~~~~~~
He saw why it was the Galaxy ballroom. The Milky Way circled the ballroom in a dazzling array of colorful stars. Blue bands connected the constellations of the zodiac, and gold outlined the signs.
A pentagram was burned into the Milky Way. Outside the pentagram was a series of small holes. A little farther away were two tables. The constellation of Capricorn writ large in blood splatter overlooked the ballroom.
Crime scene technicians poured over the walls and the carpets. The officer led Jack and Shotgun around the burn marks on the floor. Beyond the two tables, a tight group of policemen and technicians huddled around Gumshoe.
The Inspector finished his business with the others, and said, “Thank you, Mack, I’ll take charge of our consultants.” He dismissed their escort. The elf tipped his hat and returned to his business.
“No one saw or heard anything,” said Gumshoe. “A custodian named Rimshot was on-duty last night. He opened the bay for us, but he’s refused to talk.”
“He’s frightened to death. I saw him in the hall, and he told me we’re doomed.”
“Let’s hope we’re not doomed.”
“They double-checked everyone who went missing for the last two weeks, and asked if anyone who knew the boys had seen the Labe kid. We’ve also completed a computer search to see if the McCarthy girl had any boyfriends, and the geeks found nothing. She had very few on-line friends, and the boys are all accounted for. The uniforms have followed up on all the recently missing dwarves without finding any clues. On a brighter note, we found one girl alive, who went missing last week. She and a friend had gone on an over-night hiking trip. She had a pass, but no one entered it into the computer.”
“Whew, at least you found someone alive.”
“Yeah, it’s the only bright light in a terrible week. Two odd cases also came up. Felix Abrams, a human scientist, disappeared the day before yesterday, and an engineer with the Ministry named Khan went missing for a few hours last night. Khan’s maid reported him missing, but he called back later. He said, he’d gone to work early this morning.”
“Is it normal for this many people to go missing?” asked Jack.
“Normal?” Gumshoe asked. “No, but these aren’t normal times. Far more dwarves, elves, goblins, and molemen are missing than the usual number for the usual reasons. The city’s in a turmoil and there are many loose ends. Most agencies are releasing on leave to let non-essential biots evacuate. It’s making our job difficult, but it’s good to know the agencies are doing the right thing.”
“You’re very open-minded,” said Shotgun. “The agencies are just protecting their investment.”
“To be sure, I’m open-minded, Shotgun,” said Gumshoe, “but not out of any virtue. Experience has taught me when to be skeptical, and never force a clue to fit a pet theory. If a theory refuses to fit the evidence, reject it.” The Inspector led them towards the entrance.
“Let me draw your attention to some less obvious details.” Gumshoe pointed. “The door was blown off its hinges. You can see the marks on the far wall. This morning the locks and hinges were welded shut. The hotel staff had to break in, and found the room as you see it.”
“Blowtorches can weld locks and hinges,” said Jack.
“If they used a blowtorch, how would they get out?” asked Gumshoe. “No equipment was left here.”
“Suppose when they were done, they opened the door, and all but one left. The one left behind welded the door shut after they left to delay their discovery.”
“Good idea,” said Gumshoe. “A gnome, a faerie, or a leprechaun might be an accomplice, and find some way to escape. It’s a good idea, but toy biots small enough to slip through air ducts aren’t known for strength of body or mind. Even if they had a faerie who could weld, they would have left the torch and tanks behind.”
“Maybe there was more than one.”
Gumshoe adjusted his fedora. “It’s a theory, but I’ve never arrested a faerie for anything more terrible than running away from home.”
“Yeah, sorry,” said Jack, “reaching the bottom of the barrel. If this is magic, it’s beyond my skills.”
“Could you weld the door from the other side?”
“No, I couldn’t weld a hinge from the other side. I have to see the object I’m working on. I can send an illusion around a pillar. But when I send an illusion out of sight, the resolution fails and the illusion melts.”
“That’s what I expected, but can magic weld the door?”
“I can melt metal magically, but I’d have to work slowly and take my time to be precise.”
“Can you teleport anything through a door?”
“No, I can’t teleport anything. Telekinetic power can blow off a door, and replace it I suppose. I’m not sure if I have that much power though.”
“Well, I don’t suspect any toy biots, not yet anyway. I’m sure there’s more than one, and I’ll show you why in a second. What if they have multiple magicians?”
“More than one magician? One magician is too improbable to be plausible. Now what? Do you think magicians are a dime a dozen, old man?”
“No, but I try not to get cornered into one theory. Next, let’s look at the carpet burns. I’m sure you’ve noticed the pentagram.”
Gumshoe directed their attention to impressions on the carpet. “Heavy objects sat here. One person might have used a levitator, but most commercial models require two men to prevent banging the walls. Levitators overcome gravity, not momentum and inertia. And a robot would have left marks.”
“It’s looking more complicated as we go,” said Jack.
“And it gets worse,” said Gumshoe. He pointed to spots on one end of the table cloth. “Blood stains. I can’t tell you any more than that now, but we’ll have an analysis later today.”
They circled the pentagram, and Gumshoe pointed. “See the device and the other markings, the carpet melted. No evidence of oxidation, no smoke residue, and no ash residue. We have taken samples, but I’m not expecting an explanation.”
“What about a carpet iron?” Shotgun asked.
Jack wondered where his man-servant stored his eclectic compendium of knowledge.
“Forensics thought of that,” said Gumshoe. “A carpet iron won’t melt carpet without oxidation and residues. If an iron cut the circle, there should be burn marks.”
“I can melt the carpet,” said Jack. “That part’s easy, I wouldn’t rule out technology though. A laser perhaps or something we haven’t thought of.”
Gumshoe knelt beside one of the holes circling the outer ring. “Seven holes surround the pentagram. They go straight through the carpet and the floor. No drill marks, and no other obvious means of cutting the holes. No cuttings are under the holes either. The techs have already checked the basement.”
“Interesting,” said Jack. “I have no idea how to make such a hole using magic. I can create illusions, fire, telekinetic force, and manipulate water. But I’ve never tried destroying matter.”
“Why not?” asked Gumshoe. “If you can destroy matter, you might have a solution for our trash.”
“Very funny, but remember some of my early experiments?”
“Who can forget Jack?” Gumshoe grinned, “You pulled quite a few pranks, but you were never a troublemaker.”
“In physics’ class at Tollmerak, I read about the destruction of matter, and it dawned on me that if I could destroy matter, it might result in an atomic explosion. Still, I don’t think I can destroy matter. I can’t create it, and these things always seem to have a balance.”
“What’s the balance for your other magic?” asked Gumshoe.
“That’s hard to explain. I can fill the Circus with illusions, and I can use telekinetics to fly. I can make a surf board out of the water in the air. And I can levitate several dancers without any trouble at all. But if I push it farther, I begin making mistakes, and I tire quickly. If I do too much, I forget what I’m doing, and the spells f
ade rapidly. Simple spells may endure for a few minutes depending on how many I cast. Complex spells, such as my animals, dissolve in seconds if I lose my concentration.”
“It’s a mixed bag then,” said Gumshoe. “What do you make of the pentagram?”
“I’ve done some homework since we last spoke,” said Jack. “The pentagram is your basic demonic symbol. Attempts to change its meaning or explain it away over the years have failed. It’s been a mark of the devil through so many centuries it really has no other known meaning now. The differences that do exist are trivial. Some say it’s a symbol only, others claim the mark has powers analogous to magical words or runes.
“In the very oldest stories, there were those who believed the original language of their god or gods had power over matter and nature. Later, there were many who thought symbols held magical powers, and still later the myth developed that mathematics might have magical powers. As far as I know the symbol has no magical ability
“Still, it’s a malevolent sign,” said Jack. “Usually, their rituals honor one manifestation of the devil or his servants. Not that I am saying someone was murdered or harmed here, I can’t be sure of that. And I can’t see what they would use the pentagram for. Still, whatever they thought they were doing, it’s unlikely they were up to any good.”
“And the Zodiac?” added Gumshoe.
“Our Zodiac and its myths mostly come from Greeks, who were less savvy as astronomers, and somewhat less blood thirsty than other sky worshippers. The winter solstice last occurred in Capricorn over twenty four centuries ago, and I’ve used that as a guide to the thinking of our perpetrator.” He cocked his head at the constellation of Capricorn on the wall, “Capricorn is important to him for some reason. And I see the tables are aligned to match the cusp of Capricorn.
“Pagans worshiped many gods; many of whom demanded human sacrifices on solstices or equinoxes. Sacrifices may have been given at the solstice in honor of the sun, the moon, the classical planets, or various stars or whole constellations. After all the wars, the references are thin, and it’s hard to separate history from fiction.
“Assyrians, Babylonians, Egyptians, Phoenicians, and Persians practiced human sacrifice. Often they sacrificed their first born children, but they also sacrificed prisoners of war and slaves. Many other nations practiced human sacrifice, but I’m picking on the great ones with astronomers. That’s the ancient history, not the astrology. There was no specialization, and astronomers practiced astrology. The stars were named for the gods, or the gods named the stars, or the gods came from the stars, or the gods went to stars when they retired. A few sources suggest the stars were gods. About the only consistency is inconsistency.”
“Modern myths or ancient legends, what’s the difference?” asked Gumshoe. “It’s all gibberish. Who cares?”
“To us, perhaps there’s no difference, but our killer is fascinated with the sign of the Capricorn. If we can identify which flavor of myths he believes in, it might help us predict his next move.”
“I’m betting this is a modern cult leader who knows no more than I do, or a gang working for Mars. Either way, I don’t think astrology will improve our fortunes, or divine our futures. And I don’t think ancient myths will be much help.”
“Maybe not,” said Jack, “but I am your consultant. Let me give you what I know.”
“Jack, just let me have the executive summary.”
“Our ancestors understood the myths differently than we see them. Aesop’s fable of the fox and the sour grapes teaches a moral truism. No one believes there was a fox who wanted grapes. The tale cautions the reader against self-deceit, and encourages personal virtue, among other lessons.
“Far be it from me to know all the variations of astrology. Nodlon’s astrologers practice divination based on the Chinese reform movement as re-interpreted by Seer Genesis after the second Regressive War. But it always seems the same to unbelievers. Sagittarians are experiencing dramatic beginnings or endings this year. Capricorns are confused, and they need to stand up for their principles. All our horoscopes today gush with positive spins, and meaningless mumbo jumbo.
“So far so good, certainly most of these beliefs are harmless, or mostly harmless. But ancient versions were not so benign. Many believed a god or a prophet would be reborn on the cusp of Capricorn. He would return with god-like powers to reshape the future and fulfill their prophecies. I’m not giving any credence to any ancient, extremist astrology, but maybe the perpetrator believes in it. I’m guessing he’s trying to summon a god, or a prophet.”
“Wacko land,” Gumshoe scoffed. “So who is he trying to summon?”
“Who knows? There’s dozens, hundreds. And not all of the myths agree. One observation narrows the field though. Since we have a murderer on our hands, we are dealing with one of the violent, death-oriented gods. We can exclude the peaceful types.”
“That narrows it, for sure,” Gumshoe said, and Shotgun snorted. “Someone into extreme astrology is trying to resurrect an ancient god or a prophet?” Gumshoe absentmindedly rubbed his chin. “So I’m looking for a malevolent astrologer with magic powers who leads a cult of rebellious dwarves?”
“Sorry Inspector,” said Jack. “I told you I cannot guarantee results. If I had to bet, I’d suspect it’s a scam by someone working for Mars.”
“Jack,” said Gumshoe, “I’m not disappointed at all, and I expected a lot less than you gave me. You’ve been an invaluable help, and you’ve saved any number of soma dealers from a night in the drunk-tank. Now, I’m certain the Capricorn is important, very important. We just need to figure out what it means. That narrows the possibilities, and I can rule out the usual suspects. Usually, about this time, I’d round up the usual suspects in desperation, and hope some low-life would rat out the perpetrator.”
“Don’t forget, it may be the constellation or the astrological sign or both.”
“Both? How can it be both?”
“Well, I don’t want to be rude, but there are those who think we were visited by extraterrestrials. Perhaps our villain thinks he’s summoning an alien from outer space.”
“Oh, brother, Jack, extreme astrology meets counterfactual archeology? Not only do I have to track down every astrologer in Nodlon and ask if they have a client with an unhealthy interest in Capricorn, you want me to check out all the ufology clubs? Why not just check with all the science fiction-fantasy clubs, the historical re-enactors, the steam-punks, the millennialists, and the kids into swords and sorcery.”
“Don’t forget the astronomy clubs, the vid gamers, and the dungeons and dragons crowd.”
Gumshoe rolled his eyes, and Shotgun guffawed. “Boss, do you suspect everyone?”
“No, I’m just thinking of my fan base. These creeps have abducted dozens of innocent dwarves, someone must have heard something.”
“Where would you start, Jack?”
“Start with the reputable divination providers in Deep Nodlon. Ask if they’ve heard of a cult, or if any of their clients disappeared. They mostly help the lonely, lost, and confused. Maybe they’ve heard something from a client.”
“Reputable divination provider? That’s a new one, Jack. I’d rather have a description of the perp, it would help.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’ve spent too much time with them trying to explain the mystery of magic. Whatever the ancients believed, the new practitioners are not the kind of people who tolerate murder. I doubt the reputable divination providers have any truck with sociopathic clients. Crazies tend not to pay, and you never know when they’ll go berserk. If we treat them with respect, we may learn something.”
“Jack, not to belabor the obvious, but I am the master of discretion.”
Rimshot
Clay stepped aside to let the lab technicians run another spectroscope over the carpet. “Perhaps I can help convince the custodian to talk.”
“Go for it, Jack,” said Gumshoe. “If you can convince the old coot to talk, I’ll owe you
one.”
“Shotgun,” said Jack, “go to the bar, and pick up a bottle of their best white lightning.”
“Aye, boss.”
“Let me have your ticket,” said Gumshoe, “and I’ll put the devil’s water on the Crown’s tab.”
“If I get results,” said Jack, “the Crown can pick up lunch.”
Peeling away from Gumshoe, Clay headed for the service hall. As he departed, technicians flocked to Gumshoe. Outside the ballroom, he saw Macmillan guarding the scene.
Rimshot had disappeared into the stairwell. Jack followed him that way, and considered his choices. A custodian was more likely to have an office in a basement than a penthouse. He went down.
The first basement door featured a sign marked day spa, gymnasium and a pool. Continuing downward, he found another door marked with a short list of offices, including one labeled “Custodian.”
Where else would you look for a custodian?
Through the door and down a hall, a sign directed him down another hall to a small, dank room with a gray door, which stood open. Peeking into the room, he caught a reflection of the goblin, leaning back in a rickety chair. His feet were propped up on a tiny desk.
He fingered his caster, and sent his location to Shotgun.
He approached the custodian’s gray door, leaned against the jamb and blocked the exit.
“Top of the morning, Rimshot,” he said.
The goblin stared with a long face, and he gave Jack an uneasy glance. One eye lolled lazily around its socket. His other eye narrowed, and his expression hardened. Jack said nothing for a moment and tried to convey a sense of harmless congeniality.
Grease stains covered the goblin’s overalls. On close examination, the small office was jammed with cleaning supplies and tools. A metal cupboard displayed detergents, carpet soap, polishes, stain removers, and a bucket full of sponges. A buffing machine guarded the cupboard, and a rack of rings held an assortment of brooms, mops, and a crowbar. Opposite the brooms was a tiny work bench buried in wrenches, and screwdrivers. A broken fan teetered precariously on the edge of the bench.
Slowly, Rimshot took in Jack’s immaculate coif, cloak, tunic, vest, breeches and suede boots.
Rimshot drooped, and his jowls sank. “Are you with the police?”
“No, or not exactly anyway, the Inspector in charge of the Zodiac case is a friend of mine. He asked me to consult on matters of magic and the occult. We are trying to find the villain who murdered Anna McCarthy. She’s the dwarf we found floating in Blueberry Lake. We want to catch him before another missing dwarf meets with foul play.”
The goblin’s frown faded and he studied the clutter on his desk. “A nasty business, t’would be a shame not to find the killer.”
“The killer? How do you know? Rimshot, do you know something that might help?”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say to the police.”
“What about me? Unofficially, of course, an anonymous source who wants to make a statement off the record.”
Mixed emotions flitted across the goblin’s face. Bitterness turned to anger, mingled with regret, touched with fear, and softened to grim determination.
“Rimshot’s what’s they call me ‘round here, Guv’nor.” He took his feet off the desk, and wiped his hands on his overalls.
“I’m Jack Clay, here’s my card.”
“Keep your card, Guv’nor, I knows who you are. Got friends at the Circus, they all speak highly of you.”
“Tell me what you know, Rimshot. A reward might be in it, if you like.”
“Ain’t no native son,” he said, “I’m an invisible man. I goes unseen even when they sees me with their livin’ eyeballs!”
“Off the record then; no police, no statements, and nothing to sign. Please help us Rimshot before another dwarf dies.”
“All right Guv’nor, I’ll tell you. Not for any reward, Guv’nor. Rimshot don’t need no reward to do what’s right. For that Blueberry girl, I’ll tell yah – cause it’s right. Just so as it’s off the record.” The goblin slumped in his chair.
“On my honor, Rimshot, my lips are sealed.”
Rimshot grinned. “Lucky for you, Mr. Clay, your honor’s ain’t none likes a celebrity’s. I knows the honor of celebrities, and they pays me to clean it up.” He leaned over and spat into his spittoon.
“Touché. Too true, Rimshot, many actors and actresses misbehave.”
“Ain’t impugnin,’” he drawled, “The honor of no talented folk. Just stating the truth about the highs and mighties who comes in here with rented furniture and free tokes, and leaves their mess for Rimshot’s to clean up.”
“Point taken,” Clay soothed, hoping to assuage the goblin.
The goblin squared his overalls, and leaned against his work bench, “Pardon Guv’nor, but my hands ain’t clean.” He looked down at the concrete floor, and his lazy eye lolled up to look at Jack.
“A jezebel called to arrange an exhibition. Good business, you see. We’s always hostin’ con’s and zibbit’s. I imagine your Inspector has all her papers.” He swayed back and forth, and shoved his free hand into his pocket.
“She shows the day before. And she’s a looker. She says to me to stays in my quarters and mind’s my business.” Craning his neck towards Clay, he hissed conspiratorially. “’If you’s knows what’s good for you she says. Says it’s a student group, puttin’ on a play. So I’s says to myself, forgets all ‘bout it. Cockamamie story, but ain’t unusual, don’t cha know. What’s people do’s is thar’ business, not Rimshot’s.” Relaxing, he leaned back, and pushed himself up using the bench.
“Then, it gets strange.” His eyes widened, and he pulled his hand from his pocket and cut the air palm down. His lazy eye followed his hand as he twisted to encompass the room. “She called me directs, on my desk caster.” He cocked his head towards the caster, atop a stack of invoices, “and she tells me to open the bay for the exhibiter in the wee hours.” His head rolled to one side, and he brought his lazy eye around to look at Jack. “Most unusual, but the customer’s always right, I says.” Then he hunkered down, glaring at the magician.
“Go on, please, Rimshot, to save this girl, we need to know. If we can’t save her, we need to stop this guy.”
“Ain’t no guy, you ain’t gonna believes Rimshot’s story, but I’s sayin’ he’s dangerous, he’s workin’ for the devil.”
“Chin up, old man, it’s off the record, no one will know.”
“And none had better, Guv’nor, the police ain’t got a cop on every corner, and even as they did, they’d not be able to stop him. Believe or not, I say, he’s unnatural.” Nodding the goblin seemed appeased, but held his tongue.
“Rimshot,” he coaxed, “I’ll not tell a living soul where I got this story from. Remember, she was only nineteen.”
“Aye, Guv’nor,” tears welled in his eyes. “I got a call signal on my board from the loading dock. They arrived in an airship, a hearse by the look of it. Two got out o’ the airship; one skinny dwarf, and one fat dwarf. They’re all dressed in black caps and boots, and devices here.” He patted his heart. “The fat one spotted me at the door, and he tells me to get the bay open. Never gave me a chance to ‘splain, ain’t safe to leave the bay open at night. I offered help, and he shoos ol’ Rimshot away.
“Call it intuition; or call it a premonition. They strikes me as devils. Mind ye, it’s not about the dwarves, it’s about their doin’s. I backs away into the shadows wonderin’ what’s they’re up to.” Craning he looked over Jack’s shoulder into the hall, and glanced about the room, cowering for a moment before recovering his courage.
“They pulled a load out of the airship,” the goblin’s eyes widened. “It’s on levitators, and it’s heavy, very heavy. They grunts, and fights with it gettin’ it movin’ and stoppin’ and turnin’ it. They get it in the bay, and I sees it’s a coffin just likes you see in on the vid. I got a good look at ‘em in the bay. They were black dwarves
. The goblin whimpered. After they gets one offloaded, then they gets another. Then they unload a pallet of odd shaped boxes, and a bundle of spears.”
“Spears?”
“Yeah, spears with funny heads. They unloaded everythin’ into the Galaxy ballroom, and then one of ‘em goes up to the airship, and opens a door, and says, ‘my lord.’ And out comes a dwarf dressed as a sorcerer, I tells you. Aye, he had on a sorcerer’s robe with a hood. Black with silver flames, and stars and designs all over it was. And he’s got a carved staff. Its shaft shimmered and had a pewter foot. No taller than a dwarf.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Aye, guv’nor, he’s a black dwarf. I saw his microchip plain as the nose on your face.” The goblin stared, his eyes bulged. “And that’s not all guv’nor, when he spoke, it was like he was calling from the other side, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure, Rimshot, what do you mean?”
“Aye, I’m not sure others can hear it, but I heard it. Like if I spoke to you through a can tied to a piece o’ string. Strange, just hearin’ it in my head sends chills down me.
“So, they goes into the Galaxy room, and close the door, and I hear a sizzling sound. I can smell somethin’ burnin’ like it ain’t supposed to. I knew I should tell Dennis, the manager o’ the hotel,” he said, squirming. “But I had a premonition and I got cold feet. None of us would o’ lived out the night if I’d said anything.’” Anguish twisted his face, and he rubbed his hair as if he was sorry for something he had not done.
“Rimshot, you did the right thing. I’ve got the same impression myself. I’ve seen the mess in the ballroom, and I believe you. It would have been foolish to try interrupting him yourself, and no one would have believed you last night. The black dwarf warlock may not have been magical, but he was most certainly dangerous.”
Fortified, the goblin’s chin rose, and he leaned back in his creaky chair. “I pressed my ear to the door and listened. The door was hot, and I heard chantin’ and strange music comin’ from the room. Melancholy it was, like them ol’ horror movies. I heard whisperin’ but no words. There was chains rattling, clanking, and clicking, and then an animal growling. Then everything went quiet.” Pausing melodramatically, the goblin spread his legs and cut the air with both hands. “Dead silent it was,” he continued. “No sounds at all came from the ballroom. And that’s when I hightailed it outta thar’ bless me, all elbows, and attitudes!”
“You said before we’re doomed. Whose doom? Mine or the missing dwarves?” Footfalls behind Clay told him they were no longer alone. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Shotgun holding a colorful gift bag with bright yellow tissue surrounding the tip of a bottle.
Rimshot straightened up. “Premonition, you ain’t gonna believe it. I dreamed last night. A great volcano exploded and fire and ash flew over Nodlon, and everythin’ burned.” He craned forward staring at Jack with his good eye, and his lazy eye lolled again, encircled the room and came to rest looking at him.
“Aye, Jack Clay, you were in my dream too. The volcano fell on top of you.”
A tingle ran up Jack’s back, and he frowned at Rimshot’s words. He held his tongue waiting for more.
“And I saw you and your sidekick in my dream.” Rimshot grinned with a touch of triumph.
Strutting around his desk, the goblin plopped down into his little office chair with a squeaky bounce. With drama, he put his dirty boots on the desk. He leaned back, and propped himself up. His chair wheezed, and its wheels moaned.
“And that’s all I have to tell you.”
“I think you’ve helped us, Rimshot, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to give you a gift.”
“You owe me nothin’ Mr. Clay. Rimshot’s glad to get it off his chest.”
“Doing the right thing is its own reward. All too often it goes unrecognized.”
“Nothin’ against acceptin’ a gift, I ‘spose.”
Shotgun handed the gift bag to Jack.
Clay laid the gift and a card on Rimshot’s cluttered desk, and gave him a wink, “Call me if you remember anything else, Rimshot, off the record.”
“Right kind of ye, Guv’nor,” Rimshot thanked him, “right kind of ye, Mr. Clay.”