The Magician's Sons

Chapter 29

The consequences weren't over. After suffering the fiery penalty of their error, the wayward youths faced another trouble. The next day, Mr. Jones called an investigator to discover how far the youths' mischief had gone and what their real intent had been when they had snuck down to that basement. Had it been a plot to steal, or perhaps a wicked scheme of arson?

To the investigator's studying eyes, there was very little to catch his interest. An empty bottle of brandy, a basin of burnt currants and evaporated alcohol, a patch of scorched carpet where blare's body had fallen, and what little remained of his toasted jacket.

"It seems there's nothing here beyond the account which the young villains' have already given of their conduct," Inspector Milford said to the manager. "Fire is a dangerous thing to play with. The foolhardy rogues should have known that! Such wild behavior at the expense of private property and against all regulations is not to be tolerated! There will be fines and penalties for this, make no doubt, sir."

Mr. Jones shook his head. "Penalties indeed," he sighed. "The miserable fellow upstairs is already suffering the penalty of his ill choices."

"Ah yes! I must hear the personal testimony of all the offenders and witnesses. Since the unfortunate lad is nearby, I may as well see young Jameson first. If the doctor permits, that is."

Mr. Jones began leading the way to Blair's chamber, shaking his head as he went and saying, "Judging by the state he was in last night, I wouldn't dare to hope on that score."

To both of their surprise, the doctor received them rather gladly. "You are here to listen to the boy's side of the story?" he guessed at sight of the officer. "Thank goodness! The poor lad has hardly rested all night begging that I should send for a constable. He was more or less incoherent, wouldn't give me a real answer as to why he wanted one, but he's a little better now. Perhaps if he feels that you've heard him out, he will feel consoled."

"Listening is precisely why I'm here, sir. Show me in," the inspector responded with a self-important air.

He and Mr. Jones stepped into the room, and the inspector regarded the suffering youth with little compassion. To him, Blair was no more than a wretched offender, and his wounds were no more than he deserved for his mischief.

Blair lay perfectly still in bed with his eyes shut, but the sharp rising and falling of his chest proved that he wasn't asleep or at ease. He was a disturbing sight. The fire had singed his hair and eyebrows, and his face was bandaged in places where the flames had formed deep sores and blisters.

"Doctor," he murmured, tired but panicked, "are you there?"

"Yes, yes, lad. I am here," the man replied. "And there is another gentleman here to see you as well."

The patient gave a frightened start, and his eyes opened suddenly. "Who?" he faltered. "Why?"

"Calm yourself, lad. You asked all night for a constable. Do you remember that? Well, one has finally arrived to hear your story. Don't be alarmed, he only needs your own truthful account. You may tell him everything, and then you can feel at ease about the matter."

The anxiety in Blair's eyes was a look of eagerness rather than fear. He looked up at Inspector Milford as the officer came near and sat down at his bedside. Mr. Jones stayed by the door, watching the scene with curiosity.

"Your comrades tell me you were the instigator of that business last night. Is that true?" the inspector asked.

"Yes," Blair answered, his voice strained and breathless with terror. "Yes, it's true. But it is not what it seems!"