Dragon Precinct (11 page)

Tresyllione favored him with her ugly smile again. “As soon as I meet an honest merchant, I’ll ask him. What happened then? And don’t make me ask a third time if you want to open again before harvest.”

Hobart, in fact, had plenty more invective, but decided to save it; he remembered what Tresyllione was like when she got pissed off. “After they pawed through half my damn merchandise, they commenced to pullin’ the sick-brother scam. Not bad, neither—they looked like clueless tourists tryin’ t’scrape enough together to get to a healer, an’ they
promise
t’pay back as
soon
as their uncle comes into town t’morrow mornin’ on some ship’r other.” Hobart laughed. “Gotta admit, I seen better, but I seen a lot worse, too, and they was pickin’ on a coupla gnome tourists who didn’t know their tiny asses from their gangly elbows. Now the halflings, they got themselves a couple silvers, an’ were makin’ arrangements with th’gnomes t’meet t’morrow t’repay ’em when all of a sudden, boom!”

“Boom?” Tresyllione prompted.

Again, Hobart shrugged. “Boom. They jus’ dropped dead outta nowhere. Damndest thing I ever saw. Them two gnomes, they ran faster’n shit—didn’t think legs that small could move s’fast.”

“Do you remember what the gnomes looked like?”

Hobart shrugged. “Short, big noses. Looked like gnomes.”

Tresyllione let out a breath through her teeth. “Think, Hobart, they must have had
some
distinguishing characteristics.”

Taking a thoughtful drag on his cigar, Hobart cast his mind back. Truth be told, he wasn’t really paying much attention to the gnomes, as he was more interested in the halflings’ technique. The marks were incidental; Hobart really needed to know if these two halflings were going to be providing any kind of significant competition.

Then he recalled one detail. “The woman, she had a mole on her left cheek ’bout the size of a copper.”

Tresyllione looked over at one of the Swords, who just nodded and walked off.
Damn, it’s like they have some kind of Thought Spell. Shit, maybe they
do.
Certainly would explain a helluva lot.

“Anything else?”

“Ain’t that enough?” Hobart asked indignantly.

“Depends on your definition of the word, doesn’t it?” Danthres smiled insincerely. “Thanks for your help, Hobart. If you
do
decide to share anything else, let a guard know.”

Hobart shook his head as the lieutenant turned and headed down the Way to join her partner.
Bitch,
he thought.

“Thanks very much for your assistance,” Torin told the elderly man for the third time.

“Eh? What?” The man blinked. “What was that, again? My what?”

Torin sighed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, right, very good. Yes. You’re welcome.” Then the old man frowned. “For what, exactly?”

Again, Torin sighed. “Your assistance in our investigation.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Indeed.” The old man looked around. “I don’t know this place.”

“You’re in Jorbin’s Way,” Torin said helpfully.

The old man shook his head and started wandering off.

Shaking his head, Torin turned to Danthres and Boneen, who were walking up behind him. They stood in the center of Jorbin’s Way, right next to a dried-meat stand owned by an old woman who, if Torin recalled correctly, tended to mislabel her jerky. Boneen absently grabbed a sliver of something that was advertised as being from the finest breed of cattle in Velessa, but which Torin knew was in fact from the local goat population.

“Who was that?” Danthres asked.

“Witness. He said he saw the halflings drop dead while talking to a pair of gnomes. At least, he said that eventually. Poor old man’s half-addled, but he did say that the female gnome had dirt on her left cheek.”

Danthres nodded. “That more or less tracks with Hobart’s mole. We’ve already got some guards looking for them.”

“Good. And I’m glad we have Hobart for a witness—I’d rather not subject that old man to the magistrate if we can avoid it. It took him half an hour simply to remember what a gnome was. He’s even worse than—” Torin cut himself off.

“What is it?” Danthres prompted.

“I just realized that the man I just talked to bore a striking resemblance to two other witnesses. Not the same man, obviously—he’s about twenty years older than the second one and fifty years older than the first—but it is odd. That’s three different people who have similar physical appearances.”

“If you’re
quite
finished with these irrelevancies,” Boneen said irritably while chewing on his dried goat meat, “I thought you might like to know what I found.”

Torin grinned. “Let me guess—absolutely nothing?”

Scowling, Boneen said, “Yes. Same as Brightblade and lothSirhans. First one, then the other fell down without any outside agency helping them along. No evidence of magic of any kind.”

“You should examine these bodies carefully then,” Torin said. “I’ve never known a grifter who didn’t have
some
kind of magic on them. It’s almost part of the job description.”

“Definitely,” Danthres said. “Hobart said they were moderately talented, which means they were probably very good and he just wouldn’t admit it.”

“Oh, that’s just what I need,
more
work.” Boneen took another bite of jerky. “Bad enough that Albin and Meerka keep sending their flunkies to hound me, now you want me examining halfling remains.”

“If you’re fishing for sympathy, you’ll get nothing from us,” Danthres said. “Those flunkies are tap-dancing on our spleens as well.”

“The next one gets turned into a newt, I can tell you that. Hurry up and solve this damned case, will you? I haven’t had a proper nap in days.”

With that, Boneen muttered something, gestured four times, and then disappeared in a flash of light. Recognizing the sigils he was inscribing in the air, Torin had the foresight to shield his eyes. Some of the other nearby guards had less warning and blinked in annoyance at the residue of the teleport spell.

Danthres blinked a few times herself—her eyes were more sensitive, so even with the warning, she would, Torin knew, be seeing spots for the next several minutes. “Well, he’ll get that nap now. Teleport Spells always make him woozy.”

Torin scratched his beard. “I think we can reopen the Way. It’ll keep the merchants happy, and there really isn’t anything to be gained here. We know what happened, and we’re no closer than before to finding out why.”

“I want to talk to Genero and Ubàrlig—and the guards at the castle,” Danthres added. “Those two shouldn’t have been on the street in the first place, and I want to know why they were.”

Torin agreed, and the pair of them walked back to the castle with the express purpose of doing just that.

By the time they arrived, the sun was beginning to set, and the time-chimes had long since rung nineteen. Torin yawned several dozen times on the walk back up Meerka Way.
When was the last time I slept? Oh, right, for two hours last night.
He sighed.
Unlimited overtime. Just remember that.

Still, he found the walk through the crowded streets of Cliff’s End to be draining, and wished he could have simply teleported back like Boneen.

“Look, Torin,” Danthres started, then hesitated.

Torin frowned. “What?”

“I’m—I’m sorry about before. What I said about you, I mean.”

In fact, Torin had already forgiven her, in part because he knew it was as much her anger talking as anything, and in part because he was self-aware enough to know that she wasn’t entirely wrong. “Don’t worry about it. This case has both of us irritable.”

“It’s not the case—I mean, it’s not like we’ve never dealt with a big murder before, and it’s not like we haven’t dealt with shit from on high before.”

“And it’s not like you’ve ever been anything but testy and unpleasant,” Torin said, deciding to be blunt and have done with it. “It’s what makes you Danthres.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled. “But it might not be bad to be a little less Danthres.”

“Well, wait until we close this case, because until we do, I need a complete Danthres.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure she’ll do you any good. We’ve got four impossible murders with no evidence.”

“We do have suspects, though, and it’s past time we got answers out of them. I think our most sensible course would be to get the truth out of the remaining members of their little quest.”

Danthres’s face clouded over. “Long past time, yes.”

When they arrived at the castle, they bypassed the eastern wing altogether. Instead, Danthres led the way to Sir Rommett’s office; she knew the route well, having just gone there this morning.

As they approached, the officious-looking middle-aged man who sat at a small desk outside the oaken double doors that led to the chamberlain’s sanctum sanctorum spoke without preamble. “I’m sorry, but the chamberlain is quite busy. I’m sure if you make an appointment, he will see you tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid it cannot wait, good sir,” Torin said, shooting Danthres a look to indicate that he would handle this his way instead of hers. The last time she’d been set loose on a castle official, it led to her first trip to Rommett’s office, and Torin had no urge to repeat
that
.

“It will
have
to wait. The chamberlain is a
very
busy man.” The secretary shuffled some parchments on his desk, having only spent a moment even bothering to look at the detectives. “As I said, you may make an appointment. However, as it is the end of the day, tomorrow is the earliest I can promise anything—and even at that, it is a risky proposition. He has a great deal of
important
work tomorrow.”

“This is a murder investigation, good sir,” Torin said through clenched teeth, now having a bit of a harder time keeping his pleasant bearing. Generally, he was better at this sort of thing, but the lack of sleep was impairing his abilities.

“I’m sure it’s
very
important to the two of you, but the chamberlain has loftier concerns.”

Oh, the hell with it.
He glanced at Danthres, and gave her a look indicating that perhaps it was best to handle it her way.

She looked back at him and smiled. Then she leaned down, placing her fists on the desk. “You tell Sir Rommett that Lieutenants Tresyllione and ban Wyvald are here to speak to him about our murder investigation. He’ll want to speak to us, I think.”

“As I keep explaining, the chamberlain is
quite
busy. Now if you—”

Danthres turned to one of the guards who stood at attention in the hallway. “Guard, do us a favor and please take this man away.”

The secretary drew himself upright even as the guard walked over to join them. “I
beg
your pardon!”

Torin smiled sweetly. “You are impeding a murder investigation, good sir, and therefore are subject to arrest on the grounds of obstruction. Don’t worry, the guard will take good care of you.”

“Right this way, sir,” the guard said, grabbing the secretary by his arm.

“No need to be gentle with him,” Danthres said. “After all, he is standing in the way of the investigation into the deaths of the close personal friends of the Lord and Lady, so he’s not especially worthy of respect.”

With a grin, the guard said, “Not a problem, ma’am.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” The secretary, who had been lifted forcibly from his chair by the right arm, was turning quite pale. “I’m
sure
the chamberlain will see you. Just
please,
if you don’t mind, give me just
one
second to speak with him, I’m
sure
that it can be worked out, just
please
don’t take me down to the hole, I’ll take care of it,
please
.”

The guard looked at Danthres. “Ma’am?”

Danthres pretended to consider the matter. “Oh, very well,” she said after a moment. “Let him make an attempt to salvage his situation.”

As soon as the guard let go of his arm, the secretary bolted for the double doors, threw them open with a strength that belied his rail-thin form, and slammed them shut behind him.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Torin asked.

“That?” Danthres snorted. “That was just the warm-up.”

“If you need me again, sir, ma’am, I’ll be
right
over there,” the guard said in a tone that indicated that he’d be more than happy to render aid once again. Torin suspected that being posted in proximity to the secretary had bred no small degree of contempt for the man.

The doors opened again to reveal the supercilious face of Sir Rommett. He stood with his hands on his hips in a gesture that probably did a wonderful job of intimidating the pageboys in the castle, but served only to make Torin want to burst out laughing.
This man wouldn’t last half a second in Goblin.
Of course, he also had the power to order the ruination of any citizen in Goblin, so perhaps it was a fair tradeoff.

“Our apologies, good Sir Rommett, but I’m afraid that your secretary did not understand the urgency of the situation,” Torin said. “We need to speak with you immediately.”

“Can this not wait, Lieutenants?” Rommett asked in a tone of great suffering. “I have a great deal of—”

Danthres, typically, got straight to the point. “Mari and Nari are dead.”

Rommett’s small mouth hung open in midword at that. “What? That’s not possible! There are guards on their room!”

“Not especially talented ones, I’m afraid,” Torin said. “The twins were murdered on Jorbin’s Way.”

“That’s not possible,” Rommett repeated.

“And yet it’s true,” Danthres said. “According to the M.E., they died the same way as Gan Brightblade and Olthar lothSirhans. Now, we need to speak to Brother Genero and General Ubàrlig and their barbarian friend right now—assuming, of course, that you haven’t allowed
them
to leave the castle, either.”

Rommett managed to go even paler than his secretary had. “This is terrible!”

“I daresay,” Torin said dryly. “You have already obstructed and delayed this investigation, Sir Rommett, and now two more people are dead. We need to speak to what few witnesses we have remaining.”