[It seems more likely that he just got changed.]
Grugg shrugged and looked over at the suit box that had been moved to this side of the room. The lid looked jostled, and upon his retrieval, it did look like Gregor had taken his part of the clothing order already. “Still, strange Gregor gone.” He cast his eye over to the door, half expecting it to fling open in dramatic coincidence. But the only response was the sound of beating rain plinking off the wooden barn house.
[I’m sure he is fine; if I were to guess, then the potions had some kind of restorative properties that has enabled him to be more active. Although, where he got them is anyone’s guess, he does seem to turn up with a lot of oddities.]
Thinking back, the ratman did seem to procure food much more extravagant than the tavern offered, and seemed to know where Grugg was to help him on occasion. The Detective had heard mention of this before, a long ago fireside story by one of his tribe elders.
“Gregor is Guardian Angel.” The reverence in his voice gave credence to the audible capitalisations of the title. Clearly sent by some deity to watch over and guide the cyclops through his current ordeals (many of which just involved hunger), and now he had vanished, back up to the heavens. Or wherever angels lived. Grugg had heard that there were other afterlives or planes of existence that weren't the Great Mountain, but his knowledge stopped there.
[If he were, I’d hate to think about which of the gods sent him here. But, anyway, we have no time for theological discussions; let’s get you suited.]
A grunt was the only response. He hadn’t wanted to discuss ‘theologals’, just the gods and what lay beyond this mortal plane. The wizard was right though; he had his first official interrogation to enact. With renewed purpose, the clothes were unboxed onto the bed and then exchanged with the torn, comfortable clothes. This time it went a bit smoother, the experience of dressing himself a now baked-in skill. Lastly, the badge was affixed to the waistcoat, a flicker of light flashing across its polished surface.
[I can’t really see you, but pretend I look really impressed.]
The suit was in the same colors as his previously destroyed one, but the seams and fit were much looser. It did give the suit a slightly baggier fit to it, but it was so much more comfortable. In flexing his arms and swinging his boots about, it didn’t feel like he was about to burst out of the nice clothes. Now all he had to do was keep them clean and undamaged for a whole day.
[Your old clothes are a bit worse for wear now. Perhaps we should get a message to-]
The barn door flung open, casting a brief wave of rain droplets across the barn floor. Red glints shone from the eyes of a soaked Gregor as he stomped into the room, throwing a long object onto the bed. He was indeed wearing the new cloak, a dark fabric made even more so by its current damp condition.
“Gregor! Tell Grugg if Gregor is angel?” the question was leveled seriously at the bedraggled ratman.
“What? No. I took some healing potions as I was tired of taking so long to heal, and you have ser Frank to interrogate, yes?” The titular Deputy pointed to the object lobbed onto the bed. “This is for you, Detective.”
Grugg took a good look, and it appeared to be a nicely carved stick where half of its length from one end was covered in some kind of fabric. The cyclops picked it up from the wooden end and wiggled it about. Dark gray fabric waved about in a loose circle, reminding him of a tree canopy.
“It’s called an umbrella, ser Grugg. It has a latch you can push up, and the fabric will hold like a small tent.”
[That will keep the rain off of you better than I do.]
With a slight misting to his one electric-blue eye, Grugg smiled down at the ratman. “Gregor really is angel.”
“Hmph. I just didn’t want you showing up to the interrogation looking unprofessional.” The Deputy folded his arms and glared at the cyclops.
[Why didn’t he use it, then? He is soaked?]
“Won’t Gregor look silly wet?”
“I am not an official member of any law force; I won’t be able to attend.” The ratman tapped his foot impatiently as though the questions were holding him up from something.
[We will need to talk to the Captain, see what we can do.]
Grugg rubbed his chin. He would like Gregor to attend, as he was good at the writing-on-the-paper thing, and Jonath had said that there was paperwork that needed doing. Although the ratman had not been present at the warehouse, so probably couldn’t sign it as a witness. With a long, drawn-out sigh, he accepted the inevitable.
“Okay. Bart thinks Captain can give Gregor position. Gregor can come anyway to see?”
“Respectfully, if ser Hat is correct, then you can tell me later. I have been trying to find leads on Don Kean. Should you find anything out from ser Frank… we had agreed to meet in the morning, yes?”
The Detective nodded; the first team meeting of the unnamed four-swords-behind-eye investigation group had been arranged for tomorrow morning. It was time they all met and went over the current leads and information currently gathered. If they kept hopping between whatever jumped out first, they wouldn’t get anywhere.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
“I also want to get something done before ser Jacob notices I am back on my feet and expects me to work. He has been extra antsy after they canceled tonight’s planned fight.”
[Oh, they canceled that?]
Seeing the Detective’s eyebrow raise, Gregor continued. “Somebody heard about ser Frank and his men. Most likely the Don, I would imagine, and it gave them all cold feet. No, don’t give me that pout. I had to save you from those ogres, and not only would they be there, but much worse, too. You no longer have the undercover option.” He sighed and looked off out into the rain-swept garden.
[He has a point; we are not strong enough to use brute force against that obstacle. Yet.]
The addition of the ‘yet’ caused a bubble of excitement to blossom in Grugg’s stomach. The sooner the wizard could tap into his previous wealth of experience with magic, the sooner he would be able to wield it and punch up some of the tougher criminals. Although Bart had said that he was working on improving Voice, part of the Detective hoped that the unassuming hat was working on other spells on the side. It seemed within his wheelhouse to always potter and improve.
“Okay, to the Captain then,” Grugg declared, admitting defeat in trying to wrangle the ratman into compliance with joining them. In moving to leave the barn house, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the Deputy, almost knocking the unexpecting ratman off his feet. “Thanks, Gregor.”
“Ehhh, don’t get too close,” Gregor grimaced, looking away. “One of us is likely to be dead soon, hopefully not me. No offence.”
[Rather cold, but I am just going to assume he means the danger of tangling with Nightshade, and not anything more sinister than that.]
“No worry, Deputy. Only crime gets to die when we are around.” He winked with his one eye and left the barn house, opening out his new umbrella with a fascinated grin.
----------------------------------------
The journey to the Town Guard headquarters was moderately less miserable, thanks to the umbrella preventing a deal of precipitation from falling onto the cyclops. Due to the size difference, it was not wide enough to fully protect him from the rainstorm, but at least it kept his upper torso primarily dry. Any civilians still caught out on errands or hoping the dark cloud cover would pass them were now scurrying about to find shelter.
They had also taken the detour to the forge to return the Moonchaser Orb to be set. Both dwarves seemed to be focused on a particularly important part of the forging process, so they didn’t stop to chat. Claudia would have to wait until after the interrogation, but given the state of his wardrobe, it wasn’t just to socialize with the tailor. Bart was also mostly quiet during the walk over, and for a majority of the distance, it was nothing but the heavy drops of the rain bouncing off stone and wood alike, punctuated with the stomps of the steel-toed boots.
As they finally entered the Headquarters, Grugg unclipped the umbrella, allowing it to fold back up, and he placed it in the corner by the doorway. The female Guard at the front desk glanced up from her paperwork to greet him, her brain pausing for a second to recognize this odd figure now taking up a large portion of the lobby.
“Oh, Detective. The Captain has been expecting you.” She scratched at her short black hair with the blunt end of a pencil she held. “If you take this doorway, it’ll be the third on the left. Just knock, er, gently.” She smiled, although her forest green eyes had a slight unease.
Grugg nodded politely and pushed through the door to the left of the front desk, which opened smoothly without complaint. The doors in the Guardhouse spooked the cyclops, who had been firmly under the impression that usually a door would make some kind of racket when used. The corridor beyond was a bit on the gloomy side, having just one window at the end of the hallway before it turned straight to the right. There were three equally boring looking doors on the left and two on the right.
“Third means three, right?”
[Correct, the one at the end of the hallway.]
The Detective’s boots echoed ominously down the otherwise soundless corridor. Grugg didn’t really think of himself as claustrophobic, but the building was definitely not built for a being of his stature, and the gloomy wooden walls felt like they were enclosing him as he progressed. Finally, he reached the doorway, and heading the advice of the front desk Guard, knocked softly on the hard wood.
[It says ‘Interrogation Room 3.’]
The door swung open inwardly, again without sound, revealing the silver-plated armor of Captain Wanu, along with the rest of him. A warm smile crossed his face, and he stepped aside to allow the cyclops to enter as he greeted him.
“Detective, fantastic work on- well, everything in the last couple of days. If I had a handful of men like you, this town would be crime-free in a week.”
“Then Grugg would have to find crime elsewhere.” He grinned in return and glanced around the room. It was dimly lit, and the back wall was filled with cabinets and a board with notes pinned to it. Patson was sitting at two desks with a further array of empty chairs pushed up against the other side, where a large window took up the majority of the wall. Only on the other side of the window was a room painted in white, where an uncomfortable-looking Frank sat at a small table.
“So this,” the half-orc pointed at the window, “Is a magic mirror. Looks like a mirror on that side, is like a window on this side. We can hear the room, but the room can’t hear us.”
The cyclops stared in wonder as he gave Patson a brief wave. Another magical item! This one was certainly more practical than fun, though. He practised by sticking his tongue out at Frank, who did not seem to notice, sitting at ninety degrees to the viewing mirror. It was easy to assume it was so that people could watch and take notes whilst being unseen by the detainee. The wizard voiced an agreement, having been thinking along the same track.
[It seems much more practical than a scrying spell, at least.]
“We will be watching your suspect interview from this side. Sometimes an outsider's view can catch a connection or some slight body language that you may miss yourself. As you caught the suspect, I am giving you the opportunity to question him,” the Captain wavered as if unsure of himself. “This is a big case, potentially huge, so don’t mess it up.” A smile followed a stern nod.
“Grugg will do best.” He nodded in return.
“Couple of rules - no physical contact with the suspect, no casting magic in the room, and perhaps obviously, do not take off his restraints.”
[All pretty reasonable, but no fancy stuff from me then.]
“Once you are ready, Patson will let you in the room.”
A deep breath and a pat at his sack to make sure everything was there, and he was ready, nodding to Patson. The Guard stood and withdrew a curtain that had blended almost seamlessly into the side wall, revealing a door. Beyond this door was a small corridor with two locked doors on either side. Patson dangled a handful of keys from his belt and selected the correct one; the click of the lock opening as the metal door opened with a gentle squeak.
That put Grugg more at ease as he walked into the white room. The door shut and locked behind him as he passed the restrained Nightshade boss to take a seat at the opposite end of the table, the tiny chair creaking as he squeezed onto it.
Frank, Shadow of Helpart, glared from beneath his swollen brow at the Detective with both annoyance and fear as the cyclops took off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his cuffs. Rolling up his sleeves, Grugg looked up at the restrained bandit, a wide grin pasted upon his face.
“Terrible weather today, huh?”