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Something Stinks in Deep Cove
By Grant Reed
Vellian Mysteries:
1. Welcome to Deep Cove
2. Something Stinks in Deep Cove
3. Something’s Brewing in Deep Cove
By Grant Reed and Gary Reed:
Vellian Heroes:
1. Funny Fruit
2. The Cassadian Chalice
Also by Grant Reed:
Shadow of the Makarios
Visit us @ www.grantreed.ca
Email me: @ [email protected]
Cover illustration by Grant Reed
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Something Stinks in Deep Cove
Copyright ©2014 Grant Reed
This book is protected under the copyright laws of Canada. Any reproduction or other unauthorised use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written consent of the author.
Prologue
Moonlight glinted off the water and cast its dancing shadows over the docks. The lapping of the ocean waves was accompanied by the rhythmic thumping of a mooring buoy against the end of the pier. From the darkness, upon a cold wind, echoed the soft moan of the channel marker’s bell. Two cloaked figures made their way up the pier. The individual on the right pushed a wheelbarrow that bumped along over the planking of the dock. Stopping outside a darkened entrance, they knocked softly and waited. For several minutes, there was naught but the sound of the waves and the distant bell. At last, the door was opened by an old woman. She carried a lantern and was bent with age. The lines of her harrowed face were etched in relief from the lamplight.
“We have come at your bidding, madam,” said the man. He was older, with silver hair and a hard look to his eyes. Beside him, a younger woman cleared her throat and covered her mouth at the smell coming from the hovel.
“He has passed,” said the old woman from the doorway. “I won’t say it was peaceful, either. Cancer ate his belly.” She ambled back inside and motioned for them to follow.
The inside of the hovel was dark and cold. There was no fire lit against the autumn chill. The homeowner led them into a back room, where her husband lay on a narrow cot, the blankets rumpled around him. The younger woman went to the bed and grabbed the dead man by his arm – his only arm – hoisting him up and over her shoulder. Try as she might, she could not help but gag at the smell.
“His bowels went at the end,” said the old lady. There was no trace of shame and only the slightest of sadness on her face. She turned to the man and accepted a bag of coins. “Why are you doing this?” she asked not for the first time.
On this occasion, the man gave her an answer. He removed his hat and made a quick sign of blessing as the younger woman carried the dead man outside to the waiting cart. “Your husband was a hero, madam. Most have forgotten, but we at the Veteran’s Association have not.” He turned to go.
“He will receive a proper burial?” asked the woman. This time, worry was evident in her frail voice.
The man replaced his hat and gently guided the woman’s hand to his breast. “I swear it.” He looked into her face and nodded. “I have commissioned a statue to commemorate his deeds. It will rest in Overbay Park. All who see it will know that your husband was a Vellian hero.”
“Were you a war hero, too?” she asked. She nodded to where the man’s left sleeve was pinned against his shoulder.
“No, madam,” he said, releasing her hand, “nothing of the sort.”
The widow used the lantern to guide the man back outside to his partner, where they found the dead man draped across the cart. The old woman cast her eyes to the sky, unable to look at her husband in this state.
“God bless you,” said the man with a stiff bow. “Remember what I have said about going to the bank. You will now receive a small pension from the Veteran’s Association.”
“Thank you, sir,” she called as the two strangers set off toward the mainland.
“Our pleasure,” said the man from over his shoulder. “It’s not every day you get to honour a one-armed man.”
1
Old Friends
Autumn had arrived in Deep Cove and the mornings were chilly. The sky outside was brightening as Garrett knelt before the fireplace in the office. The kindling crackled and hissed as he placed a log onto the infant flames. Satisfied that the wood would catch, he returned to his desk and the pile of mail awaiting him. “Merle, did you see the invoice for the new shingles?”
From the main room, came the sound of iron striking iron. “Yes, it’s in the unpaid pile,” echoed Merle’s response. “Do you want coffee?”
“Yes, thanks.” A gurgling sound followed as Merle used the kettle to fill another mug. Garrett scanned the top of the desk and a dozen opened envelopes. Shuffling through the pile, he selected one and unfolded the letter from within. “Charlatans,” he grumbled.
“How can they charge all these extra fees?”
“Maybe we should do the same?” quipped Merle. He entered the office through the swinging door that led from their apartment. The little green and orange dragon used his tail to push the door inward as he waddled through the opening with two cups of coffee. His gossamer wings pumped into action, lifting the miniature dragon from the floor and carrying him to Garrett’s desk. Setting one mug down, he yawned noisily, before vacating the desktop.
“I mean, look at this,” complained Garrett, “sixty-two gons in worker rehydration fees?”
“It gets hot on the roof,” replied Merle, climbing into his chair beside the fireplace.
“You would know,” returned Garrett. Then, before he could elaborate, his eye caught another sum near the bottom of the invoice. “And what’s this twenty-five gon recycling fee?”
“We had to pay to have the old shingles taken away.”
“Ridiculous,” snapped the man. “When someone asks me how much it is to tail their wife, I give them one price. I don’t give them a quote and then charge them an extra walking or stakeout fee.”
“Maybe you should,” replied Merle, only half listening. “The extra money wouldn’t hurt and it’s a perfectly legal tactic.”
Garrett set the bill down and glared at his dragon friend. Merle was busy leafing through a large textbook, and didn’t notice. “Speaking of extra money,” said Garrett, “when do you think you’ll be ready to attempt your exam? We were just starting to get ahead when you decided to go back to school. Now, we have all these tuition bills and…”
“Let’s not go there,” said Merle, sipping his coffee without looking up. “It’s going to be a beautiful day. I don’t want to ruin it by fighting again.”
“I’m serious, Merle,” persisted Garrett. “We can’t afford to pay our bills and that global view statement is over a hundred gons for the month. We have next to no income, and you don’t seem to be bothered by our pressing finances.”
“Nope,” agreed Merle, scratching at his nose. “Why sweat the small stuff?” He looked up from his textbook. “Actaully, I have a book on that somewhere. You should read it sometime. It might help with your anxieties.”
“My anxieties?” sputtered Garrett, anger creeping into his voice. “They’re going to confiscate your global view system when I don’t pay the bill! Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. In fact, I bet I could still sell that system for a pretty nice sum. Then, when you’re not wasting all of your day watching Judge Rudy, maybe you can get a real job!”
“You wouldn’t!” screeched Merle. Garrett had finally captured the little dragon’s full attention.
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br /> “I would,” argued Garrett. “I’m tired of living pay-cheque to pay-cheque. No matter how hard I work, our bank account is dry. It seems like I spend all my time working, and you spend yours in front of that damn G.V. When you’re not wasting your time with that, you’re out at the bar until who knows what time.”
“The G.V. is homework!” exclaimed Merle, a touch of frustration in his voice. “Besides, I haven’t been out for two weeks.”
“Ya right,” returned Garrett. “Friday morning, I had to close the back door – again! You left it wide open when you came home in the wee hours.”
“No way,” contested Merle, “it wasn’t me. I was snug in my bed.”
“We both know that Thursday night is cheap night at the Coliseum,”
“I just told you, I haven’t been out for beers in two weeks!”
“So, now the boogeyman has taken a liking to our back door?” Garrett waved his arm dismissively. “Or maybe it’s the fairies playing pranks again?”
“Maybe you should ask metal mouth if he was out cleaning the gutters at three in the morning. I heard something banging around my window again the other night, and I know it wasn’t a bird this time.” He challenged Garrett with his beady eyes.
“That’s just like you, Merle - blaming P.C. for leaving the door open, when you know you rarely push it closed all the way.”
Merle stared at Garrett. Finally, he swallowed and slammed his book closed in an effort to dispel his anger. “Okay, let’s each take a breath,” he said. “Bills are bills. Nobody is going to come in here and take our stuff away if we’re a little behind. The global view bill is high this month, because the last Dragon Fighting Championship we rented is on there. Next month, will be back to normal. Also, I haven’t filed the renovation forms to get our home improvement rebate for the shingles, so when I get around to that, we will see a nice refund there.” Merle continued to stare at Garrett until his friend nodded. “Oh and that thing with those local cable guys wanting P.C. to host their new water treatment infomercial might just be legit. We have a meeting with them on Tuesday morning. You’ll see; things will work out in the end. They always do!”
“I’ve just been tired of late,” said Garrett apologetically. “I’ve been staking out the brewery every night this week, trying to catch those employees stealing from the stockyard.” He rubbed at his temples and sighed loudly.
“You have looked beat lately,” admitted Merle. “Maybe you should take a vacation?”
“Hah,” snorted Garrett, “I can’t afford one.” He returned the invoice to its envelope and shuffled the pile of bills in front of him. Suddenly he stopped, his fingers holding a yellow envelope that had not been previously opened. His name was scrawled across the front in a flowing script that brought a shudder of remembrance with it. He opened the envelope and withdrew a folded page. Carefully, he smoothed the creases from the paper. For some unknown reason, he felt uneasy and his chest was inexplicably tight. He began to read.
Dear Garrett,
I know we haven’t spoken for a long time. I’m not even sure if you want to talk to me, it’s been so many years. I know neither of us has forgotten our last parting, but I want you to know that I was never angry with you. I also know that you are not so forgiving.
I send letters to Father, and in return he has kept me abreast of the news of your travels. He misses you very much, you know? I hope you have forgiven me. I very much want to see you again!
I don’t know if Father has told you, but I have been engaged, for some time, now. His name is Alex. Together, we have become quite the business enthusiasts. Alex is starting a wonderful new business venture that will be explored in your very own backyard of Deep Cove! When I heard this, I said to myself that I couldn’t possibly go there without visiting you. I hope this is okay? I guess I will find out when I arrive in town.
We are coming to inspect the new facilities in mid to late September (provided the weather cooperates) and we will be staying at the Peacock Feather in the lower south end of the city. Won’t you please come and visit me? I want to make things right with you.
Your loving sister,
Azi
P.S.
I have a really big favour to ask of you. I know you have the right to continue to ignore me, but I really hope you can help me. I miss you, Garrett!
Garrett dropped the letter onto the desk, his thoughts drifting. For several minutes he stared into space. He recalled their parting, fifteen years ago, and a flush of embarrassment filled him. He had been a fool to think she could love him in that way. His eyes went to her salutations and he felt the blood flowing in his cheeks. ‘Your loving sister’ he read again. Angrily, he thrust the paper back into its envelope. Both he and Azilda had been trained by the Masters, Fonn and Yarl. Yes, it was true they had been raised together at Big Kirk’s inn, but they were not blood related. ‘You are as much my real sister as Big Kirk is my real father,’ he thought moodily. ‘It was puppy love, nothing more. No harm came from it. Well maybe some hurt feelings.’
A sharp rap at the door made him look up. Before he could calm his emotions, P.C. burst into the office from the adjoining apartment. “I’ll… get… it,” whirred the metal man racing for the front door.
“P.C.” squawked Merle “What in God’s name have you been into?”
The robot stopped mid-stride, his head swiveling to the right, his red eyes taking in the dragon in his chair. “Cleaning… up,” he said simply.
“Oooohh,” gagged Garrett, “do you smell that?” Wincing, he appraised his tin toilet scrubber. P.C. was covered in a thick yellow dust from head to foot. A chunky, brownish-green substance was also smattered across the robot’s metal frame. This darker goo seemed to be the cause of the offending odor. “P.C. input command return to wash station. Execute code procedure: self-clean.”
“Yes… sir.” Without further commotion the metal man spun around, aiming for the inner apartments, once again.
“Make that, twice,” yelled Garrett after the automaton. “Input command, execute code procedure: self-clean and repeat.” Another rap at the door erased the urge to chase after P.C. to make sure the last command had been received. “Come in,” he called.
The outer door swung in slowly, and a tall, middle aged man, stepped into the room. He was dressed in traveling garb, a large packsack and several smaller pouches adorning his wiry frame. Sunlight glinted from a polished black bow slung over his right shoulder. Removing his wide brimmed hat, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He paused while his eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the room. “Halloo,” he said kindly as he spied Merle behind his desk, “that coffee sure smells fine.”
“Willie?” blurted Merle disbelievingly. Garrett stood from his seat. There were more lines on the man’s face and his ponytail was white, but sure enough, the man was his old friend, Willie Taylor.
“Course it’s me, chum,” agreed Willie, dropping his pack to the floor. Glancing Garrett’s way, he held his hand out for a handshake. “Come give your Uncle Willie a hug, won’t you?”
Garrett rounded the corner of his desk to accept the man’s handshake, and was pulled into a bear hug. “Boy it’s good to see you, son!” He stepped back from Garrett, eyeing the younger man.
Garrett, feeling awkward, motioned to the apartments with his head. “Is there anymore coffee?” he asked Merle.
“You bet,” replied Merle, grinning from ear to ear. The little dragon flapped his wings and rose up out of the chair, nodding to Willie as he passed.
“Willie,” breathed Garrett, “It’s been years. I wasn’t expecting you to walk through the door this morning.”
“It’s the little surprises that make life interesting, isn’t it?” replied Willie with a wink. “I’ve been itching for some adventure lately.”
Garrett dragged a chair around to the fireplace and offered his friend a seat. Willie espied a hook by the door and hung his hat on it, before bending down to undo the laces of his hun
ting boots.
“Don’t worry about your boots,” said Garrett hurriedly. “The maid’s not much use around here anyway.”
“Oh, it’s alright. I’ve been riding for hours this morning, and it will be nice to warm myself by your fire,” argued the man. Sighing, he pulled his feet from within the worn leather and wiggled his toes. He crossed the floor, stopping suddenly when his knee banged against the arm of the chair.
Garrett stepped to the side as Merle reappeared with a mug of coffee for their guest. “I have to tell you, if you’ve come to Deep Cove looking for adventure, you may be in for some disappointment,” he said to Willie.
Willie accepted the mug from Merle and eased himself into the chair. He exhaled loudly as he settled himself in. “Do you mind?” he asked, pointing to his packsack. Garrett fetched the sack for his friend, and Willie rummaged through it. Coming up with a folded newspaper, he passed it to Garrett, and dove back into the pack. Retrieving a brown jug, he smiled as he dropped the pack to the floor. “Care for a snort?” he asked, tipping a generous shot into his coffee.
Merle declined and Garrett hesitated and then chuckled. “Why not,” he said, crossing the room to retrieve his coffee. He held out his cup for Willie, and watched the man pour a measure of the drink into it.
“I haven’t come to Deep Cove looking for adventure,” said Willie. “This is just a stopover.” Still grinning, he nodded to the folded paper in Garrett’s hand. “Third page, top left article.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and his eyes went wide with joy. “Boy, that’s good,” he said to Merle.
Garrett unfolded the newspaper and turned the page. “Deepbrook Devil Dines Again!” he read aloud. “The generations old legend of the Deepbrook Devil has surfaced again, when last month twelve half-eaten goats were discovered by a shepherd in the high passes of the Lonely Wood. Young Gren Alvy was horrified to discover the corpses, cut from his very own flock, and likens the incident to one experienced by his grandfather. He went on to say that when the beast returns to the forest, no wicked soul is safe.”
Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4) Page 1
