by Ivan Turner
Chapter XIX
Much later, when Owen was finally at home, sitting in his own chair and drinking a bitter from his favorite stein, he had forgotten about Evelyn Van Deign and any perceived manipulation on her part and had begun to focus on Konrad Van Esper. The elf artist was so much more than a genocidal dwarf hater. He embraced magic that other elves shunned. He had killed one of his own. These were not characteristics to be ignored. The elf inspectors were fools! If Van Esper wanted all dwarves dead, then why hadn’t he killed Owen?
Why hadn’t he killed Owen?
It was because he was playing Evelyn’s pawn against her. She had chosen him for his strength, intelligence, and honor. She aimed to make a spectacle out of him, to use him to elevate the dwarves and bring the three species together. That, to Owen, seemed the best of all of her possible motives. Van Esper was a step ahead of her, though. Owen was a public figure, his fame in its infancy. If Van Esper would have killed him on the spot, it would have had little impact. By making Owen watch, by making him helpless to prevent the murder, he hoped to further affect the detective’s actions. How long would it be before this dwarf who was to be a hero would do something impulsive and foolish? How long before his fall from grace?
What would become of him then?
What would become of the dwarves?
Just then, Owen realized that he could never have saved Orlando Van Keats. Van Esper was ancient and powerful. A bullet wasn’t going to stop him. If Owen had fired that shot, the only person wounded would have been himself. He was not proud that he had stood by and let the elf inspector die, but he knew that it had been the only choice.
Evelyn was right. This was so much bigger than Troy Van Walls and Travis Anton.
As he watched the flames dance in the fireplace and listened as Esmerelda’s knife moved over a wood carving, he took a sip from his bitter and understood that he and Konrad Van Esper had not seen the last of each other.
