The Dragon and Rose

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “That...sounds quite exciting. But what will the citizens do without their park?”

  “It’s not much of a park, is it? As I own the island, there’s nothing stopping me from carrying out my designs. But your question isn’t without merit. What if I give you the job of coming up with another place where they can recreate? Rochus will see to it that your decisions are carried out.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze and studied her young nephew’s face. Happy to help. She liked the sound of those words.

  While his performance in her games had been hardly noteworthy, at least he had entered them without any coaxing from her. He had volunteered to win his fortune alongside the other entrants and had lost, having been soundly thrashed by the champion. She could work with that. But then after discovering that Jamie’s one true love was also one of her monsters, the idea of a sequel sprang to mind. It was the kind of idea that would have to be nurtured and introduced slowly. After all, hadn’t Jamie stood up to his father when it came to the matter of giving his heart over to a fel woman?

  Her catacomb expansion might take some time, but what would any of its corridors and chambers be without content to grab the attention of the fans?

  Chapter Seven

  IN THE LATE MORNING, Digger pushed his cart towards the Temperance District and the Dragon and Rose. The city was up and moving. The tide of workers was already tapering off, as the factory shifts started not long after dawn.

  Ahead of him he spotted Xavier. He was the cemetery keeper and father of the two weird sisters, and this morning he was hurrying along with a cart of his own. Digger caught up with him, bringing his own cart alongside Xavier’s.

  Xavier’s bushy eyebrows were knitted together and his craggy, ochre-skinned face was locked in its perpetual grimace. If Xavier didn’t hunch over he might have been a few inches taller than Digger. He was possibly a pureblood or halfblood, not that Digger had ever bothered to ask. As much as Digger disliked dealing with the man’s daughters, Xavier himself was far more unpleasant, having always displayed open hostility to Digger ever since his first day on the job.

  “Early call or did we miss something last night?” Digger asked.

  “Does it matter?” Xavier grumbled. “None of you were around when the notice came from the watch. Everyone’s gone off to bed and here I am out in the cold morning doing toe work. Makes me wonder why I bother with the lot of you.”

  “The others are asleep, no doubt.”

  “I don’t care. And the watch has decided it wants to choose which of you I should send. This notice has your name on it. Like they can decide how I run my graveyard.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Xavier stopped and muttered something under his breath. He fumbled with his coat pocket and produced a summons.

  “Violet Avenue, Tanner Alley,” the note read. “Send Digger.”

  Digger turned the note over, hoping for more. “Did the watch say anything else?”

  But Xavier just turned his cart around, heading back towards East Hill. The tail of a nightshirt showed from beneath his coat.

  Digger considered still going to the Dragon and Rose first just to check on Monty. After last night’s events with the sheriff, Digger had been gone too long. But Tanner Alley wasn’t far from the scene of the double murder. No, just a coincidence. He’d go there and pick up the body and then go by the bar. A loaded corpse cart in the back alley would discourage more tourists and he would take the body to the graveyard later.

  But as he crossed the city and made his way through the industrial district towards Tanner Alley, he saw that the morning wouldn’t be as simple as he had hoped.

  A squad of guards was milling around the street. More than a few citizens had collected nearby and watched and whispered. Stern faces met him as he brought the cart to the corner of the large lot where the tanners plied their trade. The smelly chemicals used in treating hides and leathers were pungent even from outside the compound.

  The sheriff stood alone inside the alley with a handkerchief pressed to his nose. Another body lay between the lot wall and a neighboring brick building. It looked much as the other two had from yesterday. The victim, an older pureblood by Digger’s initial estimation, had also had his belly torn open. The flies were thick.

  The guards stayed back as Digger entered the alley.

  “Ah, you’re here.” The sheriff held his hands out to Digger. “It appears once again we cross paths. If you’d indulge me?”

  When Digger didn’t move, the sheriff took his hands into his. Examined the palms and fingernails.

  Digger waited until he was finished. “This wasn’t me.”

  “You’ve washed up.” He dropped Digger’s hands. “Care to make any observations?”

  “I’m just here to collect him,” Digger said, nodding at the corpse.

  The sheriff presented a curved smoking pipe from a satchel he carried under an arm. “The man had this on him. What do your senses tell you?”

  Digger looked at the pipe and sniffed it. It had a bright flowery smell. “Some kind of skunk or devil’s weed.”

  “Yes. And I also found a small amount on the dead young man at the other murder scene.”

  “Plenty of people in the city partake.”

  “But we’re dealing with three who were all murdered in the same two blocks.”

  “So the one with the pipe is an opium dealer. Are you done with your examination? Can I take the body? If you want me to leave it, I will.”

  The sheriff wore a bemused expression. “No curiosity whatsoever?”

  “You should be talking to the city watch. They might have insights.”

  “They’re both disinterested and lazy. You’re right, though. This poor soul is a known drug dealer. But this crime and the other two murders are something new even for Diregloom, I imagine. So brazen. Surely you haven’t seen this level of violence out on the street, have you? Bodies like this are what you might expect inside the queen’s games.”

  Digger crossed his arms. “If you say so.”

  “I’m disappointed. Ah well, surely you have your own burdens. But before you put this wretch into your cart, think about what these crimes portend. Three victims surprised at night by someone quite strong, perhaps endowed with superior eyesight. See all the flies? I’m sure we’ll have maggots growing in a few hours. That means this body might have been here since yesterday. If all three were killed at the same time, either we have multiple suspects or one who killed this man and chased down the other two before they could find help. What kind of man possesses such strength and speed and eyesight?”

  Digger knew where the sheriff was going with this but said nothing.

  The sheriff now spoke in a low voice. “Perhaps you believe with your victory in the catacombs and your kind’s newfound liberty that the proverbial shoe is on the other foot and that purebloods will be the ones who need to tread lightly here in the city. But these crimes will trigger a reaction. It already has with the city watch. Childhood fears of fel monsters merge with memories of not too many generations past. Even if your indifference continues, perhaps you can pass along my misgivings to ones who do care.”

  “And who might that be?”

  But the sheriff was busy putting the pipe away. “Go on and take the body. It’s drawing a crowd.” He then moved on to pick at bits of nearby trash, as if each might hold an answer to his questions.

  Digger was free to work. The third victim was indeed a pureblood, with brown skin and graying, thin hair. The clothes weren’t anything fancy but weren’t cheap or threadbare: slacks, a topcoat over a patterned shirt, and worn, hard shoes. The coat pockets were turned out.

  “Did you take anything from him besides the pipe?” Digger asked.

  “It was in his inside coat pocket. The rest was as I found it.”

  While the pockets were empty, Digger discovered a small pouch tucked inside the back of the man’s belt. It had the same cloying smell as
the pipe.

  Digger presented his findings. “He was robbed, but they were in a hurry and missed this.”

  “Fearful of being caught, would you say?”

  “People get sloppy when the blood starts pumping.”

  “People. Fel and pureblood alike, you mean. Suggesting what?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. It’s your job to catch the killer.”

  “Is that your hope? That the perpetrator sees his way to the gallows or perhaps finds a place in the queen’s games?”

  “I’m not hoping anything. I stopped doing that a long time ago. How about instead of lingering here you go out and ask if anyone saw something last night?”

  “I plan on doing just that. But I wanted to talk to you first. Because you seem to have an insight into violence beyond what one might expect from a lowly gravedigger.”

  Chapter Eight

  ISABEL WAS AT IT BRIGHT and early the next day, at work just past dawn inside the cellar of the burned-out bakery. Hellard could hear the slam of the cellar door through the hole in the roof above the loft. He got up and went down the back alley to see what she was doing.

  Yesterday he had helped with her purchases and now she had six made-up beds set in the center of the cellar along with a washbasin. Now she was carrying what appeared to be plumbing supplies down the steps. Supplies cost money. Surely he could find a way to get her to share. He put on his best morning smile as he lumbered towards her.

  She paused to look at him. “I don’t want your help today.”

  “Looks like you might need it. That looks heavy.”

  He lifted a crate of small pipe fittings from her wagon. She set down her load and hurried to take the crate from his hands.

  “Place could use a sweep,” he said as he peered into the cellar.

  She shoved him back up the stairs. “Any progress on setting those trolls free?”

  “Working on it.”

  Which wasn’t true. He had purchased a sack of fish scraps and brought it into the cellar the previous evening. Vinca had shown him how she fed the creatures. They would docilely wait for her to flip each one a morsel and would catch them in their mouths. The beasts had mellowed since their rescue from the castle. Vinca had told him that the queen had had them starved to get a better performance out of them. But with full bellies the trolls were as easy to handle as giant dogs, if dogs were capable of tearing a man limb from limb.

  Their dung was piling up, though, and it had taken Hellard an hour to clean the mess. Not the worst job he had ever done, though, and Vinca had kept him company.

  He had carried the barrel of troll droppings down to the city incinerator rather than just dumping it into the sewer. He hoped that the bits of tooth and bone from the remains of Lord Angel’s companions would be burned up. Even still, there remained the danger of one of the drudges discovering something. Men would pick through even the most disgusting of refuse in search of anything salvageable.

  The fish and the disposal had cost him the last of his scrip.

  Without prompting he began to carry debris over to the wagon. It now had a mule attached to it. The dumb beast, munching on the contents of a feed bag, didn’t react as he threw an armload of trash into the wagon. Isabel had vanished into the cellar. By the time she emerged he had loaded the wagon.

  Hellard moved to lead the mule. “Give me some scrip and I’ll take the trash away. Oh, and we still haven’t talked about my compensation for my labors.”

  Isabel brought a bin of scrap to the wagon and dumped it out on top. “I told you I don’t want your help. And Lady Sofia wanted me to set terms for renting her loft and the cellar.”

  “So that’s how it is. She’s putting you in charge? And here I thought we were all just getting along. But you’re rich. Surely you can float our two big guests for a while. And me, seeing how I’m invaluable to your operation.”

  He flexed.

  She wiped sweat from her brow and gave the slightest smile. “You’re not part of my anything. And I’m not sponsoring your rebellion. Besides, you think the queen got her wealth by giving it away?”

  “She got it by screwing our kind and treating us like slaves,” he said, suddenly serious.

  Isabel was adjusting the load on the wagon. “You know those creatures can’t stay down there. And you can’t live up in the loft. The bar is opening whether you or Digger want it to or not. Monty and Sofia need them out. It’s too dangerous risking someone accidentally finding them.”

  “You just don’t want them making trouble for whatever mystery project you’ve got going.”

  “Show me the business that wants trolls as neighbors.”

  “I actually can’t think of any.”

  “Me either.”

  As they began their trek towards the east-side landfill to dump the rubbish cart, Hellard stopped the wagon at the fel market. As he browsed for free samples, he edged closer to a small crowd gathered near one of the bulletin boards. He elbowed his way forward to see. Most moved out of his way, except an excited youth who was waiting his turn to read a notice pinned prominently on top of numerous handbills and other postings.

  Hellard snatched the page from the board.

  Fighters Wanted!

  Paying Coin! Come be our monsters!

  Are you competitive? Do you have what it takes to win?

  Immediate work available.

  Center of Communion St., Temperance District

  “OH! YOU’RE A BIG ONE!” the zealous young fel in front of Hellard said. “Will you be going?”

  “What is this?”

  “Sounds like someone is setting up another game. Heard of a few. Does it matter? Says they’re paying.”

  “Of course it matters. You’re going to risk your life fighting for money?”

  “Probably won’t be anything as bad as the queen’s games. Besides, we’re the champions now. It’s the purebloods who have to watch out for us, right? With everything going on in Bahia—hey, where are you going?”

  Hellard ignored the grumbles as he returned to the cart, crumpling the handbill and tossing it on top of the rubbish heap. It went without comment that some of the fel of the island would respond to the notice. Others were broke too, and the thought of a cash infusion was tempting. But from his days as a Karanog bandit, he preferred to take what he could from the purebloods and recoiled at the idea of giving them anything in return.

  Isabel was munching on an apple. “What’s going on?”

  “The usual. Purebloods exploiting us. And our kind being dumb enough to fall for it.”

  She got the mule and cart underway.

  Hellard walked alongside her and brooded. The city wasn’t waiting for the next round of catacomb games. Someone was planning something and willing to pay fel to act the part of monsters.

  “How much?” he asked.

  Isabel looked confused. “How much what?”

  “Rent. For the use of the basement of the Dragon and Rose?”

  “It’s not for me to say. But I need access to that space too. Lady Sofia will have the final word and I don’t think she’s going to forget about the trolls, no matter how much you pay her.”

  “Who said anything about forgetting? I’m wondering if she’d be interested in profit sharing.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. What are you thinking?”

  He didn’t answer her. If she could keep her secrets to herself, he could do the same with his.

  Chapter Nine

  ISABEL USED PERFECTLY good money to buy her next round of supplies. Now she had sheets and blankets in her wagon along with a crate of cups and dishware. She still wouldn’t answer who these were for.

  Hellard had a good guess. Her cursed Black Rock Mission was at the center of everything she was doing.

  The bakery, her claim on the Dragon and Rose, her setting up house for who knew how many people in her cellar.

  He suspected she had quite a bit more coin remaining. But what had she done with it and how co
uld he keep her from wasting all that money on a lost cause like the mission?

  How much soup did the poor of the city need, after all?

  Hellard didn’t imagine for a moment that a pureblood like Lady Sofia would consider his proposal for the bar’s cellar. He and the trolls were being kicked out. The bar may as well have been open considering the volume of clients coming inside. And he was tired of them already and didn’t see anything for himself in a profitable bar that catered to tourists.

  His was such an elegant plan. The notion of luring rich noblemen to a swank last supper before robbing them and feeding them to Tonto and Mudo was too good to dismiss. His proposal just needed polish. While Sofia would say no, her weakness was her affection for Monty.

  Once he and Isabel returned to her cellar and he helped her unload, she gave him a scrip note as payment. About enough to buy lunch. He didn’t complain, waved thanks, and went next door to find Monty.

  Sofia had a ledger out on a table and was working figures. “He’s out shopping for tonight. What’s your plan for you and that little girl?”

  “Relying on your kindness for one more day,” he said with a smile.

  He exited out the back before she could nag him about the trolls. He’d find Monty at the central market, where the best produce and meat was sold. He and the chef could have a little one-on-one time away from Sofia and without Digger being around to glower at both of them. Surely Monty would have enough vision to understand what he was proposing.

  As he made the back alley he heard one of the trolls wail. The sound was like a baying dog and it caused the workers on the roof to stop what they were doing. The creature went silent after a moment.

  Hellard waved to the workers. “Tryouts for the floor show.”

  They resumed hammering.

  He had two trolls on his hands that would be hungry soon. The scrip might buy some more fish parts, hopefully enough to get them through the next few days after the last sack of troll food was depleted. His own rumbling belly would have to wait.