Gryphon Precinct (Dragon Precinct)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Luckily, the job came along, Pyrig was paid off, and Gobink was promised repeatedly that Gora and the kids would be fine no matter what.

  As for the Castle Guard, they didn’t even know his name, and they never would. Even if, by some miracle, they figured out he was a sailor, no way that the captain or Forlis would give him up. He’d spread around too much gold for that to happen. Nothing the captain liked better than gold and nothing he hated more than the Guard.

  Finally, two Cloaks walked in, briefly letting in light from the outside. It was late afternoon, and for a brief moment, he could see the light from the setting sun over the Forest of Nimvale as seen from the huge window that took up the entirety of the Cloaks’ north window.

  But after a moment, the door was shut, and he was back in the prison-like room that was worse than an actual prison. He found himself once again facing the elf woman and the human man from the last time.

  The human stood near the wall while the elf sat across from him in one of the chairs. The latter said, “Sorry to drag you back up here, but we won’t have to keep you long this time.”

  Folding his arms over his small chest, Gobink said nothing. He had yet to say a single word to the Cloaks, not right after he was caught by that ugly half-elf, not when these two questioned him the first time, and he wouldn’t now.

  The elf went on: “You see, we don’t actually need to speak to you anymore. We have you on attempting to murder the king and queen, as well as smuggling a weapon into a gathering hosted by the king and queen. The penalty for the first of those, by the way, is for the perpetrator and for any living member of the perpetrator’s family to be boiled in oil. Which rather makes the penalty for the second redundant, but still.”

  Gobink swallowed, but remained silent. They didn’t know his name, so they didn’t know his family. They said they’d take care of his family if he did the job, even if the job failed. They said that more than once. Gobink did the job, and so Gora and the kids would be safe.

  “So,” the elf continued, “we’ll be handing you over to the magistrate shortly.”

  The human finally spoke. “Plus, we gotta send messengers ahead to Zignat.”

  Turning to the human, the elf pointed at him. “Right! We need to issue warrants for the arrest of Gora, Fralak, Kimbrik, and Sanda.”

  All of a sudden the room got much hotter. Gobink found it difficult to catch his breath.

  Looking back at him, the elf asked, “Is something wrong, Gobink?”

  Oh, Xinf protect me, they know my name!

  “You—you don’t s-scare m-me.” Gobink tried to sound tough, but his voice came out weak and reedy to his own ears.

  “He speaks!” The human grinned at the elf. “You owe me a copper, Aleta.” The human then glanced at Gobink. “I bet her a copper that you’d break soon’s we mentioned your wife and kids.”

  Aleta, the elf, shook her head ruefully. “I thought for sure that you would hold out a little longer.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe he really does give two shits about his family,” the human said with a sneer.

  “My family will remain protected. I was promised.” Gobink was trying as hard to convince himself of this as he was the two Cloaks.

  Walking toward the table Gobink sat behind, the human shook his head. “You stupid shitbrain. The moment we found out your name, your family was dead.”

  “Well, not necessarily, Dru,” Aleta said. “They could run.”

  “Yeah, sure, but to where?”

  Aleta rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Fair point. After all, King Marcus and Queen Marta have a treaty with the Dwarven Curia. So anywhere they go in human or dwarven lands, they’d still be fugitives.”

  Dru, the human, pointed a finger upward. “Hey, they could go to elf country! It’s a mess there, they’d probably be able t’lose themselves with no problem.”

  Now Aleta was staring at Gobink. He looked away quickly. “I don’t know, Dru, he is a dwarf. They’ve never been all that fond of my kind. I’m not sure that Gora and her children would be able to stand it.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s gonna suck no matter what,” Dru said. “They’ll be on the run. They can’t go near any’a their friends—that’ll be the first place they’ll look.”

  “True.” Aleta nodded. “They’ll be totally dependent on strangers. And whatever gold Gobink here sent them. But I suspect they’ll burn through that pretty quickly in order to stay one step ahead.”

  However, the longer this conversation went on, the more Gobink realized that he was being played. “Enough, already.”

  “Excuse me?” The elven woman had a sweet smile on her face when he said that, which just made Gobink hate her even more.

  “Look, you wouldn’t even bother telling me all of this if you didn’t want something from me.”

  “You’re smarter’n you look,” Dru said. He sat down next to the elf. “It’s simple. You’re boilin’ in oil. That ain’t changin’. Nothin’ we could do about it even if we wanted to. And I gotta tell you? We don’t wanna. What’s up for grabs, though, is your family.”

  Gobink didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What about my family?”

  Aleta leaned forward. “I believe we’ve outlined very specifically what will happen to your family if events run their course naturally. However, if you can find it within yourself to tell us who the other three conspirators are and who hired you, we would consider exempting your wife and your children from your punishment.”

  For several seconds, Gobink stared at Aleta. Finally, unable to stand the sight of her, he looked away. Lamely, he said, “I need to think about this.”

  “Really?” Dru asked. “Soon’s we mentioned that your family gets boiled in oil, too, you broke out in a sweat. I don’t think there’s shit for you t’think about. You don’t want ’em to die, do you?”

  “My children don’t deserve this!” he cried suddenly.

  “What,” Aleta said, “a father who attempts regicide? You’re right, they don’t. But you’re the one who gave them that. All we’re doing is spelling out the consequences.”

  “Look, I don’t give a damn if I die. I was gonna anyhow, but Gora—” He sighed. Dru was right, he didn’t have a choice. However, he wasn’t stupid. “I want assurances in writing that my family will not be subject to my punishment. It must have the lord and lady’s seal on it.”

  “It’ll have Sir Rommett’s seal on it,” Dru said. “That’s the best you’re gonna get. And only if you give up the other three and the one who hired you.”

  “All right, but—” He hesitated, fearing he was giving up leverage by admitting what he was about to admit.

  However, not saying it and then having it revealed later would be far worse.

  “But what?” Aleta prompted.

  “I don’t know who hired us. I know who paid us, but he was just a flunky, not the boss. And I won’t tell you a damn thing about him or the other three until I see that scroll with the seal on it.”

  Gobink went back to folding his arms, hoping it was as defiant a gesture now as it was when the Cloaks walked in. The only thing that mattered was Gora and their children. If he couldn’t protect them, he wasn’t worth a damn.

  And maybe I’m not worth a damn anyhow, but I won’t let them be boiled in oil or force them to live in hiding because I was an idiot.

  TEN

  The first time Torin and Danthres slept together was two years into their partnership. It was their second midsummer as partners, but that particular year midsummer also coincided with Wiate’s Moon Festival—which was at a different time every year. So in addition to the usual parades and celebrations tied to the midsummer arrival of the large golden dragon that encircled the city-state three times, sometimes blew a fireball, and then left, there was also everyone in the demesne who worshipped Wiate, or at least claimed to, dancing and feasting and drinking while wearing bizarre face makeup that represented one of Wiate’s Seven Minions.

  After working their third co
nsecutive shift, and after breaking up their tenth brawl between some of Wiate’s Minions and some midsummer celebrants, they stumbled exhausted back to Torin’s apartment, by virtue of its being closer to where they happened to be standing when the shift ended.

  Looking back on it eight years later as he lay in his bed with Danthres now, Torin had no recollection of who initiated the sex. It shouldn’t have been either of them, as they were both fatigued beyond all reason. Torin hadn’t been so bone-weary since the battle at Hobgoblin’s Run.

  Danthres had dozed off and was now sleeping on her side. She rolled over and slowly opened her eyes to see Torin staring at her. He loved the way the sun reflected off her blond hair. Danthres was nobody’s idea of beauty, but her passion was both joyous and uninhibited.

  “You look pensive,” she muttered.

  “Just remembering the first time we did this.”

  She grinned. It was a playful grin, and Torin was fairly certain that he was the only one who ever saw it. “Ah, yes, when you took advantage of my exhaustion to ravage me.”

  “As I recall,” he said with a mock frown, “you took advantage of my fatigue.”

  She sat up next to him, back against the headboard, breasts bouncing delightfully as she settled into that position. Torin was on his side, propped up by his left elbow.

  Torin continued. “What I do remember clearly was what you said the following morning.”

  Danthres chuckled and quoted herself. “‘This will never ever happen again, and if you mention it to anyone, I will run you through!’”

  “I think you threatened to snap my neck, actually, but either way, the sentiment was assuredly homicidal should I consider the possibility of us ever again sleeping together, or of my discussing it.”

  Again Danthres smiled. “I never told you this, but—well, I honestly thought that that would be the way to finally be rid of you.”

  Now Torin sat up straight on the bed. “What do you mean?”

  With a sigh, Danthres sunk a bit down against the headboard. “Well, you know I never wanted a partner, and I only barely tolerated you, even after two years. At first, I was furious with myself for being weak and giving in to you. Or making you give in to me, or whatever that actually was that night.”

  Torin chuckled.

  “But after that, I expected that you would be like most men. You’d gloat about it to Nael and Iaian and Linder and Osric and Newcastle. So I told you never to tell anyone and that it wouldn’t happen again. I just knew that you’d either break and tell one of them anyhow, giving me reason to get rid of you as an untrustworthy partner, or you’d go mad from no longer being able to be with me and you’d quit the partnership.”

  “Not your most cunning plan, that,” Torin said dryly.

  “No, it wasn’t.” Danthres shook her head ruefully. “I kept waiting for you to break, and you just wouldn’t. You kept your word on both counts. I didn’t know about your silly little Myverin ways.”

  Torin laughed at her teasing tone. The people of Myverin were fairly open about sex, and were more than happy to discuss it in theory, but individual sexual encounters were considered private and not fodder for conversation with anyone not part of said sexual encounter. Torin had had sex with several men and women before leaving Myverin—something Danthres had said once explained his excellent technique—and carried over this rather casual attitude to Cliff’s End. But his upbringing meant he was never even in any danger of fulfilling Danthres’s hopes.

  Danthres’s tone then became quieter. “And then after the Kavan case . . .”

  Torin nodded, and reached out to cup her cheek. About a month after the midsummer/moon festival combination, several poor children in Goblin, some orphans, some not, were found with their throats cut open. Danthres had been sure that it had been one of the Jorbin’s Way merchants—so sure that she had refused to even consider Torin’s alternate theory. But Torin had been correct, and they had arrested Kavan for the killings just as he was about to murder another child.

  Danthres invited Torin to her bed that night, both as a thank-you and as a release from the nightmare that the case had been up to that point. They’d been regular bedmates ever since, though both had taken on plenty of other lovers, and Torin himself had gotten into a couple of relationships, though neither of them lasted particularly long. Feira, who was a secretary to Madam Lessa in the castle, had broken it off after Linder died, announcing that she decided she couldn’t deal with the uncertainty of his life in the Castle Guard. And Gabin moved back to Treemark to be with his family; Torin owed him a letter.

  The timechimes rang six times. Danthres looked at Torin. “We’ve still got an hour.”

  “Yes,” Torin said bitterly, “for another day of working for an imbecile.”

  Danthres folded her arms over her breasts. “You know, of the two of us, I expected that I would be the one to be the most pissy about Grovis’s promotion.” She frowned. “You didn’t want the job, did you?”

  “Goodness, no.” Torin shuddered. “My whole reasoning for taking the job of lieutenant ten years ago was that it offered the adventure of soldiering with the intellectual challenges of my upbringing. The job of captain offers neither of those things, and I’m just as happy to avoid them. No, I suppose it’s Lord Blayk’s reasoning as he told us. Grovis happening to be born to a wealthy family does not entitle him to the captaincy. And Osric’s lack of same has nothing to do with his own qualifications.” He shook his head. “I just fear that the city-state is being run by someone less sensible, and that doesn’t bode well.”

  “Lady Meerka is sensible enough for both of them.” Danthres put a hand on his bare arm. “But honestly? I don’t know what else you can do on the Beffel case unless he’s actually found. I’m not saying Grovis is right to take you off the case, but he is kind of right in that there’s little you can do until he comes forward or one of the shitbrains in Dragon manages to stumble across him.”

  “Nonsense. We can try to discover who used the Keefda stone. That can lead us to the people who committed the assault.”

  “Manfred can do that. He’s quite capable.”

  Torin regarded her quizzically. “Really? So now you’re back to thinking highly of him?”

  Danthres looked away. “He’s smart enough. Certainly more so than Kellan.” She shuddered. “Whatever I may think of Manfred personally, he deserved the promotion. Let him trace that stone. I need your help with Lord Albin’s murder.”

  “Didn’t Grovis tell you not to?”

  She tilted her head. “Technically, he told me that he wouldn’t partner me back with you. But there’s no reason why you can’t help Kellan and I.” She sighed. “Look, you know how much I hate talking to the rich shitbrains. And Kellan’s even worse than me—I, at least, can talk to them.”

  “Generally,” Torin added with a grin, “in a manner that offends them in every possible way.”

  “Yes, but at least I can open my mouth! Kellan was useless. You can actually speak to the nobility and get answers out of them. I’m not convinced they’ll have those answers, but I need to find out. Especially with this mysterious meeting of Sir Rommett’s.”

  “It is a world gone mad, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Grovis is captain, Lord Albin and Hawk are dead, Iaian is retired, and Sir Rommett is actually aiding an investigation rather than hindering it.”

  Danthres chuckled. “Yes, indeed.”

  “What did Boneen’s peel-back tell you?”

  “I’m sorry?” Danthres was leaning forward and staring blankly at Torin.

  For his part, Torin was shocked. “Danthres, didn’t Boneen do a peel-back?”

  “Of what? Lord Albin’s body’s been burned, so—” She fell back against the headboard. “Shit. I’m an idiot. It didn’t even occur to me to send him to the office to do the peel-back.” She shook her head. “I’m so used to him showing up at a scene . . .” Looking up at Torin, she snarled. “This wouldn’t
have happened if we’d been allowed to investigate this properly at the time—before Blayk got here and turned the place upside down.”

  “To be fair, we none of us have been thinking straight.”

  “Yeah.” Danthres pursed her lips. “I’ll get Boneen on it first thing today.”

  “Good.” Torin lay down next to her on the bed, resting his head on her shoulder. “So when are you going to tell me about Javian?”

  She pushed him off her and shifted away from him. “Who told you about Javian?”

  “Initially? You did, when Fanthral said he was on his way. I gather he arrived, mostly based on Manfred informing me at the Chain last night. You were missed there, by the by.”

  Danthres gave him a wicked grin. “So you said when you found me in your bed last night.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. It had been a pleasant surprise to return home from a night celebrating Manfred, Kellan, and Aleta’s promotions, as well as Iaian’s retirement—the old soldier had come out for a final post-shift drink-up—at the Old Ball and Chain to see Danthres already in his apartment, already naked, and already in his bed.

  After breaking off the kiss, Torin stared into her large brown eyes. “So what happened with Javian?”

  Danthres closed her eyes and again pulled away from him. “I don’t particularly want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t particularly care. We got sidetracked by Lord Albin when you dropped it on me that he was the one who kicked you out of Sorlin. Now he’s here, and you spent quite a bit of time alone in an interview room with him. Who is he, besides the head of the council?”

  “No longer.” Danthres sighed and got up from the bed, walking over to stare out the window.

  Torin got up and stood behind her, snaking his left arm under her left armpit, and embracing her by placing his hand on her right shoulder. Kissing her neck, he looked out at the view of the sun starting to come up over the city, rays peeking between buildings.