Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf (24 page)

‘But that is no reason to kill Leo Courtkey.’

‘No, most certainly not, even if his behaviour did not always match his looks.’

‘Don’t judge him too quickly, my lady. It couldn’t have been easy. Think of his position: a stranger to his family, outcast by virtue of his looks and manners. He finds a niche for himself, riding horses, but there is always something else riding him, the desire to be something he isn’t.’

‘But he cut a lot of corners to achieve his aims,’ she shrugged. A lifting of the shoulders that gave me gooseflesh in a place gooseflesh has no right to be. ‘And dreams aren’t achieved by putting powder up your nose.’

‘Is it any wonder?’ I tried to keep my thoughts on the subject at hand. ‘Any wonder that he should search for better things, even hide himself in powder-induced dreams? Perhaps then one day there was a case of mistaken identity, or someone made a chance remark: “Hey Leo, you know, in this light you look just like an elf, but in a good way!”’

‘Thank you.’

‘And so he has an idea, he bleaches his already fair hair and loads up his treasure chest, by fair means and foul, and then after some reformational knife work, he can finally feel at home.’

I don’t know why I found myself defending Leo. I mean, the chances were that his treasure chest was loaded thanks to a race-track fraud. Maybe I still felt like I should have helped him more; the deal that hadn’t been struck, but I knew I was going to take the job.

‘Could there have been sufficient reason for the Surf Elves to kill Leo?’

‘Over a little reformational knife work? These are elves, Master Detective!’ the queenly tones took on a tone of real indignation.

‘How about an argument over a particularly valuable lost bauble?’

The elf queen looked at me strangely. ‘Bauble? An interesting word that, Master Detective. No, not even a lost “bauble” would be sufficient motive for a death.’

‘I wonder, my lady. I just wonder. Are you so very sure? Haven’t you been told what else has been happening in the Citadel this summer?’

‘I am aware, thank you and such matters will be dealt with. But now it is my turn to say to you, Master Dwarf, you should not judge too quickly. Do not think too ill of these latter-day elves that missed out on the Great Age of the Elves; times have changed and it is not unnatural that they occasionally rail against such changes. They expect wide sweeps of colour in their lives and some are not content with the delicate shades of grey they encounter.’

‘Who exactly are these latter-day elves, then?’

‘Why, they are our children, Master Detective. Did you not know? With the Departure, when the Higher Elves left Widergard and we gave the folk of Widergard the right to self-determination, we all took a vow to never return; a vow I now break at some cost to myself. For good or ill, Widergard was now the responsibility of those that lived there. We did not take into account our children, those we were yet to bear in the Twilight Kingdoms of the Hidden Lands. They only heard about Widergard in song, in tales of heroism and great deeds. They grew bored with the Twilight and the Hidden Lands, and longed for the vibrant colours and adventure of Widergard. And they had made no such vows.’

‘So you sent us your juvenile delinquents?’

She said sharply, ‘Your forefather would not have spoken to me like that, Master Strongoak. I am not sure I like your attitude.’

‘I’m not sure I like it either, but it’s the only one I’ve got and it seems to get me three meals a day, when I need them, and a glass of something sticky for when I’m home nights grieving about my attitude.’

The elf queen looked at me down the wrong end of the telescope of time, like she didn’t really understand everything that she was seeing. Elves, hey, sometimes you just wanted to explain the modern world to them in very simple one-syllable words while dangling the whole lot over molten lava.

‘It’s like you said, lady, times change. And we are talking about a bit more than youthful high-jinks here.’

‘I know, word does get back to us, even in the Hidden Lands. That is why I sent my daughter to keep an eye on things for me.’

‘Ah yes, your daughter. How is Thelen?’

‘Recovering, she sends her best wishes.’

‘That’s top-of-the-tree, really.’

This was accepted gracefully and she continued her story. ‘You have to understand our position. Our vows could hardly be said to include our unborn. How could we deprive them of what we ourselves had loved so much? So in the end we gave them leave to sail to Widergard. We made a condition, though. They could come to Widergard, but only as long as they brought a gift, a gift that we thought would more than recompense for any problem their return might cause. A gift to put an end to all the fighting and conflict that had occurred in Widergard since our departure and the Death of the Great Kings. A gift to put an end to all the petty kingdoms, princes and chiefs that had sprung up; we gave you the gift of democracy.’

‘Yeah, democracy is just top-of-the-tree too.’

‘It is indeed “top-of-the-tree”. Rule of the people by the people. No more kings and Emperors, petty despots.’

‘Just councillors and aldermen instead.’

‘No system is perfect, Master Detective. Like you, we work with what we have at hand.’ She sat again. Good, she was giving me a pain in the neck – in more than one sense! I had me a speech to make.

‘Now, let me tell you a story, my lady. It concerns a dwarf king called Azed the Sixty-fourth. He lived a long time ago, by our reckoning, though to you this may seem like last year. As the Prince, Azed was groomed for the succession and soon became ready and willing to rule the kingdom. Now his father, Kole the forty-third, was a particularly healthy and long-lived individual and Azed soon became bored waiting for his father’s demise and so he took up a hobby. He became interested in fly-fishing. Almost to his surprise he was rather good at it, something of an expert; his book is still considered the definitive guide to the sport amongst my kin. He was never happier than when he was up to his waist in a mountain stream, casting his “little gnat” for some unsuspecting fish.

‘Now eventually Kole the forty-third did die, and although there was general sadness at his passing, he had had a very long and fruitful life and everyone was rather interested in seeing how his son, Azed, would manage as a king. So, it was with keen anticipation that Coronation Day approached. Azed had taken the preparations seriously; he had been measured for the ceremonial robes and had practised with the ceremonial axe.

‘Everything went well in the Royal Cavern on the big day. The palace had never looked more beautiful. A thousand, thousand coloured lights shone off a thousand, thousand shining mirrored surfaces and fountains laughed and great music played, bouncing merrily around the subjects’ heads. Crown on head, surveying his subjects, Azed spoke his first words as king.

‘“Am I your true king?”

‘“Yes,” replied the assembled throng, who liked this kind of thing.

‘“And do you vow to follow me with all your hearts?”

‘“Verily,” lustily cried the assembled throng – that being the only way to cry “verily”.

‘“And is my word law?”

‘“Yes,” said the assembled throng, although there were now one or two murmurs, as this last clause had caused a few problems in the past.

‘“Good,” said Azed. “Now listen, all you assembled, for this is my first and only decree: there shall be no more kings.”

‘And with that Azed went off back to his fishing and never set foot in the Royal Cavern again. Now, these events caused a bit of an uproar in the court. Each day his courtiers would stand waiting in vain at the riverbank begging him for new instructions, since to choose a new king would be to break the king’s law, and this they could not do. Each day they waited and each day they came away disappointed.

‘Eventually something had to be done and so all of the dwarf provinces, from the most far-flung parts of the kingdom, each elected a wise and popular representative and sent him or her to the Royal Cavern. There they put their heads together to solve the problem of the king who said there should be no more kings. This temporary committee could not solve the problem either, of course, as there was no answer. However they debated long and hard and whenever any other problems came up, these would be presented to the temporary committee, and being made up of the wisest and most popular dwarfs, generally they would make a fair stab at solving the problem, which kept everybody happy. And when one of the temporary committee members died, why, they just elected another one. So, when Azed the sixty-fourth, henceforth known as the “loved”, finally died, without progeny, but with a veritable library of fly-fishing manuscripts to his name, they realised their problem was solved for them.’

‘You tell a good story, Master Dwarf.’

‘Except it is not just a story, my lady. The whole of dwarfdom is still ruled by the Temporary Committee. It is the oldest temporary committee in Widergard. So thank you very much for your democracy. We do not need your brand of dubious party politics.’

‘I still say, Master Dwarf, do not judge them too hastily.’

I remained unconvinced and said as much, adding: ‘What about Highbury?’

‘He will be punished.’

‘But will it be enough?’ I said, with sufficient vehemence to make the elfess raise an eyebrow.

‘And does he admit to killing Leo Courtkey?’

‘No. He knows nothing of this act.’

‘I didn’t think so, but I needed to ask. How about Perry Goodfellow?’

Here her voice grew genuinely sad. ‘That, it seems, was an accident.’ I held my breath. ‘After Perry won the silly trophy, there was a challenge from one of the elves.’

‘From Highbury,’ I interrupted.

She nodded. ‘It seems they tried to ride one of the waves that come in from the Big Sea at Midsummer, the Great Curve they call it. Perry came off his board, close to the Troll’s Teeth rocks; his body could not be found.’

‘While Highbury on his enchanted board just managed to make it back again, I suppose. How come Liza Springwater never knew anything about this supposed challenge?’

‘A contest between equals, a private matter.’

‘Conveniently private!’

‘Master Dwarf, I am not obliged to give you this information. I have been given the story and I have no reason not to believe it.’

‘Ah, of, course – live elves don’t lie! They still should have reported the accident.’ I was getting hot and bothered and ready to bang a few tables and kick a few priceless antiques around the room. ‘They broke Citadel law with the cover-up!’

‘I know the law, Master Dwarf, I helped write it!’

‘I know that too, lady, but it doesn’t belong to you now and neither does the Citadel. Time, as has been mentioned, moves on, whether this is agreeable to you or not.’

For the first time I became truly aware of the huge gulf that divided us, almost countless years. I wondered what it must be like, where everyday life was like a dream and reality might be a thousand years ago. The room suddenly seemed to get very cold. I got up. ‘If that’s it, I think I had better go.’

‘Of course. I would not wish to detain you.’

I could not think of an appropriate farewell, and she seemed once again to be lost in thought. I walked across the room. It felt like walking halfway across Widergard. Just as I got to the door, she called out my name; I turned.

‘Nicely, you are very like your forefather, you know,’ and she raised a hand in salute.

My jaw set grimly. ‘The given name, My Lady, is Strongoak.’

‘I know, I know, I gave it to you.’ She raised her hand and a golden glow lit up the room and then she was gone – like magic.

Outside the door, I met an elf lord. I guessed he was the one who had saved me from Highbury and his jolly band, but I did not ask and he did not say. At first glance he could have passed for a Surf Elf; on closer examination I realised that he was moulded from different stuff, hardly flesh and bone at all, more like polished marble. So, these were the elves that still lived in the Hidden Lands, the mothers and fathers of the Higher Elves of Widergard. Well, I for one kind of hoped they’d all stay there.

He led me silently through a maze of poorly lit tunnels, all of which looked vaguely familiar. We came to a small door, just ajar. I walked through, and turning, finally tried a few words of thanks, but he shook his head, as if to say it did not matter. That made me feel less gracious, so I just continued, and found myself back in Old Town, in the Citadel. I had been in another set of the vast network of tunnels that I now knew undermined the Hill. Something must have happened to my time sense, though, while I was blinded. I couldn’t believe that there was a horse still living that could have got me back to the Citadel in the time my journey had taken, but here I was.

I looked in the Citadel walls for some hint of a door, but there was no sign even my trained dwarf eyes could see. Maybe they were tired, like the rest of me. I shrugged and went looking for a street-train. I was close to the healers where I had dropped off Telfine an age ago. I decided to check on his health before heading back to the Two Fingers. I could also get a dressing for the spot where I had been maced.

The drains and gutters were awash with water from the recent deluge, and although the sun shone again, the air felt far better and cleaner. People were dashing hither and thither, but no one seemed to know what was going on. A street-train was not to be found for rings or silver. I decided that if feet were the order of the day, I might as well go and collect a certain bearer’s package that should be waiting for me at the office.

I finally made it to the door of the Healers’ House and I ran straight into Ralph. He had been to see Telfine and looked tired, but elated. I was pleased to see there were no obvious signs of the young scout’s hide under his fingernails, so he obviously hadn’t ripped it off as he had threatened previously. Ralph paced and brought me up to date while a physic added some more stitches to my stitch collection. It was good news for once. The rain had come in time to prevent the fire from reaching the docks and industrial areas; it had saved the Citadel, but was too late for most of the Little Hundred. The damage there was probably far worse than the instigators had planned, thanks to the tinder-dry conditions; I credit them with that much compassion. Maybe I’m getting soft.

The Citadel mood was one of stunned disbelief; councilmen were to be heard on every street corner promising compensation for the victims and new homes for the survivors. There was still bad feeling amongst the gnomes; things were still far from settled. Further up the Hill, wary High Folk were boarding their windows and arms were being kept close at hand.

‘Did I ever tell you Strongoak’s Third Law, Ralph?’

‘I think you may have mentioned it a few times in passing. Something about it taking very few people to cock things up for a whole lot of people.’

‘Yes. Well, I’ve just thought of a corollary, Ralph: when things are cocked up it takes an awful lot of people to sort them out again.’

Ralph had to agree. All Citadel Guard leave had been cancelled indefinitely and there was talk of them calling an emergency muster for reserves – which would probably include me! The
Citadel Press
, with Josh’s help, looked like it might assist in defusing the situation. It had just hit the streets and Ralph showed me a copy. Josh had done a remarkably fast job, with some excellent photography of the despoiled Little Hundred that really hit home. He’d probably end up with some sort of award, which would really annoy him. Lacking definite evidence, the
Press
put the conspiracy down to ‘subversive elements’ within the Citadel Alliance Party. Further support for this conspiracy theory was provided by the Guard’s discovery of a plot to blow up the First Level Gate – the Elf Gate. It was an interesting choice; did someone know that it was unprotected by magic? (Would this have made a difference?) Whatever, it would have crippled the Citadel. The perpetrators, small grunt goblins for the most part, were in gnome dress and had orders to create as much extra damage as possible.

‘Congratulations, Sergeant-at-Arms Fieldfull.’ I meant it.

‘Make that Captain Fieldfull.’

‘Double congratulations. They do say it’s an ill wind …’

‘Yes, and this wind looks like it just might have blown away a few CAP sympathisers from the upper ranks of the Citadel Guard, not to mention many more in the lower ranks.’

I then filled in Ralph with details of my adventures and misadventures since we last spoke. He was impressed and he does not play that tune easily.

‘A real live elf queen?’

‘And not just any old elf queen. The Elf Queen, the one they write the stories and sing the songs about.’

Ralph shook he head in disbelief. ‘Whatever next? Dragons and elf queens, you wouldn’t think this was the modern age at all, with legends walking the streets of Widergard again.’

‘They never went away, Ralph. We occasionally just liked to pretend otherwise.’

‘This is really something though, Nicely. Please, just say you had a quill and got her to sign something.’

‘Why would I do that, Ralph?’

‘You could sell her seal for a hundred crowns down at the Old Town markets.’

I would have hit him, but the physic still had a needle in my skull.

‘Just make sure you get it all down in writing for the gold badges, well at least enough so that the story has a beginning, middle and end – or maybe just a beginning and an end.’ Then it was time for Ralph to dash off and help with the distribution of the
Citadel Press
’s special scroll and generally keep whatever peace the Hill was in the mood for.

Telfine, when I finally reached him, was in reasonable shape, although he could scarcely raise a whisper. He was still furious about being spotted by the elves and worried about exactly what his chief had in store for him by way of punishment. I tried to tell him that if it hadn’t been for him Thelen might even now be taking the slow boat back west and I, and a certain elf queen, were both unbelievably grateful. This helped a bit, but I think he was more scared of Ralph than any number of elf queens. As I was getting ready to leave, he beckoned me close.

‘I never did get to give the chief my full report.’ His voice dropped even quieter as fatigue and a sense of the dramatic kicked in. I leant closer. ‘That Highbury, before the elfess tracked him down, guess where he had been?’ Telfine’s eyes lit up through the dressings. I shook my head.

‘Only to Hardwood House. The house of the high and mighty Alderman Hardwood himself. So what do you think of that?’ I thought a lot about that, all the way to Hardwood House.

The house steamed discreetly after the summer storm. The battlements were still ravening-horde-free. The lawns were still immaculate, and, incongruously, after the rain, sprinklers made rainbows in the warm sunshine. The pool still waited, aching for a swimmer; perhaps Mrs Hardwood was nearby, working on that one-piece tan.

Goodenough opened the door. He gave me that same look; I didn’t waste time on introductions. I’d already seen plenty enough of him.

I asked to see Mrs Hardwood. He went away a while and then returned, quietly asking me to follow. Follow I did, but not quietly.

‘You know Goodenough, you’ve got excellent posture. I bet you were in the army.’

‘Indeed,’ he replied.

‘Good for the posture, all that standing to attention.’

‘Assuredly.’

‘Very distinctive too. You can always tell a military man, whether he’s on his way back from the beach or sitting in a seedy little bar with a couple of goblin types.’

This did not rate a response.

‘Of course, I bet that sort of training makes you really handy with a sword, or an axe.’

Goodenough turned abruptly and I nearly walked into him. His normally grey pallor sported red spots of high colour on his cheeks. They looked as out of place as spats on a gnome, but there was no doubting his sincerity.

‘Very handy,’ he enunciated carefully.

‘And you clear up all the little problems for the Hardwoods, don’t you? For Mr Hardwood as well as Mrs Hardwood?’

‘Yes, I clear up all their … little … problems. Just remember that.’

Goodenough didn’t add anything else, but spun round again and walked on, faster this time as if trying to make a point. I stepped lively after him, speaking to his back.

‘Want to know when you first gave it away, Goodenough? When you made the crack about soft-tops. How would you know I drove a soft-top? Was it you, Goodenough, or Petal and his gang, who swung the axe into Courtkey’s unprotected skull? Did you delegate on account of the fact that Leo had been your workmate? Come on Goodenough, no snappy comments now?’

The rest of the walk was in a silence so intense that it would have made a lordly tomb sound like the practice room for the
All-Star Syncopated Gnome Home Jump Band
.

We passed through what seemed like the whole length of the rest of the house, using the corridors this time. The walls were all hung with the regulation age-old tapestries, but this time I did not give the fittings my attention. When you’ve just been chatting with someone who probably saw them being woven, suddenly they did not seem so impressive.

Goodenough showed me into an archive filled with scrolls and books that would not have disgraced the Citadel Central Archive. The red spots on his cheeks still looked like taillights on a steam-train.

‘Better watch that blood pressure, Goodenough,’ I said under my breath. ‘You don’t want to go having one of those “on-purposes”, do you?’

He shot me a look that could have pierced blue steel, but I was made of sterner stuff.

Everything was very quiet and very ordered in the archive; neither in the design nor in the trappings could I discern any trace of the lady of the house. At one end in a simple chair, with a small table next to it, sat Mr Hardwood. His beard was neatly trimmed, his pate was polished and the long hair at the back was pulled into a small ponytail. He sat reading in front of a very long window. It stretched from floor to ceiling and filled the room with evening light, picking out dust motes in the air, caught momentarily like moths in amber, but on the small table there still burned a small lamp.

‘I asked to see Mrs Hardwood,’ I said, even though I’d realised this particular meeting was inevitable. He looked up from his book for the first time. ‘My wife, Master Strongoak, has been taken ill. She has been advised by her physics to take a holiday, somewhere cooler, with less excitement.’

‘For her health.’

‘Indeed, for her health.’ He regarded me levelly. ‘She has, however, left adequate remuneration to cover her contractual obligations.’ He pointed to an envelope on the small table. Even from this distance I could see it contained bills, a lot of bills.

‘I haven’t finished the job yet.’

‘The task however, is completed.’ He started back on his book.

‘Not by me. It may have been my axe, but I did not wield it, or pay for it to be done.’ This did not faze him one bit, but I had his attention. He marked his page, closed his book, and carefully put it on the table.

‘Master Strongoak, as you can see, I am an old man, old by any standards, thanks to my ancestry, but I am not a fool. I married my wife late, very late, and I was aware of some of her failings as well as her previous title. She likes beautiful things and what I believe is known as a “good time”. I indulge her, an old man’s whim. Sometimes these indulgences, they become expensive and, as she does not like to keep asking me for money, she gets one of the help to sell off a trinket or two, perhaps replacing them with something she hopes will fool me. As I said, Master Strongoak, I am not a fool and if I have ever been fooled by anything, it has not been for a very long time. I continue the pretence for her sake.’ He folded his hands neatly in his lap, like a child at first school.

I was beginning to get a bit irritable. ‘But what about if it’s something really valuable that goes missing? Something that should not have been in your family’s possession to begin with?’ Hardwood waited for me to continue; he was not going to break down and start confessing a thing.

‘Maybe it’s stolen from you by one of the help, maybe the wife hocked it?’

‘Master Strongoak, nobody and I repeat nobody, takes what is mine and walks away with it. Now, if that is all you have to say, I think our interview is at an end.’ He reached for his book. Whatever he thought I knew was not going to be enough to worry him, I could see that.

‘It’s been a wild time in the Citadel,’ I began again.

Again the level look. ‘So I hear, a terrible event to occur.’

‘All sorts of things are happening.’

‘Yes. But what is that to do with me?’

‘I just thought you should know that it appears that this event was not as spontaneous as it might first have appeared.’

‘I am not following you, Master Strongoak and I repeat, what is all this to do with me?’

‘Orchestrating that sort of disruption takes a lot of organisation and a lot of time and a great deal of money; a gamble by somebody with a lot of power, for very high stakes; not far off from revolution. Now, it seems that it’s not going to happen. There aren’t going to be any race riots. No uprising by the gnomes, or goblins dressed as gnomes, so no retaliation, no chaos, no emergency elections, and no sudden swing into power for the Citadel Alliance Party. And most certainly no Lord Highbury Evergleaming to front said party. He was supposed to be the leader, your leader, I take it, at least as far as the population were concerned. What were you going to do, divide the Citadel down the middle?’

‘I think an individual’s politics are his own concern, don’t you, Master Dwarf?’