by JG Cully
He indicated with his hand for her to bring it over, still failing to look up. She approached the desk and deliberately set it in front of him instead of into his outstretched hand.
Last time I checked, we weren't still in school you ass.
“Hmpt.” he said looking from his hand to the scroll Victoria had set before him. At last he looked up at her.
He was a short man, with a balding head and a small greying moustache that made him look older than he was. He had sharp evil little eyes, dark brown, almost rat like. He wore expensive black robes, with his family crest embroidered on the right of his chest, whilst the symbol of the Council of Peace was displayed on his left. Both were worked into the fabric in gold braid. He had a personal time-keeper wrapped around the sleeve of his right arm. Another display of his immense wealth.
Victoria glared down at him.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Perhaps one simple question.” he said with a slightly crooked smile. “Is there a vampire on the loose, or isn't there?”
“The report,” Victoria began carefully, “suggests not enough evidence either way. I filed it inconclusive.”
His face darkened. “Not good enough,” he stated, pushing the parchment back across the table to her. “This is one report you cannot file under that heading.”
She stiffened, her own face darkening. She leaned forward, hands on the table to look him in the eye. One hand moved the parchment back toward him.
“Without enough evidence, I can't make a judgement I can stand by.”
He didn't flinch, though she was gratified to see at least some effort behind his dark little eyes.
“Regardless.” he pushed the parchment back. “This comes from higher than me and definitely higher than you. We need a conclusive assessment.”
“How can I?...” she began but he cut her off with a wave of his hand
“I am hearing excuses,” he said with palpable arrogance that set Victoria's nerves on fire.
“I need answers, not excuses. If you lack evidence, find more. This report is to be completed. With a definitive conclusion.”
There was really no arguing. Not because she couldn't argue with his authority. She could and frequently did. It was the authority above him. Higher than Horna meant very high indeed. It meant he was being leaned on by the High Council. The true masters.
She picked up the parchment and nodded stiffly.
“I'll do my best.” she said
“I'm sure you will.” he replied, a smile of triumph creeping across his face.
Resisting the urge (the incredibly righteous urge) to break his nose, Victoria turned on her heel and strode from the room with the demeanour of a royally pissed off lioness, her ponytail flicking out behind her like an uncoiled whip. She pushed open the heavy entrance doors with more force than necessary, startling both Garlow and Glynis as she exited.
Glynis, Gods love the little girl, swallowed nervously.
“I take it he didn't give you an answer you liked.” she chanced.
Victoria glared over but it was incredibly difficult to remain angry when such a beautifully young and innocent looking girl was manning the secretary's desk. Maybe that was why Horna kept her on. To defuse angry employees by her very presence.
Victoria sighed. “No, not what I wanted to hear.”
Glynis gave her a smile. “We can but try.” she said
Victoria shrugged and bid the two of them farewell, before beginning her march back to her room to give Malak the bad news.
* * * * *
Victoria and Malak quickly boarded a coach, and made for the original crime scene, despite Malak's uncharacteristically whiny protests. He was rather concerned for his beloved crossbow though Victoria assured him that they would return to the tavern eventually. First, it was Victoria's intention to take a fresh perspective on the case. That proved to be more difficult than they expected. The crime scene had changed drastically.
“That was quick.” commented Malak as they came up on what they suspected was the area. Only suspected, seeing as the railings were no longer there. They were on top of the Mounds Walkway, looking down at where the dangerous spiked railings should be. Instead, along each side of the path the railings were gone, small holes in the ground the only indications that anything had been set here before.
“Very quick.” replied Victoria. She frowned.
Too quick.
Dangerous the railings might have been and urgent the request to remove them may have been, but throw in city council bureaucracy and you would normally be waiting at least a week. Nothing got done in a day.
Nothing. Unless...
“Wonder why?” said Malak, his expression indicating he, at least, saw nothing suspicious about this.
“Why indeed.”
Then again, was she perhaps being overly paranoid? They had indicated that they were finished with the investigation. They had seen no need for further checking of the crime scene. Therefore, if some particularly bright or enthusiastic councillor saw the need to remove the railings with undue haste, who was she to argue?
Maybe something to follow up on.
“What made you think we'd find anything else here anyway?” Malak asked next. It was a sensible question, one of Malak's few, but it wasn't here she was interested in.
“It's not the scene itself,” she said, turning to him.
Lucky too seeing there's sod all here now anyway.
“I'm interested in what led to it.”
She beckoned to him and he handed her the report. They had collected together Victoria's hand written report, the parchment signed by the two barmaids from the tavern, and the Corpse Warden's report. Now, she sought to piece them together again.
“Working backwards...” she began. “...we find our drunk...ah...here” she pointed to a particular hole in the ground, which she assumed was where the killer railing might have been. In this area of the city, no fresh snow had fallen and what looked like dried blood was still visible on the ground nearby. It would do as an assumption for now.
“He stumbled down the slope and impaled himself on a spike.”
“The stumble,” she moved a little more to the edge of the mound they were on. “was no doubt caused by the uneven ground, and the fact that he was weak with both drunkenness...”
She cast Malak a look. “...and loss of blood.”
“Here we go.” muttered Malak.
“Question. Where did he come from?”
“Well...” said Malak. “...when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much...”
“He came from Holt Street you dolt.” Victoria was not very appreciative of this rather unhelpful humour.
“Or so our barmaids would have us believe. That's after one of them knocked him out apparently.”
Malak frowned. “You don't believe them?”
“Oh I believe them,” confirmed Victoria, looking down the mound in the direction of the aforementioned Holt Street. “I just don't think they're telling us everything.”
* * * * *
They headed away from the Mounds Walkway, down a gentle path toward Holt Street. It was not too long a walk, the Mounds Walkway was not a long path itself.
Holt Street did not deserve the name street. It was little more than a lane between buildings; an interconnecting route within the southern district. But it had alleys off to one side or another, most leading into dead ends. All without lamplight. Snow had fallen again, the lane itself covered in white but the alleys protected somewhat by the overhanging buildings, most of which were multi-level homes. The sounds of the busy city were sparse here and the area had a loneliness about it. Few people were about; it was mid-afternoon now and most were either working or caring for children indoors. Few wanted to be out in the cold and Victoria could see smoke rising from most of the chimneys nearby.
She was thankful for her cloak in the cold air.
“What exactly are we looking for?” asked Malak, looking about the lane wi
th disinterest.
“The alley where they supposedly knocked out a thirty stone man.” said Victoria.
She stopped, casting her eye over the reports again. She turned first to the Corpse Warden's report, casting her eye over the case notes.
Massive wound to the lower jaw, into the mouth and brain. Kill-wound. Signs of heavy impact to front of skull. 'Enough to knock him out,' or so Garrett had said.
If it was this girl Alyssa who had knocked him out, with what had she knocked him out?
“Malak, question. What weapon would you use to knock a man out?”
Malak shrugged.
“Club probably, easy enough. Strike it right round the back of the head and down he'd go.”
Victoria agreed. A simple club would do it. But the wound would be smaller, no more than a bruise. Not a large impact to the front of the skull, and the girls made no mention of a weapon at all in their parchment as she read over it again.
“They didn't have a club,” she said, looking at Malak frowning. “So how did they knock him out?”
Malak smirked. “Could have tried putting his fat head through a wall, that would do it.”
Victoria nodded. “Possibility.”
Malak gave her a confused look. “I was joking,” he said. “No way a slip of a girl would have been able to man handle a bloke that big.”
“Maybe she didn't man handle him at all. Maybe she got him to charge her and he brained himself?”
Malak cast a look around the alleys. “He'd need a good run up though surely?”
He indicated by looking up and down the lane. “Lane's not wide enough for a proper run, and neither are the alleys. It would take a while for a lad that big to gain speed.”
True Victoria admitted to herself, quietly impressed with Malak's deduction. Not enough room here. Whatever they did, it would have had to have been at close quarters.
Their statements said the drunk had pulled Katy into an alley. So one of these alleys was where things took place.
“Malak, start checking the alleys.”
“For what?”
“Signs of struggle.”
Malak shook his head but moved to comply “You really think we'll find anything this long afterwards?”
He was right, it was a long shot but to Victoria's mind, worth a try. With Malak moving to the right, she moved to the left.
The first alley was a definite no go. It was stacked with wooden crates and they looked as if they had been there for a while, their surfaces worn and damp. The second alley was no better, with wine barrels and long planks of wood haphazardly placed around it. Frozen cobwebs indicated none of the stuff had been disturbed in a long time.
The third alley though, looked more promising. It was muddy like the rest but relatively clear of anything that would get in the way. There were plenty of footprints in the mud but she saw various doors off to the left and right and suspected any evidence from the ground on the night in question would been destroyed by now. Despite the head-through-wall idea not having much merit she checked the walls regardless.
And found something.
Hello
Several wooden crates were stacked up by the entrance of the alleyway, just inside it. At just around head height one of the crate’s sides had caved in, the timber broken inwards as if something heavy had impacted it. Something roughly circular.
“Malak, over here.” she called.
He trotted over and blinked when he saw the rather obvious impact point.
“Interesting.” he mused.
“Put your head in it.” she said.
“What?”
She nodded at the cracked crate’s side. “Your head's around the same width as the drunk's skull. See if you fit.”
Confusion was again on his face but he knew better than to argue. He moved in front of her and steadied himself with his hands on the wall. He set his forehead carefully into the broken timbers. He fitted convincingly, at least as far as Victoria could see.
“We have our knock-out blow.” she said.
“But how the hell did they manage that?” Malak said, straightening up. “She would have needed the strength of ten men.”
“Two girls not enough?” Victoria asked with a rare smile.
“Hardly,” he snorted. “I've knocked out men before. You need a hell of a strength. Besides, it's easy to stop.”
“How you figure?”
He held up his hands, then, head down, he leaned his palms on the wall again.
“As long as I put my hands out to stop you, you can't bash me.”
“But if we immobilize his hands...” Victoria mused.
She checked the report but there was no mention of the drunk's arms or hands. No wounds or bruising visible.
“How would you have done it?” she asked again as she looked up.
Malak shrugged again. “Grab his arm, put it up his back, then wallop. Down they go.”
She slipped the reports into the inside pocket of her cloak and presented her arms.
“Show me.”
He gave her a sideways look.
“Well show me carefully, obviously.”
He carefully took hold of one of her arms and motioned for her to turn round. Slowly, with deliberate care he pulled her arm up, so that it was held at an uncomfortable angle up her spine. She grimaced.
“You alright?” he said, a touch nervous. His breathing on the back of her neck was a little laboured.
He's scared of hurting me. Good.
“I'm fine.” she said reassuringly. “Can't move the arm so that works. Now what?”
“Well, I'd just use my other hand and shove you forward.”
“Ok.”
He paused.
“Ah...you sure?”
“Malak, hell’s depths man, I thought you were a soldier! Besides,” she teased. “thought you'd like having a woman at your mercy?”
That got him. He took the back of her head in the palm of his hand and pushed her forward. She flinched, her eyes involuntarily shutting. When no impact registered, she opened them to find Malak had stopped just as she was about to impact on the wall beside the crates.
“Like that.” he said, with a certain professional satisfaction in his voice. “Real quick, giving them no time to stop themselves with the one hand. Best they could do would be to cushion the blow with their free hand, but that would probably just break a few fingers.”
He let go. She loosened her arm in its socket, letting the feeling return.
“So, she'd need a lot of strength to both immobilize him and smack him into something. Technically, what they said is true.” She pulled out the girls’ statements again.
“Our problem is we just don't know how an eighteen year old girl managed to do that to a guy three times her weight and size.”
Malak looked at the wrecked crate again. “I've no idea.” he admitted. “If she were any other race, maybe dwarf, even some elves or fey. But she's human.”
He looked to find Victoria staring off into the distance. He knew that look. She was thinking again.
“Aye.” Victoria said presently. “So she says.”
* * * * *
Chapter Six:
Things As They Are
* * * * *
Alyssa had a look of grave concern on her face. Grave concern. She and Katy exchanged looks.
“That's the best you could find?” Katy said with eyebrows raised. Alyssa nodded solemnly.
Originally, things had actually gone rather well.
First, in her wardrobe she had found a fine, dull-green skirt that was tight around her hips, but not embarrassingly so. It emphasised her figure but not to the degree that she'd spend the whole night with her cheeks red.
Then, she had successfully broken into one of the local clothes shops shortly after closing time, slipping in without knocking into too many things or otherwise alerting people, and quickly heading over to the corsets section. With her enhanced night vision she had descended on a haphazard p
ile of corsets (the shop she'd entered didn't seem to be the most organised of places) and grabbed one of them. It was only when she got home (after leaving a donation in the money desk of the shop) that the colour, material and indeed function of the corset, had become apparent under the lantern light.
The corset was black, and made of leather and of a very particular style she'd not noticed when she had hastily acquired it; a style that suggested that this corset was not an undergarment. The rather more sensible tunic Alyssa had chosen to go with her skirt was now made redundant.
“There's just something...wrong about it.” Katy concluded, casting 'it' another anxious look and not liking the images being conjured up in her mind's eye.
“Well it's what Gretna wants,” lamented Alyssa. “And what Gretna wants, Gretna gets.”
Katy gave Alyssa an expression that suggested she didn't think the design in front of them was quite what Gretna was expecting.
“Then again,” Katy said. “maybe she'll not like it?”
Well, that was true. The thing looked hideous so maybe Gretna would think the whole idea was a bad one and not insist she wear it again. It was a small hope but a comforting one.
“Suppose.”
“Right then,” Katy's voice was heavy with resignation as she crossed the room to where the corset lay on Alyssa's bed. “Let's see what we can do.”
* * * * *
“Ah Katy” said Gretna. “There you are. Good to see you again.”
“Hello.” said Katy. It was a few hours later and Katy had just slipped shyly into the kitchen from the outside, her eyes darting about. Five other barmaids were in the extensive kitchen all busy doing their jobs. That was a few more than she would have liked.
“You alright?” asked Gretna, frowning up at the girl.
“Fine.” Katy said immediately, but she continued to look rather distracted. “Ah, it's just...”
“Out with it girl.” ordered Gretna, hands moving to hips in her trademark impatient posture. “I don't have time, we've a busy night ahead. Militia are holding a retirement party for one of their number so the place is going to be packed.”