Janek drew breath for the question I knew was coming. Just then we heard someone running up the stairs. It was Riggs.

“Sir, come quick. They’ve found a body in the canal.”

I blew out my breath. Saved by the corpse.

The corpse in question was Nigel Nicabar.

The watchers had collected the bodies found in Nigel’s house, garden, and canal, and put them in the greenhouse located at the back of the garden. The necromancer’s talents weren’t with living things, so the greenhouse’s tables were pretty much empty—at least of plants. Dead goblins lay under sheets and tarps. I couldn’t help but feel that Nigel would have approved. What he wouldn’t have approved of was being included among them. Nigel wouldn’t have been caught dead surrounded by goblins, yet that’s exactly how and where he was. I don’t think he would have appreciated the irony.

Apparently the watch had run out of things to cover bodies with. From what I saw in that greenhouse, our fight with the temple guards was a lovers’ spat compared to what the goblins had done to each other after we left. Part of me wanted to run out of there screaming, but the other part couldn’t help but notice that while elves turn light gray after death, like living goblins; dead goblins turn pale, like living elves. Interesting. Also interesting was that all of the bodies wore Mal’Salin house badges on their armor, a detail I couldn’t see last night. That confirmed that I’d stepped in the middle of a bad case of sibling rivalry.

“They’re all Mal’Salin.” I tried to sound surprised. Act ignorant, get information. It’d worked for me before.

“Yep,” Janek said.

“I know the Mal’Salins aren’t exactly one big, happy family, but isn’t this a bit excessive?”

He ran his hand over his eyes. “Yep.”

The weariness evident in that one little word told me that something else had just been dumped on Janek’s already overflowing plate.

“Care to elaborate on that ‘yep’?” I asked.

“Rumor has it the king’s little brother is in town.”

Crap. Sometimes I hated it when I was right. So much for it being just the prince’s allies acting on his behalf. Looked like Prince Chigaru had decided to make a personal appearance. The goblins have a saying about their royal family: blood is thicker than water, and Mal’Salins aren’t shy about drowning each other in either.

“You think half of the dearly departed belong to the prince?” I asked.

“That’s my theory. Like I need an assassination attempt this week. Though if Prince Chigaru is in town to take down his big brother, at least he’ll probably do it in the Goblin District.” Janek flashed a grim smile. “Not my jurisdiction. Unfortunately their guards brought their feud across the canal into Nigel’s garden, which is my jurisdiction.”

When Sathrik Mal’Salin took the goblin throne after his mother’s death, one of the first things he did was clean house. That cleaning involved exiling anyone and everyone who could possibly pose a danger to his rule. His younger brother Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin was at the top of the list. The prince hadn’t been pleased to be swept out with the trash.

Janek pulled back the tarp covering the necromancer and we both blew out our breath at the stench. I looked over his shoulder at the corpse and was glad I hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. Nigel hadn’t been much to look at on his best days, and soaking in a canal hadn’t helped him any.

“That’s Nigel, all right,” I said, trying in vain to breathe through my mouth.

Janek put on a pair of healer’s examination gloves. He peeled back what remained of Nigel’s collar to look at the throat. “Who found him?” he asked Riggs.

“A silk merchant by the name of Eleazar Adlai,” the watcher replied. “Apparently Nigel bobbed to the surface about an hour ago.”

That earned Riggs a sharp look from his superior. “Why wasn’t I notified before now?”

Riggs tried not to grin and failed. “It took the merchant that long to recover from the sight of Nigel popping up next to his dock, sir. We just found out ourselves. Master Adlai had just arrived to open his shop and was tying off his boat. He was still screaming when we got there.” The grin grew. “I didn’t know a man could scream like that. He’s heavily sedated in his shop at the moment. I could question him later if you’d like.”

“Were there other witnesses?”

Riggs nodded. “And they all corroborate his story.”

“Then I think we can leave Master Adlai alone,” Janek said, still intent on the dead man’s throat. “Raine, what do you make of this?”

I bent to look where Janek indicated. “It looks like he was strangled, but the windpipe wasn’t crushed. But then it also looks like a severe burn.”

“Does that mean what I think it does?” Janek asked.

“If you’re thinking that Nigel was killed by another sorcerer, then yes, that’s probably what it means.”

Riggs spoke. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, how do you know that?”

“Some sorcerers can generate a shock internally, kind of like lightning, but not as strong,” I explained. “They can conduct that shock into an object, or a body, through touch. Given enough power behind it, it’s usually fatal.”

“So someone didn’t want him coming home last night,” Riggs said.

“Raine, do you think the goblins may have arranged to have a chat with Nigel, then used him to fuel a Gate when they were finished talking?” Janek asked.

“If he left at nine bells, that would have been enough time for almost anything—from anyone. There’s a long list of people who would like to see Nigel dead.” I had run into some of those on a shorter list last night, but this wasn’t the place to tell Janek.

Riggs cleared his throat uneasily. “A Gate? Are you saying that he was sacrificed? Wouldn’t they want a virgin or something? Or even a nice person?”

Janek laughed. I settled for a snort.

“That’s an old wives’ tale, Lieutenant,” Janek said. “Nice doesn’t matter, and I don’t think anyone could ever mistake Nigel here for an innocent.”

A rope had bound Nigel’s ankles together. There was evidence of a frayed knot at the end. “Whoever the culprit was, they wanted to hide their work for as long as possible,” I ventured. “This rope was probably attached to a weight of some sort. The killers wouldn’t have to look far to find something large enough to keep their work submerged. How long do you guess he has been underwater?”

“Not long,” Janek said. “The knucker bites and the sludge from the canals just make it look longer.”

I had seen the knucker bites on Nigel’s body, and had been doing my best to ignore them. Knuckers were smaller, distant relatives of the dragon family that thrive in Mermeia’s deeper canals. They’re scavengers, feeding on whatever meat they find. The city’s canals were teeming with them at one time. The city’s engineers had decreased the population, but had not eradicated it, much to the delight of the local criminals. Quentin once remarked that an assassin acquaintance told him that nothing disposed of a body like tossing it into a nest of knuckers.

Janek pulled the canvas back up over the necromancer’s body, and turned to me. “Let’s go where the air is more breathable. We need to talk.”