by Dave Dobson
“No, no, we’re fairly certain she was dead before they arrived.” Fairly certain that they hadn’t carved through Novara with the blazing insignia of a moon cult – no, that would be my doing.
“Oh, how horrible!” She held a hand to her mouth.
Terrence was more philosophical. “She was rude, and she didn’t like your food. If she’s a thief, too, then we’re well rid of her.”
Boog nodded sympathetically. “I think we need to go report back. Thank you so much for speaking with us. Your information will help us sort this out. You are wonderful observers.”
Mavis beamed. I added, “If you think of anything else, or if you see anything else out of the ordinary at the house, please contact us. I’m Inspector Mingenstern, and this is Inspector Eggstrom, but you can talk to any inspector and they'll pass the word on to us.” I stood. “Thank you also for your very gracious hospitality. I can honestly say I’ve never had better pastries.”
Mavis shone even brighter. “Thank you so much, inspector! Oh, you must take some with you.” She hopped up and ran back to the back of the house. Boog stood up, too, trying not to drop crumbs on the floor.
Terrence extended is hand, and I shook it. “Sorry about threatening to shoot you there, boy.”
“All in a day’s work, sir.” Well, not usually, but it sounded good, I thought.
Mavis returned with a bulging cloth sack bigger than Boog’s head. “I added some extras for you to share with the other inspectors. But keep the golden honey squares for yourself. They’re a family recipe.” She handed it to Boog, whose eyes widened as he thanked her. He could eat anyone under the table, especially me, but he’d be lucky to get through these in a week, or more. I wondered how Terrence stayed so thin. Mavis cleared the teacups and headed back to the kitchen.
“Thanks again,” I said, and we turned to leave.
As we neared the door, I heard Mavis cry, “Wait!”
I stopped. More information? I wondered what else she could have seen. We could use some more leads.
“Don’t forget yours, too.” She handed another huge sack to me.
9
Frown for the Count
We knocked on the door of the next house down, but there was no answer. The place looked disused. I suggested we might try the inn, but Boog thought we should check back with the others. I agreed.
When we opened the front door, a smell hit me, and not a pleasant one. I thought perhaps that Novara had ripened a bit more, but as I sniffed further, it smelled more like a stuck privy. Odd. We headed toward the stairs, and the smell intensified. I noticed muddy footprints on the steps. This was not right. I gently put down my bag of treats and drew my warding rod from its sheath, and Boog followed suit, his blade gliding silently out of its scabbard.
Boog motioned me forward, and I padded up the stone steps as quietly as I could, wondering why it was that I needed to go first. I could hear rustling noises from the room above. At the top of the stairs, I pressed myself against the wall, and slowly, ever so slowly peeked around the corner.
Clarice was there, and Denault, going through a chest of drawers. She spotted me and waved. I relaxed, put away my rod, and called Boog up. “We saw footprints on the stairs,” I said. “What’s that smell?”
Denault mutely pointed over to the wall at my side, where Gueran sat glowering at me from the desk chair. He was covered in gray-brown grime from head to toe. He was using a rag to wipe his face but with little apparent result. I tried very, very hard to keep from laughing. “What…what happened?” I brought a hand to my mouth to cover my smile.
Boog pushed past me into the room and spotted Gueran. He snorted, then laughed, his eyes gleaming.
Clarice gestured to Gueran. “I discovered a passageway beneath the floorboards in the room below us. There was a ladder leading down, and Gueran gallantly offered to go first.” Was that a hint of a smile I saw on her lips? "Unfortunately, a step on the ladder broke, and he fell. Also unfortunately, the passage connected to the privy shaft, and he was unavoidably…soiled…when he landed.”
Denault could not keep a straight face, and she looked away. Boog was making little wheezing noises, and I thought I saw tears in his eyes. Clarice continued. “The passageway was dark, and although Gueran was unhurt, we decided to wait until we could return with torches.” Finally, she smiled. “And a change of clothing.” Gueran dropped the rag and bent over his lap, placing his head in his grimy hands.
“So,” said Denault, clearing her throat. “What have you two been up to?”
Boog couldn’t answer, so I had to. I tried for my most happy, enthusiastic voice. “We’ve been next door, having tea and tarts." Boog sat down heavily, clutching his stomach, tears running down his cheeks, whimpering occasionally in his mirth.
Once Boog could talk again, we related our findings. Denault took extensive notes. We covered Novara, the lights and sounds, and the three men and their actions. I remembered then about the house’s owners. “Oh, yes, and they said that this house is owned by the Marron family and is frequently used to house their servants.”
As I said this, I noticed that Gueran looked expectantly at Clarice. Curious. She said nothing, merely frowning, and finally Gueran said, without his usual abrasiveness, “They’re a wealthy family of high-ranking nobility, with several generations of extended family living here in town. Their lands and full estate begin three day’s ride west of here, near Belcaster.”
He continued staring at Clarice as he went on. “Marron himself is not universally liked, and he has interests in many businesses and political groups, and more than a few allies. Some consider him shrewd and clever, but many would call him a ruthless bully. He’s a, shall we say, complex man.”
“Yes,” murmured Clarice. “Complex.” I waited for her to say more, but she turned to study some papers on the desk.
That ended our report. Gueran asked to go home and clean up, and Denault dismissed him. Clarice showed us a small box she’d found under the bed. “It’s locked. I thought you could probably open it.”
To her, I said, mildly, “Yes, I think so.” Inwardly, I was dancing and singing. Clarice thought I was good at something! Even if it was normally a skill for criminals and thieves. Hmm. Maybe I should learn some more laudable talents. Saving kittens from distress, for example, or perhaps dentistry.
First, I tried Novara’s keys. More than once, I’ve spent an hour picking a lock, only to have someone point out the owner’s keys, sitting there all along. No luck this time, though. I got out my tools and set to work. It wasn’t a tricky one – only a couple of pins. I opened it up and felt an unexpected bit of relief. Inside was a pile of gemstones, including black pearls and fire emeralds. This had to be the same set Stennis had stolen. At least we had completed our initial assignment. But then I remembered something. “Do you see one that’s white, with a green circle?”
Clarice shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, but let’s have a closer look.” She poured them carefully out onto the table. There was no sign of the odd stone we’d seen Novara holding. I had meant to check our records, but I forgot in the tumult of the headquarters. But I was pretty sure that the green and white jewel had been in the set of descriptions we’d received from Countess Moriff. The others appeared to be safely accounted for here, but I had a bad feeling about the missing one given Novara’s interest in it. “The gems are here, but the green and white one’s gone,” I called to Boog.
“I wonder if it was taken by the three visitors?” asked Boog. “Must have been.”
Clarice frowned. “But the box was locked.”
“Maybe they opened it and took the key?” I suggested. “Or, wait, she had it out near when she died. They probably just found it on the desk."
Boog squinted. “Was it important to them, or were they just cleaning the place out, taking all the valuables? They probably took her pendant, too.”
Clarice pointed to Novara’s money pouch. “Ten gold pieces in here, and another thirty-odd i
n a bag in the chest-of-drawers. All Gortian. I don’t think this was a robbery."
“It’s possible the pendant and the gem were consumed in the event that killed Novara,” I proposed.
Clarice looked skeptical. “Possible, I suppose, but why assume that? We have a simpler explanation.”
True enough, I thought. I went downstairs to have a look at the secret passage, but on my way I saw my forgotten bag from Mavis. I selected what I thought might be a golden honey square and returned upstairs to Clarice.
“The woman, Mavis – she gave us some of her baking to take home. Would you like one?” I held out the confection.
Clarice smiled and reached for it. “Thank you, Marten. It looks delicious.” Her finger brushed mine as she took it. It was warm. I stood there holding out my empty hand, grinning foolishly, for a bit longer than I should have liked, but then I recovered my wits. I skipped joyfully down the stairs.
“Hey, where’s mine?” Denault called after me.
The door to the passageway was closed, but I could see from Gueran’s footprints where it was. It was cleverly set into the wood of the floor, the door opening along the natural joints between floor planks. One needed to poke through a knothole in one of the planks to pull up the floor section, and there was a recessed trapdoor set into the floor underneath. I noticed little dust. Perhaps it was regularly used, but Gueran’s recent adventure could also have disturbed the area.
As I opened the door, I wondered what nefarious, or perhaps glorious, purposes it might have been used toward in the long history of Frosthelm. I had heard from some of the other inspectors that many of the noble’s houses were riddled with such passageways, the better to overhear a conversation, meet an illicit lover, or make an escape. Growing up as I had in a one-room cottage, it was silly to me to make such a fuss about these things. I guess when one is fabulously wealthy and doesn’t need to work, one needs something to fill one’s time when shopping for new tapestries becomes tiresome.
A wooden ladder led down into the murky depths below. A powerful aroma rose up from those same depths. I took off my cloak, stepped onto the ladder, and carefully made my way down, avoiding not only the broken fourth rung where Gueran had his mishap but also the moist stains marking his ascent afterward. The bottom was lit dimly from the open door above me and also from the square opening of the house’s privy, over to the right of the trapdoor. The base of the ladder rested on a small landing near the dark opening of the privy chute, which I guessed must lead through the curtain wall and down into the lower section of town outside the inner keep. A breach of the city’s defenses, I thought, although the city hadn’t been attacked by an army in centuries. There was a sizable cesspool that lapped up to the chute opening, and there were a mass of muddy markings leading out onto the ledge. Despite the eye-watering stench, I smiled again at the memory of Gueran’s discomfort.
It occurred to me that this whole arrangement might be little more than an access to clean out the jakes as needed. Perhaps that had been its original purpose, but it had taken considerable craftsmanship to hide the door in the floor. There was also the matter of the exit. Behind me, where the ledge met the stone wall of the pit, was a small passageway that led off into darkness, curving gently to the right. It was lined with rough stone. I followed it a good way, tracing my hand against one wall. Eventually, I could no longer see light from the pit behind me. I was probably forty feet down the tunnel, and it headed downward on a gentle incline. I took a few more steps, and the passageway made a sharp turn to the left. I almost lost my contact with the wall in the darkness. We’d definitely need torches or lanterns to go farther in safety.
I retraced my steps, climbed back up the ladder, and closed the trapdoor. I feared I might have become unpleasantly pungent, so I went outside to air out my clothes a bit. The clean, cold air felt wonderfully refreshing after the dank sewer. I was surprised to see a group of eight or ten city guards milling about at the main road. A man in a fine fancy cloak marched up the alleyway. He wore several long gold chains around his neck, and he had a purple cap edged with white fur on his head. He looked to be about forty years old, clean-shaven, with dark hair and blue eyes. He saw me and waved a gloved finger at me.
“What is the meaning of this? This is an outrage! What are you doing in my house, on my property?” he yelled, cloudy vapor puffing from his mouth in the cold air.
“Sir, I am an Inspector, with the Guild, and an investigation led us to a suspect staying in this house.”
“What? Regardless, I gave you no permission to enter this house. I’ll have you arrested!”
This came up frequently. The permission to search part, not my being arrested. “Sir, our Charter, issued by Prelate Leopold and signed by every Prelate since, including His Grace Jeroch, grants us permission to pursue suspected criminals into private homes when we have reasonable grounds to believe they are present.”
He stepped closer to me, bending over so that his nose almost touched mine. “Criminals? There are no criminals here. Do you have any idea who I am?” he growled, threateningly.
An idiot, I thought. “No, sir,” I replied. “I would be very interested in that information, however. Can I have your full name?" I pulled out my small notepad and pencil.
He turned and stormed back to the guards. I pulled the door open and shouted up the stairs. “Inspector Denault! We have company!”
A few of the guards followed the man back to me, one a tall woman with a sergeant’s mark on her armor. I didn’t recognize her, but most of my work was outside the curtain wall in the less tapestried parts of town. “Sergeant! Arrest this man!” he cried.
“On what charge, Count Marron?” asked the sergeant.
“Trespassing! Thieving! Vandalism! Who knows what they’ve done in there,” yelled the man, presumably Count Marron if the guard knew what she was talking about.
The sergeant turned to me. “Inspector, may I see your credentials?”
“Certainly,” I replied. I showed her my ring, and she examined it briefly.
“Thank you. Have you, in fact, trespassed, stolen, or vandalized this property in any way?”
“No, sergeant, of course not.” I thought of Gueran’s footprints. “We have inflicted no damage to the property other than in the necessary execution of our duties,” I amended.
The Count seethed. “Execution. Good word. Expect yours shortly. I have friends in the Justiciary, you know.”
Denault came out and stood beside me, followed by Boog. The sergeant continued. “Did you have reasonable grounds to suspect that a criminal was inside the house?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Actually, she’s upstairs, as is the stolen property we were pursuing her to recover.”
“Do you need assistance in apprehending her?”
I smiled. “Uh, no, we have managed to subdue her.”
Marron reached his limit. “Sergeant, I don’t care about this drivel. I will have you removed from the guard, shackled, and hauled to the dungeon if you do not arrest these people this instant.”
The guard stared at Marron, but she made no move. Denault stepped in, her voice low and smooth. “My lord, pardon my intrusion. It seems to me that there are two possibilities here. We have discovered a thief and murderer residing at a property you own, apparently with your permission. Either you did not know that your houseguest was a thief and murderer, in which case you should want us to complete our investigation as quickly as possible and clear you of any wrongdoing. Or, conversely, you did know, in which case you would likely want to hinder our investigation at every step.”
Denault stepped closer to the nobleman. “So, my lord, which is it? Are you an innocent victim who wishes to assist us, or should we include you in our investigation for aiding in these crimes?”
The sergeant folded her arms across her chest. “The inspector’s perspective makes sense to me, my lord. Do you persist in requesting me to arrest them?” She frowned, and her eyebrows descended to form a dark, fierce line.
I imagined this look was effective deterrence for most of Frosthelm’s citizenry.
Not Marron, though. His returned glare could have frozen the sun. When he spoke at last, it was in a hushed, icily polite tone. “The trauma of these accusations and of my guest’s death must have unsettled me. I apologize to you all, and I wish you success in your investigation." He turned on his heel and strode away.
Boog patted Denault on the shoulder. “Nice work, inspector.”
Denault shook her head. “He’s far more powerful than I am. Maybe more powerful than all the Guild. I’d have preferred not to make an enemy of him."
As I turned back to the house, I saw Clarice standing in the doorway. She had eyes only for the count, staring at him until he rounded the corner at the end of the alley. Her lips made a very thin line across her face, and she clutched her falcon pendant firmly in her left hand.
“Hey,” said Boog. “Did any of us ever mention to the count that Novara was dead?”
Not I, I thought. Now, how had he come by that particular bit of information?
10
Case Closed
I was eating some porridge in our small kitchen when Boog wandered in. “Late night?” he asked. “You look horrible. Really bad."
“Hey, thanks,” I grumped. After we’d returned from Novara’s house, made our reports to the clerks, and filed all the papers and other evidence we’d recovered, I had spent four hours and run through a goodly number of candles in the library looking for further information on the cults I’d studied earlier. With Sir Neggin's book reduced to a sodden mess, there wasn’t too much else to go on, and the time had been frustrating and unproductive.
I shouldn’t really be complaining. Our investigation so far had been amazingly fast-paced. Starting with the report of the robbery, it had taken us less than a week to identify the thief and apprehend him. Or, well, bring him to justice. In a bag. We’d found Novara very quickly, too, in less than two days, and recovered the amulet and all but one of the stolen jewels.