Cretaceous Clay And The Ninth Ring

by Dan Knight

  ~~~~~~

  The Surete’s eastern stationhouse was a beehive. More people were leaving than arriving. Those leaving carried stuffed bags, backpacks, and briefcases. And those arriving pushed hand trucks loaded with empty boxes.

  “We’re below Lower Nodlon, Under Nodlon, and Deep Nodlon. Imagine, the edge of the Pale is just a few blocks east of us, and a hundred floors straight up.” Gumshoe cut the air with a hand. “Incredible engineering the ancients did. Knowing we’re so far below the surface and yet not far at all gives me the creeps. Always feel a bit claustrophobic here in Moab, though I never feel it anywhere else.”

  A moleman pushed a cart loaded with boxes out of a service lift. He crossed the sky bridge towards the garage. Wiggles dodged the cart. He flashed his badge at the security guard and called out, “Hi, George.”

  The guard waved amiably, “Afternoon Constable.” George leaned back in his chair, oblivious to the commotion.

  “Never seen it like this,” said Wiggles. “Everyone is pulling out of Moab, and so is the Surete. I’d be on my way too if we hadn’t found those maid’s swimming in the river.”

  A lift discharged its passengers, and Wiggles held the door as they boarded. Near the top, they stepped out into a lobby. Around them in all directions partitions subdivided a cubicle maze. Police officers and detectives packed their desks.

  “Where do they keep the cheese?”

  “In the break area,” said Wiggles. “When we’re good, they bring us donuts too. This way.”

  Wiggles led them down a wide aisle in single file. They darted past officers carrying boxes and dodging moving carts. In the flurry of activity only a few waved at Wiggles as they strode by.

  After a few turns, they reached Wiggle’s desk. They waited in the corridor while the portly moleman dropped his notepad on a stack of paperwork. The Constable pulled out a disk, shoved it into his computer, and stabbed his keyboard.

  A uniformed officer rushed down the corridor. He jumped over a box, and stood between the mage and his dwarf. “Scuse me, gents,” he said. He blocked the Constable’s cubicle. “Hallo Wiggles, glad to see ya back.”

  “Yes, Jenkins, what is it?”

  “Captain Willoughby wants to see ya now,” said Jenkins. “Don’t know what’s it’s about, but it’s not hard to guess. Your dwarf maidens are all over the news. The higher ups are breathing down his neck.”

  “Thanks Jenkins,” said Wiggles. “Tell the Captain I’m on my way, and keep your guesses to yourself. Loose lips sink ships.”

  “Mum’s the word, Constable.” The officer left with a wave.

  “Gentlemen, the Captain has called for old Wiggles, so something is amiss. Better come with me.”

  Again they followed the portly moleman through the maze, maneuvering around stacks of boxes and dodging fleeing officers.

  The Captain’s cubicle sat against the building’s core. It had high partitions and an office door, which stood open. Wiggles stopped in the doorway, and knocked.

  “You wanted to see me, Cap?”

  Willoughby sat behind a pile of clutter. He continued typing on his workstation without looking up.

  “Magnum, come in. The Zodiac case is all over the news. Mole News started a brouhaha that’s reached the top. They spotted Inspector Lestrayed and Cretaceous Clay at the scene this afternoon. The vultures are in the Proconsul’s office now asking if there’s any connection between the Zodiac case and the poor girls in the river. They want to know who’s in charge of the investigation, and if we’ve abdicated our jurisdiction to Nodlon. They want to know if Cretaceous Clay is consulting with us or with the Nodlon Yard.”

  Willoughby sounded tired, but not irritated.

  Gumshoe and Jack exchanged looks, and the Inspector shrugged.

  “We need to get a statement for the Information Office,” said Willoughby. “Nodlon Yard is working with us on the case of the dwarf maidens found in the Port of Moab, and we’re working with Nodlon Yard on their Zodiac case. Got it? Get Inspector Lestrayed and Mr. Clay on the blower and ask them to go along. Mr. Clay has to be working with Lestrayed. Gumshoe’s the only one on the ball up there.”

  Wiggles chuckled, and his belly jiggled like a bowl full of jelly. “Cap,” he said, “I’ve got them right here.”

  “Why didn’t you say so, Magnum?” Willoughby stood up.

  Wiggles backed out of the doorway to make way for a slightly heavier version of himself. The heavy-set police captain could have been Wiggles’ twin.

  “Speak of the devil,” he took Gumshoe’s hand in his massive paw. “Good of you to come, old man.” Willoughby patted his girth, and he beamed at his visitors.

  “Glad to help, Cap. We really should get together more often than once upon a crisis.”

  “So true, Gumshoe,” said Willoughby. “Let’s drink a few pints at the Green Mole when we solve this case.”

  “As I recall, Cap, I owe you a few pints.”

  “Bet you still can’t hold your liquor, old man.” Willoughby grinned and tucked his thumbs under his suspenders. “You’ve got no padding.”

  “In your dreams, Cap,” Gumshoe scoffed. “When I have a chance, I’ll give you a call, and we’ll see what that tub of yours can hold.”

  “You’re on, Gumshoe.” Cap nodded at the mage and his dogsbody. “Mr. Clay, Mr. Shotgun, thank you for coming.” The personable molemen jerked his thumb at Gumshoe. “Good to see you’re helping out the old bloodhound.” He tapped his nose, “Gumshoe would get lost without a keeper.”

  Everyone except Gumshoe chuckled, and Jack slapped him on the back, “Your reputation precedes you, old man.”

  “It comes with the trench coat, Jack.” Gumshoe said, “Let me introduce Captain Willoughby, Moab Homicide. He’s as honest as the day is long.” Gumshoe winked at Jack and Shotgun, “That’s what you say, boys, about a man who solves cases by accident.”

  “The pot calls the kettle black,” Willoughby chortled.

  “Cap,” said Gumshoe. “Jack Clay and his man-servant, Patrick ‘Shotgun’ Morgan, are consulting with Nodlon Yard. Jack is my specialist on the occult, and Shotgun is my computer consultant. If you have any secrets you want to keep, don’t let Shotgun near your computers.”

  Jack stepped back to share the stage with his butler, and the dwarf beamed with pride.

  “Mr. Morgan,” said Cap, “I’m glad to meet you. Are you the Ministry of Manna hacker? It’s what they say in the news, but I never trust them.”

  “That I am, Captain Willoughby. I was trying to do some genealogy. Fortunately, Gumshoe helped me out of the pickle I got myself in.”

  “Aha,” said Cap. “Any friend of Gumshoe’s is a friend of mine. Call me, Cap. Glad you’re on our team.” Cap patted his girth again. “Sorry about your genealogy project. Too bad we have no influence over Nodlon Yard’s human paranoids.” Cap winked at Gumshoe.

  “Quite all right, Cap,” said Gumshoe. “Nodlon Yard’s in the same boat. If we had any influence with Parliament, biots wouldn’t be deprived of their genetic history.”

  An Italian opera burst from the Captain’s desk caster.

  “Gentlemen, that will be the Proconsul’s office,” said Cap, ducking back into his cubicle. He answered his caster. “On my way,” he said.

  “The Proconsul wants to see us,” said Cap. “I took the liberty of agreeing for us all. I hope no one objects.”

  “Full steam ahead, Cap,” said Gumshoe. “Nodlon Yard is always happy to support the Surete of Moab.”

  Cap put on his coat, and assumed an air of importance out of keeping for his appearance. His girth made it impossible for him to button his coat. The brass buttons and his medals completed the picture of a Burgermeister in a Teutonic village.

  Cap led the way to a conference room. “Vid on,” he said. Soon the vid displayed the seal of Moab. A steel ring encircled an industrious mole in field of green. The mole wore a miner’s cap, and he carried a welding torch and a shovel.
He stood proudly on a mound of coal, and gave them a toothy grin.

  Cap punched the screen, and a matronly mole woman in a neat business suit appeared.

  “Hello,” she said, “Proconsul’s office.”

  “Hello, Wendy.”

  “Captain Willoughby,” she said. “They’ve been asking for you. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Wendy. We’re all here, including my man Wiggles. Inspector Lestrayed of Nodlon Yard and his consultants, Mr. Clay and Mr. Morgan, have joined us.”

  “Good, I’ll let the Proconsul know you’re ready.”

  The matron pressed a screen in front of her, and she muted the vid and walked off camera.

  “Proconsul Agatha Miner is an elected official,” said Cap. “We show deference for her office, but she’s not royalty. Please follow my lead.”

  “She’s popular isn’t she?” Gumshoe asked.

  “Yes, she is,” said Cap. “She’s cleaned house, and she’s made quite a few enemies. Moab has recovered under her leadership. The People’s Party emptied the treasury. I’m grateful for all the bonuses they gave us, but no one can explain where most of the money went. She’s in her last year, and she’s running for reelection. No one knows who will replace her. Her chief lieutenant, William of Green, was the odds on favorite, but there’s rumors going about. Seems he’s been taking bribes from the Solar Monetary Fund.”

  “Aren’t they a front for the Nodlon banking cartel?” asked Jack.

  Gumshoe snorted, and the molemen guffawed in unison.

  “Nodlon’s banking cartel is a front for Warburg,” said Gumshoe. “A lackey for the Baron runs the Solar Monetary Fund, and the Baron works for Warburg.”

  Wendy reappeared on the vid. “Gentlemen, you will be addressing the Proconsul, her cabinet, and several special advisors.” She leaned forward, and added, “Good luck.” Then she pressed a button, and the screen dissolved.

  Another conference room appeared on the vid. The Proconsul sat in the middle of a long table facing them. She was a striking mole woman in her middle years. Her advisors surrounded her on either side. On her right sat the Commissioner of the Moab Surete. Next to the Commissioner sat a goblin with the Nodlon Defense Force.

  Mimicking Captain Willoughby, they all bowed slightly.

  “Madam Proconsul,” said Cap, “Constable Wiggles is our man working on the case of the dwarf maidens.” He stepped aside. “This is Inspector Lestrayed and his consultants, Cretaceous Clay and Patrick Morgan. Inspector Lestrayed is in charge of the Zodiac Case.”

  “Thank you all for joining us,” said the Proconsul. “Mr. Clay, your fame precedes you. My family caught your winter show when it opened last December. We bought all of your tee shirts.”

  “Yes I remember,” said Jack. “Please say ‘hi’ to Ashley and Zoë for me.”

  Wiggles and Cap exchanged glances, and then they looked at Gumshoe. They all glanced at Shotgun who simply shrugged.

  “We’re sure you understand the gravity of the situation, Mr. Clay, and we can count on your discretion.”

  “Madam Proconsul,” said Jack, adding a slight bow. “Mr. Morgan and I have seen those poor girls with our own eyes. If our efforts can stop these murders, we will do everything we can. We consider it a duty and an honor to serve Nodlon and Moab. Anything we can do to stop the Black Dwarf, and help our fellow citizens, we are proud to do.”

  “Very well then,” said the Proconsul. “On behalf of Moab and Nodlon, we accept your services, and we look forward to your success. I am sure you are aware of the severity of the crisis.” The Proconsul paused and looked at the Commissioner who nodded. “When a killer dumps a young dwarf maiden in a sewer, it is a tragedy. It warrants a police investigation, and every possible resource must be brought to bear to find the murderer. When a spacecraft explodes, it is not an accident. It is no longer an ordinary crime. Add six more innocent maidens floating in the Great River, and people are alarmed.

  “The newsmen are obsessed with these horrible crimes. Rumors of war fill the news. Talk of Mars attacking fills the air. Moab is falling apart. Just minutes ago, there was a near riot at Molly-mart when they ran out of bottle water. Panic is upon us. You can cut the fear with a knife.

  “Every newsman in Nodlon is standing in the lobby outside my office. The ones that can’t squeeze into the lobby are in the pressroom downstairs. I need answers and I need them now.

  “Gentlemen, we have got to do something. Do you have any leads or suspects? Is there any hope you can give me? Anything at all?”

  “Madam, if I may be so bold,” Gumshoe twirled his fedora. “We have learned something about the perpetrators of these crimes. We are looking for a gang led by a Black Dwarf. This dwarf styles himself a warlock and he leads a gang of some sort.

  “Speaking for Nodlon Yard, we will not rest until we stop these crimes and bring these fiends to justice. I’m sure Captain Willoughby and Constable Wiggles and the Surete agree. We are working together on solving these crimes.”

  “Thank you Inspector,” she said. “You have my full confidence, and the resources of our department are at your disposal.”

  “We’re working on coordination now,” said Cap. “No serial killer has ever struck like this before. The scope of these crimes is without precedent.”

  “Perhaps it is without criminal precedent,” said the Proconsul. She held out her hand. “Commissioner Warden, would you introduce our guest?”

  The Commissioner rose.

  “Thank you, Madam Proconsul,” said the Commissioner. “Our guest is Chief Warrant Officer Ferrell. Chief Ferrell is with NOSS, the Nodlon Defense Force’s Office of Strategic Security. He has joined us today to share the Octagon’s perspective.

  “Chief Ferrell is an expert in asymmetrical warfare, and he has devised a more radical theory. Chief would you explain?” The Commissioner sat down and offered the floor to the goblin.

  Chief Ferrell bowed briefly, and launched into his presentation. He clipped his words in the crisp manner of a graduate of Nodlon’s Military Academy.

  “We believe espionage accounts for these murders. Earlier this afternoon, my office issued a notice to the Crown advising the King of our findings and urging him to turn over the police investigation to the NDF. By order of the King, what the press calls the Zodiac case is now the responsibility of my office. With all due respect to Chief Inspector Lestrayed, we believe the police are outgunned and outmatched.

  “I am here to persuade Moab to cooperate. As you know, the Surete is under no obligation to turn over their investigation to us. However, Madam Proconsul, I believe you may be persuaded, if I may proceed?”

  “By all means, Chief Ferrell,” she said. “If the Octagon will take over this case, we will be glad for their help. Who knows what this monster will do next? He may bomb Rickover Station or start murdering our school children.”

  “Thank you, Madam,” he bowed again. “The information I am sharing with you is classified. I expect the utmost discretion on your part. Only the King, his Chief of Staff, and the Octagon’s General Staff know of this. Nothing must be said, and no action taken that may alert Mars that we have any knowledge of their plans.

  “Mr. Clay and Mr. Morgan; as civilians you are not officially bound by an oath of office to secrecy. Will you agree to be so bound?” Together, they agreed to the goblin’s terms, and swore an oath to secrecy in this matter.

  “So be it.” Chief Ferrell clasped his hands behind his back and stepped away from the conference table.

  “Mars is bent on war and their diplomats parry with ours rather than parlaying for settlement. They wheedle down our patience hoping for us to either resign ourselves to the inevitable or succumb to frustration and lash out. Whatever their tactics, they are stalling for time while the pressure builds on the Crown.

  “Random, senseless violence against helpless and innocent targets foments fear in the populace, sows doubt in Nodlon’s leadership, and incites rebellion among the disaffecte
d. The strategy undermines the targeted community, and leaves the victims without a clear target for their fear and frustration. Injustices multiply and the civilian population divides itself into warring tribes.

  “For weeks we evaluated the possibility of just such a tactical strike against the morale of the people of Nodlon. A series of asymmetrical attacks would increase the pressure on our diplomats to sue for peace, and ironically play into the Martian’s plans for war. Now, we think the Martians have deployed just such an espionage team.

  “Recently, a group of black dwarfs ambushed Chief Inspector Lestrayed, Mr. Clay and Mr. Morgan. When the black dwarves attacked Inspector Lestrayed’s cruiser, they brought a military grade lightning cannon. At once we were convinced Martian spies were behind the attack. Fortunately, Inspector Lestrayed and his consultants survived. Mysteriously, the Inspector defeated the black dwarves and destroyed the cannon armed solely with a lightning pistol.

  “We immediately reviewed the reports filed by Inspector Lestrayed and his consultants concerning the Zodiac case. We focused on the murder of one Jezebel Steele, a sometime trade show coordinator with no prior record. Although the Inspector drew no conclusions, we felt his report suggests the use of an advanced technology we do not yet possess.

  “At the same time, we searched for the source of the lightning cannon used in the attack and discovered that the serial numbers matched those of a cannon missing from a secret stockpile several hundred miles north of Nodlon. The commanding officer reported the cannon missing and presumably stolen several weeks ago. An inquiry into possible court-martial proceedings against the commander and his staff had been underway since the report. Upon review of Inspector Lestrayed’s reports, we have temporarily suspended those proceedings.

  “While investigating a lead at an abandoned space dock belonging to Thornmocker Industries, the Inspector and several other witnesses encountered a suspect who identified himself as the Black Dwarf. After a brief, inconclusive gun battle, the Marie Celeste, a supertanker registered with Warburg Munitions was destroyed. Apparently, the attack was another attempt on the life of the Chief Inspector and his investigation team including his occult specialist, Mr. Clay.

  “Inspector Lestrayed believes this Black Dwarf is responsible for the missing dwarves, the murder of the dwarf maidens in the Zodiac case, and the military scale attempts on his life.

  “NOSS is inclined to agree.

  “Setting aside fanciful theories, we believe the Martian War Maker has penetrated Nodlon with an espionage team for the purpose of destroying morale. We believe the Black Dwarf is a spy sent as an advance guard to reconnoiter our defenses, probe our weaknesses, and undermine our resolve through sabotage.

  “The black dwarves in league with the Black Dwarf may be duped or they may under the influence of drugs developed by the Martian War Maker. Whatever their motives, they work for the Martians, and they cannot be stopped using police methods.

  “We intend to find the Black Dwarf using every means at our disposal. When we do, we will treat him as an enemy military asset, and we will terminate him with extreme prejudice. We have the resources and the training to do so, and we intend to do just that.

  “While we have great respect for the Inspector’s abilities as a homicide detective, Nodlon Yard is unprepared for this threat. If our assessment is correct, and the Black Dwarf is the leader of an espionage team sent by Mars, we very much doubt the Inspector’s capacity to make an arrest. The Black Dwarf is no ordinary criminal.

  “Nodlon Yard has already been advised, and I believe the investigation of the Zodiac case has been handed over to the Nodlon Defense Force. I’m sorry if this comes as news to you Chief Inspector. If you contact your superiors, they will confirm the change. No one holds you or your consultants responsible for the sabotage of the Marie Celeste at the Thornmocker space yard. Such an event is inconceivable for any ordinary criminal. Still, we cannot allow another such incident to take place.

  “Madam,” Chief Ferrell bowed, and resumed his seat.

  “Thank you, Chief Ferrell,” said the Proconsul. “These are no ordinary murderers. Moab lacks Nodlon’s resources, and the secrets available to the Octagon. Please share everything you have with NOSS. Give them your full cooperation. If you locate their hideout, I expect you to notify Chief Ferrell immediately. Captain Willoughby, you and your men are so directed. Is that understood?”

  “Absolutely, madam,” Cap said. “We have no desire to tangle with spies.”

  “Thank you Captain,” she said. “By no means is this a reflection on the Surete. Inspector Lestrayed, how will Nodlon Yard handle this news?”

  “Officially I can’t speak for the Yard, but I assure you, madam, the Octagon will have our full cooperation. If we stumble upon the nest of these vipers, the first call we make will be to Chief Ferrell.”

  They exchanged salutations and completed their business. Wiggles showed them out. They bid the portly moleman a somber goodbye and took their leave of the Moab Surete.

  Off the Case

  Normally, Nodlon Yard would be quiet at this hour. The day shift was over, and the evening shift had begun. Today though, movers labored with loaded carts, and police officers carried boxes out of their offices. Gumshoe dodged the pedestrians and bound into the building. In the lobby, he waved at the security guard, and took a lift.

  Stepping off the lift, old friends and colleagues waved. Many packed their belongings and personal effects. Others hurried to wrap up projects. Hardened veterans and rookies alike worried about the move to Iron Mountain. He wove through the hubbub.

  The division clerk had manned her desk admirably for years. She was a pretty white dwarf, but she rarely offered him good news.

  Before he reached the sanctuary of his office, she called, “Gumshoe!”

  He sighed, and made excuses, “Not now Nikki, I know my timesheet’s not ready, my paperwork hasn’t been done, and I’m late for dinner.” For emphasis, he waved his hands sadly.

  “Afraid not Gumshoe. Captain Barfly wants to see you.” She smiled wryly in that way she had of warning someone of really bad news. “And before you ask why, he’s probably taking you off the case.”

  “What?” Gumshoe groused. Ferrell had wasted no time. He had just heard about it in Moab, and now the scuttlebutt was in the rumor mill. It was no good. He would have to talk Barfly into going along. He had done it before, but bucking the city attorney’s office was not on par with bucking the Octagon.

  “Sorry, old-timer, I had nothing to do with it.” Nikki smiled sympathetically and he felt genuine compassion radiate from her. “I’m really sorry, Gumshoe. I know you’re trying to save lives.”

  “Later, Nikki,” he spun around and shot back to the lifts as fast as the crowd allowed.

  Officers loading moving boxes clogged the aisles. Respect for his grey hair parted his way, but the aisles were still an obstacle course. Rank had its privileges, but there was nowhere for the crowd to go. Gumshoe ducked into a stairwell.

  He launched himself up the stairs into an oncoming mob of tired paper pushers. He fought the press of bureaucrats seeking a faster route to the exit. He clambered up the stairs and onto the next floor. He pushed his way across the lobby and reached the cubicle bay. It was a small victory over the traffic. He weaved to Captain Barfly’s door and arrived breathing heavily. He knocked once, and opened the door without waiting for an invitation.

  “Come in,” called Barfly. “Oh, good it’s you Gumshoe! Thank you for coming. What’s the latest on the Zodiac murders?”

  “Barfly, are you thinking of removing me from this case? “

  “No, old man, calm down, I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort. It’s completely out of my hands. As of this afternoon, the Zodiac case belongs to a special operations team out of the Octagon. The whole kit and caboodle is their responsibility. The murdered girls, the missing dwarves, and especially the lightning cannon all belong to the boys at the Octagon now.”


  “But I have leads! We know their leader is a black dwarf, who styles himself a magician of sorts, and they’re using a gene therapy clinic called New Gem.”

  “Think man, you were nearly barbequed a few days ago. By your own account, if Jack Clay hadn’t been there, I’d have had to call Betty and tell her she’s a widow.” Barfly waved his hands. “This Black Dwarf thing is beyond us. If he’s the Zodiac killer, he’s left more bodies in the tunnels of Nodlon than your whole caseload last year. We need the military’s help.”

  “Those Octagon types will get a bunch of innocent dwarves killed,” said Gumshoe. The policeman’s jowls worked furiously. “The Black Dwarf turned innocent dwarves into some sort of zombies. His henchmen are under the influence of something. Jack doesn’t think it is magic, but I’m not so sure.”

  Barfly’s eyebrow shot up. “Shouldn’t Jack know if it’s magic?”

  “Jack’s good, but he’s conflicted or I’m not a cop. He thinks he’s the only magical person in the Solar System. Jack’s convinced he’s a mutation and he’s unique. He thinks the Black Dwarf is using a mind-altering drug or a mind-control technology. I think the killer weed’s using magic.”

  “Jack Clay is the only magician in the Solar System. Come on, old man, what makes you think the Black Dwarf is using magic?”

  “If an elf can be magical, Barfly, why not a dwarf? When we stunned the dwarves they returned normal. They don’t remember disappearing or committing any crimes. We can’t explain it. If Ferrell and his boys don’t use stun settings, they’ll murder plenty of innocent dwarves.”

  “Well, true Gumshoe, true. We’ll let them know your concerns. I’m sure we can get them to use stun once we can explain.”

  “Regulars yes, but those pinheads out of the Octagon think they’re Earth’s gift to Nodlon. We heard Chief Ferrell speak in Moab. He struck me as one of those pompous know-it-alls they pump out at the Academy. The Octagon’s gung-ho operations teams will just shoot them all.”

  “Gumshoe, I understand.” His old friend smiled sympathetically, and patted him on the back. “But it’s beyond me I tell you. The Commissioner called me himself. He wants you off this case before you get killed. The higher ups came down on him – came down hard, I think. They think we’ve underestimated the problem, and they’re taking it out of our hands. It’s the military’s problem now.”

  “They’re not detectives, Barfly. Yes, the Black Dwarf is a dangerous character, but where is his lair? What’s his motive? Is he working for Mars, or is he a free radical? If we’re going to save anyone we need answers.”

  “Martians, Gumshoe. That’s what the Octagon thinks anyway, and the Crown agrees. Give it a rest, old man. Homicide detectives have better things to do than becoming cannon fodder. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

  “What? Invent new forms for the uniforms to fill out? Locate missing pets? If you want a cat out of a tree, call the fire department.” Gumshoe heard the desperation in his own voice. “I’m getting old, but I’m not drooling.”

  “What was your last case, old man? Wasn’t it a domestic?”

  “Yes, it was a drunken elf who smacked his maid after she told him he had knocked her up.” He struggled with himself to control his temper. “Did you tell the Commissioner I’ve handled every last homicide in the city for over a decade, and I’ve solved every case for the last three years?”

  “Yes, I did old man,” said Barfly. “But the Commissioner reads your reports, too. On your last homicide, you caught the boy literally red-handed. He killed his girlfriend in another elf’s bed after she dumped him. You found blood on his nails, and he confessed. Not exactly the stuff of legend, Hercule Poirot.”

  “Criminals are stupid. You have to be stupid to hurt others.” Gumshoe snapped his suspenders, and pushed his fedora back. “For the first time in my career we have a super-villain on the loose right out of the late night vids, and I’m off the case? I’ve spent my life preparing for this case! And I’m off the case?”

  Barfly put his arm around Gumshoe’s shoulders. “Face it Gumshoe, they’re not going to let you have the Zodiac case. The Black Dwarf belongs to the Octagon. Don’t let your blood pressure get too high, old man, or you’ll pop a gasket.”

  “What about the Lovelace case? Or the case of the Lonely Vampire?” asked Gumshoe. “I solved those.”

  “Very good police work those were. But we have a vicious black dwarf on the loose murdering dwarf maidens. He’s not afraid to ambush police officers driving an armored cruiser. And in addition to those criminal accomplishments, he’s got access to military-grade lightning cannons. It’s just no good, old man. We’re on the brink of war, and this madman is adding to the tension. The whole city might explode.”

  Gumshoe took off his fedora, and combed his hair with his hand. “I can solve this case.”

  “Yes, I agree with you. You’ve got all the experience. You wrote half our training manuals. Yet they just don’t want you. They’re afraid the city will panic unless the military blows something up.”

  “Barfly, I came up here to ask for you to warn Nodlon. I want authorization to issue an alert. The agencies need to escort their female dwarves to and from work. When they’re not working, they have to keep their dorms locked until we catch the Black Dwarf.”

  “You really care don’t you? Taking those girl’s lives is beyond words. I know, I’m not blind, old man,” Barfly said. “Biots are people too.” He dropped his eyes to a memo on his desk. “Orders are orders.” He stabbed the memo with a finger. “To avoid a panic, the Crown issued a gag-order on the Zodiac case.” He wagged a finger at Gumshoe. “We’ve got our orders, Jacques, the case must be turned over to the Octagon, and there’s to be a complete blackout to the news media.”

  “Orders?” Gumshoe choked in dismay. “All of those maidens were younger than my boys. The Black Dwarf ripped their chips out, and drained their blood! You know what that means!”

  “Yes, I do, old man. Those maidens were no older than my son either. I don’t think their lives are worth any less. I’m sorry Gumshoe. Likely as not you’re right, but there’s nothing we can do.”

  Gumshoe flopped into a chair. Putting his satchel and his notepad on his lap, he put his face in his hands.

  Barfly patted him on the back again. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, “your Black Dwarf will keep on killing whether we warn anyone or not.”

  “It doesn’t make me feel better,” said Gumshoe. “We have to stop these murders before anyone else is killed.”

  “The Crown agrees with you. The Commissioner and I agree with you.” Barfly shuffled trying to relieve tension. “We only disagree as to the means. The Octagon has far more resources than we do. They’re probably flooding the sewers with troops as we speak.”

  “Those girls deserve justice, Barfly. They had hopes and dreams. The Black Dwarf destroyed their world and we can’t let him get away with it.”

  “Can’t work long in our line without seeing the good and the bad. The biots endure without hope. Their worlds matter to you, do they?” Barfly sighed. “Too often the synthetics are better people than the natural-born are. If Nodlon can’t give them justice in life, at least the Yard can find them justice in death. The Black Dwarf won’t get away with it much longer. The Octagon will find him and terminate him.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think the Yard needs to keep its hand in. I may be off the case, but the Octagon needs our crime labs, and our forensics teams. I can be a liaison.”

  Barfly assumed his usual posture for asserting his authority or issuing a reprimand.

  Gumshoe’s eyes narrowed, and he gripped the chair.

  The captain slouched and sighed. He looked at the memo, and then back at Gumshoe. “All right, old man, you’ve got it. You’re the Yard’s observer. But, play it straight and no leaks.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Barfly. I’ll be the soul of discretion.”

  “Come Gumshoe, let’s go to O’Malley’s.”
Barfly dragged him out of the chair. I’ll walk you down. Drop off your things in your office and call Betty. Blame me. I’ll call Greta and blame you.”

  “Why do I feel like I’ve sold my soul?” Gumshoe donned his fedora. “What’ll we do about the Black Dwarf?”

  “Tomorrow we will turn the case over to the Octagon, and they can deal with it.” Barfly stood in his doorway. He shrugged and threw his cloak over one arm. “Whatever you do, I’ll stand by you.” He hooked Gumshoe by the elbow and ushered the detective out. “Your hunches are better than most people’s facts, but feel free to change your mind. I’ve got a backlog of missing pets.”

  In the twilight, the sky was purple, and clouds were tinged with pink. O’Malley’s overlooked the south mall. They dodged traffic, passed the Courthouse, and entered the park. They crossed another street, and approached the Irish pub. A robot in a tuxedo opened the door.

  “Don’t worry, old man, you’ll feel better when I pour you out of a robo-cab three sheets to the wind.”

  Sacrifice of the First Born

  Nimrod faced his master. His crystal ball projected the Dragon Lord’s disembodied head into his lair. Forgotten trays of snacks surrounded him. His dwarves prostrated towards the dragon. He poised on the edge of his turntable and waited for his master to speak. He held his tongue lest he spark a display of the dragon’s cosmic powers with an ill-timed remark.

  “Very well, Nimrod, I trust you have bad news to report?” The dragon smirked with a twist of his deadly fangs.

  “Good, my lord, the wheels turn. The Proconsul of Moab steps into my trap. The dwarves failed us, and the mage cost us a squad of zombies. To pay for this, I shall take a baker’s dozen of Moab’s first born.”

  “Make it so, Nimrod.”

  “Yes, my lord, shall I stick to the plan or attack the mage?”

  “Stick to the plan. Step up the terror. Drive our enemies to desperate measures. Fear is their weakness. Divide them and set them against each other. When our spy launches the big lie, his friends will abandon him. Keep Phaedra’s son busy, and if he survives, he will come to you and meet his end.”

  “What of the mage, my lord?” Nimrod bowed. “Can we not turn him through his dreams?”

  The Dragon’s lip curled into a frown, and his whiskers twitched.

  “Cretaceous Clay is under protection. The enemy cloaks his spirit. None of my servants see his dreams. They know him only through the dreams of others. We cannot follow him when he is alone, nor read his true thoughts when he speaks.”

  “What weakness then can we exploit, my lord? If he is Phaedra’s son, how shall we defeat him?”

  “Fear not Nimrod, you are greater. He has no idea what he is, and he has no one to train him. The days of the Nephilim passed away in the last age and none of the ancient masters survive to show him the way. Had he a master to teach him the arts and drive him to his limits, still he would not be greater than you. Soon, you shall meet him in mortal combat, and you shall defeat him. As the days of men are numbered, so are his days. As the triumphs of the Black Dwarf are counted, so his defeat shall be your triumph.”

  “As you command,” Nimrod bowed low.

  The crystal ball darkened, and the dragon vanished. He re-tied the sash of his bathrobe and stepped off his turntable. He kicked his servants, and they hurried back to work.

  Running and scrambling to resume their duties, their ankle bells jingled. He smirked with delight. Mesmerized by the ancient magic, their glassy eyes betrayed their imprisoned souls.

  He waved, and his patio door slid wide. He stepped into the cool night, leaned over his parapet, and gazed upon his domain. His lair occupied the topmost suite of Devil’s Tower. He savored the irony.

  From the tower, he enjoyed a view of the whole of the Ninth Ring. Lake Bali shimmered in the light of the Moon. Waves broke on the barrier reef at the edge of his lagoon. The surf crashed on the beach, and the sound soothed his nerves. In the distant jungle, the cries of werewolves drifted on the wind.

  A dwarf dressed in an Amazon costume waited at his side. He flagged her, and the wench approached.

  “Bring my caster,” he said.

  She bowed, and trotted off, and her bells jingled as she bounced. When she returned, his caster snuggled between the grapes and slices of Muenster.

  “Sargon,” he said.

  A black dwarf appeared on the caster’s vid screen. He sported a Captain’s cap with scrambled eggs on the brim.

  “Master Nimrod,” Sargon answered.

  “We need more sacrifices to fuel our plans. Those dwarf maidens opened the gate, but not for long. We need not just innocent souls, but the first fruits. We need to sacrifice first born.”

  “Yes my lord.”

  “Ready my airship, and tell Helter and Skelter to meet me at the airport at my usual hour.”

  “As you command, master.”

  Eldad and Medad

  “Goodnight, Shotgun. Leave the mess. Get some rest. I have a feeling Gumshoe isn’t through with us, and we need some sleep. I’m so tired I could sleep through a hurricane.”

  Jack headed for the master suite. He changed into his pajamas. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His corporate logo was embroidered on his bathrobe. A pang of guilt for his vanity struck him, and he returned the robe to its hanger. Lying on his bed, he closed his eyes.

  How can I relax when the Black Dwarf is still on the loose? Dwarf maidens are losing their lives, and I’m just lying here. He tossed and turned. He tried to relax and let his mind go blank.