Hank Mossberg, Private Ogre: Murder in the Boughs

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “Are you the one who called?” he said, pulling out a notebook.

  “Yes.”

  “So you found the body?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you doing here, Steward?”

  “Flick called and asked me to meet him.”

  “I see.” He sketched down some notes. “Why would he want to meet you in a place like this? And at this time of night?”

  “I have no idea. He wouldn’t say on the phone. He just said it was important, so I came.”

  “I see. What kind of sword is that?”

  I cocked an eyebrow and stared down at him. “I don’t have the slightest idea,” said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He tapped his pen against his lips. “You seem hostile, Steward. Are you worried about something?”

  “Yeah. I’m worried about the fact that my friend’s body is getting colder by the minute and his killer is getting further away, and you’re wasting time harassing the person you should be asking for help.”

  A wide sneer broke out across his face. “Help? From you?” he laughed. “That’s a good one. Steward, if I need somebody to find my lost puppy dog or spy on my ex-wife, I’ll give you a call.”

  I sighed. It sounded more like the low rumble of a lion’s growl. I was doing my best to hold my temper in check, but Malone knew how to push my buttons. The smile vanished from his face. “In the meanwhile, I want to know where you got that sword and why you killed Flick Hunter.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the front of his van. The axle creaked under my weight. “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t lean on my van.”

  I rolled my eyes and stood upright, taking a deep breath. In the background, the CSU group let out a universal gasp as Flick’s body evaporated into a fine gold powder. Detective Malone glanced over his shoulder at them. “What was the time of death?” he called out.

  “Fifty minutes ago,” one of the investigators replied.

  The detective looked at me. “Well?” he said.

  “I was at The Lounge. I have witnesses.”

  “Detective!” one of the CSU investigators called out. “Can you give us a hand?”

  Malone looked me up and down. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. He walked over to the crime scene and I followed a few steps behind. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s the sword. We can’t get it out.”

  “You already dusted it?”

  “Of course. Our tests are done. We need to take it for evidence.”

  Malone grumbled as he stepped up to the rock and latched onto the hilt. He grunted as he tugged at it. It didn’t budge . He walked around the side, propping his crooked goat-legs up against the rock. He grunted some more, and this time his face turned bright red.

  “I’ll be,” he murmured. He stepped back, wiping perspiration from his brow. “Must be enchanted.”

  “But that’s illegal,” said the investigator. “Enchanted weapons have been forbidden for a thousand years!”

  “Yeah,” Malone said with a grimace. “Illegal things happen though, don’t they?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Malone shot me a look. I was grinning because I already knew what he was thinking. “All right,” he said, motioning towards the sword handle. “Have at it.”

  I thought about making a smart comment but I knew I was already treading on thin ice. I stepped up to the rock. I wrapped one massive hand around the sword hilt and the other around the blade just below the guard. Instantly a cold chill crawled across my skin and I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. I released my grip, frowning.

  “What is it?” said Malone.

  I shook my head and latched back on. The feeling returned. “It’s definitely enchanted,” I said. I took a deep breath and yanked on the handle. The boulder shuddered and the cold chill turned to ice in my veins. I stepped away, blinking.

  “You don’t look so good,” Malone said. “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked down at my hands and shook them to ease the tingling sensation. “Magic doesn’t work with me,” I said absently.

  “Yeah, we know,” Malone said with a chuckle. The rest of them shared a quiet laugh. Fae creatures generally think of me as an idiot because I can’t do magic.

  I ignored them. “No, you don’t get it. Magic doesn’t work on me. When I touch magic, I kill it. I’m like a lightning rod. But that thing…” I pointed at the sword, staring. “The magic is still there. It’s not leaving.”

  Malone cocked an eyebrow and stared at me. “You sure?”

  I had never handled an enchanted weapon before, so I didn’t know if that was normal or not. In the past, I’ve ruined wands and wizards’ staves just by touching them. I steeled myself and gave it another shot. I put everything I had into it. I reached out and grabbed the weapon with both hands and channeled all of my strength into one explosive movement. This time the six hundred pound boulder gave a shudder and lifted off the ground.

  Everyone around me gasped and took a few steps back. The boulder was big enough and heavy enough to crush half a dozen of them at once. I had lifted the enormous rock three feet in the air.

  Ice-cold lightning raced up and down my arms, skittering through my nerves until I thought I might go into convulsions. I dropped the thing and stepped back, my hands shaking. The boulder hit the ground with a boom that sounded like a car crash.

  “It ain’t comin’ out,” I said breathlessly. I rubbed my hands together to warm them.

  Malone scratched the back of his head. “I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s the point of that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “That sword isn’t coming out of that rock for anyone, except the person who put it there. That sword is Excalibur.”

  Malone’s jaw dropped. He pulled his gaze away from me to stare at the shining weapon. A blanket of silence fell over the scene. “It can’t be,” he finally mumbled. “It’s been a thousand years… It’s not possible.”

  “This is the undercity,” I said. “Nothing’s impossible here.”

  One of the CSU investigators spoke up. “Um, if this really is Excalibur, does that mean he’s back?”

  “He?” said Malone. Then he realized what the investigator meant. “Are you suggesting that King Arthur took a time machine to the future so he could kill a newspaper reporter? If King Arthur was back, do you think he’d be sneaking around in the dark, running people through with Excalibur and then leaving his sword behind for us to find?”

  The investigator grinned sheepishly. “I guess not.”

  “Who kills somebody with Excalibur?” Malone mumbled, scratching his head.

  I had seen enough. I took my leave because there wasn’t anything Malone could do to stop me without arresting me, which he couldn’t do because I’d already proven myself innocent because I couldn’t remove the sword from the stone. Only the killer could do that.

  As I was walking away, he shouted something about not leaving town. I chuckled. Then he added, “And stay off this case!”

  “Fat chance,” I muttered under my breath.

  Someone had murdered my friend. I wasn’t about to sit still while the killer got away. And If Malone didn’t want to play ball, so be it. I’d be better off solving this case without his help. Malone could have invited me into the investigation, but instead he’d treated me as a suspect. He could have asked for my help and advice, instead he’d mocked me and warned me to back off. I wasn’t about to walk away from this one. I knew Malone would try to stop me, but I had to do my best to find the killer anyway. I owed Flick that much.

  As the Steward, my role in law enforcement is subject to interpretation. Traditionally, ogres are the law, period. Now that the fae have formed human-like communities with town councils and mayors and police, my role is subjective. It’s a gray area. For the most part I try to respect the undercity’s police force and stay out of their way, but
this time it was different. This time vengeance was mine.

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