Free The Seer by Jordan Reece Page B

this time.
    Assuming that it was a police carriage, he was baffled when he went out to the driveway. This was someone’s personal carriage, an older model that was gray. It was well tended yet humble, and the windows were plain glass and showed no one inside. The autohorse was huge and dusty black. It turned its head to look at Jesco and a recording began to play. “Mr. Jesco Currane, please report to Saliwan Bank.” That was on the same street as the police station.
    Gavon hurried out with a sack. “Take your lunch along with you now.” He pressed it into Jesco’s arms like an indulgent mother. “There are cookies.”
    Once the wheelchair was within the carriage, Jesco took a seat and let Gavon close the door. The man’s hand had barely withdrawn an inch when the carriage jerked into motion. This autohorse was programmed to waste no time.
    There were no curtains over the windows, and the fabric of the two seats was worn. Jesco looked out to the trotting backside of the giant autohorse. For such a simple carriage, such a big horse was unnecessary. This one looked like it had the strength to pull two carriages. The police station had many carriages and autohorses, all of them clearly identified except for those used in undercover work. Jesco knew those. This was either a new purchase by the precinct, or something else was going on here.
    Several blocks passed away, the autohorse swishing its tail impatiently when it had to slow for traffic. Jesco became aware of how odd this carriage was on the inside. The ceiling was a little lower than it appeared to be from the outside, and it was covered in a glossy wooden panel. As well were there wooden panels at the four corners, extending from the ceiling down to the seats, and passing below them. The frames around the windows were thick and wide, giving Jesco the impression that he was traveling within two carriages: a shabby one that hadn’t been new since he was a boy, and one refurnished by a clumsy decorator who missed the threadbare fabric to reframe the windows and attach a new panel above. Jesco was heedful when the carriage rocked not to touch any part of it with the bare skin of his face. There were memories here to explain this oddness, but he needed his ability for other things.
    He was full of curiosity by the time the autohorse turned onto the road that would take them to the bank. Never before had the police sent for him without an escort. With the Shy Sprinkler’s latest prank, perchance, no one could be spared. He glanced out to the station as he rolled past. Nothing looked amiss, nor was there anything amiss at the bank coming up. The carriage slowed and stopped, and for several moments, he sat there in confusion.
    Then the door opened, and Laeric Scoth climbed in. “Third destination!” he shouted to the autohorse, and then he slammed the door and took the seat across from Jesco. The carriage lurched into movement and merged with traffic, bearing them away from the bank.
    “Good day,” Jesco said.
    “Good day,” Scoth said grumpily. He tucked a slim pocketbook into his trench coat and withdrew his pad of notes. Silence stretched out between them while he read.
    “Care to tell me why I’m here?” Jesco asked.
    Scoth looked up. He had beautiful brown eyes, or he would if there were ever any lightness in them. “Didn’t the horse tell you?”
    “The horse just said we were taking a trip to the bank.”
    The detective sighed. “Damn thing. The recorder keeps tripping at the same point and cutting off the message.”
    “Be that as it may, I still have no idea where we’re going, or why I came to the bank instead of the station.”
    “I knew the line would take ruddy forever, and it did.” Scoth’s eyes fell away and pages flipped. “We identified the victim. Hasten Jibb, twenty-seven, man from Chussup.”
    “Where is that?”
    “Five miles, six, just outside the western edge of the county. He worked as a courier for a company called Ragano &