Dragon Precinct (5 page)

Then he sighed. Those words had changed a day that should have been simple and easy into a mess of paperwork, tiresome interrogations, endless digressions, and more dealing with Zaile, who would be very aggravated at losing two passengers—and probably not give Horran the other silver he owed him.

Day patrol was supposed to be
less
exciting, dammit.

C
aptain Osric was sharpening his dagger on a battered old stone as Torin and Danthres entered his office. The time-chimes had rung eighteen only a few minutes before, meaning it was less than an hour before the day shift came to an end. Under his beard, Torin frowned. Osric sharpened his dagger only when he had bad news to impart. If he was already honing the damn thing before they’d even come into the room, the news had to be dire.

Torin owed much to the captain. They had fought side by side years earlier when Osric was a well-regarded troop commander and Torin was an eager young idiot who left the semi-isolated city-state of Myverin to seek his fortune as a soldier. When Osric lost an eye in battle, he came to Cliff’s End and gladly took on an administrative post overseeing the Castle Guard. When Torin heard this, he too came to Cliff’s End, grateful for the opportunity to work with his old friend again, and finding satisfaction as a detective. He’d left Myverin because his family’s near-utopian existence as philosophers there bored him to tears; he’d lost interest in soldiering because the lack of intellectual stimulation did likewise. Serving as one of Osric’s lieutenants, he was able to combine both into a satisfying whole.

As Torin and Danthres each took a seat in the guest chairs opposite Osric, the captain’s usual scowl was deep enough to virtually etch a crater into his perpetually unshaven face. Both lieutenants knew that he deliberately kept his beard at a length that looked like a day’s growth—Danthres’s sensitive nose picked up the shaving lotion he used—but that didn’t change the visual effect it had, combined with the black silk patch over his left eye.

“I’ve spent most of the afternoon talking with Lord Albin. He is
very
upset, as you might imagine.”

“We know what you’re going to say, Captain,” Torin said quickly. “Gan Brightblade is a hero renowned throughout Flingaria, he is a dear friend of Lord Albin and Lady Meerka, and we need to close this case with all due speed and dispatch.”

Osric continued to sharpen his dagger. “Very perceptive. I just got back, so I haven’t had the chance to talk to Boneen. What did the peel-back say?”

“Nothing,” Danthres said.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

Torin shrugged. “Just what she said. According to Boneen, Brightblade’s neck broke, then he fell to the floor. And no magic was involved whatsoever.”

“How is that possible?”

“You tell me,” Danthres said, blowing out a breath. “We’ve been talking about it all day, but we’ve got nothing.”

“I don’t want to hear that.” Osric scraped his dagger against the sharpening stone so hard it made Torin’s teeth rattle. He shuddered to think what effect it was having on Danthres. “This is the biggest murder we’ve ever seen. People are going to wonder what the point is of a castle guard if we can’t even keep a hero like Gan Brightblade safe. They may start to think we’re better off with a formal militia or a standing army to keep things safe. They’ll also think that the captain and lieutenants should be replaced. So kindly don’t tell me you have nothing.”

Torin was thinking that Osric’s dagger had never been sharper even as he spoke. “The only thing we do have is the rest of his group.”

“What group?”

Quickly, Torin filled the captain in on Genero and the rest of the party. “They obviously came here for some other reason than a pleasure cruise.”

“Genero knows who killed Brightblade,” Danthres added, “or at least he thinks he does.”

“They all do.”

Osric finally put the sharpening stone down. “I remember Ubàrlig. You sure he’s lying?”

“Through what few teeth he has left,” Torin said. “He brought a Fjorm axe with him.”

Now Osric started tapping his desk with the dagger. “You’re right, if he brought the Fjorm, he’s going into combat. Dammit.”

“Genero said they’d been through a great deal together,” Danthres said. “They’ve fought wizards, warlords, what-have-you. One of them might’ve picked something up, something Boneen couldn’t detect, and used it on Brightblade.”

“What about the patrons?”

Torin shrugged. “The usual you find at the Dog and Duck. Transients, people on their way out to sea, people on their way back home from the sea. Most were only staying the one night. Only long-termer was a young man who said he was waiting to meet some members of his family here on the way to a wedding in Iaron next spring. None of them seemed to have the wherewithal to do something on this scale. Even so, we’ve asked all of them to extend their stays, and they’re all willing.” Torin grinned. “They all wish to cooperate with the investigation of the murder of so great a hero.”

Danthres snorted. “Right, so they can tell their friends that they helped the Guard find the man who killed Gan Brightblade.”

Osric leaned back in his chair. “I’ve been to dozens of spring weddings in Iaron, Tresyllione—trust me, that’s the kind of story that can only lighten it up.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I have no plans to ever set foot in Iaron.”

The captain put the dagger down, finally. “I want this case closed. I can give you extra help if you want it.”

“Not the idiots on the other shift, please,” Danthres said in a pleading voice.

“That’s all I’ve got. I can’t take the others off their cases.”

“I don’t
want
Dru and Hawk off their case,” Danthres said. “That damn rapist needs to be taken down.”

“Agreed,” Torin said, “though that only leaves Iaian and Grovis.”

The look on Danthres’s face made it clear what she thought of that notion. Torin had to suppress a grin. Iaian was long past it, and Grovis was never in any danger of approaching it.

Osric shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. If I take them off the fake-glamour ring, the Brotherhood’ll cut out my other eye.”

Torin grinned. “Can’t Lord Albin intervene?”

“I assume that was a joke, ban Wyvald.” Osric picked up the dagger again. “The only people in Flingaria who are unmoved by Gan Brightblade’s death are the Brotherhood of Wizards. As far as they’re concerned, there’s no more important case than the bad glamours.” He leaned forward again, pointing his dagger at the lieutenants. “But as far as I’m concerned, yours is. All right, since I can’t give you any extra detectives, I can at least give you extra guards for foot patrols or rounding people up.”

“Good,” Danthres said. “We’ll need Mermaid to see if any of our gang of seven tried to hire a boat. Genero said he and Brightblade were going to do that today, but I don’t see any good reason to believe him.”

“He’s a Temisan priest, Tresyllione.” Osric’s incredulity was understandable to Torin. While the clergy of the dozens of religions that were favored in this part of Flingaria had its share of charlatans and ne’er-do-wells, Torin knew that those who worshiped Temisa were among the most well regarded and tended toward both the lowest amount of corruption and the nastiest punishment of same.

Danthres, however, would not be dissuaded. “He’s a Temisan priest who wears a sword and leather armor and lies to investigators, Captain.”

Osric nodded. “Fair point.”

“And we’ll need to backtrack their movements,” Torin said. “Maybe they encountered someone on the way here. And we should question whoever took in their horses outside the city.”

“That
we’ll
do,” Danthres added.

“I’ll make sure Jonas takes care of you,” Osric said. “What else?”

Danthres looked at Torin, then back at Osric. “We also should talk to Brightblade’s friends again, but not until tomorrow after they’ve had time to sleep on it.”

“In their rooms this time,” Torin added. “I want to get a look at their accommodations.”

Nodding, Danthres continued: “If one of them did it, having a night to think about what they’ve done might make them more nervous. After all, they’re self-styled heroes, but not murderers, and first-time murderers usually have a hard time sleeping.”

In fact, Torin knew that many of the murderers they’d put away in their decade together, first-time or not, had no trouble sleeping, but Torin also made it a rule never to disagree with Danthres in front of the captain. It was better that he thought they were a perfect team—just as it was better that he thought they were intimidated by his stubble and eyepatch. It made the work run more smoothly.

“All right,” Osric said, sheathing the dagger. “Take all the overtime you need on this.”

Torin straightened. “Really?”

Osric rarely smiled, but now his face did soften a bit. “That was the first thing I asked Lord Albin for. After all, if we are to solve the most important murder in Cliff’s End’s history, no resource should be spared, right?” The scowl came back. “Now get out of here and close this case.”

As they exited Osric’s office, Danthres shook her head and chuckled. “Amazing.”

“What is?”

“Until now, I’ve been cursing Brightblade’s name—a mystery like this is usually just a major pain in the ass until we put the case down, but unlimited overtime? For that, I will happily drink a toast to Gan Brightblade at the Chain tonight.”

“Assuming we
get
to the Chain. I think it behooves us to at least question the stablemasters tonight.” Torin grinned. “We
do
have unlimited overtime, after all.”

It was close to midnight by the time Danthres and Torin showed up at The Old Ball and Chain—late enough, Danthres observed, that Iaian had already gone home and there were actually a few seats available.

The public house had been opened six years earlier by a retired dwarven guard named Urgoss. His fellow foot soldiers of Dragon Precinct had come to the grand opening, and kept coming back every night. Soon, the place gained a reputation as a Guard bar, to the point where Urgoss would only let non-Guard personnel in if they were specifically vouched for—sometimes not even then, depending on the quality of the person giving the reference.

Danthres spied Dru and Hawk at their usual table—the big round one in the back—and pointed Torin toward it. Urgoss had arranged the tables so that there were plenty of clear walkways to and from the bar, thus saving him the expense of hiring table service. Besides, he figured if you were too drunk to amble up to the bar and order your own drink, you shouldn’t have any more anyhow. The back wall of the Chain had a long bench with five six-person tables alongside it. Hawk sat on the bench against the wall, with Dru in one of the two stools opposite.

“About time you two showin’ up,” Hawk said, holding up his flagon in tribute. Danthres could smell the ale both in the flagon and on Hawk’s breath.

Torin grinned as he slid onto the bench next to Hawk. “The joys of unlimited overtime.”

Dru’s eyes went as wide as copper coins. “Osric signed off on that?”

Shrugging, Danthres took the stool next to Dru. “Well, we have to have some compensation for having him take up residence in our asses for the duration of this case.”

“Good,” Hawk said, “maybe he’ll be gettin’ outta ours, then.”

“Could be worse,” Dru said after taking a contemplative sip of his ale. “At least we don’t have the Brotherhood up there like Iaian and the fish do.” Dru had taken to referring to Grovis as “the fish” because he felt the perpetually confused look on the lieutenant’s face resembled that of one of his wife’s piscine pets.

“No, we just gotta listen to ’im bitch an’ moan ’bout it.”

Again, Torin grinned. “Ah, so we missed Iaian’s usual gripe session entirely, then?”

“Yeah, he faded about an hour ago.” Dru wiped the foam from his ale off his lips. “Least he isn’t going on about the fish anymore.”

Danthres snorted. “How many different ways can you say that Grovis is a perfect ass?”

“Iaian’s come up with most of them by now, I should think,” Torin said.

“Well, we missed tonight’s griping by virtue of spending several hours figuring out which stable Brother Genero, Gan Brightblade, and their merry band of idiots used to house their horses when they arrived. Took forever to find—probably because we started at the cheaper places, and worked our way up.”

Dru almost sputtered his ale. “You’re kidding, right? Heavy hitter like Brightblade, he’s gonna go with the biggest, snazziest stable he can find.”

“Our logic,” Torin said, “is that they’re going on a sea voyage, so they’d be looking to economize on their long-term storage.” Then the grin returned. “At least, that is how we will justify our mode of search when we put in the overtime request.”

All four of them laughed. “Good move,” Dru said. “Who knows when you’ll get a shot like this again?”

“Damn straight.” Danthres got up. “First round’s on me.”

“Try twelfth round,” Hawk said, “but we’ll be takin’ it.”

Chuckling, Danthres worked her way to the other side of the Chain, where Urgoss stood behind the wide, wooden bar. The surface was pockmarked with the nicks and scrapes of six years’ worth of drunken guards’ actions, including several attempts at initial-carving and amateur relief sculpture. Urgoss never bothered to fix it up, on the theory that it didn’t interfere with his ability to provide drinks, so why should he bother? The dwarf himself stood on a raised platform that gave the illusion of greater height.

Three guards wearing the crest of Mermaid on their armor were nursing flagons at the bar as Danthres approached. She recognized one of them as Horran, a veteran; the other two weren’t old enough to shave every day. Horran was regaling the youngsters with some tale or other.

“…so they fall on top of each other, and I have to actually draw my weapon. They both start going on about how they can’t defeat Chalmraik if I take ’em in, and Zaile starts peeing in his shorts ’cause he’s out two passenger fares.” Horran shook his head. “Lousy way to start back on day shift.”

Urgoss saw Danthres and started to walk down his platform toward her. She held up four fingers; Urgoss stopped, nodded, and grabbed four flagons.

“They’ve got you back on days, Horran?” she said to the old guard.

He laughed. “Yeah, Lieutenant, starting today. Time off for bad behavior. So I get these two nutcases who think they’re ‘destined’ to stop Chalmraik.”

“Isn’t Chalmraik dead?” one of the infants asked.