Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf (25 page)

Read Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf Online

Authors: Terry Newman

BOOK: Detective Nicely Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf

8.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

‘Unless they involve subverting the system, preventing democratic elections; not to mention inciting riots and racial hatred.’

‘These are grave accusations, Master Detective; I hope you can substantiate them.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Alderman, because it’s all been squashed, finished. All that’s going to happen now is that a lot of councillors and aldermen – including yourself – are going to find themselves without a seat this fall. And although they are going to be the only people in the Citadel who will be upset by this, they will be very upset.’ I gave him a big, wide smile. ‘Yes, sorry, but I do not think the Citadel Alliance Party will be much of a going concern this year, or ever. You don’t own the Citadel, no more than the elves do. I thought you ought to know that.’

Hardwood gently stroked his beard, his only sign of agitation. ‘As I say, politics is a very subjective matter.’

I needed very much to see that implacable calm disturbed just a fraction, and as much as I wanted to do it, I felt that smacking a very rich and powerful old man on the jaw was not advisable. I had the next best thing, though. I took the Hardwood Emerald out of the bearer’s pouch tucked into my jacket inside pocket and held it up high where it caught the last of the evening sunshine and sent out shafts of green light all around the book-lined walls.

‘I do believe that is my property,’ said the old man, his attention now well and truly won.

‘I do believe it’s not,’ I replied.

I turned, leaving the folding money where it sat. It is probably still there, gathering a little dust, on the little table, next to the light, by the long window.

25
AFTER THE FIRE

I was right in my evaluation. The
Citadel Press
’s scroll did do the job. Josh’s photographs in particular. The looks on the faces of the gnome mothers looking in anguish for their children melted many a stony heart and the sight of their burnt and ravaged pitiful homes caused an uproar that is still ringing around Widergard. On the Hill, people’s anger gave way to shock and disbelief; their fear gave way to sympathy. Although there was a groundswell of desire for justice and the population cried out for the ringleaders to be brought to trial, it never happened. By the time the Cits reached the Surf Elves’ hut, it was empty of everything and the case had to be dropped for lack of evidence. This was probably just as well, for retaliation against the entire elfin population of the Citadel would have been disastrous. The story was enough to do the trick though; it effectively defused a very bad situation. Petal and his gang were never found so nobody came to trial, although as I predicted, come fall, a lot of councilmen and aldermen suddenly found themselves with nowhere to sit.

And the outlook for Alderman Hardwood? Well, it would have been nearly impossible to do permanent damage to anyone of his standing, either financially or personally. So he was never going to end up begging in the gutter. Strangely enough, though, his business empire did dwindle. I suspect a certain elf queen dropped a few words into the right ears – and eventually he was replaced at the top of his various industrial concerns and Hardwood became a recluse, studying arcane law, but never crossing the sea to the promised land. Mrs Hardwood joined him in seclusion, which was some small measure of justice and a great loss to the Citadel social scene, apparently.

However, as I left Hardwood House on that warm summer’s evening I did not feel quite as good as I would have liked. For one thing, I could feel Goodenough’s staring eyes drilling holes in my back and following my every step as I walked back to the wagon.

Plus, I still had one very important call to make. I found her on that small bit of beach in the main Bay area that is still left unpolluted. She was with Thelen. She had left a message with my answering service telling me where they would be. Thelen did not approach as I parked my Dragonette by the strand and walked on down the beach. She sat on the sand hugging her knees. Liza was down at the water’s edge, idly skipping stones across the barely rippling surface.

I sat down on the still warm sand next to Thelen.

‘She wanted some time by herself. I’ve told her about Perry.’

I nodded and looked at her closely. ‘You have your mother’s countenance.’ She shrugged and I did not pursue the matter further. ‘She might find a good home for this.’ I handed her the pouch with the Elf Gate Ring, most definitely no longer the Hardwood Emerald.

Thelen gave the pouch the shortest of examinations, as if she was afraid the sight might do permanent damage to her eyes. They certainly seemed to be watering suddenly.

‘Thank you, Nicely.’

‘All part of the service.’

‘And I am not sure if I ever did really thank you properly for the rescue, Nicely.’

‘Not much of a rescue. And it’s Arito Cardinollo and Wilmer we should be thanking. Them and your elf aunts and uncles.’

‘I didn’t know they were waiting in the wings. Whatever you may think, I was not just following orders. Elves do not work that way.’

‘Sure, Thelen. I understand.’

‘So, this Mrs Hardwood is a queen of sorts?’

‘Celembine Merrymead – hardly in your mother’s league, but about as legit as you can get these days. Why, does that get her extra discount at the Her Majesty’s All-You-Can-Eat-for-5-Crowns Hogget Bar?’

Thelen look at me and shook her head before replying: ‘I’m not surprised so many people seem to want to play punchball with your head.’

‘I always put it down to unbridled jealousy at my outrageous good looks.’

She continued gamely: ‘But Queen Celembine was not content to live her days in the Desolate Wastes?’

‘A title is all very fine, but as we all know, that’s not where the power lies in these modern times, and she likes that smell of control, does our Mrs Hardwood.’

‘And what was Leo Courtkey to her?’

I shrugged. ‘A damn fine rider, powder supplier and discrete seller of unwanted jewellery – take your pick and see what you hit.’

‘So she brought him with her to the Citadel?’

‘And to a nice situation with Mr Hardwood, somebody with real wealth and power, where they continued their little arrangement.’

‘So what spoilt it?’

‘Our Leo was not as other men.’ I knew that for certain now because Josh had finally come through with a photograph of Leo Courtkey, a rare snap of him winning a race on his beloved Rosebud. I didn’t really recognise the face, but I knew the smile. I’d put the photograph in my purse, meaning to show it to the others involved in the case, but I never did. It didn’t seem right to somehow. As Truetouch he died; let him find whatever peace he could with that name and face.

For some reason I looked hard at Liza standing at the water’s edge before I continued. ‘Let’s just say he wasn’t happy in the company of men. He wanted elfdom and all it entailed and when he saw a chance to get some gold corn of his own, from a racetrack fix, he grabbed at it with both hands.’

‘And this gold,’ Thelen began, before a small shiver interrupted her flow. ‘This enabled him to pay for the adjustment surgery he so desired?’

‘Pointy ears and raised eyebrows and chiselled cheekbones and the rest – fine if you like that kind of thing.’

‘Which I do!’

I gave her a smile: ‘On you they look good!’

‘Still, it takes more than surgery to pass as an elf.’ She hugged her knees. ‘I saw him and I was fooled too.’

‘Everybody was.’

‘Why did he take the Elf Gate ring – the Hardwood Emerald, as it was then thought to be?’

‘Well, he wasn’t getting a salary from the Hardwoods any more. He had to leave there when he started the surgery. So Leo Courtkey the rider was no more and he only had “Truetouch” to fall back on. I think he was probably just short of money, and knowing Mrs Hardwood’s habit of selling off her baubles to pay for her habit, he didn’t think it would get commented upon. He just happened to pick the wrong bauble. The very wrong bauble.’

‘Surely Perry would have recognised Truetouch as Leo Courtkey when he saw him on the beach?’

‘Maybe he did. From what Liza has said, I don’t think Perry was the kind of man who would have blown the whistle on a friend – which I am guessing Leo was.’

‘Leo must have been beside himself when a dwarf detective turned up at the beach?’

‘I don’t think he was exactly happy, especially after I wiped the floor with his hero. Probably thought my looking for Perry Goodfellow was just a smokescreen. I’m not completely sure what he wanted from me. I think he was a little conflicted there, between asking for assistance in handing the Hardwood Emerald back and just wanting to pick my lock and see what I was hiding.’

‘Mrs Hardwood hiring you to look for the emerald – was that a coincidence?’

‘Probably – I am the only dwarf detective in town, which is the only true thing Mrs Hardwood ever said to me.’

‘And so, Nicely. We still need an answer to the big question: who killed our elf that never was? Who did for Leo Courtkey?’

I got up and shook the sand from my seat. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that Hardwood ordered it and Goodenough would have been his middleman. I’m sure he was in
The
Twilight Alehouse
looking for Leo Courtkey when Truetouch and me arrived. I kind of reckon a goblin by the name of Petal probably did the actual deed and tried to put me in the frame for it at the same time. Judging by the way the Hardwood bauble ended up in his coffer. And that’s the problem with the world today, too much delegation. If you want to do a job properly, nothing beats doing it yourself.’

‘But you got the velvet glove treatment the next time you ran into Petal?’

‘I don’t know if I would call a nose full of Moondust velvet glove treatment.’

‘A lot of folk would pay good gold for that sort of treatment.’

‘Not dwarfs!’ I said with real conviction. ‘But by then Hardwood knew the Cits could find a connection back to his wife, a trail he didn’t want the Cits going down. He hoped Petal would just scare me off with vague threats. Doesn’t know anything about dwarfs, that man.’

‘Well, not this one at least.’

We left it at that. I suppose we were not sure exactly who had been using whom and for what.

I went down to the water’s edge to talk with Liza. Although Thelen had already broken the bad news about Perry, for what it was worth, I could at least tell her he was in the clear with regard to the theft of the Hardwood Emerald. I was never going to figure out all of the ramifications of this case. Hardwood had too many fingers in too many pies; the only consolation was that by now most of them had got burnt. I did not feel that this was going to be much consolation to Liza.

I walked towards the small, stocky figure of Liza, and pictured those haunting eyes and stopped. I was suddenly struck by her essential dwarfish quality. There was no other word for it. The Elf Queen was right: what a wondrous thing this creature called man was. I thought of Slant, the troll-like man, and Clubbin – did he not have something of Grove, the Tree-friend, in his manner? Then there was that strange inn,
The Twilight Alehouse
, the one I visited with poor Leo ‘Truetouch’ Courtkey, the club that was not there the next day. Were those really dwarfs and elves – or goblins even? Perhaps there was a secret underground of these characters: misfits who were never at home with the race they were born into, meeting up in their own private places. Axes and blood, could Petal really be a man after all? Who was passing themselves off as whom? It was a sobering thought. I took a breath and carried on walking, trying to think of something I could say to the sad young lady on the beach, to help her try to make sense of it all.

Later that night I met up with a new group of drinking partners. Ralph smoked his pipe and told me that Scout Telfine, now undoubtedly a better man, would make a full recovery. I took a flagon of Mother Crock’s finest and the Tree-friend brought some homemade gravy. The wizard did some tricks, the gnome told some stories, the pix fell off his perch and we all got good and stinking, but I never did go surfing.

About the Author

A former biomedical research scientist, one day Terry hung up his electron microscope and started writing jokes for radio, musicals, feature films, TV and the stage. He is especially known for his political satire, writing for several series of
Rory Bremner
,
Who Else?
,
Bremner, Bird and Fortune
,
Dead Ringers
and
The Way It Is
. His theatre work has won the 2004 Fringe Report Drama Writer of the Year and a Headline Highlight Award, and he was made a Writer in Residence at the Canal Café theatre. Terry spends his spare time happily writing songs in his summerhouse in sunny Sussex. He can be found on Twitter
@adeadelf
and on Facebook at:
www.facebook.com/adeadelf