Midnight Monster Club

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “They call me Sprite.”

  “No handles. What’s your real name?”

  She sighed. “Isabel.”

  “Isabel? That’s my brother Monty. I’m Digger.”

  “I thought we were sharing real names.”

  He ignored the comment. “We’ll need an hour of your time, Isabel, and then you can run off and we can all pretend none of this ever happened.”

  Monty’s face was pale. Then he threw up on the floor.

  Digger sighed. “Make it two hours.”

  DIGGER WAS GRATEFUL to discover back alley access next to the burned building. He paused to listen and watch the alley. It was quiet and empty. He wheeled the cart to the back door of the tavern and uncovered the body he had taken from the brothel. The faster he could get the corpse of the tourist away the better.

  Inside, Isabel had already wrapped the body up in a dusty rug taken from the center of the common room.

  Monty was staring slack-jawed at the mess. Half the dishes were spilled behind the bar and now there was blood on the dark wood floor.

  Digger snapped his fingers to get his attention. “Hey. Get soapy water and a stiff brush. We’re going to need a lot of it. Grab every rag you can.”

  Monty nodded but then he hesitated, looking freshly horrified by the rolled-up body.

  “Snap out of it. Get the water.”

  Isabel’s honey-colored eyes narrowed. “Leave him alone. He’s in shock.”

  “Fear and shock are different. If we want to avoid getting caught, he’s going to have to do what I say.”

  She moved to pick up one side of the body. “Monty will be fine. He just needs a minute. Grab the other end.”

  They shuffled with the body through the back room and into the alley, where they flopped it into the cart. Digger replaced the tarp and tucked it in around the sides.

  “The sword has to go too,” he said.

  As he followed her back inside, he saw she had the tourist’s coin purse slipped into her belt.

  “Really think having a dead man’s purse on you is a good idea?”

  “He won’t need it. Now give me my watch.”

  Digger picked up the sword and pushed it into Monty’s arms. “Put it in my cart under the tarp.”

  Sword in hand, Monty moved unsteadily out the back.

  Isabel held her hand out. “That takes care of that. My watch?”

  “We’re not done. You’re going to help clean first.”

  “You’re just a bully, aren’t you? Have you always treated your brother this way?”

  “It’s none of your business. We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. I would have slipped away. But you had to stab him with a...what was that thing?”

  “A cheese knife.”

  “Cheese knife. Right. Give me the watch and I’ll start cleaning. But not before.”

  “Scrub first. Then you get your spoils.” He removed the watch from his pocket and peeled the paper away. The poor lighting didn’t do it justice. He imagined how much it would sparkle in sunlight. Imagined how much it must be worth. It was still gaudy, though.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” she warned.

  As a show of good faith, he set the watch on the counter. She pushed through the swinging kitchen door and then emerged with a bucket and water. With so much food on the floor, it would be impossible to mop until it was swept up.

  Again, the front door banged open. Digger was expecting to see another fel ready for a card game who he’d have to shoo away, or perhaps Monty, having come around from the back.

  His stomach gave a squeeze.

  Standing in the doorway was a man he had seen every Saturday at the gallows but had avoided for many months.

  “Apologies for slamming the door,” the sheriff said, “but I saw this notice about a card game.”

  Chapter Four

  “I THOUGHT YOU LOCKED the door,” Isabel said softly.

  Digger realized he hadn’t. With all the excitement, he had forgotten and now he had a new problem to deal with.

  The sheriff had dark hair and darker eyes beneath a broad-rimmed green felt hat. On his belt he wore a cudgel and a dagger, even though presumably he was noble-born and could have kept a sword on him. His piercing gaze took in the room as he stepped into the light. “With curfew, a game where your kind is invited at an hour like this is courting trouble.”

  Digger cleared his throat. “Yes sir, we know that now. The game’s canceled. Everyone has gone home and we’re cleaning up the establishment for the owner.”

  “And the owner of the place is...?”

  “Lady Sofia. She’s asleep.”

  “There’s no problem here, sir,” Isabel said and gave a curtsy.

  “Oh, my, did I say there was?” The sheriff paused and closed his eyes. Smelled the air. “Is that bacon?”

  He hovered over the bar and the remaining intact dishes. He sniffed before selecting one of the bacon-wrapped clams, which he dipped into the red sauce before popping it in his mouth.

  “Delicious.” He ate another. “My compliments to the chef.”

  Isabel was trying to mouth something to Digger but he ignored her.

  “Fetch you something to drink, sir?” Digger asked.

  The sheriff took a cloth napkin from a stack and dabbed his lips. “I thought this establishment was closed.”

  “Under renovation. The cook is new and wanted to try out some recipes.”

  Digger made a quick assessment of what was available. One shelf had a few bottles of spirits. On the back counter sat a small keg with a tap dripping foam.

  “A glass of beer then? For you and your men?”

  “I’m alone. And no, not while on duty. Have to keep a clear head. So what was the game tonight?”

  “Dealer’s choice.”

  The sheriff peered over the bar. “Looks like a waste of food on the floor. What happened here?”

  Isabel kept her head low as she placed the bucket down on the worst of the bloodstains. “There was a mishap and a small disagreement. It was settled, but the mood was spoiled.”

  “Best thing, then. I’d hate to be the one who casts a shadow on your festivities by sending you all home. Shame, really. Your kind deserves to enjoy yourselves from time to time. A game night is better than a bacchanal, which will catch the ire of those more faithful pureblood neighbors. But not many neighbors here to offend, are there?”

  “No, there aren’t,” Digger said. He watched the sheriff carefully. “We’re cleaning up. We’re not making noise. There’s been no complaint.”

  “Yes, yes. ‘So why is this lawman here,’ you’re thinking. Curfew is for the city watch to handle. As you may have heard, the duke has assigned me here to uphold his house’s law on the island. Diregloom has become something of a prime focus of the duke, as his subjects and even his family enjoy the island’s many temptations. But the law’s the law and the duke can’t be viewed as being lax.”

  “The Dragon and Rose isn’t even open. When the renovation work is done, I’m sure Lady Sofia will file all the necessary paperwork.”

  “Again, not my purview. I’ve been here a few months and still feel unacquainted with the city, the island, and its people. In Bahia, your kind and mine don’t intermingle much since the edict. But Diregloom has fel and pureblood shoulder to shoulder, in work and sometimes in play. The youth of Bahia speak of this place as an attraction. Is it the lure of strange flesh? Escaping parental oversights? The danger of the catacombs or the thrills of its blood sport? I honestly don’t know.”

  Digger’s jaw clenched. “Loom Island was ours.”

  “That’s changed recently, hasn’t it? Queen Claudia has finally succumbed to pressure. Curfews. Stricter laws. Must be a shame for you. Quite the adjustment.”

  “We’re happy in our service,” Isabel said, her eyes still on the floor.

  “‘The sleep of the laborer is sweet,’ yes? I wish I could say that was true. I
barely sleep anymore since being assigned here.”

  Monty emerged from the back room. He gave a bow but looked like a mouse caught in lantern light.

  The sheriff smiled. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time. This place has promise. Those appetizers are a keeper. Again, my compliments to the chef.” He paused.

  At first Digger thought he was reaching for him and backed away, his hands ready to ward off an attack. But the man picked up the watch from where it lay between two of the dishes.

  “And what is this?”

  The sheriff lifted it out of the paper to admire it.

  “Someone left it here,” Digger said quickly.

  “Apparently. Such a treasure wouldn’t come from a fel pocket. Unless, of course, that fel took it from a pureblood.”

  He turned it over and tapped its face before wrapping it again. Then he slid it into his pocket.

  Isabel took a step towards him. “That’s not yours.”

  “Obviously not. But whoever lost it will no doubt be heart-stricken until they find it again. Such a treasure isn’t safe just lying about. I’m sure there’s many an unsavory type who would make off with it. I’ll make inquiries. If you come upon its owner, send word to the stockade. That way, the watch and whoever lost it will be reunited.”

  Digger motioned Isabel back as the sheriff headed to the door. She looked like she was ready to charge after him.

  The sheriff paused. “Soap and hot water.”

  “What?” Digger asked.

  “For your stain behind the bar. It looks like spilled cocktail sauce on the wood. Use plenty of soap and a little elbow grease. Gets out the most persistent spots.”

  He exited. Monty hurried past and slid a bolt across the door.

  Isabel squared off with Digger, scowling. “He took it? You let him take it?”

  “There was no ‘letting’ about it. We’re lucky. He has it now and it’s out of our hands. That’s a bucket of trouble that we just avoided.”

  “But it’s mine.”

  “You stole it fair and square, right? Brought trouble down on us. This solves it, once I get rid of the body.”

  “It doesn’t solve anything. I needed that to sell. It would have set me up. I risked everything getting it, and you let it walk out of here.”

  “Maybe you should have killed him,” Monty said.

  Digger looked at his brother, not believing what he had heard.

  “He’ll remember where he got it when the watch’s owner makes it known it’s missing. We’re still in trouble. So why not kill him?”

  “Because it doesn’t work like that,” Digger said.

  “It did when the first guy came in here.”

  “That was different. We didn’t have a choice. You don’t get to even suggest that.”

  “Monty’s right,” Isabel said. “Why not kill him? He’s alone. I’d have my watch back. It eliminates the chance he returns to arrest both of you.”

  “And what if he was lying and had a squad of men waiting outside? What if the city guards know where he is? Get serious. At least right now we have time to figure out what to do.”

  Isabel moved towards the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To follow him.”

  “Don’t. We have a mess here to clean and you’re going to help.”

  “Are you stopping me from leaving?”

  “Digger, let her go,” Monty said.

  He raised his hands as if surrendering.

  Isabel went to the door and placed her fingers on the bolt. Hesitated. “If you help me get it back, you both might stay out of trouble.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Digger asked.

  “We tidy up here like you want. Bury the body. And then we go find the sheriff and see if we can steal the watch back from him before he finds out who I stole it from.”

  Chapter Five

  WHILE MONTY AND ISABEL cleaned, Digger began to scratch at a piece of paper.

  Isabel paused to dab sweat from her brow. “What are you doing? We could use your help.”

  “Burying someone means paperwork. I need two forms for both the corpses in my cart.”

  “About that. I couldn’t help but notice the other body. You move around the city with a corpse?”

  “You think they just vanish on their own when a boy or girl in one of your brothels gets killed or overdoses?”

  Her eyes flared. “You think I’m a prostitute?”

  “Educated guess. You don’t look like a factory worker with those painted nails.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you stole something no smart thief would lay their hands on in a hundred lifetimes.”

  She snatched his form away and squinted. “What does this even say? Is anyone expected to read this?”

  “It’s a burial order. It lists the name of the deceased along with where they were found and then what plot they’re being placed in.”

  “Unknown has a ‘k’ in it.”

  He took the paper back. “I’m the only one who will actually read it, but the paper needs to be filled out for the cemetery keeper. Plus it gives me something to give to any guard who stops me.” He tucked the page away into his shirt pocket. “I’m going. Finish up here. Monty, what about Lady Sofia?”

  “She’s never up before late morning. We have time. You’re coming back?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to be okay. Just relax.”

  His brother nodded as he collected a stack of broken dishes.

  Digger went out back. In the shadows of the alley his cart might have been filled with any number of goods. The hour would raise suspicions. Only those fel with legal dispensation could be out before the end of the third watch.

  A large shadow moved at the opposite side of the cart.

  “Who’s there?”

  The stranger reached into the cart and picked up the sword.

  Digger began to approach but hesitated. The figure was almost two feet taller than he was, and twice as wide.

  “Busy night tonight,” a gruff voice said.

  “This is gravedigger’s work. Get out of here.”

  “Well, then you get the prize of a rather fine blade. One might assume the deceased’s family would want it.”

  “This is none of your business. Put it in the cart.”

  “Or? Will you call the sheriff back? Go on then. I’ll wait.”

  “What do you want?”

  The large figure chuckled. He tucked the blade under a massive arm and fumbled in a pocket before producing a piece of paper. It was too dark to read, but Digger recognized the rough brown sheet. It was another bill advertising the poker game.

  “Game’s off.”

  “Yeah, I guessed. If this is what happens to the losers, what do the winners get?”

  “I’ll tell you what you get if you don’t leave.”

  He hoped his threat would work. The large fel before him was an ogre, one of the rare giants who lived in the desert east of Duke Tito’s lands. Most had been hunted down and murdered, but there were a few still living in the city.

  “I don’t think I’ll go anywhere just yet, my friend. In fact, you’re just the kind of people I was hoping to find at an after-hours poker game.”

  The ogre got closer. Digger adopted a fighting stance, feet spread with hands out and packed into fists.

  “Whoa, hey! I was just going to accompany you inside for a moment so we can have a conversation that doesn’t include two corpses staring up at us.”

  “Put the sword down now.”

  The ogre grunted and made a show of tucking the sword neatly away beneath the tarp. “I suppose it’s a fair gratuity for your work. You get their boots too?”

  “Say your piece.”

  “I’ve never been to a gastropub. Let’s step inside and you can pour me a drink.”

  “No. We talk out here.”

  The ogre looked him over. “You even a fel? Figured you were because of the cart which smel
ls of dirt, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “What does it matter? It’s none of your business.”

  Before Digger could react, the ogre’s hand shot out and clamped on his throat. He was slammed against a wall, his feet dangling. As the hand squeezed, Digger flailed to peel the iron fingers away. He couldn’t breathe. The ogre was choking the life from him.

  “You get to give orders during the day, pureblood,” the ogre hissed, “but the night belongs to us.”

  Digger got a hand on the ogre’s face. Tried to hook his thumb into his eye, but the ogre turned his head aside. He was growing weaker. The world faded.

  “Halfblood,” Digger gasped.

  The ogre grunted as he studied Digger’s face. “Oh yeah. I see it now. Those are fel eyes.”

  With the last of his strength, Digger slapped at the hand. The ogre released him. Digger collapsed to the floor of the alleyway, sucking in air as he coughed.

  “Now about that beer you were going to get me.”

  Digger could only nod. He followed the ogre back into the bar.

  Chapter Six

  THE CHAIR PROTESTED beneath the ogre’s weight. Dark tattoos ran up both tan arms. His mostly bare head retained wisps of fine dark hair. He wore a pleasant smile on his face as he surveyed the common room.

  Digger sat across from him and scowled. Isabel leaned against the bar, her arms folded. Her expression was as sour as Digger’s.

  Monty set a mug of beer down before the ogre and took a step back.

  The ogre sipped and smacked his lips. “This a small beer? Don’t you have anything stronger?”

  Digger massaged his sore neck. “You have your beer. Now tell us what you want.”

  “I’m Sprat Hellard. I saw your notice for poker players. Fel, ogres, and goblins welcome? I’m in. Although there’s only a few of my kind and I’ve never seen a goblin. Maybe there’s a few in the city I don’t know about. Heard they’re short.”

  “You’re not here for a card game.”

  “Alright, fair enough. What I am doing is looking to recruit like-minded fel who are interested in improving their circumstances.”