Major Gorkla Strongthighs regarded the dalibor passed out across the table from him. Hepplethwaite Alething had often proved himself an unwelcome interference with his job as commander of the Carenburh City Guard. Today, though, he had made progress in the investigation when Gorkla’s Guard had run up against several walls. The least Gorkla could do was to make sure he got home safely.
First, he had to change. He had adopted his current male form as a sign to Alething that he was willing to cooperate. It would not be good for tonight’s work. Tonight would be long and, probably, violent night. Hopefully violent. Just what his female form needed to work off some tension.
Gorkla’s change was not sensational. After all, the zlobra’s male form was not a runt. A few inches taller. A couple of inches wider in the shoulders and hips. Breasts tenting her uniform jersey. No one who saw either of Gorkla’s favorite forms would fail to recognize the commander of the Guard.
Standing, she hefted the unconscious Alething over her shoulder. On her way out of The Mermaid’s Daughter, she stopped by a table of Guards that still seemed reasonably sober.
“Fiona,” she said to the sergeant in the group, “go tell the duty officer to pull some constables off of patrol tonight. We’re going raiding. Mercenary company, so it might get messy. Tell him to get Guards that know their way around a weapon. Tell him to have them at Central at midnight.”
The sergeant stood up. “Yes, Major. How many do we need?”
“A dozen. Ten, if they’re good.”
“Permission to join the raid, Major?”
Gorkla looked over the sergeant. “You just get off shift? Catch a nap, and you’ll be welcome.”
The sergeant beat her commander to the pub’s door.
Alething’s flat in the Sliver was, of course, locked. Gorkla had a choice of trying to wake him up or to search his pockets for a key. If he were in a brka-induced stupor, he would be out for several hours yet. That left finding the key. Her thick fingers were not exactly suited for fumbling around in pockets made for a dalibor’s slim hands.
Not a problem for a zlobra. She slimmed down the fingers on her right hand, giving them a couple of extra joints for good measure. In Alething’s trouser pockets, she only found small change. She had better luck with his coat. An inner pocket held both his wallet and his keys.
Idiot, she thought. What if he left his coat somewhere or it got stolen?
Despite her curiosity to see how the dalibor lived, Gorkla did not linger in Alething’s apartment. She dropped him gently but unceremoniously on a settee in his parlor. She locked the door behind her and dropped the key through the letter slot. Time to get to work.
Despite their previous double shift, Evard Lepen and Hugh de Clare had both reported for duty on-time. Gorkla knew that the detectives viewed this case as their own. They would not be left out of it. They would also be wanting to make up for their inability to find the source of the blood.
Gorkla had a task for them. She found them in Central Station’s detectives’ bullpen. De Clare had his feet up on his desk. Lepen paced from de Clare’s desk to his own and back again. Whatever they had been discussing, they cut it off when Gorkla appeared in the bullpen doorway.
“Mercenary company calling themselves the Black Sisterhood,” she told the detectives. Alething thinks this Sisterhood put together that farce in Greyfont, if not the actual murders themselves. Their headquarters in Ten Bears. Guards’ll be raiding at one tonight.
She pointed at de Clare and then Lepen. “Need you two to find out as much as you can about them by midnight. Small time, maybe new. Haven’t heard anything one way or the other. Maybe something strange. Must be some reason hired for this. Not much like a standard bodyguard job. Find out secrets.”
Gorkla could hear the detectives break into an animated discussion as she left to find Carlton.
Jioni Carlton was a special case. He did not fit into the Guard’s hierarchy, partially because his skills did not fit cleanly into any one department, partially because none of the other officers would put up with his insubordination. So, Carlton reported directly to Gorkla. He was not given a choice. If he did not, he would be given to the Duke. Carlton did not like dragons. Dragons did not like being talked back to. It would not have ended well for Carlton.
Gorkla would like to give Carlton to the Duke and forget about him. Unfortunately, he was too valuable to the Guard for that. Carlton was a shadow. If he did not want to be seen, he would not be seen. At least by any human. The zlobra’s empathic senses let Gorkla know when he was near, if not exactly where he was. Wherever Carlton’s abilities came from, well, they did not work at all on dragons.
If Carlton was the least bit reliable, he would have made an excellent spy. As it was, he would be as likely to go for a coffee as to sneak into an embassy to see what had arrived in the latest diplomatic pouch. For ordinary reconnaissance, though, he was brilliant.
Gorkla found Carlton in the staff canteen, where he usually could be found this time of night, eating pilfered pastries. He waved at her idly, his mouth stuffed with a chocolate eclair. Maybe she could give him his assignment and leave before he could empty his mouth enough to talk.
“Soon as you finish there, need you to go out,” she said. He just raised his eyebrows and chewed. “Black Sisterhood headquarters in Ten Bears. Need to know how many ways in and out. Any traps. How many there. Need to know by midnight. Got that?” He shrugged. She took that as an affirmative and left.
Gorkla left a message with the duty officer to send the raid team to her conference room when they arrived. Then she went to her office and locked the door. Forget double shifts; she was into her third in a row. She would be much more ready to bust down some doors after a nap.
Gorkla walked into her conference room at 11:30. De Clare and Lepen were already there, as were the sergeant Gorkla had spoken to earlier and three constables. The latter four were wearing standard Guard tactical gear of a breastplate, sword, and hand crossbow. Four helmets sat on the conference room table.
“Major!” The sergeant and constables stood at attention. De Clare and Lepen looked up from some papers they were examining.
Gorkla gestured for everyone to be at ease. She walked over to the detectives.
De Clare waved the papers at her. “These girls are legit, sort of. They’ve been a registered mercenary company for five years. They have an adequate, if not stellar, record of low-level bodyguard jobs. Some event security. No major screw-ups. They pay their taxes, at least on their reported work.”
Lepen took up the story. “Rumor has it that they are minor bandits. Robbing some merchant caravans, well away from Carenburh itself. Within the city, some shakedowns, a few armed robberies. Nothing splashy. Nothing too risky.”
“Last night’s work was well outside usual range. Why them?” asked Gorkla.
“Dunno”, said de Clare. “Maybe someone wanted us to find them? Be a distraction?”
“Whoever set this all up,” said Lepen, “knew that this group would not be able to make us believe that the Ambassador had died as the victim of a ritual slaying. Having them try adds too many variables to the situation, too much uncertainty. There must be an awfully good reason to bring them into it.”
“Maybe it’s not them,” said de Clare, “or not them specifically. There are plenty of minor, crooked mercenary companies in the city. Maybe they were picked at random. Maybe it’s their name. ‘Black Sisterhood’ certainly has some eldritch connotations.”
“Whether following a false trail or not, only trail,” said Gorkla. “Have to go through them. What else find out?”
She and the detectives had been mulling over how to run the raid when Carlton arrived. It was two minutes to midnight. He brought doughnuts.
Gorkla waved him over. “Any success?”
“Of course, sweetums,” he replied. “Have I failed you yet?” Gorkla just grunted and gestured for him to continue.
“To start with, their HQ is two houses, not just one. Knocked a bunch of walls out to merge them. The ground floor of the second house has been rented out to a nice family. One of them makes some great pie. No getting in there.
“There are three entrances that I was able to find on such short notice.” Carlton attempted to look wretched. “If I had just had more time….”
“Don’t need more time. Didn’t have more time. Get on with it,” said Gorkla.
Carlton sighed. “So, you got the main entrance on the street. There’s another one around back in the alley. Pretty standard for that area. The third’s up on the roof of the second house. Trapdoor leads down into some sort of training room. Looks like they keep it locked. Not trusting of no one, they are.
“There were four of them there when I arrived. Big woman - well, they were all big but she was the biggest - from Auriland or maybe South Turigil from the looks a her, took her to be the boss. One of the others called her ‘Erlanda’’. Not happy, she was. Fretting up a storm. She had to talk to someone named Tamara. None of them knew where she was.
“‘Nother woman came in while I was there. Looked about the same as the rest. All of a piece, they are. She’d been out looking for this Tamara. Been to Tamara’s bolthole, she said. If she’d been there, she wasn’t there any more.
“Erlanda, the big broad, she freaks out at this. Starts ranting about the Duke coming to take them away. I had to get out of there to report. Ma’am!” Carlton stood to attention and saluted. It would have been picture perfect, except for the sardonic grin on his face.
“Might be about to bolt, Alething’s threats or not. We’d better move fast.” Gorkla stood up and addressed the room.
“Ok, people. Move out in five minutes. Here’s how we want this to go down….”
Den of the Red Wolf 