Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4)

by Reed, Grant T.

  “No…” started Merle, but a loud clanging at the end of the hall made all three of them turn and look. Mr. Kretchel dawdled into the opening and made his way down the corridor. He no longer wore his court suit, and was dressed in simple slacks and a white t-shirt. He did have his oversized briefcase with him, however. Stopping at the table, he stared long and hard at Frank. “My my, aren’t you an ugly brute?” he asked. Frank snorted, his eyes flashing. Vic scowled and was going to say something, but Frank shook his head, and the young man stopped himself.

  “Mr. Kretchel, I’m glad you could finally make it,” said Merle with sarcasm. “I’ve only been in here for five hours.”

  “Not so long to wait,” said the old man. “Patience is a virtue, young man…err dragon. Besides, I was at the fall fair, exercising my annual pie tasting.” He rubbed his belly. Suddenly, he turned and slammed his briefcase down on the table. Both Frank and Vic jumped at the explosion of activity. “Why don’t you two beat it? I’ve got something to discuss with my client.”

  Frank and Vic both stood to leave, but Merle held out his hand to stop them. “Just a minute there, Mr. Kretchel, these are my friends and I would like them to stay.”

  “You’re the boss,” wheezed the old man. “If you want your girlfriends to stay, that’s your call. What I have to say isn’t so pretty, though. I don’t want to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities.”

  “What he say?” growled Vic. “Is he makin’ fun of me?”

  “Shhh,” grumbled Frank. Leaning against the wall, his eyes never left the defense attorney, a scowl on his cow-like face.

  “The prosecutor wants to cut a deal,” said the old man. He turned to face the dragon, hands on his hips. The man’s bushy white eyebrows thumped up and down as he spoke. “You turn evidence on your partner Garrett, and only he does hard time. You get five years’ probation, and this week is the only time you see the inside of a cell.”

  “He ain’t no rat,” hissed Frank. “Tell him to go to hell!”

  “And what happens to the golem?” said Merle in an even tone, his eyes hard.

  “Destroyed, of course,” said Kretchel. “Judge Perew isn’t a fan of technology on the best of days.”

  “Wull,” said Vic, shrugging his shoulders, “maybe you can just tell em a little bit. If it saves you bacon, it’s forgivable.”

  “It’s never forgivable,” rumbled Frank, “and you know better! What would your father say about that?” Vic swallowed and stared at the table.

  “He tattled on the syndicate,” reminded Vic quietly.

  “Has it entered your mind that I might be innocent?” asked Merle, ignoring his pals.

  Kretchel’s laughter filled the corridor, startling all three of them. “Innocent?” gasped the old man. “We have eye witnesses that watched as your machine beat that man down. We have a further ten witnesses that saw your golem attack the old man just a few days back. You’re responsible for that thing’s actions. He did it, and you pay. That’s how it works, young man.” Kretchel wiped a tear from his cheek and turned to open his briefcase. “I’ll get you to sign this paper, and you’ll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “No,” said Merle. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the old man.

  “Pardon me, son?” said Kretchel. He turned back from his briefcase, ever so slowly.

  “You can take that sheet of lies and feed it to that prosecutor,” said Merle hotly. “You’re fired, Mr. Kretchel.”

  “Hah,” the old man leaned toward the cell, his eyebrows slamming down over his bulbous nose. “If this is some ploy to extend the trial date, you may be surprised to know that you will not get an extension.”

  “Extension or not, I’ll be damned if I let a man who thinks I’m guilty, defend me.” Merle pointed to the exit, and did not drop his arm until Kretchel had retrieved his briefcase and stomped off down the corridor.

  “I know a guy who knows a guy,” said Frank meaningfully.

  “I don’t want Kretchel harmed,” said Merle sulkily, “It looks like he’ll die soon enough on his own.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” returned Frank in a hurt tone. “I know a guy who knows a guy that could defend you.”

  “Nope,” said Merle with conviction. “No one believes in my and Garrett’s innocence more than I do. I’m going to defend myself.”

  “Eyuh…” said Frank with a grimace. “I know a couple guys that tried that. Didn’t work out so well, for them.”

  “Nonsense,” argued Merle. “I’ve been studying for months now. Everything will be fine. I’ll need your help though.”

  “Of course,” agreed Frank after only the slightest of hesitations.

  “Can one of you go to my place and bring me my law texts?”

  “I’ll have them for you within an hour,” promised Frank. He held his hoof out to shake Merle’s hand, before motioning for Vic to come along.

  “Will de golem still gets shredded?” asked Vic.

  “Yes, Vic,” Frank agreed, shushing his ward and guiding him down the corridor.

  6

  Hunted

  It was a cold night. Willie sank into the depths of his leather collar. His respite lasted all of thirty seconds before he cursed softly and poked his ears back into the wind. The sky was overcast, and little sign could be seen of the full moon or stars from behind the clouds. He thought of reaching into his pocket for a shot of whiskey to warm his belly, but he knew he needed to remain sharp. He turned in the shrill wind, a sound catching his ear. He waited, his breath half held, but he heard no further noise. He was on edge, and he knew it. He could barely see on the best of days, and now, up on this ridge overlooking the creek, he could see nothing in the infernal blackness surrounding him. ‘Fool’ he cursed inwardly, and buckled under the weight of his addiction. Retrieving his flask, he downed a mouthful before angrily shoving the jug back into his pocket.

  He would never admit to Garrett how useless he was out here on this hunt, and, in truth, it didn’t matter. All he had to do was keep his friend out here for a few more days and then the journey home would take care of the rest. Garrett would be away from the city, the goings on in Deep Cove well beyond both of their reach. Azi had offered good money to keep Garrett out of town for a couple of weeks, and by golly that was what he was going to do.

  He looked to the water below. He could have sworn he heard a low growl. His eyes went wide, seeking any sign of movement, but there was nothing to be glimpsed in the darkness of his ruined sight. Tears streamed down his cheeks, caused by the biting wind, yet he dared not move. His ears strained for any discernible sound over the distant rumblings of the creek. He pulled the Impaler onto his lap and risked wiping the tears from his face. He felt alongside his leg, reassuring himself of the presence of his arrows.

  This was the third night he had spent sitting watch on this outcrop. The first two had been brightened by the light of the moon, and he had felt at ease. He knew there was no Devil to fear, but so long as he kept up the game, Garrett would suspect nothing. They had left the wagon at the Alvy’s, and young Gren had been permitted to lead them up into the higher ridges. Eddie and Gerdie were outfitted with their supplies and had been brought along without the wagon.

  Glory had made sure the boy would only escort them to Rook’s Pass. From there, they had followed the river for three more days until they arrived at the high meadows. On the edge of the fields, a shack for the goatherds had been built, and there, the two men had set up base camp. Gren had explained that if they followed the river north for four hundred yards from the shack, they would come to another rocky crossing. This was where he had found the mutilated goats, over a month ago.

  They had taken the first afternoon to scout the area, but there was no clear sign of any large animals. There were tracks along the river, but these were washed out by the rain, and Willie was sure they were nothing more than exaggerated bear prints. The bowman had thought they would attract said bear with their bait, but so far he
had only glimpsed a fox on the second night. He had carted the pig guts in a double sack, and they had separated its contents on the first night at the shack. Half the bait was dumped here, below Willie, and Garrett was keeping watch at the rock crossing, with the other half.

  Willie rubbed his hands together. His gloves were thin, and his fingers were cold. Soon Garrett would come to retrieve him. They would return to the shack and a warm fire, and share a snort while they talked long into the night.

  The wind picked up, washing over him and the boulder he was huddled beside. The full moon cleared the clouds, and Willie released his breath, for the first time aware he had been holding it. Standing awkwardly, he leaned against the rocks. His leg was on fire with pins and needles – having fallen asleep tucked under him. He reached for the Impaler, but froze when the outline of a figure filled his slim tunnel of vision.

  “William,” called a throaty voice. “Nice hiding spot. I lost you in the rocks for a time.”

  Willie stood straight, a shaft of fear stabbing his belly. He had dared to hope he had lost his pursuer in the hills or, at the very least, that his antagonist would pick up the chase again on the road to Cassadia. “Roget, you are persistent, I’ll give you that,” he said, stalling for time. “You were hired to obtain something from me, and I am tired of watching every shadow for you. I am sure you are tired of chasing me all over this god forsaken country. Return to Cassadia, and I will meet with you first thing upon my arrival.”

  “It’s too late for that, Willie. The interest on your loans just doubled, and you’re out of options.” Willie heard the faintest whisper of steel escaping its sheath. His mind whirled with this proof of his suspicions. “You were never to return to Cassadia. I was hired to kill you and take your bow, simple as that. I figured you might throw in the properties, as a little bonus for me.” The statement was made matter-of- factly, with no hint of shame.

  “I’ll sign over the properties,” said Willie, scanning the rocks for his arrows. “You take the deed and the bow, and let me on my way.”

  “I said it’s too late for that, William.” Roget advanced a step. “Now you’re only stalling.”

  Willie scrambled for his quiver, but an impact from behind slammed him into the boulder. The Impaler was knocked from his grasp. He staggered to right himself, but Roget threw himself at Willie as another man clawed the bowman’s jacket. Willie kicked out, sending this second attacker to the ground. Roget was on him in a heartbeat, grabbing him by the sleeve. Instinctively, Willie spun to his left and yanked his arm out of the jacket, leaving Roget holding the garment. Willie turned to run, but unexpectedly the ground fell out from beneath him. He tumbled from the outcrop, screaming in pain when he landed on the rocks ten feet below. An explosion of agony thundered throughout his brain, lights filling his vision. He sluggishly rolled onto his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He knew there was no escape now.

  The moon outlined the men above him on the rocky outcrop as Roget pointed down to where he lay. The blood pounded in his ears, and merciful darkness began to overtake him. He gurgled an incoherent threat as one of the men started to climb down toward his rocky bed. Then, before the darkness enveloped him, he felt rough hands on him.

  * * * *

  Garrett leaned against the canyon wall, his eyes half closed, the sound of the babbling creek almost soothing him to sleep. Yawning, he forced his eyes open and pushed himself up straight. His warm bedroll waited for him back at the shack. There was no sense falling asleep out here, under the looming rain clouds. He grabbed his bow and was about to make his way out from his place of concealment, when a sound made him stop. He scanned the rocky pass below. There it was again: small rocks tumbling free from their hold on the slope.

  Focusing on the spot where his ears told him there was movement, he was able to make out the shape of a man climbing the side of the canyon. Garrett watched the newcomer following the path he himself had taken a couple of hours earlier, and determined it was not Willie.

  A coldness swept over Garrett, which had nothing to do with the wind. He had been hunted before, in the jungles of Sung-Ti and Ho-Horaan, while on crusade in his youth. He had learned a thing or two about stalking men in those exotic forests, and now those long dormant talents threatened to overtake his judgment. Forcing himself to breathe, he climbed lightly onto a large rock beside him. Swinging his feet over, he prepared to flee in the opposite direction to the man. ‘Probably just a goatherd looking for his goats,’ reasoned Garrett.

  Silently his feet touched down on the rocky slope. Bounding down the incline, he leapt as agilely as any hunting cat, his feet seeking purchase on the larger rocks. Unexpectedly, a second figure loomed out of the darkness in front of him. Garrett swerved to avoid contact, and his foot came down on loose stones that skittered under his weight. Falling heavily, he tumbled down the steep slope. Intuitively, he got his feet under him, but he could not slow his descent. He was consciously aware of the man that followed on his heels.

  Try as he might, Garrett could not avoid a logjam that had been washed down the creek in high-water season. He plowed headlong into the obstacle, and felt his right wrist snap under the weight of his descent. Holding in the scream that threatened to erupt from him, he focused his pain into anger. Spinning, he lashed out with his elbow, catching his pursuer in the nose and dropping the man instantly. The downed man writhed in pain and held his face. Garrett could see blood streaming from the man’s nose. He registered this without compassion as he brought his foot down on the man’s knee. The man screamed in terrible pain, but Garrett was already running. The survival skills he had reigned in, had now taken over. He waded across the stream and merged with the brush on the opposite bank. He did not look back to see if the man’s partner had come to aid his friend, but forged on ahead into the blackness of the woods. He knew the river took a bend in front of him, cutting across his chosen path. He had one goal in mind, and that was to get to Willie.

  Running as fast as he dared in the dark woods, he ignored the throbbing pain of his broken wrist. He nearly fell from the bank when the river loomed below him. He managed to grab onto a sapling with his good hand, and a fraction of a second later he was on his butt and lowering himself down the muddy bank. When his feet touched the water, he stopped to listen for sounds of pursuit. There were none. Walking with the current, he made his way to the opposite shore. He did not bother to climb the bank, but instead followed the edge of the river. The water was shallow here, and the shore sandy with small pebbles. Above on the bank, he would only have to fight through the thick grass, the copious branches, and the darkness.

  Without thinking, he controlled his breathing as he navigated the edge of the riverbed. His legs churned on autopilot, allowing him a moment of reflection in the easier terrain. Who were these strangers, and why were they hunting him? One man out in the same woods could have been a coincidence, but two men that came in the silence of the night and flanked his position, had come with a purpose. Had these strangers stumbled across the goatherd’s shack? ‘No’, he reasoned. All of Garrett and Willie’s belongings were stored there, and if robbery had been their objective, it would have been simple enough to steal their things. To sneak up on a man in the darkness heralded something much more sinister.

  The river rounded a bend to his left, and tumbled down a long and narrow set of rapids. At the bottom of the run, a wide pool lapped at the shoreline. Garrett crawled over a downed pine and assessed the moonlit pond below. He had espied the pool from the bank earlier in the day, and knew the quickest route to Willie was to abandon the water’s edge at this juncture.

  Climbing the steep bank, he winced in agony when he slid and grabbed out with his bad hand. He growled in frustration, but hauled himself to the top, and listened. Behind him, up the riverbed, he heard splashing. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he jumped to his feet and threaded his way through the thick grass lining the bank. Entering the woods, he angled for Willie’s outcrop.

  The rise
was in site when a scream split the night air in front of him. ‘Willie!’ knew Garrett. Stumbling over the rocks, he nearly tripped on his friend at the base of the crag. He knelt by the bowman, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Willie shuddered beneath his probe. Above, on the lookout, Garrett marked two figures. One of them was lowering himself over the lip.

  From Garrett’s right, a howl split the night air, unlike anything the man had ever heard. His stomach turned to water, and every hair on his neck and arms stood at attention. A shadowy profile powered from the darkness with a quickness that belied its size. It scrabbled up the slope quicker than Garrett would have thought possible. The man atop the outcropping turned to run, but in one leap, the creature’s powerful hind legs propelled the beast onto its victim’s back. The man went down with a scream that was silenced almost before it began. Taking up the corpse in its jaws, the massive creature turned in the moonlight, a hulk of silver fur. The body hung from the creature’s mouth, arms and legs dangling with no sign of life. The beast – with its victim – sailed over Willie and Garrett before disappearing into the darkness.

  The blood pounded in Garrett’s ears, his sweat thick on his skin. He hadn’t felt fear like this since he was a kid, maybe even not then. Positioning himself over Willie, he pulled his friend onto his shoulder, and lifted. All remembrance of his hurt wrist was forgotten in his panic to escape. Without further thought or any sort of plan, he set off running in the opposite direction of the creature. He knew he had to get to the shack and the horses. His only consolation was that the Devil had disappeared in the direction of the men chasing him.

  7

  Law for Dummies

  It was cold and rainy outside, and Merle was certain this accounted for the amount of commotion at the courthouse. The fact that this was a murder trial involving one of Deep Cove’s best known gladiatorial golems never entered his mind. ‘Stupid P.C. cleaning where he shouldn’t have been,’ he thought miserably.