Goblin Precinct (Dragon Precinct) (6 page)

Whatever comment Danthres may have made was swallowed by their being once again in the elf’s presence. “Shall we proceed?” Fanthral asked.

“Of course,” Torin said, glad that it was, at least, a nice fall day outside. The walk to Goblin Precinct would be a pleasant one.

At least until they made it clear to Fanthral that nothing there was of value.

FIVE

BONEEN ARRIVED AT THE CASTLE AND NEARLY COLLAPSED.

Reaching out, he steadied himself against one of the castle’s stone walls and tried to get his breathing under control. There was a time, not that long ago, when Boneen could use a Teleport Spell to bring himself halfway across Flingaria and not even notice. But now, just a quick jaunt from Barlin to Cliff’s End had him exhausted.

Looking around, he also realized that he hadn’t materialized in his laboratory as he’d intended, but instead right above it in one of the corridors. Boneen sighed, wondering if this meant what he thought it did: he was getting too old to do Teleport Spells.

And that was the first step.

Of the everyday spells that wizards cast, Teleport was the most intensive and difficult. Lately, that meant that Boneen had to take a nap after casting it, though even when he didn’t, he enjoyed a good nap. Naps were the backbone of productivity, in his mind. If you took a nap, you could then continue to function for hours on end.

And he obviously needed one now.

Feeling he could now stand upright on his own, he slowly let go of the wall. To his relief, he remained upright, his knees unbuckled, for seconds after abandoning the wall’s support. This raised his spirits a bit, and he decided to go ahead and try walking.

He made it all the way to the end of the corridor when Osric turned the corner and said, “Finally, Boneen, you’re back.”

Holding up a hand, the magickal examiner said, “Whatever it is you need me to do, it shall have to wait. I have had a very trying day, and I need to rest.”

Osric let loose with one of the scowls that he often employed in an attempt to intimidate his subordinates. “Your day is unlikely to have been as trying as mine.”

Boneen smirked. “Obviously you’ve never dealt with the brotherhood’s Ruling Committee. I have spent the entire time I’ve been away listening to endless tirades about responsibility and accountability—and that was after I spent the better part of a day repeating my own knowledge of Lord Ythran’s mendacity, since I was unfortunate enough to be the one to report it to the brotherhood. And do remind me to strangle ban Wyvald and Tresyllione for sticking me in the middle of that idiocy.”

“They didn’t have a choice, Boneen.”

“Of course they had a choice!” Boneen snapped. “They could have let Ythran and Sir Malik continue their ridiculous false church, and no one would have been the wiser.”

“They were attempting to catch a murderer.” Osric kept talking before Boneen could respond. “And that’s of no consequence right now. Since you’re back, I need you to perform a couple of peel-backs and examine a body.”

Boneen stared at Osric. “Are you mad? After all that nonsense I just described, I had to teleport here from Barlin. Trust me, Captain, I will not be casting any Inanimate Residue Spells until
after
I’ve had my nap.”

“Fine, then you can examine the body, at least. We need to be certain that he died of a Bliss overdose.”

With a snarl, Boneen asked, “Since when do you concern yourself with overdoses? If some idiot takes more of a drug than he can handle, then the world’s better off without them.”

“I agree,” Osric said slowly, “but in this case, the victim is Elthor lothSerra—a former favorite of the—”

“Yes, yes, I know who he is,” Boneen snapped. He let out a short breath, then coughed, cursing himself for getting so old. “He’s freshly dead in Cliff’s End?”

Osric nodded. “You knew him?”

Boneen nodded. “When I was younger, I was part of a delegation to the Elf Queen’s domain to petition to harvest some farmland. Certain herbs that we require for spellcasting grow best in the western lands. We spent the better part of a month there, discussing things with the Elf Queen and several of her advisors—including Elthor.”

Then Osric frowned. “You said, ‘freshly dead in Cliff’s End.’ That’s an odd way of phrasing the question.”

“Well spotted.” Boneen shook his head. “I’m honestly surprised he survived the Elf Queen’s ouster.”

“He didn’t survive it particularly well. He was found in Haven’s Way, begging for scraps.”

“And eventually took too much Bliss?” Boneen asked.

Again, Osric nodded. “That, at least, is the hypothesis. We need you to look over the body and verify that that is, in fact, how he died.”

“Whose case is this?”

“Tresyllione and ban Wyvald.”

“Good,” Boneen said emphatically. “That means there’s a chance it will come out well.” He shuddered, realizing he’d actually said that aloud. “Please don’t tell them I said that,” he asked Osric in an almost pleading tone.

The captain actually smiled at that—and it was his real smile, the one he never showed anyone, though Boneen had seen it once or twice. “Worry not, Boneen, I will keep it secret that there is someone in Flingaria aside from yourself that you think well of.”

“Thank you.”

Osric’s smile fell. “But there’s another wrinkle.”

Boneen raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“The lieutenants are assisting an elven emissary named Fanthral.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Be grateful.” Osric’s scowl came back. “I fought against him during the war. I did manage to gain his respect, which is more than he managed with me.”

Boneen snorted at that. Osric’s respect was, he knew, not often given. Not as rarely as Boneen’s respect, but still it was rare coin.

“Fanthral,” Osric explained, “came to Cliff’s End to bring Elthor back to the Consortium for war trials. His being dead is a bit of a nuisance.”

Putting his head in his hands, Boneen muttered, “War trials? Really?”

“You object to war trials?”

“I do not see the point.” Boneen sighed. “The Elf Queen is dead. People need to get on with their lives and not dwell so much on the past. That way lies madness, believe you me.” Another sigh. “Very well, I will somehow find it within myself to examine Elthor’s body.”

“What about the peel-back? The scene is already several days old, so you’re our only likely source of anything useful from there.”

Boneen moved past Osric toward the staircase, ignoring the question. He wanted to get to Elthor’s body so he could get a nap.

Osric bellowed, “Boneen!” That made the M.E. stop in his tracks.

He turned around. “What?”

“Will you be able to perform the peel-back on Haven’s Way?”

Realizing the captain was not going to give this up without an answer, Boneen simply said, “Perhaps. Allow me to perform the examination, first.”

“When the brotherhood provided you, Boneen,” Osric said, “it was under the provision that you perform the duties required of the position. Given what you just went through, I can’t imagine your being too terribly happy with me reporting to Gunderson that you have not been fulfilling your duties, nor to Fanthral that our magickal examiner impeded an investigation important to the Consortium.”

Boneen glowered at Osric. Lord Ythran’s replacement, Gunderson was a humorless old bastard—even by the high standards of the brotherhood’s ability to churn out such. Indeed, Boneen had always considered himself a past master of the breed.

However, he wasn’t about to give up. “You cannot possibly imagine, Captain, that anyone in the brotherhood finds the changeable politics of mortals to be anything other than boring. I am here as a courtesy. I can assure you that the brotherhood takes no interest in the wishes of either the Consortium or of Lord Albin and Lady Meerka.”

Osric bared his teeth in what could charitably be named a smile. “We’ll leave aside the hilarity of your dismissing the two people who provide you with shelter, a laboratory, and the freedom to do as you wish when you’re not on duty. The question, Boneen, is which tedium do you prefer less—doing as I ask, or listening to Gunderson drone on about the responsibilities of your office?”

For several seconds, Boneen was silent.

“Well?” Osric prompted.

“I’m thinking it over,” Boneen said sourly. “Very well, I will examine the body, and then eventually I will go to Haven’s Way.” He carefully did not commit to a specific time frame.

“Good.”

Then Boneen’s curiosity got the better of him. “You mentioned two peel-backs.”

“I did, yes. The other is for the Cliff’s End Bank’s main branch. It was robbed. Dru and Hawk are handling that, and it happened this morning and has actual witnesses, so we’ll muddle through without you.”

“Good to know.”

Osric turned on his heel and walked toward the east wing where his office lay.

Boneen trudged down the winding staircase, muttering to himself. “‘Freedom to do as I wish.’ If I had
that
freedom, I damn well wouldn’t be
here
, would I?” He grumbled as he got to the landing and opened the door with a gesture.

Ilya, his sprite, appeared upon his entrance. “Home to you welcome are!”

“Oh, do
stop
that,” Boneen said with a roll of his eyes. “Speak Common, if you please. You’re not fooling anyone with that attempt to sound exotic.”

The sprite pouted as she flew around the room. “But it’s
fun
!”

“Only for you.”

“Who else matters?”

“I do, or have you forgotten who saved you from Gunderson?”

At that, Ilya shuddered. Ilya had belonged to Lord Ythran, and when he was removed from his station, all his belongings went to his replacement. However, Gunderson had long had an aversion to sprites, and he was going to destroy her until Boneen intervened. “I’m sorry, truly. How was your trip?”

The M.E. said nothing at first, choosing instead to gaze around the lab—both visually and magickally. Nothing seemed to be missing, and the only addition was the body of an elf on one of the tables.

“There were intruders while I was gone?”

“Only twice. Lieutenants Dru and Hawk came in looking for something—they didn’t say what, only that it related to the Corvin case.”

Boneen waved a dismissive hand. “Dru and Hawk are already on another case, so that one must be closed, and therefore irrelevant. What was the other intrusion?”

“This morning. Lieutenants ban Wyvald and Tresyllione, along with two guards and an elf I didn’t recognize.”

Walking over to the elven corpse, Boneen nodded. “That would be that Fanthral person that Osric so dislikes.” He stared down at the body. It took him a bit to recognize Elthor lothSerra. “What a waste.”

“What is?”

Pointing at the corpse, Boneen said, “Him. He was part of the Elf Queen’s court, a vibrant, powerful man. To see him reduced to this . . .” He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it. Annoyance at Osric had put the fatigue aside for a bit, but it was coming back again. “Find me a stool, will you please?”

“Of course.” Ilya flew over to a stool that was buried under some parchments. She used her wings to fan the parchments onto the floor, then picked the stool up and brought it over.

Boneen gave a glower at least as nasty as the one he gave Osric. “You do realize I’m going to make you clean that up, yes?”

Ilya looked abashed. “I’m sorry.”

“You may apologize all you wish,” Boneen said as he clambered onto the stool, relieved to be off his feet, “but you will still have to clean it up.”

“Feh.”

She flew off, and Boneen ignored her. Something didn’t sit right with him. Elthor never partook of any illicit substances. He never drank, never sniffed, never smoked. All the times Boneen spent in the elf’s company, he never evinced any interest in artificial stimulation of any kind.

Yet here he was overdosing.
Was he that miserable?

“Stupid question,” he muttered. “He lost everything, in a manner that was depressingly permanent, and wound up begging in Goblin Precinct.”

Ilya flitted by. “Did you say something?”

Swatting at her like she was a fly, Boneen said, “No, I’m simply talking to myself. It’s my only guarantee of intelligent conversation.”

Again Ilya said, “Feh,” and flew off.

Reaching into his pouch, Boneen pulled out a root. Snapping it in two, it let out a bitter scent into the air. Boneen then muttered an incantation.

Expecting to find impressions of the drug in his system, instead Boneen felt a tug at his mind. Anticipating only a simple narcotic, he found something much greater.

Quickly, he muttered another incantation, causing a mage bird to appear before him. “Find Lieutenants ban Wyvald and Tresyllione and inform them that they must return to the castle immediately. It’s about Elthor lothSerra here. They should be somewhere between here and Haven’s Way. Go.” The glowing white bird flew away soundlessly.