Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf (8 page)

Gaspar came back with my suit and I asked if I could remove the page.

‘Of course, dear boy! As long as you don’t get a copy of the dress run up. It is very, very much not your colour, do take my word on this.’

I had spent rather longer than I had intended at the archive and stables, and I’d needed to visit the florist’s after Gaspar’s, so when I finally did head on out to meet Thelen I was cutting it fine. I had on the suit Gaspar had sorted out for me: a very dark charcoal double-breasted jacket, with a glisten like anthracite; low fitting with a plain back and lapels no wider than a moneylender’s smile. On the trousers, instead of satin trim (‘Tacky, Nicely, tacky!’) he had worked in just a few threads of dwarf silver. For, as he said, ‘Not enough looks too cheap and too much appears vulgar.’ Mind you, that amount wouldn’t have sewn the hem on the dress that Mrs Hardwood wore.

I was showered and freshly shaved, my plait tied dwarf fashion in the family knots. I had on a suit made by a master and a scent that cost more per peck than I normally made in a week. Even the Helmington purred along in fine voice. I was feeling good, too, and what’s wrong with feeling good once in a while? As long as it’s not habit forming. So what if you’ve got a murder charge hanging over your head, Nicely, and still no closer to solving your case. For tonight at least I felt invincible!

The ball was being held at Citadel Hall, Top of the Hill; as far as you can go before banging into some sky. The cause: placating the poor and homeless, or ‘outer ring redevelopment’ as it is better known. The summer’s unrest had precipitated a bout of serious purse waving from moneyed folk in the direction of the needy – or maybe just call me Detective Disenchanted.

The ball also provided an ideal opportunity for all the prospective Councillors to fall over themselves vying in the concerned stakes, prior to the forthcoming elections. All the White and Wise were indeed there, many decked out in colours displaying their political allegiance. I spotted the familiar white, gold and green of the established parties and, more common than I would have thought, the sky-blue of the Citadel Alliance Party. CAP were gaining credibility, given that when they started off they didn’t even seem politically potty trained. I’d bet a sizeable sum that it was their ‘get-tough’ response to all the recent troubles that was resulting in their rise in popularity. It was interesting how, if this was an ‘alliance’, it seemed to manage to exclude about ninety per cent of the Citadel’s population. I wondered if they’d ever bothered looking up the meaning of the term.

Not that I was about to let that spoil my fun. Steward parking was the order of the evening. The boy’s eyes did not exactly light up when he saw the Helmington, so I slipped him a half-crown and told him to leave the wagon near the gateway. I realised that everyone else was going to be doing the same thing, but he looked a good lad and he had an honest haircut.

The Hall is not the most impressive of the Citadel’s buildings. It does not have the most impressive facade or the highest ceilings or even the biggest dome. It does not have stained glass or brilliant chandeliers. What it does have is age. It seems incontrovertible that the Hall was one of the first, if not
the
first, building constructed after the founding of the Citadel. And you can feel its age, too. I have been in some of the deepest, darkest places in the world and some of them did not feel half as old as this simple building that has been at the centre of so many of the most crucial events in the history of Widergard.

I fair leapt up the steps leading to the Hall and met with Thelen in the bar as arranged.

How do they do it?

Elves, I mean. It was only white silk, of that I am pretty sure, and there are only so many ways of wrapping a length of white silk. Thelen, though, stole the breath deep from the bottom of your lungs, leaving you gasping for something a little more than air, probably something that has not been found in Widergard for an age, and then only in the depths of an enchanted forest.

‘Master Strongoak, you look simply marvellous. I really must congratulate you on your taste in matters of the cloth.’

I think I blushed. Of course I blushed! She’d managed to get her compliment in first, leaving me with my bottom lip flapping like a yokel. Fortunately where words fail, actions will sometimes make recompense. Bowing low, from behind my back I pulled out the flowers I had picked up earlier: ariethiah (the evening forget-me-not, in the common tongue). There are flowers more exotic, there are flowers more perfumed, but none have a blue of such depth and purity.

‘Why, Master Strongoak, a corsage, how very romantic of you.’ Her voice showed amusement, but did not hide how touched she was. ‘Ariethiah: the evening forget-me-not. These are sometimes called “Elfhome”, Nicely. They are said to be the colour of the sky in the Lost Lands. Did you know that?’

I shook my head. ‘Where I come from they are known as “Winter’s Longing”. It is said to reflect the desire of the dwarfs in the coldest and darkest months of winter for the light of the summer skies.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I did not even know that dwarfs relished the sunlight.’

‘Why, lady, you should not believe it, if it’s not carved in stone. Just because us dwarfs have lived for so many years in the farthest north, where the temperatures would make even the most hardy elf run for the shelter of a warm cave, it does not mean we have turned our backs on the sun. We are workers with light; we frame it with rock in the windows of our summer halls, we work it in our lanterns, bending it with prisms, and we release it from the deep hearts of gems.’

‘And now a poet, Master Strongoak! I had better watch you carefully. There is obviously a lot more to you than meets the eye.’

‘A lot more, my lady.’

We walked on into the main hall. If the expected fury amongst elfin kind following Truetouch’s death was about to engulf the Citadel, Thelen obviously hadn’t been informed. Neither had any other of the elves there present. Maybe Ralph and the Cits had managed to keep a tighter lid on the matter than they had anticipated. That could only be to my benefit. The longer I had to sort things out, the happier I was.

The evening began to look even better after Thelen described the nature of the entertainment. As befitted its intentions, the music was drawn from all of the Citadel’s peoples. What the White and the Wise would make of the
All-Star Syncopated Gnome Home Jump Band
would be anyone’s guess.

Thelen led us to our seats and almost magically a path opened up in front of her. The stewards kept bowing and politely waving us through. You could get to like this, Nicely old lad, they are spoiling you. Our seats in fact turned out to be in a small, very pleasantly outfitted box.

‘Well, shame about your friend,’ I said, making myself comfortable, feeling like I’d just stolen the dragon’s gold. Thelen looked puzzled. I reminded her: ‘You know, your friend, the one who’s ill, the lady who’s given us the tickets.’

‘Oh yes, last-minute thing,’ said Thelen, taking out a small spyglass and scanning the crowd.

‘She must be very rich or well connected.’ Thelen, however, was not to be distracted from her crowd watching and only muttered something in heavily accented elfish.

‘There!’ she said, triumphantly. ‘Could not be better.’ I followed her gaze and saw a recognisable face amongst a group of elves and High Born seated in a large box opposite. Certainly top-of-the-tree, no spear-carriers, or towel-carriers for that matter. I borrowed the spyglass, and soon those oh-so-handsome features sprang into view.

‘Good evening, Highbury. How is the Golden Boy?’ I said quietly, to no one in particular.

The Golden Boy looked fine. Gone was the muscled-athlete look so evident on the Gnada. The sun-bleached hair was now styled by an expert, short at the sides, tapered at the back and high on top; less tousled surf divinity, more squeaky-clean confidant, and even I had to admire the way he was dressed. It was no dune drifter sitting there; damn it, this elf looked like a politician.

‘Nice suit,’ I said, passing the glasses back to Thelen.

There was only one problem with it as far as I could see. On the lapel were pinned the sky-blue colours of the Citadel Alliance Party, which now I thought about it, was the same blue that the Surf Elves wore. I pointed out this apparent coincidence to Thelen.

‘Why, yes! Now, that is interesting,’ she smiled a little grimly. ‘Though he won’t be the only elf wearing the sky-blue this fall. I have heard a lot of my younger kin expressing their displeasure with the politics of their elders. The Citadel Alliance Party provides a home for the dissatisfied of many persuasions. All it needs is someone with the charisma of a Highbury to act as a focal point and they may have to be taken very seriously.’

‘Surely not enough to worry either the Branch and Leaf or the Hand in Heart?’ I questioned, referring to the two longest-established Citadel political organisations.

‘Well, you have to remember, Nicely, these parties have been in existence for a great span, even by elfin standards. Perhaps people might think that it is time for a change.’

‘Still, I can’t believe that they will amass enough votes to cause an upset in the result.’

‘They don’t have to, Nicely. If the result looks like being close, and remember the polls say there does not seem to be very much to choose between them at the moment, then the CAP might well hold the balance of power. Who knows, there may even be some kind of pact?’

‘What, with the elves of the Branch and Leaf?’

‘Probably not, but the men of the Hand in Heart are more pragmatic.’

I realised she was right. A lot of the Citadel population shared an unconscious feeling that elves were somehow automatically destined to be the ruling elite.

Citadel politics was a sorry do, no doubt about it. As I pondered I continued my surveillance of the elf Highbury – potential Citadel leader?

‘Don’t make it too obvious, Nicely,’ Thelen said. ‘He’ll notice you.’

‘I do believe, my lady, that that is the nature of the game at the moment.’ And very soon, in fact, I saw one of his party point towards me. Highbury took out a pair of glasses and turned them in my direction. I lowered mine and waved, giving him my best pleased-to-see-you grin. Much to my disappointment, he did not seem pleased to see me. Those perfectly proportioned features managed to arrange themselves in a less-than-pleasant array – I tried not to let it break my heart. Sadly, or not, I do not think I had added to his enjoyment of the evening, but was this the face of someone who was surprised to see me still alive? Had Highbury some reason for axing the Lower Elf when he thought he was about to cough to me? Those damn elves can be so hard to read, sometimes I think they should make special glasses just for that.

Anyway, for a dwarf potentially about to be charged with the Big One, I had me a great time. In fact it was during a rousing encore by the
All-Star Syncopated Gnome Home Jump Band
(quietly loathed by everyone there with pointy ears – excluding Thelen, I’m pleased to say) that I noticed Highbury had slipped out. Thelen reckoned that he was very unlikely to miss the post-concert reception, as this was the time that counted with the Wise and White. Me, I just kept jumping in my seat like I was born for it.

Sadly, the music at the reception did not reach the same heights, all elf toots and flutes and lutes and harps, but there was plenty to sup and it was free, and with what Thelen told me the tickets were costing, it should have been.

Perhaps it was the nature of the occasion, it all being in aid of the poor and needy, but eating and drinking seemed to be frowned upon. Not by me; we dwarfs invented optimal foraging. And not by the
All-Star Syncopated Gnome Home Jump Band
either – ‘great rhythm, great attack and yet great swing’ and even greater appetites, come to mention it.

The food steward was no more impressed by the attitudes of the High Born than I was: ‘enough food to feed the lower levels for a week, and to look at this lot you would think trolls had been drooling all over it.’ Thelen was no slouch when it came to tucking away the victuals either, which I’ve always found an attractive trait in the female of whatever race.

The bar steward was similarly depressed by the lack of action. A true exponent of his art, he was only too pleased to rise to a challenge. I therefore introduced him to Thelen. I then introduced Thelen to the delights of the
Darrow Bomb
and then
The Necromancer
, followed by a
Baby Dragon’s Breath
.
She in turn introduced me to the
Elfin Sling
and
The Twilight Gleaming
, and we all got together and had a jolly good time.

I kept a weather eye open for Highbury, but he was not in evidence for the schmoozing. When he was still not around for the speeches, a wise move as it turned out – too much stuff about tolerance from people who probably wouldn’t let a gnome take out their garbage – Thelen and I split up and went out searching for him in all of the Hall’s dark little recesses. I would have thought he would have liked to be more visible, but as it turned out I was wrong. Upon spotting a dark figure about to depart from a small alcove, my curiosity was aroused. I had struck gold and I decided to personally excavate it.

‘Well, if it isn’t Highbury, the well-known master of the surf!’ I aimed a shot at him to see how he would take it: ‘Where are all your little elf chums?’ This didn’t so much as make an eyebrow twitch. Uninvited, I nevertheless sat, to the elf’s obvious consternation.

‘Can’t have you getting lonely. This isn’t like you, Highbury, old chap, ensconced in the dark. What’s the matter, developed a nasty skin condition?’ I sprawled all over the seat next to him, effectively trapping him between me, table and wall. ‘Oh no, I forgot, you don’t have that sort of problem, do you? Perfect skin, perfect teeth. Tell me, how does it feel to be so perfect?’

Highbury flinched. ‘I do not know what you are doing here, Son of Stone, but I wish you would go away as far as it is possible to go in these circumstances.’

‘Hey, haven’t you heard, it’s a democracy, Goldy, old boy? Isn’t that what you elves are always saying? Free speech and equality for all. Of course, maybe your Citadel Alliance Party has different ideas. Not many gnomes in the CAP from what I hear, not that many dwarfs either, eh?! Maybe I should join up! What have you got to offer today’s modern dwarf? A one-way ticket back to New Iron Town?’ I gestured a little too wildly with my cocktail glass and sprayed the elf with its contents.