The club room in the Silver Crescent was opulent, all red leather and dark wood. It was still early, and the room was empty except for an old man sunk into his chair by the fire. Hep had seen him there before. He wondered if the staff of the Crescent kept the fire burning in all weathers just for the old man.
Hep and the Major had claimed a table a discrete distance from any other. Hep was curled up in his chair, cradling a brandy snifter in both hands.
“So, what do we have?” he asked.
“Three dead bodies and maybe a diplomatic mess.” A large tasting glass almost disappeared between the Major’s hands.
“Let us consider the first two of those bodies. Lord and Lady Naram. The lady was the newly arrived ambassador from Polarma, itself a fairly new country.”
“Diplomatic mess, if not solved soon.” The Major inhaled a mouthful of northern Gwenish single malt whisky. Hep winced. He had said that it was his treat.
“We still do not know whether the murders were the result of international intrigue or a personal vendetta. It does seem to have been orchestrated to draw a large amount of notoriety. Ritual murder of an ambassador almost right outside the Duke’s palace will be news throughout Glorien and Safara. Other nations will see it as a great embarrassment for the Duke, whether they see it that way or not. That would point towards international intrigue. Someone has been trying to plant false leads throughout this affair, so it could just as easily turn out to be something personal. We cannot trust our assumptions in this case, only the evidence.”
“Evidence says Lord Naram was killed by a knife through the heart.” Either the alcohol or the atmosphere was causing the Major to slow her usually headlong rush though a conversation. “No evidence how Ambassador Naram was killed. Could be the same way, but heart missing. Both were in bed. No evidence the murders happened elsewhere and the bodies moved. Looked like sleeping peacefully or unconscious.”
“Which leads us to that particularly ham-handed attempt at implicating the dwarven cult, the Iron Shadows. Someone hired Tamara and Erlanda Knifesdotta to make the scene look like a ritual sacrifice. But the Knifesdottas did not know much about how the Iron Shadows kill. Too much blood. Too gory. Good for the newspapers, not good for fooling the authorities.”
“Dandywood said getting the heart out was particularly sloppy. Maybe supposed to look sloppy? Maybe wanted it to be easy to find out not the dwarves?”
“Perhaps that is why the Black Sisterhood was hired, or at least the Knifesdottas. I have been pondering that. The Black Sisterhood are mildly efficient thugs, but thugs nonetheless. They have no history of doing something like this. Why would someone hire them? It did not make sense. But maybe they were hired because someone knew they would screw it up. Even so, why did they take the job?”
“Ptah.” The Major waved a hand over her head. “Money. Usually money. Could be power. Could be blackmail. What would they want?”
“Erlanda was proud of this job the Sisterhood had had coming up guarding some mage from Krondak. Could awarding them that job be a bribe? A high-profile job that would get them noticed? One that would get them more important jobs in the future? They would become rich and famous, if they only got this one opportunity.” Hep sighed. “Getting away from the evidence again. We only know that they took the job, not why they did.”
“Don’t even know if the other Sisters knew about it. Haven’t been talking while in custody. Minds blocked. Won’t even admit ever heard of Tamara Knifesdotta. Took Fernwyn to get anything at all out of Elandra.”
“Yet another question. Where is Tamara? She disappeared right after the murders. Given the time and effort required to perform the mental trick that made the Sisterhood forget about her, or at least prevent them from admitting they ever knew her, I would say that disappearance was planned. If the messy staging was supposed to lead us to the Sisterhood, someone did not want Tamara to be brought in with the rest. Is she somehow still valuable? Is she dead? Bah, speculation, speculation.” Hep stared vacantly into his snifter.
“Have another body. Assume Opermin was murdered. Keep us from talking to him, or just cleaning up the trail? The Major took another gulp of fine whisky. She waved at a waiter with her empty glass.
“According to Fernwyn, Opermin let the Knifesdottas into the house. He had to get in himself, in some way. Did the Narams let him in? If so, why?”
“New in town. Looking for furniture. Needed to be nice, expensive. That house was embassy, as well as home. Needed to be impressive.”
“So they go to a reputable dealer in antique and imported furniture. That makes sense. He is in the house doing measurements, discussing options, or whatever. Does that make him the murderer? Or did he let the murderer in, as well?” Hep shook his head. “Again, we have more misdirection than actual facts. We have to be careful we do not let one bleed into the other.”
“If murderer, why? As said, reputable merchant. Importer, maybe some smuggling. Easy to do, hiding small things in a load of furniture. Could not be more than minor stuff. Hasn’t come to the Guard’s attention as a major smuggler.” The Major nodded to the waiter as she took the glass of whisky he offered to her.
“Everybody involved is dead, except for Tamara Knifesdotta and whoever killed Opermin.”
“Dead or in Guard custody. Prisoners not talking, though.”
“Could Tamara be Opermin’s killer? Perhaps she is not just a hired mercenary. Perhaps she is a key player. Perhaps the mastermind herself. She fouled up the scene just to draw attention away from herself.”
“Why go there at all? No other link to the Black Sisterhood.”
“Good point. Perhaps there is a connection that we have not yet discovered. Or perhaps I have had too much brandy and am starting to get fanciful.”
“Still more evidence to gather. Report on Opermin’s death. His recent contacts. Why at the Naram’s place. The Immeressen. Guards good at collecting evidence. You go off and be fanciful. Maybe political, too. Talk to the dragons again. Inform if find out anything interesting.”
Hep nodded. “Might as well call it a night.”
He straightened up and waved to their waiter. He would not relish the size of their tab.
Den of the Red Wolf 