The Mermaid’s Daughter stood less than two blocks from Central Station. Its location, plus a cheap and palatable ale on tap, made it the home pub for the Carenburh City Guard. This evening, it was crowded, except for one corner. Major Gorkla Strongthighs sat at a table in that corner. Whether by order or by instinct, the guards were giving their commander a wide berth.
To Hepplethwaite Alething, the pub was a sea of blue and red uniforms. He squeezed his way over to the bar. Hopping onto a stool, he was able to see over the heads of the pub’s patrons and find the Major. Hep was pleased with what he saw. The Major was in her…his male aspect. That meant he wanted to cooperate. A male Major was shorter, less muscular, softer than a female. His lengthening tusks and darkening skin reminded Hep how intimidating an irritated zlobra could be. The Major was not known for patience, not matter the form.
Hep quickly claimed an ale in a dalibor-sized mug and wound his way through the crowd to the Major’s table. The publican had pulled over a bar stool for Hep, undoubtedly at the Major’s request. Another sign that the Major wanted collaboration, not confrontation.
The Major’s pint was almost empty. Hep hoped that it was his first one.
“I hope you have been busy.” The Major could not suppress the hint of a growl. Not his first pint, then. He had been waiting a while.
“Busy enough,” said Hep calmly. “I met with the Lord Steward. They are well fed and agree with our assessment that implicating the Iron Shadows was a ruse, a sloppy one at that. Otherwise, they were not of much help. There are no obvious political suspects.”
“Well fed?” asked the Major. He waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Thank you for talking to Star’s Grace. That should allow the Guard to do our job without interfering supervision.”
The Major wanted him to ask about the Guard’s progress, to admit tacitly that they could contribute. Hep sipped his ale silently. If the Major still wanted Hep’s help, he would continue without Hep’s prompting.
The Major downed the last of his own ale, raising the glass to signal the publican for another. With a grunt, he continued.
“De Clare and Lepen went over half the city looking for where that blood came from. Abattoirs, butcher shops, the morgue. No luck there. No bodies drained of blood in the night.
“The blood was fairly fresh. It had to have been gotten not long before. They didn’t find anyone buying that much blood, at least from legal sources. Someone coming into a butcher’s, getting blood and other stuff for a black pudding - no one would remember. Do that three or four times, you have your blood. Garton thinks there are multiple sources, anyway.”
The Guard commander paused, as if waiting for Hep to criticize her detectives’ effort. Hep stayed silent.
“Dandywood eventually showed up. I could have been out doing something….” Hep did not point out that there was little she could have been doing that her detectives and other Guards had not already been. “He confirmed that the ritual was staged, and not well. As if whoever done it only had the barest idea of how to do it. Could have told him that without having to wait forever for him to get out of his latest lover’s bed.”
“Who would that be?” Hep’s appetite for information - information, not gossip - prompted him to break his studied silence.
“He hinted at Lady Columbine, although his hints are just about brags.”
“If any of what I hear about her bacchanals is true, I doubt he was the only one in her bed.”
The Major resumed her report as if Hep had not interrupted. “No one saw or heard anything. Our canvas of the neighborhood came up empty. The fog settled too early and was too dense. No one went out last night. No one saw any lanterns going to or from the Naram’s. 536’s entrance light has been out. Vandals went through the neighborhood a few days ago, breaking lights on several houses.”
The Major slammed his fists on the table, pushing himself upright. He began to pace the short space behind their table, waving his hands as he did so.
“Nothing! Nothing! Almost a full day since the murders, and we have nothing!”
“Oh, I would not say that,” said Hep urbanely. He suppressed a grin at the scowl his statement provoked. While hunting boar with the Lord Steward was admittedly exhilarating, it did not occupy my entire day. I believe I can impart some intelligence that you will find helpful.”
The Major stopped pacing and stared at the dalibor. His soft features were growing harder, his shoulders were widening, the front of his uniform was starting to bulge. Hep had just about aggravated him enough to push him into his female aspect. She might very well throw Hep out of the pub, maybe across the street for good measure. He hastened to elaborate.
“I traced the knife to a band of mercenaries calling themselves the Black Sisterhood. There are only six of them, all women. I have some people watching them.”
The Major’s transition back to her combative female form was now almost complete. She leaned over the table and pounded it with a heavy fist.
“Why aren’t they in the Duke’s deepest dungeon, telling all to the Duke’s best torturers?”
“I don’t think the Duke has any torturers.”
The rumble deep in the zlobra’s chest was more intimidating than the pounding fist.
“The Black Sisterhood are just tools,” continued Hep. “I do not think that they are our murderers. I think someone hired them to be a smokescreen. Someone with very specific orders. The Sisterhood would never have thought of such a scheme themselves. They are not clever enough. They are a blunt mace, good for smashing, not a fine dagger that can be slipped artfully between your target’s ribs.
“The one that bought the knife, the one I think is the liaison with their employer, was not present when I talked with the rest of the band. She may have fled the city. It would be better for us if she is just in hiding, still within the city. If she is, one of them will lead us to her. Their captain will not be able to help herself.”
“What she won’t be able to help is talking, once I get ahold of her. A little pressure applied in a cell in Central, tell us where the other is. Tell us who hired them. Tell us everything!” The Major grinned, a frightening expression on someone with a pair of three-inch-long tusks. “Finally moving. Have all solved by sun up!”
“Your approach will not succeed, I tell you. Whoever has hatched this scheme would never let someone like the Black Sisterhood have enough information to trace it back to them. No, they…” Hep stopped. He could feel his mind getting cloudy. The brka had finally worn off. It had gotten him through the day. Now he had to pay the price.
“Major,” he slurred. “Please have someone take me ho…” He fell off his stool as he passed out.
Den of the Red Wolf 