The Deer Prince's Murder: Book Two of 'Fantasy & Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 2) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

I stepped forward, hands open and entreating.

McClatchy took a step back as I did so, as if I repulsed him.

“Hold on there, Bob,” I insisted. “You don’t know all of what’s going on here!”

“That makes two of us,” Shelly muttered, under her breath.

“No, I don’t know,” McClatchy’s chest puffed out as if he were the winner of a prizefight. “And I don’t care, not one goddamn bit. All I care about is getting enough dirt on you to wash you out of my hair and out of this department!”

Bob turned away just as the desk phone on the counter next to me rang. The sound of the ringer rattled harshly against the tile walls. Startled, I looked at the device’s digital flip-up screen. The extension displayed belonged to the Chief of Police’s direct line.

Great timing,
I thought. I picked up the receiver more out of reflex than anything else,

“Morgue examination room,” I said, as McClatchy headed for the door.

“Put me on the speaker,
chére
,” came Destry’s voice.

I almost dropped the receiver right then and there. I shot a glance back towards the pooka, who stood next to Shelly with a placid, utterly mundane equine expression on his face.

“I…how are you…”

“Hurry! Before this
idiote
is out of earshot.”

I pressed the button for the speakerphone and set the receiver back down in its cradle. Destry’s rich Gallic voice took on a deeper, menacing tone as it boomed out into the room.

“
Leaving this room would be a turn most unkind for your destiny, Monsieur McClatchy!
”

Bob stopped just as he’d put his hand out to turn the doorknob. His head jerked to one side as he heard the command. As if he were a puppet on a set of strings, he spun on his heel and came back towards us. He approached the counter where the phone sat with a queer look on his face. One that was apprehensive, and yet strangely accepting. As if he’d been expecting this call. He tried to speak, failed, and then cleared his throat to try again.

“Who are you?” he rasped.

“Come now. Unless we have miscalculated your intelligence, you should know exactly who I am. Who
we
are.”

McClatchy swallowed nervously. “What am I to call you, then?”

Destry let out the gritty, amused laugh of a villain straight out of the 40’s radio serials. “You may address me as ‘The Monseigneur’. Yes, the conspiracy you suspected all your life is true. We have been watching you and shaping your course, nudging you where needed.”

I looked around as Destry went on. Liam shook his head, while Galen made the tiniest of shrugs. They had no idea where this was going, either. Shelly, on the other hand, was listening as intently as Bob. She leaned forward, one hand pressed to her mouth, as Destry continued to hammer home his credibility as the mysterious benefactor in McClatchy’s life. And the pooka was doing it with the best evidence of all: the man’s own memories.

“Think back to the times you always felt things were going against you,” Destry continued. “The time you studied all night for your high-school chemistry exam, and botched it all the same. Or that girl in college, the one with hair of gold and lips the sheen of ripe strawberries, whose father offered you a pile of bills to forget about her. Perhaps you remember each and every time someone blocked your way to become the ‘top dog’ here. Preventing you from fulfilling what you have known to be your true calling: power.”

“It’s been you…all along…” McClatchy whispered.

“
Mais oui.
It has been us. It has been me. A steady diet of success produces plants that grow fast, but weak and spindly. We have forged you tougher, better with each failure.”

“I knew it! I knew you had a plan for me, Monseigneur!”

“But now you have crossed a line, Robert. You are not doing what we want by delaying Dayna Chrissie.”

“What is it you wish me to do?”

Destry’s voice dropped even further. Into a cold, flat tone that brooked no argument.

“Stay out of her way. You will leave here now. Do not speak to anyone. Go home. Go to bed. Consider how you might treat others, in a way that shall not bring you to our bad graces ever again. When you wake up, you will only remember what happened here as a
mauvais rêve
. A bad dream.”

“A bad dream…” Bob repeated. His face had gone pale, his eyes glassy.

“Now, go!”

McClatchy stumbled out of the room like a zombie.

To my surprise, Shelly moved to follow him.

I caught her wrist, but she shook me off. Her eyes weren’t glassed over like Bob’s, but her face had taken on a strange, waxy appearance. She reached in her pocket and then shoved a fistful of keys into my hand. I recognized the metallic bundle as the keys to all of the rooms, cabinets, and closets on this level.

“Dayna, I…I need to go home now. I feel funny,” Shelly said, as if to herself. “I really need to take a nap. But something is telling me that you need these right now. Just…leave them on my desk when you’re done, okay?”

I nodded helplessly. “Okay, Shelly. Will do.”

I followed alongside my friend as she walked robotically to the door, then watched her as she made her way slowly up the building’s stairway. Keys jingling in hand, I found a supply closet and located a marker, a roll of tape, and a pad of paper.

In a few moments, I taped a sign marked ‘CLEANING – DO NOT ENTER’ to the outside of the examination room door. Then I went through, locked the door behind me, and found a chair to jam under the knob for good measure.

Only then did I finally let myself relax.

Liam chuckled. “That was quite a performance, Destry.”

“And I had no idea that the pooka were so adept at improvisation,” I concluded, as I rejoined my friends. I looked at the big black horse with more respect now.

“As I told you, McClatchy truly believes that the world is holding him back from whatever he is destined for,” Destry said. “It is a common, mild delusion, but in this man…it is much, much stronger. So I gave him a shadowy figure, a
personnage
to put to his fantasies, and
voila!
It was all in good fun.”

Galen raised an eyebrow. “More than ‘good fun’, I would venture. Playing on a person’s fears in order to magically manipulate them…that was extremely potent, subtle magic.”

“I picked up on his thoughts, amplified the fears,” Destry demurred. “It had to be done. I regret nothing.”

“Indeed.” The wizard kept his expression neutral, but the skepticism in his voice spoke volumes.

Destry cleared his throat and pawed the ground. “A change of subject, then. Since we have the answer we wanted from the Protector, shall I return him to his resting place in the forest?”

“How?” I asked. “I thought you couldn’t transport anyone.”

“I am unable to transport living beings, which he is not.”

Liam nodded vigorously when I glanced at him for confirmation. So I got out a new pair of gloves and with Galen’s help, we draped Quinval’s body across the pooka’s back.

“We appreciate all of this help,” I said, as I patted Destry on his flank. “If you get the chance, see if you can speak to the Fayleene. Try to get them to understand why we did what we did. And what we found.”

“I shall try. And afterwards, shall I seek you in this world, or elsewhere?”

“As soon as Galen’s ready, we’ll return to Andeluvia.”

The pooka inclined his head towards us. “That shall be enough for me to track you by the spoor of your spell. I shall see you
anon
.”

The air rippled soundlessly as he faded away, taking Quinval’s body with him.

“This display of power by our equine friend troubles me,” Galen said, as soon as Destry had completed his vanishing act. “I am no expert on ethereal creatures, but even so…”

“Why the concern?” I gave the wizard a hard look. “He’s proven unexpectedly helpful, I think.”

“Perhaps. Maybe it is not the extent of his power, but his ability to use it with precision. Or the lack thereof.”

“From what Dayna told us, this ‘Destry’ is extremely young,” Liam pointed out. “Likely what he lacks is experience. How is the pooka’s ‘precision’ lacking?”

“Spells that alter perception and play with memory are tricky at best.” The centaur wizard rubbed his arms through the thin fabric of his scrubs, trying to keep warm. “I think it’s likely that Destry’s magic may have opened a door in McClatchy’s mind that should have stayed firmly shut. And as for precision…I don’t think our friend intended to cast his spell so as to ensnare Shelly Richardson as well. Yet she also fell under the compulsion to go home and sleep, probably to wake and think upon this as but a dream.”

I bit my lip in thought. Maybe Galen had a point. But I had bigger fish to fry right then.

“Galen,” I said, “when you blip us back to Andeluvia, can you bring us to somewhere outside the Parliament chambers?”

“Certainly. Why there, if I may ask?”

“Simple. We’re still no closer to identifying our killer,” I said firmly. “Destry’s lost the demon’s track, and we’ve lost Wyeth’s. So we have only one move left.”

“That being?”

I gave the wizard a grim, determined smile. “I’m betting that’s where we’re going to find Shaw. Because we’re going to find out what he’s learned about stopping dragons.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The wizard, Fayleene and I arrived in one of the courtyards of Fitzwilliam’s palace, announced by a blaze as bright as a hundred flash bulbs. I staggered and fell to one knee, but we’d landed on the soft turf between the paved pathways. I got up, did my best to brush off the grass stain that I’d acquired on the knee of my slacks, and nodded brusquely at a pair of royal pages who stared at us in unabashed surprise.

Well, I guess I couldn’t exactly blame them. Our arrival was rather showy by anyone’s standards, even in a land where magic was a relatively expected occurrence. The two teenaged boys, each garbed in cloaks the color of a robins’ eggs, rushed off to share our arrival as the latest gossip. Not that I minded. The fewer people around to try their hand at spying on us, the better.

Liam stretched his long, skinny deer legs and breathed deep. “Oh, joyous day! How wonderful to be out of that crypt of the dead, to have fresh air in one’s lungs again.”

“Much as your world fascinates me,” Galen added, “I must agree with our Fayleene friend. Though it does rather puzzle me why you would wish to arrive here, of all places. Did Grimshaw place a well-hidden hint with you?”

“He gave no hints,” I agreed. “Shaw’s a griffin’s griffin, when you come right down to it. There’s no way he would let slip anything, at least intentionally.”

The early afternoon sun came out from behind a cloud, illuminating gray marble walls that made up the palace proper. Sunlight glinted off the sides of the dunce-capped tower off to one side, but all I had eyes for was the three-story Parliament building to our front. It was remarkably ugly, being sheer-sided and windowless.

High above, wooden beams jutted up from the topmost story to make up the raw structure of an A-frame roof. It made the upper stories open to the sky, but that was just fine for the beings that worked inside.

The muffled sound of heavy wingbeats came from inside the walls of Parliament. A few seconds later, Shaw’s white-and-gold form burst from under one of the open A-frame bars and shot high into the air. The griffin let out a squawk of surprise as he spotted us below.

Shaw banked to one side and then made a neat pivot on one great white and black-tipped wing. With a flare of feathers he came to earth beside us. His normal scent of warm leonine fur was overlaid with the faint smell of fresh-baked pastry, and a few buttery crumbs of some delicacy clung to the side of his beak. It added just a touch of whimsy to his warrior’s face.

“Thou hast returned!” Shaw exclaimed, and he made a slight bow as he greeted us. “So pleased am I that none of you were killed by whatever foes lay o’er the far side of yon mysterious portal.”

“Not for lack of trying,” I remarked, and the griffin perked up at that.

“We came upon Liam’s rival, Wyeth,” Galen said. “He was in consultation with the demon-thing that killed Captain Vazura.”

Shaw’s stern eagle face went positively grim. “’Ere my falling out with Vazura, he was my Captain. I shall not swear vengeance for one I did not hold in utmost regard. But he was a brother in arms, which means that both deer and demon’s life is forfeit, should either chance to fall within reach of my talons.”

“I don’t think any of us would object,” I said, and I related what happened in the Fayleene’s sacred grove and our brief travel to the LAPD’s morgue. Shaw listened attentively, though he grew agitated and pawed the ground as I related our discoveries.

“Shamed and envious I am, that thy journeys had more adventure than mine. And to view that strange world of Dayna’s again would have been a treat for one such as I.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Liam insisted. “We remained inside a single room, one that stank in a way that would make a carrion-bird gag.”

A shrug from the griffin. “All battlefields carry the same fragrance after heroes have spilt their blood in the service of honor.”

“Speaking of scents,” I put in, “I’m smelling baked goods on your fur. How was your meal with the Albess?”

Shaw blinked. “Thou knowest? T’was Albess Thea, indeed. She hath allowed me to reveal her as the one I consulted.”

“It also looks to me like she’s allowed you to sample some of the delicacies supplied by Fitzwilliam’s court.”

The griffin looked a little embarrassed at that. “Lucky I was to leave, before mine own belly grew too plump to fly.”

That got a chuckle out of me in spite of myself. Fitzwilliam’s kingdom was a monarchy, but it wasn’t an absolute one. I’d learned in my first visit that the king acted as the executive branch. But the writing of the laws and the kingdom’s purse strings were controlled by a quasi-legislative branch called the Parliament.

Only one species made up the Parliament in this world: a well-catered-to bunch of magical owls led by Albess Thea. I’d met with the Albess during my investigation into the former king’s murder, as well as afterwards. She was a unique and gentle soul, and I counted her as a friend. And it was her special quirks that made me realize that Shaw was coming here.

“Regardless of how pleasantly plump Shaw has gotten, I am curious how you divined Shaw’s luncheon companion,” Liam put in. “I could spend an entire evening listing my griffin friend’s flaws, but breaking his word to keep silent would not be on the list. How did you know he would be here, Dayna?”

Shaw let out a deep leonine grumble. “‘Pleasantly plump?’ A strange way thou hast with words, Fayleene.”

I smoothed Shaw’s ruffled feathers, quite literally, by stroking his brow as I spoke. “No one doubts a griffin’s word once given. And even among griffins, our Shaw is not one to miss out on a chance to prove his valor.”

Said griffin purred like a happy kitty-cat at that. I gave him a final scratch under his chin as I went on. “Shaw was charged to stay within the palace’s demesne until he spoke with someone. If that someone was one of the nobles here, it wouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. When he begged off going with us, it meant that Shaw thought he’d be stuck here for a long while.”

A nod from Shaw. “For the crisp of the evening, at least!”

“And since there’s only one group of beings around that wake to do their work after sunset, I made an educated guess.”

“It’s barely two hours past the noon sun,” Galen pointed out. “That’s not hard by the sun’s setting time, I would venture.”

“A good point,” I said. “But I know that Thea has a most surprising affliction for a nocturnal bird:
insomnia
.”

“‘Tis true,” Shaw agreed. “Thy friend the Albess was waiting for me when I arrived upon the nonce. She was gracious and hospitable, even to one of such vast difference as I. Her words came easier to mine own ears than that of other owls I have chanced to meet.”

That didn’t surprise me. The owls were considered exceedingly odd creatures, even for Andeluvia, because of their mode of speech. They rarely if ever spoke directly about anything, preferring to play hide-and-seek with metaphors. Even stranger and more confusing to most was their reluctance to use the word ‘I’. Thea was the only owl I’d met who didn’t share her species’ verbal quirks.

“The Albess spoke to me in private,” Shaw continued, “and she plied my appetite with dishes aplenty.”

I grimaced as I recalled the meal that I’d eaten the first time I’d visited Parliament. “Did she make you try the ‘mouse tart’?”

“Nay, the day’s menu lacked that delicacy. I did try others: mouse stew, mouse flan, mouse in savory meat jelly, and mouse blood pudding.” The griffin shuddered. “Alas, that final dish was terrible. Not nearly enough mouse in it.”

“Never mind that,” I said, as I waved the memory away. “Did she have anything to say about Sirrahon?”

Shaw coughed. “In a fashion.”

“That is singularly unhelpful, friend,” Galen said, crossing his arms.

The griffin rubbed the side of his head with his paw as he complained, “Yon Abbess began by asking
me
a barrage of questions. Not about dragons. About Dayna.”

“Me?” I asked, startled.

“Aye. She asked me what I thought of you, whether you used heart or brain or gut to make decisions. More than once, she asked what I thought of your mettle. I replied forthrightly as I could. Methinks I spoke well enough in a hard spot, for in the end she told me about Sirrahon. That she had no knowledge of how to stop thy monster, but she knew who did.”

“Oh, great.” I kicked at the turf with my shoe toe. “This is starting to feel like an old-fashioned snipe hunt.”

“Knowest I not of snipe, but they must be most troublesome beasts. For the Albess revealed to me that the one to speak with was ‘The Old Man of the Mountain’.”

Galen let out a gasp. “Thea said to speak with...” A chill raced down the small of my back as the centaur wizard’s face took on a fearful cast. “Dayna, there is a legend I heard from Good King Benedict. Of an ancient spirit that lives atop the mountain to the north of the palace. A spirit that knows many things of the past and the future, a spirit that observes all there is to see.”

“Okay, I get the picture,” I sighed. “We have a freelance oracle on our hands. But if he’s atop the nearest mountain, how far away could he be?”

The wizard pointed up towards a peak that was just visible from where we stood. The summit rose above the walls, high but devoid of snow. The way looked steep and rocky, but surprisingly within reach. “A few hours away, if one has a reasonably solid mount.”

“That close? Then why don’t the locals go up and talk to him on a regular basis?”

“In the first place, because the Ancient Guild of Soothsayers discouraged it.” Galen’s lips curled into a wry expression as he added, “They claimed that the Old Man’s half-baked prophecies were inaccurate, which could make people distrust real predictions from approved-of prognosticators.”

“I get it. Short answer: It’s bad for business. Theirs.”

“Even so, there is another reason, one that made me pay heed. It is said that seeing the Old Man puts one in the utmost peril for one’s life.”

Shaw nodded vigorously. “The Albess spoke of much the same thing. In fact, she beseeched me to make this risk known to Dayna.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I have you three to back me up,” I said, putting on a brave face. “Didn’t Shaw once say that we can out-run, out-fly, out-fox, or out-fight anything?”

“Thou hast touched on the most troubling thing spoken to me by the Albess,” Shaw intoned. “I said as much to Thea, but she bade me silent with a wave of one wing. And then she insisted that I make one thing clear: That our deaths were nigh certain…unless Dayna spoke to the Old Man by
herself
.”

The chill that had run down my back climbed back up into my gut, tied itself into an icy knot, and settled into my stomach for a nap.

Just my rotten luck.