by Luke Arnold
“Hey, I need that!”
“No you don’t. You have enough bullshit of your own without buying more. I’m going home.”
I left him with his invisible Dragon and went back east. I was freezing. Simms still hadn’t returned my coat so I was making do with a second-hand, moth-eaten trench over the top of an old wool suit.
Main Street looked strange without the lampposts. Apparently they’d been taken away so the Niles Company could convert them to fit the new power supply. Those workers in coveralls were all around town, renovating buildings and ripping up the road. I passed a group of them pushing carts full of rubble and a couple on Main Street coming out of the sewers.
As I approached number 108, I got a tingling feeling on the back of my neck. On the other side of the street, an Ogre in a dark suit was hunched over a payphone. His wild head of hair and chest-length beard had both been combed with the utmost precision.
He was watching me as he spoke into the receiver, not bothering to hide the fact that he was staring. When you’re the size of an ox-cart, I suppose subtlety would be a waste of time.
My attention was stolen by a puttering sound. I turned to see a big black automobile roll down the road. It was that shiny, fully covered number I’d seen on the road back from Aaron Valley, with white-rimmed wheels and dark windows. It was even more impressive up close. A real upgrade from the first crates that coughed their way into the city a decade ago.
I wanted to run. I had the terrible feeling that this car had been following me all the way from the valley, but I just froze, praying that it would pass me by.
It didn’t. The sleek black carriage pulled up on the curb right where I was standing and a short Half-Elf with thin green eyes looked at me from the driver’s seat.
“Get in, Mr Phillips,” she said. “Somebody wants to have a little chat.”
She had the bored voice of someone who usually finds themselves to be the smartest person in the room.
“Tell somebody that they can come by my office whenever they want. I’ve got a new policy: during winter, I don’t go anywhere until I get paid.”
The Ogre was already at my side. He didn’t need to threaten me or put a hand on my shoulder. When you’re that size, every breath is a warning. On the collar of his jacket there was a little gold button, etched with the letters “NC”.
I was more curious about the Niles Company than I was about seeing the Ogre pull my intestines out through my nose, so I got in the damn car.
38
I might not know every square inch of Sunder, but I know most of it. When we turned left onto Sixteenth Street and I saw the big house for the first time, I was sure it hadn’t been there at the beginning of the year. It put both the Mayor’s house and the Governor’s mansion to shame: sprawling, decadent and unbelievably busy.
There were two more Ogres at the gate, half the size of the one crammed into the seat beside me but both wearing the same charcoal suits. They pulled open the copper gates and we drove in, winding our way down the long driveway. The gardens on either side were full of workers in coveralls digging trenches and planting trees.
The house itself was all wood, which further set it apart from most Sunder City architecture. It already had three stories and it looked like a fourth was on the way. There was a balcony on the second level that wrapped all the way around the building and the windows were the largest I’d ever seen in this city.
We pulled up at the front of the house and more monkey-suited attendants came out to open my door. They were putting on a performance but I couldn’t tell who the audience was supposed to be. Not me, I knew that much. I was just being delivered. Dropped at the doorstep like the morning paper.
A butler opened the front doors and I stepped into a room as big as most Sunder City buildings. The floor was checkered with black-and-white tiles and there were two identical staircases that led up to a landing with a carved white banister. Standing behind the banister, there was a man that I’d never seen before.
He was Human. About fifty. One of those guys for whom age had been a gift not a burden. There was a touch of gray above his ears and his laugh-lines only made him look more interesting. He wore a light brown suit and had the masculine air of someone who knew how everything worked.
“The famous Fetch Phillips,” he said with a deep, reasonable voice that would make a limerick sound like gospel. “My name is Thurston Niles. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“It seemed a better choice than being dragged in by my heels. I wouldn’t want to scratch the woodwork.”
He smiled politely. Nothing to prove. No reason to do any more than was absolutely necessary.
“Cyran is a sweetheart, really. He can’t help the way he looks but having him around certainly makes things move more efficiently. Please, come on up.”
I glanced between the two stupid staircases.
“Which one should I take? Is it some kind of test?”
The second smile was more real than the first.
“My architect has a thing for symmetry, but you’re right, it’s superfluous. Climb up the curtains for all I care. I’ll pour you a drink.”
He went out through a doorway behind him and I took the left staircase up to a long hallway that broke off into a multitude of rooms.
“Third on the right,” came the confident voice, and I followed its directions to the only room in the place that looked finished: thick black-and-red carpet, a variety of leather chairs, wooden side-tables, and a full-length bar that filled one wall. The fire was roaring and the windows were covered with heavy velvet curtains.
“I hear you’re not too picky about what you drink,” said my host, handing me a crystal tumbler of amber liquid, “but I am. This is a hundred-year-old Dwarven whiskey. If we opened the curtains, it would be the first time it ever saw sunshine. It has a mossy quality but I think you’ll like it. Take a seat.”
We took the two armchairs closest to the fire and he gave me a moment to sample the whiskey.
Goddam. It was like drinking rainwater from the roots of an old tree, but smooth and even a little salty.
“You certainly know how to start a meeting, Mr Niles.”
He raised his glass.
“Call me Thurston. This whiskey was discovered by my brother, Lance, on one of his expeditions across the continent. Lance was a people-person with an enquiring mind and a generosity of spirit. He could walk into any city in the world, find the most important person, be invited into their home at lunch and be their best friend and business partner by dinner time. My task was to come in afterwards, once everyone was already on-side, and handle the actual business of whatever caper my brother had concocted. Sometimes they were sound investments, often not, but in the last five years we’ve made changes all across Archetellos that have improved the lives of many.”
“You’ve also made a lot of money.”
“Of course. I hear you have a certain romance for living life on the lower rung. Well, that’s fine with me, but if we’re going to be friends you should know that making a profit is the last thing I will ever apologize for.”
“Is that why I’m here? You need a friend?”
“I need you to find the man who killed my brother.” He went back to the bar and refilled both our glasses. “I arrived in town after the trial. Lance, as usual, had taken the lead on this project. After talking to the police and visiting the morgue, I knew immediately that you were very wrong and then very right about what happened. If you hadn’t corrected yourself at the courthouse, we might be having a different conversation right now.”
If I wasn’t paying attention, I might have missed the threat buried under his hospitable demeanor.
“Then I’m glad I got my story straight.”
“As am I. It means that, together, we can work to bring the real murderer to justice. You can start by telling me everything you know.”
I gave him the same version of events that I’d told them at the trial. From the Bluebird
Lounge to the pharmacy to the forest. I explained that after bringing Tippity back, I had time to digest all that had happened and realized that things didn’t match up.
“And then you left town, correct?”
He had asked around.
“An unrelated case. It was supposed to be a small trip but it spiraled unexpectedly out of control. It tends to happen in my line of work.”
He looked at me over his glass. He knew I was lying. I’d failed the test. He was going to get that behemoth of an Ogre to break my bones one by one. I was about to jump up and run when he said, “I want to hire you.”
Breathe.
“You have an army of people at your disposal. What do you need me for?”
“You know this city better than any of my men, and you’ve proved that you value the truth.”
“I already went looking for your brother’s killer. I didn’t do much good.”
“True. But now you have me to help you out.”
Both our drinks were empty but he didn’t refill them.
“We are here to build a power-plant and bring industry back to the city. We’re going to fire up the lights and fill the factories. To accomplish this, we’re hiring the most forward-thinking engineers we can find. When Lance arrived in Sunder, he was vocal about the opportunities our company was offering and spent his nights courting talented candidates with experience in technological invention. One such candidate was named Mr Deamar.”
Thurston opened a small leather-bound pocket-book and put it down on the table between us. It was a diary. On the day of the murder “Deamar, Bluebird Lounge, 8 p.m.” was scrawled onto the page. Thurston pulled another piece of paper from his pocket.
“I found this on Lance’s desk. Take a look.”
Mr Niles,
I have been informed of your plans for Sunder City and humbly offer my services. In the days since the Coda, I have spent every waking moment researching ways to not only return this world to its former glory, but to go beyond what was possible in the magical age. I am delighted to hear of another like-minded entrepreneur and believe that you and I should meet in person at your earliest convenience.
To whet your appetite, I will tell you that I have spent the last year traveling to the Keats University on Mizunrum and I have information regarding the Wizards there that I am sure you would find most interesting.
Congratulations on all your recent successes and I look forward to our meeting.
Your Friend,
Mr Deamar
I looked at the word “Friend” over and over. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like a match for the card that had come with the machine. A gift, from a friend.
I now had a name for the strange man with scars on his face. Deamar had killed Lance Niles with the machine, dropped it at my door, and was now following me around the streets. But why?
I put the letter down on the coffee table.
“The return address for the letter was the Hotel Larone,” said Thurston. “Mr Deamar stayed there for five nights. After the murder, he returned to take his things and has not been seen since.”
“If you knew this, then why let us carry on with the whole Rick Tippity production?”
“I told you, I only arrived in town after the trial had taken place. My employees know how delicate my company’s work is. They made a show of assisting the police while working to delay the true investigation till my arrival. In that regard, your whole Tippity adventure helped us immensely. Of course, as soon as I arrived in town and saw my brother’s body, I knew that the explanation was ridiculous.”
“How did you know that?”
“Because I know what it was that killed my brother.”
I breathed in sharply and felt the metal of the machine press against my ribs.
That’s why I’d seen the same sleek automobile out on the road. It was Thurston’s men who’d come for Victor. The ones who’d dropped boulders and arrows as I made my escape. Instead of destroying the weapon like I said I would, I’d brought it right into the lair of the man who was doing everything he could to find it.
“You do?” I asked, hoping that Thurston didn’t notice I was unseasonably sweaty.
“Yes.”
He’s screwing with me. He knows the machine is right there in front of him. Why didn’t I destroy it? Why did I insist on carrying it around?
I tried to play dumb.
“What kind of magic was it?”
He scoffed. “No magic. Just science. A prototype tool that Lance had acquired on his way to Sunder. As far as I can tell, Lance showed the prototype to this Deamar fellow, who murdered him with it and then fled with the weapon in his possession.”
And then delivered it to me.
“What do you think the motive was?” I asked.
“I have no idea. Maybe this Deamar works for a competitor. Maybe he’s crazy. Maybe it was an accident and he just panicked. I don’t know. But I do know that he is impossible to find. Nobody has heard of him, other than the few people he encountered at the hotel. They describe him the same way as those at the Bluebird Lounge: Human, thin mustache, black suit, bowler hat, cane.”
I didn’t need the description. I’d seen Deamar twice already. I couldn’t tell Niles that, though. I couldn’t tell him a lot of things.
“Look, Thurston, I’m sorry about what happened to you brother but as far as continuing the investigation myself, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’ve already crossed the cops on this one by taking Tippity off their suspect list.”
“Which was the right thing to do.”
“I suppose. Then there’s the fact that I have something of a code. I don’t work for Humans. It’s nothing personal, just one of my quirks. I’ll give you any information I have, but I think you should find yourself another investigator.”
Thurston leaned forward. The guy gave nothing away. I couldn’t tell a damn thing that was going on in his head.
On the table beside him, there was a little bell. He picked it up and rang it, then he finally filled our glasses again. Moments later, the big Ogre entered the room, his bespoke suit straining at the seams.
I tried to mentally prepare for the beating. It wasn’t easy. A single punch would likely send me to the cemetery.
“Cyran,” said Niles, “please give Mr Phillips ten bronze bills.”
Cyran reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bronze. He counted off ten and held them out to me. I didn’t take them.
“Mr Niles, I just told you that—”
“Cyran, repeat after me: Mr Phillips, I would like to employ your services as a Man for Hire. Here are ten bronze bills. Please find the man who murdered Lance Niles.”
Like a three-hundred-pound parrot, the Ogre did as he was told. I had no choice but to go along with it. If I refused, I didn’t know what would happen next. Maybe the brute would turn me upside down and shake me till I took the job. The worst part of that would be if the machine fell out onto the floor and I had to try to explain how the murder weapon I was supposed to search for was already hidden under my jacket.
I took the bills.
“Thank you, Fetch,” said Thurston Niles.
“Thank you, Fetch,” said the Ogre.
Thurston dismissed Cyran with a smile.
“You really should reconsider your stance on working for Humans,” he said. “You might think it makes you seem honorable but it only looks naïve.”
“I don’t care how it makes me look. It’s just how I like to work.”
“You haven’t traveled much since the Coda, have you?”
“Not far, no.”
He smiled to himself in a way that made me feel uncomfortable.
“If you had, you might not be so quick to turn up your nose at your own kind. Things have changed out there, and men like us need to stick together.”
We had another drink and I pried all the facts I could from my new client. There wasn’t much to go on. Partly because Thurston wasn’t sharing the whole story and pa
rtly because Deamar was some kind of ghost. Niles hadn’t been able to find any record of him outside of his stay at the Hotel Larone and his visit to the Bluebird Lounge. I had two more sightings to add to my list but they still didn’t paint much of a picture.
“You think Deamar has got some sort of vendetta against you?” I asked.
“Perhaps. Though I’m not sure why?”
“Is there anything else we can pin on him? Other attacks?”
His face lit up like I’d thrown him a surprise party.
“I like the way you think! A month ago, when Lance was first traveling down here, one of our trucks was hijacked on the road. We assumed it was bandits but something never felt right to me. Too many valuables left behind. Instead, the thief stole documents. Just some itineraries and logbooks. They tried to tell me that, since it was winter, the thieves would take anything they could burn in a fire but I think you’re right. I think this Deamar fellow has been screwing with me for longer than I realized.” He threw back a whole glass of whiskey and nodded like we’d already solved the puzzle. “What do you plan to do next?”
There wasn’t much to go on. A handful of sightings around town and a month-old hijack that might not even be connected.
“I’ll work the truck angle first. Any witnesses?”
“No. But Yael, the driver who picked you up, was first on the scene. She might be able to give you something.”
“Maybe I should head out there and see it for myself.”
“A patch of empty road? It happened a month ago.”
“But why that spot? Was your truck targeted on purpose or do bandits camp out in that area? It might help us prove if it’s really connected to the case or not.”
He looked at the floor and nodded in a satisfied way.
“Talk to Yael, then come back in the morning. I’ll give you a carriage and some directions and you can see if there’s anything out there.” We stood up and shook hands. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Fetch. I like the way your mind works.” He brought up his other hand and enclosed mine in his grasp. For a moment, his tough exterior cracked. “Please, don’t let my brother down.”
