Haldred Chronicles: Alyssa

by JG Cully

  “Corset?” Katy finished the thought and sentence for her.

  “Yeah.” Alyssa grimaced, pushing her glasses up again. She was not looking forward to the experience. Both putting on and wearing. She had not worn one before but she had an unpleasant mental image mapped out, which wasn't helping her confidence.

  Katy agreed to pop round tomorrow night before work.

  “I take it you have a corset?”

  “I will have by then.”

  “Well, we could go shopping together if you like?” suggested Katy, trying her best to make Alyssa feel better about her impending embarrassment. “Find you something half nice?”

  If only thought Alyssa

  “Thanks but I've other stuff to do tomorrow. I'll probably just be picking one up whenever.”

  In other words she would not be going shopping in the explosion-inducing sunlight.

  What she would be doing instead is waiting until darkness then slipping out of her house, and more or less breaking into one of the local shops. If all went well she would grab whatever fitted her, leave some money for the corset (and a tip) and slip back home before Katy arrived.

  She liked to call it 'Creative Shopping'. It wasn't stealing if you paid for it now, was it? It was still breaking and entering but you couldn't have everything your way.

  James stirred, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at the two girls and jumped in fright.

  “Did I fall asleep?” he asked, sudden concern written all over his face.

  Alyssa smiled back. “Well it is late. We're almost closed. Maybe you want to continue chatting at mine?”

  “Your...house?” he looked very much like steam should be coming out of his ears but thankfully not. Katy cast Alyssa a sideways look.

  “Don't think he's ready for that yet.” she whispered.

  Alyssa caught herself.

  “Ah, I...I didn't mean that!” she stammered but Katy had already slunk off back to finish off in the kitchen, leaving Alyssa feeling as embarrassed as James.

  We're as bad as each other.

  “Think we'll just walk home.” she suggested. “Save you and I saying anything else that might be misinterpreted.”

  Alyssa and Katy finished the clean-up, James waiting patiently by the bar with a complimentary drink of water. Gretna had given her approval (“Aye, he'll do.”) so it was safe enough for him to wait. All was closed off and packed away, the few remaining kitchen girls of the tavern slipping away one by one.

  The night had one more trick to pull as everyone donned cloaks and made to leave. It was Gretna who made the discovery.

  “Girls?” Gretna called over to the youngsters assembled by the door.

  Katy, James and Alyssa looked over. James had the good sense not to correct Gretna that he was, in fact, a man. Gretna was frowning, as she nodded over at a table.

  “I think one of those Council people left their crossbow behind.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five:

  Case Review

  * * * * *

  Uh oh, thought Alyssa as she approached the table.

  There, lying propped by the chair was indeed a crossbow, a particularly advanced looking one though she wasn't exactly well versed in weapons of war (yet another cause of concern for Vlad if his previous ramblings were anything to go by). The assembled crew exchanged looks, wondering what to do. With typical directness, Gretna calmed them.

  “Oh quit your worrying youngsters.” She grunted. “They'll not be back tonight and if they do come back at all it'll be during the day tomorrow. When it'll be quieter.”

  Gretna might be direct verging on the ignorant, but she was right, thought Alyssa.

  James had a very puzzled expression on his face as Gretna grabbed the crossbow and headed over to the bar. Alyssa smiled nervously.

  “Nothing to worry about.” she said.

  I hope

  * * * * *

  Alyssa lay looking up at her ceiling, Mr Rabbit cuddled in her arms and a bright smile on her face. For once, just once in her unlife, things were good. She had a boyfriend, she had a new best friend and two vampire hunters were no longer hunting her.

  It had been a wonderful walk home with James. They talked at length about...stuff. Work, life, butterflies, how cold it was, even about glasses (she discovered to her delight that he wore glasses as well, though only for fine detail engineering work). He talked about day time (she listened intently, reminding herself of what a wonderful thing the rising sun was). She talked about clothes (and he was polite enough to listen, nod his head and smile sweetly).

  All very mundane but it had felt so nice to her. For her, mundane was good. She would take a boring conversation about the weather any time over having to run over roofs or hide from sunlight. He'd walked with her all the way home. As a reward, she'd let him be the bold one and lean in for the kiss. He was getting more confident. That was good.

  Yes. Definitely a good night.

  Well, you do have to wear a corset tomorrow night

  Alyssa shuddered. That wasn't going to be fun, but it was a small price to pay.

  She closed her eyes, her smile remaining as she entered her dream state.

  * * * * *

  Victoria's fingers ached from writing.

  Thankfully, after busy morning hours, the report was done. She leaned back, satisfied, waving her hand till the feeling came back. She was going to need a new quill if this kept up.

  She had made it back to her home without decorating any of the streets of Larrick City with steak and potatoes. Good going considering the coach driver seemed to taken some perverted glee in running over every pothole in the road.

  She had gotten home and gratefully slept for a long time.

  She was sure her figure would require more than a few days to recover. That added to the fact she still felt full even now, but at least she could think straight. Indeed she had used that to digest (if you'll pardon the expression) just what information they had been passed last night.

  Beside her sat the signed parchment from the two girls who had reported about the fat drunk. The one who appeared to resemble the one found dead. The older girl, Alyssa, had been most keen to absolve herself of the guilt of his murder by ensuring that they knew she was the one who knocked him out beforehand. Not dropped or otherwise killed him. It had all seemed fair enough the night before and all completely innocent. Two girls who basically wanted to make sure they didn't end up on trial for something they didn't do, and more importantly, ensure that they weren't mistaken for vampires.

  That was last night. This morning, Victoria was taking a far more critical look at the circumstances, and there was something bloody fishy about those two.

  The thing was, it didn't really affect her conclusions. Whilst the girl's story was suspicious, it wasn't suspicious enough to change the outcome of her report, which was, as she feared, inconclusive. All it confirmed were the drunk's movements before his death. She could perhaps surmise that something had happened between him waking up from being knocked out and him being found dead by the Mounds Walkway. Said happening involving him losing half his blood and getting two tiny marks on his neck. But she had no proof, no hard evidence.

  What she could more accurately surmise was this. He had assaulted a girl on Holt Street, something confirmed by the two girls, and was indeed drunk at the time. He then got knocked out by one of the girls (nicely done) and awakened sometime later. He then stumbled over to the Mounds path and fell on a spike. There was no evidence to suggest foul play.

  Unless you assumed someone was lying, but again, she had no proof of that. Apart from the unusual state of the body, there was nothing else that pointed to the work of a vampire. Inconclusive. Not enough evidence.

  Sod it all.

  She ran a hand through her black hair, checking that her ponytail was still secured. Sighing, she signed her name on the parchment and stamped it with the official concluded seal.

  At this point Malak arrived. He cast her a look as
he closed the door behind him.

  “Morning.” he grumbled. He was dressed in his usual armour plate and equipment pouches, though what he was wearing seemed a little different today, sparser somehow. She didn't bother to berate him for being late. Again. For once, he had a damn good excuse. It was only by a monumental effort of will that she had made it in on time and was not still lying in bed wondering when her stomach would stop hurting.

  “Morning.” she replied. He looked beat and depressed if she wasn't mistaken.

  “Sleep well?” she hazarded.

  “Oh yeah.” he said, taking a seat by the wall. “Sleep was fine.”

  Odd answer considering last night’s circumstances. He gave her the worried look.

  Uh oh.

  “What did you do?” she said, knowing the look all too well.

  He shuffled in his seat uneasily. “You know my K-12?” he asked

  Hard not to.

  “Yes.”

  “Well...” he paused, flinching from her look. “I left the bloody thing at the tavern.”

  Victoria lifted her hand to her forehead.

  “Hells depths.” she breathed. At least that explained the sparser equipment load.

  “I just forgot,” he said spreading his arms in a gesture of apology.

  “Well I can understand why.” she admitted, seeing no need to rhyme off any procedures regarding equipment care. “Not like we wanted to stick around. Thing is...”

  She gave him a look.

  “...that means we have to go back.”

  He nodded gravely.

  “Well, no matter,” she said next, reaching for a mug she had set beside her. The coffee, thankfully, was still warm.

  “Good news is the report's done.”

  Malak frowned. “And your conclusion?”

  She shook her head. “Don't worry. I put 'inconclusive'. Not enough evidence.”

  “Good. Last thing you need on your career record is 'Hunted vampires'.”

  Yeah. Hunted them unsuccessfully.

  Just then the door knocked.

  “Come in.” Victoria said with a hint of boredom.

  “Begging your pardon miss,” said one of the Council of Peace guards, poking his head through the door. It was one of the old Argon legionnaires that the council employed, an older man by the name of Garlow, short of height and hair, with a podgy but grizzled face.

  “But the Overseer wants to see you. He's requesting your report on the vampire investigation.”

  Victoria frowned. That was odd of the Overseer. Whilst she didn't like the man, he at the very least normally let her get on with things once an investigation was in motion. Only very rarely did he specifically ask for reports this early. Normally reports were left with his attendant, Glynis, a polite if constantly worried looking elf maiden who looked far too young to be an attendant.

  “Fortunate then that I've just finished it.” she said, holding up the pile of papers.

  She rose, and made to follow Garlow out.

  “Back in a sec.” she said to Malak. She paused to let Garlow leave the room, before speaking again to Malak in a whisper.

  “And summon a coach, we'll go collect your crossbow shortly.”

  * * * * *

  The Overseer's sanctum was located in its own miniature keep at the far end of the Council of Peace compound. It was a circular keep, an ex Argon military cannon fort, dotted with banners and flags denoting various families and departments that worked within. It was here that the various other Overseers had their headquarters.

  From a defensive point of view Victoria didn't see this as a particularly smart idea. One well placed thunderbox or cannon ball and you could wipe out half the leadership of the Argon branch of the Council. But apparently it promoted greater unity amongst the various departments.

  That was balls and they knew it.

  Each department was its own little empire, and the Overseers, Masters, Lords or whatever else they called themselves, liked to keep it that way, jealously guarding their responsibilities. Why else did each have a separate guard for their rooms in this supposedly united organisation? Or separate banners and motifs, each apparently designed to outdo the other and constantly being revised?

  Victoria stepped up the great stone steps at the entrance of the keep and Garlow ensured both of them stepped through the security. Two formidable orc mercenaries guarded the inner and outer doors, dressed in shirts of black ring mail and leather plate, glaring at them as they approached. Orcs had been allies of the swamp dwelling Halnas during the war, seeing as most orcs hailed from that far western part of the continent. Now, with the war over, they found ample employment as bodyguards, militia and, oddly, Tax Reapers, though Victoria could see the logic. Only a fool would argue with an orc; if you sent an orc to request someone hand over money, the majority of the time they'd very quickly hand over that money.

  The orc grimaces were replaced with smiles once they had cleared security with their metal badges. Not that that was a major improvement; there was little difference between an orc smile and an orc grimace.

  Inside the main entrance hall of the building, various doorways off to the left and right lead into the many little kingdoms where those in charge plotted their little political games, dozed away the day drinking expensive wine or occasionally, just occasionally, actually doing some work. Guards stood or sat at each door according to departmental whims.

  Orcs, humans and a rather bored looking ogre, all in attendance. Racial Relations Department (the RDD), Secret Operations Department (SOD), Economics Department (the 'Eek' department if office gossip were to be believed). Victoria had little regard for any of them. The only place other than her own department that she had any kind of friendly interaction with was the Internal Investigations Department.

  She actually got on with them well enough. The man in charge of that department was Kane Maldor, an ex Larrick City Militia man. He had known Victoria's father. He was a loud and commanding man, but a seasoned professional. She and he were like minded on many subjects. On more than one occasion she had done some work for them. On the quiet, without Horna's knowing. Many times transfers had been attempted, sadly, none had been successful. Yet.

  Garlow took the third door on the left. The one leading to the Investigative Department's area. The personal heraldry of Horna Gladwell was displayed above the door frame, its bronze form dominating. Two rampant lions facing outwards whilst at the centre, a dragon with wings raised leaping out from the middle, mouth agape. Victoria had on more than one occasion expected the damn thing to leap down and swallow her. The casting was disturbingly realistic looking, right down to the sharpness of the fangs and roughness of the scales. It definitely wasn't the most reassuring-looking emblem, but the Gladwell family had been keen dragon trainers during the war. It made sense that a dragon would sit prominently on their heraldry.

  Garlow pushed open the door without comment. He was used to it.

  Into the dragon's den we go.

  At the end of the short stone-clad corridor they came to a small table, where little worried looking Glynis sat up with a start as the two of them entered, surrounded as always by papers and reports from other areas and agents.

  Glynis was one of those unfortunate Elves whose ageing process had more or less stopped at fifteen years old. Most elves reached their maturity age between twenty and thirty and so remained that age physically for the rest of their existence. Glynis had reached her maturity age early and was a thirty something trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. This, coupled with her already shy demeanour, made her rather difficult to take seriously. In comparison to the Overseer at least, who you had to take seriously. An odd pair. Victoria was never entirely sure why he still kept her around.

  “Hello Victoria.” she said in her permanently child like voice, sounding even younger than she looked.

  “Glynis. Still no joy with that voice of yours?”

  Supposedly whilst they could do nothing for her permanent youth s
he'd been told 'they' (the Herbalists Guild) could at least sort out her childhood voice. Talking to anyone when your voice sounded like you'd just left the school yard was difficult, as well as being difficult to listen to.

  “No.” she said, actually managing to look and sound even more disheartened. “One of the other attendants suggested maybe drinking whiskey to fix it.”

  It sounded so very wrong coming from someone who looked so very young.

  Garlow knocked on the double oakwood doors of the Overseer's office. There was a muted “Come.” from behind the doors and Garlow pushed them open, allowing Victoria to enter.

  Horna Gladwells sanctum was a huge square affair. Dotted over the stone walls were all manner of military equipment and paintings depicting battles or individual soldiers. Here an Argon legion short sword, there a Trima tribal battle shield. A painting depicting the seventh battle of Murphy's Pass, the furthest point the Argon Legions ever got to in the Trima heartlands, was on the left hand wall, flanked by two Legion Long Lances in mint condition. Bearkin two handed swords, Ogre battle axes, Darnhun bolt spitter repeaters (his personal favourites).

  You would be forgiven for forgetting he worked for an organisation that was supposed to promote peace across the land.

  Horna sat at the far end, behind an extensive and exquisitely craved oak wood desk. Two tall candle holders cast as coiling dragons sat beside and behind him, whilst light to the vast room was provided by two huge bottle glass windows edged in black steel. He had his head down as she entered, reading over a scroll.

  “Victoria,” he said, not bothering to look up. “How nice of you to come.”

  “Sir.” she said without enthusiasm as the large doors behind her closed. Sealing her in.

  “You wanted the report sir.” she said next, holding up her parchment.