The GIMP and the Pleasure Palace

"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."