Chaos Trims My Beard: A Fantasy Noir, page 10
The streets were home to mages who actually lived dirtside, too. Victims of their own ambitions, crimes, and addictions, driven down in either fear or disgrace. They generally walked alone in dark clothing with their hands hidden. Even among ogres and the other relative giants, I made sure to give down-and-out mages the most room as they passed.
I followed Venrick down the hard-packed, dust-infused sidewalk and kept my eyes down. Staring someone in the face, even accidentally, was liable to start something down here if it was the wrong someone. It was rare I made unintentional eye contact in any case, but here especially I focused on the ground instead, watching for big blue ripples that meant something heavy was clomping in my direction.
Every street in Sketlin Proper had a name as far as I knew, but the signage was long gone or in some place that I didn't think to look. Venrick walked with a purpose, and given that he'd sough me out and bought me lunch in preparation for this expedition, I figured he'd make sure I got where we were going. The towers above lost the purple hue of twilight and took on the quicksilver glow of spellsteel under stars, and beneath the thick crisscross of the bridges, it got very dark in Sketlin Proper very quickly.
The buildings that anchored the towers had their own lights, a random mash-up of trapped balls of fire that would burn forever, crystals of every color embedded in dark metal fixtures and, rarely, old-fashioned burning oil. The mixed lighting combined with the patchwork ceiling of the bridges and towers above made for as visually inconsistent and confusing aesthetic as I'd ever seen. After more walking, we left the buzzing luminescence of the bars and parties behind to enter a quieter, darker quarter of Sketlin Proper. Warehouses and forgettable office parks with flat facades dominated, each with only a few lit windows to mark the poor saps working on a Saturday night. The rate of abandoned buildings rose sharply as we moved away from the places where people drank and slept. A quarter of all the construction we passed had degraded into pounded together piles of wood and stone, their life as buildings long over and now just serving as foundations of refuse for the towers on top.
Venrick stopped abruptly and I almost ran him over. His clothing and height did a good job of hiding him in the dark. I mumbled an apology but he didn’t respond. We stood in front of a low-slung warehouse two stories tall. Its lower level was all dark, large bricks and thin windows like the walls of some storybook castle. Vertical beams of wood, stained and warped, rose from the stonework, bound with globs of white stucco. The roof was flat and towerless.
A silver, vaguely conical tower did rise in front of us, but its anchor was set back sparing the warehouse and instead resting on some other building further from the street. New Sketlin and Sketlin Proper usually followed the same grid layout, but nobody up top was pressing for the lines to match up exactly and nobody in the dirt complained when their building didn’t find itself conscripted into foundation service. The warehouse’s windows were all dark.
“NSPB – NW Storage – No Entry” had been stenciled onto the stone in white paint near two large metal doors that stood as the building’s only visible entrance. Underneath the wording was a small iron plaque that listed a bunch of city ordinances and proclamations as well as the NSPB seal. I squinted at the seal in the dark and made out an obsolete dwarven scale, an open flame, the tall outline of a building that shot beams of radiance, and an actual, aquatic seal in mid-jump above Cobalt Bay.
The hinges of the large metal doors squealed as Venrick pulled on them. He seemed to be doing fine at opening the slabs of metal four times his height and almost as much wide, but I went over to help anyway. Venrick left me and slipped inside when the doors were parted just wide enough for him. In his absence they felt much heavier. After I’d managed to get an opening big enough for myself and follow the ratman in, the doors clanged shut behind me.
An iron mesh fence stretched from floor to ceiling and boxed me in to an area just big enough for four or five of me to stand side by side. A gate separated my little holding pen from the rest of the warehouse. The ceiling above me was high and almost out of view in the murky dark. All of the space was justified though, by the dozens and dozens of towers of crates, boxes, and filing cabinets that rose up around my pen. Evidence warehouse indeed.
The scrape of claws on something metal was followed by a crackling hum and the warehouse flooded with light. I tried to blink against it but my eyes ached anyway. Now in the light I could see that my initial assessment of the building had been right on. The whole place was jammed with a jumble of storage containers and crates, mostly wooden, and some stacked a bit too precariously for my liking.
Venrick stood to my right beyond the gate that led out of my pen. He had a fat, open padlock in one paw and his other rested on an orb that was set into the wall and sparked internally with dust. He looked at me and then nodded to a small room, a shed really, built into the warehouse’s corner. “This one would have expected at least one person here. Stipulated in regulations. Fortunate that this one has arrived, building won’t be breaking rules.” He blinked. “Until this one leaves of course.”
I was moderately sure he was making a joke and offered one non-committal laugh. “Yeah. So what are you looking for?”
The padlock fell with a heavy thud and the ratman turned towards the shed. “Looking for record of Sarco’s visit. Establish a timeline. Edwayn will help.” He walked away at speed and I followed him.
“This whole operation doesn’t sounds very internal affairs-y.”
“It is,” he said and stepped into the little room.
I tugged on my beard and went as far as the door. Inside the shed was a two-person office with a desk against either wall. They sat offset from each other just enough so that people working at them wouldn’t be bumping each other in the back of the head. Another padlock sat open on the floor. The rest of the space was full of boxes and cabinets overflowing with dull crystal cubes and ancient paper records. Venrick was already rummaging at random.
He didn’t ask for any kind of specific assistance and I didn’t offer. After a few seconds of standing around feeling awkward with nothing to do, I spun and surveyed every bit of the warehouse I could see without actually moving. Satisfied that I had adequately preformed my duties in watching the ratman’s back, I leaned against the doorjamb and ran my fingers over the pouch in my beard. With one box of papers emptied and scattered, Venrick moved on to another. There were dozens.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
He pulled out three yellowed pieces of paper from a box, held them up to his nose and then tossed them over his shoulder. "Logistics division would be responsible for staffing this facility. Those on duty probably pulled to deal with bureaucratic mess of many officers undergoing elemental overrun in a single night. Damage and death, lots of paperwork, lots of filing."
"And what if they show up and we're still here?"
He sniffed some more papers and shrugged. "Paper pushers. Desk pilots. Not really the type to stand up to IA. Would just be more paperwork." He moved over to another box. "If Edwayn could help look. Need to establish timeline."
“What good is a timeline when I can tell you the end?” I asked.
He didn’t look up. “End not so important. Why end happened at all is interesting to this one.” I saw the wisdom in that but not in spending the whole night digging through this dingy dirtside warehouse.
“So, what are you hoping to find?”
“Something,” he said. I sighed and let my hand drop from my pouch. All of my charms were accounted for but I couldn’t shake a crawling disquiet that was growing the back of my head.
Bored with watching, I stepped into the office and looked over the desktops. A row of photogems lined the back edge of the desk on the right wall and when I poked at them, little projections of an elven woman in a standard blue and white uniform sprung to life and hovered in the air. I ran through a few of them and found pictures of her in a wedding gown standing next to a human in a tuxedo. First they were on the beach under a driftwood arch, and then at a bar with their friends, all human and elves. Another gem showed her in a hospital bed with a baby whose eyes glowed dimly. I thumbed them all off. You never saw an elf with a dwarf. Maybe the mixing would result in some unimaginable social cataclysm.
The other desk had a few personal items that I didn’t feel like examining and a small pile of cubic crystals neatly stacked on a leather writing-pad in its center. They were the same yellowed color as the papers Venrick was smelling and they pulsed softly. I picked up the first one and thought the word “read” as clearly as I could. I felt a spark in my fingertips as the crystal unfolded before me.
The cube spread out and lists of names and items began to scroll in front of my eyes. I caught the date on a few of the most recent entries before the text blurred red. Large blocky letters swept over the information and spelled out “MAGE SIGNATURE NOT RECOGNIZED: ACCESS UNPERMITTED”
“Or, you know, denied," I said as I dropped the cube and it bounced off of the leather with a dull thump. Venrick clicked and looked at me with narrow eyes. I shrugged and looked back at the pile of crystals. The one I’d picked up had dates that were a week old or more. I decided to try again. Flicking the stack over with my fingernail I picked up the one that I thought was on the bottom. The same spark and same unfolding of names, descriptions, and case numbers played out and I caught a few more recent dates. The crystal blurred and kicked me out again. There were a good dozen on the desk. I tried another that might have been near the bottom of the pile and didn’t find anything. I resigned myself to the fact that they weren’t in any order at all and that it was better to be doing something, even a useless something, rather than nothing at all. After seven more crystals my eyes began to water and I looked at the few remaining. Venrick showed no signs of slowing down his own manic search and the floor of the office was already covered with the debris of his efforts.
I picked up another crystal, telling myself that one more was good enough. It flashed and spread its information and I caught something. The dates and descriptions flashed by quickly, but a few lines down from the top had an entry for P. Sarco. Whatever system measured my unique magical biorhythm fired up again and my ACCESS became UNPERMITTED. I held it in my palm and turned towards Venrick.
“Can you read these?” I asked.
He was perched inside of a box surrounded by manila folders and had a folded slip of paper in his mouth. He spit it out. “This one assumed Edwayn could read.”
“Very funny. It kicks me out. Sarco is on there.” I tossed it to him before he'd held out his hand to catch.
His paw swiped the cube out of its arc and his eyes began to cloud.
He came back a moment later and set the crystal on the ground next to him. “This one is not used to so much security.”
“That’s not standard?”
Venrick’s voice lilted through its normal ups and downs but the whole range dropped lower as he spoke. “On old evidence past statute and impound checklists like this? No.”
“So, are we wasting our time here?” The ratman might have put us on a trail with something to find, but we’d been in the warehouse for a while and the murky unease was growing in the back of my mind.
“No. This one wasn’t expecting this, but can still handle it. No problems.” Venrick reached into his jacket where he kept his guns and I flexed my hands to keep them from fidgeting towards my beard. The rational part of me didn’t really expect the detective to buy me lunch, take me on a walk, admit me to a controlled police facility, and then finally take me down, but it had been that kind of day and I was twitchy.
The ratman pulled out his badge. The small brass shield was adorably him-sized and displayed the same mishmash of imagery as the plaque at the entrance of the warehouse. He flipped it over, picked up the crystal, and placed it on the backside of his badge. Something vibrated with a metal hum that bordered on piercing. Venrick placed his paw over the crystal and his eyes went blank again. After half a minute or so he came back and tossed the cube onto the desk where I’d found it. “Useless,” he said. “New badge works, though. Silver lining.”
“What’d it say?”
Papers crinkled and scattered as he jumped out of the box he'd been in. “Detective Sarco utilized this warehouse as a personal rental service. Came three days ago and checked out some clothing for potential relevance to one of his cases.”
“What was the relevance?” I asked. The pre-inferno movements of the guy I’d helped take down were sparking a morbid curiosity in me.
“Listed as ‘victim in current case was also wearing designer robe and belt.’ Came back yesterday without clothing and took a high performance ornithotper. Equally dubious pretense.”
I fiddled with my beard. “So you’ve got nothing?”
Venrick shook his head and looked around at the scattered mess he’d made. “This one found several more references similar to the ones Edwayn uncovered. One last thing to check.” He walked past me out of the office and I turned to follow, my boots slipping on the discarded papers. My feeling of discontent sharpened as I left the small room and I caught up to Venrick in a few hurried steps.
“Someone found time to return ornithopter after viscount’s party. Worthwhile to look at,” the ratman said.
I nodded and looked around. We passed stacks of wooden and metal boxes, some in regimented rows and others threatening a cascade of paperwork and disaster. Orderly or chaotic, everything put down deep shadows and I found myself distrusting the very concept of this building. A willful distraction seemed in order. I tugged on a beardbraid and asked “What was that with your badge?”
He slipped a paw beneath his jacket and came up with the little shield, holding it out for me to see. The NSPB seal glinted against the dim lighting. It was surrounded by some text that I couldn’t make out. He pulled it back when I reached out to touch it.
“Don't, please. For Edwayn's own safety. This one commissioned a dwarven jeweler to make him a new badge. Special dust inlay for breaking locks and other things. Received final piece last week and haven’t had cause to use it. Pleased that it works.” His voice rose and fell between pragmatism and pride.
“The bureau doesn't give you a badge? Or replace them?”
He slipped it back into his jacket. “Of course. Duplication of state identification is strictly illegal. Whole force undergoing redesign. New uniforms next year. Badges were first. Very difficult to commission private copy of design that hasn’t been revealed yet. Jeweler owed me a favor.” He blinked and a click emanated deep from his throat. “Favor was this one not arresting him on charge of indecency. Good artisan, terrible misconceptions about public nudity.”
I grumbled out laugh and thought about asking about the ratman's own lack of pants, but I refrained. “Can’t imagine your bosses would be happy if they knew about it.”
“No. Lockbreaker enchantment makes badge doubly illegal. This one never expects to have a long career. Would rather be effective in limited time.” He tapped at his chest. “Short life span and all.”
The ratman fell silent and I turned his words over in my head. The notion of his age and life expectancy stuck in my mind and I wondered at exactly what constituted short. Thinking further, I realized that my best guess for my own allotted time was somewhere between the single century a human got and the handful more given to dwarves. I’d be old if I were full human, though I didn’t feel like my body and mind were wearing down, but that didn’t help my mood.
After a minute or two more of weaving through piled evidence and seized property, we stepped into an open space against the back wall of the building. I whistled in spite of myself. At least twenty hopters sat in individual berths, some like iron corrals on the floor and others fastened to and stacked up on the walls like cages. The vehicles stood in brilliant contrast to the dull metal framework that held them. Single-seaters shaped like dolphins and seals or diving birds of prey sat next to hopters that could carry eight or more. Most of the big ones had a seat or two up front for the crew, streamlined and utilitarian, and a big open bed behind filled with plush chairs and encircled with guardrails of brass and leather. One even had a minibar. Each floated just above its berth on four little rainbow-pulsing orbs situated in pairs at the front and rear. Jewels and precious metals trimmed the hopters, and their bodies oozed with custom design and flourish. I’d never flown one, but in the face of so many high performance machines I very much wanted to; stupid, bridge-buzzing rich kids be damned.
Venrick’s grating tones tore my eyes away from the beautiful array. “Sarco took this one.” He walked over to a berth on the floor and pulled at the low metal door that kept the hopter caged. The door clunked against a lock. Venrick clicked and waved his badge and it groaned open. I stepped in and he followed.
The hopter within was shaped like a wild boar, one that was a couple of ratmen wide and a couple of prostrated dwarfs long. A seat had been carved into the contours of either forelimb with a small panel of controls in front of each. The wide arch of the boar’s back separated the two potential pilots and tapered down in the front to a low-slung face with sapphire eyes and platinum tusks. In the back it curved down into hind legs that stretched back like the thing was in mid-leap over some fence or stream. Its spellsteel body flowed between the colors of copper and rough onyx. A pair of dust emitters pulsed brightly just behind the seats, near the beast’s shoulder joints while the other set took the place of the rear hooves. I stuck a finger in one of thing’s wide nostrils and discovered that it was some kind of intake as my finger tingled and went numb. My nail sparked blue when I pulled it out of the nostril and I guessed that these things sucked in whatever dust they could find, even when they were idle. I removed my hand from its face and ran my palm along the smooth dark body instead.
