Haldred Chronicles: Alyssa (6 page)

Malak himself
grabbed his trademark K-12.  Repeater crossbows had originally been Magra
weapons, that nation of the west with the vast army and penchant for building
ornate...well everything.  Castles, Black Powder cannons, vast bronze Battle
Golems.  But like anything good in the war the design had been copied by every
other nation. 

The Tornar built
K-12, with a thick shoulder stock, powerful pull and ease of maintenance, was a
popular weapon choice for any marksman.  In the hands of Malak it was deadly
and very intimidating, something Victoria had relied upon on more than a few
occasions.  There were few things scarier than a man with a crossbow who knew
what he was doing.  Malak was such a man.

All set, they
headed off.

* *
* * *

“Please tell me
we can burn this sod soon.”

They had left
the department's stone clad building in the early afternoon and arrived at the
Militia morgue in just under an hour.  The streets, as always, had been packed
but a Council of Peace registered coach was given a certain degree of leverage
with regards to getting to places quickly.

They were met at
the morgue by one of the Corpse Wardens, the guild responsible for body
disposal and with some knowledge of the methods used to investigative bodies. 
Whilst a Death Warden told you how the recently deceased had died, a Corpse
Warden then took responsibility for the body afterwards. 

He was a tall
man with a round face and deep rimmed glasses, short cut black hair and a
greying goatee.  He wore the standard uniform of his guild, priest-like robes
of a light blue material.  His name was Garrett and his accent was definitely
northern Argon, his speech fast but clear.

They were in the
morgue now, the area cleared of all but the body they had come to investigate. 
Each of them wore face cloths filled with herbs to protect them from the vile
smell.  Even so, they were still uncomfortably aware of it.  The morgue had
plain stone bricked walls dug out of the earth, reminding Victoria of an
underground temple or burial chamber.  A single stone slab sat at the centre
with a desk beside it arrayed with a variety of savage and unusual looking
instruments she wasn't familiar with, both engineered and magical.

Garrett led them
over to the body.

Victoria could
see why he was keen to dispose of the body.  Whilst it was currently winter and
bodies did not decompose as quickly as in summer, the body in question was not
a pleasant sight even with a thick sheet of white cloth draped over it.

“Well here he
is.” Garrett said candidly.  Idly he picked up a magnifying glass with one
hand, whilst with the other he pulled back the sheet of cloth.  “Very simple. 
The fat sow fell and impaled himself.”

He held up the
magnifying glass over a large gaping wound located under the body's jaw.

“Spike railing,”
he said by way of explanation.  “Straight into him and right on up into his
brain.  Death was instant.”

He let the cloth
drop and turned back toward them.

“Questions?”

“Stupid one
first.” said Victoria, casting a cautious eye over the corpse.  “Does it look
like murder?”

“Unlikely” said
Garrett, a professional confidence evident in his tone.  “He fell off the
Mounds Walkway.  That place is bloody dangerous without the piggin' spikes, let
alone with.  Granted, he's the first to have died but only just.  Others have
been lucky with just getting their arms or legs impaled.”

“Could he have
been thrown?”

“With the
precision of the impact point?” Garrett shook his head.  “Not likely.  I
wouldn't like to have been the one to try and pick up this guy.  Even the ogres
had difficulty moving him in.”

Victoria decided
she liked Garrett.  The man spoke his mind.

“So you think he
was just unlucky?” said Malak next.

Garrett nodded. 
“And I'd still think so if it weren't for what else was found.”

“The bite
marks.” confirmed Victoria.

Garrett took
this as the signal and picked up a more ornate-looking magnifying glass from
his table, pulling the cloth back again to reveal just the body's neck.

“Invisible to
the naked eye,” he said as an introduction,  “but not to this mage thing.”

He beckoned them
closer and held the glass over a section of the neck.

Victoria leaned
in to watch a little more hesitantly than Malak.  She had a built-in distrust
of magic in all its forms, whether equipment or person based; it all seemed
unnatural to her.  In the so called 'modern' society she was considered old
fashioned in this regard but she didn't care.  It
was
unnatural and she
didn't like it.

The glass at
first seemed not to change, looking just like the lens of the other magnifier
but then, as they watched, the wounds became visible as if materialising over
the corpse's throat.  Two tiny pin-pricks, hardly visible even under the
magical magnifying glass but there nonetheless, positioned more or less an inch
apart and at the same level.

“That,” said
Garrett, “added to the lack of blood in the body upon death is presumably why
this case found its way to you lot.”

Victoria cast
Garrett a knowing glance.

“I'm well read.”
he said in answer to the look.  “I know the stories.”

“Who figured out
the lack of blood?” asked Victoria next, leaning back and crossing her arms,
frowning as Garrett set the spyglass down again.

Garrett smiled.
“New kid with an eye for promotion.  He's the son of a long running line of
detectives and seems to have inherited his father's knack of seeing the
unusual.  I think this will be the making of him, get him off the street and
doing what you lot do.”

“Poor lad
doesn't know what he's in for.” said Malak mournfully, but Victoria ignored his
jibe.

“Anything else?”
she asked.  She was beginning to admit to herself that even with her extensive
experience of dead bodies (including those she happened to have made dead
herself) she wanted to be out of here soon.  The corpse was simply not pleasant
looking even under the cloth.

“Aye,” said
Garrett.  “One other odd thing was the evidence of impact to the front of the
skull.  Looks like he banged his head pretty bad.  No fractures but severe
bruising.  Would have been enough to knock him out.”

“The ass
probably banged his head off a bloody door.” grunted Malak.

Victoria wasn't
so sure.

“Enough to knock
him out?  So he would have been unconscious some of the night?” she mused.

“Maybe an hour,
maybe less.” shrugged Garrett.  “We didn't think much of it.  I mean, the guy
was pissed, didn't even need the mages to tell us that.  You could bloody smell
it off him. Other than that and the kill-wound there's nothing else.”

Victoria filed
all these details away in her head for later.  She was blessed with a good
memory for detail and being that paper was expensive even for the Council of
Peace it kept the budget under control by only using it when absolutely
necessary.  Malak's requirement for ordering crossbow bolts on far too regular
a basis was one such necessity.

“You got the
report?” she asked at length.

Garrett duly
recovered said report from a drawer in the desk.

“Keep it for as
long as you like, all the details are in there including times and figures. 
Just make sure to sign for it on your way out and bring it back when you're
done.”

Victoria nodded.

“Can I burn him
now please?” asked Garrett with a smile.

Victoria nodded.

“I think we have
all we need.  Thank you.”

“No bother.”

* * * * *

“It's bull.”
Malak stated.

They were back
in the coach, trundling through the streets again to meet with the militia
troops who had discovered the body.  The winter sun was low; the sky clear but
the temperature was cold, both Victoria and Malak's breath misting as they
talked.  The streets were busy, merchants out in force and people going about
their business through the partially snow covered streets, unaware of the
recent murder in their midst.

“Malak, your
canine teeth are about an inch apart.” Victoria stated, pointing to his mouth. 
“And the two wounds were the same width apart on the body.  Right where the
artery is.  Right where the blood flows.  Add that to lack of blood in the body
and you might not have a definitive case, but you do have the beginnings of
one.”

Malak rolled his
eyes.  “He was a drunk.  A seasoned drunk.  You any idea what that amount of
drink can do to a man?"

I don't but I
bet you do,
Victoria
didn't say.  She had the odd sip now and again to be sure but she recognised
that Malak was the veteran drinker of the two.  If the stories from the end of
week 'gentlemen's meetings' were anything to go by.

“He ate badly
and drank heavily,” continued Malak. “lack of blood is probably just part of
that.”

“And as for the
wounds?” he screwed up his face.  “Clutching at straws.”

“I always love
the way you just discard evidence Malak,” said Victoria without humour.  “just
because you can't explain it.”

“Besides, I know
the real reason why you're grumbling.” she said next, looking out at the
passing streets.  “You fear this is one of those cases where you don't get to
shoot anything.”

She cast him a
disappointed look.       

“Would I be
right?”

Malak didn't
answer, avoiding her glance and looking out the window himself

“Patience,” she
said, returning her gaze to outside the carriage.  “if there really is a
vampire out there, you might just be the one who takes the first shot at it.”

* * * * *

* * * * *

Alyssa stretched
as she awoke, bringing herself out of her dream state.

It had been a
nice dream.  James had been in it, her soon-to-be boyfriend.  Well, she hoped
anyway.  Katy too, her new friend, her new human friend to be precise.  Both
met on the same night.  She was still trying to figure that one out.

She was grateful
to see that after her day-long rest her middle was no longer doing an
impression of an overfilled wineskin.  The blood had been absorbed by her
body.  She stood, feeling stronger and more refreshed than anyone had any right
to be in the morning (or in her case, the evening).  She'd have to be careful. 
After drinking her body became even stronger for a time and on more than one
occasion she had accidentally broken something without realizing her own
strength.  It was only afterwards that her body adapted and she went back to
just being freakishly strong as opposed to freakishly and destructively strong.

She crossed the
room and opened her wardrobe.

Blue tonight
I think.

She settled on a
dark blue dress and tunic from her collection, as well as one of her clean white
aprons.  The Elk's Horn considered itself a cut above the rest of the taverns
in the city and insisted that its staff look their very best.

She changed
before checking her teeth and face.  Over time she had learned to do this by
touch.  A difficult task, seeing as the mirror was next to useless but at the
very least she could make sure she had her clothes on right.

Now almost
ready, she checked her short hair and tied it back out of the way in a
ponytail, keeping her fringe from being too much in the way.  Satisfied, she
wrapped a hooded cloak round her shoulder (unnecessary but it again added to
the illusion that she felt the cold) and made to head downstairs.

Wait a second. 
Something was missing.  She shook her head with a smile.

Glasses. 
Every time.

She picked them
up from her dresser and pulled them on, adjusting them over her nose.

She peered at
the nearby mirror.  It always appeared so very strange when all you could see
was what appeared to be a pair of glasses hovering in mid-air over a dress with
no body in it.  Still, when it looked like that it at least meant her face was
clean.

Satisfied she
was at last ready, she headed downstairs and off to work.

* * * * *

She arrived at
the Elk's Horn in good time.  Entering via the back kitchen door, she hung her
cloak on the nearby cloak hook.  She turned to be immediately met by the
tavern's premier bar-mistress, Gretna

Gretna was a
dwarf, a stereotype of her race.  Short, fat, ample of bosom and critical of
character.  She took pride in her tavern floor and she made damn sure it ran
like clockwork.  She was dressed as always in a tunic half made of bronzed
dwarfen metal, half of a dark green material, with a short brown work-maid’s
dress underneath.  Her family's heirloom, a brutal looking hand hammer, was
slipped through her leather belt.  A useful device for both the kitchen and the
dining area, as many an unfortunate drunk had found to their regret.

Her brown hair
was tied back in a braided ponytail and her dark green eyes, which matched the
colour of her tunic almost exactly, gave Alyssa the trademark critical stare.

“Alyssa.” Gretna
said, half pitying and half annoyed.  “What have I told you about your dress
sense?”

“Ah,” Alyssa
found herself fidgeting under the dwarf's authoritative glare, her eyes dropping
and a hand moving to her glasses.  “I...have good taste?” she ventured without
confidence, adding a hopeful smile as she dared to glance up.  Gretna's deadpan
expression stared back and Alyssa immediately dropped her eyes again.

“No,” Gretna
stated bluntly.  “I said your dress sense needs to emphasise more.  Grakin's
name girl don't people tell you how attractive you are?  Don't you want to show
'it' off?”

“Ah...well.”
Alyssa felt her cheeks burning.  “Yes but...you know.”

“Alyssa.”
Gretna's hands were on her hips,  “You've the best arse out of all the girlies
here.  Next time, wear something that emphasises that!  It's good for
business.”

Alyssa's eyes
went wide.  Even after working for so long in the Elk's Horn she had never,
managed to get used to how direct Gretna was.

Gretna pointed
an authoritative finger.  “Remember next time.”

“Yes Gretna.”
she said as the dwarf marched off toward the dining area.

“And emphasise
them breasts of yours as well!” Gretna yelled over her shoulder.  “Buy a bloody
corset!”

The kitchen door
slammed as she made her exit.

By this stage
you could probably have cooked eggs on Alyssa's cheeks; from several feet
away.   It would seem even a vampire bowed to dwarven style reprimands.

The other
barmaids who happened to be in the kitchen at the time were looking at Alyssa,
having had the good sense to stay quiet as Alyssa was both complimented and
berated in the same breath.  Alyssa was one of the few apparent humans working
at the tavern, most of the rest of the staff being either dwarf or elf.  So she
was doubly isolated in her embarrassment.

Some of them
were looking with a certain jealousy, particularly the dwarves (
“Gretna
never yells at me like that!”
), others with shared embarrassment (
“Poor
Alyssa”
) whilst a few, predominantly the elves, were trying to check
whether the dwarf's statement was actually true (
“Well...she does have a
great body.”
)

Alyssa, cheeks
still burning, found herself backing into the wall and hugging her chest, one
hand self-consciously pushing her glasses up.

“Gretna's
right.” said Sarah, one of the tall skinny elfen barmaids from southern Argon,
breaking the silence in the room.  The audience as a whole immediately shifted
their view to Sarah with collective eyebrows raised.

“Ah, not that
I've been looking!” babbled Sarah, who all of a sudden found the board of
vegetables needing chopped particularly fascinating.

This
interruption allowed Alyssa to slip out and into the relative safety of the
dining area itself by the same door Gretna had stormed through moments ago.

She breathed a
sigh of relief.

The Elk's Horn
had an extensive dining area, with long tables for larger parties dotted about
everywhere, with attendant benches or chairs sitting by, as well as cosy
smaller tables.  It had rustic varnished wooden floorboards and thick stylish
wooden pillars stretching to the ceiling.  Chandeliers of blackened metal
provided candlelight to the whole area.

It was cheery.

Customers sat,
ate, drank and talked all around the floor in little groups.  There was a good
variety in tonight.  Couples on dates, mostly elfin, enjoying quieter drinks in
the secluded corners.  Groups of human and dwarf workmen slumped by the larger
benches drinking away a hard day's labour.  Other groups of out of work men and
women of many races were located separate from the workers, casting jealous
looks at those with the money to afford more drink.

She found only
she and Gretna were out on the floor at this stage and not wanting another
berating in front of the customers, she immediately started doing her rounds,
taking orders for drinks.

She was sure
that nothing worse could happen to her here.

* *
* * *

“I'm hungry.”
grumbled Malak.

Victoria and
Malak were back in the coach for the third time that day, headed back in the
late evening to leave in their report.  Neither of them had eaten all day,
having spent most of it travelling and talking.

The trail had
run cold.

The two Militia
men who had found the body had confirmed what they already knew.  Lack of blood
in the body, highly unusual, but no evidence of foul play.  Just a very strange
death.  The only plus side was that the spiked railings were to be designated
as dangerous and removed with all haste in case someone else ended up dead on
them. 

In fact by the
time they had got to the Militia post, that was the main focus of the story,
lack of blood having become nothing but an afterthought.  The young new guy was
indeed now marked for promotion.  Good for him, bad for them.  They'd now
nothing else to go on.

Speaking with
the Death Warden and the mages of the Militia had yielded nothing in addition
to what they had learnt from the Corpse Warden.  Even a trip to the scene of
the 'accident' (now the incidents official designation as far as the Militia
were concerned) had yielded no additional clues, except to confirm that yes,
those railings were dangerous.  They would just have to complete their report
and it pass on as 'inconclusive'.

A marking that
Victoria never took lightly.  It smelt faintly of failure.

“Aren't you?”
Malak asked Victoria, frowning at her.

“Hungry?”
Victoria shrugged, broken out of her contemplations.  “Not really.”

“Balls!” scoffed
Malak with palpable disbelief.  “I bet you never even had a proper breakfast
did you?”

Well actually
she hadn't.  Maybe she was a bit hungry but there was no way she was going to
admit that to him.  Food could wait until
after
the report was done. 
She wanted that out of the way first of all even if it was getting late at
night now.

“I'll be fine,”
she said sternly, casting him her not-another-word look.

Unfortunately it
was at that moment that her stomach decided to rather vocally disagree with
her, emitting a hungry sounding grumble.

It made Victoria
flinch sharply, her mask of discipline slipping for a second.  A rather
superior smirk broke out over Malak's face.

“Your gut says
otherwise,” he said with a certain triumph.

Victoria sighed;
this was going to interrupt things.

“Fine.” She
folded her arms with the resignation of a disgruntled woman.  “Where do you
want to go?”

“Hanged Man?” he
said with what sounded like a certain amount of hope.

The hell with
that,
thought Victoria.

“I'm hungry, but
not desperate.  Not to mention that's a bit far to travel" she said,
hoping her guts didn't disagree again.  Thankfully they didn't.  “We can afford
to go to a tavern, not a hole in the ground.”

“Fine, what
about the Broken Dreams, it's closer?”

“They don't
serve food.  They say it's food, but really it isn't.”

Malak rolled his
eyes.  “Well there must be...wait.”

He banged the
inside front board of the coach with his fist.  “Hold up Harcan!” he shouted. 
Harcan, the driver, brought the coach shuddering to a halt.  Malak duly pointed
out the coach window to across the street.

“What about that
place?”

Sure enough,
across from where they had stopped was a tavern.  It was a large one, with
clean shuttered windows set in walls of modern red brick.  It looked expensive
but seemed to be popular enough judging from the movement of the shadows behind
the well lit windows.

She nodded. 
“Alright then, looks promising.”

They had the
coachman bring them round the front to drop them off.  They were not too far
from work so Victoria bid Harcan return there.  They would walk back later.

Victoria wrapped
her brown all-weather cloak around her, the night was still biting cold and she
beheld the sign that hung from the tavern’s entrance.  It seemed this place
even had its own motto.  “The Elk’s Horn.” Read the sign.  “Always fine food
and fine company.”

Heck with it,
maybe she was hungry after all.

* * * * *

Alyssa cleared
the elf couple’s plates, smiling sweetly and being rewarded with a nod from
both of them.  She liked elves.  They were always so polite and seemed to treat
her with a certain respect.  She didn't know whether that was the effect her
aura had on them or whether they just liked her.  A pity that most elves seemed
to have a strict code as to who they could and could not court.  In other
words, no inter-race courting.  You got the occasional rebel, obviously, but
they were few and far between.

Then again she'd
not have to worry about that now would she?  James had yet to arrive but she
wasn't worried.  Not yet.  He'd be here, she was sure of that.

It was late on
now, with not so many customers about.  It was halfway through the week, after
all, and few enough could afford drinks during the week.  Nonetheless there
were still a few about.  Gretna was just then seeing to a couple of newcomers. 
One was a woman, just in the process of hanging up a cloak.  She was dressed in
leggings and a tunic with a sword and pistol at her hip.