Unofficial Detective

by Kathryn Wells

  He reached the dry cleaners quickly, sweating slightly from the heat of the shop. 'Yes, sir?' the woman at the desk said without even looking at him. She was reading a magazine; intent on an article about using the Wizard Council's new spell powder to get rid of fleas and bugs from the home. She nodded as she read, and Thordric grumbled under his breath. He hated the Wizard Council. True, they did make a lot of fun things, like their new Rainbow range, but that was only the lower part of the Council. High Wizard Kalljard would never have had anything to do with them, he was far too important for that trivial stuff. He was the one that Thordric really disliked, for it was he who had spread such hate for half-wizards, despite the rumours that he had fathered a half-wizard himself.

  Before Kalljard had come to power, half-wizards had been trusted just as much as everyone else, and people had often gone to them for help when they couldn't afford the prices of a full wizard. But that had been over a thousand years ago now, for it was Kalljard's discovery of everlasting youth that had allowed him to form the Council and take charge of it. No-one had successfully got him to share his secrets of everlasting youth, but he had developed a potion that allowed the elderly to look and feel young in the last days of their lives.

  Full wizards were actually quite rare, only a handful were born each year. Each full wizard was born into a family with no previous magic in it and it was said that the powers they had came from all the potential magic that the family had within their bloodline. To keep their powers pure, full wizards were not allowed to marry. Of course, if they all obeyed that rule then there wouldn't be any half-wizards.

  The woman finished her article and looked up; frowning slightly as she saw his stubbly head. 'I have to pick up the Inspector's sister's dry cleaning,' he said, the words tripping out of his mouth.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. 'Do you have the Inspector's pass code?'

  'Yes, I…'

  He looked at the two notes and frowned again. It was impossible to tell which one it was. Shrugging, he chose one at random and handed it to her. She looked at it and checked it against her list. 'That is indeed the Inspector's pass code,' she said, the surprise showing in her voice. 'One moment, sir.'

  She went into the backroom, and appeared a moment later with a huge stack of clothes. 'Here you are, sir. Tell the Inspector that we thank him for his custom.' She handed them to him, making his knees buckle slightly. Easing a smile on his face, he thanked her and inched out the door. How could anyone own so many clothes?

  Once out in the street, he found a post box to lean against while he fished the address out of his pocket. He read it and cursed: 52, Rosemary Lane. That was on the other side of town. He could almost feel the ache in his muscles at the very idea of it.

  By the time he reached the cherry red front door, surrounded by honeysuckle, his feet felt like they were covered in blisters and he was sweating profusely. Not wanting to offend the lady, he quickly straightened his uniform, shifting the pile of clothes to one arm. The door opened before he could even knock, and a woman stood just inches from his nose. Her hair was in a bun so tight that it gave her a slight face lift. Thordric felt his knees begin to buckle again.

  'And who might you be?' she said.

  'I'm Thordric, ma'am. The Inspector sent me to deliver your dry cleaning.'

  She pursed her lips. 'Very well, then. Bring it in and leave it on the banister. Quickly, boy!'

  He did as he was told, feeling her eyes bore into his back.

  'Well, why are you still here?' she said.

  'The Inspector asked me to ask you if you had any chores that need doing, ma'am, and if so to do them for you.'

  'It seems that my brother has finally developed some manners then. Come along, boy, and let us see what you can do.' Thordric thought he saw a smile flicker across her lips, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.

  She led him to the kitchen. It was a large room, with a dark stove at its heart, and Thordric caught the most wonderful smell coming from it. It was roast chicken and potatoes, and his stomach groaned audibly. The Inspector's sister took no notice. Instead she dove into one of the oversized cupboards and produced a battered old copper kettle.

  'I want you to fix this kettle,' she said, handing it to him.

  He looked at it doubtfully, noticing several large dents and a gash in the side. 'I'll try, ma'am, but I don't pretend to have the skills to do it.'

  'Hogwash, boy!' she scoffed. 'Use your magic.'

  Thordric gaped. 'You know that I'm a half-wizard?'

  She laughed. 'Don't be silly, boy. I can smell your powers from half a mile away, they're so strong. In fact I thought you were from the Wizard Council, which was why I was so concerned when you turned up at my doorstep.'

  'What do you mean, you can smell my powers?' he said, his voice breaking.

  'Forgive me, smell is perhaps the wrong word. Sense is more accurate, I suppose. It was my late husband that taught me how, you see. He was a half-wizard too.'

  'He was?'

  'Yes. Come and sit down, now I know that you're safe.' She led him into the conservatory and made him sit on a light cream wicker sofa.

  'You don't trust the Wizard Council, then?' he asked.

  'Of course not,' she said, failing to keep the contempt out of her voice. 'Greedy, soulless lot they are. Drove my poor husband to his death.'

  'How?' he said, before he could stop himself.

  She sighed. 'I suppose you've heard the stories of half-wizards trying to prove themselves? Well, my husband was just the same. He created many spells just as good as any that come from the Wizard Council. He developed potions too, most of them more effective that any the Council make. He had an argument with a full wizard about it all, right out in the street. He came home raging, so I suggested that he go for a walk along the quieter lanes to clear his head. He didn't want to, but he went anyway. He didn't come home that night.' She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. 'They found his body the next morning, a deep purple colour. My brother, who had only just been made Inspector back then, kept it all quiet for me so I wouldn't have the papers knocking on my door. He said that the pathologist believed he had been trying a spell, and like most half-wizards had met his downfall in doing so.'

  'I'm sorry,' Thordric said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

  'Thank you, boy. It was a long time ago,' she said, sniffing and sitting up. 'Right. Now I need to find out more about you. Who was your father?'

  'Mother never told me. All she said was that he was a wizard.'

  'Presumably on the Council, then?'

  'I guess so. Aren't all full wizards on the Council?'

  'No. There are those that disagree with what the Council does, and refuse to have anything to do with it. They are shunned just as much as you half-wizards though, so many don't advertise their powers.'

  'Oh. I see,' Thordric replied, shifting on the sofa. 'Wh-why is it you want to know about me, ma'am?'

  'Please, call me Lizzie,' she said, waving a hand. 'The truth is I want to help you. If you have even half the power that I think you have, then you are capable of doing great things, not to mention fixing my poor kettle.' She laughed and let down her bun slightly, taking away the hardness from her face. 'Now, how much magic can you do at the moment?'

  Thordric felt deflated. 'None,' he said.

  'Oh come now, surely you've done something?' Lizzie said.

  'Well, I may have accidently caused some people to lose their memory or forget what they were saying. I've never done anything on purpose though. Mother said that it's too dangerous.'

  'Tosh!' Lizzie said. 'Well, I've certainly got my work cut out with you.' She stood up and took him out into the garden, where she stood him in front of a dead tree stump. It was raining heavily, but she didn't seem to notice.

  'Now,' she said, her voice taking on its crispness again. 'The first thing you have to do is learn how to focus your powers.' She stretched out her arm, pointing with index finger. 'I want you to focus
all of your attention on this tree stump, and when you think you've got it, you are to paint a red dot right in the middle of it.'

  'But I don't have any paint,' he said.

  The look she gave him made the stubble on his head frizzle. 'Do it with your powers, boy!'

  'But I don't know how,' he complained.

  Lizzie sighed. 'Just focus forward and think about painting it manually.'

  In the next hour; while water had filled up his boots and now trickled over the tops; Thordric had managed to paint dots all over the garden fence, the shed and the bushes, but not one had landed on the tree stump.

  Lizzie had watched him tirelessly. 'Where are you aiming for, boy? The target is in front of you, not behind!' she said. 'Focus. Feel the power within you and push it forward.'

  At one point he turned around to tell her that it simply wasn't possible, but caught her square in the head with a red dot of paint. Instead of being angry with him she fell about laughing. 'I do believe that it's time for a spot of tea.'

  Gathering up her now soaked skirts, she sat him in the kitchen to contemplate the battered kettle. 'What makes you think I can fix this when I can't even put a dot on a tree stump?' he asked in dismay.

  'Do you, or do you not, want tea?' she asked, arching an eyebrow high into her hair.

  'Yes, I do.'

  'Then you will fix the kettle. It's as simple as that.' She got up and bustled around the kitchen. 'Oh, and don't be too long with it, I want the tea ready by the time I finish baking this cake. And you'll want to get to the bank before it closes,' she said. He jumped. How did she know that he needed to go there?

  He shrugged and turned back to the kettle. It sat there, his reflection staring back at him, distorted and grubby on its lacklustre surface. He sighed and clapped his hands together, hoping the motion would give him some hint of an idea how fix it. It didn't.

  He decided to work on the dents first. Perhaps if he pushed at them from the inside, it would shift the metal back out again. The first few tries he missed, and had used such a force that it sent him sailing across the kitchen and back out into the conservatory.

  Lizzie smiled, and said only, 'Keep trying, boy.'

  Slowly, his aim improved, and he managed to fix two of the bigger dents. 'Now try and fix that gash,' Lizzie said over his shoulder. 'The cake is almost ready.'

  By this time, Thordric was sweating almost as much as he had been while carrying her clothes. He couldn't believe how much energy it took to use his powers. Did all wizards struggle like this? Or was it just half-wizards?

  He wiped the sweat away from his forehead, and to give himself a better idea of what the gash was like, he put his hands on it. As soon as he did, he felt the most curious sensation. He could feel the kettle, not just how it was now in his hands, but how it had been when it was first made. Smooth and perfectly round. Focusing on this, he willed it to be like that again, closing his eyes tightly.

  Lizzie clapped loudly. 'Open your eyes, boy,' she said. He could hear the smile in her voice, and as he opened his eyes again he saw why. He'd done it. The kettle was brand new again. No dents or gashes at all, nor even a hint of where they had been.

  He jumped up out of his seat, with a grin so wide that it barely fit his face, and ran back outside into the rain, painting a red dot on the tree stump without even thinking about it. He felt so light, and so free. He had used magic; his magic; and it had worked. He danced around the garden, swinging the kettle about as if it was his partner, only stopping when Lizzie caught him by the arm and dragged him back inside.

  'Steady yourself, boy. I still need that,' she said, pulling the kettle away from him.

  'Did you see, Lizzie? Did you see me put the paint on the tree stump?' he laughed. His body shook with so much excitement and nervous energy that he wobbled like a jelly. Lizzie took hold of him and steered him back inside, placing him in a chair by the table.

  'I did, boy, I did. But don't think that you've finished your training yet. You've an awful lot more to learn still.' She planted a cup of tea beside him and a slice of cake so large that it filled the plate. 'Eat that. It'll give you your energy back.'

  A few mouthfuls later he was calm again. 'How will I finish my training?' he said. 'The Inspector will want me charging about on his errands for the rest of the week.'

  'You get Sundays off, don't you?' she said.

  'Er…yes, I think.'

  'Well then, you shall come here every Sunday and continue your training. How does that sound?'

  Thordric grinned and sloshed tea all down his front.

  Chapter Three: A Death at the Council

  Thordric got to the bank barely ten minutes before it closed, and arrived too breathless to state his business. He thrust the slip of paper that the Inspector had given him at the desk clerk before his legs buckled. The clerk leaned over to see if he needed to ask security to drag Thordric away, but discovered he was grinning up at him. The clerk sniffed, his long nose drooping slightly, and shuffled through his papers. Finally he pulled out a bright pink sheet, scribbling on it intently.

  'Here you are…sir,' he said, dropping it over the desk to land in Thordric's lap. 'Will that be all?'

  Thordric put the pink paper neatly in his jacket pocket, and then pulled himself to his feet, using the desk as leverage. 'I, er, think so,' he replied, unsure if the clerk had actually done what the Inspector had wanted.

  'Good day then, sir,' the clerk replied stiffly.

  The Inspector was in his office when Thordric arrived back at the station. He was deeply engrossed in a book detailing the plans for the Wizard Council's newest idea, spell powered carriages. He hadn't noticed Thordric enter.

  'Inspector?' he said, quietly.

  The Inspector jumped, almost falling off his chair, and his moustache curled around to touch his nostrils again. 'Thornal!' he breathed. 'Don't you know how to knock?'

  'I'm sorry sir, I mean, Inspector. I thought you'd like to know that I completed all the tasks you gave me.' He handed the Inspector the day's copy of the Jard Town Gazette.

  'Yes, yes, get on with it,' the Inspector said. 'Did the bank give you anything for me?'

  'Oh, yes sir- Inspector. Erm… here.' He handed the Inspector the pink sheet of paper. The Inspector snatched it and unfolded it, his eyes glinting. Thordric watched his eyes go from left to right as he read it, noticing his moustache getting more unruly with each second that passed.

  The Inspector screwed the paper up and tossed it in the waste paper basket, muttering something that sounded awfully like 'lack of funds'.

  There was a sharp knock on the door, and a constable came in before the Inspector had a chance to respond.

  'Inspector, we've just had an urgent call from the Wizard Council. It's High Wizard Kalljard, sir.'

  'Yes? What about him?'

  'He's dead, Inspector.'

  'Dead? But…but…dead? Are you sure?' the Inspector said. His moustache had gone completely straight, and it looked to Thordric as though it had gone several shades lighter than normal.

  The constable lowered his voice. 'Well, he was over a thousand years old, Inspector; it was bound to happen at some point.'

  'What about his eternal youth potion?'

  'Perhaps it finally ran its course,' the constable shrugged.

  The Inspector sighed. 'I suppose you're right. I best go and see what happened, and pay my official respects,' he said. He got up and put on his jacket, smoothing it down smartly. He gestured to the constable to leave, and then turned to Thordric. 'You come with me. If I left you here, I'd come back to find the whole station reduced to rubble.'

  Thordric fought to keep his expression neutral. 'As you wish, Inspector,' he said.

  The Inspector raised an eyebrow, not expecting Thordric to be so docile. Thordric ignored it. The Inspector shrugged and led them out of the station.

  The crowd was already thick when they got to the residence of the Wizard Council. It was a huge turquoise building, in the shape of a
crescent moon, and had the black and silver symbol of the book and potion bottle that decorated every product they had concocted.

  A group of burly constables held the crowd back from the main doors. Thordric gaped as he watched the people trying to clamour over them, just for a glimpse inside the place. Some of them were even crying, genuine tears at the High Wizard's death, but not everyone one was there for those reasons.

  Waiting for the Inspector was a crumpled looking man wearing a top hat and doing his best to bear some weight. 'Inspector!' he said, rushing up and pulling out a notepad and pen. 'What do you make of the High Wizard's sudden death?'

  The Inspector cursed under his breath. 'Macks! What are you doing here?'

  'Why Inspector, this is big news, possibly the biggest news ever in the history of all newspapers! Why wouldn't I be here?' Macks shrieked excitedly, his voice shrill and breathless.

  The Inspector's moustache broke out in curls. 'You despicable little rat,' he said. 'He only died an hour ago, and you're already seeking to profit from it.'

  'Sticks and stones, Inspector,' Macks said, dancing out of the way of the Inspector's fists.

  The Inspector growled. 'Constable!' he shouted to the one standing closest. 'Take this walking cesspit and throw him in the cells until I get back.'

  'Yes, Inspector,' the constable said, and caught Macks in a grip so hard that he didn't bother to struggle.

  The Inspector muttered to himself, trying to smooth down his moustache. The line of constables parted momentarily to let him and Thordric through, and they found themselves in front of a door larger than most of the trees that Thordric had seen. The Inspector tugged on the oversized bell pull, and within moments the great doors opened to let them through.

  A young wizard in full length robes greeted them. The robes weren't black as Thordric had expected, considering it was a period of mourning. Instead, they were a brilliant, bottle green.

  'Inspector Jimmson,' the wizard said, nodding his head slightly. 'We welcome you in this hour of great sadness.' He gestured for them to step inside, and the doors shut quickly behind them, leaving only the light from the blue fires hovering at the sides of the wall.