The Rithmatist

enormous white one that stood just down the road. Fitch, Harding, and the other officers hurried toward it.
    Joel wiped his brow with his free hand. The mansion had a large iron fence, much like the one at Armedius. Trees dotted the lawn, keeping most of the green shaded, and the front of the mansion sported stately white pillars. The lawn smelled freshly cut and was well-groomed.
    Police officers scuttled about the front lawn, and a contingent of them stood guarding the gate. Near them gathered a large number of men in expensive suits and top hats. As Harding, Joel, and Fitch walked up the green toward the mansion, a couple of officers rushed over.
    “I really need to institute the practice of saluting among police officers,” Harding muttered as the men approached. “Everybody just seems so dusting informal.”
    “Inspector,” one of the men said, falling into step beside them, “the area is secure. We’ve kept everyone out, though we cleaned away the bodies of the servants. We haven’t entered the boy’s room yet.”
    Harding nodded. “How many dead?”
    “Four, sir.”
    “Dusts! How many witnesses do we have?”
    “Sir,” the police officer said, “I’m sorry … but, well, we’re guessing those four men were the witnesses.”
    “Nobody saw anything?”
    The police officer shook his head. “Nor heard anything, sir. The knight-senator himself discovered the bodies.”
    Harding froze in place on the lawn. “He was here ?”
    The police officer nodded. “He spent the night sleeping in his chambers at the end of the hallway—only two rooms down from where the boy was taken.”
    Harding glanced at Fitch, and Joel saw the same question in both of their expressions. The perpetrator—whoever he is—could have killed the knight-senator with ease. Why, then, just take the son?
    “Let’s go,” Harding said. “Professor, I hope you’re not disturbed by the sight of a little blood.”
    Fitch paled. “Well, uh…”
    The three of them hustled up the marble steps to the front doors, which were made of a fine red wood. Just inside the white entryway, they found a tall man wearing a top hat, hands on a cane that rested tip-down on the floor in front of him. He wore a monocle on one eye and a scowl on his face.
    “Inspector Harding,” the man said.
    “Hello, Eventire,” Harding said.
    “And who is this?” Fitch asked.
    “I am Captain Eventire,” the man said. “I represent Sir Calloway’s security forces.” He fell into step beside Harding. “I should say that we are most displeased by these events.”
    “Well, how do you think I feel?” Harding snapped. “Bubbly and happy?”
    Eventire sniffed. “Your officers should have dealt with this issue long before now. The knight-senator is irritated, you might say, with your New Britannia police force for letting your problems spill over onto his estate and endanger his family.”
    “First of all,” Harding said, raising a finger, “I’m a federal inspector, not a member of the New Britannia Police. Secondly, I can’t very well bear the blame for this. If you will remember, Captain, I was here just last evening, trying to persuade the knight-senator that his son would be safer back at Armedius! That fool has nobody to blame but himself for ignoring my warnings.” Harding stopped, pointing directly at Eventire. “Finally, Captain, I should think that your security force should be the first ones to draw your lord’s ‘irritation.’ Where were all of you when his son was being kidnapped?”
    Eventire flushed. They stared at each other before Eventire finally looked away. Harding began moving again, walking up the steps to the second floor. Joel and Fitch followed, as did Eventire. “These are your Rithmatists, I assume?”
    Harding nodded.
    “Tell me, Inspector,” Eventire said, “why is it that the federal inspectors don’t employ a Rithmatist full time? One should think that if your organization were really as important and capable as everyone claims, you would be prepared for events like this.”
    “We’re not prepared,” Harding said, “because dusting Rithmatists don’t normally kill people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my men and I need to do some investigations. Look after your lord, Eventire, and stay out of my business.”
    Eventire stopped and waited behind, watching them go with obvious displeasure.
    “Private security forces,” Harding said once they were out of earshot. “No better than mercenaries. Can’t