11:22 AM, Friday, November 8
The University of Langstaff, while far from being considered the most prestigious, was one of the “ancient universities” of England. It had a long and storied history that could be felt all around as one walked its cold, echoing halls. I did not take for granted how fortunate I was to attend, even if it hadn’t been my first choice. It was home to 17 colleges, including Eleanor Muldrow College where I studied as a philosophy major.
Eleanor Muldrow College was an old building, like a cathedral and a manor house rolled into a single, cohesive structure. Inside, the convenience of modern architecture blended seamlessly with what had been there for over five hundred years. When not in class, in my flat, or running errands for Miss Kingstone, much of my time was spent in the library of this building. Besides a handful of outings, I had never experienced the full scope of the outside world. What little media was available in my village was decades out of date. The small library was mainly local records and books by our forerunners, with a smattering of popular literature, newspapers, and magazines. My knowledge of the outside world was limited to these small windows, and I knew I was unprepared for it when I got my acceptance letter. I took everything I had learned through secondary sources and used it to supplement the observations I made of the world around me. Having narrowly avoided being hit by a car on my very first day in the city, I was able to surmise that crossing the street was actually quite safe as long as one followed certain conventions such as using a “crosswalk” and paying attention to the color of the lights on poles that stood on either sidewalk. Now it was second nature, but it was one of those things you didn’t see in movies, as it was so mundane that to depict it would be redundant to one’s daily life. This was just one of the many things I learned was normal when one didn’t live in a village cut off from the modern world.
I was all too aware of my status as an outsider, even among outsiders. While not everyone at Eleanor Muldrow was from London, or even the United Kingdom, most had a certain air about them that suggested high society origins. While by no means overly proud, I had been brought up with the understanding that in my little world, my family was a fairly old and distinguished one. However, that meant very little when placed into the greater context of society at large. I was a country boy from a backwater village that no one had ever heard of, and the manners and customs of my classmates were as strange to me as mine were to them.
In some ways, I reveled in the feeling of being surrounded by everything I didn’t know. Akin to jumping into the deepest part of the pond to learn how to swim, I was flooded by new sensations and experiences that frightened and enticed me. However, I soon learned that I needed a guide, lest I be swept up in the current of the unfamiliar and drowned in the sea of the alien.
That guide came in the form of Susan Kerr, one of the college librarians and also a student. She was in her second year of attendance, and so understood the subtleties of university living far better than I did. Not an outsider to such an extreme level as myself, but still fairly peripheral to the social circles that dominated the non-academic areas, and didn’t make me feel as if I was missing some vital piece of a puzzle whenever I talked to her. Whether my ignorance was endearing or amusing to her, I’m not sure. Hopefully, she didn’t find me annoying.
After my errand for Miss Kingstone, and the disappointing absence of Mahnoor, I had hoped I could at least speak to Susan. Our connection wasn’t particularly deep, but I found her to be a reassuring presence. Today, however, it seemed I was out of luck on that front as well. At the checkout desk was Terry Craft, one of the other student librarians whom I didn’t see quite as often. While not altogether unfamiliar with him, he and I had never been able to get a proper conversation going, and I got the impression that he didn’t particularly enjoy speaking anyway.
I had a purpose in the library besides conversation, though. As I preferred the simplicity of a flip phone to the smartphones most people carried around, and my barely-touched computer was used for assignments only, my only reliable source of news was the daily paper. I had grown accustomed to it back in my village, where the internet was only accessible from the library and the town hall, and was so unreliable that almost no one bothered with it. I knew which papers were the most trustworthy, and which ones to avoid whenever possible. The college library carried most of the internationally recognized papers, some of the smaller local ones which could be hit or miss in terms of accuracy versus sensationalism, and the university paper which mainly covered stories related to the school.
One story in particular had become a matter of interest across papers small and large, and had even garnered some international attention. When I had first arrived in Langstaff, the case had already been going on for about four months, but my excitement and anxiety to prepare for university caused me to only be tangentially aware of the full scope.
Langstaff was in the midst of a serial abduction case, dubbed by the press as the “New Moon Abductions.” As implied, they were abductions that took place on nights of the new moon. It wasn’t the most imaginative moniker, but it didn’t need to be. It said everything it needed to in as few words as possible.
Presently, there was very little evidence that the abductions were even connected to each other. The victims crossed every conceivable demographic, from race to sex to age, and the police hadn’t publicly stated any interpersonal relations between any of them. The only thing any of them had in common was that they lived alone, and a number of them had been abducted from their homes. Even more oddly, many outlets were reporting that each case was a “locked room mystery,” in that all obvious entry points were locked from the inside. Nevertheless, each home showed signs of violent struggle.
It was thanks to these incidents that any of the abductions that had taken place out in the open were linked to the case. Some of the victims had been seemingly snatched up on the street, reported to have left work or a social gathering, only to never make it home.
There had been 17 disappearances publicly linked to the case, with no reported leads. A hum of paranoia pervaded the town, reaching peak intensity in places like Eleanor Muldrow, where many of the students who didn’t live on campus lived alone. No students had gone missing yet, but considering the sheer diversity of victims, it was clear that no one could be confidently excluded as a potential target.
Letters and emails had been sent by the administration with safety guidelines and the obligatory call to reach out to the police with any relevant information.
I took a copy of the Langstaff Examiner and the latest edition of the Eleanor Muldrow Student from the rack and placed them on the checkout desk in front of Craft.
He didn’t immediately seem to notice me. He was looking intently at something in his lap, and from the movement of his hands, I could tell he was playing a game on his phone.
“Excuse me, I’d like to get these.”
He raised his head quickly, fumbling to put away his phone. He mumbled an apology and typed something into the computer terminal in front of him.
“Thanks.” I took a chance and followed up with, “Um, how’ve you been?”
“Oh, been alright. Sorry, I didn’t expect to be doing this today, but Kerr couldn’t make it, so she asked me to. Was gonna try getting some homework done, but…”
I had no idea the two were on speaking terms, even professionally. “Is she all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, she said she hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep and was feeling under the weather. Personally, I think she’s pretty shaken up about what’s been happening around here.”
“The abductions?”
“Think about it. There’s, what, 30,000 people in Langstaff? I read the papers too, you know, and from what I’ve seen, all the victims have been completely random. This ain’t one of those cases where you need to fit a certain profile to be targeted. Nah, you can be anyone and still get snatched. Reckon that’s making everyone a little jumpy.”
“How about you? I mean, if you have just as much of a chance as anyone of being a victim, are you nervous?”
“Me? I’ll just give ‘em the old one-two and make ‘em wish they’d never even heard of Terry Craft!” A sly grin crossed his face. “…Is what I’d say if I was a complete idiot. Of course I’m nervous, but at least I have a roommate. Reckon campus is the safest place to be right now.”
He slid the papers across the desk. We’d just had our longest exchange yet, and just like that it was over. I paid, shoving one of the papers in my bag and rolling the other under my arm. It was a clear day, and the temperature was pleasant enough that I decided to sit on a bench in the courtyard and read the papers there. Afternoon classes meant I had a whole hour to myself, and I intended to use it in a way that would be beneficial to more than just myself.
I knew that reading the paper was far from the most reliable source of information I had, but since Miss Kingstone had refused to say anything, and Mahnoor was off attending other business, it was the best I could do at the moment. As it had been over a month since the last series of abductions, the case wasn’t front page news, and it took some searching to find what I was looking for in the Examiner. There were no new leads, which was to be expected, but since there had been so many disappearances linked to the case, a hazy pattern was beginning to emerge around the neighborhood of Stilton, where six of the victims either lived or were believed to be passing through when they disappeared. It was a section of Langstaff fairly near where Mahnoor lived, and was widely considered the most run-down part of the city. The article made passing reference to failed attempts at urban renewal within the past few decades, and made sure to mention the high rates of crime compared to the rest of the city.
“Whatcha reading?”
A voice spoke in my ear.
Were it anyone else, I may have reacted a little more poorly, but I knew Mahnoor’s voice well at this point, and was used to her tendency to appear without warning.
I answered without turning. “I thought you were busy.”
“I was, but it’s taken care of, now. Wanted to see you before punching out for the day.”
“I’m honored.”
“Don’t be so sardonic, just be happy I’m taking time out of my busy schedule to visit you.”
“Sure. And to answer your question, I’m reading about the abductions case.”
“I could’ve told you everything in that paper, and it wouldn’t have cost you a cent.”
“At least I know where the paper will be at any given moment.”
“Ah, but they don’t have the ‘inside scoop’ like I do. I’m well worth the wait.”
“Okay, what have you got?”
“I found a witness.”
“Who?”
“David Gallman, 46, single, resident of 59 Gibson St. He saw the abduction of Burt Yang but didn’t report it to the authorities until last night.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“He was in no condition to talk when I found him.”
“Murdered?”
“Not sure if killing him was the intention. Let’s just say there are much more efficient ways to end someone’s life.”
“Where was he?”
“He was supposed to be at home, but I tracked him to an abandoned factory in Stilton. Found him tied to a chair with most of the bones in his body crushed.”
“That doesn’t sound like the usual M.O.”
“Which makes me think it’s not our abductor.”
“You think it’s related, though?”
“Of course, but the police will have trouble connecting what looks for all the world like a gang hit with the New Moon Abductions, especially since it’s not even a new moon right now.”
“Do you know what he saw?”
“No. Inspector Matsumoto is very inconsistent with the information he chooses to share with me.”
“Damn… Any theories?”
“Some, but I’m more interested in what you think of all this.”
“How can I have any theories if I didn’t see the crime scene?”
“You have that intuition.”
“Well, based on all the facts, I think our abductor has an accomplice. Maybe more than one. You said this looked like a gang hit, right? I think there are two most likely options: either this was set up to look like a gang hit, or it actually was a gang hit.”
“I like how you think. The second option crossed my mind as well, but that opens a couple more possibilities. Either the victim had a disagreement with one of the gangs and his death was unrelated to the abductions, or the abductor has accomplices in one of the gangs operating in Langstaff.”
“Which lead do we follow?”
“The police investigation will probably uncover any gang connections—whether or not our victim had any or if it was just bad luck.”
It was unfortunate that most of our conversations had been about such unpleasant subjects. Considering how we met, it wasn’t entirely surprising. Our friendship was built on a foundation of unpleasantness, held together by a shared sense of humor, and a mutual fascination with that which didn’t make sense. Perhaps it wasn’t even possible for us to have a normal conversation.
I tried to imagine what we must look like together—she in her suit and me in my second-hand belted coat and faded jeans. We were a strange pair, that was for certain. Still, no one cast so much of a glance in our direction. There was an unlikely “safety in numbers,” in that when you were in a public setting, you could talk about almost anything without serious consequence, provided any third parties were transient. Park benches were one of the best places to have a private conversation.
“You know, I can’t believe I’ve never asked this before, but why are you investigating the abductions in the first place? You work for the Kingstones, right? It doesn’t seem like this would interest them.”
“Funny you’d presume to know what interests the Kingstones.”
“I’m not presuming anything, I’m just stating an observation.”
“I can tell you this much: Someone very powerful is behind this, and they’re using techniques far beyond anything devised by magistics.”
“So, it’s for innovation?”
“I can’t deny I’m a little curious, myself, but my job is to get someone dangerous off the streets. Someone the police don’t stand a chance against.”
“And what’s my job in all this?”
“You’re my moral support!”
“I could be doing more.”
“I already vouched for you, just be patient. Working for Evette isn’t that bad, is it?”
“I don’t know. Is she as rude to everyone else as she is to me?”
“She doesn’t make friends easily.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s so rude.”
“You just need to get to know her a little better. Show her you’re for real and her family will take you seriously.”
“You make it sound like I’m supposed to be courting her.”
Mahnoor snorted out an ungraceful, closed-mouth laugh. While it was supposed to be a joke, I didn’t think it was that funny.
“You can do something that hasn’t been magistically proven. If you can’t take care of their heiress, how do you expect them to trust you with some unknown form of magic?”
“They could ask me to demonstrate.”
“Oh, Evette will be getting to that soon. She’s very interested in what you can do.”
“Evette? Don’t the Kingstones have any magicists who’d want to look at me?”
“Evette is their best magicist. She just moves at her own pace. She’ll get to you when she’s ready.”
“It’s been three weeks already.”
“She’s observing you too. She’s waiting to see if you’re going to try to kill her.”
“By letting me into her home? If she thinks I might try to kill her, that doesn’t seem very smart.”
“She doesn’t trust you, but she trusts me. And when I’m not there, she has Mr. Grey and Joanne to protect her. You know, she’s probably been taking readings on you every time you step into her apartment. Believe it or not, I think she’s having fun with you.”
“So, I’m an experiment?”
“Just give it more time. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
I folded the paper—having got much less use out of it than I’d anticipated—and stood, turning to face Mahnoor eye-to-eye. She was a little shorter than I was, but her presence felt much larger than mine. Her existence modulated in a fast-paced rhythm, underlying a symphony of tones that echoed with history, both lived and inherited. It contrasted the steady, solid tone that accompanied every moment of my own life.
“What will you do next?”
“I’m waiting for Inspector Matsumoto to let me know if they determined any gang connections. Then I’ll probably move in and bust some heads.”
“The direct approach? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Our perpetrator already has me targeted, so there’s no point in being too cautious.”
“If you need any help—”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Just focus on school, okay? Don’t end up like me.”
Tipping her hat, Mahnoor turned and started to walk across the courtyard. I had never once heard her say “goodbye.”
i·de·a·mat·ter 