8. Keelan

Chapter 8

Keelan

M y backside hurt, like really hurt.

The ride to Albrecht’s home only took about fifteen minutes, but the horse I’d been given by the stable master seemed determined to jostle me off with every stride.

And don’t get me started with the saddle.

The Guard prided itself on having the best-equipped, most well-trained Constables in all of Melucia, but I had two aching butt cheeks who wanted to argue the point.

Still, a Guardsman never complained.

At least, not to his superiors.

My posterior might get a good talking to after this day ended, though.

The houses along Abinth Street where Albrecht lived looked like stone boxes shaped in a mold. Every curve and line was the same. The roof tiles tilted at the same angles. Even the shades of dull gray were perfectly in sync. The only differences I found were the colors of the flowers in the boxes that hung outside shuttered windows that faced the street. Some held purples and golds, while others had already shifted toward the coming winter with oranges and reds.

The homes weren’t grand, yet they held the distinct charm of families whose favor was rising enough to spend hard-earned coin on aesthetics, something poorer sections of town lacked. Yards were trimmed neatly. Stone walls were washed to a sheen. A few even sported small glass windows, a true luxury reserved for the wealthy and powerful.

Albrecht had done well for himself.

I found a hitching post between the Albrecht house and their neighbor, tied off my horse, brushed down my tunic and trousers, and strode toward the door.

It opened before I could knock.

A rotund woman with hair streaked gray and the luggage of a dozen travelers beneath her eyes appeared. The whites of her eyes were lined with red, and I was sure she’d missed wiping moisture from one cheek.

“Celeste Albrecht?”

The woman nodded, then crossed her chubby arms. “You here about Haddy?”

In any other situation, I might have chuckled at the nickname, but the pain radiating from the woman standing before me stilled any humor the moment might have contained.

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Could we chat a moment? I promise not to take too much of your time.”

She eyed me, letting her gaze take in the uniformed man who towered above her doorframe. A thin gray cat poked its head out of the doorway, then curled about her leg, purring loudly. The woman ignored the cat, her focus boring through me. A few seconds passed before she stepped out of the doorway and motioned for me to enter.

“I have nothing left but time,” she said, her head bowed.

In that moment, my heart ached for her.

Celeste led me into a small sitting room. A long, elegant couch sat across a coffee table from two equally elegant high-backed chairs. I stood before one of the chairs and waited.

The cat hopped onto the couch, made a biscuit or two, then scurried out of the room to chase something.

“Want some tea?” Celeste asked.

I couldn’t place her accent. She was not from Saltstone, perhaps not even native to Melucia. The clipped ends of her words spoke more of a working-class family than anyone born to wealth.

How far had the Albrechts risen? I wondered.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Celeste vanished to retrieve our tea, leaving me to scan the sitting room.

The furniture was neat and well cared for, though not expensive.

Nicknacks scattered about spoke of travels, perhaps holidays the couple had taken together.

A glass ship I recognized from one of the port cities, probably Fleet Town.

An ornately carved wooden owl resembling the silver pin Rangers used to clasp their cloaks, a common trinket sold by hawkers in Grove’s Pass and the surrounding villages.

A painting of a herd of horses running in a field of golden grass. I had never been the art-loving type, but the skill represented in that canvas was breathtaking. Every muscle in every horse was flexed, every hair perfectly flowing. It felt as though I could reach through the oil and stroke each animal’s mane. I suspected that piece came from Amnel or Pantrel, two of the small nations that abutted Melucia’s eastern border. Each was famed for their herds, to the point of reverence among some of their more primitive tribes.

There was even a colorful doll shaped like a tropical bird I knew came from one of the many islands that surrounded the continent, though there was no way to tell from which it might’ve originated.

The entire room felt like a hall of memories, a place to celebrate the couple’s time together and relive happy moments from the past.

On any other day, given any other situation, the whole place would’ve made me smile.

On that day, my heart sank further.

“Here ya go.” Celeste reappeared and set a delicate cup and saucer on the table, then took her seat on the couch, sipping her tea while eyeing me over the top of her cup.

“You and your husband traveled quite a bit.” I continued to stare at the painting of the horses as I spoke.

Her cup clinked against her saucer. “It was one of our little traditions, to take a trip each year just to get away. This city can be so . . . I don’t know.”

I turned and watched her wave a hand in the air. Her eyes were distant, staring at the shuttered window as if she sought something across the street.

“This painting is beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it.”

“Haddy spent too much on that one.” She looked up and met my gaze, a faint smile curling her lips. “I tried to tell him not to, but his purse was heavy, and, well, it was our anniversary. What woman could say no to a little spoiling on that special day?”

I sat and lifted the tea, savoring its bitter aroma before taking a sip.

“Please forgive me, but I need to ask you a few questions about your husband.”

She waved a meaty hand again. “I know why you’re here, Constable. Do what you must.”

Retrieving the notepad from my cloak, I flipped to a blank page and looked up.

“How long had your husband run his accountancy here in Saltstone?”

“We’ve lived here twenty-two years. He opened that shop maybe six months after we settled in.”

“His shop is small, but he appeared to be doing well.”

She took another sip, then set her cup and saucer on the table. “He built that business from nothin’. Took him a good week to get his first customer. Client, I mean.”

I cocked my head.

“He hated when I called them customers. Scolded me somethin’ fierce about it. All in good fun, it was. Ya know, that man loved me more than . . .”

Words faded as tears welled.

I pulled a kerchief from my cloak and offered it across the table, glad I’d swapped out a clean one that morning before setting out.

A few moments passed before she gathered herself.

“He did right well for himself. For us.”

I nodded, wishing I could wrap this woman in my arms and let her cry. Instead, I asked, “Did he ever talk about his clients?”

“Spirits know I tried askin’ about ’em.” She shook her head firmly. “He’d go on about confidentiality or some other fancy word that meant, ‘Stop askin’, Celeste. I ain’t tellin’.’”

“So, he never brought clients to the house? You never met any of them?”

“What are you gettin’ at, Constable?” Her eyes narrowed. “You think one o’ them did this to my Haddy?”

“No, ma’am.” I sat back. “I don’t have enough information to know what to think. I’m just trying to learn what happened.”

She relaxed, but only a little.

“So, you never met any of his clients?”

She crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom, shoving it higher toward her multiple chins.

“Of course, I met some of them. They were our friends, neighbors, people around town. Haddy worked for anyone who needed numbers figured.” She glanced down, then back up. “But they loved him, Constable. He treated ’em like they was family, and they loved ’im for it.”

As she spoke, her words grew more passionate, and her accent devolved into the rough edges of a working woman.

“Do you know of any client who might’ve worked in, how should I say it, a less than reputable line of business?”

A laugh flew out of her mouth so fast I thought it might hit me. “That’s a lot o’ fancy words, Constable. Haddy didn’t work for no criminals, if that’s what you’re askin’. He was a good, honest man who worked hard for what he brought home.”

I made a note on my pad and tapped my quill a few times.

“Did you notice him acting differently over the days before . . . well, before he passed?”

Her brief humor faded, and her whole countenance fell. “No. He was the same ole Haddy. We was even plannin’ our next trip.”

“Really? Where were you thinking this time?”

She uncrossed her arms and wiped her face.

“I wanted to go see another one of the islands. There’s no place like ’em, with all their birds and such. Did you know them people wear grass like a skirt? It’s the strangest thing. But they’re nice enough folk, take ya in as quick as that.”

“And your husband?”

She cocked her head. “What about him?”

“You said you wanted to go see one of the islands. Where did he want to go?”

“Oh.” She waved her hand in the air yet again. “He had some fool notion to go over the mountains. Neither of us had ever been to the Kingdom, and he wanted to see Huntcliff.”

I couldn’t stop a brow from raising.

“I know, I know.” She shifted on the couch. “Sounds silly. Trek like that would take a month, and winter’s comin’. Damn fool idea, if ya ask me, but he seemed t’ have his heart set on seein’ the other side of the mountains.”

“Had he ever talked about visiting the Kingdom before?”

She shook her head. “That’s what tickled me about it. Never once had that man wanted to climb a mountain or roam through the woods, and here he wanted to cross the border? There’s bears and other critters ’ll eat ya up there. Don’t care what the Rangers say. They can’t protect every darn fool to set foot up there.”

“So, you didn’t want to go?”

She snorted. “Spirits, no. And we weren’t goin’. Don’t care what Haddy thought.”

I paused a moment while she retrieved her cup and took another sip.

“Celeste, did your husband ever mention a special ledger?”

Her whole face scrunched up.

“Special? Those books might be the most boring things on the continent. Why would one be special?”

I ticked that off my list. “No reason. Like I said, I’m just covering all the corners, so to speak.”

“Chasin’ your tail’s what it looks like.”

I smiled weakly. She wasn’t too far off the mark.

I closed my notepad and shoved it and my quill back into my pocket. “Thank you for the tea, Celeste. I think that’s enough for now. I may need to ask a few more questions as the investigation progresses.”

She set her cup down and stood. “Whatever you need. Just find who done this to my Haddy, all right?”

“I’ll do my best. I promise you that.”

I started turning but stopped.

“I just thought of one more question, if you don’t mind.”

“Go on,” she said, her voice betraying her weariness.

“Did your husband work in magics at all?”

Her face screwed up again. “Haddy? Magic? That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. ’Course not.”

“What was his Gift?”

She crossed her arms and began strumming the fingers of one hand. “Numbers, Constable. Everything about the man was numbers. His Gift let him see patterns and some such. I never understood it, bein’ an accountant thing and all.”

I nodded once. “Thank you, Celeste.”

As I turned and headed back toward the front door, another painting on the wall behind where I’d been sitting caught my eye. I hadn’t noticed it earlier.

White-tipped mountains towered over a vast landscape, the setting sun streaming gold, orange, and red across a cloudless sky.

I whistled.

“Stunning, ain’t they?” Celeste read my mind.

“They certainly are. Where are these? They don’t look like the mountains on the border.”

“Good eye, Constable. Tallest mountains around. Well, not around us. They’re all the way over in the Kingdom. Them’s the Spires.”