Easy Money

Chapter 1

Easy money, I said out loud to my empty office as I sat back, put my feet up on my desk and counted my wad of banknotes. It didn't take long. There was enough to satisfy my needs, and my wants too, as long as I didn't want too much.

I folded the wad so the picture of Germanicus was on top, then stowed it in a pocket of my trousers, reflecting that while paper currency is a lot easier to carry than gold, it just doesn't have that solid feel of gold, or give that musical clink. I could understand why some old people were reluctant to accept it. It all spent the same, so it wasn't a big issue with me, but I think I preferred the convenience of paper money, even though detractors claimed it had no real value.

I linked my hands behind my head and admired the sign on my office window, reversed because I was inside, but I could read it just fine. Berk's Agency. Lost items located. Missing persons found. The paint on the third line, halfway down the third row of one-foot-square panes, was still wet.

The brightness of the early morning sunlight streaming through the window made my eyes water.

I blinked.

A beautiful woman flowed across the room toward my desk, her long blonde hair floating like a cloud around her face, the blue silk of her dress clinging to every sinuous curve from calf to shoulder. I couldn't help but admire the slender waist, the shapely hips, and the indent of her navel, not to mention the swelling breasts and the teasing hint of nipples. I resisted the urge to look at her legs again and went up instead to soft, brown eyes in a pretty face.

I swung my feet down to the floor and leaned forward to greet her with my friendliest smile plastered on the front of my face. Well hello there.

Is that any way to talk to your mother?

I shook my head once and blinked a couple more times, too flustered to talk for a few seconds. Vera Halvorsen, the woman standing in front of me, was still beautiful, but her blue dress was darker than the one in my vision and it wasn't silk, she was much older, her blonde hair showed some gray, and the matronly curves did not excite me, though I understand she has no difficulty sparking interest from other men much younger than her. Sorry, it was an overlapping vision; I saw a much younger woman.

She smirked. Still having problems controlling those visions of yours?

I just said, Yeah. They come to me about once a week, usually when I'm nice and relaxed. They seldom do me any good.

Perhaps you should have tried harder to stay in the Roman Institute Of Magic.

I sighed. That has been a frequent sore spot with her for years, ever since I didn't make the cut at the end of my second year. She got even more pissed at me when I joined the army right after that. What do you want me to find for you this time? Best to cut right to the chase and avoid the rehashed arguments.

Well, if you're not too busy, it's my necklace again, the one your father gave me.

I knew it well. I'll drop by sometime this morning, or this afternoon if my morning is too busy, and poke around to see what I can find.

I saw your new sign, she said, reaching for her handbag. So you're expanding your parameters. Do you need more business? I can give you some money.

No, I don't need your money, I said, stopping her before she could reach into the handbag. Last winter when I was between jobs, trying to figure out what do to with my life, I made the mistake of borrowing some money from her, so now she sometimes worries about me so much it can get embarrassing. I'm doing it because I want more excitement in my life.

Her eyebrows went up and she looked at me as if I was mentally deficient.

I smiled to let her know I was joking, but I really was at least half serious. Don't worry, I'll still have time for you. It's never taken me more than a few hours to find anything you ever lost before.

Yes, that's true, isn't it? She stood and headed for the door. I'll expect you for lunch then. Don't disappoint me.

I didn't tell her that I had no intention of being there at lunchtime because it doesn't pay to argue with my mother and I always avoid doing so whenever I can. As for not disappointing her, it was probably way too late for that.

She paused at the door, looking up at the portrait hanging on the wall to her right, then turned to me. Why do you have that hanging on your wall?

Because he was a great man. She was referring to a modern oil painting of Germanicus, the first leader to preside over the New Roman Republic, and still the most popular President ever. I've always admired Germanicus, who was responsible for establishing the climate of peace and prosperity that led to hundreds of years of scientific and social advancement for the betterment of every citizen of the Republic, as well as people in surrounding kingdoms and around the world. Now the accumulation of knowledge was growing at an ever-increasing rate, doubling in fewer decades each time.

My mother snorted. He was a politician. She never thought much of any politicians, and after my father died in the line of duty protecting one, her opinion of all of them dropped even lower.

I earned my right to vote with my military service and I exercised it, but I wasn't always happy with the result, as with our current president, but I couldn't let her bad mouth Germanicus. Can you imagine what the world would be like today if he had let that madman Tiberius be emperor?

Tiberius was not a madman. Germanicus was his adopted son, and everybody's favorite. He would have become Emperor in due time.

If he survived. The first in line doesn't always live through a long reign. He had one chance to restore the Republic and he took it. The condition of the Republic today says he did the right thing.

She had no response to that but I hadn't expected one. This was another old argument that she kept starting but never carried very far. Just far enough to get me worked up a bit.

Don't be late for lunch, she told me as she exited with a little smirk on her face.

Chapter 2

Just as I put my feet back up on my desk the street door opened, so I quickly put them back on the floor.

A slim, blonde woman, exuding glamour and sparkling with jewelry, entered and paused without closing the door. She looked like somebody who was used to being in charge, but it seemed to me that she left most of her self-assurance at the door. Her blue silk dress was a lighter color and had a lot more folds and pleats than the one in my vision, and it looked like it must have cost enough to feed a poor family for an entire year.

I stood to greet her. How can I help you?

She pushed absently at some stray hairs that had escaped from the tight coils atop her head and said, I'm not sure you can. She closed the door and removed her gloves, which matched the deep blue of her dress, then stood there and twisted them cruelly, the thin skin and prominent veins on her hands revealing her age more than her made-up face and dyed hair.

Have a seat and tell me your problem, I said, guiding her onto a padded chair.

I took my seat behind my desk and waited several moments while she fidgeted, casting brief, nervous glances at me, before I prompted, There is something you have lost?

She looked at me with wide, blue eyes.

Relax, I said. I'm here to help you, and I can assure complete confidentiality, so go ahead and tell me what it is you've lost.

My husband.

That was a new on on me, completely unexpected, and my surprise must have shown on my face. She leaned forward, touched my forearm lightly with a dry hand and said, You can help me, can't you?

Yes, of course. That is what my sign says. I have a one hundred percent success rate so far.

She smiled and nodded. Your service was recommended to me by a friend of mine. She thought you might be able to help, though she didn't know of any people you'd found, just missing jewelry and some documents.

That had been some easy money for me and it pretty much summed up the case history of my agency since I opened it nearly a month ago. I didn't mention that this was the first time anybody had come to me regarding a missing person, but I reasoned that it couldn't be that much harder than finding objects, and according to my new sign, I was ready. About your husband, let's start with his name.

Aldwin Nahasa.

Of Nahasa Furniture? The name was unusual enough to be memorable.

Yes. He was chairman until he turned over controlling interest and chairmanship to our oldest son, Cal, last fall. He's been retired ever since.

I grabbed a notebook from my desk, picked up a sharp lead pencil and started taking notes. How long has he been gone?

He's been gone nearly two months now, but he's only been missing a couple of weeks.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

She hastened to clarify. That's when I went to the police. They made some routine inquiries and found no evidence of foul play, and he had done nothing illegal, so they came to the conclusion that he wants to be missing and they aren't looking very hard.

They wouldn't have a reason to, if they believed there was no crime. What do you think happened to him?

She shrugged and the corners of her mouth drooped. I can't imagine. That's why I want to hire you.

I charge twenty talents an hour, or one hundred and twenty a day, plus expenses.

Isn't that rather expensive?

I shrugged. Depends how badly you want to find him. Of course I only charge you for the time I actually spend on your case.

Oh, do you have any other cases?

I thought about my mother's necklace. Nothing pressing.

How long will it take?

I really can't say. It's possible that I could find him in a couple of hours, but since his trail is so old it could take me a couple of days, or weeks, or months. There is a chance I might never find him, but you can end the investigation any time you want to. It's your call.

I let her think as long as she wanted, twisting at her gloves the whole time. After a while she reached into her handbag, withdrew a wad of paper currency, counted four hundred talents and held it out. Will this do for a start?

I hesitated. Could I find him? She hadn't given me much to go on and the trail was cold, but I had never failed before and business wasn't quite as lucrative as I had led my mother to believe, so I pushed aside my misgivings, reached out and took the money. Now I had enough to pay next month's rent already, with enough left over for food and a few luxuries. Thank you, Mrs. Nahasa.

Oh, do call me Carina. She flashed me a brilliant smile.

She was older than my mother but I smiled, nodded and said, Thank you, Carina. If I should need more I'll be sure to let you know. I verified the count, slipped the money into my pocket and wrote her a receipt. While she stowed it in her handbag I asked, When did you last see your husband?

He left our home on the morning of the first day of spring. His horoscope said it was an auspicious day for him. He told me he was going to the Hot Springs to take it easy and recover his health.

He had health problems?

Not really. He was just feeling his age, with all its aches and pains. He was even quite vigorous for a man of his age, but he frequently complained that he was getting too weak, and that his mind wasn't as sharp as it used to be.

I see. Then what?

I got weekly letters from him stating how beneficial the waters were for him and how much he was enjoying himself. In the last letter, which I got a month ago, he said he was staying for a few more weeks. Then a close friend of mine returned from a three week stay at the Hot Springs and when I asked her about my husband she informed me that she hadn't seen him there at all.

Maybe he was avoiding her.

The look she turned on me was the same one teachers had used when I just didn't grasp a concept. The police checked. He was never there.

Time to change the subject. Do you have the letter?

Yes, I brought it with me. Carina dug around in her handbag for several seconds, snorted in frustration and started again.

It's in the outside pocket, I told her. She froze in her search to look at me. I shrugged. You lost it, I found it. That's my talent. The letter was easy because it was so close and the possibilities were limited. Carina checked the outer pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. No envelope? I asked as I took it from her.

She shook her head. I tossed it in the trash when I opened the letter. Is that a problem?

I shook my head. It might have helped but it was gone now. I held the paper lightly between my fingertips, then stroked it a few times, opening myself to impressions. This is from your husband.

Of course it is.

I had made no such assumption myself, but I didn't chastise her for her loyalty. But he wrote it more than two months ago.

She sat up stiffly in her chair. That's impossible.

I smiled a bit. But true none the less.

How can you tell? You haven't even looked at it yet.

I smiled at her but I'm afraid it came out more smug than reassuring. I do have magic talent and I did study for two years at the Roman Institute of Magic to train and improve that talent. I passed all my courses, which makes me a Certified Magician, even if my grades weren't quite good enough to get me selected to be elevated to Wizard level.

While Carina digested that information I opened the letter and quickly read it through. It was all pretty vague and told me nothing more. Do you have the other letters your husband sent from the Hot Springs?

I left them at home. Should I have them sent to you?

No, I have to go there anyway. I need to start from a place where he spent a lot of time, then progress to the last place he was seen. Are you going home now?

No, I have some appointments this afternoon. Would you like to come over this evening?

I wondered what kind of appointments she had and how important they really were, but I just shook my head and said, I would rather start right away. Perhaps you could write a note to your servants so they will let me in and let me do what I need to do.

Certainly. I provided her with pen and paper and she wrote the note as I requested. She also provided her home address, Aldwin's business address, and the names and addresses of a few acquaintances. Only a few. Carina apparently knew very little about her husband's life outside his home.

I concluded the interview and ushered her to the door, following her outside. The morning air was still cool but the spring sun had already climbed over the roofs across the street and started spreading it's warmth. Carina got into an elegant coach drawn by a splendid team of white horses, which looked out of place on my narrow, seedy street. The driver cracked his whip and the horses, apparently without effort, pulled the coach away up the hill. I watched until it reached the end of the block and turned right onto Grand Avenue.

I wondered if my talent would work on a cold trail like this. And what if he was dead? Would my talent work at all or would I just have to make adjustments? This was shaping up to be my hardest case yet and it could test the limits of my talent, but it interested me and I was ready for the challenge.

I closed the door and was about to lock it when another blue dress with a blonde woman in it appeared right beside me. This blue dress was common and faded, and like the woman wearing it, the dress had been rather pretty years ago, but most of the prettiness was gone now, worn away by life's hardships. You are Berk? she asked, pointing to the sign in my window.

I got the feeling she had been waiting outside for Carina to leave. I nodded and opened the door for her. Please, step right in.

She backed in, without taking her eyes off me. As I edged in beside the door and closed it she said, The printer's wife told me you might be able to help me.

Perhaps. I ushered her to a seat and took my own behind my desk. What can I do for you?

It all poured out in a rush. It's my daughter, Belita, she didn't come home last night. The police, they say wait a few days, let her have her fun, she will come back, but no, my Belita is not like that. I have this bad feeling that something terrible has happened to her already. A very bad feeling. Please, please help me.

Every mother refuses to believe that their daughter could be bad, but this woman's sincerity and distress sounded genuine, and the way she talked about her bad feeling made me think she might have a touch of magic. Such links are common between parents and children. In any case, I reserved judgment until I had more information. I said, My services are expensive.

She thrust a banknote and some coins into my hand. I know it's not much but it's all I have. I'll pay more when I can. Please, will you help me?

One coin was a twenty-talent gold piece and a quick count of the rest gave me a total of just over twenty-eight talents. Not a lot. I hefted the gold coin in my hand, feeling the weight of it, but I resisted the urge to bounce it on my desk just to hear it.

I couldn't turn her away. It's enough to start, I told her, thinking that it didn't compare to the four hundred talents Carina had just given me, but I just started on a big case this morning so I don't know how much time I can spend on yours. I'll stop in at your place later today and try to pick up her trail from there.

Oh thank you, thank you.

You're welcome. I wrote down her name and address, Lucina Graccus, on Barber Street, and reassured her I would drop by sometime in the afternoon. I didn't remember ever meeting her before, but her last name and the address seemed familiar somehow. I stood up. I was about to leave when you showed up, so I'm in a bit of a hurry now.

Yes, of course.

I showed her to the door and went out with her. She thanked me three more times while I locked up. She set off uphill so I headed downhill, then across one block before I turned uphill, paralleling her course. It meant a bit of extra walking but I didn't want her effusive energy disrupting my aura and maybe interfering with my ability to work.

Chapter 3

Carina's home was about a mile inland, in a far ritzier part of town than I can afford, just past the outer edge of the Northeast Quadrant of the city, where trees covered more ground than the buildings and all the roads were paved, where increasing numbers of country villas were replacing the old farms, driving the farmers further out.

Crowded and disorganized as it is, I like the dynamics of Old City, which makes up most of the Northwest Quadrant, an unequal quadrangle that extends north from Old Harbor to Old City Wall Street, and includes everything crammed in between the Bay of Lions and Rome Street, the north-south, tree-lined and arcaded boulevard that splits the city of Agrippina from top to bottom.

Despite my efforts to make myself look respectable I still felt as out of place in Carina's neighborhood as her coach had looked in mine. Almost nobody else was on foot here, but I ignored the suspicious looks I attracted and just kept walking as though I belonged here, which I did, because of my business with Carina. Carina's estate was a full acre or more, surrounded by a stone wall containing lots of trees.

I showed Carina's note and a gatekeeper let me through and directed me to the front door of the house, a spacious, three-story structure twenty yards away, in the middle of an artificial landscape full of trees, shrubs, rocks and flowers.

My knock was answered immediately by a thin, black-clad man with sparse, gray hair. Yes?

Under a layer of polite inquisitiveness he packed that single syllable with a mountain of disdain for everything I had ever done or could possible hope to do, but I had survived drill sergeants in the army, and this guy didn't have the backing of the Roman Army behind him, so his effort had as much effect on me as rain on the ocean, and just to show him how devastated his opinion left me, I grinned broadly at him and said in an overloud voice, I'm here to investigate the disappearance of Aldwin Nahasa. I understand this was his residence?

The man stiffened and his chin lifted defiantly, which elevated his nose to a dangerous degree. I've already told you everything I have to say.

I shook my head and corrected him. You've told me nothing yet. I am not from the police. I pulled Carina's note out of my pocket and smiled as I extended it to him. This letter from your mistress instructs you and all the other servants to cooperate fully with me.

The butler scowled at me as he took the letter, and his scowl deepened while he read it, then he let out a loud sigh, handed the letter back and said, with stiff formality, What do you want to know?

I chuckled, which did nothing to make him like me more, which added to my amusement, but I got down to business. Obviously I want to know where Aldwin Nahasa is, but for now I will settle for anything you can tell me that will help me find him.

The butler shrugged. There's not much I can tell you. He was fine when he left here, so whatever happened to him happened at the Hot Springs. Of that he sounded very certain.

I nodded, as if I agreed with his conclusion. That seems pretty clear, doesn't it? I couldn't help it, I let a little smile slip out when I said, Now I need to examine Mr. Nahasa's bedroom.

I'm sure the mistress would object, he said, standing up past his full height to make her objection clear.

I was sure she would too, if she was here, but I really did need to visit his bedroom and I wouldn't give in to her either, though it was probably a good thing she wasn't here because she would be harder to convince. I said, This letter instructs you to let me do what I need to do. I need to see his bedroom.

I could tell he didn't want to let me, but he was duty-bound. He closed the door behind me, turned his back to me and said, Follow me.

I followed him down a broad, carpeted corridor, lined on both sides with large portraits. The first was a modern rendering of President Germanicus, who, over a thousand years ago, had stepped down as Emperor of Rome to be elected as the first president of the New Roman Republic.

On the opposite wall I recognized a younger Carina, and the next painting in line showed a middle-aged man striking a regal pose beside a large window that opened onto a sunlit garden. Clad in rich garments, with his thick, dark hair just starting to gray, he could have been called handsome except for a long, rather prominent nose.

The butler waiting impatiently by a varnished wooden door a short distance ahead, said Yes, that is the master, as he was painted more than twenty years ago.

I gave him a nod, then studied the features in the painting, fixing them in my mind. Knowing what Aldwin looked like would help quite a bit.

When I approached the butler he pushed the door open and stepped aside. I entered a lavishly appointed but fairly typical sleeping chamber, with thick, red velvet curtains on the windows, a canopied bed, closets and wardrobes with elaborately carved doors, a dressing table, a couple of other small tables and some chairs. This room contained more furniture than I had in my whole apartment and office combined.

I don't really know how my talent works, and the professors at R.I.M. couldn't fathom it either. It's not consistent, but I do know that it works most of the time. Once I establish some kind of connection with the missing object I sometimes just know where it is, or I get an image of the location, or, at the very least, a hint as to the direction it's in.

This was my first missing person case, but I didn't see how it could be much different than looking for an object, so first I had to establish a connection with the old man.

I went to the dressing table and, just as I'd hoped, a few gray hairs clung to a comb. Hair and other tissue maintains a connection to the person it comes from, so if I was lucky these hairs would lead me right to Aldwin but when I picked them I felt nothing. For all that I perceived from the hairs they might as well have been pieces of string.

So much for easy money. I sighed, but I wasn't stumped, I just had more work to do, and I found myself looking forward to the challenge. The next part could even be a bit of fun.

I went to the bed and stretched out on top of the covers. From his post just inside the door the butler managed to radiate severe disapproval without saying a word. I turned my head and managed to keep my little smile confined to the side of my mouth away from him.

A lot of my studies at the Roman Institute of Magic had been history, philosophy, ethics, and science, but there had been plenty of practical lessons teaching me to focus my natural talents to get the most from them. Emptying my mind of extraneous thoughts, I slowed my breathing for a minute or so while I focused my mind through the proper channels and reached out with mental fingers, feeling for any malignancies that might be lurking to take advantage of my increased vulnerability.

The room felt clean so I opened myself, going into a light trance, automatically tuning out the meaningless hum of the normal psychic residue present anywhere people lived. Some professors called the trance a state of higher consciousness, but when I was younger my father used to call it going into a daze. It's the same talent I had used on Aldwin's letter but with more concentration, better focus. I called it getting an impression.

Every person or object leaves an impression in time whenever or wherever it is. The more massive or prominent it is, or the longer it stays in one place, the deeper the impression