Haldred Chronicles: Alyssa (10 page)

Into the
dragon's den we go.

At the end of
the short stone-clad corridor they came to a small table, where little worried
looking Glynis sat up with a start as the two of them entered, surrounded as
always by papers and reports from other areas and agents.

Glynis was one
of those unfortunate Elves whose ageing process had more or less stopped at
fifteen years old.  Most elves reached their maturity age between twenty and
thirty and so remained that age physically for the rest of their existence. 
Glynis had reached her maturity age early and was a thirty something trapped in
the body of a fifteen year old.  This, coupled with her already shy demeanour,
made her rather difficult to take seriously.  In comparison to the Overseer at
least, who you had to take seriously.  An odd pair.  Victoria was never
entirely sure why he still kept her around.

“Hello
Victoria.” she said in her permanently child like voice, sounding even younger
than she looked.

“Glynis.  Still
no joy with that voice of yours?”

Supposedly
whilst they could do nothing for her permanent youth she'd been told 'they' (the
Herbalists Guild) could at least sort out her childhood voice.  Talking to
anyone when your voice sounded like you'd just left the school yard was
difficult, as well as being difficult to listen to.

“No.” she said,
actually managing to look and sound even more disheartened.  “One of the other
attendants suggested maybe drinking whiskey to fix it.”

It sounded so
very wrong coming from someone who looked so very young.

Garlow knocked
on the double oakwood doors of the Overseer's office.  There was a muted “Come.”
from behind the doors and Garlow pushed them open, allowing Victoria to enter.

Horna Gladwells
sanctum was a huge square affair.  Dotted over the stone walls were all manner
of military equipment and paintings depicting battles or individual soldiers. 
Here an Argon legion short sword, there a Trima tribal battle shield.  A
painting depicting the seventh battle of Murphy's Pass, the furthest point the
Argon Legions ever got to in the Trima heartlands, was on the left hand wall,
flanked by two Legion Long Lances in mint condition.  Bearkin two handed
swords, Ogre battle axes, Darnhun bolt spitter repeaters (his personal
favourites).

You would be
forgiven for forgetting he worked for an organisation that was supposed to
promote peace across the land.

Horna sat at the
far end, behind an extensive and exquisitely craved oak wood desk.  Two tall
candle holders cast as coiling dragons sat beside and behind him, whilst light
to the vast room was provided by two huge bottle glass windows edged in black
steel.  He had his head down as she entered, reading over a scroll.

“Victoria,” he
said, not bothering to look up.  “How nice of you to come.”

“Sir.” she said
without enthusiasm as the large doors behind her closed.  Sealing her in.

“You wanted the
report sir.” she said next, holding up her parchment.

He indicated
with his hand for her to bring it over, still failing to look up.  She
approached the desk and deliberately set it in front of him instead of into his
outstretched hand.

Last time I
checked, we weren't still in school you ass.

“Hmpt.” he said
looking from his hand to the scroll Victoria had set before him.  At last he
looked up at her.

He was a short
man, with a balding head and a small greying moustache that made him look older
than he was.  He had sharp evil little eyes, dark brown, almost rat like.  He
wore expensive black robes, with his family crest embroidered on the right of
his chest, whilst the symbol of the Council of Peace was displayed on his
left.  Both were worked into the fabric in gold braid.  He had a personal
time-keeper wrapped around the sleeve of his right arm.  Another display of his
immense wealth.

Victoria glared
down at him.

“Anything else?”
she asked.

“Perhaps one
simple question.” he said with a slightly crooked smile.  “Is there a vampire
on the loose, or isn't there?”

“The report,”
Victoria began carefully,  “suggests not enough evidence either way.  I filed
it inconclusive.”

His face
darkened.  “Not good enough,” he stated, pushing the parchment back across the
table to her.  “This is one report you cannot file under that heading.”

She stiffened,
her own face darkening.  She leaned forward, hands on the table to look him in
the eye.  One hand moved the parchment back toward him.

“Without enough
evidence, I can't make a judgement I can stand by.”

He didn't
flinch, though she was gratified to see at least some effort behind his dark
little eyes.

“Regardless.” he
pushed the parchment back.  “This comes from higher than me and definitely
higher than you.  We need a conclusive assessment.”

“How can I?...”
she began but he cut her off with a wave of his hand

“I am hearing
excuses,” he said with palpable arrogance that set Victoria's nerves on fire.

“I need answers,
not excuses.  If you lack evidence, find more.  This report is to be completed. 
With a definitive conclusion.”

There was really
no arguing.  Not because she couldn't argue with his authority.  She could and
frequently did.  It was the authority above him.  Higher than Horna meant very
high indeed.  It meant he was being leaned on by the High Council.  The true
masters.

She picked up
the parchment and nodded stiffly.

“I'll do my
best.” she said

“I'm sure you
will.” he replied, a smile of triumph creeping across his face.

Resisting the
urge (the incredibly righteous urge) to break his nose, Victoria turned on her
heel and strode from the room with the demeanour of a royally pissed off
lioness, her ponytail flicking out behind her like an uncoiled whip.  She
pushed open the heavy entrance doors with more force than necessary, startling
both Garlow and Glynis as she exited.

Glynis, Gods
love the little girl, swallowed nervously.

“I take it he
didn't give you an answer you liked.” she chanced.

Victoria glared
over but it was incredibly difficult to remain angry when such a beautifully
young and innocent looking girl was manning the secretary's desk.  Maybe that
was why Horna kept her on.  To defuse angry employees by her very presence.

Victoria
sighed.  “No, not what I wanted to hear.”

Glynis gave her
a smile.  “We can but try.” she said

Victoria
shrugged and bid the two of them farewell, before beginning her march back to
her room to give Malak the bad news.

* * * * *

Victoria and
Malak quickly boarded a coach, and made for the original crime scene, despite
Malak's uncharacteristically whiny protests.  He was rather concerned for his
beloved crossbow though Victoria assured him that they would return to the
tavern eventually.  First, it was Victoria's intention to take a fresh
perspective on the case.  That proved to be more difficult than they expected. 
The crime scene had changed drastically.

“That was
quick.” commented Malak as they came up on what they suspected was the area. 
Only suspected, seeing as the railings were no longer there.  They were on top
of the Mounds Walkway, looking down at where the dangerous spiked railings
should be.  Instead, along each side of the path the railings were gone, small
holes in the ground the only indications that anything had been set here
before.

“Very quick.”
replied Victoria.  She frowned.

Too quick.

Dangerous the
railings might have been and urgent the request to remove them may have been,
but throw in city council bureaucracy and you would normally be waiting at
least a week.  Nothing got done in a day.

Nothing. 
Unless...

“Wonder why?”
said Malak, his expression indicating he, at least, saw nothing suspicious
about this.

“Why indeed.”

Then again, was
she perhaps being overly paranoid?  They had indicated that they were finished
with the investigation.  They had seen no need for further checking of the
crime scene.  Therefore, if some particularly bright or enthusiastic councillor
saw the need to remove the railings with undue haste, who was she to argue?

Maybe
something to follow up on.

“What made you
think we'd find anything else here anyway?” Malak asked next.  It was a
sensible question, one of Malak's few, but it wasn't here she was interested
in.

“It's not the
scene itself,” she said, turning to him. 

Lucky too
seeing there's sod all here now anyway.

“I'm interested
in what led to it.”

She beckoned to
him and he handed her the report.  They had collected together Victoria's hand
written report, the parchment signed by the two barmaids from the tavern, and
the Corpse Warden's report.  Now, she sought to piece them together again.

“Working
backwards...” she began.  “...we find our drunk...ah...here” she pointed to a
particular hole in the ground, which she assumed was where the killer railing
might have been.  In this area of the city, no fresh snow had fallen and what
looked like dried blood was still visible on the ground nearby.  It would do as
an assumption for now.

“He stumbled
down the slope and impaled himself on a spike.”

“The stumble,”
she moved a little more to the edge of the mound they were on.  “was no doubt
caused by the uneven ground, and the fact that he was weak with both
drunkenness...”

She cast Malak a
look.  “...and loss of blood.”

“Here we go.”
muttered Malak.

“Question. 
Where did he come from?”

“Well...” said
Malak.  “...when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much...”

“He came from
Holt Street you dolt.” Victoria was not very appreciative of this rather
unhelpful humour.

“Or so our
barmaids would have us believe.  That's after one of them knocked him out
apparently.”

Malak frowned. 
“You don't believe them?”

“Oh I believe
them,” confirmed Victoria, looking down the mound in the direction of the
aforementioned Holt Street.  “I just don't think they're telling us
everything.”

* * * * *

They headed away
from the Mounds Walkway, down a gentle path toward Holt Street.  It was not too
long a walk, the Mounds Walkway was not a long path itself.

Holt Street did
not deserve the name street.  It was little more than a lane between buildings;
an interconnecting route within the southern district.  But it had alleys off
to one side or another, most leading into dead ends.  All without lamplight. 
Snow had fallen again, the lane itself covered in white but the alleys
protected somewhat by the overhanging buildings, most of which were multi-level
homes.  The sounds of the busy city were sparse here and the area had a
loneliness about it.  Few people were about; it was mid-afternoon now and most
were either working or caring for children indoors.  Few wanted to be out in
the cold and Victoria could see smoke rising from most of the chimneys nearby.

She was thankful
for her cloak in the cold air.

“What exactly
are we looking for?” asked Malak, looking about the lane with disinterest.

“The alley where
they supposedly knocked out a thirty stone man.” said Victoria.

She stopped,
casting her eye over the reports again.  She turned first to the Corpse
Warden's report, casting her eye over the case notes.  

Massive wound
to the lower jaw, into the mouth and brain.  Kill-wound.  Signs of heavy impact
to front of skull.
 'Enough to knock him out,' or so Garrett had said.

If it was this
girl Alyssa who had knocked him out, with what had she knocked him out?

“Malak,
question.  What weapon would you use to knock a man out?”

Malak shrugged.

“Club probably,
easy enough.  Strike it right round the back of the head and down he'd go.”

Victoria
agreed.  A simple club would do it.  But the wound would be smaller, no more
than a bruise.  Not a large impact to the front of the skull, and the girls
made no mention of a weapon at all in their parchment as she read over it
again.

“They didn't
have a club,” she said, looking at Malak frowning.  “So how did they knock him
out?”

Malak smirked. 
“Could have tried putting his fat head through a wall, that would do it.”

Victoria
nodded.  “Possibility.”

Malak gave her a
confused look.  “I was joking,” he said.  “No way a slip of a girl would have
been able to man handle a bloke that big.”