Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf (13 page)

Tollingstaff stroked his beard – a nicely clipped goatee affair – very thoughtfully. He took out a pipe, a long-stemmed handyman, with some fine engraving, and he began to fill it in a workman-like fashion. He companionably passed his pouch and I took out my knotwood briar.

‘You know,’ he said, after the pipe was lit satisfactorily, ‘there were not really that many magic rings. It’s rather like magic swords; if they don’t perform the job at the appropriate moment the owner is not likely to find himself or herself in a position to ask for a refund.’

I had to laugh at this.

‘Oh, they did exist all right,’ he continued, ‘magic rings, and the power they embodied – but folk, and by that I really mean all folk, tend to think that because magic rings feature in so many of the legends, the fields of Widergard must have been strewn with them. Their number, although I cannot give it to you exactly, was actually very small. The histories of many are reasonably well known, although what happened to them finally is less clear. Most of the rings – if you ignore their mystical powers – were quite unremarkable, particularly undistinguished looking, and they will probably turn up in a Fifth-Level flea market sometime when their magic runs out. Along with magic swords best used for ploughshares and enchanted spears that wouldn’t even make good clothes props.’

This was all news to me. ‘Their magic can run out?’ I said with some surprise. Whatever next – virgins on unicorns don’t always stay that way and heroes can have body odour problems? Just goes to show you that you can’t trust anything or anyone these days. I bet that some well-meaning body will soon announce that politicians don’t always have our best interests at heart, either.

‘Of course, magic can run out, my dear dwarf! continued the wizard. There is a power in this universe far, far greater than mundane magic!’

‘Black Sorcery?’ I ventured.

‘Entropy!’ he replied. ‘The whole universe, Widergard included, is running down – magic rings and swords aren’t excluded.’ He took a deep draw on his pipe. ‘Bane of wizardry, entropy.’

‘Makes it harder?’

‘No, it means we can’t give guarantees. Everybody wants a guarantee these days. How can you give a lifetime guarantee when the world is full of immortals and entropy won’t let up?’

‘I suppose that’s one of the reasons there were so many phoney magic rings?’

‘Exactly! As for the ones with real power, that is an appreciable amount of commercial clout, so their movements are more closely curtailed. So, bearing all of this in mind, I must say a humble origin is more likely for this particular piece of finery. There have been many other fine man-made pieces. Still …’

I interrupted his musings: ‘Just look at it, closely.’

This he did, going to the trouble of taking an enlarging glass from his cloak.

I thought about reporting such a flagrant breach of traditional tool use to the Detectives Guild. I mean, you don’t catch me walking around with a wizard’s staff, do you? Mind you, you don’t catch me walking around with an enlarging glass either.

‘Have you really seen work like that on anything else made by men, Tolly? Look at the faceting on that emerald and the cunning design of the setting. I’m not buying it.’

‘Yes, I take your point, but a magic ring is, after all, more than just a pretty bauble. There were other distinguishing attributes.’ He held the picture up to the inadequate lamp and scanned it again with his glass. ‘I must admit, though, I had not considered this before, despite having heard of the emerald, of course. What is your opinion on the manufacture, then? Dwarfish?’

‘No,’ I shook my head firmly. ‘Too little weight to the whole thing, the stone is cut all wrong and they would have used dwarf silver, not gold, for the mounting. Elvish, I would think.’

The wizard’s finely trimmed eyebrows shot up. ‘Now that would be interesting. If our esteemed Alderman Hardwood, a leader of the community, was in possession of an elfin ring …’ He looked at me keenly. ‘You have not explained your role in these proceedings. Who exactly is your client?’

I had a poke in my briar with a match. ‘The ring has gone missing, and I have been hired to bring it back. Let us just say, that I would like it to go back to the rightful owner.’

The wizard gave me a calculating look. ‘I think, Master Detective, that there may be more to it than that.’

‘Perhaps,’ I conceded. ‘It seems that all of a sudden a lot of different people have been taking more than a passing interest in my affairs. And there have been casualties.’

‘Oh yes, a dead elf.’ It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Yes, Master Dwarf, just because wizards do not have the pre-eminence of old, it does not mean we have completely lost use of our senses. We still keep an ear to the ground to keep in touch with what is happening in the place we helped create.’

This was interesting, somebody was finally willing to break cover and admit to knowing something about Truetouch. This wizard had sources, that much was for sure, but exactly how far could I trust him? Well, you have to speculate to accumulate as my great uncle Sanzaza ‘Grinder’ Strongoak used to say. But then again, he was killed in a mine cave-in while speculating for gold.

‘There is also another matter that I am attending to,’ I confided finally. ‘A missing person job that I have undertaken that seems to be having unexpected … ramifications.’

‘It appears that business has been brisk in the detective trade; perhaps I am in the wrong trade? Tell me, Nicely, if I may indeed call you that, have you always been in this line of work?’

I was surprised by the change of tack. ‘I started off with the Public Defender’s Office in New Iron Town, then moved into the CIA and then the Guards here in the Citadels, before I went private. I find a dwarf can go to places and do things where someone else might be a bit more conspicuous. For some reason we seem to be able to mix with the highest and the lowest, with equal ease. It must be our generous natures and open manner.’

‘Quite. Only that is not what I was thinking. I was more concerned with whether you had any skills in the traditional dwarf crafts.’

‘Well, I was a reasonable scholar, if that’s what you mean; mathematics, engineering, construction, mining, delving, excavating, quarrying. I just had a feeling that there might be more to life than a hole in the ground.’

I still feel this, even if the holes I now tend to find myself in are all of my own making.

‘But can you find your way around underground without confusion?’ Tolly said, twisting his goatee in an unbecoming fashion.

‘Can a demon barber dance the split-end hop?

‘I have absolutely no idea as to the meaning of what you just spoke,’ Tollingstaff shook his head sadly.

‘Yes, wizard. I mean yes!’

‘Good! First, though, I think I would like to get another opinion concerning the origin of this ring.’

‘We haven’t discussed pay rates yet.’

‘No, we haven’t.’

He pocketed the picture and got up, ready to leave. Apparently that was the end of the discussion. I’d heard that wizards weren’t exactly verbose, but Tollingstaff the Expedient could give lip-buttoning lessons to a clam. Finally, noticing my frustration, he relented slightly: ‘I will take care of this for a while if I may, and we will go track down someone in my enviable intelligence-gathering network who is admirably qualified to help us.’

We drank up and made our way to the Helmington. Parking had been easy in this part of town. Tolly said that not many wizards could afford to run their own transport. I got my first real good look at the wizard as we got into the wagon. The courtesy-light showed a cloak of a serviceable gabardine. Under it he wore a blue worsted three-piece that looked uncomfortably warm for this weather (mind you, they always do say that wizards are notoriously thin-blooded). He was younger than I had assumed, the goatee beard barely knotted. He had a small nose-ring, the sort that most younger wizards favour, and enough gold in his ears to buy a good set of wheels, if he should ever require them. I am quite content to wear one large gold hoop; it should be enough to buy me my ride back to New Iron Town, if needs be.

We were heading downhill to find Tolly’s contact. I needed some fuel and pulled in at an empty stall. The pump boy shouted across as I opened the door, ‘Hey, can’t you read?!’ I looked up, to where he was pointing: ‘Elf Service Station’. This was getting beyond a joke, so I just sharpened the old axe on the forecourt and watched the sparks fly up into the night air – the pump boy soon came round to my way of thinking. What a way to run a business!

We dwarfs have a fairly ambivalent attitude to the petrochemical industry. Although our subterranean interests have always leaned towards the unearthing of precious metals and stones, when times have been hard, and to do our bit for the industrial revolution, we have of course mined coal. Most of the largest open-cast works in the north, I am now rather ashamed to admit, were made by dwarfs. And, as with the construction industry, we soon had a very nice number going, thank you. When it came to drilling for oil and gas we must have had our heads stuck somewhere other than in a hole in the ground! Maybe it was just complacency; whatever, we blew it completely. Men had drilled, tapped and barrelled before we had even woken up to the possibilities of this new fuel, and it stung. There is one thing that the Dwarf Brotherhood loathes above all else, and that is seeing the opportunity for a quick return go out of the palace door. The coal and oil industries have since then co-existed in a state of some unease. I related this story to Tolly as we headed down the Hill. He wondered if this tended to colour my attitude to my client. I wondered too.

We finally pulled up in front of what was once a Temple of the Knights of the Outer Circle, and was now a major art gallery. I was about to meet a Citadel luminary, name of Slant (artists, like elves apparently, can manage with only the single designation). It was a good thing that Tolly had told me that the artist was a man. This would not have been my first impression. He had a voice like a troll, he was as broad as a troll and he was as grey as a troll (though this, he later informed me, was caused by his largely nocturnal, celebrity lifestyle). His large skull, with its closely cropped bristles of hair, had as many bumps as a troll’s and his spade-sized hands – if they had not been engaged in gesticulating excitedly – would surely have been dragging on the ground in a troll-like manner. Fortunately, when you caught a glimpse of the eyes, they were as lively, deep and brown as a pint of newly pulled ale, and all thoughts of direct troll kinship vanished immediately. Slant, Tolly had told me, was a very skilled and gifted artisan, a great worker of metal, producing everything from the most intricate pieces of jewellery to room-size sculptures requiring under-floor reinforcement. This was his first one-man exhibition, and tonight was the reception.

Upon entering the temple I’d immediately made out the artist. It would have been impossible to miss him. Slant dominated the room, built like a bastion projecting from the gallery backwall and seeing off admirers from all sides. His more than ample frame was draped in an outfit that seemed part artist’s smock and part war pavilion. When he caught sight of Tollingstaff he leapt across the room, picked him up, and playfully threw him in the air, just making the catch before the wizard hit the flagstones. So much for the dignity of wizards.

‘Slant, will you put me down, man, before you drop me!’ Slant just threw him higher. ‘Glad to see you were able to make it, Tolly. You should get out more. Too much time spent in small dark rooms. All those scripts and stinks can’t be healthy. You should take up a hobby; bird spotting’s very therapeutic, I’m told. Lots of fresh air and nature stuff. Mind you, you do a fair turn in the flight department yourself. Look everyone, it’s the famous Pied Wizard.’

‘Slant!’ shouted Tollingstaff, who was turning distinctly pale, offsetting his dark garb. ‘And who’s this with you?’ said Slant, after he had finally finished ruffling the wizard’s feathers.

‘This,’ said Tolly, with some trace of formality as he straightened his attire and regained some trace of colour. ‘This is Master Detective Nicely Strongoak, and it is on his behalf that I am here, not to be used as a beanbag by some grunt with more muscles than brain cells.’

Slant gave me a sly look. ‘Would you like a game of beanbag too?’ he asked.

‘Only if it’s my go first,’ I replied, tensing and mentally preparing myself for any quick moves on his part.

He gave it a moment’s consideration, then said: ‘And I bet you would.’ He laughed, a roar like one of those big cats from down south.

‘All right!’ he clapped his outsized hands and I think I felt an eardrum perforate. ‘I will be back with you later, got a few potential purchasers here that I have to impress. Just get stuck into the goodies. There’s a whole mess of food and drink, and we have some major artistic types here, so have some fun, and do enjoy the show.’ He leapt off again.

We were still in the entrance hall of the former temple, an impressive structure with a vaulted roof and wide glass windows, although as I felt forced to comment, the plaster beams did not add much. Tolly was of the opinion that much of the progress made in the development of the industrial basis of Widergard was due to the search for an effective cure for woodworm. This, of course, was not a problem that dwarf homes had. We moved through to the main exhibition rooms, where Slant’s pieces were displayed. To my great surprise, I did enjoy the show. Even though my aesthetic sensibilities are somewhat atrophied, my dwarfish instincts could tell that this man had a natural affinity with metal. His small pieces were incredibly intricate and his silverwork showed that he was capable of great delicacy and feeling. I particularly enjoyed the larger pieces: sheets of steel and copper welded together at fantastic angles. He also had a sense of humour, albeit in dubious taste. One work entitled
Man’s inhumanity to pixie
resembled the front window of a wagon with a thankfully unrecognisable organic blob caught in the wiper. Also the food and drink were excellent and available in copious quantities, the way dwarfs like it. Actually there aren’t many things you can do to a dish of food that a dwarf will not approve of, if the dish is large enough.