Powers_of_Detection_-_Anne_Per.pdf

THE CONTRIBUTORS

MICHAEL ARMSTRONG . . . Author of the science fiction novels After the Zap, Agvig,

and The Hidden War

DONNA ANDREWS . . . Author of the Agatha Award–winning mysteries You’ve Got Murder

and its sequel, Click Here for Murder (both featuring artificial intelligence personality Turing

Hopper), as well as the multiple award–winning Meg Langslow mystery series

ANNE BISHOP . . . Award-winning author of the Black Jewels Trilogy and several other novels

of fantasy, as well as a four-story collection set in the Black Jewels world

JAY CASELBERG . . . Author of the science fiction novels Wyrmhole and Metal Sky, and

several short stories

MIKE DOOGAN . . . Winner of the Robert L. Fish Award from the Mystery Writers of America

for his first mystery, appearing in The Mysterious North

LAURA ANNE GILMAN . . . Author of more than twenty short stories, three media tie-in

novels, and Staying Dead, the first Retrievers novel, featuring Wren and Sergei.

SIMON R. GREEN . . . New York Times bestselling author of twenty-seven novels including the

Deathstalker series and the Nightside novels

CHARLAINE HARRIS . . . Author of the Sookie Stackhouse vampire series

ANNE PERRY . . . New York Times bestselling author of the Pitt and the Monk detective series,

a new series set during World War I, and two fantasy novels, Tathea and Come Armageddon

SHARON SHINN . . . Winner of the William C. Crawford Award for Outstanding New Fantasy

Writer for her first book, The Shape-Changer’s Wife, and the author of theSamaria novels

DANA STABENOW . . . Author of the Kate Shugak, Liam Campbell, and Star Svensdotter

series

JOHN STRALEY . . . Author of the Cecil Younger mystery series

INTRODUCTION

This anthology is all Laura Anne Gilman’s fault.

A while back Laura Anne forwarded me an e-mail from author Rosemary Edghill, who was

putting together a murder-in-a-fantasy-setting anthology. The e-mail came with a message from

Laura Anne, which read, “You should do this.”

That’s Laura Anne, always big with the subtle.

I’d never written fantasy. I don’t even read that much of it, because after Middle Earth what is

there? I like my speculative fiction hard, nuts-and-bolts, what happens next door. I want to go

back to the moon and on to the asteroid belt and Mars and the moons of Jupiter and from there to

Beta Centauri. Sword and sorcery is a little too woo-woo for literal-minded me.

But I confess, I’m afraid of Laura Anne, so I doodled around a bit, so I could say “See? I tried!”

and she wouldn’t hurt me.

And then these two characters showed up between the doodles. Both women. One wore a sword,

and the other carried a staff. They had magical powers, some of which appeared at puberty, some

of which were acquired. More doodling, and they rode into town, one of them even on a white

horse. A young woman was strangled, and by various magical means my duo discovered and

brought the murderer to justice.

By the time I stopped doodling I had forty-two pages, and to add insult to injury it was a sword-

and-sorcery tale.

It was also twenty pages too long for the anthology. Rosemary asked me to cut it to fit. I

refused. I guess I thought my prose was too deathless to be tampered with. Yeah, right.

So after all that, my story didn’t even make the anthology.

Fume. So, I thought, I’ll put together my own magic-and-mayhem anthology. (Can we spell

“hubris”?)

I decided to ask for murder in a fantasy or science fiction setting, to broaden the appeal to both

writers and readers. I went downstairs and looked at who was on my bookshelves. Hmm. Here

we have Sharon Shinn. Writes the sf Angels-on-Samaria series. Also wrote that most elegiac of

fantasy novels, The Shape Changer’s Wife. Over here is Charlaine Harris, who writes the Sookie

Stackhouse novels, the best vampire series in the bloodsucking genre. And here is Anne Perry,

who wrote me a short story for The Mysterious West. Could I go to that well a second time?

(hyoo’bris, n. excessive pride or self-confidence; arrogance.)

I asked them each to contribute a story, and displaying a touching belief in my ability to get this

anthology off the ground, they all did.Sharon has written a lovely little magical boarding school

murder, not at all à la Harry Potter, and which she said might evolve into something a bit longer

one day. Say a novel? Charlaine has written a story set in that same Sookie universe, and if there

was an award for first lines, her name would be on the short list. Anne takes us into the

courtroom for a trial by magic, where the verdict isn’t what one might expect, and neither is

anything else.

I remembered talking to Donna Andrews about writing speculative fiction, and she was also a

contributor to The Mysterious West, so I asked her for a story, too. She sent me a delightful tale of

a mage with a cold, an apprentice with a clue, and a villain with neither.

Then there are the writers who live inAlaska and whom I can personally browbeat into writing

for me, Michael Armstrong, John Straley, and Mike Doogan. Michael has written a modern take

on an old Aleut legend involving seagulls, and there must be some kind of bird thing going on

among the menfolk because John wrote a detective story from the first-person viewpoint of a

raven. Mike was the only one of my contributors to weigh in on the science fiction side of

murder, although I’m not sure it is murder in the end. You decide. Enjoy his character names

while you’re at it.

Laura Anne offered a story of her own, based on characters who inhabit a series she had just

sold to Harlequin Luna, and recommended I solicit stories from Anne Bishop, Simon R. Green,

and Jay Caselberg. Laura Anne’s story is a come-hither into a world next to but not quite of our

own, seen through the eyes of a cat burglar with, yes, special powers. Anne’s story is set in the

world of her Blood novels, where a vigilante wearing a jewel of power exacts deserved if harsh

justice upon a serial revenge killer. Simon has written a creepy little horror-ish noir story in

which Sam Spade would feel quite at home, if Sam Spade was dead. Jay brings back the ancient

Egyptian gods to modern-dayCairo , with a last line that will have you all diving under your

beds.

I heard Roger Ebert say once that the true test of a good film was how well it sucked you into its

world. Same goes for good writing. In this anthology you can smell the coffee on the streets

ofCairo , walk on the ceiling with starspawn, and negotiate with extreme care the social

intricacies of the world of the Blood. You can run from the raucous call of an Alaskan seagull,

and you’d better. You can chow down with an Alaskan raven, and you’d better not. You can

belly up to Sookie’s bar and order your blood at an appealing 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. You can

meet a gargoyle in a Savile Row suit, go mano a mano with piskies, and sneeze striped bats. You

can sweat out the verdict at a trial by magic, conjure a reflecting spell at the Norwitch Academy

of Magic and Sorcery, and, I hope, hear the song of the Sword in Daean.

Enjoy your visit to these different worlds, but watch your back.

It’s not safe in here.

Cold Spell

DONNA ANDREWS

“Murder by magic?” Master Radolphus exclaimed.

Gwynn wasn’t actually trying to eavesdrop on the headmaster. But how could she help

overhearing when his study door hung wide open?

Just then he looked up and saw her.

“You wait here,” he said to someone Gwynn couldn’t see. “I’ll talk to Master Justinian.”

What did a murder—even a magical murder—have to do with the Maestro, Gwynn wondered.

But she didn’t dare ask. Radolphus strode out of his study, beckoned for Gwynn to follow, and

set off in the direction of Justinian’s quarters at a half run, his voluminous black robes billowing

behind him. When they arrived outside the familiar carved wooden door, Radolphus stopped. He

fished a handkerchief out of his sleeve, pushed up his thick spectacles, and wiped his red and

sweating face.

Gwynn bent down to put her ear to the door.

“Is he out?” Radolphus said, panting slightly.

“Oh no, headmaster; the Maestro doesn’t feel well enough to go out,” Gwynn said softly. “I just

don’t want to wake him if he’s sleeping.”

Radolphus nodded approvingly and patted her head. Gwynn sighed. At twelve, she’d considered

it an incredible honor, being apprenticed toWestmarchCollege ’s most powerful mage. She still

wouldn’t trade with any of her fellow students, but after two years, she’d begun to wonder if she

owed her assignment to her superior magical talent or her reputation for working harder than any

of the other students. Justinian did create a lot more work than the other masters. And needed

more looking after than a first-year student.

Suddenly a loud “Achoo!” rang out inside.

“Oh, bother,” the Maestro exclaimed.

“He’s awake,” Gwynn said, pushing open the study door.

The tall diamond-paned windows, normally open wide even in January to let in sunlight,

breezes, and any interesting bugs that might be passing by, were closed. The heavy velvet

curtains were drawn tight, though a lot of light leaked through the places where the Maestro’s cat

had shredded them. A mysterious haze drifted through the room from a burning brazier just

inside the doorway. Though the healer had assured Gwynn that burning this particular assortment

of herbs would ease a stuffy nose, it didn’t seem to have had much effect, apart from evicting the

goblins who had made a nest under the dining table. To her surprise, Gwynn missed the goblins,

if only because they normally kept the place moderately tidy by devouring anything organic that

fell on the floor.

The Maestro’s great chair stood so close to the hearth that he was in serious danger of setting his

slippers on fire again, and he sat, his long frame wrapped in several blankets, frowning at a

selection of vials, jars, and flasks arranged on the table beside him. His hair, uncombed for

several days, stuck out in random directions, making him look far younger than his thirty years.

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