Murder, Magic, and Moggies

by Pearl Goodfellow

  Horace spotted us as we approached and offered one of his most alluring grins. He turned immediately, presumably to rustle up our favorite concoctions. We took our places on two vacant bar stools, made available only because there was some kind of jig going on on an empty patch of carpet in front of the bar. The music was live, coming from a table of talented, albeit drunk, musicians. An accordion, a banjo, and a pennywhistle could be heard over the stomping of enthusiastic feet and whirling fabrics. Horace turned to face us once more. The alcohol fumes coming from him were a little less intense than usual. Maybe he’d gotten a late start on his daily product sampling.

  “Hattie, me girl, it’s been—hic!—been ta long,” Horace all but bellowed. “And who should be escortin’ ya but the goo—hic!—good chief a’ police hisself?”

  I tried covering up my wince with a pleasant smile. At least I hoped it was pleasant. Maybe coming in for a drink to the center of the Glessie gossip universe wasn’t such a smart idea.

  While everybody stared at us sitting down at the bar, Horace teased, “So now…when can I 'spect the weddin’ date?”

  “Shut up and pour the drinks, Horace,” David said, giving the man-mountain a playful punch in the arm. “You know which ones.”

  “Aye, tha’ I do,” Horace said with a grin as his massive hands grabbed a pair of mugs.

  I glanced around the room while Horace poured our lovingly prepared brews. The bar was made up to look like a Mainland English pub with a few modern concessions like electric lighting in the lamps and a plumbing system that was actually from this century. The mahogany bar and oak tables around it were nearly all packed, the patrons watching other patrons closely and whispering to the people they were with about what they knew. Whispers, loud shouts, raucous laughter, the Moon had it all. Add in Horace having the uncanny ability to somehow eavesdrop on every meaningful conversation; the Fingernail Moon had always been a great place to glean information.

  A tankard of my usual Griffin’s Beak landed in front of me while a Johnny Walker and a side of water slid just within reach of David's folded hands. Neither one of us hesitated to gulp down the beverage in front of us.

  After taking a minute to make sure that no one else was needing his attention, Horace leaned in close and stage-whispered, “Awright, now…tell yer Uncle Horace what’s the matter wit’ the both a’ ya.”

  David's defenses sprang to action. “I’m afraid a great deal of it is sensitive information, Horace. The kind that, if in the wrong hands, could interfere with an active police investigation.”

  “Mine’s not so top-secret,” I chimed in, covering for David. “Carbon’s been…sick for a couple of days. Had to bring him to the vet.”

  “Awwww,” Horace said with genuine sympathy. “That poor wee fella. Is he gonna be alright?”

  “I hope so. After I had got done with an…errand I did for David today I gave Carbon a treatment that I’m hoping will get what’s bothering him out of his system.”

  I took another swig of the Griffin’s Beak as Horace said, “Then let me add me own hopes ta tha’ outcome, dear girl. Say, this errand ya’s mentioned…that wouldna ha’ anythin’ ta do wit’ the Chief’s ‘sensitive information,' would it?”

  David slammed his side of water with an emphatic bang. “You are relentless, man.”

  “Eh, I likes ta knows what’s goin’ on on me home turf,” Horace said with a shrug. “’Sides, maybe there’s—hic!—there’s some way I coul’ give ya's a helpin’ hand.”

  “Unless you know how to speak to Rock Grumlins, I’m afraid that there’s nothing.”

  Horace gave David another shrug. “Ne’er know ‘til ya ask…’fraid I’s got trouble ‘nough tryin’ ta speak ta tha’ brain-dead assistant a’ Maude’s. Good man, Hector, but a little…dense, ya know?”

  “So you and Maude are an item?” I asked, hoping it would do the trick of keeping him from asking many more questions.

  Horace gave me a little laugh. “Well…I wouldna go tha’ far as yet. Jus’ the same, we—“

  The crash of a mug and a raised angry voice at the back left corner table interrupted the great barman's flow. Horace turned toward the sound with an almost excited expression before looking at us. “If’n ya’ll both ‘scuse me a minute…?”

  He didn’t wait for our responses. He just came from behind the bar and marched towards the corner. With incredible dexterity and speed for a man of his size and drunkenness, Horace reached the offending table in seconds. I glanced at David. “You’re not going to do anything to take care of this public disturbance?”

  “Why bother with the paperwork when a few stern words from Horace and being thrown out of the Moon can do the same job with less fuss? Besides, I’m off-duty.”

  “But people like us are never really off-duty, are we?” A familiar voice asked from two seats to my left.

  Dilwyn saluted us with a mug of what smelled like Mercury Ale before taking a gulp from it.

  “So who’s minding the farm right now, Dilwyn?” David asked, shifting in his stool to face him.

  “Or, for that matter, your boys?” I asked.

  “Answer’s the same for both,” Dilwyn said. “My farmhands…they’re making sure the boys are eating the dinner I cooked them before I took off. They ought to be in bed by the time I get home.”

  “I'm sure you're tired after their antics at the vet’s office today.” I pointed out.

  “Antics?" He looked ready to go on-duty if the situation was severe enough.

  Everyone else was watching Horace haul the offending parties to the front door when Dilwyn said, “Oh, it’s nothing, Chief Trew. I just brought them along today while I was filling in for Anima at the pet clinic. You know how they like to find trouble.”

  “So far, it’s been nothing illegal,” David said, his concern not abated one iota. “But I’m counting on you to keep it that way, Dilwyn.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Chief, they’re both good boys deep down,” Dilwyn said as Horace threw out his rowdy customers with a final, bellowed warning. “They just never had a mother in their lives and…well, I do what I can.”

  “And so far that’s been good enough,” David said. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time. It’s just—“

  “I know, I know,” Dilwyn said, blowing a breath. “You’re just as worried about them as I am. For different reasons, of course," he added apologetically.

  The bar’s hushed silence at the throwing out of the unwanted patrons abated, and the soft murmurings rose once more to an overlapping din. Dilwyn added, “They try to help out, the boys. They really do." Mr. Werelamb shook a weary head. "I tell ya, Lye's excellent with the rock people. Sure, I've shown him how to handle 'em, but you can see, he's a natural. Gentle, observant. "

  He sighed. "Oh, well. I'm doing what I can to educate 'em."

  “Rock people? What, you mean like Keith Richards?” I asked.

  Dilwyn had a good laugh at that one. “No, no, I meant them little fellows on Cathedral, can slice through rock with their bare hands and they use them hands to talk. A little-known fact.”

  “You mean Rock Grumlins?” David asked, his eyes lighting up.

  “I always want to say ‘gremlins’ but I know that’s not right,” Dilwyn said with a nod. “But yeah, that’s them. Anyway, I was treating this poor fellow, and he freaks out when I show him a thermometer. I got to do a lot of talking to him, but it was Lye who was finally able to convince him that the thermometer wouldn't hurt him.”

  “So you know how to speak with them?” I asked, feeling my own excitement starting to ignite.

  Dilwyn looked between the two of us, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah, a little bit. Don’t get me wrong, though. I don’t always know what they’re—“

  “I just spent half the day being repeatedly told that the last person who could speak their language died on the beaches of Cathedral four days ago,” David said, getting up from his seat. “You’d be a big help to our investigation if you could do some interpr
eting duties.”

  “Right now?” Dilwyn Werelamb's face went slack with wonder at this unusual request.

  I got up from my own stool. “Between the clinic, the boys and the farm, is there ever going to be a better time?”

  Dilwyn tilted his head to the side. “Well, when you put it like that…”

  Horace came back to the bar. “Ohh, are ya leavin’ already, then? I hope it t’weren’t on account a’ them—“ he pointed to the doors where he had thrown out his unruly customers.

  “Nothing like that, Horace,” David said as Dilwyn reluctantly got to his feet. “Mind putting Werelamb’s drink on my tab? I’ll settle up by the end of the week.”

  “Always a pleasure ta support me local constabulary,” Horace said to David’s back.

  I drained the last dregs of my Griffin’s Beak before following Chief Trew and Dilwyn out the door.

  Dilwyn all but groaned as he finally reached the entrance to the cave. “If I’d have known that this little trip was going to involve midnight mountain climbing…” His breathing was coming in ragged tatters, and I could see the scarlet hue to his face, even in the murky light.

  As I scrambled onto the ledge behind him, I said, “Don’t think for a minute that this was any more fun for us. But we found out the hard way that brooms don’t work around this cliff.”

  “Why not?” Dilwyn asked while I followed the rope to the cave wall.

  “Does it matter?” David asked with a grunt as he rose to his feet. “Bottom line’s the same. This rope is the only way up.”

  “And what about the way down?”

  “A lot easier,” I promised him. “We’ll show you after we’re done talking to our friend.”

  “Speaking of which, you might want to get them necklaces ready.”

  I nodded and fished them out of my bag. There were just strands of twine and attached to them, a recent newspaper picture of Millicent. After I’d described the small shrine we'd seen in the cave system earlier to Dilwyn, he recommended that we take a few minutes to make up an offering of sorts. He had told us that the grumlins never stopped singing Ms. Pond's praises, so he knew what was needed for us to gain entry.

  The trip inside was easier for us this time. Oh, we still kept our wands lit and my other hand didn’t dare let go of the guideline. But there’s something about knowing where you’re going that can take a lot of stress off your shoulders. Just the same, I found myself wishing that at least one of my cats—yes, even Gloom or Fraidy—was able to join us on this evening jaunt.

  Like before, the Grumlin found us before we found it. The familiar cadence of his claws rang out to us. I glanced at Dilwyn.

  “He’s saying a cross between ‘hello’ and ‘who goes there,'” Dilwyn explained. “For the rock people, one’s the same as the other.”

  Pulling out a coin from his pocket, he tapped the cave wall in a careful, deliberate manner. The Grumlin’s pearl eyes latched onto Dilwyn’s hand.

  “So what are you saying?” David asked.

  “Friends,” Dilwyn said. “Or the nearest rock people word to that.”

  The little rock-digger looked at the pictures around our neck. He made a few clicks with his hands and then pointed at Dilwyn again. Dilwyn tapped out the same “friends” code on the wall.

  The Grumlin looked at Werelamb, looked at me, then looked at David. It did this two more times before gesturing us to follow him deeper into the tunnel.

  “Well, it's further than we got last time,” David said with a relieved sigh.

  “Don’t doubt it,” Dilwyn said as we followed the Grumlin. “These little ones are peaceful enough but mighty territorial if you happen to step the wrong way.”

  “But they still let others work them to death mining for black diamond,” I pointed out. “Put them through the kind of deplorable conditions that Millicent was fighting against up until she died.”

  “All true but they see it a little differently,” Dilwyn explained. “Out in the mines, it's a ... well, a work area they don’t and can't control. But this here is their private turf. Every last one of them is willing to die to make sure their privacy is protected and that nothing happens to their home.”

  The Grumlin took us to the shrine we had seen earlier. It was even more impressive up close; a real monument of love to a woman who had given her all to improve the Grumlins’ lot in life.

  The Grumlin turned back to us and made a few more signing gestures, first to me and then to David.

  “The little one’s apologizing for being so mean earlier,” Dilwyn explained. "He didn't know that you were friends of Millicent's."

  The Grumlin made a few more gestures before pointing at the picture on the shrine. “Near as I can figure it, a lot of folks were downright mean to Ms. Pond there,” Dilwyn translated. “The last thing they wanted was for any strange humans to come by and desecrate her memory some more.”

  “Can you tell him that wasn’t why we were here earlier?” I asked, wondering at the limits of Dilwyn’s language skills. But Dilwyn rose to the challenge and confidently tapped out the message, which led to yet another hand message from the Grumlin.

  “He knows that now,” the substitute vet said. “But he is wondering why you’d come all this way if not to honor yours and his mutual friend.”

  “Tell them we’re investigating Millicent’s murder,” David said.

  Dilwyn’s face got worried. “You sure you want to phrase it like—“

  “Yes, I do, Mr. Werelamb,” David said sternly. Then, more gently, he added, “Please…”

  Dilwyn sent the message in a series of clicks and taps from his coin on the rock, and for a moment, the Grumlin didn’t say anything. It stood on the spot, every bit as immobile as the rock around him. Then it signed out a message. This time, less urgent, like he was taking his time to consider his answer.

  “Glad he's moving a bit slower, or I’d not have caught all that,” Dilwyn admitted. “But the little guy is definitely confused. He’s saying that he heard it was a lightning strike that did Millicent in, just an unlucky bolt from the blue.”

  “As best you can, tell him that it’s looking like it was anything BUT unlucky,” David said.

  The Grumlin hadn’t moved an inch since his last message. For the longest time, he stood stock-still while Dilwyn passed on David’s latest communication. Then his mouth opened and a high-pitched whine came rolling from his throat and into the blackness. He attacked the nearest rock wall with a savagery that would have done justice to a grizzly bear attack. Dilwyn barely leaped out of the way as a spray of stray rocks began whirling around our heads. I had to hold up my own hand to keep some pebbles from hitting me in the eye. Finally, the blood-curdling cry and the destruction of the wall beside the shrine stopped. I thought I recognized the gestures he was giving Dilwyn before pointing at the newest hole made in the stone.

  “Did he just apologize for doing that?” I asked.

  “More like for losing his temper,” Dilwyn clarified. “They don’t like getting angry and are dead embarrassed when they do.”

  While I was contemplating how a race this potentially destructive ever let themselves be exploited in the first place, the Grumlin signed some more words at a faster pace. Dilwyn tapped out the coin just as quick while our diminutive tour guide was “talking.”.

  When the Grumlin was done, Dilwyn nodded and turned to us. “Little guy just said that if somebody really DID murder Millicent here, there was nothing on this earth that would keep them from the murderer.”

  David frowned. “Make sure our host understands that my people will handle that side of things. All we’re looking for right now is some cooperation and information that could help with that.”

  Dilwyn nodded again and tapped out the message. While that was going on, David observed, “It’s got to be their lack of size that made them slaves to the black diamond trade in the first place. If they were even twice as big as they are now—“

  “Uh, sorry to interrupt, Chief,” D
ilwyn said. “But the little guy just asked me what you all want to know.”

  “Let’s start with the shrine to Millicent,” I suggested. “I’d really like to know what the significance of this is to them.”

  An exchange of messages later, Dilwyn said, “This is the spot where Ms. Pond, Goddess rest her soul, first gathered his people with a message of hope.”

  “And what was her message of hope?” I asked.

  Dilwyn translated, “That they were free creatures who deserved better than to let a bunch of surface-dwellers use them for their own gain.” Dilwyn paused. "And, that this was their land, and that as indigenous people they had sovereign rights." The farmer cleared his throat. "Rights that aren't currently being exercised. Millicent, by all accounts, offered a pathway of education to rectify that."

  “What about the fact that Millicent was a ‘surface dweller’ herself?” David pointed out.

  “I was just getting to that,” Dilwyn said. “That just made her more credible in their eyes. Gotta say that it makes sense. I mean, who’d know better about the sins and transgressions of a particular race than one of its own citizens?”

  The Grumlin signed something else, casting a sad glance to the shrine as he did so.

  “There was also the fact that she was so ... I think the word he meant was ... 'different,'” Dilwyn interpreted. “I mean, Ms. Pond was definitely one of a kind, right?”

  “And being different is a…I guess the word is ‘sin’ for the Grumlins?” I asked.

  “I really don’t know,” Dilwyn admitted, crossing his arms in thought as he leaned against the wall behind him. “I’ve never seen rock people who looked that different from this fellow here. But they don’t seem to hate on their own for any kind of differences, near as I can tell.”

  “Okay, so why choose this spot to make the big speech?” David asked, waving his hand around the cavern. “Leave the rope aside and it looks like the same kind of cave passage that we’ve seen everywhere else here.”

  “Afraid I only know enough to ask the first of that,” Dilwyn cautioned him.

  “Just as long as the question is asked.”