Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves (13 page)

"It is surprising what they will say when faced with alternatives."

"Alternatives?"

"Alternatives."

"I have been led to believe Reverian Assassins are impervious to torture or threats."

"They are a recalcitrant bunch," Lorenzo admitted as he emptied his bottle of Duburoake Star Ale.

"Do not make me hurt you," I threatened.

Lorenzo sighed and said, "I told him I would emasculate him, dress him as a harem girl, and sell him to the black ship that lies at anchor in the bay."

"The black ship is that horrendous? Where is it from?"

"You don't want to know."

"And what has become of this assassin?" I forced myself to ask. Though I trust Lorenzo with my life, I still find his drastic solutions to certain situations unnerving.

Lorenzo smiled and paused, giving my imagination time to dwell on a number of disturbing outcomes. "He runs with his tail between his legs. I doubt he will return to Reveria since he has failed his task. I expect him to take up a more sedate occupation, maybe that of a rabbit shepherd."

"Well, it was good your bluff worked," I said.

"Bluff?"

I tried to ignore his rejoinder.

"At least now you now know your future mother-in-law isn't out to kill you--with Reverian Assassins, anyway," he continued. "But the assassin's confession does signify that there is someone else, obviously with wealth, who wants you dead-though they live in some other part of Glavendale."

I felt my head whirling. "I cannot contend with of any of this right now. I need some sleep. Let us see if there are still seats on that coach."

Chapter Nine

I woke up feeling better than I had for many days. Even the pain in my foot had abated to where it was just a dull throb. I felt even better after a bath and fresh change of clothes.

Lorenzo was waiting for me in the inn's long hall. He had finally convinced me it would not be safe for me to return to my quarters with so many assassins still out for my blood. The Reverians were as mad as hornets with the humiliating deaths of their brethren assassins.

"So, how am I to continue my investigation into Frost Ivory's mysterious slumber if I cannot go about in public?" I asked while attacking a plate of ham and eggs. Lorenzo had been adamant about me staying out of sight. "Or how am I to even discover the origins of the Reverian Assassins?"

"You say you are the master of disguises. I guess you're going to have to go undercover and I have just the masquerade for you. I took the liberty of visiting your loft while you were asleep and brought this back," he said after depositing a bag on the table.

It wasn't that I couldn't pull off a successful disguise. I had scored quite well in disguises during my apprenticeship under Phen the Razor. A credible disguise did not necessitate elaborate wigs or costume, but a shift in gait, expression, manner, and a sweep of the comb to rearrange the hair. It was just that I questioned Lorenzo's idea of a masquerade.

I eyed the poke with caution, puzzled as to what he could have found in my closet that would lend itself to a different identity.

"It better not be that gown the fishmonger's daughter left. I refuse to go as a damsel, no matter what the danger you say dogs my heels. And quit looking at me like that, the gown does belong to the fishmonger's daughter."

"I didn't say a word. It's just that I've never known a fishmonger's daughter to also wear fishnet stockings and a push-up bra made from the eyelids of an elephant."

"Oh, those. They belong to one of the barmaids at the King's Wart Inn."

"Tell me, what do these maidens wear home if they leave most of their clothing scattered about your loft?"

I ignored Lorenzo and cautiously opened the canvas pack, not knowing what to expect with my friend's twisted humor. "Why, it is just my black tunic, breaches, brimmed felt cap, and a narrow dark ascot!"

I looked at him in puzzlement. "How can this be a disguise? It but shouts private inquisitor. No, you cannot mean me to go as..."

"Yes, Slim Sim," Lorenzo rejoined in obvious relish.

"No, not that miserable dolt. I refuse. Allow me some pride. Go back and get the gown and stockings, I beg of you."

"It's perfect. It will mask your true identity much better than that of an ugly woman."

"Ugly!" I began to protest his description of my female visitors then caught his snide remark. "But Slim Sim is the most second-rate private inquisitor ever to walk Duburoake--no, most likely all of Glavendale. I do not even look like him."

"Just pull that hat down low as you ferrets like to do and no one will see your face."

"That is private inquisitor. I refuse, I absolutely refuse."

I flashed my brass identification badge showing I was bonded and licensed by the Duburoake Royal Council of Public Safety as a private inquisitor. It was done quickly so the old lady peeking out the door could not read my name.

"Good morning, mam, my name is Private Inquisitor Slim Sim," I introduced myself with just a bit of cringe. "I would like to ask you a few questions."

I could mostly only see her hooked nose sticking out the door crack about a foot beneath my chin, but her voice dripped with mistrust.

"Whatya want? I ain't done nothin'. Go away," she drummed at me quickly and tried shutting a door kept from closing by my remaining boot toe.

"Just need to ask you a few questions about your neighbors, the seven dwarves."

"I donna rat on my neighbors, thankyah."

"It is not ratting. I have been hired by another private inquisitor who represents the dwarves. It is about Frost Ivory. We are trying to help them find a cure."

"Yah?"

"Certainly," I said in my most sincere voice. "Can you tell me if the maiden had any enemies?"

"Humph! That Frost Ivory. Everyone thinks she be such a genteel maiden, always makin' over her like she be the Queen of Dairre. But I heared stories..."

"Yes?" I prompted her to continue. I had stopped at every farm and cottage within three miles of the seven dwarves and this was the first time I had heard anything but how horrible was the sweet little dear's plight.

"Just that I heard she was not always the innocent farm maiden. A cousin's son from Duburoake said he'd swear he'd seen the girl in Old West Town. That be all I say, now be gone," the old crone croaked and slammed a cane on my toes. I was lucky that it was not the injured foot, but the unexpected assault made me jerk back and she slammed the door shut.

Old West Town? The seediest, most ill favored section of Duburoake that even I hesitated to visit alone after sunset? What would the likes of Frost Ivory be doing there? Maybe it was just the spiteful gossip of an old busybody.

I walked back down to the lane to where a flea-bitten hag waited with head drooping. Riding Hazel would have given me away. The old nag I now rode was slow and swayed, but at least I did not have to walk. I clumsily climbed her back and we set off for Duburoake with one last stop at the dwarves. Heading in the direction of home prompted the horse to almost trot.

I contemplated the approaching evening as I lurched from side to side on my mount. Lorenzo had promised to find me a carriage. Oylani had pressed the attire I last wore at a private inquisitor convention banquet in Stagsford. It was a bit gaudy for provincial Duburoake where styles were always several years behind those of the Capitol, but Oylani and Jennair convinced me I would be the hit of all the young women coming in such recent style from Stagsford.

I let my attention wander while contemplating these worrisome problems. I was foolishly feeling too secure in my disguise. A knave leaping from a tree took me completely off guard. I think he was surprised as I when we both toppled off the horse and to the ground. They say the gods look after fools and at least I landed on top. I crawled off my attacker and stumbled to my feet, pulling my saber from its sheath and gazing about in confusion. Several other ruffians were coming out of the brush.

I half expected the horse to come to my rescue as Hazel would have done, but it wearily stood in the middle of the road and hung its head. I gathered my wits and observed that my attackers were not the caliber of the Reverian Assassins or Blackwatch Goblins. Whoever sent these rogues was going the economy rent-a-thug route. The three standing had about five teeth among them and they wore ragged attire that made mine look freshly scrubbed. They carried crude cudgels. I could see the fourth knave was cut from a similar cloth as he staggered to his feet.

They eyed my blade with uncertainty. It was the only part of my costume that was un-Slim Sim, but I had become so accustomed to the small saber I could not leave that morning without it.

"I thot yah said he be unarmed, Grup," the smaller of the four whined.

Who I took to be Grup snarled, "Shudup, yah numskull. They said he be a spineless one. Git on him."

Spineless? Whoever was my latest foe, they irked me. First, they sent louts who looked as if they didn't know one end of a stave from the other then they also took me for a coward.

"Go on, me said. Git him," Grup again ordered his hapless crew. He stood nervously moving from foot to foot as if the facing of an armed foe had thrust him into unfamiliar territory. Grup had an exceedingly large nose that was narrow but projected from his face like a lugsail waiting for a breeze.

"But he's got a sword," the little one again whined. He was such a miserable looking wretch that I made up my mind I'd use just use the flat of the blade on his skull.

"I said, git him."

"You git him if you be so rarin' to go," another of the muggers answered, this one as tall and skinny as a beanpole.

"This can be worked out. I am sure this be just a misunderstanding," I offered. "There is no reason to spill blood on such a nice day."

The lout next to Grup smiled and looked up at the clear blue sky, only to be smacked by his leader. It was beginning to look like I wouldn't have the heart to stick any of them, except maybe Grup.

"We leave yah alone if yah pay up."

"Pay up? What are you striving to be, highwaymen?"

"No, we be collecting agents."

It suddenly dawned on me. They were not hired to knock off Jak Barley; they were collecting on a bad debt from Slim Sim. Just my luck to impersonate a knave, who if not having the caliber of my enemies, had a greater number.

"There has been a big mistake here. I am not Slim Sim," I began. "You have the wrong man."

"Oh, then if that be the case, we just be on our..." began the smallest knave, who appeared relieved to find a way out from facing my blade.

"Hah, that be a good one. See, I told yah he be a slippery snake," Grup growled. "Yah was pointed out to us when yah left Duburoake this morning. He said nobody but Slim Sim would dress in such clichéd dress."

"Hey now," I protested and was about to look down at my attire in concern when I realized I was beginning to act far too much like Slim Sim. "Look, I will share a little secret with you. I am really private inquisitor Jak Barley in disguise. I am undercover at the moment."

"Yah, yah, and I be the Earl of Olay. We knows that cannot be true. Barley is dead, killed by a bunch of them Reverian Assassins. It be all over town."

"That is what I want my foes to believe. I am only telling you this because I know I can trust fine gentlemen like you," I flattered them, while also knowing this costume was probably only good for a brief spell and that time was now up. "Here, look at my badge."

I pulled out my leather wallet and flipped it open under Grup's nose. He squinted at the badge and chewed on his lower lip.

"Sure, yah, just as I thot. Hey, Frit, whadayah think?"

The quiet hooligan, the skinny one who had bright red hair and freckles so thick it was the remaining dirty white skin that looked like spots, inspected the badge and nodded. "Yep, says Jak Barley."

Grup, who obviously could not read, looked a bit deflated until I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few coppers. "Here, for being such good lads have a few drinks on me."

They all brightened up and crowded around me. I would not have been surprised to learn their pay for roughing up Slim Sim was just liquor money. They took their coins and awkwardly clapped me on the back as if embarrassed that only moments before they had planned to plant a crop of lumps on my head.

The four even introduced themselves--Grup, Frit, Frat, and Luginie. Frat was a bit overweight and was missing a few front teeth. He had been the one who knocked me from my horse. Luginie was the small sniveler of the band.

They invited me to come drinking with them, but I begged off on a prior engagement. I shuddered to even think what disreputable gin joints they frequented. I conjectured it would make the King's Wart Inn look like a grandiose lodge. They were still waving as the nag and I disappeared around a turn in the road

It was now time to visit dwarves. I had sent word ahead that I would be visiting by early afternoon. There was no one about as I left the nag in the same place Hazel had rested only several days past. I warily kept my eyes open for the two villainous bunnies while letting myself in the picket fence gate and down the pansy-lined stone path to the cottage. The yard was beginning to look a bit ragged now that Frost Ivory wasn't about for tending. I eyed the white stucco bungalow with distaste. It was just a bit too cute with its bright blue shutters, window flower boxes, red front door, and thatched roof.