Dragon Precinct (7 page)

The dwarf laughed. “Ain’t got the right material for
that
. I didn’t bring clay with me, and there ain’t no kilns out on the Garamin, far as I know, so I can’t fire the stuff, neither. The plan’s to take a nice sea cruise, so I didn’t think it’d be a hot idea to bring ’em along. Nah, I just brought this stuff for laughs—mine, and the rest of the gang, since they like to make fun of my sculptin’,” Ubàrlig added with a self-deprecating grin.

“I’m sure they only have your best interests at heart.” Torin then blinked, as if he had momentarily forgotten Danthres. “Oh! This is my partner, Lieutenant Tresyllione.”

Ubàrlig looked at her for a moment, seeming to study her face. “You’re from Sorlin, right?”

Danthres smiled most unpleasantly. “I’m from Guard Headquarters, Mr. Ubàrlig, and we’re investigating two murders.”

The dwarf moved to sit on the chair next to the desk. “Murders? Since when? I thought Gan died by accident.”

“A final determination hasn’t been made, but given the circumstances,” Torin said, “I do not believe we are jumping to an irrational conclusion. We’re told you found Mr. lothSirhans’s body.”

“Yes, I did. He was supposed to come to dinner with me and Genero, and he was late. Typical, really—Ears got
no
sense of time—” he said, using a common dwarven slang term to refer to elves, “—and Olthar was lousy even by their standards. He wasn’t on time for a damn thing in the hundred and fifty years he was alive. But two hours late for dinner is pretty bad even for him. So I came up to see what the hell was keeping him. The door was open, so I came in. You know what I found.”

Torin nodded. “Was it unusual for the door to be open?”

The dwarf shook his head. “As your partner probably knows,” he said with a glance at Danthres, “Ears got
no
concept of locks.”

We’re all aware,
Torin thought with amusement. Elves new to human lands were often easy marks for thieves. During the massive immigration of elven refugees that followed the wars, the Guard had to set up a special task force just to deal with elves who were robbery victims. However, Torin would have thought someone who had lived among humans as long as lothSirhans had would have known better.
Then again, perhaps the hero of the elven wars thought himself above such petty concerns.

Ubàrlig picked up one of the figurines and stared at it for a moment. “Olthar’s a great man, Lieutenants. Was, anyhow. Look, there’s not a single Ear, living or dead, about whom I’d even consider saying something nice, much less call great. For Olthar, though, I’ll say and for damn sure mean it. I can count on one hand how many people I’d gladly give my life for. Two of ’em have died in this inn.”

“In that case, General,” Torin said, “you should want to help us find out who killed them. You must have some common enemies.”

“Not still alive. Unless there’s some long-lost relative or devotee of the Elf Queen.” The dwarf rubbed his bearded chin. “That’s actually a pretty good possibility. The Elf Queen had tons of followers—stands to reason that one or two of them may still be alive and are holding a grudge. Both Gan and Olthar were
big
thorns in her side.”

Torin had to admit that that was a possibility. There were no other elves staying at the Dog and Duck, but that didn’t mean anything in and of itself. It was certainly worth pursuing. “What about the others?”

“What about ’em?”

“Well, might they also be targets of the Elf Queen’s wrath?”

The dwarf smiled. “None of us have any love lost for her, if that’s what you mean. Well, except for Mari and Nari. They didn’t have anything to do with the elven wars at all.”

“Then what are they doing with your group?” Danthres asked.

Ubàrlig laughed. “I been wonderin’ that myself, Lieutenant. But Brother Genero has a history with them, and they’re pretty useful, though pretty damn irritating when you get right down to it. But nah, the Elf Queen probably didn’t have a clue who they are. But they haven’t been targeted, either. The rest of us, though, she hated all our guts. One of those nutcases that followed her could’ve decided to get revenge on her behalf.”

Just as Torin was about to ask his next question, a voice sounded from behind him. “General Ubàrlig, here you are!”

The speaker had used a full sentence, so it couldn’t have been the guard. And indeed, it wasn’t; the man who spoke was half a head shorter than the guard—who had apparently let him in. He wore a hat that was the height of fashion at court in the castle, and that no one would be caught dead wearing anywhere but there or Unicorn. His silk tunic and breeches were covered by a billowing cloak that, Torin suspected, was mostly to keep out the filth, both inanimate and living.

After a moment, Torin placed the face of the man as belonging to Sir Rommett, the chamberlain at Lord Albin and Lady Meerka’s court, and a man with sufficient clout that an errand to such a place as the Dog and Duck
had
to be beneath his station. He had people for that sort of thing.

Which means that this case is about to get far more complicated.

“It’s my room,” Ubàrlig said with a snort. “Where the hell else
would
I be?”

“I’ve come to convey you and your friends—”

If Danthres recognized Rommett, she didn’t show it—or, more likely, didn’t care—as she interrupted him. “Get this man out of here!” she snapped at the guard.

“I beg your pardon! Don’t you know who I am?”

“You’re not in uniform, so you’re not a member of the Guard. Are you a witness to either of the murders that took place in this inn?”

Rommett drew himself up to his full height—which wasn’t much more than that of Ubàrlig. “Of course not! I’ve never set foot in this—this
establishment
before tonight, and I hope never to have to—”

“In that case, you’re a civilian trespassing on a crime scene.” With a pointed look at the guard—who seemed completely uninterested in the proceedings—she added, “You should never have been let in here in the first place.”

“Danthres—” Torin started.

“My dear lady—”

“I’m not a lady,” Danthres said, and Torin had to bite his tongue to keep from making a comment on that, “I’m a lieutenant in the Cliff’s End Castle Guard, and you’re trespassing on my crime scene.”

“Not for much longer you aren’t.” Rommett reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out his seal of office. “I am Sir Rommett, the chamberlain of Cliff’s End. Your pet thugs let me into this pit of an inn because I carry this seal. I am here on official business of the city-state, which is to convey the general here, as well as Brother Genero and the rest of their party, to the castle, where they will remain as guests of the Lord and Lady until this matter is concluded.”

“Good Sir Rommett,” Torin said quickly before Danthres got them into more trouble, “that stay will be indefinite unless we are allowed to do our work. We need to question General Ubàrlig as well as—”

“Nonsense. He’s a victim here, not—”

Danthres snarled. “He found the body.”

Speaking as if to a child, Rommett said, “Then he
obviously
isn’t the perpetrator.”

Ubàrlig chose that moment to speak up. “I’m perfectly happy to help the lieutenants out, Sir Rommett.”

His tone turning obsequious, Rommett said, “Oh, of course you are, General, of course you are, but that can wait, I’m sure. We have a carriage downstairs, along with a full escort of guards to ensure your safe passage. The guards were handpicked by Captain Osric himself.” He looked up at Danthres, and the obsequiousness gave way to a harder tone. “Your supervisor, if memory serves. I will be speaking with him soon, of that you can rest assured,
Lieutenant
. I suggest you go home and figure out what line of work is available to a woman of your severely limited charm and good looks, because I can assure you that the Guard will
not
be an option for you much longer.”

Torin grabbed Danthres by the arm and shook his head quickly, before she could react.
Don’t make this any worse than it already is,
he thought as fervently as he could. As it was, if Osric had been forced to assemble an escort in the middle of the night, he was going to be sharpening his dagger down to the size of a toothpick come sunup.

Within moments, Ubàrlig had collected a few changes of clothes, his figurines, and his axe, and Rommett brought him downstairs. Before leaving, the dwarf assured Torin that he would continue to cooperate in any way necessary.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Danthres pounded a fist on the desk. “I’m still waiting for him to
start
cooperating! And now
this!”

“It’s not surprising,” Torin said. “When it was just Brightblade, and it looked like it at least
might
be an accident, that was one thing. But there’s no way lothSirhans accidentally snapped his own neck while composing a letter. And he
is
Olthar lothSirhans.”

Danthres waved him off. “Yes, yes, I know, the great hero who went against the wishes of his aunt the Elf Queen, and so on. I’ve heard the story
endlessly.”

“Yes, and without that betrayal, we would have lost that war. Lord Albin and Lady Meerka owe their very position to that betrayal.”

“So their solution is to come in and make it
harder
to find the murderer?”

Torin couldn’t help but grin. “Of course. It’s what the upper classes do best.”

Danthres barked out a laugh. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Make me laugh when it’s the last thing I want to do?”

“Ten years of practice.”

Shaking her head, Danthres turned to the guard. “You. Find someone intimidating and send him to the castle to fetch the M.E. I don’t care if he has to bodily drag him over here by his ankles, I want that peel-back
now
. If we can’t talk to witnesses, we’re damn well going to have
something
by sunup.”

“Indeed.” Torin followed the guard out the door. “I’m going to go downstairs and see if there are any actual witnesses.”

Danthres actually smiled at that. “Three coppers says you don’t find any.”

That caused Torin to laugh as he headed for the hallway. “Since you still owe me from earlier, I’ll take it.”

He was pretty sure he had seen the man with the leather armor and the beard before. Yes, the last time he cast the spells before tonight. Or shortly afterward. Or something.

But he had spoken to the man with the beard then, definitely. The bearded man looked a bit like the old man who had saved him. Except, of course, the old man had white hair and didn’t wear leather armor.

But otherwise, they looked a lot alike.

“That’s a very nice design,” he said to the bearded man. “On your chest, I mean. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It’s a gryphon,” the bearded man said. “It means that I work out of Guard headquarters in the castle.”

“Castle?”

“Lord Albin and Lady Meerka’s castle,” the bearded man said slowly.

“Oh, right, of course, the castle. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m afraid that my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

The bearded man smiled. “Whose is, truly?”

He laughed at that. “Good point, very good point, yes, indeed. Er, what was your question?”

“Did you see anything odd or suspicious tonight involving the elf who was staying here?”

Now he had to choose his words carefully. “Not specifically. Just that he went up to his room and closed the door. The only odd thing was that dwarf going up the stairs and knocking on his door a couple hours later. Thought that was odd, I tell you.”

“Why is that?”

Be careful, don’t let him know what you know, because then he’ll know it and all will be lost!
“He’s a dwarf. Dwarves and elves don’t usually mix, you know?”

“True. Aside from when you saw him go upstairs, had you seen the elf at all during the evening?”

“No,” he lied.

The bearded man asked a few more questions. He tried to answer them as best he could without giving anything away.

He couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not until it was all finished. Then it would be done. Yes, all done. Then all the debts would have been paid and he could get on with what he wanted to get on with.

“Good sir?”

“Hm?” He looked up to see the bearded man looking at him expectantly. “What is it?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m sorry, what was it?”

“How long did the dwarf spend in the room?”

“Oh, I’m honestly not sure. Some kind of ruckus was raised, but I honestly don’t know how long it was.”

“You don’t recall when the last time-chime was?”

“I’m afraid I don’t pay them much heed, really. I don’t even notice them, to be honest.”
Besides, time has become so fluid…

“Understandable.” The bearded man leaned forward and spoke in an almost confidential tone. “I have to confess, I’m barely aware of them myself. So you spent the entire evening in the dining area?”

“Yes. The stew wasn’t bad at all.” Then he smiled. “Actually, the stew was terrible, but the ale was good, so that made the stew better, too.”

They both laughed at that. The bearded man—who looked so much like the old man it was almost frightening—then thanked him, told him to contact a guard if he remembered anything else, and departed.

He went back to his room after that. His work wasn’t nearly complete yet.

M
anfred sighed as he walked his post on the streets of Unicorn Precinct, wishing that the Guard would approve the concept of a summer-weight uniform.

Humidity was a near constant in Cliff’s End, but this morning, the moisture content was almost unbearable—especially to someone covered shoulders-to-boots in leather armor. He just knew he was going to have all manner of entertaining rashes and such when he changed out of his armor—which he intended to do the second he got off shift. As it was, he was already starting to itch in spots he would not be able to scratch for another eleven hours at least.

If I’m lucky, today will be another quiet day. And if I’m even luckier, Lieutenant Tresyllione will be at the Chain again tonight.

With a smile, he thought back on how she took care of that jackass from Goblin. She was a joy to watch, turning her back on Nulti and
still
taking him out. Of course, Manfred and the other three had to move to a different table—Nulti tended to carry an odor around with him even when he wasn’t completely drunk and dripping wet with ale—but it was worth it to watch that amazing woman in action. True, she was not the most traditionally attractive person in Flingaria, but most of those who were used glamours in any case. To find someone as odd-featured as that yet who was sufficiently comfortable in her own skin to not make any of the easily available adjustments—
that
turned Manfred on.

Now, if only I can get
her
to see that, and how I feel about her….

To Manfred’s irritation, neither of his desires were likely to come to fruition today. Sergeant Arron had said at roll call that all the day-shift detectives had big cases, so unless a body fell, they would have to deal with any hard cases themselves. And since Lieutenant Tresyllione and her partner had caught both the Brightblade murder and last night’s murder of Olthar lothSirhans, he doubted she’d be having much time to socialize at the Chain.

Manfred actually had less of a problem with the lack of availability of the detectives than some others did. He never liked the fact that they always had to call in one of the lieutenants, as if none of the foot soldiers had a brain in their heads. True, several of them didn’t—Nulti was a classic case—but Manfred liked to think he was capable of solving a robbery or an assault case.
Maybe today I’ll get my chance.

He turned a corner onto Shade Way, a turn he made primarily for the reason the street was so named. The road was lined by several huge oak trees. It didn’t help much with the humidity, of course, but at least the morning sun wasn’t bearing down on him on this cloudless day. The houses on Shade Way were more of the mansion variety, the homes of the idle rich, of which Cliff’s End had its share. Certainly, Manfred was unlikely to find any criminal activity here, but even rich people had domestic disputes, or noise complaints, or other such need for the Guard’s services. Besides, in the shade, his arms stopped itching.

“Excuse me?”

Manfred turned around quickly, his arm going to his sword hilt instinctively. However, the speaker was a young man, probably in his late teens or early twenties, dressed in casual clothes that were inexpensive, but not cheap. The boy looked down at the ground as he spoke.
Probably a servant in one of the mansions,
Manfred thought, proud of his ability to deduce.

“Are—are you a guard?” the boy asked, still studying the cobblestones intently.

No, I stole this armor.
Manfred managed to restrain himself from saying that out loud, however. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

“My—my mistress asked me to fetch a guard, and—and you’re a guard, so—so I guess I need for you to come with me, sir.”

“Lead on, then,” he said.

The boy brought Manfred back to the corner where he’d turned onto Shade Way, to a massive house that had obviously been built some time in the last twenty years or so, after the humans and dwarves allied, and dwarven architects peddled their wares outside their own territory. Manfred’s late father had been an architect, and from him the guard knew that you could tell a dwarf-designed house by the lack of a second floor. Everything was ground-level or below. Manfred’s father had taught his son this, usually while cursing those “sawed-off runts” for “taking work away from honest humans.” However, what dwarven architecture lacked in height, it made up for in structural integrity, as many Cliff’s End natives learned after the last hurricane blew through the city-state.

From what Manfred could see as the boy led him down the walkway around to the back of the house, the structure had at least fifteen rooms, all on the ground floor, and if he knew his dwarves, then there were probably almost as many rooms one or two levels down. As he walked around to the back, he noticed that the brick was not the usual Aemrian that the dwarves favored, but the lesser Cambrian variety—not as sturdy, but easier to find. Manfred wondered if the architect had duped the owner, or if the owner had gone cheap.

All thoughts of the house fled Manfred’s mind as soon as he came in sight of the lush backyard—which was marred by a large hole, about three dwarf-lengths in diameter. Peculiarly for a hole, it was in the middle of the air about three hand-lengths above the impeccably cut grass. Amber in color, the hole was a perfect circle above the ground. The amber seemed to swirl, looking to Manfred like butter being churned.
Must be magic. Maybe a portal of some kind?
Manfred didn’t know much about magic beyond its existence—anytime he came across it, the case got kicked up to the lieutenants, and it almost always got kicked up from there to the Brotherhood of Wizards.

Still, he needed to do some kind of investigating. The first thing he did was go around to the other side of the hole—which was easy, as the hole wasn’t much thicker than a piece of parchment. To his disappointment, it looked exactly the same on the other side. It was as if someone had taken a massive amber coin and suspended it in midair over the lawn.

“Oh, thank Temisa.”

Manfred turned to see a woman wearing a cotton dress, followed by two young women wearing simple outfits similar to what the boy was wearing.
The lady of the house,
he deduced, again proud of his observational capacity.
Just you wait, Lieutenant Tresyllione, we’ll be serving side by side before you know it.

“I hope you’re here to help me,” the woman added.

“Yes, ma’am. Name’s Manfred, ma’am. And you are?”

She held out her hand to be kissed. Manfred knew that upper-class women liked that sort of thing, though he had always found it silly. Still, it was expected, and the sergeant had drilled into them that they were to always do what was expected, so he kissed the hand as she said, “I am Elmira Fansarri, and I am a close personal friend of Lady Meerka’s, so I expected this to be dealt with
quickly,
or she shall hear of it.”

Meaning you met Lady Meerka once at a party.
Still, Manfred recognized the Fansarri name, and they weren’t without clout. “I take it, Madame Fansarri, that this, ah, this—hole isn’t supposed to be there?”

“I should say
not,”
Elmira said. She was moderately attractive, Manfred supposed, though wearing far more makeup than was necessary—and on this humid day, some of it was caked or running. Manfred wondered why she didn’t just use a glamour like most people. Instead, she looked like one of those wretched actors who performed in the park during the spring. Manfred had had to endure several performances of
The Ballad of King Ytrehod
a few months back while making sure that the crowds didn’t riot during or after the performances—which, given the quality of the performance, was a very real risk.

The sad thing is, she probably has dozens of suitors who vie for her time while her husband’s away.

Putting that in the back of his mind, he asked the question he knew Lieutenant Tresyllione would ask if she were here. “What happened?”

“How in Temisa’s name should
I
know?” Elmira said angrily. “Why do you think I told Willard to find
you?”

Sighing, Manfred tried a more direct approach. “When did you first notice the hole in your yard?”

“About ten minutes ago when I happened to look out the window, and there it was! Now are you going to stop wasting time asking me questions and
do
something about it, or do I have to find someone who
will?
I’m good friends with Lady Meerka, you know, and I can assure you that she’ll hear about this shoddy treatment!”

“Ma’am,” Manfred said with all the patience he could muster, “I can’t do anything about the situation until I know what happened. I have to ask questions first—that’s the proper procedure for me to do my job. I’m sure that you and Lady Meerka would prefer that I did my job right, right?”
Ouch. That sounded bad.
“This is probably magical—in origin, I mean.”

“Any idiot can see
that.”

“Do you know any wizards, ma’am?”

“Oh Temisa, no! I hate wizards. Last one we had over for a dinner party nearly ruined the whole thing. No, I won’t hear of having one of those arrogant, overbearing creatures in my house!”

Aha! A clue. And that also explains why she wears makeup instead of using a glamour.
“When was this dinner party, ma’am?”

Elmira looked at Manfred as if he had grown a second head. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, ma’am, if you had a bad experience with a wizard and let him know about that—or even if you didn’t, but if he found out that you carried this grudge against his kind because of his behavior—then that might be a motive for why he might decide to put a portal of some sort into your backyard. See, ma’am, this is why it’s necessary to ask questions, so we can get at the truth of why—”

In a tight voice, Elmira said, “It was ten years ago. The wizard in question died five years ago.”

Manfred felt deflated.
Damn. It was a good theory, too.

The woman reached out a hand, and one of the girls standing behind her handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed it irritably over her forehead, which was beaded with sweat and caked makeup. “Now if you do not stop wasting my time—”

“Who else is present in the house?” Manfred asked before she could cite her friendship with Lady Meerka again.

“We’re all standing right here!” Elmira practically screamed the words. “Just me and these three servants—and the cook, but she’s out at market. All the rest of the servants are with my husband—he took them on his business trip to Iaron, and he won’t be back until next month.” Then her face softened. “Oh, well, there’s also my dear son, but he’s in his room. He’s been there all day, of course.” She shook her head. “He’s a teenager, he—”

Whatever else Elmira was going to say about her son was lost by a screeching sound coming from the portal. Manfred turned around to see that the swirls of amber were now rotating faster—and changing color to a more red hue. “Something’s happening,” he said, his hand moving to his sword hilt.

“Another brilliant observation,” Elmira said snidely. “I
do
wonder what my taxes are paying for. I will have to bring it up with Lady Meerka when next I speak to her. We’re
very
good friends, you know.”

So I’ve heard.
Manfred bit back the retort. Instead, he peered more closely at the hole. There seemed to be movement, and he was hearing some kind of noise. It almost seemed to be laughter.

A moment later, a diminutive creature with orange fur covering all of its body save its yellow face came leaping out of the portal, cackling madly.

“Hobgoblin!” Manfred cried, unsheathing his sword and interposing himself between the creature and the civilians. “Get behind me!”

“We’re already behind you, you idiot! Kill that thing!”

The servants, for their part, just screamed.

Manfred had heard all about hobgoblins—they were on the chart on the bulletin board—but had never seen one. They generally didn’t come this far north, though Manfred had a friend who was in Tomvale when the town was overrun six years ago. If he remembered correctly, they preferred to grab whatever weapon came to hand and beat their prey over the head until they stopped moving.

The one advantage Manfred had was that the impeccable lawn had no such weapons—no stray branches or rocks, not even dirt clods. While the hobgoblin wasted time looking for something, Manfred charged and swung his sword at it.

Unfortunately, hobgoblins were also quite fast. This one dashed to the left at the last second, leaving Manfred to stumble forward in much the same way Nulti had the previous night. Eyes widening, he realized he was about to go into the portal, and he managed to stop himself, but at the cost of his balance, and he fell down.

Struggling to his feet, he wondered what Elmira would complain about more, his ineptitude or the fact that he had matted down some of her perfectly manicured lawn.

Looking up, he saw that such was the least of Elmira Fansarri’s problems: the hobgoblin was heading straight for her. She was now also screaming, and apparently so scared that she was rooted to the spot. Her servants, at least, had the wherewithal to run away—Manfred could see their retreating forms moving toward the house.
They’ll probably head for one of the basements.

Manfred ran toward the hobgoblin even as it knocked Elmira to the ground. Her screams mingled with the hobgoblin’s cackling to form a shrill cacophony even as the hobgoblin started to beat the wealthy woman about the head and shoulders. Not having found a useful weapon for the task, the creature was using its hands.

As he ran toward the tableau, Manfred wondered if he should say something as he attacked. Someone like Gan Brightblade would probably cry out, “Have at you!”

On the other hand, Lieutenant Tresyllione would probably just stab the thing in the back.

As the hobgoblin’s long arms collided with the side of Elmira’s head, Manfred ran it through. Green ichor spurted all over the lawn, Manfred’s uniform, and Elmira herself, with more doing so when he pulled the weapon out. The hobgoblin collapsed on top of the woman, dead.