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An Import of Intrigue (Maradaine Constabulary, Band 2) - Softcover

Buch 2 von 3: Maradaine Saga: Maradaine Constabulary

Maresca, Marshall Ryan

 
9780756411732: An Import of Intrigue (Maradaine Constabulary, Band 2)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0756411734 ISBN 13: 9780756411732
Verlag: DAW, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

This second novel in the Maradaine Constabulary series blends high fantasy, murder mystery, and gritty urban magic...

The neighborhood of the Little East is a collision of cultures, languages, and traditions, hidden away in the city of Maradaine. A set of streets to be avoided or ignored. When a foreign dignitary is murdered, solving the crime falls to the most unpopular inspectors in the Maradaine Constabulary: exposed fraud Satrine Rainey, and Uncircled mage Minox Welling.

With a murder scene deliberately constructed to point blame toward the rival groups resident in this exotic section of Maradaine, Rainey is forced to confront her former life, while Welling’s ignorance of his own power threatens to consume him. And the conflicts erupting in the Little East will spark a citywide war unless the Constabulary solves the case quickly.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Marshall Ryan Maresca grew up in upstate New York and studied film and video production at Penn State.  He now lives Austin with his wife and son.  His work appeared in Norton Anthology of Hint Fiction and Rick Klaw’s anthology Rayguns Over Texas. He also has had several short plays produced and has worked as a stage actor, a theatrical director and an amateur chef. His novels The Thorn of Dentonhill and A Murder of Mages each begin their own fantasy series, both set in the port city of Maradaine. For more information, visit Marshall’s website at www.mrmaresca.com.

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Chapter 1
 
 
The dead man had no face.
 
 
All that remained where a face had once been was a gruesome mess of flesh, bone, and hair. The rest of his body was no better. Satrine Rainey was astounded that it was still recognizable as a man.
 
 
She was also astounded how, after two months as an Inspector Third Class in the Constabulary of the city of Maradaine, she had grown accustomed to sights like this. Too many of her case assignments involved dead bodies, and Captain Cinellan still delighted in assigning, in his words, the “strange ones” to her and her partner, Minox Welling.
 
 
Since Captain Cinellan was still letting her be an Inspector Third Class, and draw the salary she needed to care for her husband and daughters, she wasn’t about to complain.
 
 
Inspector Welling responded to the sight by pulling his pipe from his coat pocket and stuffing it with his favorite Fuergan tobacco. “We were told this one was horrible,” he said. “We were certainly not lied to.”
 
 
Satrine stepped out of the refuse-strewn alleyway where the body had been discovered, finding little comfort in the busy streets of the Inemar neighborhood. Plenty of people were crowding a small distance away, held back by the footpatrol officers, gawking at the spectacle. Near the front of the crowd were a group of girls, around twelve or thirteen years old. Blouses with the sleeves torn off, most likely to deal with the sweltering summer heat, and tough smirks on their faces. Twenty-some years ago Satrine would have been one of those girls, trying to get a peek. There was always comfort in seeing that Inemar had chewed up and spit out someone else.
 
 
She turned back to the alley. “Based on the heat and the smell, he couldn’t have been out here very long.”
 
 
“Agreed,” Welling said, crouching by the mauled body. “Whoever dumped the body here made little effort to even hide it.”
 
 
“So our suspect is someone who would bring a dead body and dump it with other garbage in the middle of the day,” Satrine said. “In other words, an idiot.”
 
 
“Which are, unfortunately, not in short supply.” Welling stood up and took a puff on his pipe. Looking at the cracks in the cobblestone, he added. “Almost no blood flowing from the body. The poor soul probably lost it all quite quickly.” Satrine was amazed how calm he looked, not even seeming hot, despite still wearing his overcoat in this swelter. She had left her coat at the stationhouse, wearing just her inspector’s vest and shirtsleeves. Even with that she was sweating up a swamp.
 
 
“Anything in the trash with him that helps you determine where he came from, who he is?” Satrine asked. Welling was gifted at making brilliant observations based on minimal details.
 
 
He shook his head and stepped out. “Nothing incriminating or remarkable. The past few days’ worth of the South Maradaine Gazette, but all that indicates is it’s probably from this neighborhood. Which I already presumed. Whoever dropped the body likely didn’t go very far to do it. Probably no more than two blocks.”
 
 
“Why do you think that?” Satrine asked.
 
 
“For one, as we’ve determined, idiocy. Second, the method of disposal hints at laziness. Whoever did this wanted nothing more than to get rid of the body with as little effort as possible. Come here with a wheelbarrow, drop it in the alley, and get away.”
 
 
Satrine turned out to the crowd. “I don’t suppose anyone saw someone come by here with a wheelbarrow? Maybe carrying a dead body?”
 
 
The girls in front chuckled, but no one gave a useful response.
 
 
“I suppose it was worth the effort to try that,” Welling said.
 
 
Satrine shrugged. Inemar residents weren’t particularly known for helping out the Constabulary. That had been the case in her childhood, and during her months serving here she hadn’t seen anything to show it had changed.
 
 
A mule-drawn wagon approached the alley. The driver reined it to a stopped and hopped down. Leppin, the stationhouse’s examinarian and bodyman, came over with a wide grin on his tiny head, looking all the sillier wearing the leather skullcap with various lenses in place over one of his eyes.
 
 
“What’s the word, specs?” he asked in his thick northeastern accent. “Heard it’s a real mangler.”
 
 
“Quite,” Welling said. “In fact I doubt this was done by human hands.”
 
 
Satrine thought on this. “Factory accident? That hurts your proximity idea.” The closest works shop was over in Dentonhill. There were a couple sewinghouses in this part of Inemar, but nothing capable of threshing a man to this extent.
 
 
“It does.” Welling puffed on his pipe a bit more. “Though that is the sort of thing it puts me in the mind of.”
 
 
Leppin had gone back to the alley and whistled low. “I ain’t seen anything like this in a while.”
 
 
Satrine came a bit closer. “All right, consider this. The body is horribly mangled, but casually dumped off. If this had been a true murder, someone who wanted him dead, they would have been as emotionally invested in getting rid of the body as they would in killing him. But if it’s an accident . . .”
 
 
“Yes,” Welling said, snapping his fingers. “Then there’s no investment. The dead man is an inconvenience, as he mostly represents . . .” He thought for a moment. “He represents something dangerous they’re trying to keep quiet.”
 
 
“Like what?”
 
 
“Something with animals,” Welling said. “Those injuries could be from an animal.”
 
 
Leppin nodded. “Something vicious.”
 
 
“Another dogfighting ring?” Satrine offered. “We’ve broken up a few in the past couple months.”
 
 
“I don’t think this was dogs,” Leppin said. He pointed to one of the enormous gashes on the man’s chest. “That’s not a bite. Not of any dog I’ve ever seen.”
 
 
Satrine’s gaze moved from the wound to one of the bits of unsullied flesh. Near where the neck met the shoulder was a reddish-purple mark. “Leppin, clean off the blood by his neck.”
 
 
“Eh?” He pulled out a rag and wiped it away. It was definitely purple, and not an injury from the mauling. “That’s a birthmark, isn’t it?”
 
 
“Pretty strange one,” Leppin said.
 
 
“Of note?” Welling asked.
 
 
“Of note, indeed,” Satrine said. Memory flared up. “I think I know who our dead man is, Inspector. And I have a suspicion that fits our theory.”
 
 
 
Gregor Henk had been a few years older than Satrine. A boy always pulling a grift or a hustle, usually for his uncle, when he wasn’t trying to get girls’ skirts off. He was also one of those boys who thought the best way to...

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Verlag
DAW
Erscheinungsdatum
2016
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0756411734
ISBN 13 
9780756411732
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
Kontakt zum Hersteller
DAW
https://www.aeuln.top/

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Muttenz
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