Page 26 of Hawk & Sparrow

Gloria and I so enjoyed your company at lunch last week. As discussed, please find my improved offer of 10,000 gild for the proprietary rights to the Gladwell Machine. In the current market, I assure you this is a competitive offer. I hope to discuss this with you at length in the coming days, before the exhibition.

Regards,

Charles Belver

“I knew it.” Maximilian didn’t bother hiding the disgust in his voice. “I knew Belver was involved.”

Vesper carefully put the letter back where she’d found it before writing in her notebook. “Hold on, why would Charles Belver want to buy Mr. Gladwell’s machine?”

“I’m not sure,” said Maximilian, frowning. “But what’s odd to me is his offering price.”

“Too high?”

“Too low,” Maximilian corrected her. “Belver could afford to pay much more than ten thousand gild for something he really wanted.”

“Maybe he was hoping to get a deal. Do you think he wanted to stop Francis from going public?” Vesper asked. “If he owned the proprietary rights to the machine, he could bury it.”

Maximilian shrugged. “It’s certainly the kind of thing he’d do.” He gave Vesper a significant look. “Belver’s a sorcerer too, you know, and a skilled one. Maybe he felt the same way I did about giving the public access to Thaumaric incantations.”

Vesper drummed her fingers against the desk and tried to think.

Means. Opportunity. Motive.

If Maximilian was right, Charles Belver had the means to hurt Francis Gladwell using sorcery. His attendance at the exhibition gave him opportunity, and he’d certainly seemed unhappy with the inventor when she’d seen them together. If he’d wanted the Gladwell Machine and Francis had refused to sell the rights to him, that was a possible motive. But was it strong enough to justify murder?

“We could take that letter to the police,” Maximilian suggested. “Maybe that’ll be enough for them to take action.”

Vesper pursed her lips. “Look, you hired me as your private investigator because you said I had the skill and training you required, right? Well, my training tells me that you’re zeroing in on Belver too quickly. We’ve only just started this investigation. We can’t limit our scope of suspects too—”

Her words were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. She swiveled.

“Police!” said a voice she recognized. “We have a warrant to search the room. Any persons inside should make themselves known!”

Vesper turned to Maximilian in horror. “That’s the police chief!” she whispered.

Maximilian pointed to the door, murmured something, then made a gesture as though turning a knob. There was a soft click. “I’ve just jammed the lock,” he whispered. “It’ll buy us some time, but not much.”

Vesper’s hands flew to her head. Foolish. How could she have been so foolish? They should have been more careful. She looked from Maximilian to the door, then back again.

“There’s no way out.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice. “And there’s nowhere to hide. If we’re caught…”

Maximilian glanced toward the balcony. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

Vesper hesitated. The truth was, she didn’t trust Maximilian Kite—she barely knew him—but in this moment, she had no choice. Maximilian threw open the balcony’s doors and stepped out, then beckoned for her to join him on it. It was a tight squeeze. The sorcerer peered over the railing, as though assessing something, then turned to Vesper.

“Take my hand. We’re going to jump.”

“What?” She hadn’t heard him right. Surely, he hadn’t said what she thought he’d said. Maximilian looked over the railing a second time, then glanced back at her again.

“We don’t have much time.” He didn’t sound afraid, only determined. “Take my hand, and on the count of three, we’ll jump.”

“Mr. Kite, we’re on the sixteenth floor. You can’t—”

Maximilian rolled his eyes, then, without warning, wrapped an arm around her waist. Vesper barely had time to register what was happening before the sorcerer picked her up, swung his legs over the railing, then leapt.

TEN

SUNDAY, 6TH OF NOVEMBER—1:17 P.M.