy’s crushed skull.

Four dead apprentices in six months, she explained, but he still looked blank. Apprentices are the sons and daughters of wealthy families, usually councillors and nobles. They are signed over as wards of the state during their education so the Crown is liable for any misfortune that befalls them. The Crown is liable for the accidental death of three apprentices already.

I was under the impression that killing each other for promotion is something of a pastime at your college? His voice reflected his absolute detachment.

Not apprentices, she explained patiently, then anticipated his next question. We are here for two reasons, firstly, the Crown cannot afford to pay out any more money to litigious families, and secondly, suicides are not deemed the state’s fault and we are here to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on the paperwork.

Money! You humans are obsessed with money, the elf said with disgust.

Don’t lump me in with that lot, she thought to herself. My father is the king of hell and my mother was definitely not completely human. Kari did not value money. Oh yes, she was paid her wages every month as a corporal but a minimal amount actually made it to her. First there was the rent to Mrs Ling, her landlady, then there was the deduction for breakages around the office, which were genuine accidents as, on occasion, she didn’t realise how strong she was - and replacement uniforms were very expensive too. Last month she had had to buy three new sets due to the blood stains, fire damage and mud that smelt something awful. She threw a dirty look the elf’s way. It had been his fault after all. If he hadn’t come to The City she wouldn’t have been assigned the last case they worked on. It would never have resulted in an assassination attempt by a Naga agent, a trip to the Low District (a notoriously smelly area of The City near the docks, which had prodigious warehouses, fish markets and a serious flooding problem at high tide), culminating in the release of a demon dragon prince upon an unsuspecting populace. (Fire damage was an understatement.) Her ankle still ached from falling through the warehouse’s roof after luring him into the trap, and painfully breaking several bones. That had been a very bad day. Oh, and that dragon was also her brother. Bad was an understatement.

Revealing to the brother who had tortured, abused and manipulated you for years that you were still alive and leading a fulfilling life catching bad people did not lead to a settled existence. She had no doubt that as soon as he had stepped back into hell he had gone straight to Daddy and revealed that she had not only survived her escape from hell but had thrived. Gods only knew what the consequence of that would be.

Kari, the elf snapped, they wish to move the boy.

She realised she had been crouching next to his body staring at the blood pool next to his head for several minutes. Pulling herself together she stood up, barely suppressing a wince at the pain lancing through the ankle that still didn’t like bending for long periods of time. Yes, we’re done here. Take him to the morgue in the Watch House.

You winced.

She looked at the elf seeing concern on his face. Yes ... at the blood, she prevaricated. It had only been three weeks since falling through the roof of the warehouse. She healed quickly but crushed bones tended to ache long after they healed.

You should have sat this one out, he persisted.

I’m fine, she growled, then changed the subject. Let’s find where he jumped off.

Judging by the splatter and damage to the boy’s head, I would say it would be in excess of ten storeys. The tower has no balconies and the windows above the fifth floor have been barred to stop such an accident happening. He looked up at the roof, a full fifteen storeys high. That only leaves one option.

So how do we get up there? she wondered aloud, then recognised the answer and dreaded it. Cursing she walked behind him over to the stairway. It was humming slightly. Elathir put his hand on the door and entered, pulling her behind him by the collar. He knew how much she hated these things.

The architects of the college had been left with somewhat of a conundrum when they had built the black, obsidian towers. They had made them tall, solid and beautiful but with a terribly obvious problem. Towers in excess of five floors needed a lot of stairs to walk up. Mages, being quite lazy in Kari’s opinion, had instead magicked the stairs to open onto whatever floor you desired. It required concentration, skill and in Kari’s experience, an iron stomach. The feeling of suddenly being fifteen floors higher than where you were a second ago was disconcerting to most and nauseating to a few. She was one of the few. They stepped onto the roof and Kari gripped her stomach and groaned.

Do not contaminate the scene, corporal. Your expulsions may conceal important facts. He gave her a withering look, one of his finest puny-mortal-bask-in-my-elvish-brilliance looks.

Groaning once again she swallowed down the bile rising up her throat and breathed in deeply through her nose. Bastard. The wind whipped her blonde hair round her face, its cropped lengths catching in her eyes, the flashes of blue glowing in the sun.

Those blue bits in your hair, combined with your deplorable lack of height would make anyone believe you are part Trixie, inclined to mischief and water sports, certainly not demokin. Combined with the lurid shade of green your skin has turned it’s a wonder people don’t mistake you for that creature and ward you off with copper pans and spoons, he observed sarcastically.

Trixies are six inches tall! I am over five feet and you know it, she replied testily, biting off every syllable. A wave of nausea rippled through her body; quickly she closed her eyes and started to breathe through her mouth.

Are you over five feet? I thought you were barely over four. From my perspective it is difficult to tell, he said without looking at her, his gaze searching the surroundings.

Kari opened her mouth to reply but quickly closed it. She was swiftly realising that holding in the feeling was much worse than letting it out. Sinking to her knees, she breathed deeply and ran her fingers over the tiles. They were smooth and reassuringly cool.

Elathir turned at the noise, sighed and walked over to Kari. She felt him put his hands round her waist then effortlessly pick her up. He carried her like a child for what seemed like a long time, slowly moving down one step at a time. Time seemed to simultaneously stand still and rush past in a wave of colours and blurs.

Make her drink this, she heard someone say, not recognising the soft feminine voice.

Will the effects last long? The elf asked the unknown person. He must have had an answer as she was certain he then said to her, Kari, you need to open your mouth so I can give you this tonic. It will cure your sickness, but I swear if you throw up on me, you will regret it.

She couldn’t help but smile. He frustrated the hell out of her but occasionally he showed a kinder side. Very occasionally. She drank the tonic without throwing up.

Slowly she opened her eyes and realised the rather comfortable thing she had been lying on was mostly elf, as her head was cradled in his arms. She hated to admit it but it was not unpleasant.

What happened? she asked, groggily.

You had a reaction to the magic, replied the voice she now realised came from the matron, dressed in a white robe and habit. The mages who built this place put in some powerful protections against demons. Most demokin feel uncomfortable when they go inside the buildings but you seem to be having a much stronger reaction than usual.

Kari looked away from the matron and into the elf’s eyes. They were a mossy green with silvery bits. She could stare at them all day.

You seem fine now, the elf said abruptly, and then unceremoniously dumped her onto the floor.

The matron hurried over and helped her up. Well the tonic seems to have worked, your colours have come back. In fact your eyes are starting to turn orange, is that normal? she asked nervously.

Yes, it happens regularly around him, she replied through gritted teeth.

To me, that is always an indicator that she has recovered sufficiently to be useful again. My thanks for your time and services, Nurse Astrid. Did you know the deceased by any chance? he asked, seeming to smirk at Kari. Of course, popular belief states that elves do not actually have facial expressions, but they do - you just have to look very, very closely.

Yes, she replied, and her manner had lost the joy of moments before. Aldwin Heathley. He was often in here being patched up. He always said it was an accident but I have never seen anyone ‘accidentally’ running into a fist several times.

He was being targeted? Kari asked, pulling out her notebook. Do you know by whom?

He never said who it was, she replied sadly, but I have my suspicions. Aldwin wasn’t one of the old families. His grandfather was a landowner, a polite term for a farmer who owned his own farm - not just working on a lord’s estate as a serf, a glorified farm slave, paid just enough to live off but not enough to break free of servitude. He made his fortune with rice. His grandfather’s lands were mostly a swampy a bog, so Aldwin told me once, until after a trip to the east he completely changed everything. They were a ‘new money’ family and Aldwin didn’t really fit in. Not one of the Palace Hill set. Palace Hill was the richest part of the city. The lazy slope that led up from Market Square to The Palace proper was studded with old elvish mansions, owned by the wealthiest families.

And what about the others? His is not the only death in recent months. Were the other boys like him? Misfits? Kari asked.

Those boys in the accidents? she replied, closing her eyes and shaking her head. This nurse obviously cared deeply for her charges. A pained expression crossed her face. Sadly, I knew them all. All the boys end up here at some point. Whether it’s for a bout of flu, a duelling accident or just crying on my shoulder when they miss home, she sighed. These recent deaths, they have cast a shadow over the place, one that I had hoped was over. The first one was Wilbur Daisili. His father is on the Open Council. He made a mistake in a summoning and was eviscerated. The second accident happened two months later to Riber Lothis. His mother was a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. He died by setting himself on fire during a battle spell exam -mage fire burns have no cure. The third happened a month after that. It was Kelstan Frobisher, a minor lord’s son from the country. He was experimenting with magical cures for diseases and accidentally infected himself. Kari noticed they were all from different social backgrounds with no clear connections.

Which disease, may I ask? Elathir asked, as Kari hurriedly scribbled all the information in her police issue notebook.

Floxian measles. Kari and Elathir both visibly winced at this answer. Victims of the illness died within hours of catching it. Kari had seen the after-affects once in Low Town after an outbreak. It was an agonising death: the disease lived under the skin which swelled with fluid in great patches then, as the fluid drained, the skin fell off, exposing flesh, muscle and bone. As his final year project he was working on early detection of the disease, before the swelling, using magic. He was a natural healer, and knew how dangerous it was. It must have been an accident that he infected himself but he was normally such a careful boy. It’s funny, we haven’t had any accidents resulting in death for two decades, then four in less than a year.

Thank you, Astrid, you have been very helpful, the elf said, then looked at Kari, who nodded her thanks. They turned for the door.

Accidents. Tragic accidents, Kari muttered aloud as they walked down the corridor towards the Aldwin Heathley’s room, and by coincidence four deaths in the space of six months.

The odds of such a coincidence are rather high, the elf murmured quietly.

How high? she enquired, glancing carefully around to check they were not being listened to.

Bigger numbers than you would understand. There would be at least eight digits, he replied in all seriousness.

Kari chose not to be offended by this. She didn’t even know what the name for a number with eight digits would be. Whatever is going on, it’s worth poking around some more.

*

Kari had been through Aldwin’s drawers, his bed, under his bed, even tapped on the walls looking for hidden compartments, but there were none to find. Aldwin had lived the life of an