Mermaid Precinct (ARC)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “That’ll teach Palnitt t’be an ass!”

  “Shit, Palnitt already knows how to be an ass…”

  Just another day in Mermaid, Aleta thought with a resigned sigh. She stepped over the troll’s prone form and opened the door. Dannee followed a bit more slowly.

  Inside the shack was a small desk piled high with scrolls, and two windows that looked out onto the docks. Standing in front of the desk with his arms folded in much the same position as the troll was Palnitt, a thin, elderly human who was far less menacing.

  In a reedy voice, he said, “The hell y’be doin’ that f’r?”

  “Your troll wouldn’t let us in,” Aleta said.

  Dannee added, “We even asked him nicely in his own language.”

  “Doubt that,” Palnitt said with a tch sound. “Ain’t no way t’ask nothin’ nicely in Hargit.”

  “Perhaps,” Dannee said, “but we did ask in both Common and Hargit, and he wouldn’t let us pass.”

  “Ain’t s’posed to! S’a whole point’a havin’ a bodyguard, ain’t it?”

  Aleta put her hands on her hips. “We’ve been through this, Palnitt. I sent your first bodyguard who wouldn’t let me in to the healer’s. The troll, at least, will be okay—I hit a nerve cluster, and he’ll wake up in an hour or so with just a mild headache. But your last few bodyguards knew better. Why doesn’t this one? And what happened to the last ones, anyhow?”

  “Ol’ Mags Barstow wouldn’t let her boys work f’me no more. Said she found a better-payin’ job f’r ’em.”

  Aleta nodded. Barstow had several children, all of whom were almost as big as the troll outside. They were often hired as muscle, particularly in Goblin, so Aleta wasn’t surprised that they got a better offer.

  “I figgered a troll’d be perfect. Don’t gotta pay ’em as much, anyhow.”

  “And yet you forgot to tell him to always let the Castle Guard in.”

  “Yeah, well, trolls ain’t known f’r nuance, y’know? I told ’im not to let nobody in, an’ that does the trick, most days.”

  “This day isn’t most. I need to know if you’ve hired this person.” She took out the crystal and concentrated.

  “Why should I tell you if—”

  Aleta rolled her eyes. “Really, Palnitt? I just took out your troll in half a second. Do we have to go to the trouble of arresting you?”

  “On what charge? I’m legit!”

  “Public endangerment having that smelly thing standing outside your shack threatening people.”

  Palnitt sneered. “It’d never hold up.”

  “Of course it won’t, but you’ll still be tied up in the castle for the rest of the day, and maybe all day tomorrow, too. Is it really worth—”

  Unfolding his arms, he held both hands out, making as if to push Aleta away. “All right, fine! Y’madejer point.” He shook his head. “Damn Shranlaseth. Like dealin’ with Manfred an’ Kellan more. They’re civilized folk.”

  “They don’t pay me to be civilized,” Aleta said. “Now, then, who is this?”

  Palnitt sighed. “Name’s Xeros. Lives inna boarding house onna River Walk. Th’one with’a big fish onna door.”

  Aleta nodded. “I know the place. Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “He hauls cargo. I pay him.” Palnitt folded his arms again and stared at Aleta, almost daring her to ask more.

  But Aleta didn’t take the bait, mostly because she was fairly certain Palnitt didn’t actually know anything more about Xeros than that. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  As she turned to leave, Dannee following, Palnitt yelled to them, “What’m I supposed t’do ’bout that heap’a troll you left on m’doorstep?”

  Dannee called back, “I’d suggest some tea when he wakes up—you know, for the headache?”

  Unable to help herself, Aleta chuckled.

  SIXTEEN

  Danthres clutched her stomach as it disgorged its contents onto the marble floor of Tomsim Castle in Velessa.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” came a voice from behind her.

  Ignoring it, Danthres continued to heave while kneeling on the marble. She had deliberately eaten very little, but sadly her stomach decided to simply dry-heave after being teleported from Cliff’s End to Velessa.

  Torin’s voice sounded soothingly from behind her. “My apologies, sir, but Lieutenant Tresyllione reacts rather poorly to Teleport Spells.”

  “What possible reason would you have to use such a spell to come here?” said the first voice. Were Danthres capable of speech, she would have commented on the abject stupidity of asking that question of someone dressed in the armor and cloaks they were wearing.

  “We’re here,” Torin said, “on official business of the Cliff’s End Castle Guard.” Danthres heard the rustling of paper. “Here is a letter from Lady Meerka authorizing our presence here.”

  Finally, Danthres’s stomach stopped doing backflips, and she clambered to her feet.

  Looking around, she saw that she was in the same receiving room of Tomsim Castle that she’d been sent to by Boneen a year ago during each day of the trial of Lord Blayk and his co-conspirators in their plot to kill the king and queen. The massive space had ceilings so high a troll could stand on a troll’s shoulders and still have to jump to touch it. At the center of the room was a huge fountain, decorated with hideous statues of wolves and covered in even more ivy than it had had a year earlier. A huge winding staircase led to the upper levels—including, Danthres recalled, the conference room where Blayk’s trial was held, as well as the throne room.

  A short functionary in a silk shirt, tights, and leather boots was looking over the scroll that Lady Meerka had written on their behalf at Danthres’s request. The lady of the demesne had been very generous with her signature and seal once Danthres explained—in great detail, as Lady Meerka preferred specifics—what was happening.

  “Odd,” she had said after Danthres had laid out the case to date, “that a member of the royal family would decide instead to become a pirate, but I suppose it’s also odd that a son of mine would conspire to take over the human lands. Regardless, this cook’s accusation must be investigated, and the only manner in which that may be accomplished is to travel to Velessa and discuss it with Queen Marta and King Marcus.”

  “Well,” the functionary was saying, “this is definitely Lady Meerka’s seal, and I suppose that ridiculous armor you’re wearing might be—”

  “Lieutenants!”

  Turning, Danthres saw a red-haired woman in gray leather armor, with a tree leaf emblazoned on the chest over his heart, and a bright green cape. She had a small scar over her left eye, and both eyes were the same green as the cape. They’d first met her at Lord Albin’s funeral, where she had been part of the delegation of the Royal Guard sent to accompany the king and queen.

  “Captain Andreja,” Torin said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “I wish I could say the same, ban Wyvald—what happened to your beard?”

  The functionary said, “Do you know these people, Captain?”

  Andreja gave the functionary a look of disdain that Danthres admired tremendously. “Obviously, I do, Sir Stoora—and you should, too, at least by reputation. This is Lieutenant Torin ban Wyvald and Lieutenant Danthres Tresyllione of the Cliff’s End Castle Guard.”

  Stoora shrunk a bit at Andreja’s stare, but remained defiant. “The names mean nothing to me.”

  “I’ll be sure to mention to the king and queen the next time I speak with them that their chamberlain has no knowledge of the two officers who broke the conspiracy against them a year ago.”

  Swallowing hard, Stoora said, “Oh, them! I had no idea!” He turned to face Torin and Danthres. “Forgive me, Lieutenants. I was away in Treemark on a family matter when the trial was going on, so I’m afraid I never had the privilege of meeting you in person.”

  Glancing at the letter from Lady Meerka, Andreja said, “I take it you’re here on official business?”


  Danthres nodded. “We need to have a private conversation with the king and queen at their earliest convenience.”

  “That will not be possible for several hours,” Stoora said. Danthres noted that he’d shifted his tone to that of an efficient chamberlain attempting to do his job, rather than that of a pissed-off nobleman bitching about a stranger throwing up on his floor. “The king is currently in conference with Velessa’s guild leaders, while the queen is attending the opening of a new bridge over the Gazrik River. Both of them have other commitments this afternoon as well that cannot be postponed. However, they were planning on having dinner alone together this evening. I will need to verify with them, of course, upon their return, but let us assume that they would not be averse to the pair of you joining them—if not for the meal itself, then for a drink afterward.”

  Danthres had gone into this expecting to have to fight to squeeze into the royal schedule, and had also expected to have to wait days. Knowing that they were likely to have their audience in a matter of hours was something of a surprise—and a relief.

  “In the meantime,” Andreja said, “this is an excellent opportunity for us to catch up. There’s a dining hall for the Royal Guard here in the castle. Let us share a drink, and you can tell me the story of the evil demon who forced you to shave your magnificent beard.”

  Danthres laughed heartily.

  “It was not a demon,” was all Torin would say, though he didn’t elaborate.

  Belatedly, Danthres realized that in all the chaos of setting up this trip to Velessa yesterday and today, she never had a chance to speak with Torin about what happened between him and Jak at the Dog and Duck two nights ago.

  Not wanting to leave Andreja hanging, but not wanting to air Torin’s dirty laundry in public, Danthres said, “Torin is currently involved with someone who prefers him with less hair on his face.”

  “How absurd,” Andreja said.

  Stoora gave a half bow. “If you will excuse me, Captain, Lieutenants, I will speak with the chef and the steward about adding two to the royal meal this evening.”

  Danthres frowned. “What if they don’t wish to dine with us, but see us afterward?”

  “It is far simpler to subtract food and place settings from a meal than it is to add them. Should the king and queen choose to dine in private, you will simply eat the same food you would have eaten with them, albeit in the very dining hall to which Captain Andreja is taking you now.”

  “Thank you, Sir Stoora,” Torin said. “We appreciate your efforts.”

  “Not at all.” Stoora gave another bow. “It is the least I may do for the brave souls who saved the lives of our royal majesties.”

  With that, he departed.

  Danthres watched him go, and said, “Dammit. He’s taken all the fun out of taking an instant dislike to him.”

  Andreja chuckled. “Stoora’s not that bad. He tends to overreact and put his foot in it, but he makes up for it later—he’s a damn fine chamberlain, at the very least. Has this place running smoothly. C’mon, let’s get a drink or four and you can tell me about this person who has the good taste to be romantically interested in you yet the bad taste to make you want to look like an imbecile.”

  Again Danthres laughed. Torin did so as well, though Danthres noted that it was subdued.

  ~*~

  As Danthres had expected, the king and queen did not wish to give up their private dinner. She supposed that royalty had very few opportunities to be alone, and she wasn’t about to deny them that, especially since they readily agreed to an after-dinner drink with the detectives.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon with Andreja, getting a tour of the castle—their previous visits were limited to the areas where the trial was taking place—and being reunited with various members of the Royal Guard they’d met the previous year. Stoora also made arrangements for them to stay the night in guest quarters in the castle, allowing them a good night’s sleep before being teleported home to Cliff’s End in the morning, which pleased Danthres. Puking twice in one day was a bit much.

  In the evening, they were treated to a superb meal of venison and rice, which they had to eat in the dining hall, to the envy of the Royal Guard, who never ate that well.

  Once they’d finished eating, Danthres regarded her partner with concern. He’d been talking jovially with the Royal Guard during the day, but he’d been sullen whenever nobody was looking.

  Nobody but Danthres, anyhow. Since they were no longer stuffing their faces and had to wait for Stoora or someone else to summon them into the royal presence, and since no one else was in the dining hall at present, she decided to finally have the talk that he’d promised a day and a half earlier.

  “So—what happened at the Dog and Duck with Jak?”

  Torin looked up suddenly, apparently surprised by the question. “I really don’t think—”

  “It could be hours before we’re finally summoned. And if we’re interrupted, then we’ll pick it up later, but it’s obviously troubling you.”

  Torin hesitated, then gulped some of the water that had come with the meal. After he swallowed, he again looked at Danthres. “I saw something in Jak I didn’t like very much.”

  Then he told her of the events at the Dog and Duck, in particular Jak’s use of the bahrlan slur.

  “At first, he tried to pass it off as simply stress over losing the theatrical job, but then he used it again later in the evening when that poor bard got booed off the stage. Not,” he added with a rueful smile, “that the bard didn’t deserve it. He was well and truly horrible, but...” He sighed. “I’ve been seeing more and more ugliness directed at the refugees from Barlin, especially now that the initial sympathy for their plight has worn off. I fear that the city-state is turning into a powderkeg, and when it explodes, I don’t know what side Jak will be on.”

  Danthres chose her words carefully, out of respect for Torin’s feelings—Torin being pretty much the only person in all of Flingaria whose feelings she actually cared about enough to respect in the first place. “You should talk to him directly about this. Tell him of your discomfort, tell him of your concern.”

  Torin smirked. “And then throw the bigot out on his ass, which is what you wanted to say in the first place?”

  Sighing, Danthres said, “Could you at least let me pretend to be considerate?”

  “At the moment, I prefer the more typical Danthres who is blunt. But I do appreciate your consideration.”

  “Well, you did shave your beard for the man.” Danthres grinned.

  “I did. And I love the way he makes me feel, but—” He sipped more water. “It isn’t just that, though. This job is the latest one that he’s lost. He claims it’s because they changed shows, but he’s been let go from four consecutive jobs now. Once, twice even, I’m willing to accept poor circumstances, but four is a bit much.”

  Danthres considered Torin’s words for a moment. “Tell you what—when we get back home, give me the information about those jobs. I’ll investigate on my own, talk to the employers, see if there’s a pattern to his being let go that he’s not telling you.”

  “Or that he may not be aware of. He might be causing issues he doesn’t realize are occurring—we’ve certainly seen that enough times.” He put a hand on hers and clutched it with affection. “Thank you, Danthres. For the favor and for listening.”

  “Always, Torin, you know that.”

  A pageboy came into the dining hall. “’Scuse, but is you two the lieutenants from Cliff’s End?”

  “We are, yes,” Torin said, getting to his feet.

  Indicating the door with his hand, the pageboy said, “The king an’ queen’ll see you two now. Follow me.”

  Danthres let Torin go first, and then followed him and the pageboy out into the receiving room, up the winding staircase, and down the hall to a smaller dining room.

  At the back of the room, facing the door, there was a huge table up on a raised platform, currently empty. There was spac
e in the room for many smaller tables—Danthres could see scuff marks on the floor where the table legs normally were—but only one such table was in the very center of the room, at which the king and queen were seated. Two servants were bringing additional chairs to that table. The royal couple were facing each other, and the new seats were placed perpendicular to them.

  The queen looked much the same as she had a year ago: ethereal, elegant, blonde. The king, however, had completely shaved both the small goatee he’d worn as well as the top of his head. Danthres recalled there were bits of gray last year, and she suspected he shaved rather than have the obvious signs of age on his person. Why he didn’t use a glamour to cover it up, she had no idea.

  Upon their entrance to the small dining room, the king looked over and smiled broadly. “Ah, Lieutenants, welcome! Please, join us.” To the pageboy, he added, “Thank you, Lukass.”

  The pageboy nodded and beat a hasty retreat.

  Danthres took her seat to the queen’s left, while Torin sat to the king’s left. “Thank you, Your Highness, for agreeing to see us,” Torin said.

  “No need to thank me,” King Marcus said. “Even were it not on official business, the pair of you will always be welcome in this castle. I’m sorry we couldn’t see you sooner, but affairs of state are never-ending.”

  Queen Marta asked, “But Sir Stoori has taken good care of you, yes?”

  “He has, yes. As have your Royal Guard.”

  “Excellent,” the king said.

  A porter approached the table. “Would Your Majesties wish me to open a bottle of the new mead?”

  “I believe so, yes, Harbart.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Danthres generally hated mead, but wasn’t about to refuse a drink with the king and queen.

  “I see you shaved most of your beard, Lieutenant,” the king said with a grin after Harbart went off to fetch the drink.

  “And I see you shaved all of yours, Your Majesty.”

  The grin becoming a rueful smile, King Marcus said, “An experiment. The beard and hair softened my features as I age. I wish to look a bit more harsh.”