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

by Dan Ehl

  "It seems too much of a coincidence for me to have stumbled upon an eye of Dorga."

  "Someone had to possess the eye. It just happened to be you," replied Lorenzo, not wanting to be diverted from our quandary. "That still doesn't explain how Dorga found you."

  He closed the coffin's lid and tugged at his mustache. "It would have seen you at the market in Kaiserhelm, so he would know what you looked like. Did you take the eye out often here in Duburoake?"

  I thought back to my time since returning from Stagsford. "Now and then I would carry it around while contemplating a case, rolling it around in my fingers."

  "Did you carry it by your window?"

  "Yes, I would have wandered all around the room with it."

  "Then it would have seen the street and finally pinpointed your location."

  The thought of Dorga watching through its faraway eye was weirding me out.

  "It might also have seen me," Lorenzo reasoned. "That means this location is no longer safe. We'll have to find a new hiding place for the head."

  I hated the "we" word. "Still, what does Frost Ivory have to do with all of this?"

  "That is a puzzle. Maybe the mage hired to curse the girl is on an independent mission and has nothing to do with this," Lorenzo answered in a voice that said he was just as baffled by some of the recent events as I. "I'm sure it will all become clear in time."

  "What do we do now?"

  "I believe we must bring Morganna into this. She is the only one I can think of who can offer any real assistance. Let's be off." He thrust the lock back on the iron box and started for the door.

  "We are taking that with us?" I inquired uneasily, though I regretfully knew the answer.

  I hurried after Lorenzo to retrace our earlier steps to the small courtyard. He whispered to an unseen figure inside the former hostel before he shut the door and reset whatever mechanism connected to the cord.

  "Do you think it is safe to travel in this open cart with the head of Dorga?"

  "No. It is insanely reckless."

  "This is the time when you are to reassure me the evil minions of a death god are not going to swoop down upon us."

  "Oh. Yes, we're safe. We have as a guard a stalwart private inquisitor who only today bested a piss dragon and Reverian Assassin, as well as deciphered the dark plot of a monstrous, bloodthirsty deity."

  Somehow that did not make me feel any better, though I liked the sound of it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The seat was just as uncomfortable as during the last ride. I watched as we passed through the different sections of the city. This time I spied one professional arsonist, two muggers on break and four pickpockets. Twice I spied what could have been followers of Dorga without their trademark robes, but they appeared to pay us no heed as we passed.

  Both Morganna's carriage and the dragon were no longer on the highway. There was still a large slick of drying blood where the beast had died. I advised Lorenzo not to stop when we came upon a rather disheveled and dazed highway guardsman who was incoherently speaking to himself.

  "I will explain later," I promised Lorenzo.

  It was getting dark as we reached the base of the winding lane leading to the former temple of Dorga. An attendant appeared and took the halter of the horse to lead it to wherever I presumed a stable to be.

  The door servant as from our last visit greeted us. We were told to wait in the entrance hall as he went to seek his mistress.

  "Jak, you are safe," Morgana all but shouted as she flung herself into my arms. "I was so worried about you, even when Mother said you were safe."

  I put my arms around the slim figure and savored the embrace. I was no longer surprised at the feelings evoked by the witch's daughter. She pulled away and rubbed my cheeks.

  "You are either going to have to grow a beard or shave this stubble," she ordered with a laughing voice as she stroked my cheek. "It be like sandpaper."

  "He might also want to take a bath and change into more suitable garb," came the witch's voice from behind her daughter. "How, Master Spasm, can you suffer going out in public with him?"

  "It's a burden I must bear," he answered solemnly.

  I looked over Morgan's shoulder at the witch. Her rebuke did not match her expression. She actually seemed pleased to see me in one piece.

  "Let us not stand here for the whole world to watch. I will have someone carry in your luggage," she said to Lorenzo.

  "Thank you, Morganna, but I believe I better carry it myself."

  The witch looked questioningly at my friend and seemed to sense something was out of the ordinary. She recovered and waved us though the door.

  Morgana and I walked arm in arm to the main anteroom as her mother and Lorenzo intently whispered with bent heads. Not being part of the conversation would have grieved me any other time, but I was content enough with Morgana's company to distance myself from their schemes.

  "Morgana, show Master Barley to the lavatory where he can freshen up. Then find him some decent garments," the witch ordered her daughter. It was an obvious ploy to rid herself of us while she conversed with Lorenzo.

  Hall carpets and colorful wall hangings did much to cheer up the former Dorga temple, but the place was still too similar to the unholy warrens of Dorga in Stagsford. It was there I fell in love with a female assassin and saved her and two other maidens from a fiery sacrifice. I, myself, was almost dismembered by the temple torturer.

  We stopped outside a door that resembled a dozen others in the dim hallway.

  "I could come in, also," she volunteered in a sultry voice.

  "Why? You do not smell that bad," I answered coyly while sniffing at her neck.

  She pushed me away. "That bad?"

  "Well, I guess it is good if you like roses and lavender."

  Morgana dimpled. It was a great dimple but too soon replaced by a serious look. "Lorenzo was acting very strange. What is in that coffer that he is so loathe to part with?"

  "A big fish head," I sighed, dismayed at the turn of the conversation. This Dorga topic was really beginning to weary me.

  "Master Jak, you can tell me," Morgana said as she playfully punched me in the shoulder. I tried not to wince.

  I was again trying to nuzzle her neck. "It is true. A big fish head."

  She firmly gripped my shoulders and pushed me to arms length. "And why would Lorenzo be carting about a large fish head?"

  "Ah, it be a sporting trophy. He plans to mount it."

  She again lightly punched me.

  "He brought it for dinner. I told him a bottle of wine would have been more appropriate."

  She placed her nose close to mine. "Jak-k-k."

  "So it does not reconnect with its body." I had been attempting not to spoil the mood with talk of the monstrous thing in the box.

  "Jak, me darling, you can…" She stopped in the middle of the sentence and a look at me astonishment. "You do not mean…"

  "Oh, no!" She fell back into my arms and shuddered. Maybe talking about ghastly and foul subjects was not such a bad idea. Morgana obviously knew the history of Dorga's dismemberment. "What is your friend doing with that god's head?"

  "Actually, they have become great friends. Lorenzo has finally found someone he can share his most intimate thoughts with. They are like brothers. He even learned to read lips. I am a bit jealous. He never takes me out anymore. It is always Dorga this or 'fish-headed-god-of-death' that."

  "Jak, please. This is not something to joke. Tell me what this be about? How did you come into possession of Dorga's head?"

  I sighed again. I am finally alone with Morgana and we had to talk about an evil carp head bent on world ascendancy. "It is a long story and Lorenzo can tell it best. I will go dunk myself while he tells you his tale."

  Morgana hurriedly kissed me on the cheek and all but ran back down the hall. So much for her interest in bathing me. Could it be true love if a dismembered death god takes priority over my cleanliness?

  The bathing ro
om was interesting, if not suited for a critique in "Better Abode and Yard." The walls were black granite with small bloodstone gargoyles now utilized to hold towels. The lamps burned scented oils that smelled like skinkberry blossoms. I had to admit a woman's touch can soften even a malevolent god's temple.

  It felt good to slide into the marble tub, though it might once had been used for washing sacrificial victims. Dorga had a taste for guileless young maidens. Normally they were bled on a sacrificial altar in front of a giant Dorga idol then burned in a nearby pyre. It was this curious rite that not only severely disconcerted a number of mothers and fathers, but even the normally irreverent tavern crowd. I believe in freedom of creed, but Dorga and his heinous cleric were always pushing the boundaries.

  I sat up abruptly and sent water splashing over the side. Oh course! Frost Ivory's part in all this was suddenly clear. How could I not have seen this before? I rubbed my hands in anticipation of revealing this bit of brilliant deduction to Lorenzo.

  A servant I had never met quickly entered the chamber and efficiently laid out my new garb. It made one wonder how the witch so promptly found me wear that was my size. The green jerkin was of a fine cut and material, but not overly fancy. The dark burgundy leggings were of coarser woven flax that did not fit too tightly. There was even a wyvernskin belt. I paused to admire the soft leather boots that went as high as my knees-a pair that I could never afford on a private inquisitor's wage.

  I hurriedly dried myself and dressed--though regretting that this was most likely the last restful moment I would have for a while.

  I returned to the anteroom and found the mood sullen. Morganna looked morose. Maybe the thought of being dragged into a plot that consisted of lethal assassins, powerful mages, and a decapitated death god was not how she wanted to spend her leisure time. Some people are just that way.

  I quietly sat next to Morgana and she took my hand in a tender grasp. It felt like this was not a good time to be noticed, but I was anxious to tell of my theory.

  Morganna broke the silence. "Well, Master Barley, I am pleased to see you looking semi-presentable."

  "Ah, thank you for the garb. I will be sure to recompense you--"

  "I am sure you will," she interrupted. Morganna was probably already thinking of ways of calling in the favor. I just hoped it had nothing to with shades. I hate ghosts.

  "Tomorrow we will return to the dwarves' dwelling and lift the hex from Frost Ivory," Morganna continued. "Jak's manuscript clearly spells out the counter charm. There is the question of what to do with the maiden once that is accomplished since she is a center of some plot of which we are still unaware. There is even the danger the mages who plied the curse will try to intervene. I will strive to make sure that does not happen.

  "And then we have the problem of Dorga's head. Lorenzo assures me he has thought of a permanent solution to that dilemma, but it will not satisfy our problem in the short run. I will let Lorenzo speak to that."

  Lorenzo seemed untouched by the tense mood that pervaded the room. He leaned back and spoke as if he were discussing the next game's strategy for the Academy of Duburoake's kneeball team.

  "It's simple, really. In one week a gate will open to my home world--a world where there is no magic. I have just to transport Dorga's head there and it will soon be nothing but another stinking carp head, albeit a large one, on the banks of the Maquoketa River. Once the head is gone, Dorga's hand will lose its guiding wit and his devotees will become nothing more than the usual wannabe world dominating clerics. The unpaid mages and assassins will be forced to go back to their usual petty mayhem and malice."

  Morganna appeared only half impressed. "Until then we will keep a close guard. I will be working on a number of wards for my new residence. This having been a former stronghold for Dorga, there could be vulnerabilities of which I am unaware."

  "Ah, about Frost Ivory," I spoke while there was a lull in the conversation. "I am certain the Ghennison Viper mages will attempt to thwart her release from the curse."

  My three companions turned to me, Morgana tilting her head in question.

  "I am confident the maiden was placed under a spell by order of the same employer directing the attacks upon myself--the priests of Dorga. Their dreadful sacrificial rites are well known, though outlawed by our new king. I believe if we probe deep enough, we will find similar cases of missing or cursed maidens-and all of them as beautiful. They are most likely widely scattered as not to draw notice."

  Lorenzo's eyes lit up. "Yes, they've been putting them on ice in preparation for a coming-out party for Dorga's head. That way it will be much easier to gather them all up in one quick swoop for the big shindig. Brilliant deduction, Jak."

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I had half feared that Lorenzo had already inferred Frost Ivory's role in this puzzle.

  "Morganna, I would ask for one of your servants to carry a message for me into the city."

  Morganna simply nodded her head to Lorenzo's request. I was dying to know what Lorenzo was up to but knew how he loved to appear mysterious.

  "There is also an option of doing a first strike and catching the priests in surprise," Lorenzo continued. The best defense is an offense. I believe I have figured out the whereabouts of this secret temple. We swoop in, grab Dorga's hand, and be gone before they know what hit them. That'll have the bastards floundering about like a carp with its head chopped off."

  "Dorga already has his head chopped off," I offered dryly. "And what is this 'we' bit. I have already experienced his priests' hospitality and once is enough. In other words, I would rather roll in sheep manure and jump into a pit of shrew maggots."

  "It was a thought," Lorenzo admitted with a shrug, though I could tell by his look he would not give up that easily. I, on the other had, was not going to change my mind.

  ~ * ~

  Just thinking about one skirmish at the Temple of Dorga in Stagsford was enough to make me feel queasy.

  I had been captured with Mahvan, a deadly female assassin of whom I had half fallen in love. Once at the temple, I was taken to a torture chamber.

  I was met at the door by an apprentice torturer, a lank lad with a swarm of pimples about his face like red ants pouring from a disturbed nest.

  "Bring him in and chain him over there," ordered the apprentice in a bored voice to the guards. "I be still heating the irons and have yet to clean and polish the tools from the master's last task."

  "I must say one thing for you torturers," I told the boy after the guards had left and my hands were chained to an iron ring on the wall, "no cobwebs, rats, or rotting skeletons lying about here. Everything looks spotless. I am sure your mother must be very proud of you."

  The apprentice was busy at a sink washing an assortment of knives, hooks, pliers, and clamps.

  "Shut your mouth, dead man," he snapped in ill humor. He turned to face me and pointed to one of the many strange contrivances that furnished the chamber. "See that? It be a spinning jenny. Just got 'er in. She slices, dices, chops, and grates."

  "Seems like a lot of machine just to make a salad."

  He laughed, but it was not the kind of chuckling to bring joy to anyone's heart.

  "That be right, dead man. And you be the carrot."

  He went back to washing the tools of his trade. I prayed he would continue with his back to me. As quickly as possible when one has both hands chained, I propped a foot against the wall and fumbled for my pouch of metal slivers. It took but another second for me to pick the simple lock.

  On the wall not far from where I had been chained was a rack of oddly shaped knives. I carefully removed a blade and silently made my way to the apprentice.

  "Do not move, my young torturer, or it will be your own blood that must be scrubbed from the floor," I ordered as I placed the blade against his throat. "Do what I say and you will live to burn and batter another night."

  I led the lad to the rather whimsical device of gears and springs that he called the spinning jenny. It also c
ame with manacles.

  "You will never escape from here," he said as I firmly secured him to the contrivance. "And when you are returned, I shall ask the master if I may personally work on you. First, I will insert slivers under your nails and drive needles into your eyeballs. I will--"

  "Put a cork in it," I ordered as I waved the knife under his nose, taken aback by the youngster's villainous outburst. He was glaring at me like a taxman who had just had his nose hairs plucked.

  "I will have you begging for death, though it will be meaningless mumbles after I have cut the lips from your face," he began again.

  I sighed and leaned forward. "One should not make such promises when one is so tethered."