Jump to content


Chapter 11: An Orcish Detective in Tarant


  • Please log in to reply
No replies to this topic

#1 Guest_RickTaylor_*

Posted 05 February 2005 - 04:55 PM

Chapter 6
An Orcish Detective in Tarant



April 17, 1885
In the Great Library, Late at Night



“IFS Zephyr Shot Down by Flying Machines!

Heroic Blimp Crash Survivor Tells All!”


--The headline of today's Daily Tarant



It seems I got my wish this morning. There is a story in the paper about a half-orc who isn’t a thief, a murderer, or worse. They actually portray me as a heroine, a sort of noble damsel in distress; it’s all a bit ridiculous, really. Alas, the article doesn’t even mention my orcish blood. I suppose a story about a half-orc who was sympathetic, let alone heroic, would have been too much for their readers. They did put my picture in the paper, but I had my hat and scarf on when they took it, and you can’t tell my race from that grainy photograph. Ah well, it is probably for the best.

I woke Virgil up early and asked him if he could go to the police station for me and tell them I couldn’t come for my lesson. I felt guilty getting Virgil out of bed so early, but I didn’t want to skip weapon’s practice without a word, and I had a patient to look after. I went down to look in on Elizabeth and her son as soon as Virgil had left.

Elizabeth was sitting by her son’s bed when I came down to see them. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her face was drawn and lined with worry. She watched me nervously as I entered her room. I think she’s a little afraid of me now, but she managed a tentative smile as she said, “Good morning, Miss Vorak, I think Bobby’s not as hot as he was last night.”

I put down the newspaper I'd been carrying on a nightstand, walked over to the cot where the child lay, and put my hand on his forehead. “Yes, that is better. I see you’ve been applying the compresses properly; I don’t think he’ll be needing them much longer. I think perhaps the worst of the fever is over.”

Her face relaxed visibly, and she took a deep breath. “Thank you, Miss Vorak,” she whispered.

“You’ve been up all night, I imagine,” I continued. “You should get a few hours sleep. I’ll look after Bobby for a while.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, Miss Vorak, but I’m really not tired.”

I smiled; it was meant to be reassuring, but I think it made her nervous again; I’m afraid I have rather a toothy smile. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Elizabeth, that was doctor’s orders. If you get sick, you won’t be able to take proper care of your son. I’ll keep an eye on things while you rest.”

Still she hesitated. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll wake you if someone comes looking for you. I shan’t try talking to them myself. I’ll be able to get Virgil to help me in a while.”

She looked embarrassed, but nodded gratefully. As she walked towards her bed, she spotted the newspaper I’d left on the nightstand. She looked down at the picture on the front page and rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “Miss Vorak,” she said, looking up at me, astonished, “is that you?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. I’ll explain it all later, but there’s not much to tell, really. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I’m very fortunate to be alive. That’s all.”

Elizabeth stared at me, completely at a loss. Finally, she thanked me again, and went and lay down to sleep, and I settled down to prepare more medicines.

Virgil returned from the police station shortly thereafter. We ate breakfast and talked together as I read the rest of the paper. “Thank you so much for doing that, Virgil,” I said. “The police have been very generous; I didn’t want to just skip my lesson without an explanation.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, and looked down. “It’s alright,” he said. I wondered nervously if he was angry with me for some reason.

“You look unhappy, Virgil. Is something wrong?”

“Those bloody buggers! They’ve cancelled your lessons. Someone complained, and it got out they were training a, a half-orc. The captain was polite about it, at least; I think he’s a decent chap. But he said he didn’t have a choice, and they couldn’t train you anymore. I’m sorry, Clarisse.”

“That’s quite alright, Virgil. It was good while it lasted. I’ll just have to find someone else, now. I just hope Captain Fitzwater hasn’t gotten into trouble on my account. By the way, I’m glad you’re finally calling me Clarisse. After all we've been through together, it’s about time we were on a first name basis. Come to think of it, I still don’t know much about you, Virgil. I don’t even know your family name.”

There was an awkward silence. Finally Virgil said, “You said something about talking to Magnus last night. What do you think we should do now?”

I sighed inwardly; evidently I wasn’t going to get make any further progress with that mystery this morning. “Have a look at this,” I said, showing him the paper. “I think I’ve found a job for us.”

Late on Tuesday evening, the mansion of Mr. James and Mrs. Evelyn Garringsburg, at 37 Devonshire Way, was broken into by thieves and ransacked, according to sources close to the family. Among the many items stolen was the famed "Kerghan and Persephone," painted by Pizzarro. Sold last year at Renaud's for a reputed 50,000 gold pieces, the painting was the showpiece of the Garringsburg gallery.

Mr. Garringsburg, a long standing member of the Wellington Gentlemen's Club, had this to say—"You can be assured that the perpetrators of this heinous crime will be brought to justice, and that reparations will be made." Mrs. Garringsburg was unavailable for comment. The Garringsburgs have offered a 300 coin reward. This crime is only the latest of many art-related robberies, which have included the "Lorek in repose" statue, and the Blendom Vase.


Virgil blinked. “You want to go hunting for some rich sod’s painting? Why?”

“We need money, Virgil. We’re not monks, after all. I mean we’re fine for now, but who knows how long we’re going to be chasing down the owner of that ring? Besides, I have to convince that infernally stubborn dwarf that I’m not ‘green.’”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t see why you need to do anything to impress that runty little dwarf. We don’t need his help.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true, Virgil; we can’t afford to overlook any possible help. You’re more experienced at combat than I am, but we’re both amateurs. It’s pretty clear the Schuyler’s aren’t going to tell us who the ring belongs to. We may be forced to find the information via illicit means. If those stories about the Schuyler’s are true, we’ll need to be prepared; we may need whatever help we can get.”

“You don’t believe those fairy tales that dwarf was telling us? About their customers turning up dead with their eyes missing?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t use to believe in fairy tales or conspiracies, but that was before a dying gnome told me he’d escaped from someplace horrid, asked me to ‘find the boy,’ and pushed a ring into my hand. I’m not so quick to dismiss fairy tales as I once was.”

I continued, “I did do a bit of research at the hall of records. I looked through old papers for references to the Schuyler’s; I was trying to find something about Magnus’s ‘eyeless five’. I didn’t find them, but I did find an article about a James Peterson. He used to work for the Schuyler’s. Someone found his body in the sewers about a year ago; he’d been poisoned. The Schulyer’s we’re never implicated, but you must admit it’s suspicious. And I couldn’t find any record of Phelonius Schuyler or his sons appearing in public, just as Magnus said.”

Virgil mulled this over. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. You think they’ll hire a half-orc to find a stolen painting?”

“I don’t see why not. I mean, aren’t private detectives supposed to be somewhat disreputable characters with ties to the seedier side of the population? They were always like that in those cheap mystery novels I used to read growing up.” I smiled. “I think a half-orc could make a very convincing private eye.”

Virgil smirked. “You read cheap mystery novels growing up?”

“I read everything I could get my hands on.”

So after Elizabeth woke we went to visit the Garringsburg household. Dark clouds still covered the sky and the streets were wet, but yesterday’s storm had passed leaving only a fine mist that felt prickly against the skin and helped clean the air. The Garringsburgs lived in a very well to do section of Tarant. I felt terribly self-conscious walking along the cobblestone road past the carefully manicured gardens and fine houses. We found the house, really it was a small mansion, knocked on the door, and were greeted by the sight of a half-ogre in an immaculate waistcoat scowling down upon us. “What you want?” he growled.

“Who is it, Polgram,” came a lady’s voice from within. Mrs. Garringsburg walked into view. She was a middle-aged lady, well dressed and wearing a pearl necklace, gold earrings, and a large diamond ring. She peered at me curiously, shaking her head, “I’m sorry, miss; you do look familiar but I can’t remember where we’ve met. Do I know you?”

As I started to speak, she drew her hand to her mouth in shock. “Oh my goodness!” she gasped, “Polgrom, please see these visitors out at once!”

I spoke very rapidly: “Excuse me, Mrs. Garringsburg, my name is Clarisse Vorak, and I’m here to see you about your missing painting.” But it was no good; the door slammed shut in our faces before I could even finish the sentence.

My heart sank. Virgil offered me his hand. “Come on Clarisse, it’s alright. Who cares what some miserable old bat like her thinks, anyway?” Defeated, I turned to leave.

We were halfway to the street when the door opened again and Mrs. Garringsburg poked her head out. “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Clarisse Vorak?”

“Yes, madam.”

Mrs. Garringsburg left and returned shortly clutching a paper. She looked back and forth between me and the front page. “You’re that blimp crash survivor?”

“Yes, madam.”

There was a pause, then,“They didn’t say you were a half-orc.”

“No, madam. I suppose they thought that might spoil the story, but it’s true none-the-less.”

She looked at me uncertainly. “Well, you’re certainly civil enough. I do apologize for my outburst. Please forgive me, I’ve been terribly upset since the break-in. Did you say something about our painting?”

“Yes, madam. I thought perhaps Virgil and I could investigate the matter for you. Could we ask you a few questions about what happened?”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to talk.” Mrs. Garringsburg hesitated a moment as though trying to make up her mind before saying, “Why don’t you come in.”

So we came out of the grey outdoors into her beautiful brightly lit house. It was richly appointed with plush carpeting and elegant furniture. We went in and sat together on a plush couch covered with blue silk. Can you imagine? I am undoubtedly the first half-orc ever to sit on that couch. Mrs. Garringsburg was positively sympathetic when I explained I was looking for work because I’d lost most of my funds in the crash. I asked her to tell us the circumstances of the robbery.

“I’m afraid that there’s little to be done, now. Two night’s ago there was a break-in at the mansion. In the morning, we awoke to find that some of our most prized possessions had been stolen, including our beloved ‘Kerghan and Persephone’ a Pizzarro original.”

“I’m so very sorry. Have the police any leads?”

“The police have had little luck in catching the criminals. It seems they’ve covered their tracks pretty well. The paper had a story about it this morning.” She sighed sadly. “I so loved that painting.”

“How was the house broken into?”

“The front door; it was a professional job, as we heard nothing from our bed. Our butler, Polgram, was outside, on his nightly patrol. The thief was in and out in minutes.”

“I see. Does anyone else have a key to your house?”

“No, my husband and I are the only people who have keys to the manor. Even Polgram is without one.”

“Who knew the painting was here at the house?”

“No one, beyond our closest friends. Of course, my husband is apt to go out drinking with his friends on occasion. Are there any men who don’t enjoy the infrequent snifter of brandy? I suppose he might have revealed it in public in one of his, … weaker moments”

“I believe I read that Mr. Garringsburg is a member of the Wellington Gentlemen’s club?”

“Why yes, he often goes there. It’s quite exclusive; I doubt you’ll find our art thief there.”

“Well, I’ll do my best, and I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve found something. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Garringsburg.” And so we left.

“What now?” asked Virgil as we walked back towards the Bridesdale Inn.

“Well, I suppose we should go to this Wellington Gentlemen’s club and look for clues.”

“To a gentlemen’s club? They aren’t going to let you in there. They wouldn’t let the queen of the elves in there. They won’t let me in there either; not unless we can find a really good disguise.”

“It’s worth a try, anyway. What do we have to lose? In the meantime let’s pick up a gift for Magnus.

Virgil snorted. “You think you can bribe him?”

“It’s not a bribe, Virgil, it’s just being polite. Oh, and we should pay a visit to Thelonius tonight.”

“Thelonius? Who’s Thelonius?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil, I haven’t told you anything, have I? I’ve been so self-absorbed this past week. Mr. Garfield Thelonius Remington the third is a gentleman with the body of a pure blood orc. He says his parents were human, and I have no reason to doubt it; he talks just like some stuffy old blue blood. The poor man can’t even live in human society. He sold himself into indentured servitude to a Mr. Parnell for the sake of his parents, and Parnell displays him as an exhibit in his carnival: ‘Gar, the world’s only intelligent orc.’ It’s all quite disgusting, really.”

“And you think he can help us?”

“As I said, Virgil, we can’t afford to overlook any possible help. Thelonius is a gentleman, a bit of a fop and a tea snob, but very polite. He knows a lot about Tarantian politics. And he has the body of an orc; I’m sure he’d be a big help if it came to a fight, although I don’t know why he’d want to help us. Even if he did, he’s practically a slave to that awful Parnell character.”

We stopped at a general store, and I bought a tin of fine dwarvish snuff for Magnus and another tin of Earl Grey tea for Thelonius before continuing to the Wellington Gentlemen’s club. The club wasn’t far from the Bridesdale; I’d walked past it several times before. A doorman dressed in fancy livery guarded the main entrance. Of course Virgil was right; we got nowhere. The man was rude and wouldn’t answer any questions, even after I explained I was working on behalf of Mrs. Garringsburg. When I finally asked if we might go in, he gave us the most haughty stare imaginable, and with every syllable dripping with disdain, he declared, “I’m sorry, ...madam... but even if you were a member of the respectable classes, it would be quite impossible. This is a gentlemen’s club, and it has long-standing rules covering the, uh, fairer sex. Mr. Wendell Wellington established this club 30 years ago, and if he says no women, then there will be no women allowed on my watch. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

Truth to tell, he didn’t sound sorry at all, but I persisted. “And just where might I find Mr. Wellington?”

“Madam! As if I would tell you where the honorable Mr. Wellington lives! Please, respect the man’s wishes and his privacy. I must ask you to leave the premises, now.

I wasn’t too discouraged. I had been planning to go back to the hall of records to do further research on the Schuylers, and I could look up Mr. Wellington’s whereabouts then. But that could wait until later. We went back to the Bridesdale, and I took the opportunity to change Bobby’s bandages and to apply more medicine before going upstairs to freshen up and get a bite to eat. The child was still feverish of course, but he was doing as well as I could have hoped. Then we set off to visit Magnus at his apartment in the dwarvish quarter of town.

As we walked towards the dwarvish quarter, Virgil showed me a small bag of coins. “Where did those come from?” I asked.

“That lady, what was her name? Elizabeth. She apologized to me, said she’d accidentally overcharged us for the rooms and gave me this. Nice, huh? I thought those rooms were overpriced.”

“Well of course they were, Virgil, that was the rate for undesirables.” I sighed, frustrated.

“Is something the matter, Clarisse?”

“No, nothing. I mean it’s good she gave us back the money, I guess. I just wish she’d had the courage to apologize to my face instead of waiting until I’m taking a bath and then talking to you. Oh, never mind.”

Magnus smiled when he saw us, although he teased me unmercifully about the story in the paper. “So I hear you’re a regular hero now. After all, it’s not just anyone who can get themselves shot down while riding a hot air balloon.”

“It was a dirigible, actually.”

“Balloon, dirigible, it’s all the same. The point is that that’s not the sort of experience I was looking for, lass. Getting shot down in a balloon is one thing. Being someone I know I can trust in a fight is an entirely different kettle of fish. I still think you’re a bit green.”

Despite his jibes, I think he’s softening towards us. We spent several hours talking together talking about the Schuylers, and I filled him in on the details of our quest. I told him how the dying gnome, Preston Radcliffe, had given me the ring, and how our trip to Shrouded Hills had been plagued by assassins. He listened thoughtfully, saying nothing. I was hoping he would reciprocate by telling us more about his own quest to find his missing clan, but he did not. Still, we discussed several ‘purely hypothetical’ scenarios for getting into the Schuyler’s jewelry shop after hours, and I imagine it’s only a matter of time before he breaks down and agrees to work with us.

It was dark when we left Magnus’s apartment and there was a chill in the air. Mr. Parnell’s Emporium of Wonders was closed by the time we arrived. I knocked on the door, and Mr. Parnell answered. He recognized me from before. “Why good evening, miss,” he said smiling. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you this time. I’m awfully sorry, but we’re closed just now. You will both come back tomorrow, won’t you? I promise you both an experience you won’t soon forget.”

“Actually, we’ve just come to talk with Thelonius,” I said.

The smile vanished, and he was suddenly nervous. “Thelonius? I’m sorry, miss, but you must be mistaken. There’s no Thelonius here.”

I rolled my eyes. “All right, we’ve come to see Gar, the orc.”

“I'm sorry, miss, but we are closed. If you could jus...”

“Mr. Parnell,” I said, in a loud, impatient voice, “do you know what I am not going to do now? I am not going to walk down to the office of the Daily Tarant and I am not going to speak with the editor, my friend Mr. Wright, and I am not going to tell him that the orc you have on display is really a human whom you are keeping as some sort of indentured servant; something quite illegal in a democracy like Tarant, as I’m sure you’re well aware. And do you know why I am not going to do this?”

Mr. Parnell was sweating hard. He said nothing, but I half-imagined I could see smoke coming out of his ears.

“I am not going to do this because Thelonius has informed me that you are a gentleman, and that you have treated him honorably and decently. So despite my own disgust for your behavior, I will accede to his wishes and leave you alone. Of course if I thought for a moment that you were keeping Thelonius as a slave, if I thought for a moment that Thelonius was unable to speak with whomever he wishes whenever he wishes, I MIGHT CHANGE MY MIND. Now, do we understand each other?”

Mr. Parnell’s position was hopeless and he knew it. He just barely managed to speak coherently as he gurgled, “Really, miss. I had no idea you were his friends. I would never dream of turning away Gar.... Mr. Remington’s guests. I was just looking out for his interests.”

“I’m so very glad to hear that,” I said, smiling broadly. Parnell swallowed hard; I do have rather a toothy smile. “Good evening to you, sir. Let’s go, Virgil.”

I did enjoy speaking with Thelonius; he is such a proper gentleman. And Thelonius certainly seemed to enjoy speaking with us. I think Virgil and I may have represented the only opportunity he’s had for intelligent conversation since becoming Parnell’s exhibit. We talked at length about Tarantian politics. I’m afraid Virgil was terribly bored, but I found it very interesting and I learned a lot. Of course he’d seen my story in the paper and he asked me for the details. I took the opportunity to fill him in on everything, all the way up to our failed attempts to persuade the Schuyler’s to tell us the owner of the gnome’s ring. Thelonius doesn’t get out much, but he had heard dark rumors about the Schuyler’s. I didn’t get as far as telling him we were contemplating actually breaking in to the jewelry store, let alone asking if he might help; there will be time for that later. I did suggest that I might be able to persuade Parnell to release him by threatening to go to the papers, but Thelonius would have none of it. He is too much the gentleman to go back on his word, once given.

It was very late by the time we left Parnell’s establishment. A cold, stiff wind was blowing. The office of records was closed of course, so we came to the library instead. I can never resist the opportunity to read for an hour or two before retiring. Virgil is sitting nearby; the poor dear has fallen asleep. It has been a productive day. Tomorrow morning we shall go to the hall of records to find Mr. Wellington’s address and to research more old papers for news about the Schuylers. Then we shall see if we can get into this gentlemen’s club. It’s looking like it could be an interesting adventure.




0 user(s) are reading this topic

0 members, 0 guests, 0 anonymous users

Skin Designed By Evanescence at IBSkin.com