11

On the way down to the basement, Nairo stopped to send a few comms scrolls out.

“I want to have a better look at the body, and you can’t smoke in here,” she snapped at Ridley.

“That’s the problem with you coppers, all the rules,” Ridley said, rolling his eyes. “You reckon the coroner is gonna let us in that quickly?”

“Whether he does or not, I have an inside man.”

“Oooh, do you really Sarge? That doesn’t sound like protocol.”

“Well we can’t wait around for the coroner to respond to our request. I know the coroner’s assistant, he owes me one. I reckon he could let us have a peak if I ask nicely.” She sent off two scrolls, one to the coroner and one to his assistant, the instant transfer ink disappearing as it dried to reappear at the post office closest to the recipients. “Come on let’s get down the basement.”

That was much easier said than done. With their combination of wounds and strains, hobbling down fifteen flights of stairs was an ordeal. After five flights, Nairo’s left leg went numb. After five more, she wished it had stayed numb. Pain radiated through her body as she desperately clung to the railing and hopped down the well worn steps. Ridley had mocked her until his own sore knees started giving him issues. Through gritted teeth, he spat every curse he could imagine at the staircase. Their progress was gratingly slow and by the end they were both sweating.

“Who made stairs?” Ridley growled.

“Some bastard,” Nairo groaned as they finally reached the bottom of the stairs.

They hobbled down a dimly lit corridor. Everything smelled musty and forgotten and there was only a single forlorn glow stone lighting their way. They walked past several disused offices, the only sign of life was that the dust had been recently disturbed.

“There it is.” Nairo pointed towards an office at the end of the corridor with the glow of a light around the edges of the door. Peering at the peeling letting on the frosted glass of the door Nairo could just about make out the words: ‘Issi g Pro ert’.

“Looks like the place,” Ridley said, rapping on the door.

There was silence. Ridley knocked again.

“Oi! Anyone in there?”

“Wah?” came a thick reply through the door.

“Lieutenant Conway, my name is Sergeant Nairo. Captain Mallory sent us to you for information.”

There was a crash and then some swearing.

“I ain’t here!”

Ridley looked at Nairo and rolled his eyes before pushing open the door.

Inside, the room was as disused and forgotten as the rest of the floor had been. Dust and spiderwebs fought for dominance over every corner and surface. There was a single desk in the middle of the room. Strewn around it were heaps of empty bottles and mounds of moulding paperwork. Sat behind the desk with his feet up, bottle paused on its way to his lips, was a grizzled, grey haired, man who looked like he’d just rolled out of a cave. He was dishevelled and drunk, but his grey, flinty eyes were still sharp.

“You deaf?” he growled at them.

“No, but I’m well on my way to being crippled,” Ridley replied as he limped into the musty room.

“Lieutenant Conway I’m…”

“I’m not deaf,” Conway snapped. “I heard you the first time. What do you want?”

“I mislaid a codpiece couple of weeks ago. Has it popped up?” Ridley asked sarcastically.

“Always the last place you look,” Conway slurred, knocking the bottle back and taking a deep glug of something amber. It was either strong alcohol or weak paint thinner judging by the smell.

“Lieutenant Conway, Captain Mallory…”

“How is the little short arse?” Conway cut her off.

“Still short and still an arse,” Ridley replied and Conway gave a snotty snort of laughter. “You ain’t a copper.”

“No, he isn’t.” Nairo glared at Ridley who pointedly ignored her.

“You don’t have a glass do you?” Ridley asked.

“Did. Think I broke it.” Conway held the bottle up to Ridley. “Pull up a stool… or something.”

Conway gave a thick belch, his stomach gurgling as it fought to expel as much noxious gas as it could before he poured more in. Ridley took the bottle, pulled a stack of files to the other side of the desk, plonked himself down and took a whiff of the bottle.

“Lieutenant…”

“Drop the rank, love.” Conway said. “I’m Lieutenant of Jack and Shit. Other than these folders, I guess. I’ve only got me rank so I can cash out a decent pension and drink myself to death quicker.”

“Well… Conway, we’ve come to seek your expert knowledge for a case we’re working.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the case?” Despite Conway’s cynical demeanour, Nairo saw a flash in his eyes at the mention of a case. The always reliable obsession of a good detective.

“Impossible bank robbery. Grand larceny of a Diamond. Murder. Take your pick,” Ridley said as he handed the bottle back without taking a sip.

“That’s all one case?”

“Yep. Diamond was nicked last night and we found the Goblin dead this morning.”

“They connected?”

“Far as we’re aware.”

“A Diamond?”

“Yep.”

Conway gave a low whistle which turned into a sonorous burp.

“And you say Goblins are involved?”

“The dead Goblin in question was seen in the area of the bank several nights in a row before the Diamond was stolen,” Nairo said.

Conway dropped his feet from the desk and sat up, wiping his hand through his beard.

“So what d’yer want from me? I know this is missing property but I ain’t got any Diamonds in here.”

“We need information,” Nairo replied.

“The dead toad’s one of Uncle Sam’s circle,” Ridley said bluntly.

“Ridley!”

“What?”

“You can’t say that!”

“What? Toad?”

“Yes

“But I just did?”

“That word is incredibly offensive to Goblins…” she began before a loud throaty snort from Conway cut across her.

“Save yer words, girl, Goblins don’t give a fuck about you or your sympathy. They’d rape and murder you in heart beat if they had half a chance. They think Humans are an aberration of nature. Animals that the Elves domesticated and taught to speak. They don’t need your sympathies.”

“And I suppose you don’t mind if a Goblin called you a pig skin?” Nairo replied fiercely.

Conway gave a noncommittal shrug.

“He’d have to say it first for me to know what I’d do about it,” Conway spoke low with a voice that promised violence.

“Don’t worry about the Sarge. She takes the badge way too seriously. Would you believe she wanted to give medical attention to a Minotaur… after she arrested him!” Ridley gleefully sniggered as he recounted their earlier adventure. Conway raised a wiry eyebrow with an almost audible creak.

“You put the cuffs on a Minotaur, girl?” he said with the slightest hint of being impressed.

“Sargent Nairo, and yes,” Nairo answered shortly.

“Is that why you look like you went ten rounds with a pit fighter?”

“Partially.”

“We also fell through a roof,” Ridley added.

“And down some stairs,” Nairo said.

“And we had to slug it out with a Goblin.”

“The dead Goblin?” Conway asked.

“No, the Goblin we reckoned clipped him,” Ridley answered.

“Sounds like you’ve been having quite an adventure but I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

“What? Why?” Nairo asked.

“Because Sam’sun Chaw’drak has no business with Diamonds, magicks, or Elves. And I don’t have no business on the street no more. I been put out to pasture.”

“Cap’n Mallory said…”

“Mallory ain’t my boss. In fact, while I was ripping and running on the streets doing actual police work, Mallory was shining his badge and making all the right friends. He’s up there and I’m in the basement and that’s that.”

“That why you’re pretending to be drunk down here?” Ridley asked. “Tryna get sympathy points or hiding something?”

Conway narrowed his eyes but didn't say a word.

“From one alcoholic to another, ain’t no one sitting down here drinking Garkal Rum by the bottle and they’re not dead already. Even Trolls don't go hard on that stuff. Judging by the amount of empty bottles laying around I’d say you should have been dead… about eighteen bottles ago.”

Conway leaned back in his chair and eyed Ridley.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“That wall’s been bothering me since we came in,” Nairo added. “But I didn’t want to pry.”

“The wall with all the carefully placed dust and mould?” Ridley asked her.

“It’s the top left corner that’s really annoying me. Never know spiders to weave webs at right angles.”

Conway sucked his teeth and carefully surveyed them.

“No one’s been down here in… forever. Guess I got a little sloppy.”

“Oh don’t be too hard on yourself. Although, I would practise your slur a little.” Nairo gave him a small smile.

Ridley smirked.

“So…” Conway dropped the drunk act, his eyes showing the wolflike intelligence that had made him such a great detective. “You’re seriously looking at Chaw’drak for this?”

“We don’t know,” Nairo admitted. “The only link to Chaw’drak is Benny Two Coats, and now he’s dead…”

“Benny Two Coats?” Conway repeated, almost humming with interest.

“Yes, he was the Goblin we were pursuing, well that is until we found him this morning with his head damn near sawn off.”

“Interesting… what did you say your name was?”

“Sargeant Nairo.”

“Sally Nairo?”

“Yes.”

Conway seemed to be delving deep in his mind, throwing files left and right, trying to find out where he knew that name from.

“You solved that case last year, out in the Farmyards, what was it…” Conway clicked his fingers. “The case with the dead butler and the Troll gardener.”

“Yes that’s right,” Nairo said, a hint of pride in her voice.

“That was good police work. I followed that closely.”

“From down here?” Ridley said incredulously.

“You’d be amazed what filters down to missing property. So she’s a hot shot new young detective, renowned for good police work, and you are?”

“Ridley, you’ve probably heard of me.”

Conway looked at him blankly.

“Remember the PI involved in the Hemyway case?” Nairo prompted.

“Oh you were the crank that wanted to arrest the yorkshire terrier.”

“THAT was a perfectly valid theory!” Ridley fought to keep his voice under control. “How else could the poison get into old man Richmond’s wine? The maid was the only one with access… you know what forget it!”

“Well, you're passionate, I can respect that at least.” Conway said. “So Benny Two Coats is dead?”

“As a doornail.”

“Interesting.” Conway stood up and strode across the room. He opened the door, looked up and down the lifeless corridor and then locked the door behind him. “What we discuss here doesn’t leave this room, understand? You don't talk about it with Mallory or anyone else, understood?”

“Can we discuss with each other?” Ridley asked.

Conway eyed him coldly.

“We won't, we promise,” Nairo said, elbowing Ridley.

“Good. ‘Coz those fuckers might have put me down here to rot, but don’t mean I been rotting.” Conway stomped over to the wall to their left, pulled it away and then flipped it.

The backside of the board was a seemingly haphazard, criss-crossing, web of strings, names, sketches, and dates. This was all laid over a drawing of the city, split into quadrants and colour coded.

“Woah,” Ridley said, appreciating the maniacal attention to detail.

“Is that…?” Nairo began.

“Verdalia City!” Conway finished with a glint in his eye. “This is the whole incestuous cesspool of our legitimised underworld.”

“Legitimised?” Nairo asked.

“As in allowed to operate with impunity. This is why they wanted to get rid of me, because I kept pulling at that thread. I wanted to put the whole lot ‘em away behind bars. Chaw’drak, The Landlord, Gnommish Yano, and Wesley the Weasel. The four kings of crime in this city. Each quadrant carefully mapped out and under their control.” Conway pointed an accusing finger at four of the sketches. One was of a thick set Goblin with delicate ears and broad, heavy features. His name plate read: Sam’sun Chaw’drak. His picture sat over the south west section of the map that encompassed the Dock, Goblin Town, the RatHoles, and everything in between. Nairo also noticed the Foundries out on the edges of the city were also coloured green. The next picture was of a tall human, with features so sharp it was a wonder they didn’t cut right through his skin. He had three livid scars on his face. One across the bridge of nose, one through his eyebrow, and one through his cheek. He had a thick bristly moustache and the coldest eyes Nairo had ever seen. Bill ‘The Landlord’ Graves. His picture sat over the blue section of the map out West. Bill’s section stretched across the strongholds of working class humans, small factories, almost all of the cities’ breweries, and dozens of pubs and bars. Above him, in pink, was the Gnommish north of the city, the picture of a rather nondescript Gnome in a dark suit: Gnommish Yano. Finally, the East of the city was coloured yellow and covered all of the entertainment and pleasure districts the city had become famed for. The East of the city was the fastest expanding, and before the food crisis began, was a burgeoning culinary scene with new restaurants popping up every day. There was also the theatres, the live cabarets, and enough street level debauchery and hedonism to keep even the most virulent young man satiated. Over this section of the city was a sketch of a man who could be known as nothing other than the Weasel. He had little, beady, rodent eyes, a thin, sharply pointed moustache, and a look about him that said you should count your fingers after you shake hands with him.

“Together, these four scumbags are responsible for 90% of the crime that goes on in this city. Everything goes through them and is regulated by them. A rat doesn’t so much as steal a piece of cheese without paying dues on it.”

“How is this possible?” Nairo breathed as she scanned the map.

It wasn’t just names, but lists and lists of crimes. Murders, kidnappings, disappearances, armed robbery, illegal gambling, prostitution, drug dealing, loan sharking. The list just went on and on and on.

“How do you think peace is kept in the city?” Conway asked.

“Ain’t that peaceful out there,” Ridley said as his eyes flicked all over the map.

“Not like that. Of course there’s gonna be street level crimes. Robbings, knifings, beatings, and muggings. That’s normal city life. I mean, why do you think so many different species can all live side by side in this city? You two are too young to remember the riots and open warfare on the streets between Humans and Goblins. And then the Gnomes came by the thousand and that caused more friction. The city was tearing itself apart night after night until Verdalia was finally divided as you can see. They call it the Accords. As long as everyone sticks to their quarter then there’s peace. No mobs. No lynchings. No riots. With the additional addendum, that no bodies drop in the city. Why do you think despite the active number of villains in this city we have such a low murder rate but such a high disappearance rate?”

“People turn up missing all the time,” Ridley murmured, repeating an old truism you would hear constantly on the streets.

“Who knows about this?”

“Everyone!” Conway waved a wild hand. “It’s an open secret. Somewhere along the way the politicians realised that there has to be crime. That you can’t get rid of it. Long as people have gold and the freedom to spend it as they wish, there will always be black markets and vice. So better that the crime’s organised, regulated, and most importantly, kept out of the newspapers. Does wonders for the Mayor to make sure headlines like ‘decapitation in the streets’ and ‘torture gang leaves another victim’ stay out of the papers. As long as it stays off the front page, doesn’t affect anyone important, then they have carte blanche to do as they want.”

“But… we arrest criminals all the time!” Nairo protested. “The cities’ sentencing is some of the harshet around.

“You ever caught Chaw’drak? Are there any active investigations into him? Look at this!” Conway pointed to the laundry list of crimes attributing the Goblins. “We don’t ever catch anyone too important. It’s all street level bullshit. This is why they shoved me down here, because I kept trying to go after the real criminals. I followed the gold and you wouldn’t believe where it went.” Conway had an almost deranged look in his eyes now and then it faded. “But there’s nothing that we can do about it. This goes all the way to the top. Above Mallory. Above the politicians. Above the Mayor even, all the way to the Owners.”

“Shit,” Ridley muttered.

Conway sighed and looked at this board.

“You said Benny was dead?”

“Yes.”

Conway nodded and then took a pen and crossed out Benny’s name, in small writing, on the board.

“Benny wasn’t too high up on the food chain. He was well respected but he wasn’t in the Circle.”

“The Circle?” Nairo asked.

Conway sighed again and threw himself down behind his desk looking at the board. Without looking he reached into a draw and drew out a bottle of liquor.

“The good stuff,” he said to Ridley, before popping its seal and taking a small swig before answering Nairo’s question. “Each one of these criminal organisations has a structure to it. The Gnommish gangs are hardline, highly authoritative, with strict controls over every member. They operate with one lead who gets his order from the ruling class back home. Gnommish Yano is more of a mouth piece than a boss. He gets the orders and then makes sure they’re followed. Bill runs his more like a tyrant. Pure fear, menace, and intimidation. He surrounds himself with violent psychopaths and it's his way or you vanish. He strong armed his way to the top after smashing the remnants of the Human Defence Force. Once they gave up on trying to rid the city of anything non-human, Bill swooped in, cut the head off the old guard, including his old man, and took over the entire West end. Now, nothing and no one operates without his say so. The Weasel is more of a collection of all the leftovers, smooshed together and loosely managed by him. It’s his brother in laws that really keep everything in check though.”

“Who’s his brother-in laws?” Ridley asked.

“The Taverly twins.”

“Ohhhh. I thought they were serving 50% up the river.”

“They are. Doesn’t mean they don’t still cast a long shadow, the fucking nutters. They say even The Landlord gives the Twins a wide berth. They practically took over a whole slice of the city with little more than a Firm of ten fellas. They went to war with everyone and somehow won. Now they’re locked up, they’re still obliged to look after their little sister’s husband, even if it is Wesley the Weasel. Everyone gets to make money in the East as long as the Weasel gets a taste. But he knows he doesn’t have the muscle on the street to regulate the way Bill does. Without The Firm behind him he would have been taken over a long time ago. And then there’s Sam’sun Chaw’drak, the longest serving member of this little group. Sam’sun has run the Goblin gangs also known as Kith, which loosely translates to the community, since before any of us were born. He was a freedom fighter in a past life, a part of the Goblin rebellions until that all went tits up. He was tried as one of the ring leaders and found guilty of terrorism and rebellion. They locked him up in a Goblin gulag for a couple of decades. Then when peace was negotiated, the gulags were emptied, and Sam’sun was exiled to the Free Cities. Not much is known about him until he pops up in the species riots and takes up his place as leader of the Goblin resistance again. Since then he’s ruled the legitimate and illegitimate sides of the Goblin affairs within the city. He’s practically sanctified by the Goblins. They see him as their great protector. Old ma’s cook for him, people bring their newborn children to meet him, he pays for the younger generation to get educated. Out of the four, Sam’sun’s the most dangerous because he wields the most influence. Goblins practically run the Foundries, the Docks fall under his purview, and all of the Goblins within Goblin Town will vote in whichever direction he chooses. At this point, the fuckers more embedded in the city that its own foundations are.”

Conway took another slug of whiskey and sighed.

“So we’re pretty screwed then,” Ridley surmised after taking a deep breath.

“Only if he did it, which I can’t see,” Conway replied. “I’m assuming this Diamond belong to Elves?”

“Yep and they’re pissed. They’re all the way up the Mayor’s ass on this one.”

“Exactly. Sam’sun doesn’t bring heat on himself, that’s how he’s stayed alive and free for so long. Pissing of the Mayor and committing a crime someone has to hang for, and then Benny being found dead, it’s all too messy.”

“Could someone be framing Chaw’drak?” Nairo pondered.

“Possibly, but again, it just doesn’t make sense. Why steal a Diamond? Who could you possibly sell it to?”

“Must be plenty of people willing to buy a massive, shiny rock like that,” Ridley said.

“In all my years of vice I’ve never come across a real Diamond. They’re so rare that a blackmarket doesn’t even really exist for them.”

“So going by your gut, you don’t think Chaw’drak is behind this Diamond theft?” Nairo asked.

“If he was, you would have never been able to link it to anything anywhere near him. Instead you have a fairly high ranking member of the tribe seen at the scene of the crime and then dead within hours. Does that sound like the type of careful criminal mastermind who’s been in the game for decades?”

“No. Sounds like a sloppy amateur,” Ridley said.

“Exactly.” Conway scrubbed at his thick beard. “From what you’ve told me there’s a piece of this puzzle missing. How certain are you that Benny even had this Diamond?”

“Only circumstantial right now,” Nairo replied.

“How was he killed?”

“Had his head near ripped off,” Ridley answered. “Down to the bone.”

Conway whistled.

“Someone really wanted him dead. You reckon it was this other Goblin?”

“He was found at the scene of the crime but other than that, we don’t have a motive or even a weapon.”

“He did have a blade on him,” Ridley said.

“Do you think he could have done that with a dagger?”

“With enough motivation he might have.”

“No motive. No murder weapon. It’s good you’re keeping an open mind,” Conway said.

“Could be that Benny had nothing to do with the theft and we’re wasting our time on a wild goose chase,” Nairo sighed.

“Sounds like you’ve caught yourselves a real quagmire of a case,” Conway said with the sympathy of a veteran detective. “By the way, do you know what kind of Diamond you're chasing?”

“There’s different kinds?” Ridley asked.

“Of course. Some Diamonds are completely inert, some contain magicks, some have specific spells…” Conway trailed off as he saw the nonplussed looks on their faces. “Listen, I’m no expert, but I know a guy who’s into blackmarket magicks. He’s a weird character but harmless enough. I could connect you guys, maybe you can pump him for some info, could be he might have even heard something on the streets about someone tryna fence a rock.”

“Right now we’re trying not to let it out that there’s a Diamond missing in the city,” Nairo said.

“Fair enough… I’ll tell him you’re doing some sort of undercover work and you need more info for your backstories.”

“That could work, thank you.”

“His name’s Bil-Bil, he’s a human running cracked stones and DIY magicks out of the Foundries. Give me a day and I’ll track him down.”

“Thank you so much lieute… Conway. We appreciate it.” Nairo stood up and extended her hand.

“You’re very welcome. It’s nice to feel like I’m back in the game,” Conway said, shaking her hand with a gnarled paw.

“Hey, if you ever fancy coming out of the basement, there’s plenty of work for a hound with a good nose,” Ridley said, magicking a card between his fingers.

“Son, I’m three years away from a sweet pension and I got six more payments on a lakefront property out in the Azuras… but I’ll keep it in mind.” Conway accepted the card and shook Ridley’s hands. “I’ll be in touch, Sergeant.”