~~~~~~
Making their way back to the ballroom, they took a lift.
“He’s colorful, that I’ll say for him.”
“Just a goblin trying to earn an honest living, Shotgun.”
“Yeah, when Lang makes his documentary, I’m sure he’ll talk.”
The chaos in the ballroom had settled into a quiet order. They cornered the Inspector when he was alone.
“Any luck?” Gumshoe asked.
“Yes,” answered Clay. “He may be a sot, and sublimely confused, but he’s honest and decent, he squeaks with sincerity.”
“The custodian wants to remain anonymous,” added Clay. “He’s afraid the police cannot protect him.”
“I’d never admit it in public,” Gumshoe said, “but he’s right. I’ll enter it as an anonymous tip from an informer. Of course, if we run the fiends down, we’ll have to ask him to come forward and make a statement, and the Crown’s prosecutor will want him to testify.”
“If we get that far,” said Jack, “we can lean on his conscience. He wants to do the right thing, he’s just scared, and I don’t blame him.”
He quickly summarized Rimshot’s story.
Gumshoe hooked a thumb over his lightning pistol. “I wanted a description, and thanks to you, we have a fighting chance of saving some lives. Now we know we’re after a black dwarf. And we know we’re dealing with a team. So the Black Dwarf fancies himself a warlock. And he believes in extreme astrology, and he believes he can use magic to recall an archaic god. Is that about right?”
“Yeah, I think so. Not sure if that helps, though.”
“The airship has to be registered,” said Gumshoe. “And the coffins were sold, imported, or stolen in Nodlon recently. What do you make of those spears?”
“Maybe those were poles set around the pentagram in the holes,” said Shotgun. “Maybe they were flagpoles for pennants or signs.”
“The bay was dim,” said Jack, “and I’m not sure Rimshot had a good view. Remember the oil. He probably saw torches they brought to use in their ritual.”
“Good idea, Jack,” said Gumshoe. “Still we’re looking for three dwarves who wear black and drive a hearse. We’re whittling it down – good work gentleman.”
“What’s our next move?” Jack asked.
“Jezebel Steele rented the ballroom and insured it,” said Gumshoe. “She’s the principal of Nodlon Entertainment Logistics. Logistics appears to be a legit outfit. She organizes conventions and trade shows. She’s been around six years, and she’s never been in trouble, and she has no record in Nodlon.”
“What about her statements to the custodian,” asked Jack. “Don’t those seem suspicious?”
“Maybe,” said Gumshoe. “Until we know her side of the story, we have no idea if she’s part of the gang or if they gave her a cockamamie story and she swallowed it. The customer’s always right.”
“That’s what Rimshot said.”
“It’s a proverb,” said Gumshoe, “or something like that. Probably read it on a fortune cookie. I have to finish up here, and give the management the bad news. We’re probably going to have the room off-limits for weeks. The crime scene unit has finished the prelim, but they’ll need a week to complete the follow-up. And we cannot let the modus operandi leak to the press, if we can help it. I don’t want any copy cats muddying the waters.”
“What’s next?” Jack asked.
“Next,” said Gumshoe, “we’ll check out Jezebel Steele, if you can wait.”
“Can we do lunch first?” asked Shotgun.
“Hang on,” said Gumshoe. “We’ll eat on the way over there. The Crown’s buying.”
Jezebel Steele
The airship slowed to a crawl, and guided its sleek black form into the parking garage. His gangly servant retrieved his staff from its compartment. The gangly dwarf opened his door, held his staff, and waited for him to emerge.
“Your staff, my lord.”
He admired himself in his airship’s shiny finish. He saw a warlock with a fine coif and a perfect manicure. Runes of power and designs of magic covered his robes, defended his person, and amplified his abilities. His staff hummed, tapping the spiritual energy, and sucking manna across the differential between the living world and his own.
Taking his staff, he headed for a lift, conceding the necessity of mundane transportation. His servants followed, and their boots pounded the pavement. Snapping his fingers, he and his servants became invisible to all but those whom he wished to see. Alone they entered the lift, and he engaged the fire department override, and they rose directly to the top floor without stopping.
The dusty portraits of the businessmen of old gazed down upon them as they stepped off the lift. He ignored the bystanders. Those pushed aside by the three dwarves were stunned momentarily, grappling with the unexpected shove. And after a split second daze, the bystanders continued on their way, once again oblivious.
Reaching the door of Nodlon Entertainment Logistics, he ordered his minions to guard the entrance from an unwanted intrusion. “Wait here, and if anyone tries to enter, snap your fingers and send them on their way.” Holding out his hand, the door opened, and it swung aside. He crossed the foyer without salutation or announcement, and repeated the gesture. The inner door unlocked, parted from the jamb, and swung wide.
In the back office was a middle aged woman sitting behind a small executive desk. Reserves of charm and a stately beauty had not abandoned her, though the strain of business worried her eyes. She straightened her attire, an avant-garde jacket cut with a feminine lapel and a short skirt in an inexplicable color which clashed against tasteless heels.
“Why, excuse me, sir, but I’m closed. I thought I locked that door.”
He noticed a vase full of red carnations with Baby’s Breath, and laughed.
“Poor and hungry comes a good and thrifty boy, proud and haughty she will not be his toy, he took a boat and sailed away, saying he would come another day, making her the spinster who would not kiss a boy.”
“And who are you sir? Normally my clients make an appointment.”
“Who I am is irrelevant. As for my business, that will become apparent all too soon to suite your taste.”
Snapping his fingers, he sealed the office in a veil of silence. He lifted his staff, and thrust it up into the air and twirled it around three times. Holding it horizontally over his head, he chanted the incantations.
Alarmed, Steele retreated to the corner of her office. “Why have you barged into my office? This is most unusual.”
Only when the dwarf began chanting in a sing song she did not understand did her senses return. She snatched her caster from her desk, and frantically tried to place a call. She punched on the little screen to no avail. The device refused to wake up. Desperately, she dropped the caster, and tried to call on her desk caster. Furiously, she stabbed the screen, but it remained blank, reflecting only the dwarf holding his staff.
She lifted the handset from its cradle and listened for a tone, and heard nothing.
“Get out of my office!” she yelled.
Under her, the desk vibrated, and she flinched at the unexpected sensation. Her alarm turned to fear and she snatched up a letter opener. Above her, she heard a metallic tear and the roar of a turbine. Fear turned to panic, and she jumped back into the corner, jarring her filing cabinet, and toppling her Indian dolls. The dolls fell upon her bookcase, already wobbling from the blow of the cabinet, launching a row of romance novels after the onyx bookends. The romances cascaded off her bookcase, and a gothic thriller of a vampire’s love for a baker’s daughter bumped the carnations sent by an unrequited suitor. Twirling off the end table the carnations fell and the vase smashed.
She threw her hands up to her ears to dampen the roar. Looking up to see what made the ear-splitting noise, a growing hole in the ceiling riveted her gaze.
The maw expanded until a red planet appeared. On the planet a hurricane swirled, its e
ye on the cusp of dawn. A tornado spiraled out of the eye, and slammed into the maw. Papers whirled in the breeze as the tornado caught a foot hold on the ceiling’s portal. For a moment she feared she would be vacuumed into space.
The tornado beat her desk, and flung her chairs and cabinets against the walls. The twirling mass of air slowed and thinned, and the roar subsided. A shape emerged from the tornado.
An impossible creature with claws, scales, and fangs stepped out of the whirlwind. Baring its fangs, the monster growled, wiggled its claws, and drowned the tornado’s din. Paralyzed with fear, she tried to scream.