Welcome to Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 3)

by Reed, Grant T.

  “Yes Sir. His grounds are indeed amongst the largest on the coastline. I believe his endeavours have made him very rich.”

  “And he pays us monthly dues?”

  “Certainly, Sir. His receipts are in the folder. He has prepaid for the rest of this year and next.”

  “I believe he also owns a fleet of ships,” inquired Kaxaun.

  “I’m sure he does, Sir. An intelligent man in his line of business wouldn’t make his home in a port and not use the waterways.”

  “Of course,” agreed Kaxaun. The don pondered this for a few seconds. “To your knowledge, have we had any conflicts with this man or his family?”

  “Not that I am aware of, Sir. I know very little of the man’s business to be honest, but I have never heard our associates mention any conflicts with him or his family.”

  “Thank you, Philip.”

  “Of course,” the servant bowed and made his way from the library.

  Alone with his thoughts, Kaxaun sat in silence for several moments. Opening the folder, he flipped through the receipts and the small amount of notes gathered within. Near the back of the folder, he came across an article clipped from Deep Cove’s local newspaper – The Daily Deep. The article covered the death of Margery Kline in an unfortunate fall from the cliff tops above the local pier. The death was ruled an accident and had occurred almost twenty years ago. Tracing to the bottom of the editorial, Kaxaun read the last line. ‘Margery will be dearly missed by her loving husband and son.’

  Kaxaun closed the folder and stared across the room, his fingers tapping agitatedly on the arm rest of his chair. ‘You want to start a war, Mr. Kline? I hope you are prepared to pay the price.’ Leaning over the fire, he dropped Pacorro’s missive into the flames.

  12

  Who’s a Comedian?

  The cool spring wind from the coast would have been refreshing if it didn’t carry the scent of Kline’s pastures with it. Plugging his nose and turning his back to the breeze, Merle’s wings beat a steady tempo as he circled Garrett. “Man, I hate the smell of cow patties,” he complained, not for the first time. Garrett once again ignored his friend as they approached the iron gate on Kline’s compound. “How come Maury wants to meet with us anyway?”

  “Just behave yourself,” warned Garrett. “It’s not business. He just invited us out for a beer and I agreed. He’s not such a bad guy, you know? We’ve lived here for how long? We don’t have anyone we chum around with and I thought it would be good to make some new friends.”

  “I think all that time you spent with those ogres on Bellicose Island altered your perception of those beasties,” interjected Merle. “I’ll bet he’s a mean drunk.”

  “Well you’re a stupid drunk,” returned Garrett with a glare. “Why do you always have to be so presumptuous? Can’t we just go out for a beer once in a while and forget about our troubles without you complaining about everything and sizing everyone up? And while we’re on the subject, did you have to start so early in the day? You knew we were going out.”

  “I only had a scotch to warm up!” argued Merle defensively. Seeing Garrett wasn’t convinced, he gave in. “Alright,” he conceded with an ashamed look. “I didn’t mean to get your dander up, but you seem to forget it was my keen perception that kept us alive all those times in Sung-Ti.”

  “And your prejudices that nearly put us in the chef’s pot in his Emperor’s Imperial Palace.”

  “Us?” squeaked Merle, “I don’t recall seeing any human bouillon in that pot, only dragon fricassee!”

  “Hey you guys!” called Vic excitedly from behind the gate. Smiling, he waved. “I gets to watch de gate while Frank and Hector are on supper!”

  “Good for you!” called out Merle sweetly. “Now put your arms down before you hurt yourself.” Turning to Garrett, he tried his best to sound reflective. “Is it me, or does he act like he just escaped from a mental hospital?”

  Garrett shot Merle another warning look. “I wouldn’t know,” he whispered, his smile in place and his own wave acknowledging Vic. “You’re the expert on mental cases.” Approaching the fence, he spoke to Vic before Merle could respond. “Did Maury tell you we were meeting him here?” he asked.

  “Yup,” replied Vic, still grinning.

  “Can we come in?” prompted Garrett, ignoring Merle’s impatient look and the rolling of his eyes.

  Vic was about to reach for the lock when he stopped. “Hey,” he said guardedly. “You can’t trick me. Dat was a close one.” He nodded at Garrett. “You needs to know de password!”

  “Riiight,” drawled Merle. “Of course we do. It’s not like we could just climb the gate or anything.”

  “Okay,” agreed Garrett. “The password is Friday.”

  “No it ain’t!” shot back Vic in an overexcited tone. “Dat was yesterday’s password!”

  “Well Maury told me the password was Friday. Come on and let us in. You know who we are.”

  “I can’t,” said Vic with a serious look. “Maury said not to let anyone in who not know de password. I’m sorry.” Vic crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head.

  “This is ridiculous,” snapped Merle. “Let us in, you muscle brain.”

  “Hey,” growled Vic, his face turning red, “You better watch it mule breath or I’ll ring your skinny snakey neck!”

  “How are you going to do that?” quipped Merle, “You’re on that side of the gate and we’re on this side.” He buzzed past the iron bars to prove his point and Vic threw himself at the gate, trying to reach the annoying little dragon. “Look at me,” sang Merle, enjoying himself as he turned his back to Vic and sauntered past the thug’s outstretched arms, “I’m as free as a bird!” Suddenly, a thought struck him and a wicked smile spread across his dragon muzzle. Pumping his wings, he lifted himself up over the gate. Picking up speed, he came down over the top of Vic in an aerial dive that just cleared the big man’s forehead.

  “Hey!” screamed Vic, “you can’t come in here unless you know de password.”

  “Merle,” chastised Garrett, but the little dragon was having way too much fun to listen.

  “Dat’s it!” growled Vic. In a leap that surprised the dragon, the big man soared high into the air, his hands outstretched and raking the heavens as Merle came in for another flyby. Vic’s pudgy fingers found purchase around the dragon’s middle and both of them tumbled from the air. Vic landed on his back, the dragon hugged tightly to his chest. Merle’s wings thumped erratically. “Dey didn’t give me de rugby trophy for nuttin’” snarled the big man.

  “You’re choking me,” squawked Merle, his eyes bulging.

  “Good,” laughed Vic. “What you say about free as a bird?” He gave the dragon a shake for emphasis.

  “Don’t… make me… do it,” wheezed Merle. One of his hind legs was free, his dangerously sharp claws poised to strike at the man’s unguarded face.

  “MERLE!” yelled Garrett and both Vic and Merle looked over at the man still trapped on the other side of the gate. “The password is Saturday,” he called in exasperation.

  “Why you not say so in first place?” asked Vic with a disgusted frown. Flicking the dragon on the forehead with his index finger, he tossed his opponent to the dirt. “I guess you can come in now.”

  Merle picked himself up and looked at Vic, murder in his eyes. Small tendrils of electricity crackled over his body.

  “Don’t,” warned Garrett, “you started it.” Merle cleared his throat and dusted himself off while he waited for Vic to let his friend in. The electrical current disappeared after a few seconds. “Thanks,” grunted Garrett, making a hand signal for Merle to fall in and shut up. The little dragon grumbled to himself and cast one last heated look over his shoulder. Vic waved and turned back to the gate, guarding it with his life.

  Approaching the guardhouse, Garrett rapped soundly on the door. “I don’t want anymore of your shenanigans,” he warned. Merle remained quiet until the door was opened from the inside by Frank. The
large minotaur stood staring at the pair of newcomers, his beady eyes flicking to the little dragon. Chewing on a mouthful of something, he swallowed before turning and bellowing for Maury.

  “Him?’ hissed Merle in disgust. “Why didn’t you tell me these guys were gonna be here? You know our kinds don’t mix!”

  “Shut up,” returned Garrett quietly. Manoeuvring himself to his right, he stepped on the little dragon’s foot for emphasis.

  “Oww,” squealed Merle. “What’s gotten into you? You know how I feel about minotaurs.”

  “Ya, I know,” said Garrett, “You don’t like anyone.”

  “Hey guys,” said Maury, coming to the door. He was naked except for a pair of tan shorts and a towel draped across his shoulder. “I’m just cleaning up after my shift. Come in and grab a bite if you like. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  Frank blinked when Maury waved the pair inside. Shrugging, the large minotaur clomped his way across the hardwood floor and into the kitchenette. Hector was there filling a wooden platter with sweet grass and clover and the pair shared a half whispered comment. Hector glanced at Merle, made a further comment, and both minotaurs laughed loudly.

  It wasn’t the size of the guardhouse that impressed Garrett, so much as the sheer excess of the furnishings. Beautiful maple hardwood cabinets matched the intricate flooring tiles and wall trim. A large dining table had seating for ten; both the table and chairs were beautifully worked maple. A separate seating area contained three plush couches, a soft velvet rug, and a large viewing globe suspended from the ceiling. An image of a woman in a scholarly robe filled the globe, but the volume was turned too low to hear what she was saying.

  “Global view!” shrieked Merle with excitement. “We used to have G.V. in the old cave. What I wouldn’t give to get the D.B.N.” He turned to Garrett. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m sure I could subscribe to the dragon broadcasting network for free, being a dragon and all.”

  Garrett nodded, but was hardly paying attention as he removed his boots. “Wow,” he commented, placing his boots beside the door. “A few free channels. Now we only have to come up with a fortune for the system.”

  “Hah,” snorted Hector from his seat at the head of the table. “He’s not a real dragon anyway. Judging by his size, he’s only eligible for a quarter of the subscription.” The minotaur snorted with mirth and crammed a hoof-full of clovers into his mouth.

  Merle scowled, but it was Frank who spoke first. Turning from the buffet of veggie delights at the counter, he waved a wooden platter in Garrett’s direction. “You guys care for a bite?” he offered.

  “No thanks,’ returned Garrett, assessing the large G.V. unit.

  “Nah,” confirmed Merle. “We’re more the steak and potato types.” Hector snorted in anger, his eyes flashing white. It looked as if he wanted to charge across the room and impale the brazen little dragon on his horns.

  “Come on fellas,” said Maury, coming around a bend in the hallway and pulling a clean vest on. “Why can’t we just get along? We’re all on the same side aren’t we?”

  “Yup,” agreed Garrett quickly.

  “We’ve decided that the only meat served on the premises is chicken,” continued Maury. “We like to be respectful of our bovine friends here.” Maury stared at Merle to get his point across.

  Despite Maury’s attempt at an intervention, both Merle and Hector looked like they might have further words. Frank picked up the G.V. remote and flipped through the channels. “Maury’s right, ignore him,” he said to his minotaur buddy. “Let’s just watch our movie and try to relax a little. We’ve all been wound tight around here lately.” Hector nodded and resumed his chewing, while Frank turned up the volume.

  The room was filled with a soft blue glow and an increasing pitch from the six foot towers of quartz positioned beneath the one hundred inch viewing globe. Merle turned and stood transfixed by the soft blue sigil on the viewing screen that read ‘Audio Slam.’ The music byte reached its climax and the guardhouse reverberated with the bass of the final blast.

  “We should talk to Mr. Kline about upgrading to the multi channel audio system,” said Frank. “I heard when they’re showing you the latest battle footage, you’d swear you were right there in the middle of the carnage. You might hear a sword banging off a shield from your right, a wounded knight screaming to your left and an all enveloping fireball exploding in all directions.”

  “Ya, it’s worth it,” agreed Merle. “While you’re at it, you might want to look into the newer Eagle Definition model. That thing is so clear you can see a fly crawling across the ass of a horse from three hundred yards distance.”

  “How would you know,” scoffed Hector. “There’s no way you could afford a system like that.”

  “I might not be able to afford it, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen it. I know a guy in the business. Once in a while he has me come down and check out the new stock. Could probably get me a deal on a new system too, if you guys are interested.”

  “No way,” said Hector. “You don’t have a guy.” He waved dismissively at the small dragon.

  “Do too,” insisted Merle. His wings buzzed into motion as he lifted himself across the room. Dropping down onto the table, he reached under his back scales and pulled out a small stack of cards. “Ah,” he said triumphantly and flicked his find toward the seated bull.

  “Gerry’s G.V. Sales and Distribution,” read Hector aloud. Shrugging apologetically, he pushed the card back to Merle.

  “That’s actually his father’s card, but Gerry Jr. unofficially has access to his old man’s stock.” Merle stuffed the card back under his scales, looking somewhat mollified. All heads turned back to the viewing globe as a man’s deep voice resonated from the quartz speakers.

  “Vellia: once a pristine land of beauty and innocence, a land where the cattle were free to graze on the sweet mountain grasses and to live their lives in relative peace. Now, things have changed and cowkind have been forced into a desolate existence lacking the most basic of necessities. Dragons have come to the grazing lands and nothing will ever be the same. Under the wing of this unstoppable horde, the existence of bovine life hovers on the verge of extinction.

  “Osca One Horn knew the plague of dragons would come. Understanding the nature of these vile creatures, how could he run from his destiny and his herd? Milking his fortune for all its worth, he stampeded his way into the very heart of their depraved society. With the bile of their atrocities thick upon his pallet – he must work with this inescapable evil to preserve the existence of cowkind. Osca’s fight is one of heartbreaking tragedy as he struggles to see himself and his people through the holocaust and free of the cattle pens. Refusing to be led about by the nose, Osca must find a way to buck the system when he has nothing left to give, and nowhere else to turn.

  “Starring Harry Hooves as Osca One Horn, and Red Goliath in his academy award winning performance, we now present the Saturday afternoon classic: Osca’s Cattle Log.”

  ‘I heard this was a good one,” said Merle. “A little biased in opinion maybe, but still supposed to be a classic.”

  “You’ve never seen Osca’s Cattle Log?” exclaimed Frank. “It’s one of the greatest all time flicks.”

  “Does this mean you’re not coming out for a beer?” asked Garrett with a bewildered glance at Merle.

  “We have a keg on tap in the back,” said Hector, jerking his hoof over his shoulder.

  “That settles it,” said Merle with a contented sigh. Flying to one of the couches, he plunked down within its deep folds. “You guys go on without me, I might catch you later.”

  Garrett rolled his eyes. Maury shrugged and made his way to the door. “Make sure you check on Vic in a bit. You know how he sometimes gets distracted,” said the ogre. “Come on Garrett we have to pick up B.S. on our way by.”

  “We know how Vic is,” agreed Frank, taking a seat opposite Merle. “Don’t worry, I’ll check on him shortly. Besides, it’s just
about time for him to do his evening feed run for those varmints.”

  Garrett looked at Merle and shook his head in wonder as he held the door open for Maury. Before he closed the door, he heard Merle addressing the minotaurs again. “You guys aren’t opposed to popcorn, are you?”

  “No,” said Hector earnestly, “It’s one of our favourites!”

  “Me too,” agreed Merle happily.

  * * * *

  ‘Bill’s Charity Barn’ was one of three watering holes in the lower city. The building was old and crumbling, but the single storey tavern had been around for as long as anyone could remember. Garrett had not visited the pub before and was surprised by the sheer volume of patrons crammed inside. The hall was well lit and contained a lengthy section of bar maintained by three bartenders. At the far end of the chamber, two dozen tables were placed before a central stage. Even more surprising than the volume of people, was the number of pub goers who stopped to say hello to Maury. Most of them knew the ogre by name and several came over to shake his hand or give him a pat on the shoulder and a friendly nod.

  Garrett said nothing and remained in the background while Maury ordered two beers and a juice mix for B.S. Leading Garrett and B.S. to the row of tables in the front, Maury seated himself and motioned for them to pull out chairs.

  “Do you do charity work down here?” asked Garrett good naturedly.

  “Nothing so benevolent,” returned the ogre, wiping the foam from his upper lip. “I come here to get away from my troubles.”

  “God knows we’ve had troubles of late,” said Garrett. Maury nodded and downed the rest of his beer in two swallows. In front of them, a thin man in a cotton shirt and dark pants made his way onto the stage.

  “What’s that you’re drinking?” asked Garrett, assessing the thick juice in B.S’s mug.

  B.S. smiled before answering and Garrett realised it wasn’t only Maury who had come to get away from his troubles. “Melon Medley,” said B.S. shyly. “I’m not much for beer.”