21

After lunch, they took a meandering route through the city to walk off their food. When they reached Elmshore East station, Lill said they had to part ways, since she was hardly going to walk into the station and risk seeing her mother after drinking four beers. Mick was thankful he’d stuck to lemon and lime cordial.

“Thanks for everything today,” he said, offering his hand.

Rather than shake it, Lill gave him a hug. When they separated, she said, “Sorry. I get overly familiar after a beer or two. Tell me when it gets too much.”

Mick laughed. “You alright getting home?”

“I’m not a teenager. Besides, I know the city miles better than you do. I’m getting a cart to the Thatch and Thistle, meeting my pals there.”

“Alright then,” he said, feeling uncomfortable with goodbyes and not really knowing what to say. “Well…stay safe.”

“You too. Don’t let my mother give you one of her stares. And if she tries it, just remember that she’s all bluster. She can glare all she wants, but there’s not much else she can do. I was six years old when I realized that fact, and I still remember the look of fear in mother’s eyes.”

If Mick was expecting some kind of ceremony now that he had a mentor signed up, then he was mistaken. Striding guard budgets being what they were, he was lucky that Chief Inspector Glass could spare him any time at all. As it was, she made him wait for twenty-three minutes outside her office while she finished a meeting she was having with two other inspectors named Fargill and Gurt.

“Check in with Alan Barley at the Grape Stem,” she said to the departing inspectors. “Get back to me when you have. If anyone’s heard a whisper about the cart, then it’s Barley.”

“Righto, boss.”

“And do your damned paperwork when you get back to the station, when it’s fresh, Gurt. I’m sick to my back teeth of your fuzzy reports.”

“Yes, boss.”

Glass smiled at Mick, but it was more of a I’m trying my best to be polite, but I can’t keep up the veneer for long kind of smile. “So?”

Once settled in her chair behind her desk in her office, Glass half listened to him whilst scribbling something down in a ledger. Forms, forms, forms, she said. That was her life these days. Mick explained how they’d gone to see Sammy Lee and she’d agreed to act as his mentor for the token program. He didn’t feel any need to go into particulars, so didn’t mention the carriage incentive he’d had to dangle to earn her cooperation, nor the fact that Sammy was his mentor in name only.

When he was finished telling her, he wasn’t actually sure if Glass had been listening. It was possible she hadn’t heard a word from how she still scribbled away in her book. After writing one more word – CLOSED - and then drawing a line underneath whatever she’d been writing, she looked up.

“Sammy is retired.”

“Aye, I know. That doesn’t stop her being a mentor.”

“You do know that Sammy and I go way back?” said Glass.

“Lill told me.”

“Ah, well, you don’t want to let that one lead you astray, trust me. Trainee Gill may have overstepped her mark somewhat here, but nevertheless, I did tell you that we had spare tokens, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Then I’ll honor my word. Michael Mulroon – you are now a trainee in the Full Striding, Elmshore East station token program. Congratulations, well done, and all of that.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell me, how did you get Sammy to agree? No, don’t say it. Let me think…something to do with a cart, no doubt. They’re the only bloody things she’s interested in these days. What was it? Did you…no, no, don’t tell me….I wonder, did you tell her where she could locate another damned cart to buy and store in the old scrap yard?”

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Mick made a mental note to remember, when dealing with fellow sleuths, inspectors, and detectives, how perceptive they were. All you had to tell them was a single ingredient and they could figure out what you had for dinner.

“We came to an arrangement,” he said.

“Instigated by Trainee Gill, no doubt. Well, let’s get down to it. I ought to send you to see Sergeant Nichols to do this, but I find him infuriating. Since you’re here, we’ll just get it done. Lucky you, eh? The chief inspector of the station filling in a form for you.”

“The saints have truly blessed me.”

Glass eyed him like he’d just confessed to stealing biscuits from the station lounge, then turned her attention back to the form. “Name? Well, we know that. Michael Mulroon.”

“Michael James Mulroon.”

“Address?”

“Fifty Six Hilda’s Hill Road, Sunhampton, PO: 63662.”

“Next of kin?”

“Ma,” said Mick.

Glass fixed him a look of contempt. “I’ve had very little sleep, Mick.”

“Sorry. Sheila Mulroon.”

On and on they went, working their way through the labyrinth that called itself a form. Mick thought it would never end. All he wanted to do was get his tokens and get the heck out of there, go back to Sunhampton where you could walk the streets without feeling overwhelmed, and where you didn’t have to take a pinch of allergy powder before you ate somewhere.

Brenda Glass forged ahead, asking him about allergies, health conditions, and that sort of thing. Those questions were fair enough. Then there were ones that hardly seemed relevant to him at all – names of childhood friends, how many cousins he had. That sort of thing. He answered purely to get it over with.

“Right,” said Glass, jabbing the clicker end of her pen on the form as if to punctuate reaching its conclusion. “Just one more question, Trainee Mulroon. Sleuth, detective, or inspector?”

He’d discussed this with Sammy in the scrap yard, and he’d talked it over with Lill at the kebab café. Lots of lip flapping, and he was still nowhere close to an answer.

The way he saw it, there was no right choice, but no wrong choice either. All three options had the same skill trees to earn before you got the class – Observation, Deduction, Interrogation, Forensics, and Stealth & Tracking. At the core of things, there was no difference. You had to earn all five trees before the class was yours.

The choice came with the subtleties within the skill trees. A sleuth was better at skill tree abilities that involved empathy, such as detecting lies, and judging the best way to question a witness. They carried much less authority, however, and couldn’t count on taking charge of an investigation or interrogation through sheer presence alone.

An inspector was the opposite – when they walked into a room, folks paid attention. But if the job required getting along with people, then inspectors were already starting the race five paces behind.

Then there was the detective choice. Forensics was where they excelled. Extracting information from fingerprints, that kind of thing. Sleuths and inspectors could still do this, but detectives did it better. This gave them a slight disadvantage in their empathy and authority, though.

“Are you allowed to give me advice?” asked Mick.

“I’m allowed to do anything I want, this is my station,” said Glass. “But it’s a personal decision. Any advice I gave would be useless the minute the words left my mouth.”

“How did you choose?”

“I was rash, I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

“Really?”

Glass nodded. “Back then, yes. A certain hesitancy has set into my bones as I’ve aged, and I take a more measured view of things. But once upon a time…well, let’s say Lill – Trainee Gill – gets her impulsivity from somewhere.”

Mick didn’t want to just blurt out his choice and be stuck with it. Nor did he want to sit here all day. Sunhampton was calling to him, and he was aching to go home. But how could he decide? He thought he’d already decided this a while ago. Detective – that was what he’d told himself he would pick. Only now, something about that didn’t feel right.

Maybe the best way to decide was to think about how he was actually going to use the skill trees that he gained. Where would he be working, for example? The normal process was that when someone earned their class, they would get assigned to a station to start their career. That seemed like a way away yet, but Mick was confident he’d find a means to get them to let him keep working as Sunhampton’s head of guards, albeit with an actual salary.

So, clearly, he needed to remember that the cases he got, the crimes he’d investigate, the mysteries he would solve, would be nothing like what inspectors in Striding had to deal with. Stolen pigs, missing garden gnomes. Those were the kinds of cases that would land on his desk, assuming they gave him an expense budget to buy a desk. Which of the three choices fit best with that?

Empathy. That was the way of it. Sunhampton as a town was all about the people, and a good guard had to build a solid network of relationships to get anywhere in a place like that.

“Sleuth,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yup. I make a decision, and that’s that. You can build a house on it, it’s so set in stone.”

Glass scribbled on her paper, set the pen down, and then offered him her hand. “Trainee Mulroon, on behalf of the Full Striding guard force, I would like to welcome you to our token training program.”

Mick didn’t bother trying to hide the smile forming on his lips. Why should he? Better to just enjoy the moment. He couldn’t resist adding, however, “Thank you very much, Chief Inspector Glass. Now, who do I talk to about expenses?”