The Inquisitives [2] Night of Long Shadows

by Crilley, Paul

  He looked up at the dwarf. He was reaching into his jerkin for something. Cutter shook his head, knowing there was no point in proclaiming his innocence here. It looked too incriminating.

  He staggered toward the door. Whatever the dwarf was trying to reach was caught inside his clothes. Cutter swung his fist, hitting him in the side of the head. The dwarf fell against the door frame, then collapsed to his knees.

  Cutter swept past him and sprinted up the stairs to the rooftop, his breath burning in his lungs and his heart beating erratically in his chest. He crawled back through the window and ran across the bridge.

  Only when he was gliding through the air, safe in the sky-coach, did he allow himself a sigh of relief.

  The first night of Long Shadows

  Zor, the 26th day of Vult, 998

  Abraxis Wren stood on a small hill in Skysedge Park and let his eyes drift down the sweep of neatly-trimmed grass to the crowds milling below him like …

  What were they like? Sheep? No, not sheep. Like expensively dressed and bejeweled peacocks, strutting about with their feathers in the air—or in this case, positioning themselves in strategic locations so that their jewels caught the light of the gently bobbing lanterns.

  He took a sip of his wine and winced, holding it up to check its color. This was supposed to be from Aundair? He didn’t think so. He made a mental note to check how much his supplier had pocketed by palming this goblin’s piss onto him. How did the idiot think he would get this past a half-elf?

  He turned his attention back to the ebb and flow of bodies—

  —ants! They were like ants. That was it!

  He stared at them, looking for something, anything remotely interesting to catch his eye. There wasn’t much. The usual sycophants and boot-lickers, flatterers of women, curriers of favor. He’d already had to fend off three people looking for work, five people wanting an introduction to Celyria ir’Tain—something he couldn’t do if he wanted to, as he didn’t know her—and three rather intriguing invitations he might follow up on, depending on how the rest of the evening turned out.

  He sighed and headed down the slope, aiming for a group of people gathered around a particularly annoying young man he’d had the misfortune of meeting at a gala dinner a couple of months previously.

  As he drew closer, Wren could hear the young man’s irritating voice as he regaled his audience.

  “The thing is, you don’t have time for fear. All you do is get on with the job. And even though my superior officer had died in my arms and handed over command of the unit to me, I had to think about it logically.”

  “What did you do?” asked a vacuous-looking young elf.

  His companion, a female elf who was not at all vacuous looking—rather tasty, in fact—rolled her eyes.

  “The only thing I could do. I wasn’t about to risk any of my men, so when darkness fell, I snuck behind enemy lines and killed the Karrn general myself. Slit his throat.”

  The elf gasped and put a delicate hand to his mouth. “No!”

  “It was war. These things had to be done.” “Tell me,” said Wren. “Where did this confrontation take place?”

  The young man narrowed his eyes at Wren. “Outside Karrnath.”

  “Really? Would this be outside Karrnath in the Talenta Plains, or outside Karrnath in the rather unfriendly mountains of the Mror Holds?”

  “Uh—”

  “Or maybe it was in the Mournland? Yes? No?”

  “I … I can’t remember.” The man put a hand to his forehead as if he had a headache. “It’s the trauma, you see. It sometimes makes me forget things. But you wouldn’t know about that.”

  “I would, as a matter of fact. And I also know that during the War you were nowhere near the frontline. How did you get in here, anyway? I didn’t invite you.”

  “This is your party?”

  “It is.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Obviously.”

  They stared at each other. Finally, the young man looked away, flushing with embarrassment. “Uh, maybe I’d better go …”

  Wren waved his hand dismissively. “You’re here now,” he said. “You may as well stay. Have some wine. It’s from Aundair.”

  “Um, thank you.” The young man glanced at the girl, hesitated, then shook his head and wandered off. The girl stared at Wren, eyebrows raised.

  “That was rather cruel.”

  “Was it?” Wren scratched a pointed ear—a gift from his elf father—and frowned. “I didn’t notice.”

  “No, I imagine not. You were too busy staring at me.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No, not really.” The elf grinned, taking a small sip of wine and staring at Wren over the rim of the crystal glass.

  Wren smiled back. Maybe things were looking up after all. He took her by the arm and gently guided her away from the confused elf who had been so impressed by the war stories. “Should we go somewhere a bit less … boring?”

  “Didn’t you say this was your party?”

  Wren shrugged. “I’m afraid it hasn’t lived up to the hype.”

  “I see. So, where should we go?”

  “Well, my place is not far. We can enjoy the view of the park and enjoy some wine from my cellar.”

  “You have apartments in Skysedge Park?”

  “I do.”

  “May I ask—what do you do for a living?”

  “Oh. Forgive me.” Wren bowed low, almost touching the grass with his trailing fingers. “Abraxis Wren. Master inquisitive of House Medani. At your service.”

  “You’re an inquisitive?”

  “I am.”

  “Following philandering husbands and tracking down missing children obviously pays a lot better than I was led to believe.”

  Wren chuckled. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t. But then, I don’t take on those types of cases.”

  “Is that so? And what types of cases do you take on?”

  “Ones that interest me. Ones that pose some kind of challenge. I’m easily bored, you see.”

  “Forgive me for prying, but how can you afford such an extravagant lifestyle?”

  “Extravagant?” Wren laughed. “Oh, my dear, you should have seen how my father lived. Now there was an elf who knew how to throw a party. No, my needs are humble. I inherited my apartments and some money when my father drank himself to death. Something my human mother had been warning him about for years. I—”

  Wren froze mid sentence and peered over the elf’s shoulder. She turned to see what he was looking at.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Forgive me, my lady. I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone that drink. I smell something interesting.”

  He handed his glass to the woman and hurried past her. He thought he heard her swearing at him but he couldn’t be sure. A shame. She looked like she would have been fun. But better things awaited. He targeted a group of important-looking men clustered around the tall figure of Master Larrien ir’Morgrave, the head of Morgrave University. Judging from the urgent hand gestures and the upset look on Larrien’s lean face, something dramatic was afoot.

  “Larrien,” Wren said, approaching the group. “Enjoying the party?”

  Larrien looked up in surprise, his features rearranging into a smile. He smoothed back his fine white hair. “Truth to tell, Wren, it’s not up to your usual standards.”

  Wren looked around wistfully. “I know. I don’t know what happened. I think I’ll hold the next one in the Cogs, maybe combine it with a hunt. What’s the problem?”

  “No problem. Why would there be a problem?”

  “Larrien, I’ve played cards against you. I know your stonewalling face. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to find out myself?”

  Larrien sighed. “Actually, I could use your help on this one. It appears that a murder has been committed back at the university.”

  Wren frowned. “A murder? What were they fighting over? A book or something?”
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  “I have no idea. I’ve just been told about it myself.”

  Wren clapped his hands together. “Let’s be off, then. Let’s see if we can catch ourselves a killer!”

  Wren strode briskly down the dark, wood-paneled corridors of the university, Larrien stumbling to keep up with his longer strides. When he saw this, Wren slowed down a fraction.

  “What information do we have?” asked Wren.

  “Not much. The person who stumbled onto the murder has kept everyone out of the rooms.”

  “Smart. Who was that?”

  “An acquaintance of yours, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Larrien’s tone took on a slightly accusing note. “Wren, I’ve asked you before to clear it with me when you need access to the libraries. I won’t turn you down.”

  Wren stopped walking. Larrien forged ahead before realizing he was on his own. He turned back.

  “Are you saying Torin discovered the body?” asked Wren.

  “Not just discovered the body. He interrupted the murderer.”

  “Excellent.”

  Wren started walking again. He rounded a corner and found his dwarf partner lounging against a closed door while four members of the ordained clergy from the Hall of Aureon tried to get him to move. Torin grinned when he saw Wren.

  “You know, I was cursing your name all night, making me do research while you were off partying.”

  Wren waved his hand dismissively. “You didn’t miss anything, believe me. The party was a flop.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t there.”

  “No. Because you weren’t there, we still had some drink left over and there were no fights.” He shooed the clergy away. “Don’t you have some praying to do? Go on, move, move.”

  The clerics spluttered and glared at Wren, but Larrien just sighed and nodded at them to leave.

  “What happened to your face?” asked Wren, indicating the bruise that had spread over Torin’s right eye.

  “Bastard got a blow in while I was trying to get my knife.”

  “Makes you look prettier.”

  “Very funny,” said Torin.

  “Right. Are you going to move or should we stand out here all night?”

  Torin pushed himself up from his lounging position and stepped to the side. “After you, O Great One.”

  Wren opened the door. “Everyone else stay outside till I’ve had a look around.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Wren closed his eyes and breathed in the silence, opening his mind and letting his senses probe. He felt—

  Panic. It suffused the air in the room, impregnating the atmosphere with a heavy feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach.

  Anger.

  Fear.

  Pain. So much pain.

  Of course, these feelings would hover around any murder scene, but for Wren, they were something more. Torin had once asked if it was a magical talent, but it wasn’t. It was pure instinct.

  Wren opened his eyes, staring at the exact spot on the carpet where the murdered professor lay. He took in the room, noting the pillows on the floor by the unlit fire. He crouched down and saw the faint shimmer of powdered glass. He looked under the couch close to the door and saw broken shards scattered around. He swept them together gingerly. Crystal. Enough for two glasses.

  He walked along the wall, trailing his fingers over the expensive wallpaper. A couch was lying on its side. He looked to the carpet where the indentations of the legs made small holes, then at the deep marks on the walls. Whoever had thrown it was very strong.

  Wren avoided looking at the body for the moment and stepped into the washroom. Nothing much in there. He checked the sink and noted bristles stuck to the basin. Someone had shaved recently, someone who, judging by the length of the whiskers, shaved only about once a week. He sniffed, and could smell expensive cologne.

  The bedroom was much more interesting. He saw the huge hole in the wall first, where someone had obviously been slammed. A small puddle of blood lay on the floor. Judging by the drip pattern, it was from a hit to the nose, not a knife thrust or slash.

  He smelled the pillows and caught a whiff of perfume. He smiled. His suspicions were correct. The professor had been entertaining a lady. Had she seen the attack, then?

  He looked under the bed, but all he found was a bottle of wine that must have rolled there during the struggle. Nothing else indicated the presence of a woman in the rooms.

  He headed into the lounge. This time, he stopped to study the body. He noted the severed arm and the broken fingers. Interesting. That seemed to indicate someone was trying to get information out of him. Information valuable enough to … well, to rip someone apart.

  Wren shook his head. The violence of the attack was quite astounding. And the strength needed …

  “Torin!” he shouted.

  The door opened and the dwarf and Larrien appeared. They were joined by someone else, a female dwarf. A cleric acolyte, judging by her robes.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The dwarf froze, eyes darting between the body on the floor, Wren staring indignantly at her, and Larrien, hoping for some kind of reassurance.

  “This is Kayla,” said Larrien. “She’s my assistant.”

  “Oh.” Wren turned to Torin. “What did the man look like who attacked you? Describe him.”

  “Big,” said Torin. “Over six feet. All muscle. Hair shaved to his scalp. A tattoo of a dragon up his arms and around his neck.”

  “Strong enough to do all this?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Hmm.” Wren took one last glance at the body, then moved to the other side of the lounge and knocked on the walls. “Torin, check that desk over there and see if he kept any kind of diary.”

  Torin headed to the rolltop desk opposite the door and started rifling through the papers. Wren carried on knocking, getting the same muted thud every time he did so. He reached the section next to where Torin was standing. The rap on the wall became hollow.

  “Here we go,” he said in satisfaction. He ran his fingers along the wallpaper and down to the floor. It took him some time to find the catch. A tiny switch was set into the floorboards. He pressed it, and a door jutted out with a quiet click.

  Wren hooked his finger around the door and stepped inside. It was a tiny room, no bigger than a broom closet. He pulled the door closed, all but a small crack. He peered out through the gap. He was looking directly at the body of the professor.

  Wren closed his eyes and inhaled. He smelled the same perfume that was on the pillows. So … what had happened? The professor knew his attacker was coming and hid his lady friend in here? Who was she? He needed to know.

  He glanced down and saw something glint in the small band of light that entered through the crack. He bent down and picked up the object.

  “Wren,” said Torin. The door opened, bathing Wren in light. Torin stood holding a small, leather bound journal.

  “What?” Wren stepped into the lounge, closing the door behind him.

  “His appointment book. He has an entry written in for today. It just says ‘Red.’”

  “Interesting. Page back. I think you’ll find the appointment repeated?”

  Torin thumbed back through the book. “You’re right. Every week, actually. For the past three months.”

  “Hmm.” He walked over to Larrien, who hovered by the door, trying not to look at the body. Wren held up the item he had found on the floor. It was a silver necklace, cheaply made. Hanging from the chain was a crystal dragon. “Do you know what this is?”

  Larrien squinted at it. “Hold on,” he said, and fished a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from his pocket. He perched them on his nose. “That’s better.” He took the chain from Wren. “It’s a necklace,” he said.

  “Yes, it is. Well done, Larrien. You should be an inquisitive. Do you know what kind of necklace?”

  “I’ve no ide
a. It’s not really my area of expertise.”

  “This dragon isn’t just any old reptile. It’s the Boromar dragon.”

  He stared expectantly at Larrien.

  “Yes?” said the head of the university.

  Wren sighed. “These necklaces are given to courtesans in the employ of Boromar. The girls usually sell them, though they don’t make much. Was it common practice for professors to have, shall we say, visitors to their rooms?”

  “No, it was not!”

  Wren raised an eyebrow. “Come now, Larrien. Don’t lie to me. I’ll be very hurt if you do.”

  “Fine,” Larrien snapped. “Yes, it is fairly common for professors to have courtesans visit their rooms.”

  Wren turned to Torin. “Randy old buggers, eh?”

  “You should know. You’re about the same age.”

  “How dare you! Take that back.”

  “No.”

  “I demand—”

  “Wren,” Larrien interrupted.

  “What? Oh, of course. Sorry.” He pointed at Torin. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “Wren,” said Larrien. “What are your theories?”

  Wren shot Torin a dark look, then turned his attention back to Larrien. “I never discuss theories while working on a case.”

  Larrien all but collapsed with relief. “So you’ll look into it? Oh, thank Aureon. Does this mean I don’t have to involve the Watch?”

  “Larrien, you have an all but dismembered body lying in the university. Of course you’ll have to call in the Watch.”

  “But it’s all so sordid. Do they have to know the details?”

  Wren shrugged. “Tell them what you want. Let them do their own investigation. If they can be bothered, that is. Oh, and tell them to call in a cleric. He might be able to communicate with the body and find out some information.” He snapped his fingers. “Torin, come.”

  “Don’t speak to me like I’m a dog.”

  “Apologies. How would you like me to speak to you?”

  “Like I’m a person.”

  “Oh.”

  Wren grabbed the door and ran into the clerics he had earlier shooed away. He waved his arms in irritation as he pushed his way through them. “Get away from me. Move, move! You’re like flies!”