Dragon with a Deadly Weapon

by Michael Angel

  “As a matter of fact, she volunteered to do some cooking for the Hoohan. The message got even more curious as this point, as she claimed that she would be trying her hand at ‘chicken fried mouse’. Perhaps this is an amalgamation of fowl and rodent that I am not familiar with.”

  “I’d put money on it. All right, next up: what’s the news with Nagura and Vandegrift?”

  Shaw piped up. “I flew to the Hospitalliers to check on thy knight. He survived transport by stretcher. ‘Tis all there is to report. He has not woken from slumber.”

  “And likely shall not for some time,” Galen said ruefully. “As for the wyvern queen, she has been laid safely to slumber below the palace. I took the precaution of shutting down the portal that leads between your world and the subterranean cavern.”

  “That’s a relief,” I acknowledged. “Nothing can come through to hurt her now.”

  “As for her notes, I did find some marks I could use to divine her intent. Allow me to show you.” Galen pointed to the flagstones and murmured a magical phrase under his breath. “Ostendam verba mea.”

  I leaned forward in anticipation. Perhaps now I’d find out what message the mysterious gunman had left in his bloody wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My nose detected a wisp of burning charcoal. Then four symbols winked on in neon blue against the darkened flagstones. The Wizard pointed to each in turn as he spoke.

  “The first is the seashell-shaped icon that you found on Hollyhock’s pendant and the cartridge casing from the firearm known as the Demon. As I have said before, I believe that this is a wizarding mark, likely pointing to the mark’s creator. The other three are more problematic.”

  “How so?”

  “Nagura narrowed down the second symbol to something like ‘AVERT’ or ‘CHALLENGE’. The next could be interpreted as ‘DEATH’ or ‘TERROR’. And the final one has the vaguest meaning of the set, for it could mean ‘DO THIS NOW’, or ‘COME AHEAD’.” Galen moved his jaw as if physically chewing over the problem. “This vexes me. It could be a wizardly taunt.”

  “A taunt?”

  He nodded. “Turn back, or death awaits. Heed my warning!”

  I crossed my arms. “I don’t know…if you just wanted to kill your enemies, why put up a warning like that? Why not let them stumble into a trap?”

  “Indeed, it is a mystery inside a mystery,” the Wizard admitted. “Other items we found today are also rather puzzling.”

  “They are?” I asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  Galen, Liam, and Shaw traded uneasy looks.

  “We located what we were looking for about that final Captain,” Liam stated calmly. “It wasn’t easy, and what we found was questionable in nature. So we did some investigating before you arrived.”

  “What did you find?”

  Again with the traded looks. That made my mood start going south in a hurry. But before I could object, Galen clopped a hoof against the paving stone and turned to head towards the entrance of the North Keep.

  “I would surmise that it is easier to show you directly,” he said. And since the Court Wizard was already moving towards the entryway, I fell in just behind him. Shaw and Liam brought up the rear and kept pace.

  The North Keep was about half the size of the Southern one. It sported a shallow dome held up by a ring of stone pillars. The sun’s last light waned, and the shadows between the pillars merged into a wall of blackness. In response, Galen spoke softly under his breath. With a little poof, a swampy-smelling blue globe of weirlight blinked on and bobbed overhead.

  “Lead Archivist Fiona remains rather miffed at our last intrusion,” he noted. “She refused to speak with us. Luckily, after some ‘persuasion’, her assistant Mister Ghormley granted us permission to search the archives.”

  “Some ‘persuasion’?” I asked, before rounding on the Wizard. “Wait a minute. You didn’t threaten to hurt him or anything, did you?”

  Galen let out a centaur-worthy snort. “Perish the thought. I meant persuasion of the liquid variety.”

  I frowned as I tried to figure out what that meant, exactly. Shaw let out a rumbly chortle as he helped clarify things.

  “Thy Wizard knew that Ghormley is a notorious tap-shackle.” Shaw raised a forepaw to his beak and pantomimed the draining an ale mug. “‘Twas a simple matter. A spare jug of mead, and the man gave us a free pass to roam the Archivist’s halls.”

  “Well, as long as no one got hurt,” I said, with a resigned sigh. “If he’s got to work for Fiona, I can’t blame him for drowning his sorrows in drink.”

  That was putting it gently. During our first meeting, Ghormley had made a minor error in calculating how long a book had been overdue. Lead Archivist Fiona had sent the man out to be flogged.

  “Nonetheless, we did locate extensive records detailing the birth, service, and death of our Dragon Knight.” Galen intoned, as he ducked to make his way through the Keep’s entrance. “As it happens, the North Keep also serves as mausoleum for Air Cavalry service members.”

  “You found where his body was buried, then!” I exclaimed. I hefted my case in anticipation of doing some serious forensics work.

  “We located his gravesite, yes,” Liam acknowledged, as the weirlight illuminated a large rectangular shape. This turned out to be a ten-foot slab of red granite turned on its side. A ring of cracked white mortar ran along the edges. Through the gloom, I could just make out a stately looking headstone at the far end.

  “You three already opened the grave?” I breathed, stunned. “You shouldn’t have done that! I didn’t even get a chance to–”

  “My magic detected no corruption within,” Liam said, interrupting me before my outrage could build up a head of steam. “Given how strangely events have been playing out in our world, I insisted that we investigate further.”

  That sobered me up quick. My first reaction had been conditioned by a multitude of LAPD’s finest mucking up a crime scene with curious fingers or an ill-considered footprint. But my friends knew better.

  In fact, the Protector had already shown how well he knew the basics of crime scene preservation. I’d come to understand that Liam’s fey sense of ‘corruption’ was shorthand for his ability to detect contamination or decay. With that in mind, I stepped around the turned-over slab to peer into the depths of the grave.

  My nose scored things a flat zero on the patent-pending Chrissie Scale of Stinkiness. And it was no wonder. A dusty wooden casket lay open inside a deep slot carved from the Keep’s foundation stone.

  The casket was empty. No corpse, no wrapped linens, funeral offerings, burial cushions, or even stains on the bare wooden interior. I set my evidence case down, cracked it open, and pulled out a bottle of dark gray liquid.

  “Would that be Luminol?” Galen asked. “I recall your using that before to detect the presence of blood.”

  “It’s a variant. We call it SPR-40,” I said, as I attached a spray top nozzle to the bottle. I knelt by the side of the grave and squeezed the lever several times, coating the inside of the casket from top to bottom. “That stands for ‘small particle reagent’ fluid. It should react with the remains of any organic matter and make it glow.”

  I finished my spraying and sat back on my heels to wait for the stuff to work. The Protector of the Forest took a sniff of the lemony furniture polish smell from the SPR. He backed off with a cute cervine sneeze.

  “Liam,” I asked, “was there any indication of this tomb being disturbed before you opened it?”

  He shook his head. “The white mark you see around the edges was the grave’s seal. Shaw had to slice it off with his talons before we could move it.”

  I pursed my lips and continued watching the casket’s interior. Even coated with SPR-40, it remained as dark as the rest of the mausoleum. This grave was as clear of organic matter as a freshly disinfected morgue drawer. And since the slab’s seal had been unbroken, that meant only one thing.

  No one had robbed this grave.r />
  No one had ever been buried here at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “This grave was never used,” I declared, as I got to my feet. “Body or no body, this stinks from top to bottom.”

  Galen turned, rummaged around in his saddle bags, and brought out a sheaf of parchments. The centaur squinted in the dim weirlight, flipping through a couple until settling on one. His deep voice echoed against the Keep’s dome-shaped ceiling.

  “The records from the Royal Surgeons were curiously vague. A brief sickness, followed by cessation of breath during slumber. The official cause of death is listed as ‘planet’.”

  That made my jaw drop.

  “Wait, wait!” I exclaimed. “They said he died of planet? Seriously?”

  “Aye, ‘twas simple bad luck – his planets weren’t lined up right,” Shaw said. “‘Tis a quick way of saying that the physicians were bereft of ideas.”

  “The assigned surgeon has since passed away,” Galen noted, as he kept on reading. “As did the assistant who drew up the final documents. In fact, there are no remaining eyewitnesses to this supposed death.”

  “Someone tied up a lot of loose ends,” I said grimly. “Or, they just spread some gold coins around and had these documents forged in the names of already-dead people. So tell me. Who is our mystery Dragon Knight?”

  The Court Wizard walked along the side of the grave trench, being careful to not let his hooves slip. He made a circular gesture in the air. The glowing orb of weirlight bobbed closer to the stony plaque at the head of the grave, illuminating it.

  This headstone was made of the same blood-red granite as the grave’s cover slab. All except for a plain gray rectangle that had been inset into the center top third. Below this rectangle had been carved a simple set of words and a name.

  THIS IS NOT THE END IF ONE SO DEEMS IT.

  SIR ARCHIBALD SLATE

  “I did not recognize the knight’s family name, so I did some digging,” Galen said. “The ‘Slate’ family name has been dormant for quite some time. Many of the records surrounding House Slate were destroyed or erased.”

  “That figures,” I grumbled. “Someone spent even more coin to cover their tracks.”

  “Actually, that is not the case. The seal of the Good King Benedict is all over the family records. It does not say why he wanted records of their lineage erased, but he is the one responsible. Had Mister Ghormley not allowed us full access to the Archives – including the shelves normally kept under lock and key – we might never have located the right documents.”

  I rubbed one temple absently and hoped my brain wouldn’t seize up. Every time I turned around, it seemed like what I learned threw out another wrinkle. I pointed to the gray rectangle above the headstone’s carved name and phrase.

  “That gray space is where the family sigil is supposed to be, isn’t it?” I asked. “Did Benedict order that sanded away to erase yet more evidence of this family’s existence?”

  Liam canted his head at that. “That would be a strange way to do it. It would have been easier just to not honor the man at all.”

  “Actually,” Galen said, “the same plain field is depicted in document form. I believe that this is exactly the way the sigil is supposed to look.”

  I went over to the headstone and rubbed my fingers across the gray spot. The stone felt different. Grainier. Drier. A thought crossed my mind that made me quirk a wry grin.

  “Whoever designed the family crest had a sense of humor,” I concluded. “This spot isn’t granite. It’s slate. Slate can also be a shade of gray. Still, the family name bothers me.”

  “Why might that be?” the Wizard asked.

  “It just feels like…I should know it. That I’ve seen the name ‘Slate’ somewhere.”

  Shaw let out a leonine grunt. “Thou hast indeed seen it. So have we all. Yet apparently only I remember it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s right, you griffins have near-perfect recall. It helps you navigate long distances by air.”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Liam demanded.

  The drake gave an expressive shrug. “‘Twas not something that seemed important at the time.”

  “Well, now it is!” The fayleene stamped one cloven hoof.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “Shaw, let’s hear it. We’re all dying to know.”

  “Mine own eyes glimpsed the name Lord Slate within thy book.” Shaw paused, only continuing when it was obvious from our puzzled look that we still didn’t know what he was referring to. “Thy book that thou hast within the Dame’s Tower. The one that Lord Fop brought to thee, with the rules and lists involving the Order of the Weasel.”

  I felt my next breath whistle out of my lungs as I finally understood what the griffin was getting at. Shortly after I’d become a Dame, the garishly clothed Lord of the Pursuivant had brought over a book listing the bylaws of the long-defunct Order of the Weasel. All four of us had paged through the thing and seen a ‘Lord Slate’ listed under the biographies of former members.

  “That’s right,” I said, as I groped my way through dim memories. “But it was ‘Lord’ Slate in the listing, not ‘Sir’ Slate.”

  “Perhaps I can shed some more light,” Galen put in. “Now that we have more pieces of the puzzle. This Lord Slate was the father of ‘Sir’ Slate. However, when the Order of the Weasel welshed on their debts, the elder Slate was stripped of all title and lands by the Exchequer, so the son never inherited the family estate.”

  I tapped my fingers against the headstone. Things were starting to line up here, and I could sense them building to something. Something big. I had to keep the momentum going, or my mind wouldn’t get over the hump in front of us.

  “Okay, if that’s the case, then we know why the family history was erased by King Benedict,” I concluded. “It was the collapse of the Order of the Weasel. The elder Slate dared cross the owls in the Exchequer. Benedict must have known how dangerous this was, especially if the kingdom was running short on coin. So he had to repudiate that family somehow.”

  “That does make sense,” Liam agreed, with a bob of his head. “And now that I think about it, Lord Slate wasn’t the most distinguished member of the Order in any case. That book said that his sole accomplishment was saving the Order some money. By not hiring mercenaries or something like that.”

  “‘Twas not simply mercenaries,” Shaw pointed out. “This skinflint of a lordling refused to pay for a company of archers. I read a little further, and thy book claimed he instead hired a company of crossbowmen for half the price.”

  My fingers stopped in mid-tap. Then they clenched, white-knuckled as I grasped the headstone with all my might. Like the tumblers of a lock falling into place, something in my brain did one of its weird clicks.

  “So that’s who you are,” I breathed. “I should have seen it from the start.”

  Shaw and Liam looked at me expectantly. Galen motioned for them to be quiet as I worked it out in my own way. I let go of the headstone and touched the plain rectangular sigil space.

  “The family’s name is Slate. Their symbol is a plain field of gray. Slate gray. So, let’s say that Archibald Slate had the same sense of humor as the person who came up with the family sigil in the first place.”

  “What do you mean, Dayna?” Liam asked.

  I turned to my friends before answering with a query of my own.

  “What might Archibald call his father,” I asked, “that is, if ‘Slate’ and ‘Gray’ were just two words to describe the same color?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  My question hung in the air for a moment.

  What might Archibald call his father if ‘Slate’ and ‘Gray’ were just two words to describe the same color?

  Galen was the first to give the riddle a try.

  “I suppose…” the Wizard ventured, “he might call his father ‘Lord Gray’?”

  “Which would make him what?”

  “Lord Gray’s son.” Galen
’s hooves made an unsteady clatter as he did a doubletake. “By the Gods! That must be it.”

  “Thou art quicker than I,” Shaw complained, “I do not see thy point.”

  “Neither do I,” Liam confessed.

  “Don’t you?” I asked. “Okay, let’s take the other piece and you’ll see what I mean. Once again, what was the one thing the elder Slate did to merit mention by the Order of the Weasel?”

  “Refusing to hire a company of–” Now the fayleene did his own version of a doubletake. “Archers. That’s all he was known for. Now I see it!”

  I put it together for Shaw before the drake could have time to feel awkward about it.

  “Gray’s son. Archers. That’s how Grayson Archer picked his name when he came to my world. And if that isn’t convincing enough, Lord Slate hired a bunch of crossbowmen. Which is why his son named his own mercenary group Crossbow Consulting.”

  Shaw let out a roar of comprehension. “Aye, this knight is a clever one!”

  “Okay,” I said, as I rested an elbow on the misappropriated headstone, “we know the ‘who’ now. Do we have any ideas on the ‘why’? Because this is starting to line up awfully well with some of my other suspicions.”

  “Does it?” Liam asked. “We had hoped to prove that if this Dragon Knight had been murdered. That someone had been systematically eliminating people with knowledge of how to fight dragons. As you might guess, that’s more than a little concerning to the fayleene.”

  “Aye,” Shaw said, with a nod of his beak. “And to their allies.”

  “That may be,” I admitted. “But I think we’re on to something bigger here. Something that’s going to pay off in the end. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Galen ruffled through his sheaf of parchments before speaking again.

  “As for ideas on the ‘why’, I would suggest that we run through Sir Slate’s papers from his time in the Andeluvian Air Cavalry. His record is – if I may use a term from Dayna’s world – a rather ‘checkered’ one.”