Times in Jast-Madiir are peaceful and prosperous, and love is in the air. In other words, disaster looms. The stage is set for a war abroad to take an explosive domestic turn. An old and fallen fraternity launches a bold raid on a classified shipment, raising dangerous questions of duplicity, and bringing Horus face-to-face with a legacy he thought he’d buried... when he is suddenly tasked to represent a brash young insurgent in court.
Times in Jast-Madiir are peaceful and prosperous, and love is in the air. In other words, disaster looms. The stage is set for a war abroad to take an explosive domestic turn. An old and fallen fraternity launches a bold raid on a classified shipment, raising dangerous questions of duplicity, and bringing Horus face-to-face with a legacy he thought he’d buried... when he is suddenly tasked to represent a brash young insurgent in court.
It was to be the first of many dismal days to follow. The sun lazed in some invisible fold of the cloud-filled sky, and the Phantom Light shared its bleary mood. The workhands of Jast-Madiir’s Great Harbor felt those azure pre-dawn hours stretch on and on, while their pocket watches told them little white lies…
But the air was cool. It was crisp. And there were feet and hands and eyes astir that were too intent to notice any lethargy at work on the world around them. They moved purposefully. They moved discreetly. They were quickened by malice aforethought…
None of this, however, escaped the watchful eye of Harbormaster Fitzgerald. Shuffling over to the window in the dark cabin of an unassuming cargo barge, his grim gaze followed a trio of smartly-dressed Jackals, brashly marching up the long, long docks… in just the direction they ought not to be. Which is to say, they were marching in his direction.
Fitzgerald tried to reach what conclusions he could for himself, but hardly a moment passed before he was joined in the window. While he’d been watching the world, his military cohort – the army sergeant – had evidently been watching him…
“See something?” Sergeant Oregano asked.
Fitzgerald nodded at the window, never blinking. “Mesomelae, headed our way.”
The sergeant’s face slowly bunched up as he watched the pack approach. They looked big… even next to the muscled ship hands hefting cargo to and from, up and down. “Dianodes,” he cursed. “How did they know? How could they know? We took every precaution.”
A moment of silence followed Oregano’s unanswerable questions.
“Might just be they’re lawyers,” Fitzgerald tried with a shrug. “We’re never short of legal trouble in the ports. Smuggling… immigration. It could be nothing.”
Scarcely had the Harbormaster finished assuaging the sergeant when the three Mesomelae reached the foot of their barge’s ramp, where they abruptly stopped. The Humans in the cabin watched the Jackals look the whole ship over, even as one of them seemed to glance right back at them through the tinted glass.
“Lawyers indeed,” Oregano scoffed. “And I’ll be a jelly’s uncle.” He turned Fitzgerald roughly by his shoulders, sneering down at him like he would a clumsy cadet. “Get out there and find them out!” he commanded with a shove. Then he crossed the cabin.
“What about you?” Fitzgerald inquired weakly.
“I’ll round up the others,” he answered, throwing a plain, tattered cloak over his uniform.
“But…” Fitzgerald began. Oregano shot him another look. Nevertheless, he decided to complete his thought. “I mean… you’re an officer. Wouldn’t your very appearance likely scare them off?”
“We don’t want to scare them off, Fitzgerald.” Oregano slipped a flintlock into a deep pocket. “We want them. Dead or alive. Now get out there!”
* * *
Fitzgerald shivered and drew his hands up into his sleeves as he walked down the long, shallow ramp, alone and exposed. Whatever the sergeant might want, he couldn’t help hoping that his own appearance and authority as a Harbormaster might be enough to ward the villains away. Assuming, of course, that they were villains. There remained a faint shadow of a chance that these Mesomelae had legitimate business. He never thought he’d see the day when he prayed he was about to have a chat with a trio of lawyers. Tall, meaty lawyers, he noted. No more than half-way down the ramp, he was already looking up into beady eyes, jagged ears, and sleek snouts. There was no mistaking a predatory aspect about them. But then, he had to remind himself: That would still hold true, even if they were only lawyers…
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Fitzgerald called out, fighting the reflex to draw a Pi symbol in front of himself, lest he be jinxed. “Can I help you?”
“I certainly hope so,” said the Mesomela in the middle. “No one else this morning has been any help at all. We’ve been asking after the Harbormaster for the last half-hour. He’s not been at his post, nor can anyone seem to shed any light on his whereabouts.” He cocked a brow. “I call that very odd.”
“I’m… I’m the Harbormaster here,” Fitzgerald admitted, rather taken aback to discover they were looking for him. “May I ask who’s calling?”
The three of them flashed badges. “Jasta, Panzer and Mikoyen,” the middle Jackal answered, pointing first at himself, then his two compatriots. “We run a private law practice. But we’ve been contracted by the District Attorney to inspect this stretch of the port. I regret to inform you… we’ve already found some troubling discrepancies.”
Fitzgerald set his jaw. Even with some assurance that these men were indeed lawyers, he didn’t feel at all assured. “Discrepancies? What discrepancies?”
‘Jasta’ flashed a toothy grin. “As luck would have it, this very barge,” he answered, nodding past Fitzgerald. “Neither the ship itself, nor its cargo manifest can be found on any of the registries. It’s a ship that doesn’t belong. And yet, here we find our elusive Harbormaster. One might also find that rather odd, don’t you think?”
Again, Fitzgerald found himself staggered by the unexpected trajectory of the whole conversation. Not only did these Mesomelae convincingly assert they had a legitimate reason to be here, but they even dared suggest that he did not. They were indeed sure of themselves, which made it much harder to be sure of himself. Fortunately, in that moment, he heard the steps of his ‘deck hands’ casually approaching the scene from behind him, and he rallied some confidence. “Why no, Sir; I don’t think so at all. As Harbormaster, this barge is my responsibility, whether it’s on the registry or not. Particularly if it’s not. As such, may I politely suggest that you leave this matter in my hands and be on your way now.”
The three Jackals exchanged glances, before Jasta returned to Fitzgerald. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harbormaster… but that’s not the way these things work.” He reached into his jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper. “This is a search warrant, notarized by the District Attorney’s office, authorizing an investigation of this ship and its contents. You have been served.”
Fitzgerald accepted the paper, utterly bewildered… having to ask himself whether this could all be a big mix-up. Had the authorities been too secretive about the shipment? Was it even just possible this warrant was being served simply because one hand didn’t know what the other was doing? Or was this still nothing more than an incredibly elaborate ruse to get them on the ship?
Either way, they were bound to be disappointed…
“Now wait just a minute,” he began. “I know how this must look… believe me. I understand your responsibilities. I understand the legally binding nature of this document. But even if Mr. Blackforest himself came here to serve this warrant, I would still have to deny him access. This is a highly privileged matter. Very highly privileged. Do you understand?”
“I’m not sure I do,” Jasta replied, before looking out crossly at the men in long coats joining them at the foot of the ramp. “But perhaps you mean to have your ruffians explain it to me?”
“The only ‘ruffians’ here are you people,” Sergeant Oregano retorted, fanning out with the rest of his plain-clothes troop. “Don’t think we can’t see right through the phony lawyer bit.”
“Phony?” Jasta questioned, his jowls tightening over his fangs. “I only just explained to your Harbormaster: We’ve been legally empowered by the top brass of St. Argonsburg.”
“Papers can be forged,” Oregano said with a shrug.
The large canine sized him up. “I suppose that’s true. Still, we have papers. Where are yours? Who do you purport to be? For all we know, you’re nothing more than a thug with a big mouth. Give us one reason we should even be having this conversation.”
Oregano shook his head. “I don’t have to prove anything to you. You say I don’t belong here… I say you don’t. The only difference is: I know I’m not bluffing. That’s enough for me.”
The ‘lawyers’ glowered. “Nothing at all to show for yourself, eh? Alright. But we’ll have to insist on a name, at least. You leave us no choice but to draw up charges against you for Obstruction of Justice.”
The sergeant laughed. “You play the part well… I’ll grant you that. You want to know what gives me a right to be here? You want a name?” He drew aside his cloak, revealing part of his uniform. “How about a rank and serial number to match?”
BANG!
Oregano went down as the imposters bolted. They got the drop on the soldiers in their way and plowed right through them, fleeing full-speed for the coast. They were several yards distant before any fire was returned. The soldiers’ shots went wide. They were only fortunate to miss the startled bystanders, who were immediately stirred up into a panic…
“After them!” Oregano bellowed from the ground, pulling his wounded leg up for examination. “Don’t let them get away!”
“Are you alright?” Fitzgerald asked reflexively, crouching by the sergeant. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Raise the alarm, you fool!” Oregano growled. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Of course!” Fitzgerald replied, nodding and leaping back to his feet in one flurried action. “Right away!” He ran for the nearest bell.
Oregano muttered endless curses under his breath as he broke off a loose piece of planking from the dock. He bit the sleeve of his cloak and tore a big strip down the seam. The groans of agony that followed were muted out by the terror and confusion all around… and by the sudden ringing in the bell tower. A ringing that carried for leagues…
* * *
Unbeknownst to the sergeant or the Harbormaster, a bell of a different sort lay strategically positioned below the covering of the sea, sheltering a second team of Mesomela agents, whose waiting ears easily detected the clanging of the alarm far above. Silently, they took their cue, slipping out from under the diving bell in synchronous, paddling for the surface. They emerged at the stern of the barge, with no need of grappling hooks to make their ascent. Their sharp claws anchored them to the wooden hull as they clambered for the top deck…
But just as they were making their way up the paneling alongside the rear portholes – the easiest part of the climb – Seth got overconfident and careless. He fumbled, and nearly came peeling off the side of the ship…
Just in time, Khonshu reached back and caught Seth’s wrist in a flash of action. Also flashing – Seth noted – was that stupid grin of his. That insufferable, smug grin that told you he was the golden boy, and he knew it. Anchored again, Seth ground his teeth and resumed his climbing…
Without a sound, the tiny, padded feet of the three Mesomelae alighted their collective half-ton of weight on the deck. They scrambled along the cover of the bulwark, angling for the lower levels… for the cargo hold. Their brethren’s bit about the registries was no bluff: There was no official record of the barge, let alone its freight. Nevertheless, the Vigilants knew full well what they were looking for…
Unavoidably, the stairway down from the poop deck left them momentarily exposed. Khonshu, still basking in his element, dropped his grin in an instant when Weneg suddenly froze in place just ahead of him. He followed his gaze, seeing a woman, far off on the dock, staring back at them with narrowed, judgmental eyes. Their hearts stopped, waiting to hear a shrill call between strokes of the bell...
But after a long, tense moment, she dutifully turned up her nose and continued on in a huff…
“What’s the hold up, old man?” Seth whispered hoarsely from the back.
“She saw us,” Weneg answered. “A lady on the dock.”
“Yeah, and she kept moving,” Seth sighed. “If we don’t do likewise, we’ll be spotted again. Chop-chop! And no more mistakes!”
“No more mistakes,” Khonshu repeated in a whimsical voice as they sped down the stairs. “Why Seth, I do believe that should be your mantra from now on.”
“Quiet,” Weneg cautioned, while Seth fumed for something to riposte with.
Clandestinely, they rounded the cabin, quickly springing below deck…
Upright now, but no less cautious, the infiltrators passed empty, unguarded crew quarters on their way to the hold. The barge was still awaiting a carefully vetted crew to make its voyage far to the east, and south… to the cursed and appropriately blasted lands of their Enemies, the Berlie Beirels. And for the moment, the compliment of soldiers patrolling the ship had been, apparently, emptied… drawn off in pursuit of their brethren’s bold diversion. Everything was going to plan. Better than to plan, it appeared…
Finally, they reached their destination, completely unopposed. They stopped short in the doorway… fearing that the cargo area might – of all places – still have a guard or two. But it was more than just caution that held them back for a moment. They were each a bit amazed to see a mere four chests in the middle of the vast, dark space…
But after a listen and a sniff, and well satisfied the coast was clear, Seth was the first to enter. He lifted the lid of a chest, retrieving a phial with a long neck and a bulb that filled his fist. He looked back questioningly. “This is it? Four cases of this?”
“Don’t be too quick to scoff,” Weneg replied, as he and Khonshu entered the hold. “Just one of those has magic enough for a whole squad of sorcerers.”
Seth turned his skeptical expression back on the bottle. But a grin quickly curled his jowls, and he gave the elixir a couple little tosses in his clawed grip. “Supposing… supposing we were to lift a few of these? Or maybe we split one three ways, here and now.”
“I’d think twice before I trifled with it,” Weneg said, lifting another lid. “Do you know what would happen if you got the dosage wrong? Even a little wrong?”
“It’d mean my death, by the sound of it.”
“Worse than that,” Khonshu boded. He smashed a phial on the lip of the chest. “This is no time to change the script anyway. Let’s do what we came here for.”
Seth’s thick snout rippled as he bared fangs. “Fine.” He threw his phial on the ground.
The three of them quickly busied themselves taking and smashing the elixirs in pairs, until the room was filled with an overpowering fragrance… sweet, and a little pungent… a bit like old oranges. Steam rolled off the dark-stained floorboards as the alchemical mixtures ate the varnish off the wood before leaking down into the bilge. Between crashes, they could hear the stuff bubbling in the rancid water beneath their feet.
Finally, Seth got the bright idea to overturn his entire chest. But even with his unparalleled bulk and strength, the chest toppled a bit slower than he meant it to. A few phials broke, but most simply rolled out across the floor…
“Oh, brilliant,” Khonshu chuckled. “Fine time to discover your gentle side, Big Guy.”
“Why you little…!” Seth stammered, none too quick on the draw. “Come over here and I’ll show you my gentle side!”
Weneg gave a long sigh. “This is the last time I babysit the two of you. No more bright ideas… no more smart remarks. Alright?”
“And no more mistakes,” Khonshu added, reprising his grin.
Seth only growled, reaching down for more magic to smash…
It wasn’t long before the whole place reeked of over three chests worth of wasted elixirs. Weneg and Khonshu had their cases emptied out in plenty of time to help Seth round up his stragglers, which had rolled across the floor in every direction. Khonshu watched with amusement as Seth scanned for more phials under each arm, overlooking one that had made it almost all the way to the hold’s entryway…
“You missed one,” he was happy to point out.
“Yeah, yeah,” Seth grumbled, following Khonshu’s extended claw… crossing the empty space. The other two resumed their own searches…
But just as Seth began to reach down for the wayward phial, there was a clumsy flurry of sounds in the doorway. Khonshu and Weneg’s eyes darted back up to see a man with one leg in a makeshift splint standing with a flintlock pistol pointed right up Seth’s nose…
“Hold it; all of you,” Sergeant Oregano commanded. He rattled the flintlock in Seth’s face. “You: turn around. Hands up.”
Seth cautiously obliged. Everyone remained still and silent…
“An excellent ruse, gentlemen,” Oregano went on. “I badly misread your playbook. But your ‘lawyer’ friends made one big mistake, too. If they wanted to take me off the board, they should’ve shot to kill.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” Khonshu fired back. “We completed our mission. You’re too late to stop us.”
“He’s right,” Weneg explained. “Your Czarina’s cargo is lost, along with the trade she meant to make. You’ve already failed. Do you really think our lives will be enough to ransom yours? Rather than hinder us, you ought to come with us. Your life is forfeit if you go back…”
Oregano shook his head. “You let me worry about that. I’m no deserter. At least one of you is coming in with me. And when we get you to squeal on the rest of your meddlesome little club, then we’ll see what the Czarina thinks of me…”
Suddenly, Khonshu sprang for the starboard wall. Oregano reached out to trace his flight with the pistol, but this quickly proved his undoing. In a flash of simultaneous action, Seth caught Oregano by the wrist. BANG! The pistol went off ineffectually. And with one great heave, Seth threw the man over his shoulder. Oregano landed on the deck with a horrible crunch…
They all paused, as if stunned, waiting to see if the Sergeant would stir. But even after Seth nudged his prone form with his little foot, Oregano remained motionless on the ground…
“Well, great going there, Seth,” Khonshu scolded him at length. “I swear, of all the clumsy, ham-fisted…”
“Hey!” Seth protested. “You made the move, Hotshot! What did you want me to do, then? Let him blast you?”
“He missed! You made him miss! What possible threat did he pose after that? You didn’t have to snap him like a twig!”
The big, bulky Mesomela wore a genuine face of one unfairly accused. “Wh… I mean… it wasn’t exactly on purpose! I didn’t realize they were that fragile!”
“Oh, good… plead ignorance. Because I’d have to accept that coming from you, wouldn’t I?”
Seth’s wounded expression gradually began to shift into a look of disgust. “What are you so sore about, anyway? It’s not like these Jast-Madiirans are innocent. They’ve been arming the Enemy! That’s the whole reason we’re here! Warships… mercenaries… now magic. Maybe it’s about time one of them got what they have coming.”
Khonshu shook his head. “That wasn’t your call to make. We all accepted greater risk to avoid collateral damage. But every time the Stentor asks for a scalpel, you reach for the rusty hacksaw! You know how carefully he planned this. You know this isn’t what he wanted.”
By now, Seth looked mad enough to spit. He drew himself up and marched on smaller Khonshu, who watched unmoved. He leveled a big claw at his face…
“Listen, Fancy Son. Just because you’re the Stentor’s favorite doesn’t give you the right to speak for him. I did what I was trained to do, and I saved your precious little hackles. One might think you’d be grateful. But I guess the only thing you know how to be is a brat. Wonder I don’t put you on the floor, too.”
“Why don’t you try it and see who ends up on the floor?”
“Enough!” Weneg interjected. “You two are insufferable. No shame, no sense of reality… only raging egos. We have to get out of here before we’re found again!”
Seth and Khonshu returned their stern glances, each daring the other to be the first to step down. Until finally, Seth clicked his jowls. “Yeah… I guess we do.”
Khonshu grinned, gesturing with a slight bow to the doorway. Seth mangled a grumble between his grinding fangs, but followed Weneg’s lead. Cautiously, they all issued out. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hall that Khonshu remembered something urgently…
“Wait!”
Weneg and Seth exchanged a look. “What is it now?” Seth asked.
“The last phial! The one you went for when you were jumped! We never took care of it. I…” Khonshu had another thought, just then… one he couldn’t reconcile. “I don’t even remember seeing it on my way out…”
“You mean, this phial?” a muffled voice asked from within the hold. Khonshu, Weneg and Seth all slowly peered back the way they’d come, watching a broken Sergeant Oregano roll himself back over, propping up on one arm to face them. In his other hand, he held the phial, mockingly sloshing it around. They all froze. The cork had been pulled…
“You counted me out a bit too soon again,” Oregano quipped, his breathing labored. “It is too late to stop you. And it’s clear I’m not long for this world. But at least I’ll go out knowing this all blew up in your face…” With a hitch, he forced the elixir down his gullet in great draughts…
Khonshu had to catch himself mid-leap. There was no stopping the sergeant this time. He doubled back, waving his comrades on…
“Run! Run!!”
They all took off full-speed through the corridor, with no time to sneak so much as a peak at the transformation in progress behind them. All they knew of Oregano’s fate was the brief flicker of orange-hot light just before they turned and charged up the stairs. Then, the searing wave of heat that overtook them on the climb…
And finally, just as Khonshu watched Seth and Weneg leap for the dock, there was the explosion…
Following the explosion of a military ship and the arrest of a suspect, the public defender Horus Templar is approached by members of his questionable past and asked to defend the suspect and ensure he’s acquitted. During the case, he conducts his own investigation with the help of his secretary and a private detective.
My first impression is that this is an unusual fantasy that doesn’t take itself seriously. I'd call it tongue-in-cheek world-building. Besides humans, the main sentient beings are animals (Jackals, for example, or Pelicans). Some aspects of the world are whimsical, like the fact that their vice isn’t smoking but blowing soap bubbles or there’s a character who’s a professional disapprover. These details give the book a lighthearted tone despite its subject matter, although they can veer towards absurd at times (like when the judge enters the courtroom accompanied by the sounds of a cymbal, drum and saxophone ensemble and calls the jury “dudes and dudettes”).
Horus Templar, our main character, is dedicated to doing the right thing, but as we progressively learn, he has a dark past. The gradual reveal of his backstory kept me engaged during reading. He isn’t the sole narrator. We follow several viewpoints and we see various stages of the investigation as well as the courtroom drama. I particularly liked the resolution, especially regarding the suspect's fate. It showed kindness and compassion and it was a welcome change from the cynical resolutions of other mysteries.
This is the fifth book in the series, but it can be read as a standalone, the same way a Poirot novel can. However, there are recurring characters and the world is the same as the previous novels, but there is zero exposition, which made me feel lost. I was thrust in an unusual world and introduced to a dozen side characters with no explanation as to who these people were. I don’t expect my hand to be held while reading fantasy, but a line here or there explaining the relationship between these people would’ve been helpful, even necessary.
I have a few more quibbles (inconsistent dialect in some dialogue, for example, and a rather excessive number of ellipses) but my main other one is that, besides Templar, there isn’t enough depth in characterization for my tastes. Plot firmly drives the story here.
I'd recommend this novel to fantasy lovers who are into courtroom mysteries and would appreciate creative and tongue-in-cheek world-building.