Fate's Edge

dull tear hanging from the hoop. The tear brightened, and Rodwell stared at his own reflection in a mirrored surface.
    “Kaldar Mar, agent of the Adrianglian Secret Service.” The tear sparked and vanished. “The Mirror is grateful for your assistance, Undersheriff. Thank you for securing the crime scene for me.”
     
    “I just want to know one thing.” Sheriff Kaminski kept his voice low. “Is the Hand involved in this?”
    Kaldar considered before making his answer. He needed their cooperation. It would make things easier, and he needed to build contacts in law enforcement. “Yes.”
    The sheriff chewed on it for a long breath.
    “How do you know?” Rodwell asked.
    Kaldar cycled through his options. Neither one of the men struck him as a social climber. They were good at what they did and were happy right where they were. If he came on with an imperious aristocratic air, they’d stonewall him. The buddy-buddy approach wouldn’t work, either—their town was on the line, and they were both too grim for jokes. A straight shooter, just-doing-my-job type was his best bet.
    Kaldar delayed another half a second, as if weighing the gravity of the information, and pointed at a fragment of a tentacle a few feet away.
    The two men looked in the direction of his fingers.
    “That’s a piece of a Hand operative, pieuvre class. Six to ten tentacles, amphibious, weighs in close to five hundred pounds. A nasty breed.” He clipped his words a bit, adding a touch of a military tone to his voice.
    “You’ve seen one before?” Rodwell asked. The hint of challenge in his voice was a shade lighter.
    Kaldar pretended to think for a moment and grasped the sleeve of his leather jacket. The clasps on his wrist snapped open, and he pulled the sleeve down, revealing his forearm. Four quarter-sized round scars dotted his forearm in a ragged bracelet, the reminder of a tentacle wrapping around his wrist. The suckers had burned into his skin, and not even the best magic the Mirror had at its disposal had been able to remove the scars. He let them see it and pulled the sleeve closed. “Yes. I’ve seen one.”
    “Did it hurt?” Rodwell asked.
    “I don’t remember,” Kaldar answered honestly. “I was busy at the time.” He heard people say that you couldn’t kill a pieuvre operative with a knife. You could. You just had to have the proper motivation.
    The sheriff stared at the wreckage. “What do they want here?”
    Kaldar gave him a flat look and clamped his mouth shut. Giving up the information too easily wouldn’t do. Kaminski didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. However, if Kaldar risked his neck and broke the rules to put his fears to rest, well, it would be a different story. But no straight shooter would break the rules without serious doubts.
    A wise man far away in a different world once said, “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.” Kaminski was worried about his town. It was written all over his face. That worry was the lever. Apply the proper amount of force, and Kaldar could shift the sheriff to his side.
    The silence won.
    “Look, Master Mar, I know you’re breaking regulations,” Kaminski said. “I just need to know if my people are safe.”
    Kaldar rocked back on his heels, looked at the sky, and sighed. “I don’t normally do this.”
    Kaminski and Rodwell took a step closer, almost in unison. “It won’t go anywhere,” the sheriff promised. “You have my word.”
    Kaldar took another breath. “Eight hours ago, the West Egyptian authorities discovered that a group of thieves broke into the Pyramid of Ptah. The perpetrators stole a magic device of great strategic value. It was a theft for hire, and the Dukedom of Louisiana’s Hand was the intended recipient of the device. In the early-morning hours, the thieves crossed the border and arrived here, to meet the Hand’s operatives. The Hand is infamous for double-crossing the hired help, so the thieves picked a public, well-known location for their own safety. As you can see, their fears were justified.”
    “So Adriana was never the intended target?” Kaminski asked.
    “No, Sheriff. It was simply the closest public place. Your people are safe.”
    “Thank you,” Kaminski said simply.
    “If the city was never the target, why is the Mirror involved?” Rodwell frowned.
    “Because the attempted exchange took place on our soil, West Egypt requires our assistance in recovering