Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves

by Dan Ehl

  Several servants were lined up outside a monstrous bonewood door that dully gleamed beneath a dozen oil lamps.

  "Wait here," I ordered my new servants. They did not look inclined to go anywhere. Now at the witch's domicile, the four were less cocky. They huddled atop the hearse, their necks craning to observe the temple looming above them.

  It took all of the witch's servants to pull open the door, its massive bronze hinges bawling like a dozen mournful cows at the loss of their calves. The door swung aside to reveal Morgana silhouetted by the blaze of a hundred lamps and candles. Her beauty made me falter as I climbed the steps.

  The witch's daughter was not about to let anyone second-guess her. She knew I was expecting her to be wearing some slinky and revealing black gown--a wicked attire that would cultivate her rebellious maiden image. Instead, she was decked in a simple white outfit that demurely covered her from ankles to the Y of her breastbones. The innocent impression was slightly spoiled by the cut of the dress from her trim waist up--a snug satin bodice that disclosed the wearer to be a shapely woman. The pale material also offset her difficult-to-describe cast--that of tea heavily laden with cream and with just a morsel of chocolate.

  Morgana held out her hand as we reached her. Mika and I both took a dainty arm and kissed the back of her hands. She seemed not the least surprised at both of her escorts arriving together. She did eye the hearse and the four servants perched atop it. Even the new garments could not hide the disheveled aspect of the motley band.

  Mika noticed her questioning look and volunteered, "It has a hot tub."

  "And who are these gentleman?" a silky voice asked and the girl stepped aside to reveal Morganna. The witch was an older version of her daughter, but Morganna's face held hints of strength yet to be part of her offspring's visage. I was surprised I could detect no suggestions of the evil ascribed to her.

  "This is Jak Barley and Viscount Mika Stov, both of whom I have spoken."

  "The times they are a changing," sighed the witch. "In my day, a maiden did not take two suitors to a ball. But I guess you know what you are doing, dear."

  I looked about the main hall. There were a number of rugs scattered across the stone floor and the walls were draped with fine silks and tapestries. Ornate pillars reached to the lofty ceiling and were as big as tree trunks. It was a much more inviting hall than that of other temples of Dorga, Fish-Headed God of Death. I guess it takes a witch's touch.

  Morganna paused as she noticed the hearse and its crew. "Yes, things have changed."

  "It has a hot tub," her daughter interjected.

  "How delightful. Well, you have a good time and I expect these two young gentlemen to behave as such," she said with a meaningful glance at Mika and me.

  My newest acquaintance clicked his heals and bent at the waist. "Of course, Madam Morganna. My family's honor demands it."

  "Oh, mother. I thought you told me to have a good time," Morgana snipped as she pushed us out the door and looped her arms through ours.

  The encounter, as wary as I was of the witch, was much too fleeting. I had hoped to gain notions as to Morganna's involvement in any of the recent events. The servants began closing the protesting door and I turned my head to glimpse Morganna standing in the doorway, as might any mother seeing her daughter off for the night.

  "The night commences on a good note. My mother transformed neither of you into a toad nor caused a profusion of draining ulcers to blanket your bodies," Morgana offered as we descended the steps.

  "How charitable of her," Mika agreed, "and not even a minor curse of green itching scabs."

  "Does this mean your mother likes us or is holding off until we return you home?" I asked as I helped her into the hearse.

  "One never knows. It could be that she is waiting as to not ruin my evening."

  "A thoughtful mother," Mika observed.

  I sighed for the hundredth time in the past week and leaned my head out the window, "Off to Baron Ruble's."

  We three sat on the divan--Morgana in the middle. I poured my guests each a drink and sat back with another ale.

  "Don't you think you owe us an explanation?" Mika asked the maiden.

  "For what?"

  He smiled at her feigned innocence. "I believe it is less than proper to ask someone to a social function with the understanding that it is to be but the two them and then solicit a second escort."

  "I never said it was to be but one couple."

  "It is assumed."

  "It is?" she replied as if astonished by this bit of information. "I so seldom get out I have yet to learn all the correct social conventions."

  "It can also prove dangerous," Mika continued, not about to let Morgana slip easily by with her feeble excuses. "If Master Barley or I were anything but the worldly gentlemen that we are, our meeting could have proven most uncivil."

  "Well, let us be pleased you two are so urbane as to come for a maiden in a hearse attended by such delightful servants. I am so glad I am in the company of those who rigidly follow the social decorum of proper society and hope you will forgive my breaches."

  "I, for one, am ready to overlook this one indiscretion," I replied while refilling her wine glass with Bettyann, "as long as any future ones are not a hazard to my health."

  "Oh, but Jak," Morgana smiled so her white, fine teeth gleamed like a string of pearls under the soft light, "why would you think I would have anything but your good health in mind?"

  Our conversation turned to more commonplace subjects. Mika questioned Morgana about her childhood and she revealed that much of her upbringing was dull, spent at a conventional maidens' lyceum--no secret witch's academy or hermetic covens. Summers were spent with an uncle's family with visits from her mother. Of her father, Morgana knew little. At least what she did relate was enough to relieve fears that she might be another half-sibling.

  "We have that in common, do we not?" Morgana said of our fatherless upbringings.

  Try as I might, I could but pry only the basics of Mika's background. The picture formed was that of a young viscount relishing his freedom and looking for adventure before returning to a more confining life at his remote family estate. Still, there seemed a stronger undercurrent.

  Morgana easily deflected any roundabout questions I had dealing with her mother, so I finally gave up and just enjoyed her company. I felt minor victories every time she laughed at one of my quips. More than once I wished there were but two of us, especially when I explained the purpose of the hot tub and she smiled wickedly with pursed lips and aimed a sultry glance in my direction.

  The hearse began slowing and I looked out the window to see we were pulling into a drive bordered with colorful paper lanterns in the whimsical shapes of both imaginary and exotic beasts. A crowd of commoners was kept from getting too close to the disembarking guests by a red velvet rope. It was the same hue and material as a long rug that led from the drive to mansion's steps and up to waiting servants ready to greet the guests and guide them to the ballroom.

  Each time a new coach discharged guests, the throng would press at the rope to get a better view. At the sight of an exceptional dress, handsome fellow, or beautiful woman, a collective sigh or exclamation could be heard.

  I could be imagining it, but the crowd seemed unnaturally silent as we pulled to a stop. A livery servant opened the door and eyed us suspiciously as if we were jesters trying to crash the ball. Mika pushed past him in the way a man born to the manor moves and he turned to help Morgana from the door. The crowd let out a suppressed sigh in one long breath. She was a captivating sight with her black tresses and shapely body draped in the white gown.

  I could hear a couple faint comments as I joined the two and we began walking toward the mansion. A few observers wondered at the odd combination of two men and a maiden. There were several bawdy snickers. Morgana stopped and smiled boldly at a lout who made one of the comments until his face turned the red of a cherry. Every man in the group of spectators gaped stupidly for a mo
ment with their mouths open and faces flushed.

  "I see the dull childhood you spoke of at a boring maidens' lyceum tends to create a timorous and modest damsel," I quietly observed as we climbed the steps. "Remind me to ask just where this school is the next time I feel in need of modest company."

  We were met at the door by a group of servants. One peeled away to take our cloaks. As a commoner and not a member of the militia, I was not allowed to carry my sword. A servant reached out to take my blade. We were then led across a large front hall and through an open doorway into an even larger ballroom. Fireplaces large enough to roast an ox graced both ends of the great hall.

  The ceiling was a blizzard of crystal chandeliers shimmering from the flittering wicks of scented candles. It cast a magical glimmering upon the guests. Many of the women had sequined dresses that mirrored the crystal reflections and I felt as if I were gazing upon dream specters.

  The mood was sharply broken as we neared the Baron and Baroness of Duburoake of the infamous Ruble lineage--a bloodline noted for a monumental number of scofflaws and brigands. But where Grup's ilk are scorned and often hung because of their theft of petty booty, the Baron's class are admired because they can cheat and plunder truly formidable amounts of spoils.

  The residents of Duburoake are lucky this generation of ruling Ruble is a rather ineffectual looter satisfied with the nominal amount of graft and bribery to maintain his life of leisure. His son, Runuld, was a different matter. The heir seemed destined to carry out vile deeds brought on by excessive greed and slothful ways.

  The Baron's grin froze into a rictus when he saw our trio. He was a large, corpulent man who was said to once have cut a striking figure. Alone, I would have received only a poorly hidden grimace from the Baron because of several past incidents that began years ago with his son mysteriously winding up drunk and naked in a city fountain. But with the daughter of a powerful witch now ensconced in the former temple of a death god, the matter turned from aversion to dread. Had the Baron agonize over what would be more perilous--to invite the witch and her progeny to the ball or to ignore them and face a later wrath?

  I performed a cursory bow as Morgana was introduced, as well as Mika. The Baron stared suspiciously at the unknown viscount as if he was but a third affliction thrust upon his evening. Good form obligated him to at least a surface display of welcome to a fellow blue blood and he returned Mika's bow.

  His wife and daughter curtsied to Mika. If he had been just a commoner as Morgana and I, they would have given faint nods. I wondered how they would have reacted if they knew I was a bastard son of their king.

  The daughter, Moravia, performed an extra deep curtsy, presenting Mika with a better view of an ample bosom that fought against the confinement of her tight bodice. He followed her greeting with another bow and a kiss to the back of her hand. The girl looked as if she would swoon.

  Moravia is not a bad sort and actually quite attractive for having come from such a swinish lot. She has long black hair and skin as smooth and white as cream cheese. (You can tell the wafting fragrants from the feast boards were making me hungry.) Two dimples appear whenever she smiles, which is often.

  I recalled my time as a student at the private inquisitor academy and weekends partying in the many pubs scattered about the city. Once or twice I had seen the Baron's young daughter slumming in the taverns, always escorted by an arrogant group of older youth. There were times I even imagined she glanced at me with interest, but dallying, as a commoner, with the elite of Duburoake was a good way to find one's self spending some time in the city stockade after a thorough thrashing.

  Tonight, Moravia had nothing but eyes for the viscount and she absentmindedly nodded at my greeting. Her obvious enthrallment caused Morgana to smile. I was glad the witch's daughter appeared amused and not annoyed by Moravia's interest in one of her escorts.

  We were pushed along by other arriving guests and found ourselves drifting to the far side of the room. The room hummed like a hive. Small islands of guests quieted as we passed. The whispering began again when they thought we were out of ear reach. I could pick a few words amongst the conversations and a good many of them were the repeated name of my female companion. The women were snatching side-glances at Morgana; then would often turn and frown as they noticed their own male companions gazing admiringly at the infamous witch's daughter.

  Morgana walked as if oblivious to the stares and whispers of the other guests, nodding when greeted and smiling at more distant eye contacts.

  "You are the star of the ball," I observed when we paused along side a banquet board overburdened with a feast of aromatic meats, sweet puddings, breads, pastries, peacock-tongue pies, and spiced vegetables. A roasted ostrich dominated as the centerpiece.

  I waved a finger at a passing servant and drew three glasses of a light wine from the silver platter. I quickly offered one each to Morgana and Mika. Though I am used to wading through a raucous crowd at the King's Wart Inn without ever spilling a drop of ale, I felt unsteady tonight and feared the social blunder of drenching one of the finely dressed gentlemen or ladies milling about us. I was trying to relax and enjoy the evening, but I could not unknot the tension in my shoulders and neck.

  I looked about. Were there assassins even now hungrily eying their intended victim? How did I appear to them? Some bumbling private inquisitor in a monkey suit--an easy target who had only by witless luck escaped an earlier attack? Were they even now silently pondering how to spend their wages--dreaming about an Ezkmuja gutting knife or a new pair of toe screws?

  Fingers lightly brushed the back of my hand and I jerked around to see Morgana with a slight smile on her lips. I unwilling smiled back, trying to discover a hint of derision in her look. What was her game? I fought to remember that the sweet maiden next to me was the same mocking woman of the Coal Diggers Tavern and the daughter of a notorious witch.

  "You seem truant, Jak. Is my company that tedious? A damsel could almost feel slighted."

  "I believe one could never be bored with your company, Morgana," I answered honestly. "It is just that having an unknown number of Reverian Assassins after one tends to make one anxious. I am funny that way."

  "Oh, them. Worry not for the evening. Do you think Mummsie would let anyone spoil my night out? She is very protective, you know."

  I tried reading her face for jest, but Morgana seemed very matter-of-fact about a maternal protection that included shielding against Reverian Assassins.

  Private inquisitors are always blasé, I reminded myself. "That must make your many boyfriends nervous."

  "Who says I have many boyfriends?"

  I put on my best ingratiating royal court face. "One as beautiful as you must have suitors swarming about like bees around a honeysuckle."

  "You believe yourself to be humoring me, Master Jak, but actually, having Morganna for a mother does hamper my social life. Most men find themselves suddenly timorous when contemplating courting a witch's daughter. Even the bravest quake at meeting my mother. There are others who fear I may also harbor some of her natural talents--though my mother sadly wishes it were so."

  "I will tell you this," she said and leaned to speak into my ear as to be heard over the loud hum of the banquet hall. "I really did not expect you to accept my request."

  "I hope I did not ruin your evening with Mika because of my unexpected assent."

  "In no way," she answered simply.

  I took her arm to guide her to the banquet board. I am used to being snubbed amongst gentry and moneyed, but this was the first time it was more from fear than contempt.

  I now noticed the greetings were forced. The men could not help but be attracted to the comely young woman and follow her with their eyes, but they turned away when meeting her gaze. The women, always ready to shun with relish anyone thought to be of an inferior class or of whom they were jealous, were still not about to offend Morganna's offspring. They greeted her with forced smiles. The throng parted before us like waves before
the prow of a frigate under full sail.

  "Do you perceive what I mean," Morgana spoke as if reading my current observations. For the first time I was actually ready to believe that the maiden besides me was more than just a spoiled witch's daughter bent on making me out a fool.

  I sighed. Maybe I did not have to worry about assassins this evening. But I now might be even more in danger--escorting a damsel who I could not even look at without feeling a wrench in my chest--which had nothing to do with fear. But just how protective and all-seeing was her mother--and how did the witch feel about suitors? I felt sudden empathy for those Morgana had condemned as fainthearted.

  I balanced both our dishes as we left the feastboard and set off to find a place to ourselves. It was something I wanted to do, even without the nervous glances of those fearing we would join their tables. I found us a cozy corner spot near a trio playing formal chamber music.

  On opposite corners of the room could be seen jugglers and a puppet stage. At the fourth corner was a troupe of opossums dressed in tutus and blond wigs and trained to swing from miniature trapezes by their tails.