(eng) Marshall Ryan Maresca - Maradaine Constabulary 02 by An Import of Intrigue (retail)

Author:An Import of Intrigue (retail) [Intrigue, An Import of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Even from the serenity of the Tsouljan gardens, it was clear there was chaos in the streets of the Little East. Shouts, screams, and whistles pierced through the air. Minox quickened his pace while making sure his crossbow was loaded and he had his handstick. The fact that his vest probably wasn’t buttoned would have to wait.

“Patrolman, I appreciate your diligence. But no matter the call, you and your partner keep your stand on the gates to this place.”

“Really, sir?” the patrolman asked. “You might need . . .”

They pushed past the blooming trees and reached the gate. “What I’ll need is irrelevant. If this unrest is tied to the murder, this place and the people inside might be targets. I am not assigning you a meaningless task.”

“Aye, Inspector,” the patrolman said.

He was out in the street and heading toward the sounds of the disturbance—somewhere where the Imach and Fuergan districts met, likely—when he realized Joshea was at his elbow.

“This is no place for civilians,” he said.

“Good thing I’m not one,” Joshea said. Minox glanced back and noticed Joshea had grabbed a Tsouljan gardening tool on their way out.

“Joshea,” he said firmly, “you could be charged for assault, or possibly murder. Not to mention theft.” He glanced at the tool in Joshea’s hand. “You have no authority to take action here.”

“I have a right to be armed and protect my person,” Joshea said. He placed a hand on Minox’s shoulder. “And I think the law even provides for protecting a fellow person.”

“Within reason,” Minox said. The hostilities he was hearing were growing increasingly violent in tenor. There was no time to waste. “Do nothing that could be considered actively aggressive.”

“Aye, sir,” Joshea said with military crispness, the sort of tone he reserved for his father. Minox couldn’t read if that was sincere or some sort of jibe, but he didn’t have time to think about it. Trouble was afoot.

They approached the market square at the corner of Peston and Necker, which had erupted in a full brawl between Fuergans and Imachs. The riot between them had spread out in almost every direction. A handful of regulars were in the thick of it, but they looked like they were in danger of being overrun by the fighting. Footpatrol were coming in from all over, most of them too stunned to take action.

Understandable. They had never seen anything like this. Minox certainly hadn’t.

“Trouble,” Joshea said, pointing out one thing in particular. Minox saw, and was impressed with Joshea’s eye, picking out a particular piece of this chaos that was worse than the rest.

Two footpatrol had their crossbows drawn, screaming at the Imachs around them to back away, their orders laced with obscenities. These two were spinning around wildly, no discipline with their weapons. There was already enough danger and destruction going on; the worst thing would be for the Constabulary to add to it.

“Sir?” one of the footpatrol asked. “What’s the word?” A good dozen of them had gathered by him.

Minox was the ranking on scene.

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