Dragon Precinct (10 page)

Upon her return to the squad room, Jonas informed her that Torin had hied off to Goblin to talk to an informant—probably that simpering bitch who ran the whorehouse. Danthres decided that the animal didn’t necessarily need to be defenseless.

She proceeded down Meerka Way to Dragon Precinct to begin the fruitless interrogation of local elves, in the hopes that one of them might be a secret devotee of the Elf Queen, a prospect she considered about as likely as one of them being King Marcus in disguise.

When she arrived, Sergeant Grint informed her that Torin had not arrived yet, but they’d rounded up about a score of elves, with a few more to come, and she could use the interrogation room.

After the first few—with no sign of Torin to relieve and/or assist her—she would happily have strangled an entire horde of small animals, defenseless or otherwise.

“I am afraid I do not know that of which you speak.”

“You don’t know who Olthar lothSirhans is?”

“Oh, yes, I know of him. Who does not?”

“Did you know that he was in Cliff’s End?”

“Where?”

“Cliff’s End.”

“Where is that?”

“You’re
in
Cliff’s End.”

“Oh, is
that
the name of this city? I didn’t realize.”

“Have you ever met Olthar lothSirhans?”

“Goodness, no. Though I might, if you say he’s here in Cliff’s End.”

When she gave up and tossed that one out of the interrogation room, the next spoke in Ra-Telvish. “This will be brief. I have better things to do—”

In Common, Danthres said, “This is a murder investigation.”

Still speaking Ra-Telvish, the man said, “Then you should be finding the murderer.”

“Speak Common, please.”

“If you do not understand my words, you ignorant half-breed slut, that is your problem, not mine. I do not speak the gutter language of lower life-forms such as humans.” The man folded his arms defiantly.

Danthres gave him her best don’t-piss-me-off-or-
I’ll-kill-you smile. “I understood every word you said,” she said in her slightly accented Ra-Telvish, “but I prefer not to speak the arrogant, irritating language of lower life-forms such as elves.” Back to Common: “Now then, did you know Olthar lothSirhans?”

He did not. Neither did the next few. The one after that went on at great length at the injustice of the man who “saved us all from the Bitch Queen,” and proclaimed that she would personally pay for Olthar’s funeral, and make sure he went to the next life with the highest honors.

Danthres concluded that interview by assuring her that such arrangements were likely being taken care of.

By the time she hit a dozen—and an elf who had several unkind words regarding Danthres’s parentage and face—Torin finally deigned to turn up.

“Where the hell’ve
you
been?” She shook her head. “Never mind, I don’t know and I don’t care. You can take the next batch of these tiresome, insufferable—”

“No need,” Torin said with a grin as he perched on the table in the interrogation room. “I had Grint send the rest home. He said you weren’t getting anywhere, and I think we’ve done enough to keep up appearances for the sake of our Lord and Lady. Besides, I have something a bit better.”

Danthres bit back an angry retort at Torin’s words, instead clinging to his last sentence like a drowning victim being thrown a life preserver. “A lead?”

“The beginnings of one.” He proceeded to tell her what he’d learned about Brightblade’s use of a glamour potion. “The potion would stop working when he died,” he finished, “but the magical residue from a potion lasts until the body decomposes—sometimes even after that. There’s no way Boneen could’ve missed that.”

“How reliable is your source?”

He smirked. “Suzett has never led me astray before.”

Danthres sighed. “I had a feeling it was her. You
do
know she’s just trying to get into your armor.”

“That’s not quite how our relationship works.”

“I can imagine,” Danthres said with a snort. “I don’t like her.”

“That’s hardly indicative of anything suspicious. You don’t like anybody.”

Danthres got up and started pacing the room. “She’s a whore, Torin. For all we know she was paid by one of Brightblade’s friends to give us this false lead.”

“She’s been my best informant for eight years, Danthres,” Torin said emphatically. “I doubt she’s going to start lying to me now. And her story does match what the cleaning woman said about his looking grayer and more wrinkled after he died.”

“That could’ve been the light.”

Torin nodded. “Or it could’ve been a proper observation. Remember, all the tavern was trying to get a look at Brightblade. They probably spent most of the evening staring at him. If they thought he looked different—especially if he didn’t match the picture they had of him from the previous night—we have to consider the possibility that he actually
did
look different.”

“We still don’t know that it was a potion.”

“Suzett seemed to think it—”

Danthres turned to glare at her partner. “When was the last time your precious whore saw Brightblade before seeing him at the Dog and Duck?”

“She didn’t say.”

Typical,
Danthres thought.
He’s letting that woman impair his judgment.
“What if it’s been a few years? Perhaps in his old age he couldn’t afford the potions anymore and stuck with a gem.”

“Which we didn’t find on his person or in his room.”

“The murderer could’ve taken it.”

“What murderer? Boneen didn’t see one. Nor did he see any evidence of magic.” Torin blew out a breath. “You see what I mean about this being the beginnings of a lead. I’m not sure what this means, but it
does
mean something.”

“It could just mean that the whore is leading you by your nether regions.”

Before they could pursue this conversation any further, the door to the interrogation room opened to reveal Sergeant Grint. Grint was tall and broad-shouldered, and his leathery face bore the forty years he’d served the Guard in every deep crag and wrinkle. Even his bald pate had wrinkles, weaving in and out amid the blue veins that seemed to throb near the surface of his scalp. “Got somethin’ for ya,” he said in his sandpapery voice, “but y’ain’t gonna like it.”

“What?” Danthres asked.

“Gotcha ’nother coupla bodies.”

“We’re on a case,” Torin said.

“I
know
that, y’idjit,” Grint snapped. “S’part of it. Two halflings, no waitin’.” He snickered. “Found ’em down Jorbin’s Way. Guard recognized ’em from the Dog and Duck.”

Danthres put her head in her hands. “Mari and Nari?”

“Looks like. Figured you two’d wanna check it out.”

“Good figuring.” Torin then looked at Danthres. “Wasn’t the whole point of the exercise to keep them
in
the castle?”

Danthres’s only reply was to leave the room. This case just got even more peculiar, and the only good thing was that the overtime was probably going to last a little longer.

Hobart lit a cigar as he stood at the mouth of Jorbin’s Way, waiting to be able to get back to his stand. The center of much of Cliff’s End’s mercantile commerce, Jorbin’s Way was lined with various stands and establishments that sold pretty much anything in the way of material goods you could possibly want. Hobart mostly dealt in dry goods—clothes, tools, and other items that were easy to store without magical aid. He saw no reason to pay the exorbitant fees that the Brotherhood of Wizards insisted on for spells to preserve food, drink, and certain other substances. He preferred to stick with what he could place in a box and shove in a closet if need be. Particularly those items that were of dubious legality.

Right now, Hobart was exceedingly grateful that he had no such goods in his booths, as the damned Swords had shut the Way down and were crawling all over everything ever since those two halflings dropped dead. The last thing he needed was some overzealous Sword going through his stand and finding the stash of Iaron tobacco that he hadn’t actually paid any tariffs on, or those rubies that he had labeled as genuine pieces of the famed Eye of Magril.

If there was any good news to be had, it was that they picked today. With both Gan Brightblade and Olthar lothSirhans dying in Cliff’s End within a day of each other, people weren’t in particularly good humor, which meant they weren’t especially interested in buying things. Hobart had been hearing a great deal of moaning and weeping over the kind of world we live in where heroes can die, and a concomitant lack of discussion over what to get for that wedding next month or for a family member’s birthday. Profits were lower today than they’d been since winter. Having the Way shut down was, in its own way, the perfect ending to a perfect day.

As if this enforced exile weren’t taking long enough, a couple more Swords approached from Meerka escorting two more Swords through. One Sword pushed Hobart out of his path hard enough to knock his cigar to the ground.
Ain’t touching that now, I
know
where that ground has been. Too bad, those Barlin stogies ain’t cheap.

The new Swords that came through wore brown cloaks.
Oh for Temisa’s sake, not detectives,
he thought, pulling out another cigar.
Now we’re gonna be here for
hours.

One of them stopped and looked right at Hobart.
Oh, shit. Not her.

“Well well well,” Lieutenant Tresyllione said. “If it isn’t Hobart. Why is it that every time I come to the Way to investigate something, you’re right in the thick of it?”

“ ’Sall my bad luck,” Hobart said sourly, blowing out a puff of smoke. “ ’Salways my bad luck whenever yer ’round, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe. Right now, it’s the bad luck of the halflings that I’m concerned with. I’ll be back.”

“Mind hurryin’ up? Fella’s gotta make an honest livin’—”

“Hobart, you haven’t made an honest living a day in your life.”

Letting the slander pass, Hobart went on. “—an’ I can’t be doin’ that if’n you Swords’re keepin’ our businesses shut.”

One of the guards leaned over. “Watch your mouth, Hobart.”

Tresyllione’s partner waved the guard off. “It’s all right,” ban Wyvald said. “He’s entitled to express his dismay with the current situation.”

“Yeah, well, I’m feelin’ a whole lotta dismay, truth be known.” Hobart took a long drag on his cigar. “Look, them two halflings died’n that’s a pity, it surely is. But we been coolin’ our boots out here f’r an hour, an’ now we gotta wait for you Cloaks t’get through what you gotta do.”

“That’s right,” Tresyllione said, “we do. If you have a problem with that, you can complain to your local representative. I believe that it’s Shramian for this district.” She smiled, which actually made her look scarier. “I’m sure you know where to find him, Hobart, it’s where you send the bribes.”

“Now that’s just a damn lie.” Strictly speaking, it was. Hobart’s bribes to Shramian went through a middle party.

“But it won’t do any good.” Tresyllione looked around at the assembled merchants. Her partner went ahead, probably to check the bodies, but she stayed behind and continued talking. “See, those halflings that died are close personal friends of Lord Albin and Lady Meerka. We’re going to need to be quite thorough in our investigation. So we could be here for
hours
. Probably the rest of the day, to be honest. I wouldn’t count on opening again until tomorrow morning—or even noontime.”

Half a dozen complaints, groans, and moans sounded from the other merchants around Hobart at that. Hobart, however, was not among them. He’d known Tresyllione since she was walking a beat in Goblin. She wouldn’t have wasted her time with that explanation normally; she wouldn’t care enough, truth be told, she’d just keep the Way closed until she was done. No, she only spelled it out because she wanted something in exchange for possibly shortening the time that the Way would be shut down.

Never let it be said I passed up an opportunity.
“Look, Lieutenant, I’ve always been a personable sort toward the Guard.”

“No you haven’t.”

Hobart shrugged. “All right, maybe I haven’t, but it ain’t too late to start, is it? I’m thinkin’ it’s time I turned over a new leaf. After all, we’re all on the same side, ain’t we? We just want law an’ order in our little town here.”

“No, Hobart,
I
want law and order. You want a high profit margin, and you see a big one by helping out with the murder investigation of a close personal friend of the Lord and Lady.”

Hobart shook his head. “Y’know, it do just depress me, the cynicism you see nowadays. Here I am, tryin’ t’be civic-minded an’ all, and you insult me.”

“I’m not insulting you, Hobart, I’m describing you.” She walked up to him, towering over him.
Women shouldn’t be so damn tall,
he thought irritably. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t accept your offer, regardless of your motives. Did you see anything?”

Letting the question hang for a moment, Hobart took a final drag of his cigar, which was now down to almost a nub. He dropped it on the ground, stepped on it, and finally said, “Shit, Lieutenant, I saw the whole damn thing. Them two halflings was runnin’ their scam right in front’a my place. First they came up an’ asked me if’n I had any Cormese silk.” He chuckled as he pulled out another cigar. “They took one look at my bolts’n gave me a price that was—well, pretty danged insultin’. Wouldn’t give my own grandmother one copper per foot for Cormese silk.”

“As I recall from the last time I wandered down the Way,” Tresyllione said with a smirk, “what you generally refer to as ‘Cormese silk’ is in fact Hymian burlap, which tends to disintegrate when you wash it, and is also worth about a copper piece per foot.”

“Y’see,” Hobart said, throwing up his hands in frustration, “it’s just this kinda thing that makes dealin’ with you Cloaks such a pain in my ass.”

“You’ll get over it. What happened then?”

“Look, anyone who tries to wash Cormese silk deserves what they get, dammit. I mean, what kinda world we live in when you won’t even take the word of an honest merchant?”