Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (26 page)

“We’re back?” I said. “How can we have returned already?”

“We were never that far from the city,” said Shay. “A few hours travel at most. You have to remember, this trip was largely a promotional stunt to advertise the poker tournament. The ship’s real maiden journey will immediately follow this one. Maybe upon hearing word of the tournament’s conclusion, the captain decided to turn the ship toward the harbor.”

“But…we’ve had murders,” I said. “Two of them. And we’re not done investigating them. We can’t let people off the ship. The captain couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to want to let our killer go. He agreed to help us, in any way possible.”

“Maybe he heard we had Jimmy in custody and thought the problem solved.”

“Why would he think that?” I said. “We never sent word to Olaugh that our investigation was over.”

“I don’t know, Daggers,” said Shay, exasperated. “I’m just trying to play devil’s advocate. For all I know, Olaugh didn’t even inform the captain of what was going on.”

“Oh please,” I said. “As if someone of the Boatswain’s caliber would simply forget to mention…”

I trailed off, and my brows scrunched of their own accord.
Forget.
Could it be? I glanced at Ghorza, still delusional and without the will or way to lift herself off the floor.

“Daggers?”

I glanced at Shay. “Yes?”

“Were you planning on finishing that thought?”

“I was,” I said. “But before I could, it sparked a new one. Jimmy. Jimmy suffered memory lapses, and though I doubt large parts of his story, I believe him about those. Ghorza here is barely conscious. And then there’s Boatswain Olaugh.”

“What about him?”

“What’s the common thread between the three of them?”

Shay blinked. “I don’t know. Olaugh doesn’t have a drinking problem, does he?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. “But keep that in mind for later. Something else.”

“They’re all…
large?”

“Not exactly what I was going for, but close enough,” I said. “They’re all low breeds, or partially, anyway.”

Shay’s face darkened, and she frowned. “Come on, Daggers. I know you can be a bit of a jerk sometimes, but I’ve never known you to be a bigot.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “You can use whatever politically correct term you want, but Ghorza’s a full-blooded orc. Olaugh is at best a half-orc, and by all physical indications, Jimmy is half-troll.”

Ghorza moaned at mention of her name, but she didn’t move beyond rolling her head.

Shay crossed her arms. “And?”

“They’re not known for being the sharpest tools in the shed,” I said.

Shay threw up her hands. “I can’t believe this! I slept with a bigot.”

“No,” I said. “That’s not what I’m getting at. What I’m trying to say is—
what if my drink wasn’t spiked?”

“Huh? Now you’ve really lost me.”

“You may not be clairvoyant, but you know magic,” I said. “You studied it for years. The psychic disciplines, specifically. So tell me, what can different sorts of mediums do? See into the past? Control objects with their minds? Influence people’s thoughts?”

“Sure,” said Shay. “Psychics, telekinetics, and telepaths, respectively.”

“And how does telepathy work, exactly?”

Shay’s eyebrows knit together. “Hold on. You’re not suggesting—”

I jabbed a finger in her direction. “Does mental acuity affect one’s ability to be mind controlled, or doesn’t it?”

Shay sighed. “According to the texts I’ve read, yes. People who are less intelligent, or less psychically disciplined, are more susceptible to mental manipulation than others. As far as how telepathy works, it’s more of an art than a science. The strengths of the telepath and the target are both important, but so is the technique. Successful telepaths often incorporate elements of hypnotism into their magic. Verbal suggestions, trigger words and phrases, even repetitive, calming visual cues. And substances that dull the mind can potentially make the subject more susceptible to manipulation.”

“Like, for example,
alcohol?”

“Yes. Like alcohol,” said Shay. “But are you
honestly
suggesting a telepath was mind controlling Jimmy, or Ghorza, during their episodes?”

“Is it that outlandish?” I said. “If you accept my hypothesis of race-dependent mental resistance to the psychic arts—and the fact that you haven’t already vehemently argued against it makes me think you’ve come across the same hypothesis before—then it makes a lot of sense, especially once you consider the contribution of alcohol. Jimmy was drinking heavily before his exit from the poker tourney, and throughout the past few days. Ghorza showed her fondness for liquor before the tournament began. Remember her hangover? And what about my own experience? I thought my drink had been spiked, but what if my drinking had simply provided a convenient moment for a psychic assault? My symptoms weren’t exactly what I would’ve expected from a drug. And then there was your own mental lapse, right before you were pushed over the ship’s edge.”

Shay chewed on her lip. “I did have a drink right before I exited to the deck.”

“But you’re a half-elf,” I said. “And, if I’m being honest, you’re exceptionally smart. Even with a bit of alcohol in your system, the best a psychic attack could do is momentarily stun you—just long enough for someone to assault you.”

Ghorza continued to mutter and ask for her manservant.

Shay glanced at the woman. “And you think Vlad is behind this?”

“We ignored him because he wasn’t in the game,” I said, “but he was always there. Always at Ghorza’s back. Always close enough to initiate a psychic attack. He could’ve mind-controlled Jimmy into attacking Verona, who proved herself a serious competitor and, because of her elven heritage, immune to his telepathy. We didn’t account for him the first night. He was tall enough to have delivered the downward knife blow into Lumpty’s back, and he could’ve sent Jimmy after me in the engine room while tailing and ultimately attacking you on the deck.”

“So Jimmy’s attack on Ghorza earlier today…?”

“A distraction,” I said. “A way to ensure we’d find Jimmy in the act and pin the murders on him. And Ghorza’s been little more than a pawn the entire time. Think about it. Our initial intel suggested Ghorza was one of three prime suspects. Steck was right.
Almost.”

“I don’t know, Daggers,” said Shay. “I find it hard to believe Vlad could mind control Ghorza so effectively and for so long. But—”

The ship’s horn blared again. I glanced out the windows. The shore neared.

“But what?” I asked.

“Nothing,” said Shay, her eyes following my own. “We need to find Vlad, and soon. Before we dock. Everything else can wait.”

39

Shay and I headed out onto the
Prodigious’s
deck and toward the front where the gangway extended, thinking Ghorza’s condition, her missing cash, and the timing of the ship’s horn couldn’t all be coincidental. Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones who’d heard the blare of the horn and noticed our approach into New Welwic. A crowd of at least two or three hundred gathered near the ship’s exit, milling and chatting, some with bags and some without.

I stopped shy of it.

Shay tipped her head toward the crowd. “Want to split up? Might give us a better chance of finding him.”

I shook my head. “Finding Vlad isn’t as important as making sure he stays on the ship, and to ensure that, we need to get the crew on our side. You hurry to the bridge. Get the captain, or Olaugh if he’s lucid. Steck, too, if he’s nearby. Bring them back with help. I’ll work my way toward the gangplank. Hopefully, there’ll be a couple crewmen there. Either I can convince them to help me, or I’ll figure out a way to stall them until you arrive with the cavalry.”

Shay nodded and ran off, and I waded into the crowd. They stretched across almost the full width of the
Prodigious’s
deck. Those lucky enough to have found a spot at the railing rested their elbows while those behind them peeked over their shoulders on tiptoes. They chatted and smoked, and I caught snippets of conversation, from relationship quibbles to remarks on the weather, but more often than not unadulterated awe at the size of the ship. Even after having been aboard her for three days, I was still amazed myself, but I forced my eyes and attention inward, not on the roofs over which we towered.

Where could Vlad be? He was tall. He should stand out, at least over a goodly portion of the humans and dwarves in the audience. What had the man been wearing? Blast it, I couldn’t remember. He blended into the background—by design, I was sure. Of course, he couldn’t be alone, not truly. Given the sheer weight of the poker earnings, the man couldn’t have squirreled them all away in a backpack or duffel bag. He must have a trolley with him, one of the shiny brass ones with the red velvet trim. The sun shone despite the season, and I scanned my eyes over the crowd, looking for a coppery shine. I didn’t see one.

I felt a shudder, and the ship’s horn sounded yet again, deafeningly loud now that I’d reached the open air.

Cursing the speed with which we seemed to have moved, I pushed my way toward the gangway, mumbling apologies as I shoved people out of my way. Within a moment I’d spotted them: two crewmen in navy and white wrestling with the fixings of a huge ladder, and a third, busy holding back the impatient crowd.

I stepped toward them and paused. To their side stood a tall, thin man in a light brown overcoat. His pointed ears gave proof to his heritage, and though I spotted him in profile, I recognized him.

He turned and saw me just as I did him.

“Vlad!” I sprang toward him.

He returned the favor, springing toward me with outstretched arms.

The movement caught me off guard. I twisted and spun, lifting an arm to knock away Vlad’s incoming one. We grappled in midair, each of us failing to find purchase before slipping past one another and trading spots.

I turned back to face him. Vlad pivoted and reached into his coat.

I was too old of a hat to overlook the movement. I danced to the side as Vlad’s arm whipped out. A silvery gleam sparkled in his hand before shooting out, impaling itself in the wooden railing behind me with a thrum.

“He’s got a knife!” I yelled.

The crowd around me had already pulled back, but at my shout they gasped and pressed into one another, suddenly fearful.

Vlad reached for his jacket again. I dove for his legs, scrummage-style, but the lithe elf jumped over me, landing back on the side of the boat by the railing. I rolled, hoping the movement would buy me a few seconds and keep me from getting speared by another flying dagger.

Crack!

Vlad howled as one of the sailors whacked him over the shoulders with a boat hook. The knife he’d already palmed clattered to the deck, and he stumbled.

I gathered my feet and rushed him, slamming into him with all the force my two hundred pound body could muster in an eight foot run up.

It was enough. I plastered Vlad against the deck, pinning his arms against his back to keep him from drawing any more knives.

“The gig is up, Vlad,” I said, my heart beating strongly in my chest and my breath coming heavy. “We know all about your con and the mind control, so don’t get any fancy ideas or I’ll knock you senseless before you can do any more damage.”

“Help!” shouted Vlad. “Someone help me! Get this man off me! He’s crazy!”

“It’s alright,” I called out. “I’m a police officer. Now tell me, Vlad. Where’s the money? What did you do with it?”

“He’s a liar!” called Vlad. “Help! Please!”

The crowd held its distance. The sailors looked at each other in confusion. The one with the boat hook hefted his weapon.

“Now hold on there,” I said. “I have a badge. It’s just—”

“Move back! Everyone!” Boatswain Olaugh’s voice boomed through the crowd, stilling the crewmen. When I looked up, I found him, Steele, Steck, and a pair of additional sailors rushing up the deck.

Vlad blinked and saw them, too. “Wait… The boatswain? You really
are
cops?”

“What?” I said. “You think we dragged Jimmy off just for funzies? Now tell me, where’s the money?”

I looked around me. There wasn’t a shiny brass and felt trolley nearby. No duffel bag or trunk. Where’d he stashed the crowns?

“No,” said Vlad, though the conviction in his voice had faded. “This can’t be right. I was sure you and that Steele woman were frauds. But…look, you’ve got to let me go. If you’re being honest, we’re on the same side!”

“Right,” I said. “Tell it to the jury. Steele? Do you have any cuffs, or rope?”

“Oh, come on, man,” said Vlad. “You can’t be serious!”

A twinge zipped through my body, and my brain fluttered, wracked by a sudden, fleeting pang of confusion.
Come on, man.
That wasn’t Vlad’s line. It belonged to someone else.

Theo.

He’d uttered it over and over. When we first met. Before Johann’s exit. Before Jimmy’s exit. During the hand where I ousted Orrin and Shay when I’d suffered my drug-like symptoms. In the final hand where Ghorza prevailed. What was it Shay had said about telepaths? How they incorporated elements of hypnotism? Like trigger words and phrases?

I recalled Theo’s face during that final showdown. That tensing of his jaw, that grimace as he’d pushed in his chips. I’d thought it a tell. A false one, perhaps, as it had turned out to be given his excellent starting hand, but a tell nonetheless. But what if I’d been wrong? What it if wasn’t a tell? What if his shoulder were simply sore and had started to bother him as the day went on?

Theo stood about three and a half feet tall. His shoulder reached to Shay’s hip. Right where her bruise was.

40

“It’s not Vlad,” I said. “It’s Theo.”

“Excuse me?” said Shay.

I stood, pulling Vlad off the ground and handing him to Olaugh. “I said it’s not Vlad. Theo’s our guy. He’s the one behind the mind control.”

“And you’re sure of this because…?”

I gave her the condensed study guide explanation.

Shay nodded in response. “Theo did use that phrase a lot. And I noticed the grimace, too. He’s small, but I was woozy and off balance. He could’ve knocked me overboard.”