The Last Smile in Sunder City (The Fetch Phillips Archives #1) - Luke Arnold Page 0,3

the doorway with a knowing smile.

“Mr Phillips, do come in.”

The Principal’s office was tucked into the back corner of the building, untouched by the afternoon sunshine. A well-stocked bookcase and a dusty globe flanked his desk, which was cluttered with papers, used napkins and piles of dog-eared textbooks. There was a green lamp in the corner that lit up the room like it was doing us a favor.

Burbage was unkempt to the point where even I noticed. Brown slacks and a ruffled powder-blue shirt with no tie. His uncombed, shoulder-length hair began halfway down the back of his round head. He sat himself in a leather armchair on one side of the desk. I took the chair opposite and tried my best to sit up straight.

He began by cleaning his glasses. He took them off and placed them on the desk in front of him. Then, he removed a pristine white cloth from his shirt pocket. He plucked up the glasses once more, held them out to the light, and massaged the lenses softly in his fingertips. It was while he was rubbing away that I noticed his hands. I was supposed to notice them. That’s what the whole show-and-tell was about.

When he was satisfied that I’d taken in his little performance, he put his spectacles back on his nose, laid both palms down on the desk and rapped his fingers against the wood. Four on each hand. No thumbs.

“Are you familiar with ditarum?” he asked.

“Am I here to take a class?”

“I’m just making sure you don’t need one. I’ve been told that you have lived many lives, Mr Phillips. Experience beyond your years, apparently. I’d like to be sure your reputation is justly merited.”

I don’t like jumping through hoops but I was too desperate for the money that might be on the other side.

“Ditarum: the technique used by Wizards to control magic.”

“That’s correct.” He held up his right hand. “Using the four fingers to create specific, intricate patterns, we could open tiny portals from which pure magic would emerge. The masters of ditarum – and there was only a handful, mind you – were crowned as Lumrama. Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“No.” A disconcerting smile hung between his ears. “I would expect not. The Lumrama were Wizards who had achieved such a level of skill that they could use sorcery for any exercise. From attacks on the battlefield to the most menial tasks in everyday life. With just four fingers they could do anything they required. And to prove this—”

BANG. He slammed his hand down on the desk. He wanted me to flinch. I disappointed him.

“To prove this,” he repeated, “the Lumrama lopped off their thumbs. Thumbs are crude, primitive tools. By removing them, it was proof that we had ascended past the base level of existence and separated ourselves from our mortal cousins.”

The old man pointed his mutilated hands in my direction and wiggled his fingers, chuckling like it was some big joke.

“Well, weren’t we in for a surprise?”

Burbage leaned back in his chair and looked me over. I hoped we were finally getting down to business.

“So, you’re a Man for Hire?”

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t you just call yourself a detective?”

“I was worried that might make me sound intelligent.”

The Principal wrinkled his nose. He didn’t know if I was trying to be funny; even less if I’d succeeded.

“What’s your relationship with the police department?”

“We have connections but they’re as thin as I can make them. When they come knocking I have to answer but my clients’ protection and privacy come first. There are lines I can’t cross but I push them back as far as I can.”

“Good, good,” he muttered. “Not that there is anything illegal to worry about, but this is a delicate matter and the police department is a leaky bucket.”

“No arguments here.”

He smiled. He liked to smile.

“We have a missing staff member. Professor Rye. He teaches history and literature.”

Burbage slid a folder across the table. Inside was a three-page profile on Edmund Albert Rye: full-time employee, six-foot-five, three hundred years old…

“You let a Vampire teach children?”

“Mr Phillips, I’m not sure how much you know about the Blood Race, but they have come a long way from the horror stories of ancient history. Over two hundred years ago, they formed The League of Vampires, a union of the undead that vowed to protect, not prey off, the weaker beings of this world. Feeding was only permitted through willing blood donors or those condemned to death