“That’s a complete waste of time, Blayk. I’m perfectly capable of speaking to them on my own.” She let out a sigh that caused a whistle between her teeth. “Then again, this does concern your father, so I suppose it makes sense for you to be here.”
“Why in Wiate’s name would you want to talk to them about Father?”
Danthres shifted uncomfortably back and forth on her feet. The last thing she wanted to listen to was an argument between these two.
“That is a ridiculous question to ask, Blayk, as I have not had a chance to explain my summons. If you’d simply be patient, I will answer your question. Indeed, if you had not spoken, your question would have been answered in any event. You’re always doing this, asking unnecessary questions.”
Blayk actually rolled his eyes at that. Danthres glanced over at Torin, who was maintaining his polite visage, but she could determine the slightest twitch of his lips under his thick red beard.
There were no guest chairs in the lady’s office, so the four of them were forced to stand. Meerka did not rise, however, so Danthres found herself staring mostly at her red curls.
“According to the laws of the demesne, in particular a law that was very important to Albin, whenever someone dies in Cliff’s End in a manner that may not be natural, it is to be investigated by the lieutenants of the Castle Guard.”
“What does this have to do with Father?” Blayk asked snidely.
Meerka closed her eyes and did the teeth-whistling sigh again. “I believe I just mentioned how impatient you are, Blayk? Please, allow me to finish what I intend to say to these two detectives, and your questions will be answered.”
Blayk made a go on gesture.
“At first, we all believed that my husband died of natural causes. He had been ill for some time with his usual late-summer malady, though it was noticeably worse this time. In fact, I had sent for my son to come back to Cliff’s End the day before he died.”
Danthres whirled to look at Blayk, who hadn’t changed his expression. She barely managed to scrape together enough decorum to not comment, but still, this was something she hadn’t known before.
“However, this morning was the first time my husband’s sitting room was tidied up since Sir Rommett found his body. Blayk has preferred to use Albin’s former office, and apparently the house faerie was waiting for someone to tell her to clean the sitting room, which doesn’t make any sense, as the house faerie is supposed to clean it every evening.”
Now Danthres did speak up. “Actually, my lady, that was our fault.”
Meerka blinked. “I wasn’t aware that you interacted with the house faerie.”
“We didn’t, my lady,” Torin said, “but we instructed one of the servants to do so. After Sir Rommett informed us of your husband’s death, we went to his sitting room to investigate. We told a nearby servant—I’m afraid we never got his name—to instruct the house faerie to not clean the room until she received further instructions.”
Danthres continued: “However, Sir Rommett later told us that we wouldn’t be investigating Lord Albin’s death. Unfortunately, I guess that nobody shared that with the house faerie.”
“Ah. Well, that makes sense, at least.” Meerka nodded firmly. “It is fortuitous that you mentioned that you were intending to investigate my husband’s death, for that is what I wish you to do now.”
“Mother, I’m sorry,” Blayk said in as unapologetic a tone as it was possible to have, “but Father died of his illness.”
“I’m not so sure of that. You see, the house faerie discovered that the mug from which Albin drank water and wine was poisoned.”
Danthres started. “Was she sure?”
“Of course she was,” Meerka said as if the question was ridiculous.
Torin was nodding in agreement. “Many of the fae are able to detect poisons. They’re also immune to them, thankfully.”
“Very thankfully, as she drank what little was left in the mug—that was when she detected the poison.”
Danthres recalled that the mug was full when they found the body, but that was a week ago . . .
“I realize,” Meerka went on, “that Albin’s body has already been burned and that you therefore cannot examine it to determine for sure that he was killed by the poison in his drink, but it seems to at least be probable that he was—or, at the very least, possible. That possibility is enough for the law to apply and an investigation to commence.”
Blayk was shaking his head. “Mother, this is ridiculous. There’s no one in Cliff’s End who wanted Father dead. You saw the funeral yesterday. Everyone loved him here.”
Meerka regarded her son witheringly. “I dare say we could find one person who did not love him, thus disproving your hypothesis, Blayk. And indeed it would only take one person to kill him, if they had access to poison.” She turned her gaze back to Danthres and Torin. “My husband spoke very highly of the two of you, particularly after that incident with the Hamnau gem. I also recall being relieved that it was the two of you who were handling Gan Brightblade’s murder. Therefore, I wish it to be the pair of you who investigate the death of my husband.”
Danthres started to say, “It will be an hono—”
She was cut off by Blayk, who stepped forward. “Mother, this isn’t possible. As I told you, the Castle Guard is in my purview now, and Lieutenants ban Wyvald and Tresyllione are no longer partners.”
Pursing her lips, Meerka said, “That doesn’t make any sense. They have the best arrest record in the Guard.”
“Which is why I split them up,” Blayk said slowly. “Their acumen will be on twice the cases now.”
“Oh, very well.” Meerka threw up her hands and got to her feet. “As long as at least one of them investigates with whomever he or she is paired with, that will be satisfactory. But the law is very clear on this, and I’m only sorry we didn’t learn of the exigent circumstances until after Albin’s body was destroyed.”
“Mother, I don’t think—”
“You’re right, Blayk, you don’t think. I am the lady of the demesne. You know I prefer not to lord my title over others, as I find it tedious, but I will do so if I must. I have as much right to insist on an investigation as you do. In fact, it is the same right. Furthermore, if someone did kill your father, I would think you’d want to know who it was. Someone poisoning the leader of the most populous city-state in Flingaria is something I believe should be punished—and you should believe that, too.”
“If I believed that he was killed, I would be the first to insist upon the Guard looking into it.” He let out a long sigh and turned to Danthres. “But very well, if you insist. Lieutenant Tresyllione, you’ve been paired with Lieutenant Kellan, I believe?”
The gnome nodded assent, as did Danthres.
Turning back to Meerka, Blayk said, “I’ll have them open a case file as soon as Kellan settles in, if that’s acceptable to you, Mother?”
Meerka folded her hands on the desk. “It is, yes.” She looked up at Danthres. “Lieutenant, I will instruct everyone in the castle to cooperate with you fully. If Lord Albin was killed, the ramifications will be almost incalculable. You may all leave now, I have a great deal of work to do.”
Danthres was surprised at the abruptness of the dismissal, but she was more than happy to accept it. She and Torin left the room quickly, followed by Blayk and his gnome.
They got most of the way down the corridor, and were about to turn right toward the eastern wing, when Blayk said, “Lieutenant Tresyllione, a word.”
Closing her eyes, Danthres stopped and turned to face the young man. Torin, to her relief, also stopped, standing just a short distance away for support. “Yes, my lord?”
“I do not wish to offend my mother, but obviously she is blinded by grief. Father died of an illness.”
“The house faerie’s—”
Blayk stared at her. “I’m not going to accuse someone of murdering one of the most popular leaders in the human lands on the word of a house faeir
e. They’re hardly reliable.”
“Actually,” Torin said, “house fae have been extremely useful in solving several cases over the years.”
“Nevertheless, this is a fool’s errand,” Blayk said tartly to Torin, then regarded Danthres with a stern expression. “Lieutneant Tresyllione, I want you to at least do a perfunctory investigation, which should be enough to satisfy my mother, but leave it at that.”
With that, he turned and walked straight down the corridor, the gnome following as quickly behind as his little legs would carry him.
Danthres stared at her now-former partner. “Quite a morning.”
“Indeed.” He turned to continue down the corridor, Danthres’s long strides quickly catching up with him.
“Remember what I said to you after Osric first partnered us up?” Danthres asked.
Torin grinned. “That I would have a tenure as your partner as short as that of my predecessors.”
With a sigh, Danthres said, “I suppose, then, that we should both be grateful that we got ten years out of it.”
“I’m certainly grateful, Danthres. And I must admit, I’m looking forward to the challenge of seeing if Manfred—not to mention Kellan and Aleta—can be good detectives.”
“I’m sure they won’t,” Danthres said dismissively. “The only one who has a chance is Manfred, and that’s because he’s paired up with you. I think I taught you enough that you’ll make a good trainer.”
Chuckling, Torin said, “I was just going to say that I taught you enough that you’ll do likewise for Kellan.”
“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?” They reached the vestibule, the very same spot where Sir Rommett had informed them of Lord Albin’s death a week ago. “This investigation will certainly be a challenge.”
Torin rolled his eyes. “What, the perfunctory investigation into the meaningless death of Lord Albin?”
Danthres let out a derisive snort. “Hardly. I plan to work this case the same as any other. No matter what Lord Blayk says. Hell, I wanted to make it a proper case in the first place, and now that she’s given us an in? I’m for damn sure taking it.”
FOUR
Dru stood in the interview room, barely able to work up the energy to remember who it was they were talking to.
Looking over at the cracked and pitted wooden table, he saw a dwarf sitting unusually calmly on the stool on the other side of it, hands folded on its surface. In one of the two chairs facing it was Aleta, her earth-colored cloak still new and creased in spots.
Dru himself was leaning against the wall of the deliberately poorly lit room, but all he could think about was the way the argument he had with his wife Zan ended this morning. He couldn’t even remember what the argument was about or how it started, but they’d gone at it pretty nastily, and it concluded with Zan lamenting Dru’s inability to understand what she wanted, and Dru saying, “Well, then maybe you should find a husband who does,” and leaving.
That was a stupid-ass way to leave the house. That thought had been running through his head all morning.
“Look,” Aleta was saying to the dwarf, “the longer you try to hold out, the worse it’s going to be. You and your comrades tried to kill the king and queen. That isn’t something that is likely to end well for you.”
The dwarf just shrugged, and unfolded his hands, palms up on the table.
Aleta, Dru noticed, was staring at the dwarf’s hands for some reason. Then she looked up at his face. “We’ve been at this an hour, and since you’re too stupid to try to explain why you smuggled a throwing knife into a gathering led by the king and queen—which, by the way, will all by itself get you fifty years on the barge—we’re just going to throw you back in the hole.” She got to her feet. “Maybe another night down there will convince you to talk.”
One of the guards assigned to the castle, Yorn Bonce, was standing outside. “You get anything?” he asked.
Dru shook his head. “Shitbrain ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Haul his ass back to the hole, will ya, Bonce?”
“Sure, Lieutenant. And hey, Aleta, congratulations on the promotion.”
Aleta didn’t say anything at first, then shook her head. “Hm? Oh, thanks Yorn.” She then went to sit at her new desk. Dru tried not to wince and failed. He didn’t like seeing anyone other than Hawk sitting there. She stared at the dwarf as Bonce led him out of the interview room and then out of the squadroom. Once they were gone, she glanced up at Dru. “Did you notice his hands?”
“What?” Dru blinked twice. “Who gives a shit what his hands look like? In fact, who gives a shit, period?”
That made Aleta recoil, making her look a lot like Zan had earlier.
Quickly Dru said, “Sorry, but look, it’s not like anything happened. Everyone’s got their tights in a bunch ’cause someone thought about killin’ the king and queen. Know what? People think about that shit all’a time! For the last week it ain’t been nothin’ but Lord Albin’s dead, and someone tried to kill the king and queen. My partner’s dead, and nobody seems to even care!”
Looking around, Dru saw that there was nobody else in the squadroom, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His words had echoed off the walls, and if Sergeant Jonas or any of the other detectives or Grovis (Dru refused to think of him as Captain Grovis—that was just wrong in every possible way) had been there, it would’ve been beyond embarrassing.
Aleta gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your partner—truly, he was a good person. And I’m especially sorry that my promotion was due in part to his death. But we do have a case here. You saw him, I threatened him with fifty years on the barge, and he didn’t even blink. Plus, his clothes were pretty ordinary cotton and linen—the type of stuff you can get by the yard on the discount tables down Jorbin’s Way. How does someone like that afford a charm that can get past the Royal Guard’s magick?”
For the first time, Dru looked at Aleta as something other than Hawk’s replacement. “Okay, those’re good points.”
“Here’s a better one. His hands had old scars on them that looked to me like rope burns. Specifically the type of rope burns that sailors get. I used to see them all the time in the Shranlaseth.” She got to her feet. “I suggest we get a crystal with his image from the magickal examiner and spend the rest of the day at the docks showing it around and seeing who recognizes him.”
Dru let out a breath. “Why the hell’d we do that?”
“I just said, he was a sailor once.”
“No, you said he might’ve been a sailor once, and it ain’t like the dockrats’re big on talkin’ to anybody wearin’ armor.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You have a better idea?”
Hesitating, Dru just stared at her for a second. “Look, I get that you’re all excited an’ shit, but don’t go gettin’ your hopes up, all right?”
Frowning, Aleta asked, “What do you mean?”
He just chuckled and shook his head. “I remember my first day onna job after I got promoted. It was just like with you, only it was two guys needed replacing ’stead’a three. A couple partners, just like me an’ Hawk were, they got into a nasty spot. Walked into the wrong building. They were goin’ in there to talk to someone about a case, they accidentally walked in on a contract killin’. They stopped it, an’ the guys who did it got caught and the magistrate hung their asses. But Nael was killed, an’ Karistan lost her arm. See, if you’re lucky, you make it through your life makin’ a tiny amount’a difference, but mostly? We’re trash collectors. We find the trash, we dump it in the hole, and then we go find new trash. An’ at the end of it, nobody gives a shit, an’ nobody gets outta here in one piece. You either die or you get hurt.”
“Or you retire. Captain Osric and Lieutenant Iaian both seem to be getting out in one piece.”
Dru snorted. “If you think they’re in one piece, then you ain’t payin’ attention.” He waved a hand at her dismissively. “Look, you wanna go to the docks, go ahead.”
Aleta started toward the
door, then stopped when she realized that Dru wasn’t following her. “Are you coming with me?”
“Why should I?’
“Because you’re the senior partner in this case.” She again put her hands on her hips. “And because I’m still new at this and could use your guidance.”
He pointed at her. “That hands-on-hips thing, that somethin’ they teach you in the Shranlaseth to scare people with?”
“Are you coming or not?”
Hauling himself to his feet, Dru said, “Fine, I’m comin’. I just hope the boat Hawk was buyin’ ain’t still in dock.”
Aleta nodded. “Right, I remember you mentioning that at the funeral service.”
Dru sighed. “Yeah. Let’s go, already.”
First, they had to go down to Boneen’s lair. The magickal examiner’s sanctum was a room on the lower floor of the castle that was only accessible via a door at the bottom of a staircase. Mercifully, the door was open; Dru still had nightmares from the Corvin case, when he and Hawk had to deal with the screeching animated door-knocker and the irritating sprite minding the place while Boneen was away at a meeting with the Brotherhood of Wizards.
The diminutive wizard was waddling across to one of the shelves that contained various scrolls, jars, gems, herbs, and other items organized in no obvious manner.
“Hey, Boneen, we need a crystal.”
Turning, Boneen regarded both of them with annoyance. “Excuse me? A crystal? Wonderful. Why is it every time I’m in the midst of taking a lovely nap, one of you imbeciles with brown cloaks has to come in and interrupt?”
“With respect, sir,” Aleta said with far more deference than Dru had ever felt that Boneen deserved, “you were not asleep when we entered.”
“Are you contradicting me, lothLathna?”
“Of course not!” Aleta said quickly, actually taking a step backward.
Dru couldn’t help but smile. Being deferential to Boneen was pointless, as he wasn’t impressed by it. Generally, the best way to deal with his vitriol was to give as good as you got. Aleta’s approach would just prompt Boneen to focus all of his considerable obnoxiousness on her. Which suited Dru fine, as it meant he could sit and watch.
Gryphon Precinct (Dragon Precinct) Page 4
