Gryphon Precinct (Dragon Precinct)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “There was this pageboy who was fired for spilling wine. He swore that he’d kill Lord Albin for getting him fired. Annoying little lad, name of Del Francit.”

  Again, Danthres had to restrain herself, this time from cheering, since they finally had a lead.

  But then she noticed Kellan wincing. Glaring at him, she said, “What is it, Kellan?”

  “I, ah, know Del Francit.”

  “Good.”

  “No, ma’am, er, bad. Del Francit died in a brawl at the Ogre’s Breath two weeks ago. I remember the bartender tellin’ me that Francit used t’work at the castle ’til he got fired.”

  Palrik nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s definitely him.”

  Danthres sighed. “We’ll look into him anyhow, in case he had friends.”

  “That’s an excellent idea, Lieutenant!” Palrik pointed at her with the end of his pipe before putting it back in his mouth. “And if I think of anything else, I’ll be sure to inform you. Unless I don’t, in which case I won’t.”

  Shaking her head, Danthres got up, Kellan following behind.

  “It’s the guilds. They’re all out to get us.”

  Sir and Madam Wint jointly ran the ministry of construction. Any time something was built or torn down in Cliff’s End, these two had to approve it.

  “The day Lord Albin died,” Madam Wint was saying, “Sir Rommett was to meet with the guilds to discuss the new tariffs.”

  “They weren’t happy,” Sir Wint added. “Not even a little bit.”

  “They were threatening work stoppages, can you believe that?”

  “I—” Danthres started, but Madam Wint kept going.

  “Of all the cheek!”

  “Indeed,” Sir Wint said. “They just don’t understand the financial realities, they’re simply being filthy greedheads.”

  “If there’s anything I can’t stand,” Madam Wint added, “it’s filthy greedheads.”

  “And they’re all trying to get organized!” Sir Wint cried before Danthres could again attempt to ask a question. “It’ll be the doom of us all.”

  “And I’m sure they were behind Lord Albin’s death.”

  “Absolutely sure, it couldn’t possibly have been anyone else.”

  There was a brief silence, and Danthres almost fell over from the shock of them stopping talking long enough for her to speak. “How do you think they did it?”

  Sir Wint was aghast. “How should we know?”

  “We’re civilized people,” Madam Wint added. “We don’t know how thugs work.”

  “But they must have done it. Who else could it possibly be?”

  “The guilds? No, that’s absurd.”

  Danthres had deliberately chosen Sir Rommett as the last interview because she had assumed it would be the most unpleasant, given her tumultuous history with the bureaucrat in question. She and Rommett had clashed any number of times in the past. Danthres had considered resigning more than once just so she would never have to deal with him again.

  However, she reckoned without considering the capacity for the other nobles in the castle to piss her off. Her mood, which was foul before she began, was bordering on murderous.

  “We have evidence that the guilds might have been responsible,” Danthres said. “In fact, we were told that you were to meet with them the day you found Lord Albin’s body.”

  “Yes, about the new tariffs. But I did meet with them, the day before the funeral—for obvious reasons, the meeting that day was put off—and they agreed to accept the new tariffs out of respect for Lord Albin’s passing. Not only that, but all the arrangements at Jayka Park were donated by the various guilds, free of charge, out of respect.”

  Danthres sighed. She should have realized that this was too good to be true. “Might at least one of the guilds decided they didn’t wish to put up with the tariffs and taken action?”

  Rommett shook his head. “I suppose it’s possible, of course, but—” He let out a breath. “Look, I’m not a fool, I’m aware that some of the guilds do use intimidation tactics to achieve their ends. But I doubt this was one of them, if for no other reason than it was such an abject failure. It didn’t achieve the end of lowering the tariffs, and every guild leader was in agreement that they would accept them without complaint. And it’s rare that they all agree on the fact that the sky is blue.”

  Rising to her feet, Danthres said, “So you don’t think anyone killed him, either. Wonderful.”

  “Actually . . .” Rommett trailed off.

  Danthres sat back down. “What is it, Sir Rommett?”

  “Well, I didn’t really think about it much at the time, as I was in shock, but—Lord Albin was going to meet with me that morning about a matter of grave importance.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “I wish I could,” Rommett said emphatically. For the first time in the conversation—or, indeed, ever—Danthres observed the chamberlain’s emotional state. He was noticeably distraught. “He didn’t tell me! He just said it was a ‘grave matter’ and that he’d explain at the meeting. It may be nothing, but I just don’t know.” He looked up and stared right at Danthres. “I’m glad you’re investigating this, Lieutenant. I’ve been worried about this for a while now, and the truth needs to come out.”

  As Danthres came into the squadroom, Kellan trailing uselessly behind her as he had been all day, she heard Torin’s voice coming from Osric’s—or, rather, Grovis’s office.

  I’m never going to get used to that.

  “I’ve got the guards at Dragon looking for Beffel, but in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, Torin,” Grovis said archly, “I don’t see the point of pursuing this. General Ubàrlig’s statement isn’t of particular use, as he didn’t actually see anything. The only true witness is the victim, who’s disappeared. I don’t see why you wish to continue to investigate so minor an incident. Nor indeed why you should.”

  Danthres put her head in her hands. She hadn’t known that Ubàrlig was back in Cliff’s End, and she wondered if the other two idiots were with him.

  “Because the magick used to block the peel-back is rare and expensive, far too much so to be used to hide the evidence of a simple assault outside a tavern. It’s akin to using a Fireball Spell to kill a single insect. That makes it less than minor.”

  “In your opinion. In mine, this is a waste of your valuable time.”

  “Grovis, I need to pursue this, if for no other reason than the Brotherhood will—”

  Now Grovis got all prim. “I’ll thank you, Lieutenant, to refer to me by my rank. And I’ll be the one to determine what you should or shouldn’t ‘need’ to pursue. I tolerated your japes and jibes when we were equals, but I’m your superior and I expect to be treated as such. Unless the victim steps forward, there’s nothing to pursue, and you will not pursue it, but put yourself and Manfred back in the rotation. Don’t walk out on me!”

  Torin had, in fact, walked out on him, stalking straight past Danthres and Kellan and leaving the squadroom, just as Manfred came in. “Lieu— er, Torin, I escorted Ubàrlig out, what do you—” But Torin was already past Manfred by that point, having stormed out without speaking to anyone.

  Wryly, Danthres said, “That’s usually my behavior.”

  “Is he always like that?” Manfred asked.

  “No.” Danthres grew serious. “And that’s cause for concern. I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”

  “Thanks.” Manfred smiled. “I’m glad you’re talking to me, Danthres.”

  She scowled at him. “We’re colleagues, why wouldn’t I talk to you?” She knew the answer to that, of course, and also knew why he was pleasantly surprised that she was speaking to him now, but she really hoped he understood that it was not something she wished to discuss in the squadroom.

  “Danthres, I need to talk to you.” Grovis was now standing in the doorway to the office, arms folded over the gryphon crest on the chest of his armor. He still looked ridiculous in the purple cloak. But th
en, he always looked ridiculous, regardless of what he might be wearing.

  Wincing, Danthres said, “And there’s one answer to that question.”

  “He’s not a colleague, he’s a superior,” Manfred said.

  “In fact, he’s neither, and that he outranks us is the only reason why I’m willing to talk to him.” She turned around. “What is it, Grovis?”

  Grovis attempted to glower at Danthres, though his fishlike face wasn’t suited to the expression. “As I told your erstwhile partner, I’ll thank you to refer to me by rank.”

  “You’ll only thank me if I do it, Grovis. What do you want?”

  “An update, if you please. I understand that Lady Meerka herself requested you conduct this investigation, so I wish to be updated.”

  Danthres sighed. “I wish I had something to update you with.”

  “You spent all day talking to the nobility! Why don’t you have anything?”

  “Because we spent all day talking to the nobility. They don’t seem to know anything.” She glanced at Kellan. “And I had to do all the questioning.”

  Kellan sighed. “I’m sorry, Danthres, but I’m just—” He sighed again. “I grew up in Goblin. This whole world of fancy nobles and nice clothes is just—intimidating.”

  Manfred put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They’re people, Arn, just like anyone else, except richer.”

  “Hardly that,” Grovis said. “They are the best of us.”

  “Not when it comes to paying attention to their surroundings, they aren’t.” Danthres snarled. “Half of them don’t believe Albin was killed, the other half believe in absurd conspiracy theories. The only thing that was useful came from Sir Rommett, of all people, but that just opens more questions.” She briefly filled Grovis in on Rommett’s aborted and mysterious meeting with Albin.

  Grovis rubbed his chin. “You should talk to Lord Albin’s secretary.”

  “Unfortunately, Lord Blayk let her go, and we were told that she boarded a boat to Saptor Isle this morning.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Danthres had used stronger language when she was told. “I’d like to have Torin back on this. You seem to want to take him off his current case in any event, and Kellan and I aren’t meshing.”

  “Hey, that ain’t fair, Danthres!” Kellan said. “It’s just—”

  Grovis held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. Lord Blayk himself assigned you to Kellan, and I won’t gainsay his rightful authority without a better reason than your desires.” He turned to go back into Osric’s old office—Danthres refused to think of it as his—and then called back over his shoulder. “Besides, that would be doing you a favor, and since you seem to believe that I am not worthy of respect, I have no motivation to do that favor, now do I?”

  Danthres let out a breath through her teeth. She supposed she deserved that. “At least Grovis is getting the hang of the political aspects of the job.”

  “Is that a good thing?” Kellan asked.

  “For him, certainly. For us, probably not. Osric used his political skills to shield us from the shit streaming forth from the wing of the castle that we just left. I doubt Grovis will be so considerate.”

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant Tresyllione?”

  Turning, Danthres saw one of the guards assigned to the castle, whose name she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to remember, standing in the doorway, his considerable bulk blocking the person standing behind him. “Yes?”

  “Gentleman here to see you, ma’am.”

  He stepped aside to reveal the face of a fellow halfbreed she hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. Unlike Danthres, his face combined the prettier aspects of both human and elven features.

  Danthres scowled at him. “I was warned you’d be showing up. What did you do to Sorlin, Javian?”

  Shaking his head, Javian chuckled. “I see the years haven’t changed you a bit, Thressa. It’s good to see you, too.”

  “Who’s this?” Manfred asked, sounding confused.

  “This is Elsthar Javian, the former head of the ruling council in Sorlin—and the one who kicked me out of there.”

  SEVEN

  Torin stomped through the squadroom, stomped through the castle corridors, stomped out through the portcullis, and stomped down Meerka Way before he even realized what he was doing.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he was this angry or out of sorts. Well, no, that wasn’t true, he could remember being out of sorts not that long ago when his father came to visit.

  But even the unexpected arrival of Wyvald ban Garin in Cliff’s End didn’t quite anger Torin as much as Grovis’s dismissal of the Beffel case. It frustrated him because Osric would have trusted his judgment and let him pursue it. Even back during the war, Osric had always listened to Torin.

  Being fobbed off like that, especially by Grovis—who was barely competent as a detective, much less a captain—angered Torin to a degree he wouldn’t have credited himself capable of.

  Yet here he was, so furious he walked out of the castle in the middle of his shift.

  He strode past Oak Way and the many new mansions that had been built upon it of late, crossing into Dragon Precinct. At that point, the thoroughfare became a bit more crowded, with people giving Torin a wide berth.

  Torin didn’t stop until he reached Boulder Pass. Turning left, he found himself soon standing in front of the building where Osric rented a flat.

  Half a dozen large burly men, and one burly woman, were carrying furniture out the front door and loading it onto a horse-drawn cart. Another woman stood by the two horses that were tethered to the cart’s front end, petting them and occasionally feeding them apples. Horses were rarely seen within the Cliff’s End city limits outside of Unicorn Precinct—several stables located on the outskirts of the demesne did excellent business taking care of horses whose owners had business in town—but when one did see them, they were usually serving a cargo-carrying function of some sort, as these were. The thoroughfares of Dragon, Goblin, and Mermaid were just too crowded to accommodate a horse that was moving at anything faster than a very slow trot.

  Osric himself was directing one of the burly men, who was carrying a table. Upon catching sight of Torin, he broke off from his discussion and approached him with a sardonic smile. Torin noted that Osric hadn’t shaved since the day of the funeral, and his trademark stubble was already starting to come back into place. “Aren’t you on shift, ban Wyvald?”

  Torin grinned broadly. “I had a bit of a disagreement with your replacement and needed to blow off some steam.”

  “Thought you had Tresyllione for that.”

  “Ah, well, Lord Blayk—in addition to forcing you to retire—also separated me and Danthres.”

  “So he’s an even bigger damn fool than I thought.”

  Glancing over at the movers, Torin asked, “I take it you’re no longer satisfied with your accommodations?”

  Osric laughed at that, which surprised Torin. He couldn’t recall the last time he heard the man laugh. “Something like that, yes, ban Wyvald. You see, I took that flat when I first was offered the job of captain of the Castle Guard by Lord Albin eleven years ago. It was cheap and tiny, but I didn’t anticipate that the job would last a year. I expected the Castle Guard to fail in its mandate, or at the very least for me to fail in the running of it. So I kept a small, cheap apartment with minimal furnishings. That grew into a habit, one I never changed after more than a decade. Besides, after the disaster with our pensions following the war, I became somewhat frugal. I wished to have savings of my own for a change.”

  Torin nodded. A percentage of their wages earned by serving as soldiers in the king and queen’s service against the Elf Queen had supposedly been set aside for their pensions. They were both surprised to learn after that war that said percentage had instead been funneled right back into the war effort, leaving any soldiers who survived the war to be out of luck with regard to their promised post-service compensation.

  “Now, th
ough, I’ve saved quite a bit of gold, and it’s time I put it to good use. I’ve purchased a house on Alfar’s Way.”

  “Excellent! That’s fine news, Captain.”

  Osric put a hand on Torin’s shoulder and smiled. “You don’t need to call me that, anymore, ban Wyvald. It’s Osric. You adjusted from ‘General’ to ‘Captain’ easy enough a decade ago, seems to me you can do the same with this.”

  “And yet you were never able to call me ‘Torin’ no matter how many times I asked.”

  That got Osric to laugh again. “Very true. Years of habit, I suppose. But I shall endeavor to do so.”

  “Oh, I’m used to it now. It was more of an issue when we first served together. At the time, I didn’t appreciate being reminded of the fact that I was the son of Wyvald ban Garin.”

  “So what brings you to see me?”

  Torin let out a very long breath. “I just—I feel as if I’ve lost so much in so short an amount of time. I barely had time to realize that Hawk was dead when we learned that Lord Albin was dead as well. Then I lost my captain and my partner on top of that.”

  “So you’re feeling a bit lost?”

  “I wasn’t actually, at first. But when Grovis tried to take me off the Beffel case . . .” Torin shook his head. “I haven’t been this angry, this confused, this out of sorts, since I first signed up to fight against the Elf Queen.” He gave Osric a small smile. “You helped me through that then, and I suppose I’m hoping you’ll do the same now.”

  “What exactly is the problem with Grovis?”

  Torin explained the particulars of the Beffel case, interrupted a few times by Osric having to answer a question posed by his movers.

  “Grovis doesn’t understand the importance of the Keefda stone. It affected Boneen so much that he didn’t even have the wherewithal to cast a Teleport Spell.” Torin sighed. “Part of my frustration is that you’ve always trusted my judgment in these matters. If I, or Danthres, had come to you with this, you would have allowed me to pursue this case.”

  Osric chuckled and shook his head. “What a short memory you have, ban Wyvald.”