by G. T. Spoor
“So, tell me. What are your chances of actually finding this slaver?” Emily asked.
“Not very good,” Shagra answered. “There isn’t much to go on—only rumors. We don’t even know who we are dealing with. Slavers like these work in small groups, four or five members tops. They move around, never staying in one place for very long. They send their hounds out to find potential targets, those who won’t be missed. Then they lead them to places where they can be taken without raising too much suspicion.”
“Yes, that sounds about right. So, you’ve dealt with these people before?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Did any of them have a squeaky voice?”
Shagra stopped walking and a curious look came over his face. “Why do you ask that?”
“It’s only that the person who abducted me had a rather high-pitched, squeaky voice. I was wondering—”
“Alaric Galbassi.”
“Sorry?”
“Alaric Galbassi,” Shagra repeated. It looked as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Who is Alaric Galbassi?”
“He’s a trader who deals in anything of value. Weapons, drugs, poisons, even people. I had thought we had seen the last of him.”
“And this Alaric—he has a squeaky voice?”
“He should. He’s a howne.”
That answer seemed to satisfy Shagra, so Emily let it go. At least now she had a name. It also explained why no one ever heard of Galbassi Lane. It must have been some type of code word. A way for Brian to reveal where his allegiance lay when confronting those who actually did the abducting. When they reached the currus, Sarah got in first and Emily slid in beside her. She even thanked the orc who held the door open, something that got her a strange look from her companion.
“How can you even talk to them?” Sarah asked when they pulled away from the curb.
“I don’t see any problem with them.”
“They give me the creeps.” She shivered
Emily wanted to say something more. She thought about what Tar had gone through. How much hatred he had experienced at the hands of the vir; but she held her tongue. There was a time and a place, and this was neither.
Chapter 11
Pack Up Your Troubles
Emily was awakened by a loud knocking. At first, she thought it might have been the neighbors bouncing each other off the walls again, but this time it was coming from the other room. Wrapping herself in one of the sheets, she opened the bedroom door. Sarah was already standing in the living room, dressed in her nightshirt. From the worried look on her face, it was clear she wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. It was quite possible their little visit to Fat Foh drew some unwanted attention.
“Who is it?” Sarah called out.
At first, there was no answer, then a muffled reply neither of them could make out. Sarah reached for the door, but Emily stopped her. She grabbed the tyng from the table. Better to err on the side of caution. When she was in position, she motioned for Sarah to continue.
“Who is it?” Sarah called out again.
This time, they could hear the person on the other side of the door. He was obviously trying to keep his voice down so as not to disturb the other tenants.
“Merc business, ma’am. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Sarah slowly turned and looked at Emily. They seemed to share the same fear. What business could Mercs have this late at night? Emily wondered if the Blue Tigers had finally tracked her down. It was their job to find people after all. Adjusting her grips on the tyngs, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“It’s kind of late,” Sarah said. “Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. It will only take a moment.”
Slowly she opened the door, but only enough so she could look out into the hall.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asked.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. I know it’s late. I’m looking for a young woman. She’s kind of short, has silver hair. I’m pretty sure she lives in this building. I dropped her off—”
“Berk?” Emily pulled the door open the rest of the way. “What are you doing here?”
Berk stood in the hall, and a look of relief washed over his face. “Thank the holy badger, I found you,” he said. “This was the third apartment, I tried.”
“Get in here.”
“I take you two know each other?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah. He’s a… a friend.”
Standing in the middle of the room, Berk seemed a little uncomfortable. Emily couldn’t blame him. Neither she nor Sarah was dressed for company.
“What are you doing here, Berk?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Em,” Berk stammered, “but there’s been another murder.”
“Like the one before?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
“Recent?”
“About two hours ago.”
“But I thought you were handing that case off.”
“I tried.” Berk threw his hands up. “But the captain won’t let me. He was furious when I told him it didn’t look like an accident. He said if I thought it was deliberate, then I had to prove it.”
“So? What do you need me for?”
“Because… I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to look for, but you do. You have to help me.”
“Berk. I can’t investigate a crime. I don’t have a license.”
“Well… technically you wouldn’t be investigating. I mean, I’d be doing that. You’ll be helping me. You know, pointing out what I miss.”
Somehow she didn’t think Petrova would see it that way.
“Look, you can do this, Berk. Besides, you said it yourself. If they find out I helped you, we could both be in trouble.”
“Please, Emily. I can’t do this alone. I need your help. It’s your fault I’m in this situation.”
“My fault? How do you come to that conclusion?”
“Hey, I was more than willing to claim it was an accidental fire. You said it wasn’t. You said it looked deliberate.”
“I didn’t say it looked deliberate. I said it might have been. It was hard to tell. Most of the evidence was destroyed already.”
“Well then, this is your chance to see it firsthand, before anyone else gets there.”
Emily paused for a moment, then shook her head.
“I don’t know, Berk.”
“Please, Emily.”
It was the tenth tenet all over again, but maybe this was closer to the true meaning. Berk needed her help; he was requesting it. She couldn’t refuse him. In a way, he was right. It was her fault he was in this predicament. She talked him into questioning his original assessment of the crime scene even though that assessment was incorrect. If she had simply let it go, if she had never followed him in the first place, he would have filed his report with Petrova, and that would have been the end of it. Of course, whoever did commit the crime would have gotten away with it.
“Oh… all right,” she said at last. “Give me a moment to get dressed.”
“Thank you, Em.” Berk sighed.
As she headed back to her room, she left him alone with Sarah.
“So. You’re a Merc. Are you married?”
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.
~~~***~~~
“Your friend seems… um…”
“Desperate?”
“I was going to say nice, but desperate works.”
Emily laughed. “You have to forgive her. She wants to move up and she thinks the only way she can do that is if she gets married.”
“Yeah, well, who doesn’t want to do that?” Berk said.
“What? You want to get married too?”
“Me? No. I mean, well… not yet. I was talking about moving up. Everybody dreams of moving up to the upper nine, but it’s not that simple. It takes connections and money, two things I don’t have.”
Emily leaned b
ack and placed her feet up on the dash of the hot-top as Berk drove. Mana-powered vehicles were, by far, the best means of traveling anywhere in the city. Unfortunately, they didn’t appear to be available to just anyone. Berk was only able to get his hands on one because he was a Red Wolf.
“Why did you decide to become a Merc?” she asked.
The big man shrugged. “I don’t think I ever did… make the decision I mean. It was kind of made for me.”
“Are you saying you were forced to become a Merc?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s only… I don’t know. There wasn’t anything else I could do. I wasn’t good at much. Besides, look at me. I’m big, I’m clumsy, and most people, when they see me, run in the opposite direction.”
Emily laughed. “So you figured those qualities would make you a good Merc?”
“Something like that.” He grinned. “Actually, my first job was working for my little brother as a cooper. Needless to say, it was a bit awkward. Jordan never let me forget that I wasn’t smart enough to run the family business, which is why our father left it to him in the first place.”
“A cooper?”
“We made barrels and buckets and things like that.”
“So, what changed?”
“We got robbed.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. One day a man walked in and tried to rob us. Can you image that? Trying to rob a cooper. He must have been desperate or probably on Terra dust. Anyway, I caught him, put a bit of a hurting on him, and the next thing I know, the Red Wolves are asking if I want to join their ranks. At that point, I would have done anything to get out from under Jordan. It seems the only things I’m good at are breaking down doors and beating up people.”
“Well, that’s depressing,” Emily said.
“No, that’s just the way it is.”
“You shouldn’t sell yourself short. You’re smarter than you think you are. Isn’t there anything you wanted to do besides being a Merc… or a cooper?”
“Yeah,” Berk said slowly. “But you’ll think it foolish.”
“Really. What is it? Come on, tell me.”
“I always wanted to be a lutenist.”
“A lutenist?”
“You know, someone who plays a lute—”
“No. No. I know what it is, but I never figured you for the musical type. How long have you been playing?”
“Oh, I don’t know how to play. I thought it would be cool though.”
Berk pulled the hot-top to the curb. Leaning over the wheel, he pointed across the street. “That’s the place,” he said. “It’s the home of a Mr. Therm Flintmace. Another dower engineer—or at least he was.”
Emily didn’t need Berk to tell her which building was Flintmace’s; it was easy to figure out. For starters, it looked older than the two buildings that flanked it. There was a definite grayness about the exterior and the glass was missing from all the windows, but what gave it away were the two Red Wolves standing outside the front door.
“I thought we’d be doing this alone,” she said.
“Oh, we will. They’re only there to keep the building secured until I show up. They were given strict orders not to go inside.”
“So you knew they were going to be here?”
“Of course.”
“Then how am I supposed to get inside to take a look around? Won’t they start asking questions?”
“Well, actually… I kind of thought about that. I have it all figured out.”
Stepping out of the vehicle, Berk moved around to the rear of the hot-top and pulled what appeared to be an oversized backpack from the trunk. It had a solid wicker frame with a wooden base and looked much like the ones the farmers used in the fields back home, although theirs didn’t have lids. He set it on the ground in front of her.
“I thought you could ride in this,” he said.
Emily looked at the pack, then at Berk.
“I’ll be going home now.”
“Oh, come on. It won’t be that bad. You get in, we close it up, I put it on, and I walk you right past the Mercs. They’ll never know.”
“You want me to ride in a backpack?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
She was sure she could come up with a hundred ideas if given enough time, and even the most far-fetched and ridiculous ones would be better than this. She also knew that Berk probably put a lot of thought into it, and for her to dismiss it so quickly would be the same as dismissing him. She pulled the pack closer. It felt sturdy and seemed large enough. Maybe it would work. Climbing over the edge, she crouched down and pulled the lid closed. There were a few other odds and ends in the pack with her, including a cylindrical torch and a length of rope, but there was more than enough room so she didn’t feel cramped. She could even look out through the gaps in the wicker, so she didn’t feel closed in either.
Berk knelt down, slid his arms through the straps, and with surprising ease, stood up again. “You comfortable back there?” he asked. There wasn’t a hint of strain in his voice.
“I’m good,” she answered.
As he crossed the street, the pack gently swayed from side to side. It was not unlike riding a trex, except when riding a trex you weren’t enclosed in wicker. There was also less chance of being eaten by your mount.
Emily might not have been able to see where they were going, but she could see where they came from. In one of the windows across the street, an elderly woman was watching them. She seemed to be the inquisitive sort and had a very good view of Flintmace’s front door.
“Finally got here, did you?” one of the Red Wolves said as Berk got closer.
“Sorry, Tyler. I-I got held up,” Berk answered.
Emily remembered how the other Mercs treated him at the Red Wolves’ headquarters. They didn’t seem to have much respect for him, but that’s probably because Berk didn’t seem to have much respect for himself. As large as the man was, he lacked any form of self-confidence.
“What’s with the pack?” Tyler asked.
“It’s ah… tools, for ah… investigating.”
“Tools?” He laughed. “Listen to this one. Thinks he’s a real investigator.”
“I am a real investigator. Captain Petrova—”
“Petrova assigned you this case because nobody else wanted it. Why would we waste our time looking at dead dwarfs?”
“But—”
“But nothing,” the second Wolf chimed in. “You’re a buster, not an investigator. Stick to what you know.”
“Yeah, well… what I know is Captain Petrova wants me to look into this so you can… well… leave now.”
“Sorry, we have to stay until you’re finished.”
Tyler reached for the door, but Berk grabbed his arm before he could open it.
“Captain Petrova also said that only I go in.”
There was a definite shift in the tone of Berk’s voice that time. A tad more authority. If he spoke like that more often, he might not get pushed around so much.
“Fine.” Tyler pulled his arm free. “Why would we want to see a dead dwarf anyway? But make it fast. I want to get home early. Some of us have a life you know.”
Berk waited until both men stepped away from the building before entering. Once inside, Emily could feel the tension release in his shoulders. When she heard him close the door, she flipped open the lid.
“What a pair of—”
“Oh, they’re all right,” he said. “They were joking around.”
She didn’t think he believed that any more than she did. But there was no use pushing the issue. Berk was simply trying to save face.
“So. Where do we start?” he asked.
Diving to the bottom of the pack, Emily retrieved the cylindrical lantern. As she looked over Berk’s shoulder, she lit the area ahead of him.
“What do you feel?” she asked.
The question seemed to catch him off guard.
“What do you mean what do I feel?”
; “What do you feel? You can’t rely on what you see in an investigation. It’s also about what you smell, what you taste, and what you hear. So tell me, what do you feel?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug that almost flipped her out of the wicker pack. Regaining her balance, she braced herself against his shoulders.
“Take a moment and tell me what you feel.”
Berk sighed and turned around a few times in the foyer. He had to have felt something since she noticed it the moment they walked in. There was a staleness in the air and the room had the same gray, lifeless appearance the last place had. There was even a thick layer of dust covering almost everything. It was possible he was simply having trouble describing it.
“It feels like—nothing. Like—death,” he said.
Death. It wasn’t the word she was thinking of, but it was accurate.
“That’s a pretty good description,” she said. “I felt it in the other place too, but it’s stronger here.”
“So, no fire?”
“Definitely not a fire. What do you smell?”
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Exactly. If this had been a real fire, you should still smell smoke. Now look ahead of you. On the floor. What do you see?”
“Dust. Same as in the other place,” he answered. “Wait. Are those footprints?”
“That’s what they look like. Are you sure we’re the first ones to come in here?”
“No. A man from the MRC by the name of Jackson, or it could have been Johnson—I have it written down somewhere. Anyway, he was the one who discovered the body and reported it.”
“And he was the only one?”
“As far as I know.”
She leaned forward on his shoulder. “Okay, let’s put the story together based on what we already know,” she said. “Mr. Jackson, or Johnson, came in looking for Mr. Flintmace. Found his body and left to report what he saw. But that would only account for one set of footprints.”
“One set?”
“There are two sets of tracks made by two different people. You can tell by their size and the pattern. Also, look how the tracks divide. One set goes off to the left. They appear to be hesitant. See how they stop and start? They’re checking out everything. This situation is new to them. Now, look at the other tracks. They don’t stop. They go straight to their destination. They’re not surprised by what they see because they probably expect it. Eventually, both sets come back to the front door. If I was to guess, I’d say the tracks that go off to the left were those of Mr. Jackson, which means the tracks that go straight ahead—”
