Goblin Precinct (Dragon Precinct) (16 page)

No, better to do things peacefully. He just hoped these two were up for it.

After a moment, the Barstow boys stepped aside. “All right, Kelly, we’ll do it for Ma.”

Borak stayed on the porch while Walt opened the door.

“Thanks, boys,” Kellan said. “Old Mags’d be proud of you.”

Torin said to Brenn, “You four stay out here. Keep an ear out in case this goes poorly.”

Danthres meanwhile walked up to Kellan. “Not bad. That was almost intelligent.”

Kellan actually rolled his eyes, though he waited until Danthres couldn’t see him. Torin gave him an encouraging smile. He would indeed make a good detective, if this was any indication. Not that Torin was expecting an opening any time soon. Iaian was still a couple of years from retirement, Grovis seemed to be permanently ensonced no matter how incompetent he was, and Dru and Hawk were still fairly young.

They entered a sitting room, where two more incredibly large young men were seated, playing dice on a wooden table. Amazingly, these two looked almost exactly like Borak and Walt, except one was missing an eye and wearing an eyepatch to cover it, and the other was missing the fingers from his left hand (but not the thumb).

Eyepatch and Fingers both stood up upon their entrance. “Hey, Walt, whadja let ’em in for?”

“It’s all right,” Walt said. “It’s Kelly.”

They both stared at Kellan for a second, then all three eyes widened. “Shit, Kelly, what’re
you
doin’ in guard armor?” Fingers asked.

“Right now? Needin’ to talk to Kempog. We need to know about two people he knows, Brindy and Elko.”

“I dunno, I don’t think Kempog’ll—”

Walt interrupted Eyepatch. “It’s okay, Lam, I got this. C’mon, Kelly, Kempog’s in the dining room.”

Torin walked past the two Barstow boys, who were as big as their brothers or cousins or whomever outside.

“You have to wonder,” Danthres muttered, “if this Mags person drowns her offspring at birth if they aren’t big enough.”

Torin snorted.

Walt led them through another room, and another, before reaching the dining room, which adjoined the kitchen. The house was built with each room following the next, with no hallways, a style Torin had never liked.

Inside the dining area, two dwarves were sharing a stew. Iaian stepped forward and said, “Kempog, you’re coming with us to the castle. We need to talk to you about some things.”

One dwarf—Torin could only assume it was Kempog—stood up and ignored Iaian, instead glowering at Walt. “For Xinf’s sake, what the hell am I paying you for? You keep asking me if I want Urgoth to come inside, but you let
these
people in?”

“They woulda taken us to the hole! And then Ma wouldn’t love us no more!”

Kempog put his head in his hands.

Danthres smiled. “It is
so
difficult to find good help.”

Fanthral then decided to step forward. “You will answer for your crimes, dwarf!”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Kempog asked. “You got no business here.”

“Actually, we do,” Iaian said. “We need to talk to you about a guy named Elk—”

He was interrupted by Fanthral, who said, “You poisoned an elf lord! Who is your employer?”

Torin winced. Fanthral was not helping.

Kempog shoved a tiny finger into Fanthral’s chest. “I ain’t workin’ for
nobody
! Not ever again!”

“Yeah, with Bliss in your pocket, I don’t doubt it,” Iaian said. “Why else would you have the love children of a troll and a dockworker out there?”

Torin, though, was focused on a door to his right. The structure didn’t have a second floor, and the dining room ran the width of the house, so that door had to lead to a basement.

He walked toward it, prompting the other dwarf, Urgoth, to speak for the first time. “Oi! You can’t go down there!”

“I am afraid, good sir dwarf, that we may go where we wish when investigating crimes for the Lord and Lady, and we have come across a large number of them relating to Bliss of late.”

Urgoth shook his tiny head. “You ain’t gettin’ me, Lieutenant. I ain’t sayin’ you ain’t
allowed
down ’ere, I’m sayin’ you
can’t
go down ’ere. Wizard’s got it all warded up and such-like.”

“Dammit, Urgoth!” Kempog screamed.

Danthres walked over to Torin. “Warded, huh? I
hate
magic.”

Torin scratched his thick red beard. “It does pose a bit of a problem. This confirms that Kempog is working with a wizard, and we’ll need to question him. For that matter, so will Boneen.”

“
That
ought to be amusing,” Danthres said with a snort.

“The question is how to get a warded door open. I’m loath to bring Boneen down here for that.”

“He’s had all night to rest,” Danthres said.

Meanwhile, Kellan was leading a complaining Kempog toward the front of the house, and Grovis was doing the same with Urgoth.

While Torin was trying to figure out how much he’d need to tip the youth squad to get Boneen here as fast as possible, Danthres said, “Someone’s coming up the stairs.”

Torin’s less sensitive hearing didn’t hear it until the footfalls were almost at the door, which was then thrown open.

Behind it was someone dressed in an approximation of the baggy robes worn by wizards, with fingertips smudged with the residue of spell components, and vaguely smelling like soil as they all did.

This one, however, did not have a beard, which was traditional—mainly because a far more prevalent convention was being thwarted with this particular wizard.

She had curly brown hair that—as was typical for a wizard—flew out in all directions. Her round face was centered with a button nose, and she had prominent cheekbones. Her figure was muted by her loose clothing, but she was definitely a woman.

“What is all this noise, Kempog? I told you, if you want me to perfect Bliss in time for Gavin’s shipment, I need quiet.”

Torin looked at Danthres. Danthres looked at Torin. They both looked at the woman.

However, it was Grovis who asked, “Are you a wizard?”

“Of course I am, you idiot. And you would appear to be detectives in the Castle Guard. You have no business here, as we have done nothing that violates the Lord and Lady’s laws.”

“But—” Grovis was goggling now. “But, you’re—you’re a
woman
!”

“No wonder they made you a detective.” She turned to Torin and Danthres. “I presume you two are the brains of the outfit?”

“Lieutenant Torin ban Wyvald, and this is my partner Lieutenant Danthres Tresyllione. And I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us.”

“My name is Morenn, and I told you that neither I nor Kempog have broken any laws.”

“Maybe,” Danthres said. “Yes, Bliss is legal, but actions relating to it aren’t—including murder.”

Torin moved toward her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you come with me.”

Morenn folded her arms over her chest. “And if I refuse?”

“Then we return with our magickal examiner. He’s a member of the
Brotherhood
of Wizards.”

At that, Morenn’s face fell. “Very well, I will accompany you. But I see no reason to waste time on foot.”

She gestured, and they all disappeared.

FIFTEEN

“CAPTAIN!”

Osric sighed heavily. He’d been enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning, at least in part because he knew it couldn’t possibly last. It never did.

From the time he was old enough to hold a sword, Osric had been a fighter. At his parents’ urging, he enlisted in the army so that the fighter could become a soldier, and therefore put his instincts and his desires to a more noble purpose.

But the life of a fighter, or of a soldier, or of a guard captain, was almost never a quiet one. So when an opportunity like this morning came, with all his detectives off on cases first thing, Osric always made sure to appreciate the silence.

Micah’s voice echoing across the squadroom broke it, of course. Something always did, and this one had actually lasted longer than most.

With a heavy sigh, he got up from his chair and went out into the still-empty squadroom. Micah was standing at the western door that led to the rest of the castle. Of Jonas there was no sign, which Osric took as his sergeant recognizing that the captain wished to be left alone unless it was absolutely necessary and making himself accordingly scarce.

Whatever snide comment Osric was going to make, however, died on his lips as soon as he saw the stricken look on Micah’s face. A former sailor who had been one of the few survivors on the
Erstwhile
when it was trapped in the Garamin during the last hurricane, it took a great deal to faze this particular guard.

“What is it, Micah?” Osric prompted when no further words were forthcoming.

“It’s—I’m sorry, sir, but it’s Lieutenant Hawk.”

Even as he asked, “What about him?” Osric knew, just
knew
, what the answer would be. He’d sent far too many people to their deaths over the years not to know the signs.

“He’s—he’s dead, sir. It happened at the bank. That’s all I know.”

“Mitre’s bones,” Osric whispered. It was an oath he hadn’t uttered since Lieutenant Linder was killed trying to break up a brawl on the docks. Osric’s relationship with Mitre was complicated, as he’d had a hard time maintaining his belief during his life as a soldier, but whenever a comrade died, he always commended that person’s soul to Mitre’s care with that oath, taught to him by his father.

Just as he was about to cross the squadroom, a flash of light burst forth from somewhere inside it. Osric held up a hand to shield his eye.

When the light faded, Osric saw four detectives, five guards, two dwarves, General Fanthral, and a curly-haired human woman in brown robes. Since Boneen was nowhere in sight—and was down in his lair in any case, Osric assumed one of the dwarves was the wizard. But no, they were both restrained, one by Kellan, the other by Grovis, and you couldn’t cast Teleport unless your hands were free.

“Now then,” the woman said, “if you’ll excuse me.”

Then she made the same gesture that Osric had seen mages make dozens of times.

A second later, magickal bands of energy appeared as suddenly as the light from the Teleport Spell had, engulfed the woman’s hands and feet, pulling them apart as far as possible, and suspended her half a leg above the floor.

Tresyllione was now doubled over, wretching onto the floor, as she always did when she was teleported. One of the guards was doing likewise.

“What in Mitre’s name is going on here?” Osric asked, his second invocation of Mitre in the past four years.

“Release me this
instant
!” the curly haired woman screamed.

Osric looked at ban Wyvald. “Is that a
female
mage?”

“It would seem so, yes, Captain.”

The woman snarled. “Are all of the Castle Guard this stunned by the obvious?”

“No,” ban Wyvald said, “but we do comment when we encounter something we’ve never seen before.”

Osric rubbed his temples with his fingertips. He’d gone from blessed quiet to insanity in less than a minute.

Just as he was about to speak, Boneen waddled in. “What has happened here, why has my defense spell been—?” He looked at the woman. “Who are you?”

“My name is Morenn, and I demand that you release me from this trap!”

Boneen stared at her for a moment. “That ‘trap’ is activated automatically when someone other than me uses magic within these walls. Did you purchase a spell?”

“Hardly,” she said contemptuously.

“She
is
a wizard, Boneen,” ban Wyvald said. “In fact, she is the wizard you have been seeking, as she’s responsible for Bliss. It would seem that she created it, and Kempog here,” he pointed at one of the dwarves, “is selling it for her.”

Kempog spoke up, trying and failing to leap out of Kellan’s grip. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’
for
her—we’re workin’ together! We’re
partners
!”

“Shut
up
, Kempog!” Morenn cried.

“This is very bad,” Boneen muttered.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Osric straightened up, hoping to regain control of the situation. “All right, listen to me, all of you. I was just informed that Lieutenant Hawk was killed.”

That resulted in a cacophony of utterances, screams, shocked cries, and whatnot.

“
Quiet
!” Osric yelled at a volume he hadn’t had to use since the war.