Gryphon Precinct (Dragon Precinct)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  But as soon as the man caught sight of Aleta, he turned and lost himself quickly in the crowd.

  “Damn,” Aleta muttered, and shoved aggressively past people.

  “’Ey!”

  “Watch it, bitch!”

  “Why’s the Guard bein’ all in here?”

  Aleta made it halfway through the park before she had to admit that she lost the man completely.

  Snarling, she turned and pushed her way back to the side of the dais. En route, she met up with Iaian, and the two of them were able to push through more aggressively.

  “I lost one of the dwarves. Micah and Danthres went after the other two.”

  “Was the dwarf you chased armed?”

  Iaian shrugged. “Not that I noticed, but nobody should have weapons in here but us.”

  “Before I lost mine, I saw him unsheath a Thevit dagger.”

  “That’s a throwin’ knife.”

  Micah was waiting for them at the catwalk. He’d removed his right glove and was inspecting his hand. “The bastard bit me,” he said. “Broke skin clear through the damn glove. Gonna need t’see a healer.”

  “Where’s Danthres?” Iaian asked.

  “She went after the dwarf.”

  Aleta’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even see him.”

  “He’s right here.”

  Turning, Aleta saw Tresyllione pushing her way rudely through the crowd, gripping the dwarf who had the use of both eyes by the scruff of his neck.

  Sir Rommett had gotten up to speak, his voice magickally amplified to be heard by the entire crowd. “Gentle folk, please, if you would quiet down so we may begin this solemn service!”

  After glancing up at the stage, Tresyllione looked at Iaian. “He’s carrying a throwing knife and a charm of some sort, which I’m willing to bet negates the magick detection our good friends in the Royal Guard put up. I suggest we take this gentleman back to the castle to interrogate him properly. Anything to avoid listening to that shitbrain.”

  “Sounds good t’me. I had enough with Hawk’s funeral last week.”

  The two lieutenants started to amble up the catwalk. Aleta moved to follow them, but, for the first time, the halfbreed looked at Aleta, who recoiled as if Tresyllione had struck her. The look in her eyes was filled with seething contempt. “Not you, Shranlaseth. You go back to standing guard and beating people up and mindlessly killing people. This is detective work.”

  Aleta stood with her mouth hanging open as the two lieutenants continued up the catwalk with the prisoner. How dare that halfbreed bitch speak down to me like that!

  Iaian, at least, had been kind enough to cast back an apologetic glance in her direction. Aleta was too good a soldier to talk back to a higher rank, not even someone as contemptible as Tresyllione, but she had done nothing to earn such ire. She knew the halfbreed could be unpleasant—she’d heard stories from Jared and Simon and from Iaian himself about Tresyllione’s attitude problem—but this was well above and beyond that.

  With another snarl, she moved more slowly up the catwalk to re-take her post and let Abrik go back to being a runner.

  TWO

  Torin yawned as he entered the squadroom in the eastern wing of the castle. The previous day had been grueling, as the funeral included eulogies from half the people with the title of “Sir” and “Madam” who lived in the castle, concluding with verbal tributes first from the king, then from the queen, which lasted three-quarters of an hour each. Then the monarchs, Lady Meerka and her family, and the honor guard that Torin was part of all had to go to the body shop, where Lord Albin’s body was to be cremated, as per his wishes. (Danthres and Iaian had rejoined the honor guard midway through Queen Marta’s speech, the look on the former’s face indicating to Torin that the interrogation of their would-be assassin hadn’t gone well.)

  By the time it all ended, Osric dismissed everyone. Danthres disappeared before Torin had a chance to talk to her, so he just went home and slept.

  This morning, he found Sergeant Jonas chatting with Danthres, Iaian, and Dru. Of Osric and Grovis, there was no sign, not in the kitchen nor Osric’s office.

  “Good morning, all.”

  “Not so far, it ain’t,” Dru muttered. “Rommett came in first thing and took the captain and the fish off to talk to Lord Blayk.”

  Torin frowned. “I can understand wanting to speak to Osric, but Grovis?”

  “Who the hell knows?” Dru shrugged. “And honestly, who gives a shit? It’s not gonna change anything.”

  “It might.” Iaian had just swallowed a bite from one of the pastries that Jonas always brought from home. “I remember when I was just startin’ out, Albin took over from his old man, he started makin’ changes right and left, up and down. His kid may do the same thing.”

  “I don’t recall ever meeting Lord Blayk,” Torin said. “He wasn’t much of a presence even before he moved away.”

  Danthres finally spoke. “I’m fairly certain I met him a few times, but I’m damned if I can recall anything about him.”

  “Good,” Jonas said emphatically. “If we’re lucky, he’ll be some bland bureaucrat who will leave everything alone.”

  Now Danthres stared at the sergeant. “When have we ever been that lucky?”

  “Speaking of which,” Torin said, “how goes it with the dwarf you captured?”

  Danthres’s habitual sour expression grew more so. “Poorly. He refuses to speak, we have no idea who he is, who his compatriots are, or who hired them.”

  “One bit’a good news,” Iaian said after taking another bite. “We took the charm he was carryin’ to Boneen. Like we figured, it’s a charm that shields the guy holdin’ it from bein’ affected by magick. Boneen said it was called a Snavli charm.”

  Torin nodded. “That explains how they got in.”

  “Yeah,” Jonas said, “the royals were shittin’ bricks for a while, ’cause they were worried their detectors weren’t workin’ right, but we confiscated somethin’ like five hundred weapons that the charms did pick up.”

  Danthres shook her head. “Didn’t realize that many people had designs on the king and queen.”

  “Nah, just a buncha folks who thought the no-weapons rules didn’t apply to them. And a whole lotta cheap-shit daggers that people from Goblin wear all the time as a matter of course.” Jonas chuckled. “Figure sales on personal daggers’re gonna spike.”

  “Anyhow, we stuck him in the hole overnight,” Danthres said. “I’ll go back at him today.”

  Iaian popped the last bit of pastry into his mouth. “Good thing Aleta noticed those guys.”

  Danthres rolled her eyes. “Please. One of us would’ve noticed them when they approached the stage.”

  His partner’s dismissal surprised Torin. “Danthres, they had Thevits. Those are throwing daggers. They just needed a clear line of sight, and there were four of them. If Aleta hadn’t noticed them, we wouldn’t have seen anything until the king and queen were dead.”

  “I doubt that, somehow.”

  Defensively, Iaian asked, “The hell’s your problem with Aleta? She’s a damn fine guard, and she used to be Shranlaseth.”

  “Believe me, Iaian, I’m well aware of that creature’s history. I—”

  Whatever Danthres was about to say regarding Aleta was cut off by the door to the hallway opening to reveal Lord Blayk, Grovis, and a gnome carrying a slate.

  While making a mental note to ask Danthres about her issues with Aleta—Torin agreed with Iaian that she was an excellent guard—Torin found himself wondering where Osric was.

  The new lord of the demesne moved to stand in front of Osric’s office, the gnome following and standing to his right. Blayk was tall and long-necked, but also very wiry, excepting the small potbelly he carried in the middle. His hairline had receded, and he was likely to wind up as bald as his father before too long. Also like his father, he sported a thick mustache.

  Grovis meekly walked to his own desk and sat at it. The young detective carried a stun
ned visage, much the same way he looked when he found out that his cousin’s fiancée was killed.

  “Lieutenants, Sergeant, I am Lord Blayk, as I am sure you are aware. I understand that one of your comrades died around the same time as my father, and I would like to offer my condolences on that.”

  Jonas opened his mouth as if to thank Blayk, but the lord continued before he had a chance.

  “Whilst I appreciate how difficult this transition must be, I feel that it is important to take a good hard look at how things are done, and change them where appropriate. My father was a great man, but I believe he grew unnecessarily complacent as the years went on. He also had a bit of a tendency toward sentiment over practicality. To that end, there are many changes I wish to make in the structure of the city-state, including that of the Castle Guard. I believe the work my father did in repurposing the Guard has been impressive, but misguided in some ways. For example, he had a tendency to romanticize the elven war. While I am sure Osric served the king and queen admirably in that conflict, I believe that it would be more appropriate for a man of breeding to be in charge of so important an institution as the Castle Guard.”

  Torin started getting a queasy feeling in his stomach. Bad enough he was so dismissive of the elven war, in which Torin had fought, and of Osric, under whom he’d served. But his final words also indicated a decision that would anger just about everyone in the squadroom, if not in the entirety of the Guard, and which he also suspected was the reason for the look on Grovis’s face.

  “To that end, I have offered Osric retirement, with full twenty-five-year benefits.”

  Iaian tensed. He had, Torin knew, been counting the minutes until his own twenty-five-year pension vested, and having eleven-year veteran Osric be given that without having to wait another decade and a half didn’t appear to sit well.

  “He has accepted, and I have promoted Amilar Grovis to be your new captain and the head of the Guard. Is there something you wish to say, Lieutenant Tresyllione?”

  Looking over at his partner, Torin saw that Danthres—who had been leaning casually against a desk—was now standing upright, hands on hips. “I actually have several thi—”

  “Keep them to yourself, please, Lieutenant, I have a very long day ahead of me, and the purpose of this meeting is for you to be briefed, not for you to register complaints over decisions that have already been made and will not be changing.” Blayk tugged on one end of his mustache and then turned to Iaian. “Lieutenant, I am told that you are only two years from vesting your own twenty-five-year pension, yes?”

  “Uh, yeah—yeah, I am.”

  “No longer. I believe that the Guard needs an infusion of youth. Your service to the Guard has been exemplary, and I would say that you have earned the opportunity to retire early rather than wait out an arbitrary number. Therefore, I am making you the same offer I made to Osric. If you choose to retire now, you will retain the full benefits of a twenty-five year veteran. What say you?”

  Iaian’s mouth was now hanging open in much the same way Grovis’s did, which amused Torin no end. “I say shit yeah, my lord.”

  Blayk pursed his lips. “A simple yes would suffice, Lieutenant. Very well, see Sir Rommett after we are concluded here and he shall provide you with the same paperwork he is currently providing for Osric.”

  “Absolutely, my lord.” Iaian was actually grinning. Torin had known Iaian for a decade, and he was quite sure he’d never seen quite so giddy an expression on the old man’s face.

  “That leaves three openings in your squad.” Blayk held out a hand, and the gnome silently handed the slate to him. “Sir Rommett informs me that the next two guards up for promotion are Arn Kellan, currently assigned to Goblin Precinct, and Manfred, currently assigned to Dragon Precinct. So they will take the positions vacated by Lieutenant Iaian’s retirement and Captain Grovis’s promotion.”

  Torin shook his head. There was just something wrong sounding about “Captain Grovis.”

  “Lieutenant Hawk will also need to be replaced, and to that end, I am promoting a guard assigned to Dragon Precinct named Aleta lothLathna.”

  “What!?” Danthres cried out, which prompted another angry look from Blayk.

  However, Blayk’s next words were less angry than his last at Danthres. “For what it is worth, Lieutenant, she would not have been my first choice, either, but King Marcus and Queen Marta were extremely grateful to her for her efforts in stopping the would-be assassins, and when told that she was still only a guard, they were insistent upon her being promoted to detective.”

  Danthres let out a very long breath and nodded. Even she wasn’t foolish enough to argue with the king and queen.

  “Furthermore, she will be partnered with Lieutenant Dru, and they shall take over the investigation into the assassination attempt.”

  That revelation trumped Danthres’s self-control, as she blurted out, “That’s my case!” Technically, it was hers and Iaian’s, but given that Iaian was now sitting at his desk with a massive goofy grin on his face at having achieved two of his fondest desires in one shot—no longer being partnered with Grovis and retiring with a full pension—nothing could truly be called to be his case anymore.

  “Again, Lieutenant Tresyllione, this is a royal mandate. Unless you wish to be partnered with h—”

  “No!” Danthres barked. “She can have the case.”

  “Good.” Blayk handed the slate back to the gnome. “Now then, I have spent a goodly amount of time the past week going over the various files on your cases. I have observed that Lieutenants Tresyllione and ban Wyvald have the best records in the squadroom, and to that end, I feel it would be in the best interests of improving the Guard’s record if you were split up.”

  Only the fact that Blayk had made it clear what he thought of interruptions prevented Torin from speaking up to point out the logical fallacy in that statement. He and Danthres closed cases because they worked well together. And Torin was the only person who’d proved able to work with Danthres at all. Torin was the seventh partner she’d had in half a year’s time when he joined up a decade ago, and had Torin not worked out, she would’ve been fired.

  “Therefore,” Blayk continued, “Lieutenant Kellan will partner with Lieutenant Tresyllione, and Lieutenant Manfred will pair up with Lieutenant ban Wyvald. And, of course, Lieutenants Dru and lothLathna are partners as well.” The lord took a deep breath and clapped his hands together suddenly, startling Torin as the echo of the clap reverberated throughout the squadroom. “I believe that—”

  “Excuse me, m’lord!”

  Turning, Torin saw one of the castle pageboys standing in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry t’interrupt, m’lord, but Lady Meerka’s askin’ to see Lieutenants Tresyllione an’ ban Wivvy.”

  Chuckling, Torin said, “Well, at least he got one of our names right.”

  Blayk testily asked, “What does my mother wish to see these two for?”

  Torin and Danthres exchanged glances, Torin trying to say, Don’t say anything! with his expression, and Danthres using hers to reluctantly agree. She also seemed intrigued by the lady of the demesne wishing to see them.

  “I couldn’t say, your lordship, but her ladyship made it clear that I wasn’t to be comin’ back without the two lieutenants, your lordship, sir.”

  “We shall go together, then,” Blayk said. “Come along.”

  He led the gnome out. Torin and Danthres exchanged another set of glances and then followed.

  The last thing Torin heard when leaving the squadroom was Iaian saying, “This is the best day of my shit-ass life!”

  THREE

  Danthres was having difficulty processing things today.

  First Hawk died in the line of duty. Danthres had always found Hawk to be a decent detective and a decent person, but if he had to die, at least he did it while doing his job. There were worse ways to go, and Danthres had seen most of them, going back to the mass grave of infant halfbreeds she found in Bronnwick years ag
o.

  Lord Albin’s death was as great a shock as Hawk’s. Sure, the lord of the demesne had been ill, but he was always ill at this time of the year. It was as reliable as the time chimes.

  And now Albin’s idiot son was making changes, each one stupider than the last. She would not miss Iaian, as she’d hated the old bastard since her days as a guard in Goblin, but making Osric retire? And putting that fish-faced shitbrain Grovis in charge?

  Ever since being forced out of Sorlin, Danthres had struggled to find a place for herself, failing to do so in Bronnwick or in Treemark. It took a while to settle into Cliff’s End, but she’d made a life here as a lieutenant, as Torin’s partner, and as Osric’s subordinate. Now only one of those things was true, and she didn’t like it one single bit.

  Of course, it could have been worse. Blayk could have paired her up with Manfred. That would have been cause for resigning right then and there.

  Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad, and she knew this day would come eventually, since Manfred was next up on the promotion list. But she certainly wasn’t looking forward to being in the same squadroom with him.

  Or with Aleta. She shuddered at the damage that Shranlaseth bitch could do as a lieutenant.

  Now, though, she followed Torin and Blayk and his quiet little gnome to the lady’s offices. Danthres had never been to that particular room before, indeed had seen very little of Lady Meerka. What few dealings she had with the nobility were with Sir Rommett, and before him Sir Gevlin, and very occasionally with Lord Albin. That they were so few was a testament, she felt, to Osric’s leadership.

  Lady Meerka was sitting behind a desk that was covered in neat piles of parchment, plus a few rolled-up scrolls, which were also neatly piled on one side of the desk. She looked up from the one scroll she was studying and frowned. “What are you doing here, Blayk? I wished to see Lieutenants Tresyllione and ban Wyvald. I didn’t summon you.”

  Using a tone that was closer to that of a parent with a recalcitrant child than the other way around, Blayk said, “Mother, I’m now in charge of the Castle Guard. If there’s something you wish to speak to the lieutenants about, you should do it through me.”