Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf (4 page)

‘You sound as if you do not altogether approve?’

She scored another direct hit on the driftwood. ‘No, I do not approve. I do not like elites, elfin or any other variety. The Surf Elves strut around with their air of superiority, and their silly blue shirts and badges, as if the whole of Widergard was arranged for their convenience. It annoys me considerably, as well as giving the rest of us a bad name. We are all in this place together, there’s no Never-Neverland left over the Big Sea, and so we had all better get on with each other. The last thing we need is a group of blue-eyed, blond egoists running around, causing racial tension and getting up people’s noses.’

I had to agree with her. I would feel the same if it was young dwarfs. Mind you, half the population of the Citadel don’t want to look like young dwarfs, but that’s their problem.

‘But this Highbury body, elf or not, he is, after all, just some kind of dune drifter, isn’t he? I don’t know what these ambitions of his may be, but at best he is just a half-baked athlete.’

‘Do not underestimate the appeal of the Surf Elves,’ Thelen responded. ‘These half-baked athletes, as you call them, have a considerable following among the younger men and women of the Citadel. They are, after all, the modern heroes in a world where heroes are thin on the ground, and have been since the times that men dismiss as myths.’

I thought about this for a bit. The elfess had a point. Since the voting age had been lowered, the Citadel youth seemed to have had an inordinate effect upon the proceedings of the place.

‘How did this Highbury take Perry’s victory?’

She laughed beautifully. It made me want to run off and become a comedian, just to perform for her and hear it every day.

‘Lord Highbury Evergleaming was absolutely furious. He had won the Gnada Trophy the previous three years and was beginning to consider it his own property. He went into the Surf Elves’ beach dwelling and did not come out for a week. It was wonderful.’

Her laughter was replaced by a look of concern. ‘And now Perry is missing and presumably the Gnada trophy with him?’

I nodded to her: ‘It seems that way.’

‘I know which one will concern the Surf Elves the most! Highbury wants that cup back on his trophy shelf. ’

Thelen got up with an ease I wish I could match. She turned to face me. ‘So, Master Detective, as you can probably gather, I will be delighted to help you in any way I can, especially if it adds to Highbury’s discomfiture.’

I got out one of the little leather-bound notebooks I use for this sort of business – a hangover from my days in the Citadel Guards, but good practices are best not forgotten. I soon had all the background on the Surf Elves that I needed. I left the lady with my business card and drove down the beach. She offered to teach me to surf. I said I would keep that in the cold store.

Thelen had directed me to the right part of the beach; the Surf Elves’ headquarters were the collection of ranch-style huts built into the dunes I had previously spotted. The surrounding sand was covered with dumbbells and weights and everything else for the body beautiful. The Surf Elves were easy to spot with their pointy ears, perfect noses, clean, lean, hairless limbs and cheekbones higher than a juiced-up eagle. Some still wore cropped blue beach jackets that sported a crossed leaf-and-sword motif. This was also the design flying on the flag above the huts. I had seen it sprayed up round the Hill all summer without taking in what it stood for.

I didn’t like it.

The device had a nasty military feel to it. From what I could gather there wasn’t much about these guys to like at all. My opinion was not about to change.

I drove the Dragonette onto the Strand, chancing any injurious effects of salt spray on the bodywork. I took out a spyglass from the glove compartment and scanned the area. It was interesting to see Higher and Lower Elves up close together. The differences, especially in height, were obvious, but they still shared that undeniable quality of elvishness.

There were a lot of boards out on the water and the riders all looked good at what they did. I tried to identify young Lord Highbury. It wasn’t difficult. I spotted him as soon as he came out of the surf. Who else would expect or court a round of applause? The admirers were elves with some of the Citadel’s better-looking men and (mostly) women. Even from that distance he had that elf glow, like gold straight from the forge, as if lit by internal fires. Overrated, if you ask me.

I got out of my wagon and propped myself up on the hood of the Dragonette. I had managed to attract quite a crowd myself until Lord Highbury realised he was in danger of losing his audience and sauntered off in my direction. Nobody had yet felt inclined to break the silence and I wasn’t exactly feeling verbose myself, so I just continued to help myself to some of those negative ions I’ve read so much about – turns out, they’re overrated too.

Highbury approached. ‘Good morrow, Master Dwarf. It is many years since one of your race was seen on the Gnada Peninsula.’ The guy spoke like someone from a badly scripted rolling picture.

‘I like to stay open to new experiences,’ I replied.

Highbury shook himself lightly and water fell off as if by magic. I wished I could do that. However, dwarf body hair has an absorbency index roughly equivalent to that of blotting paper. One smaller elf, who had been standing by with a towel, looked so crestfallen I thought he was going to burst into tears. As if sensing his distress, Highbury took the towel and made the young elf’s day, if not his life. He only wiped his hands though; a gesture I felt was solely for my benefit.

Highbury continued: ‘Your race is not, however, renowned for its love of water.’ This race business was beginning to get to me already.

He handed back the towel as if bestowing some kind of gift, then ran a hand through his expertly mussed blond locks. I thought the smaller elf was going to swoon. Taking my time, I got off the Dragonette and examined it for imaginary marks, before I turned to face the elf lord again. ‘Well, you know what these legends are like. You should not believe anything unless it’s carved in stone.’

‘Oh,’ said Highbury, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps you have come to surf, then.’ His fan club appreciated this example of their leader’s wit. Another round of applause. I mean … please!

I scratched my stubble thoughtfully. ‘No, perhaps I’ll just have a swim.’ This soon shut the lords and ladies up. Highbury was equal to it, though. ‘A swim!’ he said. ‘Truly, wonders do still walk Widergard – a swimming dwarf!’ He winked at his audience, something elves actually find very hard to do. ‘Perhaps you would care for a little race, then?’

What I did not care for was where he put his emphasis, and I thought of a place where I would like to put his board. The renewed applause that greeted his suggestion soon stopped, though, when I accepted his challenge. Highbury’s blue eyes took on a steely look. ‘Then how about a wager, oh Son of Stone, on this swim?’

‘Why not? As long as I choose the distance.’

‘Even better, I will give you fifty strides’ start to the water, but be careful, as the beach drops away very suddenly.’

‘Oh’, I said patronisingly, ‘I’ll be very careful.’

‘Then what shall we wager?’ He was playing to the crowd again. ‘I think if I win I would rather like your fine suit.’ And the crowd was loving it. I, however, was playing for slightly different stakes. ‘If I win, I think I will settle for the answers to a few simple questions.’

This strategy caught his attention and he looked at me strangely. ‘Agreed. Perhaps, then, we should find you some beachwear.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, walking over to the dunes. ‘I don’t think you boys would have anything my size.’

Cheap shot, but frankly, what had they done to deserve better?

I carefully folded up my beloved Gaspar Halftoken hand-cut linen suit and left it by the weights. I was wearing boxers, the big baggy kind with pockets. They had a rather natty little green-dragon design. As I strolled back I dared anyone to laugh; mercifully no one did.

‘Now, Master Dwarf,’ said Highbury. ‘What about a destination? We usually go around the yellow buoy, but the choice is yours.’

‘How about here,’ I said, taking the small hand weight I had picked up while disrobing, and throwing it like a disc over the crashing surf. It skipped like a stone for a bit and then sank. Not a bad throw; not as good as the throw which won me the Darrow Games, and is still I believe in the record books, but good enough.

‘And just to make sure we do not have any cheating, we will make it the first one to bring back that weight. Now,’ I continued, before anyone could raise a complaint, ‘I will take that fifty strides you so sportingly offered.’

He was a trier; I’ll give him that. Even before I was over the shock of the cold water he was past me. A wonderfully relaxed crawl, grabbing handfuls of water with no apparent effort. I was stuck with the rather ineffectual breaststroke I had been forced to learn when on Bay Patrol with the Citadel Guards. Mandatory, I’m now glad to say.

Highbury must have attempted to reach bottom at least a dozen times before I even made it to the spot where the weight went down. I saw his blond head bobbing up and down like a frenzied fisherman’s float. Such a shame; those wonderful elfin bones that make them so light and nimble, and do such wonders for the legs and cheekbones, do also make them so incredibly buoyant. Pity, really. We dwarfs, on the other hand, tend to sink like bricks. Add to that lungs like a blacksmith’s bellows and night vision that would shame a cat – well, it was so easy I didn’t even have to use the spare weight I had hidden in my shorts’ pocket – just in case.

By the time we both got back to the beach, Highbury’s blue eyes were bulging from exertion and his style was a bit more ragged. I had to help him out past the tide mark and he lay there panting.

‘Now, elf,’ I said, brandishing the weight for all to see. ‘I think you owe me a few answers.’ Still gasping for breath, he nodded his head. So, I said: ‘What can you tell me about Perry Goodfellow?’

‘Why?’ he managed.

‘Just answer the question.’

‘A young man of dubious honour and undistinguished parentage, who worked for a living in an inn somewhere in the Citadel.’

‘And an excellent surfer, so I hear.’ When that did not elicit a response I continued: ‘But why do you question his honour?’

‘I heard he additionally moonlighted as a runner for some dubious industrialist. From what I gather, he left there under somewhat clouded circumstances.’

‘Meaning what, exactly?’

‘Meaning, I do not make it a habit to listen to the gossip of mortals.’ He had managed to expel most of what he had swallowed from the Gnada and was re-emerging, cocksure once more. ‘I think that is about your limit on the questions, Master Dwarf.’

‘Just one more, Goldy. Can you tell me where Perry Goodfellow is now?’

I thought I saw a trace of relief pass over his face, a small cloud passing over his sunny personality. I sucked on my teeth. I know elves are not supposed to be able to lie – ‘live elves don’t lie’, as the saying goes – but there is more than one way of not telling the truth, and I didn’t trust this guy further than I could throw a troll – four strides, I know, I’ve tried it. He fixed me with calm blue eyes. ‘No, Master Dwarf, I do not know where Perry Goodfellow is.’

That seemed to be as reasonable a time to leave as any. I went back up the beach to collect my clothes. Nobody was there to offer me a towel, so I took one anyway, from the little elf who had been so obliging to Highbury. He was staring at his pole-axed hero, disbelief written large all over his face. I tried to offer a conciliatory smile, but nothing was going to mend that particular broken heart.

Dusting the beach from between my pinkies, I got back into my wagon. I checked the reflection in the vanity mirror: hey, looking even better for a touch of those ultra-violet rays, Nicely, but still, I left the Gnada with the nagging feeling that I had missed something very important.

It was well past midwatch when I made it back to the Two Fingers. The bright, sunny Gnada morning had turned into sweaty, sullen Citadel afternoon. The roads were choked with steaming wagons and their steaming drivers. I was not in the best of tempers, still plagued by a nagging doubt, and hardly ready for the surprise I found waiting for me on my return.

I had already let myself into the office from the corridor before I noticed someone in the reception room. Opening the adjoining door to invite them in, it being the help’s day off, I found myself taking a breath even deeper than Highbury had mustered out on the beach. If you were to think I was unused to seeing stunning women, dripping jewels and wearing the latest in high fashion, waiting in one of my rooms, well, you would be right. She unwrapped legs longer than my treasure house deficit and stood up.

‘You keep irregular hours, Detective Strongoak.’

‘The sign on the door says “waiting”, lady, but it ain’t compulsory.’

‘It does not seem likely to encourage custom.’

‘Custom tends to find me, one way or another.’

‘Are you going to at least invite me in?’

‘Lady, the place is yours.’ And it probably could be, with just one little stone from one perfectly manicured finger.

She strode across the room like an expensive racehorse. Her hair was as black as the deepest dwarf mine, and piled up high in a topknot, with some escaping down like a mane. I was willing to bet that pulling out just one pin from the complete, carefully contrived concoction would cause a whole cascade down her back. Thoughts like that can put a fire in your grate on long winter evenings.

‘And how was the beach, Detective Strongoak?’

‘The beach was just fine.’

‘Is that why you brought so much of it back with you?’

I looked down at myself. Yes, she had a point. Offering her a seat, I got myself behind the business end of the desk and tried to instil the proceedings with just a little dignity.

‘Look, lady, this is a lot of fun, and I’m sure we could keep it up all day, but how about you just tell me what the matter is and I’ll tell you if I can help?’

She ignored the offer of the seat and decided to keep on prowling.

‘But Detective Strongoak, I was so enjoying it, and I do tend to want more of what I enjoy.’ Finally she parked a perfectly formed rear on my desk and leaned towards me. ‘You do believe that, don’t you, De-tec-tive?’

I must admit until she said it I did not know the word had so many syllables, but she pronounced each one perfectly and each one sounded like a sin. But she didn’t know who she was dealing with; after all, I’d just had my Citadel Guards 100 strides swimming certificate updated.

‘Lady, I’ll be willing to believe that Princess Panaline and the Dwarf Brothers were just good friends, if you’re footing the bill. Negotiations have yet to reach that point though, so how about I peel you off my lapels and put you into a seat?’

This I did with the maximum of grace and the minimum of bodily contact. She still seemed unwilling to get to the point. From her new vantage point she surveyed the rest of the room.

‘You do not decorate your offices in the height of fashion, Detective Strongoak.’

Fashion was obviously something she knew all about. She was wearing a dark-blue dress that buttoned at the front like a man’s double-breasted jacket. The effect was disorientating. Her long elegant hands held white pixie-lace gloves. She played with them, her only trace of nervousness.

‘Discussing hem lines would also be fun, lady, but I have a living to make.’

‘And what sort of living would that be?’

‘It keeps the wolves from the tree and fills the occasional pipe.’

‘Your manner is a trifle short, Sir,’ she observed, putting her gloves upon my desk.

‘I’ve heard them all before, lady. So come on, why don’t you put your cards on the table as well as those gloves, which you can’t quite stop yourself fiddling with?’

I am not quite sure why I was doing the tough-guy routine, except that maybe she was expecting it. Certainly I seemed to have passed some unseen test, because she finally got to what was on her mind.

‘My name is Hardwood; you may have heard of my husband.’

The amount of emotion I revealed wouldn’t have filled a pixie’s purse. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him.’

Who hadn’t? Hardwood was one of the wealthiest industrialists in the Citadel, a real financial wizard. He owned half the petrochemical plants that added so much to the Bay area – and the Bay itself. The word was that he bought Councillors and traded in Aldermen, being one himself.

‘But then again, I’ve heard of Dofu the Dragon Herder.’

‘I don’t think Dofu the Dragon Herder ever owned the Hardwood emerald.’

‘No, I don’t believe he ever did.’

‘Well I do, and it’s gone missing.’ She dropped her head, making her expression unreadable.

‘Lady, if that means “stolen”, then you should try the Citadel Guards. The Cits aren’t quite the fools they are made out to be.’ I got up out of my chair and walked round the desk. I slowly sat down on its edge in front of her.

‘If “missing” means something else, then I think you probably want one of the big First-Level outfits, because this sounds out of my league. Why choose me? Apart from my big brown eyes, of course.’

Face still hidden, she said: ‘I need someone who knows about gems. Who can recognise the real thing.’ That sounded reasonable.

‘And,’ I added, lifting up her face to meet my own.

‘And,’ she said, as we matched lights, ‘I need someone who can be discreet. I cannot risk a large company. As I said, the stone is only missing. It disappeared from my home and no one from outside could have stolen it. I just want it returned and I am willing to pay.’

‘What makes you think that whoever “missed” this sparkler for you will want to part with it?’

‘I just think they will; I think they will. With the right middle-man, or middle-dwarf.’ Something in her expression had gone overseas and she was as unreadable as the goblin alphabet. Decision time for dwarf detectives. I flipped a mental half-a-crown and it came up shields – all right, Nicely!

I got up off the desk and sat back on the hired help’s side and opened a drawer. ‘I’ll get a contract drawn up.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Oh yes, I have tax returns to fill in so that I can give the Citadel authorities something to laugh about at Cit Hall. Also I’ll need a list naming all your staff, plus any that have left in the last year, and their reasons for leaving.’

She said she would have it ready the next day, and if I wanted to come round to Hardwood House at cocktail time she would see that I received it. I promised to bring the contract round at the same time and told her, while she was at it, to lay on lots of those little cheesy biscuits. She said she preferred to lie on mattresses but was willing to try anything once. We left it at that: points even, Nicely to throw next.