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

by Dan Ehl

  "Mother, please, I am not a child," Morgana protested her mother's overbearing actions.

  "We will discuss this matter once we are on our way."

  The daughter sighed loudly in resignation. I was not about to argue with a woman who can make a vampire disappear at the snap of her fingers.

  We again cut through the throng like a swift ship through high seas. The faces we passed were even more cowed than before. Either this would enhance my reputation as a private inquisitor, who rubbed elbows with even mighty witches, and clients would be lining up for my services, or my office would be regarded with the same sentiment as that of a leper colony.

  A servant eagerly handed back my sword as we reached the front hall. I reached for a coin and he scrambled away as if I were about to pluck some curse or poison from my pocket.

  Word had been sent ahead and the hearse was pulling up to the steps as we descended them.

  The smile on Frit's freckled face died when he saw the third party was not Mika but the infamous witch Morganna. I motioned the rest of the "servants" to open the doors and help the women up the steps.

  "Bloody 'ades, Governor, the mum's come. Did you get too cheeky with the lass?" Grup asked with a smirk.

  "Something like that."

  We settled into our seats and the hearse jerked to a start. Morganna silently gazed about the interior until her eyes paused on the hot tub then came to rest on me.

  "An odd contrivance to bring on a first engagement with a young lady."

  The following silence and her continued studying of me led me to believe that was not just a rhetorical statement. "It, ah...I was not aware it would be in the carriage. Ah, a friend got this for me and..."

  "Do not be such an ogre, Mummsie, leave Jak alone," Morgana interrupted. "The question is, where were you when that vampire attacked me? If it had not been for Jak, I would now be crawling away to some crevice after having supped on a valet."

  It was the witch's turn to appear uncomfortable. "I was distracted but for a second by a pressing chore--and you know how much I hate being called Mummsie."

  With the same wintry execution as her mother, Morgana gazed silently at the witch then stated, "You fell asleep at the crystal ball, didn't you?"

  Morganna haughtily drew herself up as if to make a cutting reply but remained silent.

  "You did, you did." Morgana then turned to me. "She used to be such a harpy about me watching too much crystal ball. Said I should be out in the healthy night air or reading ancient tomes. And now she falls asleep almost every night watching the boob ball."

  I waited for the two to work out their mother-daughter issues. Morganna finally looked my way and thanked me for saving her daughter. There were a number of my own issues I had to settle with the witch. I guessed while she was feeling indebted, this was as good a time as any to broach them--if there was such a thing as a good time for Morganna.

  "Do you know anything about the spell over Frost Ivory or who is behind the Reverian Assassins?

  The witch eyed me coolly. I was getting tired of being eyed coolly. "Customarily, a 'You are welcome' is the traditional rejoinder."

  This time I gave the cool stare. Morganna fell into a similar stance and the temperature again dropped twenty degrees. I could not have been more startled if the witch had suddenly leaped across the carriage and began strangling me--instead, she broke out into a smile.

  "Well, daughter, this one at least has some spirit. I was beginning to think you were eternally ill-fated to see only spineless worms," she purred to Morgana then swiftly returned to me, "but that does not mean I expect impudence from a ferret."

  "That be private inquisitor," Morgana and I responded in unison.

  She blinked in surprise and cocked her head in the same manner I have seen Morgana do a dozen times. She looked at us both and pursed her lips.

  "I know nothing of the vex placed upon Frost Ivory. If you like, I will examine the young woman and tell you what I can. I should at least be able to decipher the order of the curse placed upon her and maybe even its origins."

  "And the Reverian Assassins?"

  She smiled again, and this time it didn't feel as if frostbite was about to turn my nose black. "It is very unusual for such a number of their kind to gather in one place, let alone all with seemingly one prey. As a unique individual as you appear to be, that still makes no sense. I would guess you cannot be their only task. Whether they must first settle with you before these other objectives become evident, only time will tell."

  "Good, we can all go to the dwarves' home tomorrow," said Morgana.

  "We?" her mother said as she arched her brows.

  "I will be helping Jak on this case. I have decided I want to be a private inquisitor."

  "Is not that a bit dangerous?"

  "Everyone thinks it is so romantic or exciting," she replied. "In fact, it is tedious and boring."

  The witch shook her head and said resignedly, "I will be available just after lunch. You may visit me then."

  For the rest of the journey I listened to Morgana tell of our evening and of our first meeting at the Coal Diggers Tavern. The witch then queried me and I found myself telling of my adventure in Stagsford, as well as my recent ordeal in the abandoned coalmines. In this relaxed setting, I could almost believe I was visiting with a normal mother and daughter. The lamplights of the hearse softened the witch's visage, and she appeared as if she could be Morgana's older sister rather than mother.

  I found myself regretting the ride ending as the coach pulled up before the former temple of Dorga, Fish-Headed God of Death.

  Frat's plump face appeared upside down in the window. He seemed surprised to see us all in one piece. He smiled and showed his few remaining yellow teeth. "They all be there sound and hale, even Jak," he called to his buddies.

  There was a scrambling sound from the top of the hearse as my motley crew disembarked. Luginie opened my door and I stepped down to the drive, followed by the witch and her daughter.

  "I will see you tomorrow, Master Barley," Morganna said, it as much of an order as an assurance. She turned and began scaling the steps.

  "You mother is not much for decorum, is she?"

  "My mother has been too long without socializing. She has kept to herself ever since my father left when I was a small child. And yes, I had a father just like everyone else. You have observed my complexion, a heritage from his eastern blood," she said as if I had voiced doubt. "I was not created in some vat from eye of newt and a dead man's fingernails."

  I laughed and yearned to lean forward and kiss Morgana's winsome lips, but not under the eyes of the four rogues on the hearse who were pretending not to be drinking in every word we spoke. "I have no doubt you are a natural maiden. But it is difficult to imagine anyone having the courage to woo your mother."

  "She was not always so haughty. I wish she could meet someone who would not immediately soil their breeches."

  I found myself cocking my head in thought.

  "What?" she asked.

  "I believe I know just the person," I smiled.

  "I do not like the look on your face--it is almost smug. This be no joke. Playing matchmaker for mother is like playing with fire."

  "I really do know someone your mother will find both interesting and impossible to cow. And I owe him a return for a number of favors."

  "Let us hope you are right. Everyone needs to have someone to share comfort with," Morgana whispered as she pressed against me and angled her face up toward mine.

  The kiss would have been longer if it were not for the sniggers from the top of the hearse. "I will see you tomorrow, Master Jak," the witch's daughter said as she slipped from my arms and skipped up the steps. She turned at the door and smiled then disappeared.

  "Gawd, what a governor we have," gasped Grup in reverence. "He not only courts the daughter of the most dreadful witch there be, but he kisses her right on the witch's doorstep. I guess what they say about ferrets be right."

 
; "That is private inquisitor, Grup," I said in good humor. Still not sure of Morganna, I believed the daughter was attracted to me. I felt like I could take on a dozen Reverian Assassins and come out unscathed. "Let us see what is in this rig's bar. The drinks are on Lorenzo."

  Several minutes later we pulled out of the drive and began the ride down the twisting lane. I was perched atop the outlandish carriage with the four rogues and a dozen bottles of assorted liquors and ales. "Road journey," yelled Frat as he waved about a bottle of Mad Mongrel 20/20.

  "Where to?" asked Frit from his driver's seat.

  "How about along the sea front?" I replied after taking a healthy swig of Duburoake Star Ale. "I am in the mood for a soft sea breeze and watching the moon over the harbor."

  "As you say, Governor."

  We must have presented an odd apparition for the usual night denizens of the wharves and jetties that dot the port area of Duburoake. Many of the dimly lit streets and back alleys we traveled are seldom ventured upon after dark because of the brigands and scofflaws who call it home. The weird vision of a handful of sots singing bawdy tunes from atop a hearse must have inspired caution in their villainous hearts.

  I almost fell from the roof when Frit brought the hearse to an abrupt stop in front of my office.

  "We are out of booze," one of the four informed me of the reason our excursion had reached its conclusion.

  I ungracefully clambered down to the street and waved the four off into the dark. I was suddenly aware I was drunk and alone where any assassin might sooner or later expect to find me. It took several ill-aimed jabs with my key before I could open the entrance door then quickly lock it behind me.

  I have had more than enough practice of climbing these three flights of stairs in an inebriated state. The last thing I remembered was pondering the possibility of hired executioners bursting into my sleeping room and catching me passed out in a drunken stupor. I weaved back into the office clutching a blanket and curled beneath my desk.

  Chapter Twelve

  "I see you found the grog and such," a voice pierced the fog. "Did you drink it all yourself?"

  I tried opening an eye but it seemed glued shut. I fumbled about until I found my face and peeled back a lid. I immediately let it slam back shut after a stabbing flash of light seared its way through the back of my aching eyeballs and into my skull.

  "Ahg-g-g. Go away. I think I am dying," I moaned to Lorenzo.

  Once again I felt as if I had been attacked by a horde of tin-mining trolls, tied to a tree, beaten unconscious with pickax handles and left for dead on the floor of my office--though usually the nocturnal patrons at the King's Wart Inn would tell a different story of ugly inebriation and wretched overindulgence in vices frowned upon by the dour, dwarfish priests of my troubled childhood.

  "Here, I brought you a plate of blood sausage for breakfast. I'm told it is one of your favorites. It is a bit greasy, but it is good and hot."

  I moaned and fought myself up onto wobbly legs that barely carried me to the water closet. Minutes later I staggered back into the office.

  "I heard you made quite an impression at the Baron's ball--knocking over chairs, spilling food, and rolling about the floor with the blood-sucking undead. You sure know how to impress a girl on her first date. What's next, mud wrestling? And I'm still trying to figure out the bill I got for a coachman's livery."

  "There are also rumors of a haunted hearse," Lorenzo continued with relish, "with tortured souls wailing through the back avenues of the port. The soup kitchens of several gods are reportedly filled this morning with repentant folk fearful for their immortal souls. Good job."

  "Thanks, I do what I can." I raised a cold cup of yesterday's snakewort to my mouth and sipped the bitter brew.

  "Aren't you going to ask about my evening?"

  "What about your evening?" I parroted.

  "Thanks for asking. I partied with the Blackwatch Goblins. They are a festive bunch, though limited in their forms of entertainment. I'm sure they're not involved with either Frost Ivory or whoever is behind your merry assassins. They have some sort of bond with the morgue trolls, as it seems all the Alternative Folk have--"

  "Alternative folk?" I interrupted Lorenzo.

  "Yes, Alternative Folk--AF. It's time you became PC."

  "PC?"

  "Politely cogent. As I was saying, it appears the Blackwatch Goblins had a brief run in with a few of the fleeing villains before they met us. None of their prisoners were Reverian Assassins--only some local hired accomplices. Those wacky goblins did what they always do when meeting an inferior force; kill, rape, and plunder. It was during the customary torture of injured survivors the goblins found out about the attack on the trolls.

  "That's why they were in pursuit of the main group, though they never caught up with the Reverian Assassins. I think they are hoping to gain some favor from the trolls by capturing or killing the assassins--probably free health care. The insurance premiums for self-employed scoundrels are outrageous."

  "How did they come to hear about me?" I asked.

  "News travels fast among the AF."

  "That is one less worry, I guess. Hopefully, we will not be seeing them again."

  Lorenzo began chewing on the blood sausage and I had to shift my gaze to the window.

  "You never know," he said between bites. "They may come in handy."

  "Yes, that is what I want for compatriots--AFs whose idea of a good time is eating the weak."

  "That which doesn't eat us makes us stronger."

  I ignored Lorenzo's cryptic statement. A memory from the past evening blew away part of the haze fogging my poor brain. I even managed a weak smile.

  "Are not you going to ask about my night, the parts not reported upon by the Baron's freeloaders or mendicants about the port?"

  "What about your night, the parts not reported upon by the Baron's freeloaders or mendicants about the port?"

  "Witch Morganna has agreed to examine Frost Ivory. She believes she may be able to provide me with some clues to the perpetrator of the curse."

  "Great, I wish I could see the faces of the seven dwarves when you bring the wicked witch by for a visit. I bet it will be a real bonding moment. Maybe the little bluebirds will chirp sweet melodies for Morganna and those bunnies you told me about will throw flowers in your path."

  "At least they cannot talk."

  Lorenzo stretched out on my divan. "That reminds me of an incident that happened to me earlier this morning at the peasants' market."

  "I am sure there is a thrilling saga to be related here. Were you attacked by a crazed rutabaga?

  "No, actually I was walking through the market when I saw a sign advertising a talking dog for sale."

  "Did you also inquire if they had a bridge to be sold?"

  "No, I just asked about the sign and the owner pulled out a small lap dog. You know, those little yippy dogs. He handed it to me then went to wait on another customer."

  "'So, you talk?' I asked it. 'Yup,' it replied."

  "Sure it wasn't 'yip?'" I interrupted Lorenzo.

  "I asked what its tale was." Lorenzo was ignoring me. "It began telling me about how as a talking dog, it had been used by the King's Clandestine Information Authority. He would be placed in rooms with the ambassadors and leaders of neighboring countries and they'd spill their guts because none of them would have believed the dog was actually listening.

  "For a half dozen years, the dog told me, it traveled about exposing spies and blowing the cover on plots against Glavendale. It then retired with a bunch of medals and sired a few litters of pups. Now, in its golden years, the dog said it was looking for a nice quiet home."

  Lorenzo paused as if waiting for a comment from me. I wasn't about to give him the pleasure.

  "So of course I was pretty astounded," Lorenzo continued. "When the farmer finished with the other customer, I asked him how much he wanted for the dog and he said ten marks.

  "'What? Ten marks is all you want,' I exc
laimed. 'Only ten marks for a talking dog? How come so miserly a price for a dog that can talk?' The peasant replied it is because the dog was a liar and it never did any of that stuff."

  Lorenzo sat back and looked expectantly at me.

  "Yeah, wonderful. A very amusing story," I said as I rubbed my eyes and contemplated a warm bath before I could face the world. "So how come you did not buy the dog?"

  "Oh, I did," Lorenzo said, and from a bag by his feet, he pulls out a scruffy bit of fur. "I've thought for a long time that you needed a dog. But just remember, you can't believe a word it says."

  The wiry-haired dog was about the size of a cat. It looked up at me with big wet eyes and said, "What are you gawking at, dunce? You don't look so hot yourself. Better close your eyes before you bleed to death."