Dwellings Debacle

by David Lee Stone

  Dwellings didn’t smile straight away. Instead, it happened slowly, over the course of a few minutes.

  “That, my friend,” he said, carefully, “may be the most useful idea you’ve ever had.”

  “I know! It’s brilliant, isn’t it!”

  “Wait, though!” Dwellings held up an admonitory finger. “Let’s not get too carried away: we need to contact the palace to ensure they don’t allow any carts through the tradesmen’s entrance until after we’ve found a tracker: it’ll be difficult enough to identify the right tracks without another five or ten to choose from.”

  Wheredad, still beaming, shook his shaggy head.

  “You’re worrying over nothing, Enoch. I’ve already spoken to the palace guards and I’ve already had the side entrance sealed. All we need to worry about is finding the right man for the job.”

  “Ha! We’ve got absolutely no worries there,” Dwellings exclaimed. “I know the perfect candidate!”

  The detective’s suddenly animated expression gave his assistant a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “You don’t mean …”

  “Precisely, Wheredad.”

  “But he’s …”

  “I know.”

  “And he’s …”

  “That’s right.”

  “But he’s not even …”

  “Just accept it, Wheredad: Parsnip Daily is the only tracker in the city who’ll take on a task like this. Now, do you think I can get some sleep?”

  Jimmy leaped back just in time to avoid the darting snake, which collided with the tunnel wall and splashed into the river of muck, quickly slithering beneath the surface.

  Jimmy’s mind froze with fear. Fortunately, his instinct for danger was already operating his limbs, so he immediately jumped up, took hold of the bar on the tunnel roof and swung his legs up at the same time. He’d just heaved himself from the water when the snake surfaced again, its wicked eyes glowing amber in the flickering shadows. Then it sank once again, and was gone …”

  … just as a second snake emerged from around the bend in the tunnel. This one swam straight under the suspended form of Jimmy Quickstint before proceeding along the tunnel and slithering quickly under the door. There was a curious “popping” noise from beyond the portal, then the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding back, and finally Obegarde emerged, in human form, from the doorway.

  “What’re you doing up there?” he asked Jimmy, staring at him with a look of strange bewilderment.

  Jimmy waited a few seconds, then lowered himself from the roof of the tunnel.

  “Th-there was a snake,” he panted.

  “I know that, you idiot! What did you think I was going to do, constrict you?”

  The gravedigger shook his head.

  “Not you,” he said. “Another snake, just now, in the tunnel.”

  Obegarde peered down at his feet.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, kicking the murky waters around him, experimentally.

  Jimmy nodded.

  “I’m absolutely certain.”

  “Fine, but, well, you’ve got to expect them, haven’t you? I mean, this is a dark, dank sewer, after all!”

  “Yeah,” said Jimmy, doubtfully. “Mind you, this snake was weird. Its eyes looked kind of — you know — human.”

  Obegarde shook his head.

  “That’s just snakes,” he muttered. “They’re all weird-looking things and they all freak people out: it’s understandable, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy whispered, looking dubiously into the dirty sewage water. “Whatever you say, Obegarde, whatever you say …”

  “C’mon,” the vampire prompted, disappearing behind the portal once again. “Let’s see where this forbidden passage leads us …”

  Enoch Dwellings was trying to sleep. Having spent several minutes searching without success for a comfortable position on the mattress, he retired to the floor in the desperate hope that Wheredad’s constant stomping around downstairs would be drowned out by the noise of the seven million woodlice that held a nightly soccer match on the underside of the floorboards. It really was going to be one of those nights.

  The tunnel in which Jimmy and Obegarde now found themselves was considerably lighter than the ones they’d passed through in order to get to it. There were also torches on brackets and handrails fastened to the walls, and Obegarde felt sure that the tunnel was beginning to ascend.

  “It’s getting clearer,” said Jimmy, peering up ahead.

  “What, the tunnel?” Obegarde ventured, trying to see around Jimmy’s head.

  “No, not the tunnel; the water. There’s not so much … you know … stuff in it.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Do you think we’re nearly there?”

  The gravedigger nodded.

  “Told you I knew my way about down here, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, all right! Don’t go on about it!”

  Jimmy muttered something under his breath.

  After a few more minutes of quiet progress which took them around several bends, they arrived at the foot of a very steep, very ancient-looking staircase. Jimmy peered up into the gloom.

  “This is it,” he said. “You follow these stairs, and they’ll take you straight to the palace wine cellar.”

  Obegarde nodded.

  “Right,” said Jimmy. “That’s me just about done, then. Good luck, eh!”

  He turned to leave and suddenly felt the vampire’s icy grip on his neck.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” Obegarde challenged, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

  “I — er — I’ve done what you wanted me to do!”

  Obegarde shook his head.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he muttered. “You’re coming in with me …”

  “Am I hell!”

  “Not yet, but you will visit hell if you try to get out of accompanying me into the palace.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, why can’t you go in there on your own? Are you some sort of big, one-fanged coward?”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Jimmy. Now just move yourself, will you?”

  The gravedigger swore a few times under his breath, then began to stomp angrily up the stairs, deliberately splashing puddles of filthy water behind him.

  “I swear,” Obegarde mumbled, “that you are one of the most annoying people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

  “Ha! You and me both, Overbite.”

  “You do realize that I could smack you through the wall of this tunnel with little or no physical effort?”

  “Yeah, you and half the folk in this city. You’re nothing special for being able to beat up li’l Jimmy. Besides, you’re not that tough: Groan Teethgrit’d put you down like a bowling pin.”

  “Groan Teethgrit? What, the barbarian with a bacon sandwich for a brain? Oh yes, I think I’ve heard of him.”

  “Ha! You wouldn’t say that if he was standing here: you’d turn and run like a badger with a bum full o’ gunpowder.”

  “No I wouldn’t.”

  “Sure, Obegarde; whatever you sa —”

  Jimmy suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and Obegarde knocked into him.

  “What’s wrong?” the vampire said, stepping back. “Can you see something?”

  Jimmy nodded, motioned up ahead.

  “There’s someone there,” he whispered, moving aside so that the vampire could see.

  Obegarde glimpsed the shadowy figure at the top of the stairs.

  “I thought you said that none of the guards knew about this place!” he moaned.

  “I did,” said Jimmy, concern in his voice. “And that isn’t a guard; it’s too small.”

  Obegarde nodded in the half dark.

  “Well, if it’s not a guard, then what — I mean who — is it?”

  “I think you were closer when you said ‘what,’” Jimmy intoned, “because I think that bloke up there is the same one who attacked me in the sewer tunnel.”
/>   Obegarde frowned.

  “I thought you were attacked by a snake back there?” he said.

  “I was,” said Jimmy, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But I’ve got a really strong feeling it might have been a shapeshifter; its eyes had a kind of weird glow to ’em.”

  “Oh, great.”

  Jimmy took a deep breath.

  “You reckon you can handle a shapeshifter?” he ventured.

  Obegarde shrugged.

  “I don’t see why not …”

  “Good job, because he’s coming down … FAST.”

  Jimmy leaped back as the spindly stranger came speeding toward them, leaping two or three steps at a time in a sort of diagonal pounce.

  Obegarde didn’t move; instead he put both hands firmly on the rails either side of him and gripped with all his might.

  When the creature, who resembled a particularly anemic human, neared the duo on the stairs, it changed tactics and leaped onto one of the side rails, sliding toward them in a crouched position.

  Obegarde knew instinctively that it was going to try to leap over them; something about the way it moved insinuated that it had achieved its goal, and that now its only priority was to leave as quickly as possible. The conundrum was whether or not to try to stop it …

  Unfortunately, Obegarde didn’t have time to decide.

  The shapeshifter — for its eyes betrayed it as such — leaped into the air and somersaulted over the vampire, drawing a needle-thin blade in the process.

  Obegarde quickly spun around and snatched hold of the creature’s shoulder, reeling when it turned and slashed a vicious wound across his mouth.

  The vampire staggered back, clutching at his bleeding lips, and struck out with his foot instead. He caught the creature squarely in the chest, a move which forced it to emit a terrible hiss as it tumbled backward.

  Jimmy dived out of the way as it rolled and plummeted down the remaining steps. When it landed in a puddle at the foot of the flight, it scowled up at them and a look of intense hatred illuminated its bulbous red eyes.

  “Get yooouu,” it hissed. “Get you gooood.”

  Then it morphed back into snake-form and slithered beneath the water.

  Jimmy watched to make sure it was gone before hurrying up to Obegarde, who was still clutching his face and moaning terribly.

  “Here,” Jimmy said, producing a silk handkerchief and passing it to the vampire. “You better clean yourself up; you can’t sneak into the palace dripping blood, can you?”

  Obegarde stared at the handkerchief.

  “Is that stolen?” he asked.

  “Why? Is it yours?”

  “No.”

  “What’re you worried about, then?”

  The vampire snatched the handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth, muttering obscenities under his breath. Eventually, he managed to ebb the flow of blood.

  “What do you think a thing like that was doing in the palace?” he managed, still dabbing half-heartedly at the wound.

  “Who knows?” said Jimmy, shivering at the thought. “Maybe he lives down here or something.”

  Obegarde shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “Definitely not; he came for something …”

  “… or someone,” Jimmy finished. “Maybe it’s the secretary’s turn to get kidnapped. Shall we find out?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  The vampire dabbed at his face once more.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I’m not going into the palace …”

  “But … why? We’ve come all this way, now; we have to go in!”

  Obegarde shook his head.

  “I only wanted to get inside so I could dig up some more information on the viscount’s disappearance!”

  “And?”

  “And now I’ve got it! I can use this information to get Dwellings to tell me everything he knows about the case!”

  Jimmy’s features creased into a frown.

  “Who’s Dwellings?” he asked, scratching his head.

  “Enoch Dwellings; the detective who’s handling the whole affair.”

  “Ah … right. So what you’re basically saying is that I’ve just trawled through half of Illmoor’s snake-infested sewer system for diddly-squat.”

  Obegarde put his head to one side.

  “Not entirely for nothing,” he said, reaching down and snatching a small object from the floor of the tunnel. He held it up between thumb and forefinger. “Well, what do you know?” he muttered, pushing the object under Jimmy’s nose. “If it isn’t a ring with the royal seal on it!”

  Jimmy studied the ring, and gulped. “Do you think our slithery friend dropped it in the scuffle?”

  “I’d put money on it.”

  “Can I have it, then?”

  Obegarde looked up at the gravedigger, and burst out laughing.

  “What?” Jimmy demanded, his thin brows knitting in annoyance. “What are you laughing at?”

  “YOU!”

  “What did I say?”

  Obegarde slipped the ring onto his finger.

  “This is valuable evidence,” he said, tapping the find with his thumb. “Why would I ever want to give it to you?”

  “Er … maybe because you owe me for risking countless dangers in helping you find the secret entrance to the palace?”

  Obegarde sniffed, shook his head.

  “I already gave you your fifty crowns,” he said, turning around and trudging off toward the vast tunnel network. “Consider yourself paid.”

  “But …”

  “Hey, if you’re that hard-up, you could always sneak into the wine cellar and take your chances with the palace guards …”

  “Thanks, Obegarde: thanks a lot.”

  Jimmy cursed all vampires under his breath, and stomped off after him.

  Thirteen

  IT WAS A BRIGHT and breezy morning in Dullitch, and the streets were already heaving with (largely resentful) life.

  “Look, I know you didn’t get much sleep last night, Enoch,” said Wheredad, hurrying to keep up with the detective, who hadn’t said a word during breakfast. “But you really can’t hire Parsnip Daily: not for a job as important and delicate as this!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, man!” Dwellings snapped. “He’s perfect for the task! And, incidentally, the only reason I couldn’t sleep last night, apart from the late call-out, was because you were smashing about downstairs with your size fifteens. And you let me leave the office this morning without my coat …”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “It’s not good enough; it really isn’t.”

  “But what about Daily? The man’s a thief, Enoch!”

  “AND?”

  “And — AND he’s got that weird mental thing where he can’t remember anything for more than a few seconds!”

  “So?”

  “So what good is a tracker with no memory and a tendency to go rooting through your pockets in the middle of an investigation?”

  Dwellings made no attempt to slow down.

  “You’re quite right, my friend. That’s why we’ll have to watch him carefully if he agrees to come. Besides, the memory thing is strange; it doesn’t affect him all the time, and if his mind is properly focused, it doesn’t affect him at all. He’s just the ideal person to ask …”

  “Oh, do we have to, Enoch?”

  “We don’t, Wheredad; I do.”

  “And the stealing? How do you propose to get round that?”

  “He does NOT steal; he simply borrows things and then forgets that they belong to other people.”

  “That’s the same thing!”

  “No no no! It’s not the same at all. Look, say I want to buy a lamp, right? I go along to the Market Place to pick one up, find a little beauty and then, as I’m holding it, I forget that I went out looking for a lamp.”

  “So what explanation would you give yourself for the lamp you’re holding in your hands?”

  “No explanati
on at all. I’d simply think that it was mine to begin with.”

  Wheredad hurried to keep up.

  “But that’s ridiculous, Enoch! It’s no wonder he’s been in and out of prison so much; the man’s a menace to society.”

  “That’s as may be, Wheredad, but he’s also a damn good tracker. Now do try to keep up: once I’ve fetched my coat from the office, we’re going to call in at the Ferret, the Furrier’s Arms and Mo Jangly’s Gambling Pit. We need to find Parsnip soon.”

  “Do you know what he looks like?”

  “Haven’t got a clue, but his reputation precedes him. Besides, everyone knows at least two people who know him: we’ll find the fellow somehow.”

  Arriving back at his office, Dwellings suddenly stopped short. Standing at the top of the stairs was the vampire’s assistant.

  “What do you want?” he said, gruffly, pushing Wheredad back when the assistant walked into him.

  Lusa hugged her arms for warmth.

  “I need to speak with you,” she said. “It’s quite important.”

  Obegarde woke up smelling of sewerage. He lifted the lid of his coffin and rolled out, struggling awkwardly to his feet.

  “Lusa!” he yelled, looking around for a teacup and finding his overcoat instead. “Lusa! Where are you, for crying out loud?”

  “Thank you for telling me all that,” said Dwellings, passing a plate of cupcakes across to his guest. “It must have taken a great deal of courage.”

  Lusa nodded.

  “I thought you should know; it wouldn’t be fair, otherwise. But, like I just explained, he is my dad and I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble because of me …”

  “You did the right thing,” said Dwellings, grinning awkwardly as the girl chose a cake from the selection on offer. “You’ll have another tea, I assume?”

  Lusa shook her head.

  “I shouldn’t really,” she said. “I’d like to be back in the office when he returns.”

  “Oh nonsense!” said Dwellings, with sudden gusto. “One small cup won’t delay you by much! Wheredad; fetch another pot of tea, there’s a good chap.”

  The burly assistant quickly detached himself from the corner he’d been silently rooted in since they had returned, and busied himself in the kitchen. It wasn’t often that Enoch Dwellings enjoyed the company of young women, so Wheredad didn’t really know what to do with himself; he felt awkward, useless and, above all, visible. Moreover, he was worried … if Dwellings got himself a girlfriend before he did, he was quite sure he’d never hear the last of it …