Her eyes got larger. “I–I see. G–Good. Ah, please come in, then.”
They stepped inside, and once Coatl had walked in, she shut the large doors. They followed her down the wide hallway farther into the huge building. Coatl padded along behind, looking about at all the interesting things. His curiosity was strong through the link.
The woman led them into a large area. It reminded Fillion of a smaller version of the warehouse they’d met Preeti in. This one wasn’t empty, however. All about sat crates, boxes, jugs, and other containers.
“May I see the compound?” The woman held out her hand to Master Gella.
“I don’t have a sample.”
The woman frowned. “Then how am I to find its match?”
The master investigator pointed to Coatl as he ambled in. “Our large friend will find it.”
Ah. So that was her plan. Fillion curved his lips into a grin.
I smell the same smell. It comes from somewhere in here. Coatl began sniffing, pointing his nose in different directions. It will take me a moment. There are a lot of very strong scents.
Fillion nodded. “He says he smells the same thing in here.”
Master Gella smiled. “Perfect.”
After a few minutes, Coatl led them to a rectangular metal container, about two feet by two feet and maybe three feet tall. This has the same smell.
Master Gella turned to the woman. “What is in here?”
Squinting at the label on the side of the large can, the woman said, “Ah, yes, cuprethene.”
“Coop . . . rahtheen?” Fillion had never heard of it. “What’s that?”
The woman glanced at him. “It’s a versatile distillate which was starting to see heavy use as an industrial cleanser for machinery, but due to its extreme volatility, is primarily used to thin oil paints, or in making varnishes or furniture polishes, now. Less dangerous solutions have replaced it as a cleanser. Though, to be sure, several industrial cleansers still use cuprethene as a base.”
Fillion frowned. That didn’t sound particularly criminal. Maybe they’d been wrong to think something was happening at the warehouse.
Master Gella tapped her lip with a finger. “Is it toxic, or highly reactive?”
The woman shook her head. “It’s not especially toxic if handled properly and with proper ventilation, though you wouldn’t want to drink quantities of the stuff lest you become quite ill.” She bent forward to squint at the label again. “It is very flammable, and based on the symbols listed, it has an extremely high vaporization rate. Thus, it would not remain a liquid for long before turning into a vapor.”
Master Gella looked at her. “So if someone were to spread it around to start a fire, say, they’d have to be quick.”
“That could be hazardous to the person attempting to start the fire. Breathing the vapors for too long is dangerous and those vapors would likely explode when exposed to flame. As I said, cuprethene is highly volatile. So volatile, in fact, that it isn’t used much anymore in its pure state. The various things it’s mixed with act somewhat like stabilizers.”
Master Gella grunted. “Who would have need of forty or so barrels of the stuff?”
“Goodness. I can’t imagine. Well, perhaps a company would. If they have just an enormous number of machines to clean, it could be more cost-effective for them to mix up their own cleanser. That amount of cuprethene would last a company a long time, too, if stored properly to prevent evaporation.” She rapped the can with her knuckles. “It must be stored in tightly sealed metal containers. And even then,” she glanced at Coatl, “some still escapes to be scented out.”
Metal containers? Fillion turned to Master Gella. She was looking at him, too, likely thinking the same thing. This was definitely what had been in that warehouse. Not that he doubted Coatl’s nose, but this served as further confirmation.
“Can you review your records,” Master Gella said, “for any large cuprethene orders? Say in the last five months?”
“Of course, though it may take a while. I’ll return after.” She left through a door.
They stood around for some time. Master Gella started reading labels from various nearby containers. Coatl glanced about the place, still interested in all the things in here, no doubt. He’d occasionally blow out air through his nose with a shake of his head, like a cat who’d smelled something unpleasant. Fillion smiled at his bond-mate and then sighed. Half a year of records would of course take some time to review, but he was getting bored.
He frowned and looked at Master Gella. “Maybe there weren’t any criminal doings with the barrels. Maybe they were just being shipped.”
“You said Preeti’s father was very nervous about those barrels, and if you’ll recall, the shipping company didn’t have records on them anywhere. There is definitely something suspicious about them.”
She is right. He was scared about something involving those barrels.
Fillion grunted. “Coatl agrees with you. Could the barrels have been stolen from somewhere? Perhaps Tobin and Preeti’s father are, what do you call people who sell stolen goods?”
Master Gella glanced at him. “Fences. That had occurred to me as well, but I inquired and there have been no reports of large numbers of barrels, no matter their contents, having been stolen in the last few months.”
“Perhaps they’ve been accumulating them for longer than that?”
“Doubtful. Assuming they knew what they’d stolen. The woman said that even well-sealed, cuprethene tends to evaporate, so them letting the barrels sit around for too long doesn’t make sense. And even if they didn’t know what they had, most fences try to move merchandise as soon as it is safe to do so. Holding on to the barrels for too long makes little sense either way. I don’t think Tobin and Astin are fences.”
Fillion grunted. Her reasoning was sound as far as he could tell. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of any other reason why Tobin might have been so nervous.
Can we leave soon? All these smells in here are starting to hurt my nose.
Oh, hells. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that. He turned to Master Gella. “All these chemicals are starting to bother Coatl. We need to leave soon.”
“Oh. Yes, you two can wait for me in the—”
“I found something interesting.” The woman walked back in the room.
Master Gella lifted her brows. “Oh?”
“There have been no single orders for anywhere near that many barrels. However, . . .” She flipped open a large book of some sort. “Over the last three months, there have been orders, one each month, that total to a little over forty barrels. And while the orders were all from different companies, it does seems suspicious to get an order for the same number of barrels, once a month, on the same day of the month, from three different businesses.”
“Those must be false companies,” Master Gella said. “But why would someone use false companies to buy cuprethene? Why would anyone hide their need of cleanser?”
The woman shook her head. “I have no idea.”
+ + + + +
Chanté wasn’t happy with the ‘chore’ they’d made him do. Despite what Renata and Quillan had told him, he’d still been more than a little uncomfortable killing that bison.
‘It’s human nature, after all.’
He scowled. The remembered words didn’t make him feel one bit better. And as if his discomfit hadn’t been enough, seeing those people laughing and smiling at him and Nantli when they’d brought the dead animal back had made him angry for some reason. He was still upset and he wasn’t entirely certain why.
“Don’t tell her I told you,” Willem glanced at him before returning to his work on Nantli, “but Renata couldn’t stop smiling about you being carried in Nantli’s forelegs.”
Chanté pressed his lips together and kept silent. Renata, too?
They’d brought the bison to the roof of the kitchens as she’d asked him to. There was a doorway there big enough to accept the enormous animal. It must have been designed tha
t way knowing bison would be dropped off by dragon. Apparently, someone there who had seen them arrive, Nantli carrying him, had told her about it. That must be why she had stopped by his room and said he should see Willem at the saddlery about getting Nantli measured for the saddles on the requisition form.
“She thought it was adorable.”
Chanté drew his brows together. “Adorable? What does that mean?”
“Hmm?” Willem glanced over his shoulder.
“I . . . I’ve never heard that word before.”
“Ah.” Willem turned back to his work. “It means, well, incredibly cute, I guess? Something that when you see it you can’t help but smile.”
The memory of Quillan blocking the view of people in the showers popped into his head. He blinked. “I–I see.”
Still, for some reason he felt . . . not happy that people might be laughing at Nantli’s lack of saddles.
You feel embarrassed?
Chanté glanced at her and twisted his lips. Is that what the feeling was? I don’t want Renata or anyone laughing at you, at us.
I did not sense anything bad from her, just a kind of caring. The same thing I feel now from Willem.
Chanté glanced at the blond boy. “D–Do you think it was adorable?”
Willem looked at Balam, who lay in a sunny spot in the yard outside the large saddlery room, then turned to him. “We all love our dragons, and we all know what that incredible link feels like, what it means to us.” He smiled at Chanté. “I wish I had thought of having Balam carry me like that. Anything that lets us be close to our companions is appreciated for what it is and does. And, yeah. I guess I do think it was adorable.” He chuckled and turned back to the strange device resting on Nantli’s neck and upper back.
Chanté nodded to himself. It was just as Willem said. All dragonlinked must feel the same way about their dragons as he felt about Nantli. As such, they understood at least a little about how he felt, about what he was going through.
Balam chirped.
Chuckling, Willem turned to his bond-mate. “I know, you big lout. I’ve done this a few times, after all.”
A halting rumble came from Balam. Laughter.
Shaking his head, Willem smiled and turned back to the device.
It seemed all dragons could at times be irritatingly—adorably?—annoying.
A sudden realization made Chanté grunt. As they understood him, he, too, understood at least a little about all dragonlinked. Perhaps he was more like them than he thought?
“Come on, you little . . .” Willem flicked his finger against one of the rods that were part the thing on Nantli’s back. “Get loose.” He pressed down on the rod a few times between flicks, and it finally lowered. “There.” He moved on to another rod.
Chanté still wasn’t entirely sure what Willem was doing. “You said that . . . thing helps when making her saddle?”
Willem nodded. “It takes several measurements of her shoulders, neck, and back so saddles can be made specifically for her. A saddle that fits perfectly is safer and more comfortable.”
After a few adjustments, Willem wrote down some notes and, apparently satisfied, lifted the device off of her. He set it back on its stand and turned to Nantli. “In general, dragons are all alike. But like us humans, each is a little different, too. A neck a little longer, or shorter, or wider, or more narrow, muscles developed a bit differently in the shoulders, that kind of thing. All that and more goes into shaping a saddle. At least the side of the saddle that sits on the dragon.”
Willem walked over to a line of stands, looked the saddles on them over, then selected one, lifting it up. “All that having been said,” he carried it to Nantli, “she can use a saddle that’s a close enough fit for short, quick flights until her custom ones are ready.”
He set it on Nantli’s back and glanced over his shoulder at Chanté. “Let me show you how to saddle her.”
It wasn’t too difficult. Proper positioning, straps to buckle, verifying all was right, and then verifying again. All the while Willem explained and demonstrated, Nantli, too, watched, head turned, gaze following. Every now and again, Balam would add a little rumble to the conversation, and Willem would glance at him and nod before continuing to explain about saddles, saddlebags, safety straps, riding belts, and riding gear.
“You did get fitted for uniforms and riding gear, right?”
“Fitted?”
“Measured. Like I did for Nantli, you also need to get measured so your clothing fits properly.”
“Oh. Yes. Before breakfast.”
He’d caused a momentary stir at the guild laundry, actually, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d taken off his shirt and pants and had started to slip off his smallclothes when Quillan grabbed his wrists and asked what he was doing. Chanté told him that he was getting ready for them to take his measurements. Quillan, glancing at the wide-eyed expressions of the workers, hastily explained that they could do so without him taking off his smallclothes, and could have done so even with the pants still on. Chanté had shrugged and pulled his underwear back up.
“Good,” Willem said, eyeing their work. “That should do it. Her own saddles should be ready in a few days, along with your riding and dress gear. All of it will be delivered to your room.”
“What if I’m not there? The door will be locked.”
Willem smiled. “Ah, but making deliveries is one of the chores for younger bond-pairs. Your items will be left on your ledge, delivered by dragon.”
“I see.”
“Now, there’s about an hour before lunch, maybe you’d like to test this out?” Willem slapped the saddle twice.
Nantli chirped. I want to!
Chanté’s lips curved in a little smile. “Yes, it seems she would like to do that.”
The air streamed past, whipping the longer bits of hair on top of his head. As on his previous rides with her, tears started to form in his eyes, and he realized exactly what purpose a riding cap and goggles served. Even so, this was much better than being carried.
Willem is right. This saddle does not fit perfectly. It rubs uncomfortably in some spots.
Does it hurt too much? We can stop flying if it does.
It is just annoying for now. We can fly for a little longer.
Let me know if you feel any pain at all.
I will.
Lifting a hand in front of his face to block the rushing air, Chanté glanced about. This was absolutely spectacular. Upon a saddle, he was free to see in every direction for miles and miles, to see more of the incredible place he had found himself in only a handful of mornings ago.
There was so much he had not known about the wondrous universe he’d created. As Ulthis, he’d been too . . . big, too encompassing. Now he saw everything from a different perspective, felt things he didn’t, or couldn’t, before. It was exciting and terrifying.
He felt that strange smallness again. This world was so much larger than him. And it was such an insignificantly small part of its universe as a whole. That meant he was—
You worry too much. Is this not fun?
Chanté burst into laughter. You big, beautiful dragon, you are absolutely right. This is fun.
Closing his eyes, he held his arms out, and rushing air flowing over his body, he flew with Nantli.
+ + + + +
Liara stared at the man sitting in the chair in the middle of the makeshift room. A stiff breeze popped one of the hanging cloth walls.
An area had been set up at the quarry to the side of the office building. Four heavy cloths of some kind had been hung in a rough square with a little gap at one corner for walking in and out of the temporary, roofless room. The sun, still high in the sky at an hour past noon, made the small space bright. Only smudged here and there, the nearly-white cloth magnified the brightness.
The man looked at the dark soil of the ground, the only place eyes got any respite from the intense light in the little room.
Liara crossed her arms. “Do you know
anything about the wagon wheels being tampered with?”
The man glanced up at her, squinting in the sunlight. “Someone tampered with the wheels?”
He is genuinely surprised. He thinks of no one in particular. He probably knows nothing.
“Yes, someone did.” Liara frowned. “But not you. You may leave.”
The man’s brows drew together briefly, but then he quickly stood and left the room.
Liara looked up at the sky. “Next!”
He’d been the fifth she’d interviewed so far. None of them knew anything about the wheels. It was a little frustrating. Still, there were twenty-five more people to interview. Well, twenty-three. Master Ghelt and Adept Stubs had already been cleared by Mia.
A woman walked in. She looked about the place, fidgeting.
“Have a seat.” Liara gestured to the chair.
The woman glanced at the chair, glanced at Liara, then walked over and sat down. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.
When they finally got an official Investigation Craft instructor at the Guildhall, one of the first things they’d learned while waiting for her practical training items to be built—free-standing doors and windows, dummy chests, and such—was how to question people. One technique was to get people comfortable with you as you led the questions toward what you really wanted to know. Fillion had remarked that a man he’d met while patrolling CTC’s rail lines made very good use of that method.
Liara smiled at the woman, asked her name, whether she was married, how many children she had, and on and on. It only took a couple of minutes, but it seemed to calm her down.
“Do you like working here?”
The woman shrugged. “It’s a job. And I’m good at it.”
Liara nodded. “Do they treat you nice? Master Ghelt and Adept, ah, Stubs?”
“Yes.” The woman smiled. “Stubs has a temper, but she’s fair enough.”
“And your fellow workers. What about them? They seem like nice people?”
Another shrug. “I suppose.”
“Any of them act strange recently? Go off on their own? Disappear for periods of time?”
The woman glanced at the ground.
She thinks of someone.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 16
