Nevernever

by Will Shetterly

  I can’t say she did anything more significant than we did. She lit the place with a torch spell, which impressed me until I saw that it only made everything more obvious and more ugly. Rico whistled a low note as she looked at the Elflander. She walked around and studied things, not touching anything. Then she stood quietly, and I figured she was doing what I was doing: trying to imagine it.

  When she was ready to go, I stepped in front of her. I pointed at the body, pointed at the alley, and shrugged. Rico’s about my height, so she looked straight at me in that way they must teach at copper school. “Aren’t I going to do something more? What do you want? I should take fingerprints? I should try a spell to sense what happened here?”

  I nodded.

  “Right. Look, Lobo—” It must have been Tick-Tick who told her my name. “—even if we had the murder weapon, we probably wouldn’t sense anything more than rage, quick heartbeats, and a real sick pleasure. And that last is a guess, so don’t quote me. As for fingerprints, don’t make me laugh. No murder weapon. In an alley, anything else is circumstantial. The whole case would probably end right here if not for two things.” She held the back of her hand toward me and lifted her index finger. “Your friend made some crazy threats in front of three hundred people.” She raised the next finger. “Someone killed Tejorinin Yorl.”

  I tucked my chin slightly to show her I didn’t understand.

  “I don’t know either,” she admitted. “Not exactly. He’s some elf kid who just inherited something important in Faerie. Don’t know why he came out here. Usual reasons are vacation, business, and politics. Doesn’t matter which was Yorl’s. He was rich and important, and we got to get someone for his murder.”

  I could have hit her then.

  “I don’t like it,” Rico said. “Not at all. Dancer’s told me about most of you, and I questioned Tick-Tick before we followed her here. Sounds like you’re all okay, for B-town kids. But facts are facts. If we can find who’s responsible, everything’ll be fine. If we can’t...” She shrugged and headed back into Danceland.

  I stood there and thought about it till she called back, “C’mon, Lobo. I know you write. Linn’ll want your statement too.”

  I went in and listened to the last couple of stories. Strider said he’d been walking around, just thinking. Goldy claimed to have been moving around the floor all the time, but the cops knew he could’ve ducked out for a few minutes while claiming to be in a back room or on the balconies. They wrote down the names of the members of Wild Hunt but didn’t seem too excited about getting anything from them. About the only time no one had been watching the band was while Yorl was slicing Strider.

  “What about Sai?” asked Rico.

  “She went walking, too,” said Goldy, not too happy.

  Rico nodded. “It’s a houseful of great alibis.”

  I sat there, scribbling on some paper that Dancer lent me. I could have interrupted the statements, I suppose, but I wanted to write out my theory in full. So I did, and it was short:

  THE KILLING WAS THE WORK OF A GANG, THREE AT LEAST, PROBABLY MORE. I SAW YORL WHEN HE WAS CUTTING STRIDER ON THE DANCE FLOOR. YORL LOOKED LIKE HE’D STUDIED THAT DUELING GADGET FOR YEARS. HE WAS TOO GOOD TO LET HIMSELF BE CARVED UP BY ANY ONE PERSON. AND THIS WORK WAS DONE MOSTLY FOR THE FUN OF THE CARVERS. YOU SAW THAT. THE BUSINESS WITH THE BRAID. EVEN IF STRIDER KILLED YORL, STRIDER WOULDN’T DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT. YORL HAD TO HAVE BEEN SURROUNDED, AND AS ONE KID DISTRACTED HIM, ANOTHER CUT HIM. SOME SICKIES PROBABLY HEARD TALK ABOUT STRIDER AND THE ELFLANDER AND DECIDED TO KILL AN OUTSIDER FOR FUN, FIGURING STRIDER WOULD GET THE BLAME. EVERYONE ON HO STREET HAD TO BE TALKING ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED IN DANCELAND.

  “A gang,” Rico said when she joined me at a table.

  I nodded.

  “You’re the only one with this gang theory.”

  I nodded again and gestured for her to give me back the paper. When she did, I wrote:

  ORIENT DIDN’T THINK ABOUT THE CUTS. OR ABOUT WHAT IT MEANS, DOING THAT THING WITH THE BRAID TO A CORPSE. YOU BLAME HIM?

  I think she smiled a tiny bit, and that was worse than the absence of expression.

  “No, I don’t. You want to pin this on the Bloods, the Pack, or the Rats?”

  I snorted in disgust and wrote: YOU THINK THERE’S ONLY A FEW GANGS? MORE LIKE HUNDREDS. SOME REALLY TWISTED BUNCHES HIDE WITHIN THE BLOODS & THE PACK & THE RATS, CLAIMING ALLEGIANCE TO THE BIGGER GANG AND ACTING LIKE THE REST OF THE GANG IS BEHIND THEM.

  That little smile came back. “Dancer, Mickey, and I ran with the Go-boys when I was your age. We were part of the Pack. So, who do you favor?”

  EVER HEAR OF FINEAGH STEEL? STYLED HIMSELF THE LEADER OF THE BLOODS? Steel built a little army of elf morons, then jackbooted around Soho for a week or two.

  Rico nodded. “I hear he’s dead. I hear his gang’s scattered. You think this was the work of one of his lieutenants, maybe?”

  I shrugged.

  “Doesn’t work, Lobo.” She took off her glasses and grinned at me. Her eyes weren’t any friendlier than the glasses. “Why carve a strange elf? If they were jealous of him, they’d rough him up and steal his money, that’s all. No need to bring the coppers down on everyone.”

  I nodded, wishing I had someone better to point at.

  She folded up the page I’d written on and replaced her glasses. “Nice theory. No evidence to back it up.” When she said that, it was like she’d kicked me, even though her voice sounded kind, for her. “Sorry.” Then she tore up my statement and handed me the shreds. I stared at it.

  She said, “If I convinced anyone that Strider couldn’t have done it alone, we’d just have to lock up some of his friends, too.” She patted the back of my hand and left me sitting at the table.

  Valda finished giving her account to Lieutenant Linn. He thanked her, then picked up the impression ball that had been on the table, recording everyone’s version of the evening, and said, “I, Linn, witnessed the preceding statements on this day.” And he gave the date and time, and pocketed the i-ball.

  Linn looked at Strider. “Will you accompany us to C Street?”

  Strider glanced at all of us. Goldy tensed, and Strider smiled. “I said I wouldn’t run or hide. Only thing left’s to clear my good nickname.” He glanced at Linn. “I assume you’re offering food and lodging until my honor has been restored?”

  Linn nodded. Rico said, “You’ll eat as well as we do. No promises about the lodging. Someone downtown will decide tomorrow whether we have enough to hold you longer. Unless we find a likelier suspect, we’ll have enough to hold you. Visiting hours are from ten to ten, before your trial.”

  Goldy said, “And the charge?”

  Rico said, “If Tejorinin Yorl has no friends, accessory to suicide. If his friends have some influence with the merchants’ council, manslaughter. If his friends have a lot of influence, murder.”

  Strider looked at Goldy. “Tell Sai they cannot cage my soul, for she has freed it.”

  Goldy nodded.

  Rico said, “Tell Sai we want to talk to her.”

  Goldy said, “Oh yes.”

  Rico and Lieutenant Linn left with Strider when a van and a few Silver Suits showed up. The Silver Suits poked around and fingerprinted us all and did some mystical juju that obviously had as much effect as Rico expected, but now their report would be nice and fat.

  When they were done, one of them said none of us should disappear. Goldy laughed at that. The Silver Suits took away Yorl’s body in a shiny black bag, and finally Dancer said, “To hell with it. Good night, everybody.” And we all wandered out into the good night.

  Chapter 9—Losers, Weepers

  I woke up around noon Saturday and didn’t want to get out of bed. I lay there, thinking the sheets should be changed and wishing I lived with somebody and wondering if maybe Strider had done it. Time does that, lets you see things differently, sometimes in ways you wish it didn’t.

  Whether he killed Yorl or not, I liked Strider. But what did I kn
ow about him? He’d been important in Faerie—I’d heard him addressed as “Your Highness” by Leander. They were both on the same side of a struggle to control the heir of Faerie, a struggle that would shape the relationship between Faerie and the World. If Strider’s side won, Faerie and the World might have a chance to learn more about each other. If Crystaviel’s did, the Wall would remain between them, and trade between them might end.

  I didn’t care about Faerie’s future. I cared about Florida’s. Strider seemed to think of her as a person first and the heir second, but could I say I knew that about him?

  Maybe the killing had been an accident and Strider thought he had to cover it up. If you accept that, it’s not too hard to imagine him doing the rest, forcing himself to do something so atypical that no one could believe he had killed Yorl. Under normal circumstances, all he’d need would be a reasonable amount of doubt and charges would be dropped. He may not have known that the flashy Elflander he’d killed had been someone important.

  The day was cooler than the day before, but that didn’t bother me. I found my other jeans and a corduroy jacket and decided not to bother with shoes. There’s enough broken glass in B-town that that isn’t the smartest thing to do, but it makes people think I’m tough. The truth is, I tended to run from trouble before I was changed. Now that I’m stronger and more perceptive, I run even faster.

  I went to Sai’s. She makes great huevos rancheros without the least provocation. And if she didn’t feel like cooking for a stray, she might need some company.

  She already had company. Tick-Tick was there, sitting a little stiffly on a purple beanbag, maybe aware that it clashed with her red leather outfit. Sai wore a faded man’s undershirt and cut-offs. Under her black bangs, her eyes were almost as red as Tick-Tick’s leather. I glanced at her knuckles. They were bandaged. A heavy weight bag hangs in Sai’s living room where she can kick or punch it whenever she wants. I suspected the bag had been worked thoroughly that morning.

  I made a little circular motion with my hand, and Sai smiled a bit, saying, “Hi, Wolfboy. C’mon in. The Ticker toasted bagels, but I’m not too hungry.”

  Tick-Tick said, “Rico and her faithful elfin companion came by earlier.”

  I nodded and stuffed an onion bagel in my face.

  “They didn’t have anything useful to say.” She shrugged. “We didn’t have anything useful to tell them.”

  “She said I could visit Strider,” Sai said. “You want to come, too?”

  I nodded again, and, looking at her bandaged knuckles, decided that Sai had not killed Yorl. His arrogant nose had not been broken; therefore, Sai had not killed him.

  I grabbed two bagels and followed. Sai took the Batcycle. I hopped into Orient’s usual place in Tick-Tick’s sidecar, which made me wonder where he was. I pointed at the seat and frowned. Tick-Tick said, “He hasn’t been around. We were supposed to meet. We can swing by his place after seeing Strider.”

  The B-town Jail isn’t particularly better or worse than most jails, I imagine, but I wouldn’t want to stay there. Rico had left a note, so we didn’t have any trouble getting in. I wasn’t too crazy about the man at the front desk, who shook his head as he looked at me and said, “You kids are getting weirder every year.”

  A couple of Silver Suits walked Strider into the waiting room, then leaned up against the wall as if they were bored enough to sleep. One was bored by each door, and they both had three-foot sting-rods dangling from straps around their right wrists.

  “Nice place,” Tick-Tick said.

  “You should try their breakfast,” Strider answered.

  “You’re such an ass,” Sai said.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, love.”

  They kissed. Tick-Tick and I tried to pretend we were as bored as the guards.

  “We’re getting you out of here,” Sai said quietly.

  “No whispering,” one guard called. “And no, you’re not.”

  “He’s innocent!” Sai said.

  “You’re confessing?” the guard asked. Before Sai could say anything more, he said, “Look, kids. Behave yourselves, and we won’t bug you.”

  “Yeah,” Strider said, seconding the guard’s advice.

  “Okay,” Sai said. “Okay. But I don’t like this, Strider. I want you out of here.”

  “No chance for bail,” Strider said. “I just hope I don’t lose my tan.”

  “Don’t be a pain,” Tick-Tick said. “You just make it worse for Sai when you act like that.”

  Sai quickly shook her head. “No. I understand.”

  “Hey,” Strider said softly, and he stroked her chin with his forefinger. “I’m okay. Maybe I’ll get a lot of reading done.”

  “Rico said the charge is murder,” Sai said. “I don’t want you to get that much reading done.”

  Tick-Tick’s elfin features were very grim as she said, “You won’t get any reading done if they take away your memories, Strider. Not until you learn how again. Nor will you get any reading done if they send you to a place where there are no books. And if they pick death—”

  Strider turned away. I don’t think he was uncomfortable; elves love to talk politely about depressing things. I think he wanted to stop Tick-Tick for Sai’s sake. He said, “Trial’s weeks away. ‘Sides, they’ll do what they’ll do, okay? You guys better leave now.”

  “No,” Tick-Tick said.

  “I can go back to my cell anytime,” Strider said.

  “You certainly can,” Tick-Tick admitted. “That won’t help you, and it won’t help Sai. Is that what you want?”

  “I want out.” He smiled. “Hey, Ticker, bring your seedybox? Haven’t heard a tune in twelve hours; I’m about to go into major withdrawal.”

  Tick-Tick glanced at one of the guards, who waved for her to go ahead. Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” filled the air, loud enough to remove us a little from the prison, though not so loud that the guards couldn’t hear us talk. Strider, grinning, began twitching one hand by his leg in time to the music, making little shapes as if a part of him would dance no matter where he was.

  I thought about the ways we deal with stress, and my heart took an express for the basement. Then I realized he was finger-spelling. Most of my friends have learned the alphabet in sign, along with a few, much more often useful, rude phrases. Strider was spelling, —I-E-L-C-R-Y-S-T-A-V-I-E—

  By my leg, I shaped, S-H-E-D-I-D-I-T-?

  He shook his head a tiny bit.

  Tick-Tick thought that was to her. “I know. We have to find the killer. The coppers need someone to hang for this one. Maybe literally.”

  Strider signed, Y-I-S-F-R-I-E-N-D. As I puzzled over that, he glanced at Sai, who looked at her lap. I suddenly knew why Strider was being so stupid. I suspected it earlier, but I knew it then. He thought Sai did it. He was too stupidly in love with her to see that if she had and he’d been arrested, she would’ve confessed immediately, because she was just as stupidly in love with him. I wondered if she’d considered confessing anyway, just to save him. I decided not to ask. No point in giving her the idea.

  And I realized Strider had spelled, Y is friend. More specifically: Crystaviel. Y is friend.

  I spelled, I-N-F-A-E-R-I-E-?

  H-E-R-E.

  B-L-U-E-H-A-I-R-?

  Strider nodded.

  Tejorinin Yorl had been Crystaviel’s ice-haired lieutenant in the search for Florida. What did that mean now? And how could I talk about it in front of the guards? They might spot the finger-spelling at any moment, and if we began to sign openly, they’d throw us out or bring in someone to read what we said.

  I pulled out a sheet of scrap paper and wrote out something like what I’d written for Rico about the theory I no longer believed: that it was a coincidence that Yorl was murdered after attacking Strider. I added: PROBLEM IS, WE DON’T HAVE ANYONE LIKELY. ANY IDEAS?

  One of the guards read it before letting Strider have it. Strider read it, and his eyes flicked wide from their usual squint. “You sure
about this, Wolfboy?”

  I held my hands wide, like: Who’s ever sure? Then I nodded.

  Sai and Tick-Tick read the note together. Tick-Tick said, “You should’ve said something—oops.” Her face was still, but I think she was proud of the “oops.”

  I waved downward to show I’d let that pass, then grabbed the note back and scribbled: RICO DIDN’T LIKE IT. WHERE’S A SUSPECT? WHO’D WANT TO CARVE A STRANGER, EVEN ONE AS BAD AS YORL?

  “Wharf Rats, perhaps,” Tick-Tick mused. “A chance for fun, and a chance to blame someone else.”

  “Not all the Rats are like that,” Sai said. Her brother’s a Rat.

  “It only takes three or four like that,” Tick-Tick said.

  “There were five Rats in Danceland last night,” Strider said, and we all got very quiet.

  “Is it my turn to call you an idiot?” Tick-Tick asked him.

  “No. Hers.” Strider pointed at Sai.

  “I’ll take a raincheck,” Sai said. “What about these Rats?”

  “They had a table up on the left balcony. Near the women’s room. I was watching ‘em before Yorl decided I was a fencing dummy.”

  I lifted my hand. Tick-Tick glanced at me, then told Strider and Sai, “After you two left, Lobo filled in on the floor.”

  “Did you see the Rats?” Strider asked, surprisingly hopeful for Strider. “One was a little brown-haired guy with tiny round glasses. Wire rims. The rest were, well, Rats.”

  Rats aren’t usually distinctive as anything more than Rats. Sai’s brother is a nice guy, but he’s a Mad River addict like most of them, and he dresses poorly and smells a little funny... I didn’t like remembering what my life as a Rat had been like before I was changed. I just shook my head.

  “You went by that corner,” Tick-Tick said to me, ‘cause she likes to test things to see how well they function. “After Strider and Yorl fought. And the Rats were not there.”