That was, however, at the end of my story. That was the day I died. The start of it began a week earlier. As is the normally the case, it all started with a woman.

It began with a knock on the door to my office. The knock had a delicate, even reluctant quality to it, as of the person knocking was not too sure if they even wanted to be knocking.

I sat up in my chair, blinking my eyes open. It had been a slow day up to that point and I had dozed off. The knock has startled me out of it. My books were mostly empty and the couple of minor jobs I had on them didn't require anything of me until the night. It left me a lot of time to sit around and consider my situation, to worry over such matters as bills. And rent. That always leads to trouble, and to drink.

Through the frosted glass of the door I could see a figure standing hesitant at the door. By the hat on their head and the form of their shape, I took them to be female. I swept up a half empty bottle that was on the desk before me and deposited it into a drawer before straightening up my tie and running a hand through my hair. It did to show a more professional look, especially with the ladies. Not many want to employ a dishevelled investigator, particularly one who had partaken of a drink or two. Or three.

"Enter," I called out. It came out as a half hoarse croak. Clearing my throat, I tried again, louder and firmer this time. "Enter."

The door swung open and silhouetted before me in the doorway, the light from the hallway behind her, was a woman, as I had suspected. One, who as she stepped into my office, screamed money. From her broad hat set at an angle with its lacy black veil, to her pale green dress tightly cinched about her narrow waist and made of silk if I wasn't mistaken. Over it she wore a fur lined coat, beaded with drops of rain. On her feet were heeled red shoes, while she held in one hand a red handbag and in the other a long cigarette holder. It all spoke of a woman of means. Especially the bracelets and delicate necklace of gold, and the fire opals that hung from her ears.

Money didn't often make its way down to my part of the Spire, and when it did, it was seldom alone.

As she stepped forward, the illuminance globe in the ceiling took its opportunity to brighten, casting light upon the woman.

"Mister Stone?" she asked. Her voice wasn't just smouldering, it was incendiary. It set things alight just by the silken tones of it.

And it was all an act. She was putting it on. Maybe most wouldn't have picked up on it. I had more experience than others with that kind of thing, and after getting burned a time or two, you very quickly learn to pick up on it. Sure, I appreciated the effort as much as the next man would, but there was no need for it. It did make me wonder just what she had to hide. Maybe it was a bit cynical, but there you have it.

"That is me," I confirmed.

As she made her way across to the desk, flowing across the tattered carpet, to the chair on the other side, I moved across to the window. I peered out through its rain spattered panels, down at the street. Sure enough, as I had expected, down in front of the building, right outside the entrance, stood a couple of burly figures, hired goons in ill-fitting suits and hats, all necks and very little brains. Parked behind them was a sleek black automobile, the engine still running. The headlights of it cast beams through the gathering mists. She was not just beautiful but a classic to boot, an old Ghavak and Sons Royal Spectre, thirty years old if she was a day. Not quite an antique but getting there. Dwarven made as well, of course, which meant quality. A smooth ride and good mileage before she needed recharging. If you were lucky, as in once in a lifetime lucky, you could pick one up for five thousand. Normally they were more than that. Dwarven automobiles were top end, made for a market that few could afford. Other firms had moved in to make cheaper vehicles, such as Camling, which offered automobiles for as cheap as eight hundred, if picked up second hand. It had resulted in more automobiles on the roads but even so it was still a major investment that many could not afford.

I tore my gaze away from the work of art outside, the rain pattering across it, and back to the woman who had arrived in it. She had taken off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, and her hat, which she had set down on the table, shaking out her long, raven black hair in the process

She was younger than I had expected, only just of age I would guess, and human as well, or near enough that it made no real difference. It wasn't always easy to tell in dim light. She had a waifish, almost innocent air about her, and an aura of one both confused by events and very much out of her depths. A fair sign that she was troubled, and in my book that meant business. She was a looker as well, with blue eyes that shimmered like frozen ice, delicate features and pursed red lips that appeared on the cusp of saying something.

A closer look at her, now that the illuminance globe was working more to its specifications, showed that I had been mistaken at first about her wealth. She had the look of it but it was mere appearance, an illusionary one at that, hinting at wealth without actually being so.

The clothes weren't new; they had a well-used look to them, a little worn around the edges and with evidence of having been taken care of and mended on occasions, as evidenced by the tiny thread marks running down the seams of the left side of the dress. Not many would have picked up on it. Not many would have been looking for it either. At one point a buckle on one of the shoes had come off and had been replaced. The replacement did not quite match the original, even if it was close. The jewellery itself was cheap but with the appearance of not being so. It was made by a skilled hand to look more valuable than it really was. More than a few cases I'd run across had taught me well what to look out for in that regards.

Oddly, the fire opals that formed her earrings appeared to be the genuine article, the centre point of exquisitely delicate silverwork. That made them valuable. Very valuable.

All in all, it was a conundrum and a contradiction wrapped up together. She could afford a fancy car and hired goons, as well as the earrings, and yet she dressed in clothes that did not match, even in once they might have. They had the air of clothes that had been handed down over some period of time.

"Can I help you Miss....?" I asked, pausing to let her fill in the details.

"Miss White," she replied. There had been a pause before she answered, a hesitation as she appeared to consider the question. Whatever her name was, it wasn't Miss White. No one needs time to think over what their name is. I let it go, though. Many of the clients that come to me don't want to reveal their true names. Unless it turns out to be important to the case, I let them retain their anonymity.

"Well Miss White, what can I do for you this day?"

"It is said that you are good at finding people, Mister Stone."

"I have had my successes," I told her. It isn't always easy to find people in Spire, especially if they don't want to be found, but I did have a knack for it.

"I need you to find my fiancé, Mister Stone."

I sat back down at the desk opposite Miss White. Opening up a sliding drawer in it, I took out a notepad and a pencil from where they sat alongside a stubby revolver and a pair of knuckledusters.

"A missing fiancé. I have worked a few of those in my time. Often the answers the client gets aren't those that they would hope to receive."

Miss White opened up her handbag and took out a lighter. She sparked it and lit the cigarette in her holder. "It is nothing like that," she told me before taking a long drag.

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I didn't answer that. It is best, I find, to let the clients cling to their hopes.

"Before we commence, Miss White, I should let you know that I charge twenty-five a day, plus expenses. Two days up front. If I finish sooner than in two days, I will refund the difference."

Miss White returned the cigarette lighter to her handbag and the extracted a small wad of dollar notes held together by a brass clip. The clip had a small blue butterfly design upon it, picked out in what appeared to be lapis lazuli and small sapphires. She began to count out the notes, mostly in singles. All of them had the look of old notes, well used and faded and, not fresh and crisp ones. The notes had been crumpled but then ironed out flat. It was the kind of thing people with pride but not much wealth did. By the expression on her face, a tightening of her eyes, a pursing of her lips, I got the feeling that this was her life's savings.

I felt a bit of a cad for taking her money but I had bills to pay myself. Not to mention the burning need to eat. Besides, if word got out that I was doing jobs gratis then there would be no end of people trying for the same deal. I'd be working for free from then on in and that was not a prospect that I wanted to encourage.

Once she had done counting, she returned the much-diminished stack to her handbag and passed the rest across to me. I didn't count it. Instead I folded it up and slipped it into the inner pocket of my coat. There was no need to offend a paying customer by counting the fees in front of them.

"Now that we have that out of the way, Miss White, tell me about your fiancé. What is his name?"

She paused at the question, as if mulling over the question, and that did surprise me. Her name I could understand, but not his. It was unusual that she would try to cover it up. It would only make my job that much harder.

"If I am to be of help to you, Miss White, then you need to trust me. I need his name. His real name. It will make matters run that much more smoothly, see?"

She nodded even though I could still see the reluctance in her eyes "His name is Nathan Hanes."

I scribbled the name down in my notebook. It didn't mean anything to me. Not that him being an unknown helped. The big names, those I knew better than to tangle with, but the unknown? He could have been anyone or anything.

"And what does Mister Hanes do?" I asked, seeking more information to help my investigation.

"He is an accountant."

I looked up at her from my notepad, meeting her eyes. "An accountant, as in one of those people who fiddle with numbers?"

She nodded in answer. "Yes."

All of the accountants that I had run across previous had been mild, servile little creatures, quiet and unassuming. They were not the types who ended up engaged to a lady of the likes of whom sat before me. She was well out of their league.

I returned to my notepad, making a note of his profession. "Where does he work?"

"East of Grovegate, at the firm of Dunlin and Khatur."

A fresh scribble traced more notes across the page. Dunlin and Khatur. I had heard of them. They were a well-established firm, a few levels up in Spire. Respectable even. They handled the accounts of many dwarven businesses, and dwarves are very cautious about trusting anyone with their money. As accountants go, Dunlin and Khatur didn't get up to anything dodgy, not as far as anyone knew. Perhaps, if Nathan's disappearance was related to his work, then there was more going on there than suspected.

"And where does he live?"

"He has a room above the firm," Miss White told me. "Many of the young single men working there do."

"I see." That went into the book as well. "I must ask some more personal questions now, Miss White. I trust you do not mind but it would be of great value in helping me to try and find Mister Hanes if you answer truthfully."

Another shy nod answered, though she appeared nervous still. "Ask away, Mister Stone."

"How did you and Mister Hanes meet?" I asked, keeping a watch on her as I did.

A faint blush crossed her cheeks and she lowered her eyes. "I had business at the accountancy firm. I cannot say more than that, Mister Stone, so I beg of you not to press on the matter. It is unrelated to Nathan and his disappearance. Nathan was kind enough to handle my business at the firm. We spent some time working together on it, during which we began to walk out together. In time we grew close and became engaged."

Lovers thrown together by random chance. Not an unheard of event, at least in the talkies. In real life, less so, but it wasn't an impossibility. In normal times I would have wished the kids well. These were not normal however. An accountant who goes missing after becoming engaged to a lady of the calibre of Miss White? That I did not like, not in the least.

The time had come for more probing questions. There was a chance that Miss White would not like them either.

"Was he happy?"

It provoked a reaction. For the first time I saw a trace of fire in her eyes as timidity was overcome by indignation. It was what I had wanted to see, a hint of the true Miss White. "Are you suggesting that he may have left me, Mister Stone? No, that would never happen. My Nat loved me, in spite of everything." As she said those last words, her eyes widened a touch before she dropped them down again. She had not meant to say that but in the heat of the moment it had slipped out.

More secrets were to hand. I let it pass, for the time.

"Did he have any enemies that you know of then?"

She shook her head, her eyes still lowered. She raised her cigarette holder to her mouth, took a puff and then exhaled smoke. "Who would wish harm upon an accountant?" she asked. "He is a kind, caring, decent man who wouldn't harm a soul."

It was obvious that she didn't know what accountants could get up to. Especially those that consorted with the mobs and the families, keeping their books for them, able to massage the numbers from here to there so that it all appeared legitimate in the end. Those types tended not to work for firms of the repute of Dunlin and Khatur though.

"When was the last time that you heard of him?"

"A week ago, Mister Stone. We had spoken about meeting up the following day, to have lunch at a small cafe nearby to his work. He failed to turn up. That was not by itself unexpected or unheard of. He was in the middle of working on a major project for the firm and did find it hard to get away at times because of it. Normally when that happened he sent me a message though. I didn't get worried until two days later when I stopped by his work to meet him. None of his colleagues had seen or heard from him for a couple of days either and even they were getting concerned."

"I will have to speak to them about him, to see what they might know," I told Miss White. "What I really need to know is what Mister Hanes looks like."

Miss White set down her cigarette holder on an ashtray on the desk and opened up her handbag. She removed a small picture frame from it, of the type that you would keep on a bedside table. She passed it over to me. "This is my Nat," she told me as I took the picture. "Do please find him for me, Mister Stone."

"I will do my best," I promised her. As with any promises, there was no guarantee. I just had to hope she realised that,

I raised the picture frame to study the photograph within. It was grainy and not of the highest quality, but it was enough for my needs. It showed Miss White, a happy smile on her lips, standing alongside a young man who had been captured in the middle of a laugh. I liked him from the moment that I saw him. He had an honest, endearing, open look to his face. Rather a handsome chap as well. Well groomed, clean shaven and with his dark hair slicked back in the latest style. He was not exactly what I had expected from an accountant, but it takes all types and people can turn up in the most unexpected of places.

If I had just been shown the photograph and asked what I thought Nathan Hanes did, I would have considered him an actor or maybe a musician. He sort of had that air - and flair - about him.

I set the photograph down on the desk and looked back up to Miss White. "One last question. I may need to contact you with news or further inquiries at a later date. How is the best way to get a hold of you?"

Miss White reached over and took my notepad and pencil. She scribbled a message in it before handing it back. She had written a number in it for use by telephone to contact her. It was not in an area code that I recognised, which placed it well outside my normal area of travels. I would have to look it up later.

"My number, Mister Stone," she told me. "If you should call, ask for Miss White. If I am not available, leave a message and I will be in touch."

She rose from her chair, placing her hat back on her head. She tucked her hair up under it before recovering his coat from the back of her chair. "Goodbye, Mister Stone."

I stood as well. "Good bye, Miss White. I shall commence my investigations immediately. Should anything come to light I shall let you know right away.

A brief nod came from her and the she was gone, out of the office, leaving behind only secrets and questions. I looked down at the notepad again before crossing over to the window. I stood there, watching out of it, until Miss White emerged from the building below me. One of the goons raised an umbrella for her, sheltering her from the rain as she crossed to the car. The other goon opened the door and she stepped in. Once she was in, the two goons got into the car themselves and the automobile purred away down the street into the mists and the rain.

I returned my gaze to the notepad again, certain that there was something else I should have asked but could not think of it. Not that I expected too many problems. Surely an accountant wouldn't be that hard to find, even if Miss White was obviously keeping secrets. First, I needed to know about the man himself, and for that I needed to speak with those that worked with him every day. It was time to pay a visit to the accounting firm of Dunlin and Khatur up in Grovegate.