By Fleedleflump
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
I opened the door to an odour with a physical presence. It smelled like a good night out - more specifically, like the various fluids one wakes up amongst in the early hours of the next morning. You know - that moment where you're not sure if the sensation in your throat is dried vomit, a poor kissing choice from the night before, or your stomach trying to escape. Your brain feels like the ringer in the town crier's bell and your joints are stiffer than a corpse in a harem ... And some bastard nearby is cooking bacon.
Sergeant Mastik's face turned to me, all burning eyes and twiddled moustache. His narrow features and lanky frame gave him the look of a desert insect but the expression could have been stolen from a vulture. If poshness and intensity had a child, they'd name him - well, this was him, standing before me, blinking as though I was too bright for his eyes.
"Please close the door," he said. "I need the gloom to discern intent."
"Are you sure? It smells like a year-old brothel room without wash facilities. And who's cooking the hog roast?"
Not even the ghost of a smile touched his lips. Even the young watchman standing behind Mastik kept a straight face. Tough crowd. "I must see the room how the killer did. I need to get inside his head. This was not a crime committed in the light."
"Trust me - there isn't much in most killers' heads. Just grey mush and bad intentions." I let the door shut out the morning, leaving me in a cramped abode that was essentially one room. Two straw mats occupied one corner, watched over by a rough table with two rickety chairs. The floor was compacted dirt with a small rug in the middle. A stone hearth was probably the most valuable item here, and was built with the corresponding amount of care, a single pot braced above the flames.
And then there were the bodies.
One was stapled to an ancient rocking chair by so many arrows, I was only marginally sure it was a woman - albeit a pincushion woman. The other ... well, he'd fought, presumably. His arm was roasting in the fire and the rest of him took me a while to locate - pinioned to the ceiling by enough timber that the nearby forest must've had a new clearing.
"Tom and Winny Miller," said Mastik, his voice croakier than a dying frog. "They deserve justice."
I nodded, feeling something angry flopping in my guts like a burning tapeworm. "You'll get no argument from me. Whoever did this is either colder than a snow suppository or as mad as a box of goblins."
Those intense eyes turned on me once again. I swear - there was almost a smile hiding beneath them. "Are you a trained criminal profiler?"
"No, I've just fought a lot of weirdos in my time." I glanced again at the bodies. "I'm all for helping you out, here, but what exactly do you need the Companions for?"
Mastik dismissed the rookie watchman with a flick of his head and waited until the young guy was out of the dwelling. "The hypernatural is at work here." Distaste twisted his lips. I know it was distaste because he looked like he just ate yesterday's Jolly Jester breakfast. From the rubbish heap. With a slobbery bite already taken out of it. And bits stuck to- You get the point.
"Seems plausible," I said, looking up. "That, or some inventive murderers on stilts with very itchy bow fingers." He was peering at me like it might tell him my life story. I held up my hands. "I'm not taking the piss - honest. I'm just being flippant. I want to catch these guys - trust me."
"The hypernatural is at work," he repeated. "And my hands are tied by the gimp."
I blinked, caught off guard for a moment. "Hey man, what you do behind closed doors is your own concern - I won't judge."
"No, the GIMP. The Gnome Initiative for Meritorious Policing. It's an agreement preventing us from using magic to solve criminal cases. It's seen as cheating, apparently, and the gnomes consider it disrespectful. Of course, the criminal element is bound by no such accord." He shrugged - the most colloquial thing I'd seen him do. "Your group has a reputation for getting the job done. I have leave to contract out services where it may be beneficial to my investigation. I'd like to hire the Companions. You will be thoroughly recompensed."
He walked closer, until those eyes almost met my own and his moustache quivered like a rodent overflowing with impotent rage. "I'll keep investigating the way I know. You do what you do. I don't care how you achieve it. Avenge this poor family. Bring them justice." A long breath exited through his nose, billowing bristles. "Do what I can't do. Catch these bastards."
*****
Morning in Pennylast is like having the bag pulled off your head after being kidnapped - you don't know what you're going to see. It might be a cheering crowd singing you an embarrassing song, or a jeering one waiting to see you hanged. It could be a dark room full of hard bastards with sticks or a dusty street strewn with dead bodies. I mean, once, it was a day where everything was blue except for a rainbow-hued vortex in the sky - it turned out a local Commseer got into an argument with a gnarly witch over who's magic was more valid and they forgot other people had to live with the consequences of their squabbling. It took the Gnome Council many days to tidy that one up and explain to both parties that neither one's magic was, in fact, worth a toss.
Oh, and I know what you're thinking (no, not that), and yes - I do get kidnapped quite a lot.
Anyway, today, Pennylast was a relatively normal trading town. I strode through the bustling market and its questionable smells on the way to meet my crew. Being built on a convergence of two roads, its population was a mixture of traders (in every commodity imaginable), fighters and low-level Commseers, whose ability to communicate telepathically over distance made them semi-valuable. Of course, the damage it did to their minds rendered most of them nuttier than schizophrenic squirrel poo.
A town crier was doing his best to be heard over bartering, fights and the odd mugging, saying something about plans for new buildings and a crackdown on organised crime.
I felt sure if that was going to be relevant later, he'd have made himself heard more clearly.
*****
"Okay," I said, dealing the metal pins across the tavern table like cards. "Here are your Sheriff's badges - no sniggering." My fellow adventurers picked up their brooches with varying levels of suspicion. Harry - my dwarven getaway carter - pinned his enthusiastically to a jerkin pocket, beard bristling with pride. Elven wizard Lindon picked his up gingerly between thumb and forefinger. Opening his robe with the other hand, he dropped the badge into an internal pocket. His nose was so twisted, he looked like he'd encountered a pleasant-smelling drill bit.
I held up my hands in exasperation. "Lindon, it's a badge of authority - not a cowpat."
"Uh take a wee bit o' pleasure from bein' the right side o' the law," said Harry.
Lindon sniffed. "Well, it makes me feel dirty."
The Dragon's Tail was vaguely busy, by which I mean there was one other table occupied and it was the other side of the common room. It hasn't changed much since our last adventure - the floors are more alive than the patrons, the beer is cheap and the smell could get work as a bouncer. In the weeks since we rescued the gnome party, it's become our base of operations, and Olaf - the innkeep - doesn't complain.
I'm Rozlyn, by the way, and you're following along on my adventures. We've been doing small jobs around the town of Pennylast. Frighten a cheating husband, retrieve stolen goods, and one memorable time that saw us competing in underground dogfighting tourneys - as the dogs (it's a long story). Anyway, back to business.
I looked at my final team member. Terence was nominally human, if humans were constructed from slabs of meat with iron skeletons. He hailed from a tribe of barbarians who considered most human traits weak - you know, traits like talking and empathy. Oh, and not killing people for random reasons like walking funny or breathing in an offensive manner. On formal days, he dressed up in a fur loin cloth, apparently for the purpose of holding his weaponry more than any other reason.
"Erm," I looked him up and down. "I suppose you could wear your badge in your hair?"
Terence shrugged, opened the Sheriff's medallion, and pushed the pin unceremoniously through one nipple. The others sucked in breaths and my fingers gripped the table edge in response to a wibbly feeling that danced on the bottom of my tummy.
"Dirt's bumholes, you're a wee nutter!" roared Harry.
Olaf chose that moment to arrive with a tray of spicy root vegetables. He took one look at the blood trickling down Terence's chest and toppled over backwards with a percussive crash.
"Pain's not real," said Terence. "That's what the tribe Dadboss says. Only killing's real, and stopping enemies killing you. Nothing else is real."
After a few moments' silence, we all picked up tankards and slugged some ale. There didn't seem to be any comeback to that. Harry helped Olaf off the floor and then prised the dropped vegetables from the tavern's floorboards.
The innkeep shuffled away. "You're paying for those," he muttered.
"So, what's Mastik like?" said Lindon. "I hear he's a somewhat intense fellow."
I nodded. "I told him to trust me about fifty times - do I need his approval or something?"
"He has authority. If he says you're doing the right thing, you can feel vindicated for all the sick, twisted shit you do."
"Like what, Lindon?" I tutted. "You're the one wrestling with your conscience. Don't think I've forgotten our conversation in the Harries' wagon."
He was turning redder than a bashful radish. "You know, like killing guards who are just doing their jobs, stabbing guys through the balls, stealing wagons, and talking to your friends in a mildly disrespectful manner."
"Yeah," I stammered, caught a little off guard. "I'm properly evil, alright."
"Uh got te ask, Lass," said Harry's beard, cutting off Lindon's comeback. "Do ye have a plan?"
Lindon tried to nod whilst sipping ale and spluttered, coughing beer from his nose. "I don't even know where to start," he wheezed.
"Start with the dossers and work your way up to the ponces," said somebody behind me. Our table went silent as we all turned to look at the newcomer. He was a guy - six feet tall - who might have looked bulky if Terence wasn't sitting nearby. Dark, hard leather armour clad his frame and a business-like pommel peeped from his belt. His hair looked like somebody flat-ironed the top, compacted and dark. It crowned a clean-shaven face with eyes that danced with reflected light. I'm not talking a waltz here, either - more like the frenetic gyrations a hopeless lunatic.
He smiled and the smile was ambiguous. "Awright, me old muckers."
"Darling," said Lindon. "Whatever does that mean?"
I threw the elf a warning look. Don't play with your food until you know what it tastes like. "This is a Companions meeting, mate. If you've come to hire us, I'm afraid we're already engaged."
He grabbed my hand and I let him - no danger in this place. His lips brushed the back of it, a wisp of warm breath caressing my skin. "I hope you personally ain't engaged, Lady Rozlyn. There ain't many fit birds left round 'ere worth me time." I pulled my hand back, trying to maintain a composed exterior despite my stomach betraying me with cartwheels.
"The last person who talked to our esteemed leader that way lost his tongue," said Lindon quietly.
The newcomer grinned, ticking a few boxes in my nethers. "I bet it was worth it."
Harry was vibrating with affront next to me and Terence looked oblivious. I cleared my throat loudly. "Don't mind my guard dogs. They're here for your protection." I opened my arms. "Now, how can we help you?"
"It's me what's here to help you. Constable Smiff, at your service." The way he pronounced 'constable' made it sound like an equine brothel. "I'm on secondment, or somefink. Point is, I'm 'ere to lend a hand."
"And yer great wisdom, young lad, is te start with tha poor and work yer way up?" Harry didn't sound convinced.
Smiff pulled up a chair without asking, planting himself uncomfortably between me and Lindon. He peered at the dwarf, now across from him. "The dossers know everyfink. They'll be the ones what know what's going down." He placed a hand flat on the table and flicked his eyes sideways to glance at me. "But the ponces ... one o' them'll be behind it. People get silver spoons up their arses, suddenly they fink no one else matters."
Terence let out a thunderous belch that actually wafted my hair. "Money's not real," he said.
"That's right." Smiff was grinning. "But peeps fink it is, so they get uppity. I seen posh bastards piss 'emselves for no reason and poor sods come save 'em for no fanks, fanks very much." He shrugged. "Story of life, me old muckers. Story of life."
Olaf appeared once again, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer as he carried a tray of lunches to another table. "You want some more food?"
Terence reached over, plucked a sandwich from the tray, and crammed it in his mouth. When Olaf started to object, the huge barbarian pointed to the badge pinned to his nipple, then got up and strolled towards the exit.
"Looks like we're on our way," I muttered as the others got to their feet.
"He can't do that," moaned Olaf.
I patted him on the shoulder. "Put it on my tab, like usual."
"You don't have a tab!" he shouted at my departing back, but I could tell he wasn't too worried.
Lindon coughed quietly, inclining his head towards Smiff. Do we trust him? I shrugged expansively - what choice did we have?
We emerged into sunlight, almost obscured by Terence, who was peering intently at every group of commoners he could see. His forehead was so wrinkled, he looked like a confused prune after an afternoon in the sun.
I sighed. "They're not all suspects, Terence." I waved to the others. "Come on - we'll talk to some poor people. Smiff, you be thinking about who - but before that, I need to make a stop."
"We ate already," said Harry, winking.
"Aye, lad," I replied, trying to put on the Dwarf's deep voice. "But if we're gunney figit, uh needs meself sum harder teets."
*****
Benchmark the blacksmith raised his eyebrows, hands planted firmly on his hips. "I'm telling you, the lad's done nothing but work on perfecting your armour, Roz. I can't just give away his time. He deserves recompense."
"Don't give me that. I saw him peeping when I bent down to look at your new dirk display. Did that just happen to end up on a bottom shelf opposite the alcove he's hiding in? Is he back there, imagining me doing it again without my leathers? Is he mentally running his young hands across soft, warm places with an inexplicably assured touch? Am I moaning breathily and begging him to reach around and cup-"
A sound like curtains being dropped came from the alcove. Lindon leaned sideways to look. "Yep - he's fainted. And my trousers feel two sizes smaller."
"Strange - comatose teenagers don't do it for me, personally."
"Hey, that's not what I meant!"
I fixed my best unimpressed stare on Benchmark. "You sold my horny elven friend here a Short Sword Plus One. Really? I mean, I know he's an idiot, but he's an idiot who can make toast without a grill and occasionally look places without physically going there ... Okay, so he's not sounding very impressive now I say it aloud, but he is a wizard and I'm still not letting you get away with it."
I could almost feel Lindon glaring at me. "Oi!"
Benchmark held his hands out to his sides in a gesture of innocence, turning his eyes to Lindon. "Have you fought with the weapon since I sold it to you?"
"Err, yes." Lindon blinked. He looked like someone certain he was being tricked but unsure how.
The blacksmith re-emphasized his hands. "Well, there you have it. You got in a fight using my weapon, and you're not dead. What better proof of quality can you get?"
I sighed, beckoning impatiently. "Hand over my armour, okay? And it had better fit properly now. I'll tell all my friends to shop here - I promise."
"They all shop here anyway."
"Then I'll tell them to smile while you're fleecing them.
"Fine." He lifted my breastplate from behind the counter. It no longer resembled two prize-winning watermelons, which was a start. "The lad did say he wanted to check your cup size properly before he'd be fully happy with it."
"I bet he did." I snatched the armour from him. "Tell him if it fits, I'll blow him a kiss next time he's peeping at me. Oh, and Benchmark?" I headed for the exit.
"Hmm?"
"Make sure you say the 'a kiss' bit."
| Author Notes |
Genre is Fantasy Comedy, but there's no easy way to define that!
UK English with some UK slang and dialect - imagine Harry with a Scottish accent and Smiffy from South London (think Guy Ritchie films). This is a sequel to another story that needs work before I post it, which is why there are a couple of references, but nothing that will get in the way (this is its own story). Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. We don't trust him yet. Mild language warning. I hope you enjoy the read. |
By Fleedleflump
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
I strolled into the bright morning, letting my door close behind me as I adjusted the straps of my armour. It fit better now, and I hoped I was imagining the slight stickiness on the inside padding.
"So you're telling me," laughed Smiff when he saw me, "this used to be so big on the knockers, fings fell inside while you was fighting." He chuckled again and it was a warm, enticing sound.
"Uh once saw a wee dwarf fall in," said Harry, his beard bouncing with barely suppressed laughter. "When the lad emerged, he wees clean shaved!" His voice sounded like an arthritic bellows. He barely managed to squeeze the last two words out before collapsing in giggles.
Lindon grinned. "When she turned around in a fight, she'd take out more enemies with her chest than those dirks she wears."
I could feel the heat filling my cheeks. "My tits are neither hairy with stolen face fluff, nor lethal weapons used to slap foes into submission." I put my hands firmly on my hips. "If I was a guy, would you joke about me slapping people with my big, flappy nob?"
They all responded with horrified, hurt expressions.
I turned to look at my rented rooms, ostensibly to check I'd closed my door properly, while I let the irritation flow away. Home was a terraced building just slightly wider than its door. The entry opened into a kitchen with a rudimentary hearth. Upstairs was a table and chair, and up once more was a cot that filled the room. Out back was a privy shed shared by the terrace. I smiled to myself. Don't think I'm complaining - the place was waterproof and easy enough to keep warm. In Pennylast, those two things are considered luxury considerations. It's true to say, I was better off than many.
"Uh dunne know how te answer that, lass," said Harry, his face caught between humour and affront. "Uh'll be thinking o' flappy willies all day, nae."
"If it was Terence," said Lindon, expression straight, "I've actually seen him kill people with his man-boobs."
Smiff cocked his head to one side. "I once choked a-"
I held my hand up to cut him off. "Nope. I do not need to hear that story. Sorry I asked. And speaking of Terence, where is the huge git?"
On cue, our barbarian strolled into view from down the street. He was busy sucking glistening fingers while a portly she-dwarf in an apron trotted to keep up, shouting at his back. Every now and then, Terence turned and pointed at his sheriff's badge ... I almost wish I could retract that sentence.
I flicked a coin to Harry. "Go pay the lady, will you?"
"How's ye know she's a lady dwarf?"
"It's a sisterhood thing - just go, okay? I haven't forgiven you for the beardy boobs comment yet." I turned to our watchman liaison. "Smiff, have you decided who we should talk to yet?"
He nodded. "The dock workers' union."
"Erm," said Lindon. "I hate to break it to you, old chap, but Pennylast is landlocked. We don't have any dock workers."
"Trust me - if there's trouble and revolt, it'll be the dock workers behind it. It's always the dock workers. Pennylast just 'as a different version. They load carts instead of ships but the prints ... pricksickle ... err, the idea's the same, awright?"
He looked about to carry on but something behind me caused his eyes to widen. Wearing the expression of a hobbit about to be flattened by a runaway wagon, he yelled one word in a voice no hobbit's ever possessed:
"Duck."
Before I could process what he'd said, Smiff launched himself at my mid-section. Instinct took over and I jerked my knee up into his oncoming face. He crashed into me, carrying us both to the floor, and something yanked at my hair as I fell.
As the dust cloud settled around me, I found myself winded on my back, an unconscious policeman on top of me. I might have thought about the potential for a joke in that sentence if there wasn't a crossbow bolt buried in the ground nearby, a neat lock of my hair wafting in the breeze from its feathers like a claimed scalp. An air of menace floated on the breeze and the world was deathly silent.
"Oh, that's not good," said Lindon.
*****
I rapped my knuckles on the solid timber door, wincing slightly at the impacts. It was one of those people-sized doors embedded in a cart-sized door. If I wasn't still annoyed about being shot at, I might have found it a funny image - especially if a dwarf was doing the knocking. Knots wrestled like oily bodybuilders in my tummy as I thought about my hair wafting from a feather. There's nothing like helplessness to stoke rage.
"What I don't understand," said Lindon, "is why it's called the Carman's guild when they're all just carters."
"Ye daft jessie!" shouted Harry. "Uh Carter drives carts, uh Carman transports goods."
I turned to raise an eyebrow at the dwarf. "A fine detail for a getaway carter to be worried about."
"Uh coulda bin a carman." He crossed his arms. "Uh didne have the reet family."
"More like the right beard," I muttered, turning to knock again. A thought flashed into my head, of that crossbow bolt buried in my head, its feathers bright like a mortal fascinator. The heat of Harry's affront throbbed at my back but I couldn't feel apologetic at the moment.
Smiff tapped me on the shoulder and I glanced his way, ignoring the small twinge of guilt at the swollen, purple eye I'd given him.
"Watch it, love," he murmured. "I know what yor finking, but don't take it out on yor boys."
I tutted. "Don't pretend you know what's running through my head, Smiff."
"If not for me," he smiled, "it'd be a small shaft of wood."
"Well, I'm sure you're the expert on small shafts of wood."
He grinned broadly. "Jus' remember - I'm a copper, and you lot are hard cases. Between us, we'll find out who shot at you an' avenge that poor family. I got techniques, ya know."
"I have a few techniques of my own."
The door finally opened and I was presented with a short man wearing an expression like I'd just pissed in his ale barrel. "What?"
I dragged him out by his collar, drawing a dirk and pinning him against the wider door, a point poised over his face. "Who shot at me?"
"Help!" he wriggled, but I held him with the strength of I'M REALLY PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW.
"Who shot at me, you little pissant? Start talking, or this knife'll be the last prick you ever feel."
He was banging the door with his fists. "Get off me, you crazy bint."
I leaned in slowly, so he'd understand - I had plenty of time to kill him if I wanted to. "Some filthy bastards murdered a poor family near here. Worse, they took a pop at me. I want to know who, and I have it on good authority you can tell me."
I could hear footsteps rushing out through the door but I kept my focus on his struggling form. He was still looking defiant. "So? I'm just a guy, what can I tell you?"
"You're not just a guy - you're the guy I'm holding at knife point who definitely knows something." I inched my dirk closer so the point touched his cheek.
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry your friends got killed and I'm sorry someone shot at you, but it wasn't me."
The shuffling around me had gone quiet, which was ominous, but I hadn't finished working through my anger yet. "Who was it, then?"
In the following silence, he simply smiled at me.
"Err, Roz?" Lindon's voice sounded shaky, so I looked around.
The companions and Smiff had arranged themselves in a defensive semi-circle against my back, weapons half-drawn. Outside them was an intimidating ring of swarthy guys wielding crowbars. When I looked, they started slapping the weapons rhythmically against palms in perfect unison - this was not a situation they were uncomfortable with. No words were exchanged, but one of them caught my eye deliberately and raised his eyebrows. Either he fancied me, or he was making a point.
You know my thoughts on melee combat, right? It's messy, random, and a worse idea than garlic sandwiches before a first date. I knew my boys could handle this bunch of carmen, but they weren't wimps and I didn't need to risk anybody. Besides, I'd worked out some of my anger on the unfortunate door answerer. If they all thought I was a bit unhinged, that might help us get some answers.
I let a grin flash across my face and winked at the guy who caught my eye.
"Sorry," I said to my captive, letting him go. "I thought you were somebody hard enough to be my suspect."
"I can be hard," he muttered in hurt tones as he returned to his colleagues. I resisted the temptation to kick his retreating arse.
"Shiny," said the carman I'd shared looks with. At his lead, they all stopped slapping their weapons. "Now, how can we help you folks?"
"You know you don't need the ess there," said Lindon. "Folk is already plural."
"Is he for real right now?" The leader's eyebrows rose again - for his only facial hair, they really were quite expressive.
I elbowed Lindon gently in the ribs. "Don't mind the elf. He talks when he's ... Well, when he's breathing, but there's no point taking offence." I looked round my merry band of protectors. "Thanks for having my back, chaps, but let's show willing and sheathe the weaponry."
They all did as I suggested, even if Terence did so with a scowl on his face.
I approached the owner of the eyebrows and proffered a hand. "I'm Rozlyn. I lead this bunch of misfits and we were hoping to ask your group some questions."
"It's the bloody Fuzz," muttered one of the carmen, slapping his crowbar.
Smiff shuffled audibly behind me. "The Watch ain't your enemy, mate."
"Besides," I smiled. "We're not Watch. We're ..."
"Consultants," supplied Harry.
The guy's eyebrows twisted in suspicion like caterpillars with stomach ache. "You got a funny way of introducing yourselves. I don't think I like your interviewing style."
I never blinked. "Well, I don't like being shot at in the street, so you'll have to forgive a little aggression on my part."
We matched gazes for a while until he relented and grinned. "Come in, then. We'll fix you people with a cuppa and see if we can't help."
Despite suspicious glances flying in both directions, our groups managed to file into the union headquarters without any fists (or crowbars) flying. The walls were rough but solid brick, shaped to create stalls for wagons, backed onto goods corridors. Above, fluted glass panels swept upwards in an iron ribcage to form an elongated dome roof. This might be a working building, but it was built with purpose, no expense spared. Eyebrows took us to the back of the space, where iron steps took us to a suspended office. Most of the carmen drifted away into various positions, presumably resuming the tasks they'd been at before the call to arms.
Before long, we were sitting round a solid oak table, he flanked by the two most swarthy crowbar-wielders and me by a comedy troupe of mixed purpose. We all nursed cups of sweetened herbal tisane. I had to admit, it was the tastiest hot drink I'd ever encountered. I gave Lindon a nod and he nodded back while Smiff looked on with questioning eyes.
"This is good stuff," I said, sipping from my cup.
Eyebrows smiled. "There are certain advantages to transporting all the goods in a market town."
"Aye," muttered Harry. "The pay's a pittance but the perks are a blessing."
"My name's Carman Dennis," said our host, finally freeing me from referring to him by facial hair. He spread his hands to encompass the bustling building. "Here, we protect the interests of good, honest transport workers in Pennylast."
I smiled. "By drinking posh tisane and threatening to beat up women in the street?"
"By ensuring each worker receives fair rates for services and work is always available."
Lindon shifted in his seat. "What if somebody wants to go it alone - run a transport business without joining your guild?"
"All the major contracts go through us, so they'd have trouble finding work. The union's for the protection of everyone." He shrugged. "That only works if everyone pays."
"Shakedown," said Smiff quietly.
One of the bodyguards growled. That's not an exaggeration - he actually growled like a threatened cat.
I smacked a hand down on the table and smiled inwardly when several of the others jumped. "We're not here for politics. We're here for that poor family. So, Dennis. Since you stopped me questioning your lackey downstairs, perhaps you can help us. An innocent family was murdered in their home over on Belly Row. I'm told your organisation may be able to shed some light on what happened."
He looked at me intently for a few moments before answering. When he did, there was no hint of expression on his face. "Sometimes, there's a natural order to things."
I glanced at Terence and he bashed a fist on the table. His teacup skittered away like startled prey and the timber surface creak quietly in protest.
"It's a testament to your very expensive table that we're not all wearing tisane shoes," I said quietly. "But Terence is nothing if not persistent, so I'm sure he'd be happy to give it another try."
Dennis scowled and his eyebrows knitted together like randy rodents. "It's a brave man - or woman - who threatens us in our own headquarters." His two guards squeezed their fists demonstratively.
Without hesitating, I turned to Terence and nodded again. He raised a fist over his head.
"Stop!"
I held up a hand and my barbarian companion paused, fist still brandished.
"Listen here," I said to Dennis. "I've been threatened by demons, attacked by a dragon and once - memorably - forced to defend myself from a possessed pleasure toy. That was a close call. So, if you think I'm afraid of a self-aggrandising administrator with a couple of crowbars, you're going to be very sorely disappointed."
"Okay, okay." His eyes were angry but he wasn't stupid enough to keep pushing it. "I'll tell you what I know." I waved my hand dismissively and Terence lowered his. "There's a town regeneration scheme going on at the moment. That's a fancy way of saying they shuffle all the inconvenient folks into slums and make way for posh buildings what benefit them lot at the expense of everyone else. Belly Row's right in the middle of the new development area. All the house owners are under pressure to sell up and move out."
"You're saying the town planners killed them because they didn't want to sell?"
He blinked. "No. I'm telling you they were killed because they did sell. They broke the solidarity of Belly Row. That's not a betrayal the rest can forgive. It undermines their argument about offer values being too low. Real people stick together."
"Are you saying you bankrolled this killing?"
"No, of course not. We're not in the business of knocking folks off." He must have seen the sceptic in my expression. "I'm serious! Think about it - dead men don't pay dues." He shrugged. "I'm just saying you got to understand. People grew up in those homes and they'll fight hard and dirty to keep them. The Millers broke ranks, and they paid for it."
I stared into his eyes for a while but saw no inch of give. "You talk a friendly talk, Mr Dennis, but I think you've got an anvil for a soul and more hammers than a dwarven blacksmith convention. I will get justice for those poor people, and if my search brings me back here, you'll need more than a few crowbars to protect you."
He smiled, and his eyebrows smiled with him. "I look forward to our next meeting."
| Author Notes |
Many thanks for reading. Chapter 1 was posted anonymously as it was a contest entry. Now that's over, I've added it to this book and re-promoted it in case you want to read it first.
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. We don't trust him yet. |
By Fleedleflump
"Ye gots te understand, lass - the union's there te help the workin' folk. They gots te be hard bastards so they kin stand up ta management." Harry was not pleased with how I'd left the last meeting, and was taking every opportunity to let me know it.
We'd left the union headquarters behind and found a nearby street vendor selling hot drinks. Compared to Carman Dennis' tisane, they tasted like river water from near the sewage outlets, but at least they could be described as 'wet' while we discussed our next moves.
Lindon snorted. "It looks to me like a protection racket. Pay your dues and bad things won't happen to you. And dare to hire a carman not in the union? Suddenly, your trade dries up. Nasty business."
"Ye daft elven git! It's about fairness and equality."
Smiff sniffed. "They're out to make a profit, just like everyone else. Got to admire anyone who makes themselves a new industry then makes it compulsory. Good business."
Harry looked ready to explode, his cheeks turning ruby red, so I held a hand up and looked around to make sure I had everyone's attention. "Okay, bored of this conversation. Terence, do you have anything to say on the subject?"
"Don't need union," said the barbarian after a few moments' thought, taking a break from smelling his finger suspiciously. "Got Companions."
"Good, now that's sorted." I put hands on hips and looked round my ragtag band of guys. "Our job is to find who killed the Millers and take them down. If there's one thing I took from the crime scene, it's that the killers had fun with it. They had flair and imagination and they took their time." I pointed back the way we'd come from. "Dennis was about as trustworthy as a marshmallow drawbridge and definitely, without doubt, a dick. But he didn't take part. He told us why it happened, but not who did it."
"Awright, boss," said Smiff. "What's the plan?"
"Let's say Dennis is right and the Millers were killed because they agreed to sell up. Their neighbours on Belly Row make paupers look like high-rollers, and if any of them could do magic, they wouldn't be living there. The killer had some seriously gnarly magic skills and wasn't afraid of using them. Someone like that doesn't come cheap." I felt a small shudder run through me. "That means, the murders were bankrolled, and not by anyone backing the regeneration scheme."
Lindon took a slurp from his cup and winced. "If I tried anything like that, I'd explode from every orifice before the first arrow struck. I can barely hold it together just doing some light astral projection." Harry and I shared a look, remembering why we always carried nose-appropriate pegs in our carry sacks. "Violent magic like that doesn't go unnoticed. The local Gnomes must have felt it."
I felt my stomach heave. "Maybe it'll come to that, but let's leave the Gnomes as a last resort, please. I can't take that level of cuteness." I gestured at Lindon. "Alright, my wizardy Elf, let's focus on the carmen again for a moment. What did you pick up during the conversation?"
"He wees spying?" Harry was turning an even brighter colour. "Ye canne dee that."
Terence downed his drink in one gulp, apparently oblivious to the steam billowing from his mouth and nostrils. "Elf should spy on me, too. Have some good thoughts."
Harry folded his arms. "Uh wager ye ne'er think much beyond food and yer wee groin, lad."
I snapped my fingers to quiet them. "Lindon?"
"Dennis was frightened, but it's hard to say what about. He only believed around half of what he was saying, but that's average for most people."
"What about the two guys with him?"
Lindon shrugged. "Dimmer than a dry lamp in a brothel. They barely had thoughts - ideal bodyguards, really." He shifted uncomfortably. "There, err, is one more thing." I stared at him until he was uncomfortable enough to continue. "When you threatened Dennis - especially at the end - he got ... well, excited."
"What kind of excited?" Smiff sounded angry. Sweet.
"Let's just say it's a good thing he didn't stand up to shake our hands. He likes you, Roz - especially when you're sassy. If we have to talk to him again, that might help."
I nodded. "Okay, Smiff. Put your Watch hat back on. What's our next move?"
"Well, we've spoken to the dossers." He pointed at the floor, then turned his hand to the sky. "Now it's time to rattle some ponce cages."
"Does ye like anyone, lad?" muttered Harry.
"All of 'em and none of 'em, me old Dwarf mucker. Once you get it that they're all just out for 'emselves one way or another, you see there ain't much difference. The world's one giant shitter and everyone - posh or poor - dumps in it."
"Ach, ye's a misanthrope."
"Oi, I ain't no pervert, Dwarf."
I snapped my fingers again. "Specifically, which cages do you propose rattling?"
"Sorry, boss. We need to talk to the surveyors - pacifically the survey wizards, since they're at the sharp end. Also, if you can get 'em to lower their noses long enough to see you, you need to talk to the town planners."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You know, I miss the days when we could solve a problem with a sarcastic comment and a few well-placed punches. All this talking to people makes me paranoid. How do you guys do it - listen to people all the time, trying to decide who's telling the truth and who has something to hide?"
Smiff smiled. "It don't take too long before you realise. Everyone's got something to hide, and no one tells the truth, even when they fink they are. Listen, I can deal with the posh sods if you got some less ... watch-friendly folks to talk to."
An idea blossomed in my head like a moth from a chrysalis ... or a maggot from an apple. Which of those was more appropriate really depended on whether it turned out to be a good idea.
"Okay," I said. "Smiff, you know who to talk to, so you go do it. Take Lindon to do sneaky wizardy stuff and Harry in case anyone's kneecaps need molesting."
"Oi!"
"I'm taking Terence to visit some old acquaintances."
"Uh kin protect ye, lass, just as weel."
I smiled at the Dwarf. "I know you can, old friend. But this time, I need intimidation, and Terence's left tit is scarier than the rest of us put together."
I turned back to the group. "Let's reconvene at the Dragon's Tail when we're done. You two," I indicated Harry and Lindon. "Let Smiff lead on the questioning, but plans of action are down to Harry ... Unless he decides you're all joining a picket line, in which case you have my permission to clonk him on the head." Satisfied I'd irritated all three of them, I waved to Terence to follow, and headed for a meeting I really wasn't looking forward to.
| Author Notes |
Many thanks for reading. Chapters 1 and 2 will still be promoted if you're quick and want to get caught up :-).
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. We don't trust him yet. |
By Fleedleflump
"This place smells."
In three words, Terence summed up Firty Duck Alley perfectly. It smelled like a diseased skunk ate a trout omelette then died on the toilet ... Possibly, another skunk then ate that skunk and also died in similar circumstances. Accompanying the intimidating presence of the odour was a continuous sloshing that managed to sound slimy - like snail snot coating a urinal. Buildings leaned in drunkenly above as though trying to choke anybody unfortunate enough to risk traversing the alley. My feet suctioned to the ground with each step, slurping at my boots as I lifted my heels. The view ahead revelled in grime-soaked dinginess - probably because nobody dared light a lantern.
"Who lives here?" asked the barbarian.
I smiled and tried to keep my mouth closed while talking. "People who've drunk so much, they've forgotten they have nothing to live for." I pointed to the far end of the alley. "And one aristocrat so eccentric, she writes instructional tomes about how to fit into society, just to prove she doesn't."
He blinked. "That don't make sense."
"That's because she's madder than a misanthropic missionary. When she was born, the midwife smacked her and, instead of crying, she ad-libbed a sonnet about the brutality of parenthood. When others laugh, she screams. When she laughs, it'll be because the world ended. She's a loony, Terence, but a loony with a purpose, even if she doesn't realise it."
"I still don't understand."
"You won't, but trust me - she might be able to help."
I smiled to myself as we proceeded along the alley. I enjoyed telling Lady Lipton's story - it was mad to begin with and got progressively more elaborate the more I told it. One of those people who never fitted in anywhere, she existed as a bold example of somebody who did and said exactly what came to her, at all times. That's a rare beast in any world.
As we neared the alley's end and Terence looked around, wearing his perpetual expression of perplexity, a heap of mouldy rubbish shifted.
I spotted a mop of lank, grubby hair emerging from between two brown dish cloths. "Loony Lipton!"
"Huh?" The hair flipped on an axis and two eyes fixed their gaze on me. "Rancid Rozzer!" In several shuffling steps, a short Elf emerged from the rubbish. She was so skinny, a stiff breeze could have snapped her. The fluff on her head was either a scruffy wig or a dead poodle, and it complemented her collection of grub and stains nicely. She was wearing a bright, azure blue night gown that must have cost more than The Companions make in a year. All her features drew the eye towards a tight, pinched mouth like a cat's backside beneath an intimidating wedge of a nose.
"Long time, no see," I said, offering a fully extended arm.
She cradled my fingers in her skeletal hands and kissed them. "Welcome to her day boudoir, Rozzer. To what does she owe the pleasure?"
"You have to tell me," I indicated the alley with an arm. "What makes you choose this place?"
"The lady enjoys the company." She cocked her angular head to one side, eyes fixed on an indeterminate point. "No. The croissants are not ready yet. This one? The lady knew her at another time. She thinks of her fond things, although she suspects the connection is more one of convenience on Rozzer's part. She will let you know. Put them back in the oven at gas mark four for another six minutes. They should be a gentle golden brown colour and smell like kittens giggling in a bread factory."
I blinked. "Some company you have there."
"She is quite mad, and believes herself a baker in an alien society with bizarre customs. The Lady indulges her because her tales of things called boyfriends, BMWs and the Internet are highly entertaining. Over there," she pointed to the very corner of the alley, "the Lady speaks to Xatican of the Bixx Dynasty. He is a perfectly vile lizard but his threats are very imaginative." She coughed a line of phlegm onto her chin and sucked it back in distractedly. "On cold nights, the Hive of Peace nests its consciousness in my thoughts."
Okay, so perhaps 'mad' was an understatement.
I didn't dare look at Terence for fear his expression might spread. "I'm hoping you - that is, the Lady - might care to speak of what's happening here in Pennylast."
Her nose twisted almost sideways, as though she finally smelled her boudoir. "You mean ... this world?"
"It's the only one I know."
"So ... lonely." She shuffled forwards and her odour shunted me back. Her hand reached up and, with a supreme effort, I let her touch my cheek. "To have one's eyes so completely focused, one's mind so locked." She squinted, glaring into my eyes. "You know not what you have, Rozzer. Treasure it!"
I nodded.
She moved a few more steps before sighing a huge gust of rancid air. "Ah, the chilly silence of Pennylast." Her eyes closed for several moments. When they opened again, a clarity had settled in their depths. "Damn you, Rozlyn, why did you have to drag me back here? This place stinks!"
"You chose it."
"Not the alley!" She lifted her arms out to their sides. "This stupid reality. I'm only here when I'm elsewhere, you know that."
I put a placating hand on her shoulder and tried not to flinch at the jutting bone I felt through the nightie. "I'm sorry, Lipton. I wouldn't come if I could think of another way."
"Your friend looks like a mountain carved in flesh and violence. I approve. He will bring you strong, healthy children." She leaned forward and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "Be careful though - they may be psychopaths."
I held up my hands to cut off that line of conversation. "Definitely not why I came here, Lipton."
"Are you sure? The unconscious mind drives us more frequently than we care to admit."
"Quite sure." I checked behind us to ensure we weren't being observed. "I'm investigating the murder of a hard-up couple, name of Miller. I was hoping someone you talk to might have insight."
She gasped, one bony hand sweeping up to cage her lips. "The Boatman wasn't lying!"
I shared a look with Terence before turning back to her. "You may have to elaborate, my old friend."
"If I position myself just right, by that alcove behind the brothel, I speak to a presence who calls himself The Boatman. Never figured out if it's his name or occupation, but he believes the latter. Last time we conversed, he was very agitated. He told me two souls passed before their time, and their deaths would bring my cloister sister to me." Tears escaped her eyes, running down to frame a broad, full smile. "It seems he was correct."
I smiled back, feeling a surge in my stomach. I either needed to find a toilet quickly, or my old friend was raising up emotions. Perhaps both. "I'll always be your cloister sister, Lipton, and I'm sorry it's been so long since I visited. Tell me, though - what made your Boatman friend so agitated? What was different about this couple? Death can't be unusual in this town."
"Death is not unusual, no. Death by sorcery, however, is a rare occurrence indeed. And this .. this was dirty sorcery. He told me the magical fallout attached to their souls was so strong, they damaged the gateway as they passed, threatening the integrity of the barrier. It was not a gentle spell that stole their breaths, sister Rozzer." She closed her eyes, no longer smiling. "Not gentle at all. No Gnome ever hated any creature that much, and few but Gnomes wield such force."
She shuddered and I felt myself follow suit. "They didn't stand a chance."
Lipton backed up a few steps. "The Lady bids you good day. She must find her rest in oblivion for now, and ensure the croissants do not burn." She reversed her original route, settling into the manky rubbish heap until she disappeared.
"I do wonder, my friend," I said quietly, "if somebody didn't burn your croissants a long time ago." I looked at Terence. "This doesn't fit. I never met a poor wizard, and the other Belly Row folk wouldn't have the money to hire one. There can't be many magic-users with ammunition that strong and a corresponding lack of conscience."
The barbarian shrugged. "Simple men fight with fists."
"Yes they do."
We headed towards the light at Firty Duck alley's entrance and I tried to ignore the squelchy screams of protest from my boots.
"You didn't need me for intimidation," said Terence after a few moments.
"Not for her, no. I will need you for our next visit, though. Promise me no hesitation, okay? Follow my lead and don't think." We shared a glance. "So yeah - your usual approach is fine. And Terence?"
"Yep?"
"I don't know where you sheathe it and I don't want to, but I hope you have your Broadsword of Bashing with you."
| Author Notes |
Many thanks for reading. Chapters 1 to 3 will still be promoted if you're quick and want to get caught up :-).
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. We don't trust him yet. |
By Fleedleflump
I nodded at Terence on the other side of the nondescript door, hoping he'd understand a signal of readiness. We were in another alley, this one marginally less dark but equally pongy.
Pennylast was a mess of a town, grown up like urban mould and an unkempt haircut around what started as a few market stalls at a crossroads. It was about as organised as an angry mob and the Watch, whilst well established by now, was still new enough that some questioned its authority.
Like any frontier town, Pennylast had enforcers before it had police.
I took in the sigil carved into the door we were flanking. Two hands encompassed a building - possibly protectively, definitely with the ability to crush. Was this a bad idea? Yes. Was it a dangerous idea? Yes. Was I going to do it anyway?
"Terence," I whispered. "We're moving fast to a room up the stairs at the back. Follow me and hit anything that tries to kill us, but don't stop. Fists at first but blade if you have to."
He smiled and his razor stubble pulsed on his cheeks like spiky chainmail. His silver hair framed those deep, dark eyes on its way to tickling his shoulders - shoulders so bunched with muscle, they looked like knotted ropes in an orgy. Lindon was the prettiest of the Companions, no doubt, but Terence emanated raw, visceral grunt in a way the elf could only dream of. Could somebody be both terrifyingly dangerous and ruggedly handsome at the same time? My tummy said yes, and it wasn't the only part of me.
"Go!"
Even as the word left my throat, he was moving. Leading with a shoulder, he turned into the door and it flapped inward like a curtain. The crash reverberated around the alley like a bin lid percussion band. Cats squealed, vagrants moaned and questioning voices shouted out. Yep, speed was going to be our only option. Terence reached into the building and his fist came out holding a guy in black leather formal armour by the hair. The guy's mouth opened to shout and got two barbarian fingers stuffed in it.
He snorted. "Fngan cmff!"
Terence smiled in response and hurled the guard spinning to the ground, spouting vomit and choking noises as he went.
Not a moment to lose! I plunged into the opening, sliding my fighting dirks into my hands as I moved. The corridor beyond passed in a blur of dark shades and surprised sound effects. The thumping behind me told me Terence was keeping pace, so I forged ahead through a small bar with no windows and such a strong odour of vodka, I almost passed out. Falling back on instincts, I allowed distant memory to guide my feet - through a store room, another hallway, and into a brightly lit lobby with a giant staircase.
At the front of the building, a grand entranceway was dominated by sun and a wall of security guards who thankfully hadn't reacted yet. Two more stood either side of the bottom of the stairs. Without slowing, I ran full-tilt into the second one, knocking him backwards to polish the tile floor with his arse. I turned to head up the stairs and caught a glimpse of the other guard being hurled towards a group of onlookers like a ragdoll frisbee. Ouch.
The stairs took me up and to one side, where a thin man in a very neat butler's outfit met me with a silver tray in his hands. He took one look at my approaching form, glanced at my face, and backed out of the way, hands held aloft. I winked at him as I barrelled past and tried not to wince when I heard Terence deck him behind me.
A final corridor took us to the rear of the first floor and a door marked 'Staff Only' - my destination, and a place I feared more than most. As I approached, slowing to a walk, a guard slipped from inside the room and closed the door, positioning himself before it. He was holding a sword in that way that looks casual but just means he's been holding one so long, it might as well be part of his hand. His jaw was set firm, cheeks pocked and skin webbed with a patina of scars. I wagered this guy had been fighting since he and his twin both wanted the same tit to suckle on. He wasn't about to let me in.
As I closed, he tilted his head slightly to one side and raised his eyebrows, apparently not believing I really wanted to fight him. He was right, but it wasn't going to stop me. I raised my dirks threateningly and, as he placed himself in a stance, swept my leg up to knee him in the balls. He winced and folded slightly, one hand dropping, which gave Terence the chance, when I ducked out the way, to land a fist on the guy's temple.
I inclined my head towards the door and a barbarian foot sent it flying open. We burst into the room, weapons brandished, and I did a little adding up while everyone was still adjusting.
"Well, smack my arse with a laughing hobbit," said a voice so rich, it could be rendered in chocolate. "I never thought I'd see the day."
We were in a room carpeted with plush rugs and draped in leather - leather curtains, leather maps and leather ... let's call it adult apparel and leave it there. The guy who spoke reclined behind a solid desk in an ornate wooden chair with definite throne-like elements. He was broad and built like a suit of armour, but soft of face. He had a smile full of gold and a warm heart protected by a soul of black ice. One minute gentle, the next homicidal - a real scary chap. I know all this because he also happens to be my ex-boyfriend.
Of more immediate concern were the four guards now surrounding us with weapons drawn and senses of humour buried so deep, no light ever tickled them. They were ready to chop us up for pet food at a moment's notice and only two things stopped them. First - Terence is bigger and scarier than a yeti on a diet of magic mushrooms, and he's got half as much empathy. Second - the man behind the desk clearly knew me, and these guys weren't going to risk slicing me up until they got at least a nod of approval.
All of which was simultaneously tense and empowering.
"Hi there, Don. Got a minute to catch up?" I tried for a winning, cheeky smile while brandishing two dirks and matching glares with the armed men around me. I'm not sure I succeeded.
"Got one question," said Terence into the thick silence that followed.
"What's that?"
"What's a Cloister Sister and how were you one - before, with the mad one?"
I sighed so hard, I felt my nostrils flare. "Really - you're asking me about that now?"
The guy behind the desk sat back, folding hands across his stomach, and filled the room with the sickly bass of his words. "I got all day, honey. I can wait - why don't you go ahead and answer your impressive friend."
"You could say I used to go to school with her." I shrugged. "It was a long time ago - it's not important."
Terence scowled. "Was important to her."
Ancient feelings tugged at my stomach. You know when you think you're over something, then some git asks you about it in a way you can't sidestep? I've dished out spankings for less, but Terence is ... well, let's just say, he'd either enjoy it or not even notice.
"It was a school for ... troubled girls, run by nuns." The four guys with weapons aimed at us were starting to smirk. "Can we talk about this later? I feel like you just pulled all my armour off and these are not guys I'd choose to get naked with. Sorry fellas - no offence." I turned to address the guy behind the desk. "Come on, Don. Is this really necessary?"
"Damn, honey - you ask me that with a straight face? I still got the scars from last time I pissed you off."
I shrugged. "Who says I'm pissed off?"
He grinned and there was a spark there of old times. "I bet at least three of my staff regret your visit here already. They probably think you're a teeny bit peeved. Come on, honey, tell Uncle Don what's wrong."
"I ... I got shot at. And some folk got killed with magic. Really nasty magic."
"And what do you want Uncle Don to do about it?"
I deflated inside. "Damn it, I came in here to be angry and demanding and willing to cut your grinning face clean off your skull if you didn't help."
"Boss?" One of the guards inched closer, his weapon point wobbling.
Don smiled. "Let her talk, but don't let down your guard just yet. She's unpredictable, is my Rozzy."
"I need to know." I turned a slow circle, weapon points ready. As friendly as Don managed to sound, I knew he'd grab and tie us up the moment we let our guards down. His entire business was mitigating risk. "Are you invested in the redevelopment of Belly Row?"
He smiled, one hand lifting to stroke a short, salt and pepper beard. "Oh, you mean those murdered folks. I heard they just got offed because they took a buy-out deal for their house."
I widened my eyes at him sarcastically.
"Fine," he sighed. "But it really bugs me when people don't ask the question they actually want answered. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you've been hanging out with watch detectives. To answer what you asked, yes - I have a stake in the redevelopment. If it comes through, my organisation will make a tidy profit. However," he held up a finger. "I'll do just fine if it doesn't, too - I always hedge my bets. You know this."
We matched gazes for a while until I nodded in concession.
"Thank you." He shifted in his seat. "So, to answer what you actually want to know, no - I didn't have them killed. Magic isn't my style. I'd have sent the boys to make them a ... better offer." He smiled broadly. "Dead men don't make me money."
I snorted. "You should join forces with the Carmen Union - they seem to share your values."
"I'll pretend you didn't say that." He shifted in his seat. "I don't like this magic business. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth."
"And about fifty arrows through the gullet." I was pleased to see him wince - a convincingly unprepared reaction. "Come on, Don, you know where I'm going with this. Someone wanted the other folk on Belly Row to get the blame for this, but magic like that doesn't come cheap and shit for sure none of the neighbours have that kind of power."
He shrugged. "I can see where your thinking took you. Someone with vested interests, lots of cash, and absolutely no conscience arranged this." He grinned. "You're looking for a crime boss, alright. I think you just picked the wrong one."
Crap!
"Frankly," he continued, "I'm more concerned about you being shot at. Like it or not, I still consider you under my protection. I can't help you with your investigation - families is families, as it were, and there are rules - but I promise you by the dirt we walk on, I'll find whatever toe-rag took a pop at my Rozzy. I'll deliver him to you presently."
A commotion sounded in the hallway outside the door - marching feet and clanking metal. The four guards looked back and forth frantically, unsure which threat to respond to, and I tightened my grip on my dirks, ready to seize any opportunity.
Uncle Don rolled his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy some quiet reflection in his office?"
An impressive moustache entered the room, followed closely by Sergeant Mastik. He stopped abruptly when he saw me and I enjoyed the sight of ten marching watchmen trying to avoid a pile-up on the back of their boss.
"Hmm," he said, squinting. "Okay, I'm going to ask that everybody here, whomever they may be representing, drops their weaponry immediately." He sighed as several clanks sounded behind him, closing his eyes momentarily in obvious pain. "Not you, constables. I was referring to the combat-ready inhabitants of this room prior to our entrance." I waited until each watchman had picked his weapon back up before lowering my dirks slowly into their sheaths. Don's guards, after checking with the man himself, followed suit. After several significant looks that he completely ignored, I told Terence to sheath his own weapon.
"That's better," I said, rolling my shoulders to a chorus of clicks. "Much longer, and I've have been stuck like that, arms out like a statue of a dancing loony." I smiled at Mastik's calculated expression. "Not sure I'd take to life as a scarecrow."
"What do you want, Mastik?" said Don, arms held out to his sides. "I don't know why you think there's anything criminal going on around here. Your people are always watching me - when would I have a chance to do naughty things?"
Mastik reached up to twirl his facial hair. "Naughty people do naughty things," he said, his tone almost distracted. "It's been my experience that they always find a way." He beckoned a finger in my direction. "Can we speak out in the corridor?"
I gestured to Terence and waved to Uncle Don. "I think we're done here, so I'll take the opportunity to leave without having to give anyone a good kicking."
Don winked at me. "Burst in here again, and your friend Mastik won't be escorting you out. He'll be soaking you up off the floor with those skirts you're hiding behind."
We shuffled past the squad of watchmen and I did my best to keep the relief from my face. This job wasn't doing anything for my nerves, and I was dredging up altogether too many ghosts from my past. If I wasn't careful, I'd soon run out of good will.
"It seems," said Mastik once we were alone, "that our investigations have brought us to a similar conclusion. What brought you here?"
I smiled. "I think we annoyed and threatened the right people, since I managed to get shot at. It's becoming clear only a crime boss fits the bill for being behind this." I struck a thumb in the direction of the crowded office. "There's more leather in there than a bovine fetish club, especially with your men in attendance, but I'm pretty sure the guilty party's not present." I couldn't help grinning at his pained expression. "How about you - what leads drew you to this place?"
"We have a man back at the yard with a knack for understanding the criminal element. He opined that our killer, or at least the one behind the killing, felt entitled and resented the targets whilst being dismissive of them. Whoever it was needs the poorer classes to enable them, but has no respect for their lives." He smiled, his expression that of somebody in on an exclusive truth. "That told me we're after somebody rich but likely from poor roots - so no aristocrat." He paused a moment, glancing twice at Terence and shaking is head. "I thought briefly of merchants, but most merchants rely on all classes to sell their goods. They would have no reason to be so dismissive of the less well off ... I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Does your colleague have his badge pinned through his nipple?"
The barbarian thrust himself forward proudly, shoving his badge in Mastik's face (hey, look - another sentence I wish I could retract!). I nodded. "Well, that is his normal work attire, so it makes some sort of sense. He's very proud of that star. He thinks it means free food and drink everywhere in town."
Mastik sighed. "As do a worrying number of my comrades."
"So," I said, snapping his attention back to me. "Ruling out aristocrats and merchants brought you to the same conclusion as me - organised crime. And if we rule out Uncle Don, that really only leaves us one possibility, no matter how much I wish otherwise."
"Just so. Still, I do need something resembling proof." He looked as happy about that fact as a blacksmith who's proudly finished a sword, only to get an order for a thousand.
I smiled and it felt cold. "I don't."
A twitch that might have indicated a smile tugged at one corner of Mastik's lips. "Well, I need to question Uncle Don - at length. I estimate it will take me a long time to get around to my next suspect. You and your team should continue your own enquiries. Please, please," he widened his eyes at me and lowered his voice, "make sure you carry a big stick."
I nodded my understanding. "I keep my enemies close, and my big sticks closer. Look after yourself, Sergeant."
Terence and I left by the main entrance and I did my best to ignore the sullen glares of several employees. An additional squad of heavily armed watchmen occupied the lobby, holding several people in place with pointy metal and angry expressions. The whole scene was about as comfortable as a barbed wire toilet seat after a drunken spicy food binge.
As we emerged into the sun, my barbarian colleague turned to me. "Who do we have to kill?"
"Thank you for waiting until we were out of earshot - you're learning, my friend." I pointed along the street. "We need to meet the others and figure out a plan because the person we need to kill," I met his eyes, "is someone I've tangled with before. It's-"
"ROZ, COME QUICK, I NEED YOU," roared a voice directly into my brain.
"Dirt molests a donkey!" I shouted. "Lindon, is that you?"
"YES, IT WORKED! I WASN'T SURE I COULD DO THIS."
"Whore's bells, elf, you need more practice! Talk to Terence, will you? He might be able to take it."
The barbarian winced, raising meaty hands to cover his ears. A wetness on my upper lip turned out to be blood trickling from one nostril. My ears were actually ringing, but inside my head. Yeah, I know that doesn't make such sense, but sense is the first victim in our line of work.
After a few moments, Terence stopped wincing. Plugging one nostril with a thumb, he blew out a bloody clump that looked ready to propagate a new species. I swallowed the heave rising through my body. "Come on then - what did the little Lindon in your head say?"
He turned, blinking, to look at me. "Trouble."
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the tale!
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. We don't trust him yet. |
By Fleedleflump
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
We passed through Pennylast's central marketplace at a steady run. That was one constant in my life's work - regardless of the legality or morality of whatever I've been up to, it inevitably requires lots of running. Faced with that, you soon learn to find a pace you can keep up for an extended period. Usually, there's someone behind or in front of you who's going to respond violently if you meet. When that happens, as with now, you need to be able to fight without your own internal lightshow or puke drizzling between your lips.
As far as I could tell from the few words I'd been able to extract from Terence, the others had talked to the architects behind the Belly Row renovation and not managed to uncover anything suspicious. When they sent a team of survey wizards to have another look at the development, the Companions went with them as protection.
Predictably, within a short space of time, it all went wronger than a politician's sex life.
"So, were they actually fighting when Lindon deafened us?" I said.
Without breaking stride, Terence grabbed a sausage from a stall as we passed, pointing to his badge. "Incoming attack," he said.
I flicked a coin back over my shoulder to the butcher chasing us. "Belly Row isn't much further - hopefully, we can get there in time to help."
A few more alleys, and we could hear ominous sounds up ahead. The all too familiar reports of weapons chiming against armour mixed with deep rumblings that shook the ground as well as the air. Either those survey wizards were employing some serious hypernatural weaponry, or the fight happened to coincide with an earthquake.
"Run ahead," I said to Terence, irritated at the slight rasp in my voice - I'd pushed it too hard. "You'll be faster and more help than me."
He made eye contact before nodding and accelerating into a sprint, Broadsword of Bashing sliding into his grip as if from nowhere. I paused in the middle of the alley and placed hands on knees, fighting through the tension in my chest. This didn't seem right - I should have been able to keep that pace all day. I might have had enough life experiences to make an intrepid explorer feel boring, but I'm not old yet. (No, I'm not giving you a year count. Just trust me, okay? I'm not old.)
"Roooooooozlyyyyyyyyn." It was a whisper on the breeze, fainter than the inspiration for a painting, more an idea than sound itself. It was also creepier than a spider in a vampire costume. "I waaaaant yoooooouuuuu."
"If someone's there, show yourself now and I might not bitch-slap you back to yesterday." Yeah, I can be aggressive when I'm out of breath.
"Roooooooozlyyyyyyyyn." Something moved. I was in a particularly narrow passage between streets, tall buildings either side, with a single, battered wooden door next to me. The door wasn't moving but it seemed to be shifting, the ghost of a shadow playing across its aged timber surface. I considered shouting for Terence to come back but that seemed irrational ... and I didn't want to be a wimp. "Come tooo meeeeeeeee."
I blinked and backed up a step. "Seriously - not funny anymore."
"Commmmmmmeeeeee." A skeletal finger emerged from a join in the wood, cloaked in tar-black smoke, shaking like an arthritic ghost. In the distance, more rumbles sounded and the floor vibrated. A tingling sensation whizzed into my nether regions and threaded its way through my innards up into my chest. In a different context, it might have been pleasant, but that only made it more sinister, more intrusive.
I could feel my heartbeat thudding in my temples.
I'm not easy to scare, alright? I've been burned and stabbed, beaten up and chased, spat at and insulted in several very aggressive manners. This was something else entirely. If I had balls, I'm pretty sure they'd be half way up my body by now, vibrating like marbles struck by lighting. That finger stabbed and called at me in equal measure, plucking at deep strings and touching a place not even I was comfortable thinking about.
The wall opposite the door smacked into my back, making me jump. I hadn't even realised I was moving.
I pursed my lips. "Just piss off, okay? I got friends to save." Why so defensive? It was just a stupid finger, beckoning from several feet away. It wasn't hurting me, but it reduced me to child-like wishes for respite. The pain in my chest wasn't from breathlessness anymore - it was fear, hard and dark and unrelenting. "Oh, this is just ridiculous! Sod it, I'm leav-"
The door burst open, emitting a stream of speeding shapes.
Unfortunately, my first reaction was to yelp like a harpy catching her nipple in a zip. As a result, by the time I realised it was just a couple of swarthy - frankly, quite plain - guys with leather-clad clubs, they'd already entered close quarters. One pinned my arms to the wall while the other stripped away my dirks. I tried to knee the one holding me in the groin, but he was ready for that and blocked with a thigh.
Back against wall, arms held up, two guys pressed against me. Yeah, I don't mind admitting a stab of panic flickered through me, but it was that sensation that galvanised me into action.
See, you have two options when panic hits. You either go with it, and lose yourself in that hiding place deep within, shielding behind the vulnerability of fear and abandonment, freeing your thoughts from the turmoil of the present, or...
"AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Fire burned in my throat as I snapped my head forward, obliterating one guy's nose with my face. Blood smacked in hot ribbons across my cheeks and chest. His hands loosened on my arms and I cannoned an elbow sideways at my other attacker. I felt my joint crunch and break on something hard, but something gave way on his side too. There was no pain, no fear, no hesitation - just a world of red brutality.
I launched myself onto the guy without a nose, carrying him to the floor. Somewhere in mid tumble, my hand wrestled his club from his fist. We landed on the ground and a breath-full of blood fountained from the mess in the middle of his face. His hand swept up to strike me, so I opened my mouth. I felt some teeth give way when his fingers crashed between my jaws, but that didn't stop me biting down with every ounce of fear-induced hatred I could summon.
He screamed, mouth open wide in agony. Something struck me on the back of the head and my world blurred.
No pain, no fear, no hesitation.
I spat his fingers onto his forehead and rammed the club down into his open mouth, feeling its length sliding down into throat and neck. Another blow rang against my head and everything shifted, turning to shades of grey and pastel streaks of colour. I heard a roar tear through my throat, full of the madness of combat and adrenalin, and I levered the club back with all my might. I felt his lower jaw come away with the motion, a muffled gurgle breaking through the sonic gloom. I had time to throw all my might back the other way, time to feel things crunch and shift, time to know he'd never attack anyone in an alley ever again.
Then my vision shook for a third time, and all sensations faded, settling into a darkness that just might be permanent.
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the tale!
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. |
By Fleedleflump
Light. No - not light. Just movement. Shadows danced like nymphs in the night, casting shapes in stuttering shimmers. There were sounds too but they were under water, moaning at me in a drone of slowed booms. The dancers slowed to a halt, their shimmering tails resolving into clouds in a black sky. I tried to wipe my eyes but realised I couldn't move my hands. Both were held tightly in place - as indeed were my legs.
This wasn't good.
The noises were less foggy now, resolving themselves into voices too slurred for understanding against the backdrop of screaming agony throbbing in the back of my skull. I tried to move again and succeeded only in breaking a clammy sweat. My eyelids felt like they could almost move but when they started to open, light poured in like acid.
"Roz? Roz? Ach, lass, ye had us worried!"
I shook away some of the clouds. "Mmmimak sensss?"
"Hmm? I heard ye whimper."
"Not whimper."
A different voice sounded. "Is she awake?"
"Aye, lad. She just whimpered."
"Didn't whimper."
"She back wiv us? Thought I 'eard a whimper."
I shifted angrily. "Dirt's knackers, I didn't bloody whimper, okay? I don't do whimpering." My voice sounded strange and it took me a few moments to realise it was down to the missing teeth at the front of my mouth.
"Oh yes - she's back, alright," said Lindon - yes, Lindon. Things were coming into focus. I risked opening my eyes again and just dealt with the pain as light overtook my reality.
"Good to see you came back to life, boss," rumbled the unmistakable tones of Terence.
Harry let out one of his trademark in-accent chuckles. "Aye, tha meat mountain believes ye dead if ye canne speak, lass."
"Well, I'm alive again now, even if my head feels as sore as a rabbit on wedding night." I tried to mop my brow but still couldn't move my hands. "Okay, so why can't I move? Either I caught a permanent kind of injury, in which case you shouldn't have woken me up, or you have me restrained ... And if that's the case, I'll be inflicting one punch for every heartbeat it takes you to untie me."
I heard Lindon mumble something and a pressure release across my prone form. I briefly considered serving him for dinner but settled for the kind of glare that curdles milk in the udder.
He promptly tried to hide behind Terence.
"We 'ad to," piped up Smiff. "You was right arsy while you were out. Kept grabbing folks' twig n berries. Don't blame the Elf - we made 'im do it."
Images of the alley fight flashed into my head, served with a heavy side of panic. I drew in a sharp breath, trying to quell the fluttering in my chest. My elbow throbbed hard but I could move it, which meant it was fixed - mechanically, at least.
"What happened?" I coughed and pulled myself to a sitting position. I had on the flimsiest gown imaginable, made from the kind of cloth posh folk use to wipe their arses. It was rougher than a sand shower and about as comfortable as a cactus armchair. "Last thing I remember is sending Terence to help you lot, a dirty magic finger, and getting into a fight I wasn't sure I could get out of. Remind me not to do that last bit again."
"Well," said Lindon's voice from behind Terence's torso. "Turns out, I hadn't turned off the connection I made to you properly. That's what I get for trying out new magic. Anyway, you sent out some thoughts so powerful and violent, they damned near scrambled my brains. I figured you must be in trouble." A slender hand appeared, just about visible over Terence's shoulder, patting. "Our barbarian here came back for you. Unfortunately, between what you did to one guy and what he did to the other one, they weren't really in a position to answer questions." He paused for a moment. "I, err, I'm not sure about the finger thing you mentioned. Are you sure it wasn't a fever dream?"
"It was real, alright," I said blearily, casting a gaze around the room. "Real and nasty. That wasn't magic like you do, Lindon. It was ... sick, somehow. It wasn't the usual stuff - not dragons, demons or sorcerers. This was someone - or something - deeply troubled and powerful." Harry was looking at me, worried - he's a sweetie, really. Lindon was peeking under a barbarian's armpit, still nervous, and the barbarian himself stood with hands on hips, apparently happy I'd returned from the dead. By one foot was a large burlap sack. To the side, Smiff was twitching nervously.
I sniffed. "I only ever felt something that ... dirty once before." A realisation bloomed in my thoughts. "When I was burgling a certain house owned by a certain crime family. I remember, because it was too much for Elljay."
"Huh," said Lindon, shrugging. "Yeah, but a mild curry was too much for Elljay."
"True." I grinned. "But this was bad - even for me. We never did find out who was behind that."
Harry spat on the floor. "Dirty buggers mess with tha fabric o' things. It'll nee end well."
"A powerful bastard explains the barny we got in down Belly Row," said Smiff. "I ain't seen spellin' like that ever. Like the ground itself wanted to muck us up." He sniffed. "I don't trust nothin' I can't cut with a sword."
"Aye," said Harry, nodding. "Tha poor folk turned on us wi' tools and stones, eyes breet red. They didne know ther strength." His voice dropped to a sinister croak. "We had te put 'em doon."
Lindon shifted like he had gnomes in his pants. "I tried to shield us, Roz. I really did. In the end, all I managed was to cover a retreat. Belly Row's in a state, and we lost some town staff. Whoever was behind that magic, it felt..." He shrugged. "It felt indiscriminate, like they just wanted everyone dead."
"Some duffer," said Smiff quietly, "is coverin' some tracks."
I looked around, absorbing what they were saying. The room around me was unfamiliar, replete with six beds and various timber frames holding an array of outlandish equipment. I was the only occupant, which may or may not be a good thing. "Okay - next question. Where am I? And
Lindon, if you grin and say 'here' I'll make ribbons from your guts."
"The Watch barracks," said the Elf, wisely avoiding sarcasm or existential witticisms. "Mastik seemed ready to argue, but Terence just ignored him. This is their hospital. Their medic says you might see strange things and feel sudden mood changes for a few days."
I snorted. "Is that meant to sound different from usual life with you lot in tow?"
"She's definitely better, lads."
"Aye, fer certain."
"I know."
"Sorted." Smiff looked around the room. "Anyfing you need doin' boss? I feel like a fiff cartwheel at the moment."
I threw him a brief look, wondering why he was in such a rush. My head was throbbing so hard, my vision was fading and pulsing in time to it. "Yeah. You can tell me what's in that big sack nobody's thought to mention yet."
"It's a gift," said Lindon, finally emerging from behind Terence. "We haven't opened it yet, since the very scary delivery demon said it was for you. And I'm really hoping you have an Uncle Donald somewhere in your family, because otherwise you've been talking to somebody seriously dangerous."
"Oh, he wouldn't hurt me," I smiled. "We go back, me and Uncle Don." Air whistled between my teeth. "Tell me I won't be gumming my food like a retired tortoise boxer for the rest of my life."
London smiled nervously. "I tried something. They should grow back. Never tried anything like it before, but I had strong motivation." Okay, so I forgive him.
I gestured at the sack. "He works fast, I'll give him that. This will be the assassin who shot at me outside my home." Images rushed through my head. "Seems like a long time ago now. Terence, be a darling and unwrap my gift for me, will you? Let's see what he has to say."
The barbarian picked up the bag and Smiff headed for the door. "I got to report in and stuff."
We all exchanged looks as he left the room.
"Alright," I said. "Who's upset Smiff?"
I got shrugs from three different heights and a thud as one vaguely conscious assassin hit the floor from an upended sack. He was wearing all-black tight fitting leather and dark stain on his face and bald pate which rather complimented some significant bruising. Blue eyes that might have been piercing instead conveyed an air of defeat.
"I confess," he mumbled. "I'll tell you everything."
Without a word, Terence picked him up by an ankle and punched him in the stomach, heading to the nearest wooden bed frame to hang him upside down.
"I was hired," he wheezed, "to shoot at you."
"Confess," said Terence, grabbing the guy by one wrist and using it to hit him in the face with his own hand. "Confess, or keep hitting yourself."
"I am confessing, you great lumbering arse! I said I'd tell you everything!"
Another punch. "Confess."
"I confess - I did it. I shot at the lady over there. I got paid to take the shot."
"Confess." This time, the guy's fist hit hard enough to draw blood.
"Dirt's balls, you really are an idiot aren't you?"
"Confess." Smack.
"It was me, boss, I did it all, I'll name everyone!"
Thunk. "Confess."
"Fine," said the assassin, desperation in his voice. "No way, man, I ain't telling you anything. You can beat me all you want, I won't say a thing. I'll die before I talk."
Terence nodded and turned to me, his face the picture of earnest intent. "He's ready to talk now."
I tried to ignore Harry's shaking shoulders and Lindon wheezing with laughter. "Thank you."
Bracing myself, I slid from the cot onto the floor, doing my best to hide how wobbly my legs felt. Heading across the room, I crouched in front of our captive and turned my head to look into his upside down eyes. With the darkening face paint, mingled with bruises, blood and a rough stubble, he looked like a demonic creature ... or a dead cactus.
"Speak the name," I said quietly, pleased at the dry scratch in my throat - it made me feel threatening. "I already know who commissioned you, but confirm it for me."
He blinked. "I only dealt with a go-between. Swarthy bloke with a rough-and-tumble accent."
Something flickered in my thoughts but I stowed it for later. "Speak the name." I put a bit more insistence in my voice.
"If I do, I'm a dead man."
"Not if I kill every person associated with your answer." I grinned in his face. "And if I tell Terence here you're not cooperating, how long do you think you'll last?"
I watched the last resistance drain from his expression. "Fine," he said, sighing. "Bass. It was Bass."
"Of course it was. No other family would have the balls to mess so openly with me and this town.
Which brother did you deal with?"
"You can tell the difference?" He shrugged, which looked very odd on somebody hanging by a foot.
I conceded his point mentally but got distracted by what I can only classify as an intimate draught. All at once, I was reminded of the flimsy gown I had on.
I turned my head to one side. "Hang on ... my arse is on show, isn't it?"
"Let's put it this way," said Lindon in a tight voice. "The dwarf is standing with his back turned, and he's redder than a she-devil after a good spanking."
I turned back to see the assassin craning his neck, trying to see round me. "Don't push your luck." I stood up straight and backed away until the cot edge protected my modesty. "Put him back in the bag, Terence, and don't worry about doing it neatly. Harry, you can turn around again now."
I folded my arms and looked around The Companions. "I have to check something with Mastik, but I have a feeling we've got a security issue. Clearing that up is first order of business."
"Aye," said Harry. "And then what?"
"Easy." I mimed slicing my throat. "Then we go fishing."
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the tale!
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. |
By Fleedleflump
"Who sent you?"
I tripped him as I pushed, shoving his off-balance form against the wall of the alley behind The Dragon's Tail. His head bounced from the brick with an audible donk and breath burst between his lips. What had been a cocky, baffled expression turned to pain and anger. He opened his mouth to speak and I leaned forward, smashing his lips with my forehead. Anger was flopping around inside me like my stomach wanted to escape. While he sputtered blood, I drew a dirk and held it up in front of his face.
"You know what I want to do with this?" I widened my eyes at him so he'd know how serious I was, or at least so he'd think I was insane (entirely possible). "I'll give you a clue. It's not much effort on my part, but your part will notice the difference."
He shrugged, trying to get away with a confused grimace, so I head-butted him again.
"Don't test me, Smiff. Just lay it out. Tell us what's been going on."
"Spesh ... speshal constable," he murmured.
This time I placed a knee somewhere he really didn't want it. "Nope. I spoke to Mastik. He never assigned us a liaison." My voice sounded more like a growl. "That assassin knew who you were, didn't he? You were his liaison. That's why you left in such a hurry."
I glanced behind me to see Terence, Lindon and Harry watching, arms all crossed. "What, not going to tell me I should stop? Not going to suggest I'm too angry to see things rationally?"
Harry smiled without a trace of humour. "Nay, lass. Ye go right aheed."
I looked back at Smiff, whose bleeding face looked defeated. "I should have been more suspicious from the start. You managed to be elsewhere every time we came near the watch and you steered our investigation without seeming to. My only question is why - if you were just going to kill me?"
His eyes opened wider than a hobbit's in a pie shop. "I never wanted you dead. You ain't just a fit bird who's good in a barny. I ak-chally like you. I even like this lot." He gestured behind me.
"Careful, Smiff." I waggled my blade in his face again. "My knife wants to play and you're still not answering my questions."
"Alright, alright." He held his hands up in submission. "I'll come clean. Bass paid me to lead you on. You figured out this is all the Bass boys, right?"
"It might have helped if we'd known from the start, old chap," piped up Lindon.
Smiff shrugged and ran a hand roughly through his hair. "My job was makin' sure you was where they wanted you at the right times. When the guy took a shot at you, I was meant to save you. You know - gaining trust and all that. He came closer to getting you than I fought. Fing is," he sniffed and a tear trickled down his face. "Fing is, when I saw that bastard pulling the trigger, I realised sumfink. I realised I really didn't want you dead. Then, after we spoke to the union blokes, I knew I was part of a team. A bunch of folks who look out for one anuvver - that's sumfink I never had. That's more to me than a bloody pay packet."
I crossed my arms. "I might believe you if it wasn't for that ambush in the alley." A tug of fear plucked at my stomach. Those weren't going to be the types of memories to fade quickly. "I don't know if I can forgive that."
"It wasn't me, luv!" The tears looked genuine but I couldn't trust him. "Why you fink I steered you to make uvver enquiries? I knew they wanted you near Belly Row, with the survey wizards. I fought I'd managed to get you clear of it. For what it's worf, I don't fink they wanna kill you. Uvverwise, they'da just let the guy shoot you."
I blinked. "That would explain why they came at me with rubber-wrapped koshes and not swords."
Smiff sniffed. "I want to join you guys. I can help with jobs."
I laughed in astonishment. "The only place you're going is back to Mastik so he can stick you in a cell until you rot." I turned to the Companions. "All we need to do is figure out how to confront the Bass brothers without getting thoroughly murdered on our way into their place. Uncle Don might help - anything to undermine the competition - and Mastik will play a part."
"Use Dennis," said Lindon. "If you turn up the sassy, he'll help you out. Not to mention, he's invested - the union got played here, as much as anyone else."
"Let me 'elp." Smiff's voice was small, but it cut through the rest of us with determination. "Give me a distraction, and I'll go in and kick them buggers into submission. They fink I don't know, but I got knowledge o' their base of operations."
"You're not planning to break in through the poop chute, are you?" I said wryly. "Because I did that once, and once was enough."
He scowled. "No. Why would anyone do that?"
"It's a long story, but that's not the point."
"Listen, luv." He wiped his eyes and stood up straight. "I got a way in and plenty to prove. Let me open the doors for you and present them bastards on a platter. And hey," he shrugged. "If I get killed, that's one more problem out your hair." His eyes were deadly serious. "Come on, you got nothing to lose. I bloody bonded with you lot, alright? Let me prove I'm one o' the boys."
I turned back to my comrades. A dwarf, an elf, a barbarian and a thief - what a nutty bunch we were. "What do you think?"
There was a general shrug. "Let's fish," said Lindon.
Something thudded in my head like a nearby building had collapsed. The others all sucked in breaths and closed their eyes like they'd just walked in on their grandparents playing spanky-spank in leather chaps and a harness. All except Lindon, that is, whose eyes were scrunched up like buttonholes.
"No," he whispered. "Please not..."
"Urgh," I mumbled in response, realising the sensation was a mental clearing of the throat.
Magic threat. Need help. Come with GIMP.
I turned to look along the alley, and saw the unmistakable shape of a gnome standing there.
Come. Join Gnome Train.
"Oh, for f-"
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the tale!
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. |
By Fleedleflump
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
"What toe-rag fed me magic mushrooms?" Smiff looked like he'd been promised a threesome - and got five. "That was bloody beau'iful, but ... but"
I smiled. "But crazier than thirsty tree-men setting off fireworks at a bonfire festival?"
"Ay, or a wee Dwarf stuck above groond fer years at a time," muttered Harry.
The Gnome Train tooted cheerfully as it disappeared through a wall. The Companions had ridden it once before but Smiff's reaction reminded me just how insane some of our history was. Imagine riding a tortoise with tiny handlebars, connected by string to other tortoises, each a different colour of the rainbow, and for some reason time and space don't occur to you for a while. Someone might be playing a harp that sounds like kittens giggling ... We're not quite there, but that'll have to do. The train had left us, baffled and numb, standing in a featureless stone room that might have felt like a jail cell if it wasn't bathed in sourceless bright pink light.
Lindon sniffed and wiped a tear from his cheek. "Just be thankful you only have human vision. That place we travelled through is somewhere people are not meant to be, and I have just enough vision to see it."
Terence reached back and hiked up one buttock to let a fart out.
The GIMP welcomes you.
I jumped half way out of my skin as the words presented themselves in my consciousness. I could sense the cuteness penetrating me from behind ... okay, that sounded wrong. I turned to look down at the gnome who'd materialised in the room, steeling my throat so I wouldn't vomit at the sheer adorability.
"Slap my arse and call me Daddy," whispered Smiff. "I never fought I'd see no gnome."
"Careful," I said, hating the tightness of my voice. "They might be cute but they're dead serious. I don't know about yours, but that only half describes my Dad." I leaned forward. "Hey, little fellow. Where's your fishing rod?"
Not angler. Not Daddy. Gnome. GIMP thanks you. In the pink light, the gnome's tiny, angular features - whilst humanistic - had something decidedly demonish about them. I tried to keep telling myself that so I wouldn't scoop it up into a cuddle and whisper 'coochie coo' into its face.
"I just gotta check," said Smiff quietly. "Is he, like, an akchal gimp, cos wiv those little 'ands, I don't wanna fink ab-"
I held up a hand before he put too many thoughts in my head. I could almost feel the colour of Harry's face and Lindon was sniggering beneath his breath. "It stands for the Gnome Initiative for Meritorious Policing - it's why Mastik's not allowed to use magic to solve crime." I blinked at the gnome. "You need to stop referring to yourself as 'the GIMP' or this lot won't hear anything you try to tell them."
You talked to The Traveller. She told you.
"The Trav- You mean Loony Lipton? Yes, she helped. That doesn't count as using magic, does it? I haven't broken the code or anything, have I?" I put a dramatic hand against my eyes. "Oh, woe is me! I've been naughty and now the GIMP will punish me."
I swear, Lindon actually vibrated. If he'd been drinking, we'd all be dripping in his spit right now. Ew.
Gnomes cannot treat with the traveller. Her mind closed. Gnomes thank you.
I sighed. "Okay, so can we get on with things? We need to go have a hard, painful talk with the Bass Brothers. Or are we not allowed to do that?"
Delayed for your protection. Safe now. Magic presence dissipated. The gnome blinked twice and a breeze wafted my hair. Looking to my side, I saw one wall was gone, and an unusually clean alley was just ... there. Allies contacted. Distractions in place. Proceed.
With that, the gnome was gone.
"Funny little bugger," said Lindon. "What was all that about?"
"Uh think we just dodged aboot thirty arrows ta tha gullet," murmured Harry.
I nodded and matched gazes with all of them. "I think you're right."
Smiff sniffed. "That's the alley behind the Bass house. I reckon it's time then, me old muckers. Can I proov me loyalty?"
I smiled, still not sure whether to trust him. "Lead the way."
*****
The back door to the Bass family abode looked like a tree was caught committing a serious crime, got beaten up, arrested, and thrown in jail for a long time. Which is to say the wood was old and battered, and iron ran through it in a regular pattern. As ancient and worn as it looked, this door was harder than a street fighter in plate mail, with half the personality.
We crouched round it, weapons drawn, waiting for the signal to either burst in, run away, or fight like starved rats with anger management issues. It was getting to be too long since Smiff slipped inside, reciting his new catchphrase of 'you can trust me' as he went.
"If tha wee turncoat betrays us," whispered Harry, "we're all buggered."
Lindon muttered, "especially me - I'm the pretty one."
Terence let out a rumbly burp, which seemed a reasonable enough comment on the situation.
"He's probably been distracted by all the art and paraphernalia in there." I swallowed, remembering some of the more detailed tapestries. "Why is it when folk get a little bit of power, they immediately turn into sexual deviants?"
Out front, a raucous mob shouted a weird combination of chants. Carmen were hollering about workers' rights and powerful bastards trying to keep them down, plants from Uncle Don were shouting anything inflammatory they could think of, and a squad of watchmen was banging on the front door, demanding they be let in to question the occupants.
It seemed the GIMP had been busy.
"It's not Smiff that scares me," I said. "If it comes to it, we can handle him, and he seemed genuine." I suppressed a shiver. "It's magic that bothers me. The murders were done by someone with no conscience and enough power to not have to worry about it. Lady Lipton said the spell that killed them was so strong, it damaged the gateway when they died. I'm not clear what that is, but it sounded like we want it to stay in good repair. Couple that with the ambush in that alley - which scared the shit out of me, by the way - and we have an unknown, very hypernatural caster in the mix."
I looked into all their faces to ensure they understood. "The Bass family are bad men, but they're not known for their magic. I think they're being used as much as we are."
Harry nodded. "This smells like tha business with tha wee tortured gnomes and the jewel and the Dragon Dance. Uh theenk that's why they helped us just noo."
I snorted in frustration. "Every time I turn round on this job, someone's using magic. Even the ones helping us do it with things I can't touch or control. It feels like we're the gimps, and everyone else is holding whips."
"Ay," said the dwarf, apparently too tired or worried to be phased by my bondage comparison. "Ah thenk we're being used."
"No," moaned Lindon. "Not a bloody conspiracy. I hate bloody conspiracies. Everyone talks like they know more than they do and credits everyone else with too much intelligence."
"Not a conspiracy," I said. "Just maybe bigger than we first thought."
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door clicked and creaked open slowly. From the shadows, a shocked face appeared, followed by an armour-clad guard. We had our weapons half-drawn before I realised he was dead. The body toppled forward, landing amongst us like a sack of old meat with a suspiciously phallic dagger sticking from his back.
Smiff's face emerged in the guard's wake. If anything, he looked even more dead than the corpse. "Got all the guards," he grunted. "Lost me weapon in the last rumble, so I 'ad to kill this one with a foot-long metal cock." He was leaning against the doorway, one foot hanging limp, and there was more blood than skin visible on the rest of him. "I mean, I found it inside. I don't gen'rally sneak into houses with a cock in me pocket." He winced and sucked in a breath. "You're gonna wanna look upstairs. That bit wasn't me. I just need to ... fall over for a bit."
With that, he slumped to the ground and waved us past.
Inside, a dank smell pervaded and the chants from out front seemed muted, like the very air was calling for silence. We wove our way between bodies and filthy artwork as I retraced my previous steps from what seemed like aeons ago but was actually less than a season - up the stairs, along the corridor, round the corner ...
The Bass's office wasn't quite how I remembered it. Don't get me wrong - architecturally, it was the same, and display cases were still filled with torture devices and implements the more ... adventurous in society would probably call toys. But someone clearly came in to add new decor.
...With intestines on shelves, peeled faces on windows, and a general layer of viscera on pretty much every surface - horizontal and otherwise. For no obvious reason, a sole boot stood in the middle of the mess like a place marker.
"Funny that a single boot survived," said Lindon in a quiet voice.
"Och, really? Yer gunney focus on the wee boot as opposed to the inside out bodies?" If Harry's beard vibrated any more, it'd come loose and make a run for freedom.
I swallowed a lump which I hoped was emotional. "Seems we're not getting answers on this one, boys."
"They didn't do what they were meant to," said Terence. "And the boss didn't like it."
"Yeah, but what were they meant to do?" Lindon sounded more uncertain than I'd ever heard him.
Harry growled. "Somethin' ta do with our lassie here."
"Whoever it was murdered innocents and messed with every tier of Pennylast's social structure ... just to manipulate me?" I looked around the room. "Nobody ever found me that interesting!" I sighed. "No, I think the Millers had something valuable, even if they didn't know it. Whoever did this, they wanted that stupid ring-jewel from before, and they wanted whatever the Millers had." I tapped a foot, feeling something zip through my guts like a bad meal. "And for whatever reason, they want me too."
"Dunne fret, lass. We have yer back."
A crash sounded from the front of the building and, moments later, Mastik entered the room with a group of watchmen.
"We have to stop meeting this way," I said with a wry smile.
He didn't even glance my way, eyes roving the sights around him. "Dirt's teeth, what did you do to them?"
"Us? Nothing. But the Bass boys certainly disappointed somebody."
He lifted one boot and grimaced at the goo stuck to it. "I don't even know what this is."
I listened to the angry chanting outside for a moment. "Whatever else it might be," I said, finally catching his gaze. "It feels a little bit like justice."
| Author Notes |
One more chapter to go! Many thanks for reading.
Characters The Companions - A group of mercenaries who take odd jobs for cash. Used to be the wrong side of the law and now aren't so sure. Rozlyn - Leader of The Companions. Sarcastic and doesn't take crap. Harry - Dwarven getaway carter (of old). Scottish accent. Only recently grew a beard. Been with Rozlyn the longest. Lindon - Elven wizard, kind of useless, often randy. Terence - Huge barbarian. Generally oblivious. Handy in a barny. Smiff - Cockney Watch Deputy. We don't trust him yet. |
By Fleedleflump
Mastick's moustache shrugged as he sat across from me. I wasn't sure whether he was smiling, trying not to smile, or suffering from constipation. I bit down on my natural instinct to ask him whether it was his 'difficult poo' face. His room in the Watch HQ was simple and functional. If Uncle Don's office was a ten course banquet with laid-on entertainment, Mastick's was bread and water. Stale bread... And pond water.
"This room serves my purpose," he said quietly, and I realised my eyes had been roving.
"What purpose is that - boring suspects into confessing their crimes?"
The moustache twitched. "Whatever works. Do you have something you need to tell me?"
"Yes," I snorted, grinning. "I confess I corrupted a Watch Sergeant. He's come dangerously close to flippant comments."
He placed his hands on the simple, square desk between us. "I have to be honest, I don't know how I feel about where we've ended up. Did you solve the case?"
I shifted. The basic chair was as comfortable as hot, jagged stones. If it didn't give me piles, it was determined to replicate the sensation. I envied Terence, standing behind me with his arms crossed like a sweaty statue. I shrugged, although I didn't feel that casual. "Some bad people are dead, and the likely culprit is at large, but I feel like whoever it is may be done with Pennylast for the time being."
He blinked. "Parts of the town collapsed, innocents were hurt, I've got dubious characters now thinking I owe them favours, and to top it off, the Carmen are demanding better pay and the council is blaming me for it!"
"I have it on good authority that if you flirt with Carmen Dennis, he tends to give you what you want - especially if you're rude to him. Try that - it might help defuse things." I couldn't resist smiling.
"Hah!" Mastick smiled back. "Something tells me that's a you tactic, not a me tactic." He placed a significant wad of bank notes on the table. "Payment, as agreed. I'm not sure you really solved things, but you certainly brought them to a head."
I nodded. "Head is our specialty." Damn, it's a good job Lindon isn't here!
He pushed the pile of notes towards me. "Do you need security to escort you to the bank?"
"Nah." I looked straight up at the undersides of Terence's pecs and cleared my throat. He reached over me, grabbed the money, and deposited it in his loin cloth. "I have a mobile safe deposit box."
Mastick couldn't stop the frown from wrinkling his forehead. "I really wish I hadn't watched that." He fixed those burning eyes back on mine. "What are you planning to do now? Nothing too damaging to Pennylast, I hope."
"Something usually crops up for me and the boys." I reached back and patted Terence - hopefully somewhere appropriate. A memory flashed through my head - smoke, fingers, mortal fear. I stood up and shook Mastick's hand. "And if not, I have a bone to pick with a wizard."
*****
"To working," said Lindon, hoisting his beer.
"Ta gettin' paid," countered Harry.
"It's been a funny job, this one," I said, sipping my ale and peeling my lip from the rim of the tankard. "I feel like I've done too much chatting, way too much thinking, and not enough violent, unhinged face-rearranging."
Terence swallowed his entire drink in one go and slammed his cup down with a crash and a thunderous belch that - I swear - actually wafted my hair from across the table. "I can drink to that."
There were a few rounds of applause from nearby tables - the Dragon's Tail was unusually busy today.
"The Royal family is in town," said Lindon. "It seems that's good for business." He shifted in his seat. "What's happening to Smiff?"
"He's in the watch infirmary," I said. "I asked Mastik to lay off him while we decide what to do."
"Ken we trust him?" said Harry quietly. "Uh kinda liked the fella."
I shrugged. "We'll see. I'm thinking of paying him a penny for a job's work, and seeing where we go from there." A penny was classic mercenary pay for a probationary task.
"So," said Terence, refilling his tankard from a jug. "Are we going to kill this wizard?"
Lindon snorted. "Personally, I'll be happy if we never encounter him again, but something tells me that's not going to happen."
"Yeah," I said. "He's not done with us. We need to keep eyes open, ears to the ground, and all those other things people say when they mean you're in trouble. Next job we do, it needs to be away from here - somewhere we can see danger coming."
A throat was cleared behind me by somebody so posh, they could cough with a haughty accent. "Am I addressing The Companions?"
I followed Lindon's admiring smirk to the man behind me. He was dressed in bright green leggings and a bold blue tabard with gold trim. I gave him a snake's chance of flying when it came to getting out of here with his clothing intact.
"I hope you're here to hire us as bodyguards, Lord Stiffwhittle, or whatever your name is, because in about five breaths, you're going to need us."
Despite a slightly perturbed expression, he unrolled a scroll to read from. "By royal decree, the mercenary group known as The Companions is summonsed to appear before the royal family, for the purpose of a most important commission."
"Surely the royal family should get to go first," said Lindon's voice behind me, but I ignored him.
I raised my eyebrows at the messenger. "What kind of commission?"
Despite his poise, I could see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like someone had a string attached to it. "Dangerous yet lucrative."
Turning to the others, I couldn't keep a smile from my own face. "Drink up, guys. Sounds like we have work to do."
THE END
| Author Notes |
This concludes A Penny for you Fought, which is part 2 of the Dragon Dance Tales. Keep an eye out for part 1, which I'll be posting soon, after some additional work.
I hope you enjoyed the read :-) Mike |
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