Chapter 33
When Gandaran brought the first of the Dragonkin safely to Sunderland, it is said that he sat all the people down in groups, and looked deep into their hearts. There was passion there, grief for the world they lost, anger at what the Lifegiver and the Father of Fire had allowed to happen, but above all, there was greed. Greed to accumulate, to heap treasure on treasure, no matter what the cost. Even the loss of their old home could not put that fire out.
It is said that he searched the whole of the Dragonkin until he found what he was looking for – a smaller set of dragons, plain gray in color. But in these dragons, there was no love of gold or acquisition. Instead, these dragons burned with the need for truth and justice. No payment would be great enough, no need for vengeance strong enough to break their desire for the right thing to be done.
“Come, my children,” he said. “Forget these other things. I have a greater task than all the gold in the world. Your job will not be buying or selling or building or moving or making elixirs. Your job will be to see that every soul of our people follow the pact. On your shoulders, the whole fate of the Dragonkin rest. Never stop investigating. Make sure justice prevails.”
Never forget this, recruits. You have a sacred duty. On your heads rest the future of us all.
Graduation Speech of Master Investigator Rimbaud Greypitch, in Collected Speeches , DIC Press
Gabbro Byrony returned once again to DIC headquarters. Heads turned as he walked in to the office, curiosity mixed with a certain tension. This surprised him.
“Something happen while I was out?” he said.
Heads dropped, and went back to their work, a couple of people shrugged.
“You’ll find out,” Marin Greenstone, a specialist in forensic analysis, muttered. “Learn it from better people than me.”
Tansy Slateshard, sitting in her chair near his office door, stood up, made a gesture to his office, then slipped off to the break room.
Taking her lead, he went to his office and stepped through the door. There was a new stack of papers waiting for him to check out, multiple reports in neat folders.
“Gone for less than a week, and look how much things pile up. Wonder what came through?” He gave them a quick once over. Two caught his immediate attention. “News from Harani?” That one turned out to be a report about Zefed Drumlin, the manager with Sinter Acquisitions who had made an offer on Xendo’s Freehold before the miners there were murdered.
He opened the report. Drumlin had been found dead. Sinter Acquisitions were calling it suicide, and blocking DIC as well as they could from any serious investigation.
“Damn,” he said. “What is going on?”
The other was a missing persons report. It had been flagged to him because the missing person was connected to no-space transportation research. He read the brief summary outloud. “Violetta Greenleaf, works for B&F. Last reported location was in Runi Blahn. On vacation. Was expected back a month ago. More Harani mess.” His male spikes on the top of his head darkened. “Oh, Master Investigator is going to love this one.” His head began to ache.
The door to his office opened up, and Tansy walked, bearing a file and a large steaming cup of tea that she placed next to him.
“Catching up, I see,” she said, as he closed the file and put it back on the stack. “How did your operation go?”
“It was odd, working so openly with the Ynys Afel people, but those people are pros in their way, every bit as much as we are. I think we should coordinate more, if you want my upfront opinion.” He picked up the cup of tea, and took a sip, then made a face. “You put spice in it?”
Tansy gave him a gentle smile as she sat down on the corner of his desk. “I figured you’re probably going to need it. Master Investigator will be here any time. He’s been bringing President Grimsbeard up to date, and no doubt he’ll be feeling the need for spiced tea by the time he gets here. He does most of the time he visits the president.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said, and took another sip of his tea. Spice, a dragonkin concoction was well known for its anxiety-relieving and calming influence. Tansy stayed on top of things; if she thought he would find it useful today, he wasn’t going to fight her on it.
“All the gossip around here is about Asper Bloodstone going down with a team to Greshold’s Keep and maybe Brightwater. That old Shulan has passed and Ochre is singing like a canary.”
“Good of Ochre,” Byrony said.
“Did you have something to do with this?” Tansy asked. Her ruff signaled strong curiosity. She leaned in for a moment.
Byrony swallowed. Tansy was very good at tweaking information out of people, but luckily for him, there was a knock at the door.
Tansy stood up. “Well, I wanted to give you this before he got here,” she said, handing him a file. “It’s a report about that logo you wanted.” Turning, she walked to the door, and opened it up.
“Oh, Master Investigator, how pleasant to see you today.” Turning to the right, she headed back to her desk.
“Getting the Tansy treatment?” Master Inquisitor asked, strolling into the room.
“As usual, Sir,” Bryony said with a shrug.
“Things are getting more and more complex, and Grimsbeard is breathing down my neck to get it cleared. Let’s go into the war room. Let’s see if we can get anything, anything, into focus. Even a crumb would be more than what we have right now.”
They walked into a large, private room that only those with special keys could enter. It had a small foyer, and as they walked through it, Byrony recognized the lurch of no space transportation, and then the tingle of magical security fields.
“You’ve moved the room?” he asked.
“Seemed a reasonable precaution. There’s too much we don’t know and I’d rather do my thinking somewhere away from leaks or accidental reveals.” Master Investigator sighed as he opened the final door. “Not that I don’t trust the staff at DIC Central, but…”
“Things happen,” Byrony responded. “Straight out of the Operations Manual.”
“Exactly.” Master Investigator stepped into the center of the room, raised his arms, and turned around in a slow circle. “Welcome to the new war room. I’ve diagrammed all the anomalies we have discovered the last several years. Help me find the pattern.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
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At Pixie Hollow, Rob Woodward looked at the table in front of him. It was oval, with a nice white cloth spread over it and a quilted runner that ran down the center. His place was set with a napkin and spoon and a small plate, as was Gan Thistleberry’s. The runner was set with three saucers. Next to Gan’s place was a bread board with a large uncut loaf, and at the far end, closer to where he sat, was a pie.
“Now don’t pester our company,” Gan said, handing out pieces of bread to the gathered pixies. “There’s plenty to go around, but if you’re rude, no pie!”
“You better listen,” Moxie said, giving Arne an elbow.
Rob tasted his soup. It was excellent, thick with bacon and cabbage and peas and potatoes and carrots, with little pieces of onion floating in the broth. “So good, ma’am,” he said, taking another spoonful.
“Mistress Gan is the best cook,” Dahlia said, scooping up some soup with her bread. “Even Leila can’t cook like this.”
“Leila?” Rob asked.
“She’s a nymph who lives in Cullin’s Forest. She’s nice,” Moxie said. “She loves sugar cookies. And she shares!”
“So good,” said Rosebud. “I don’t know what’s better, apple pie or sugar cookies.”
Rob broke a bit of his slice of bread off and dipped it into his soup before popping it in his mouth. “Is it always like this at meal time?”
“Absolutely,” Gan said, nodding. “Plenty of talk and eating. Sometimes little arguments.” Noticing one of the saucers was getting a little low, she got up and put a little more into it, and sliced a little more bread for her house guests. “Let me know if you want seconds.”
“It kind of reminds me of my mother’s table, when all the family’s together. Except none of us are small enough to fly.”
“Your mother makes soup?” Gillie asked, snatching a piece of bread that Rufus was reaching for. The little man was about to snatch it back when Gan caught his eye, and sighing, he accepted another piece she handed to him.
“Oh yes,” Rob said. “Good soup. Very nice after a day ploughing.”
“That reminds me, Rob,” Gan said, breaking a piece off her own chunk of bread. “Who’s idea was it for you to come out and be my gardener?”
“Lady Arriane brought it up. She said something to Lady Elaine about how much work it was to get everything done over here single handedly, and she knew that my folks live at Breckenholt, just down the road a piece from here, and I’d be a lot closer to them than at Allynswood, and one thing led to another, and I’m here. I think I’m here for as long as you can use me, in fact.”
There was a little pleading behind the young man’s eyes, not too loud, but Gan picked up on it.
“Well, I think I can definitely use a hand around this place, what with the gardening, and the orchards and the animals. So tell me about Breckenholt and your family.”
“Well Breckenholt is a small place. There’s ten or so families who work their and Lady Elaine’s land there. Mostly wheat and sheep and some peas.” He took another spoon of soup, then continued. “My dad’s getting bad in the back, though, so I like to be there for ploughing and haying time. Lady Elaine’s been real good about working with me on this.”
“She is good that way,” Gan said, nodding. “Seamus, let Rosebud get to the soup, if you please.” She gave the little pixie a hard look, and Seamus dropped his head and scooted over. “You have any brothers and sisters?”
“Two older brothers, and an older sister. Oldest brother is with the King’s Guard. Next oldest brother works part time for the smith in Goblin Market. Older sister is married and lives in Breckenholt. And I have two younger sisters and a baby brother.”
Dahlia stared up at the young man. “That’s a lot.”
Gan sighed. “I was an only child. It must be nice to have a big family of people who belong with you.”
“Sometimes,” he said, nodding. “Sometimes, when tempers get frayed, it’s the opposite.” He spread some butter on a piece of bread. “You should have seen the fights when Jabeth announced he was going to enlist in the King’s Guard. I don’t think I ever saw my mother get so angry. She calmed down a little when she found out he was going out with Lord Gweir. A little.”
“Sometimes its hard for parents to let go,” Gan said. “More soup?”
“Just a little, ma’am,” Rob said, lifting up his bowl.
Those pixies who hadn’t drifted off with full tummies to take a nap and who were paying attention nodded with approval.
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There was a raw, rather new camp of the King’s Guard on the high country not far from the town of Tantis, overlooking the high road to Brightwater and Greshold’s Keep beyond. It was mostly serious business. A circle of prisoner no space carriages rested within a fenced enclosure, with an office building in the center for processing and questioning. The compound was sparkling with magic to prevent escapes. Barrack buildings, also no space capable, lined one side, and a small group of other buildings stood to one side: mess hall, infirmary, chapel, and bearing a single banner, headquarters. To the right of them, in a small, slightly more elaborate structure, the banner read DIC with the unblinking eye logo.
Gweir Blackthorn left the prisoner compound and walked across the field the buildings surrounded. There were men doing weapons training half heartedly, and off to the side, a small group were playing ball. Everywhere, there was a feeling both of a job done well, and fatigue.
“Time for a break, I think,” he said to himself. “Or at least a change of scene. It’s been weeks since we started with Havron, and it’s started to show.”
He waved to the men playing ball, then stepped into the headquarters building. Walking to Havron’s office, he stopped and knocked.
“Enter,” a voice said.
He walked into the office and saluted. Sael Havron was bent over some paperwork, pen in hand.
“I believe we’ve rounded up the last of Mizak’s operatives, sir,” Gweir said. “At least the last on the list you gave us.” He held out a set of papers to Havron.
Havron looked up and nodded. “Have a seat, son.”
Gweir settled down in the proffered chair, while Havron continued.
“It’s been a busy few days, Blackthorn, and your team has worked excellently together, and to be honest, beyond my expectation. The Birch chose well when he picked you and your men. As for Mizak’s people, I doubt if we got them all. That man is as slimy as a snake,” he said. “And he’s been at this a long time, even back when he worked mostly from the Shadowlands. Still, I suspect we put a big hurt on his operation. Between him being caught and Shulan being no more, it’ll take a while for anybody to build back the operation he was running, especially since Jared Redbeard will be vetting anybody who tries from here to Ynys Afel and back.”
“Maybe all the way to Sunderland, even,” Gweir said, leaning forward in his seat.
Havron chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s got to be a big setback for whoever was trying to muscle in on Redbeard’s turf, but don’t consider it over. We’ll have to keep an eye on our official smuggler king.”
Gweir tapped on the arm of his chair. “You think he could be persuaded?”
“I wouldn’t bet against it,” Havron replied, closing the folder of papers he had been working on. “There’s bound to be a lot of pressure on him. Don’t think that someone won’t come in from the Shadowlands to try, especially if this was an operation run from there. With the Trows, well, let’s just say the politics of causing trouble to the Sunlit lands is a high priority. Queen Bercha is always looking for a gap to expand, and where she goes, darkness follows. And she has the Trow lord firmly in hand, no matter what the Tower of Ru says.”
Gweir rubbed the back of his neck. “I leave that to people above my pay grade, sir.”
“Good choice,” Havron said, nodding.
“Any news from Greshold’s Keep?” Gweir asked. “I know it’s not really my need to know, but I had to work with that slime Shulan long enough…”
“Byrony sent in a squad, and they even brought in some high ranking people from B&F.”
“Wonder what good that’ll do?” Gweir pursed his lips. “You think they’ll change anything they do? Greshold’s Keep has to be a pure money pit for them.”
“Rumor is that Shulan had been cooking the books for a long time, and cutting B&F out of their share of the profits. If anything’ll grab their attention, that will. So maybe. Time will tell. Another rumor is that the DIC is replacing their staff there as well.”
“Really? Now that is surprising.” Gweir shook his head. “Always thought that Tarhom was trustworthy sort. Never had any troubles dealing with him.”
“Speculation is that he was very good at looking the other way when it came to Shulan. For a small gratuity, mind you.”
“How’d you hear all of this?” Gweir asked. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his hands of the edge of Havron’s desk. “DIC people are supposed to be the one unbribable group in all the Dragonkin. I mean, they charge for smuggled goods, but that’s just a business fee. To take a payment like that…”
“Shulan’s second.”
“You mean Ochre?” Gweir’s voice was tinged with disbelief. “He seemed so soft and flighty, the times I worked with him. If you said boo to him, he looked for places out of the line of fire.”
“He might have seemed soft, but evidently he was keeping score on everything. He knows every detail of everything Shulan was doing, except who Shulan’s contact was. And he’s been sharing it all. Maybe he’s getting a little of his own back at the Dragonkin there. Wouldn’t be surprised, but he was an excellent bookkeeper and kept meticulous records.” Havron gave Gweir a wicked smile. “I suspect Bryony’s going to have a field day.”
He stood up, and Gweir followed suit. The two of them headed to the door. “Give me two more days to process everybody here, Blackthorn. Then after that, take a couple of weeks off. You and your men have earned it. Go home, visit your wife. I suspect we’ll have a lot to do to follow up with this after you get back.”
Gweir saluted. “Thank you, sir. That’ll be welcome news to the men.” Opening the door, Gweir stepped outside, and hurried to his barracks.