Flames Over Frosthelm

by Dave Dobson

  “These amulets – do you have one of them with you?” she asked.

  “No, Madame. Novara’s was missing when we found her. The one we got from Stennis was in storage at the Guild Hall, but someone removed it.”

  “What kind of mummer’s show are you running over there? Who removed it?”

  “I can’t say, Madame. I don’t know that.”

  “And you say it matches one of the runes around the pool?”

  “Perfectly, Madame. A sunburst behind a full moon.”

  She looked thoughtful for a bit. “That’s interesting, now,” she muttered. “Very interesting.” She rubbed her front teeth with a gnarled dirty finger, her thoughts elsewhere.

  “Madame?”

  “That symbol has been around for centuries, obviously, since the time of the pool’s construction. But as you say, it was used by a band of zealots over a century ago. The Faerans, they called themselves, if I remember correctly. They grew to great power in Frosthelm but were eventually destroyed by Prelate Karela and a group of wizards.”

  I was overjoyed. Progress, at last. “So, do you think they’ve returned?”

  “It sounds as if that’s possible. The Faerans originated in Gortis, and Karela only drove them out of Frosthelm – she didn't hunt down every last one everywhere. Also, the magic you saw – the amulets, the transportation, the disintegration – fits with their earlier patterns. The gems that your wizard had stolen –– can you describe them?”

  “Well, she stole a number of them, but only one seemed to matter to her. It had a clear green circle set into a ball of white opaque material, like a really large pearl.”

  Monique rose from her stool and disappeared into an archway. She was gone for some time. I heard what sounded like her searching through shelves, and then there was an enormous crash, and a cloud of dust drifted into the central room. I rose, uncertain of what to do.

  “Damn it all,” I heard her say. She returned carrying a book and pulling bits of wood and leather from her hair. She sat again. She flipped carefully through the pages of the book, scanning each as she went. “Ha!” she cried at last. She pointed at a page, and I came over to look. “Like this?”

  The page contained several sketches. The top one matched the gemstone we’d seen Novara handling. “Yes, I think that’s it," I replied.

  “The Eye of Hrogar,” he said.

  “Huh?” I replied. “The what of who?”

  “The Eye of Hrogar. The gem is ancient. You said Countess Moriff had it, and reported it stolen? I think her ancestor a century back was an advisor to Karela, maybe even a wizard. I’d have to check the histories. But the earlier Moriff probably got it from the Faerans when they were defeated.”

  “Is that bad? Why’d they want it back? It didn’t seem that valuable. Is it magical?”

  “It’s not valuable or magical on its own. It’s a key.” Monique seemed to be enjoying lecturing me, but I didn’t begrudge her fun.

  “What kind of key?”

  “The eye supposedly fits in a statue which stands guard over a gate to another realm, an unearthly one.”

  I sat down again. “And they want to open this gate? With the eye?” This was becoming more and more outlandish. “What would that get them?"

  “Hard to say. Nobody knows where the gate or the statue are, although they’re rumored to be near Frosthelm. All we have to go on is bits of legend and the rantings of the Faerans. But the Faerans thought it would bring them ascension to eternal life, tremendous infernal power, and a thousand years of dominion over all the planes of existence.”

  I swallowed. “Something everyone needs,” I mumbled, but my joke wasn’t even funny to me.

  She noticed my discomfort. “Aw, lad, don’t worry just yet. There’s no telling if any of this is even true, and they probably don't even know where the statue is. Even if they do, according to their prophecy, they’d have to wait until the next time the moon covers the sun to open the gate. That could be years. Also, there are a bunch of other things they’re supposed to need for the ritual, and they’re hard if not impossible to find.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  Madame Lenarre flipped a page in the book. “Like what? Like this, for instance.” She tapped the book. “The Sacred Mace of Godron. The Fingernails of The Holy Hermit. The fabled Thersian Crown.” She flipped another page. “Heh – and look at this one. The ritually sacrificed body of a trueblood princess of the Golesh tribe. I doubt there's even such a princess left, much less anyone who knows how to perform the ritual.”

  I looked down at the page. “I have a feeling they’re actually pretty far along on that front,” I mumbled. The sketches showed a cut and bleeding woman with intricate scars and a small, curved knife. The book’s illuminations were faded, but even so, the woman’s skin showed a faint bluish tint. “We have one of those in storage.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes wide. “Really.” I nodded. “Perhaps I’d better go check the astrological charts for that eclipse.” She rose. “Why is it always eclipses with these cults? Not a shred of originality. Thousands of stars to observe, all sorts of complex lunar and solar cycles, but no!" She waggled his fingers ominously. “Oooooo! Fear the eclipse!” She sniffed. “Pathetic, really."

  I followed her into an alcove full of books, where after a few minutes’ search, she located a weathered leather-bound tome bearing a flaking gold emblem of concentric rings. She brought it back to the main room and set it on the workbench. She carefully opened the brittle pages, muttering as she fingered through them.

  “Werole,” she said, tapping the book, “was a failure in life – lost his first wife to a circus acrobat, his second to a convent, and his inherited wealth on improbable bets on lizard racing, of all things. But he was the best astronomer the city has produced.” She paused at a page and ran a wizened finger down the scrawled text. “I guess when you're bitter, broke, and alone, you have a lot of time to observe the stars and think. Ah!”

  She thumbed her lower lip, then grabbed a lead pencil and a scrap of parchment and began scribbling. She paused to scratch at an ear. “That’s not good,” she said. "Perhaps I’ve made a mistake.” She ran her pencil over her figures, checking each calculation.

  ‘Not good’ was not what I wanted to hear. “What is it?”

  “Well, I seem to have calculated the eclipse for a little over two weeks hence.”

  “Gaaah!” I gasped. “Two weeks?” I thought again of my vision of the city in flames. Everything I knew could be gone before the month was out.

  The professor didn’t reply at first, absorbed in her calculations. Then she made several corrections and slammed down the pencil. “Ah, there it is. Silly me.”

  A wave of relief washed over me. “We’ve got more time?”

  “Yes, much, much more,” she said. I sagged in my chair, feeling lucky and thankful. My beloved city would survive, perhaps well into the future. My children and grandchildren would play along the cobblestone streets. The Faerans were just a shadowy nightmare, easily forgotten as the new day dawned.

  “We’ve got almost a whole six months,” said Monique happily.

  17

  An Unexpected Invitation

  I wandered, despondent, into the meeting hall. Boog looked up from his seat at a table. “Where’ve you been?” he asked.

  “Learning of the imminent destruction of all of us,” I replied.

  “Well, aren’t you full of good cheer,” he laughed. “Who's predicted our doom?”

  “A scholar. Professor Lenarre. Friend of the Augur.” I told him what I’d learned, of the cult, of the Eye of Hrogar, of the unfortunate blue woman. And of the six –– no, five and a half – months until Frosthelm would burn.

  “Well,” said Boog, his mood a bit more serious. “So, the amulets, the magic, the orange powder– all from these Faerans?”

  I nodded glumly.

  Boog stood and clapped me on the back. “Well, then, you were right. All along.”

 
True, I thought, but I took no satisfaction.

  “We should tell Sophie,” said Boog.

  “I doubt she’ll want to hear that I worked on the case further.”

  “But you have to tell her. You know that,” he replied. “Even if she fires us.”

  “Or throws us in irons.”

  “Yes, or just cuts us down on the spot, before enjoying a bit of cheese. The problem is, though, she’s out. Renne said a courier came with a message just after we, uh, were dismissed, and she hurried out.”

  Great, I thought. I can stay an Inspector for a few more hours, at least. “So, should we track down Bernot? It would help if we had something good to tell her, too.”

  “I’ve made some progress on that,” said Boog.

  I was impressed. Only a few hours ago I’d left Boog in bed. “What did you do? Check his home? Talk to his neighbors? Initiate a manhunt?”

  “Heh. No. I got this.” He held up a piece of parchment. I took it. It was addressed to Inspector Eggstrom in a careful script. "I found it tucked under my pillow.”

  “A secret admirer?” I asked. Boog snorted. I opened the note.

  Dear Sir,

  I need to speak with you. I’ve been in hiding. It is a matter of utmost importance. Please meet me at The Red Rabbit as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting. Or, rather, I’ll have someone watching. Bring Inspector Mingenstern, if you would. Tell no one else, and destroy this note at your earliest convenience. By fire, if possible. That would be best.

  Sincerely,

  Bernot

  Clerk, Second Rank

  I looked at Boog. He shrugged. “Any idea where the Red Rabbit is?”

  There was a loud sniff from behind us. I turned to see Gueran. “The Red Rabbit? You’ve never been there? No, I suppose you wouldn’t have." He smiled, or sneered – with him, it was hard to tell.

  Boog looked annoyed. “What kind of place is it? An inn? A tavern?”

  “Heh.” It was a smirk this time. I was sure. “Yes, of sorts. It caters to an exclusive clientele. Only the finest families, and they use it only for special occasions. Very special occasions. There are services that are only available at the Red Rabbit, if you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit that. “Where is it?”

  “On Crown, just inside the inner wall. I haven’t been there in many years.”

  “Why?” asked Boog. “You’re not important enough anymore? Stuck slumming with us?”

  “No,” said Gueran, looking mildly irritated, but still amused. “I just don’t…travel in those particular circles anymore. Enjoy your visit.” He turned to go, chuckling to himself.

  Boog made a face after him. A sneer, or was it a smirk? “Let’s go.”

  18

  The Red Rabbit

  “Enter, if you please,” said the small man, tipping his tall, multicolored hat. Boog shot a glance at me, but he followed the man’s waving hand. On the way over, we'd explored the possibilities. Would the Red Rabbit be a house of pleasure, with wanton persons available to fulfill the basest desires? That could explain the “services” to which Gueran had alluded. An exclusive private club, where the city’s powerful elite cut deals and struggled for primacy? A den of thieves? A market for illicit herbs and liquors? A fighting ring, stained nightly with the blood of gladiators?

  Whatever it was, it was not a secret. There was a large elaborate sign over the door announcing the Red Rabbit, including a tiled mosaic depicting a long-eared rodent. The man with the hat had seemed a bit surprised and nervous to see us at the entrance. That boded ill, I thought – if Inspectors were unwelcome, the patrons of the Rabbit might be up to no good. He'd also looked all around us, perhaps to see if we were accompanied or to make sure our entrance was unnoticed – I could not say. As I followed Boog into the dark hallway, I felt for my warding rod and dagger at my belt, and I could see the tension in Boog’s broad shoulders.

  The little man pushed gently past me and Boog, stopped at a trio of broad oaken doors, and turned to face us. “To which party might I direct you, gentlemen?”

  A puzzle. Bernot had said that he would find us, and I doubted he’d given his name, what with the directive to burn the note and all. We had no one here to visit, at least not officially. As I pondered an appropriate response, Boog answered. “No one."

  Not an appropriate response, judging from the narrowing of the man’s eyes. “But… that is most irregular.” He held up a delicate hand, laden with rings with large jewels. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  Boog scowled. I interceded. “Sir, we’re just here to observe.”

  “Observe what? And just what would you expect to find?” He sounded irate.

  I had nothing, and I managed merely to open my mouth and close it a couple times. Boog dove in. “We’re investigating reports of criminal mischief in this establishment.”

  “Well!” shouted the man, visibly offended. He raised his eyebrows farther than I’d thought possible, narrowed his eyes to slits, and I thought I could almost see his nose bend upward into the air. “I can assure you, I run a fine, upstanding establishment. Criminals – bah! We pay our taxes, and we provide a unique service for the wealthy and noble classes of the town, one they can find nowhere else. We screen our employees very carefully –– our clients demand it – and we’ve never had such a complaint in thirty-six years in business. This is an outrage! Just who has complained? I’m well connected, I’ll have you know. This won’t stand – it’s slanderous."

  Boog opened his mouth, but I prodded him to silence. I hoped. “Sir,” I said. “None of the reports concern you or the establishment. There are merely some guests in the establishment whom we need to locate. I assure you, we’ll be very discreet.”

  This seemed to mollify him a bit, even though it directly contradicted what Boog had said. We needed to work on our improvisational lying. “Well, then,” he replied. “I still don’t see how any of our clientele could be involved in such matters. They’re just…incapable of any such thing."

  He plainly had a higher opinion of the wealthy and noble classes than I did, I thought. He continued, “I must require that you check your weapons in the cloak room. I cannot be flexible on this point."

  Boog frowned, and I shared his sentiment. We still had no idea what was going on, and I hated the thought of going unarmed into the unknown, particularly with all the trouble we’d been having recently with death cults, malevolent wizards, and exploding swordsmen. But we needed to find Bernot. I unhooked my dagger from my belt and handed it over, hoping he'd let me keep the rod. He did – I’d have some protection at least. Boog’s scowl deepened, but he grudgingly gave up his own dagger and staff.

  The man opened the left-most of the three doors to reveal a glimpse of a large closet with pegs on the walls. He placed our items inside and returned.

  “All right, then. Which party do you need to observe?”

  And there we were again. I stammered, “Our informant didn’t provide a name, just the place and time.” The words felt stale in my mouth. "I, uh… Can you tell me which, er, who is in attendance right now?” I tried to grin convincingly. Boog closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Our diminutive host glared at me balefully. I feared he might try to evict us again, but instead he said, very slowly, as if I were an idiot nephew, “There is the Sestille party and the Harance party.”

  “Uh, Sestille. Yes, that sounds quite right. They will do nicely. Er, to observe.” I wondered if it were possible to swallow one’s own tongue. If so, I wished to at that moment.

  The little man shot me a withering stare, but he pointed at the door on the right. “In there. Be very careful not to disturb them. I’d hate to see them angry.” He shuddered. “That wouldn’t be good.”

  I thought of all kinds of bad things angry patrons might do, many involving the loss of my limbs and vital organs. I was beginning to think that Bernot might not need finding. We surely had a surplus of other clerks, se
cond rank. My reverie was interrupted by Boog shoving me toward the door with what I considered to be unnecessary force. “So, uh, I’ll go first, then.” I said.

  The door opened into a narrower hallway lined with red velvet. Whatever the Red Rabbit was, it had spared no expense in decorating. As we neared the end of the hall, I could hear muffled sounds of manic laughter mixed with piercing shrieks and screams. My knees felt a bit wobbly as I approached the next door. As I reached for the brass handle, I wondered what manner of depravity lay beyond. The hinges creaked ominously as I pulled.

  The room beyond was very dark, the only light coming in thin streams from a lantern in the far corner. It was hooded, the shades pulled almost all the way down, so the light came out only from little slits at the bottom. There was a platform at the far end of the room. At my first glance, I could barely make out some murky shapes moving about some tables in the center. One of them bore antlers like a stag. Another, a long, sharp unicorn’s horn. Still another, a pair of shadowy grotesque wings, fluttering as it moved. But they were all small, much smaller even than I. I was bewildered. A man bellowed, and suddenly, something flew toward my head. Instinctively, I yelled and ducked, and I heard a wet thud and a grunt as the object struck Boog in the chest.

  I rolled to the left, behind another low table, and risked a glance at Boog. He was holding his chest, his head bent over. I thought I saw a blotch of red on his chest, but he still stood. The screams had subsided to soft anxious murmurs. I could not wait for them to hatch a plan. If Boog were injured, there was no way I could fight them off alone. I had no options.

  My first combat instructor, Mistress Fennick, had been quite fond of posing hypothetical scenarios and asking for an appropriate response. Now, she’d never covered being outnumbered in a dark, unfamiliar place, surrounded by armed miniature animals, with a wounded partner, but her favorite advice was still applicable. I can still hear her rough voice: The worse your situation seems, the more it calls for bold, daring action. If it works, you might gain the upper hand through surprise. If it fails, at least you’ll die fast and more gloriously than otherwise.