Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves (14 page)

Chapter Ten

I do not like formal dress, especially what Stagsford high society considers fashionable wear. Something has to be novel each year to be in vogue, with more subdued variations filtering to the coast a year or two later. Some rakish knave decided silk hose, the more garish the better, and knee-length embroidered tunics with ruffled collars and cuffs were to be in fashion for men. The apparel I purchased last year for the private inquisitor convention was a subdued green tunic and gray hose, though I had to stand my ground at the clothing stall. The proprietor had been determined to see me decked out in mauve and teal.

"I hate these lizard suits," I grumbled about my attire as Jennair straightened my collar. "That is the trouble with Stagsford, they always think they have to be pompous toads. I never thought this style would come to Duburoake. I want to relax instead of parading around like a peacock in heat. And these shoes are killing me."

"Sh-h-h-h," Jennair admonished and stepped back to get a better view. "You look very handsome. Morgana and the other maidens will swoon when they see you."

I eyed her with suspicion. "You do not seem very worried about your poor half-brother falling into the clutches of frightful witches. Have I said something that has offended you?"

"Oh, pooh. Lorenzo said she seemed like a nice girl."

"Nice! Nice? The daughter of a witch who lives in a former temple of Dorga, Fish-headed God of Death. And since when is Lorenzo such a good judge of witches? It is not as if he has much to worry about being not vulnerable to curses and spells. Maybe we could make this a match engagement and he could woo the old witch."

"Quit your sniveling. Where is this stalwart ferret you like to portray? And quit your pacing--you are akin to a young lad before his first date."

"That be private inquisitor. And I am not sniveling nor pacing," I said as I strode to the window and gazed onto the street below. "I wonder where the carriage is Lorenzo promised. I will be late."

"It should be here by now," she agreed and walked to my side. "Why, there it is."

"Where?" I said as I scanned the dimly lit street that ran in front of the inn. "I only see a hearse."

"I believe that is it."

"What? A hearse!" I cried then relaxed as I turned to her. "Jennair, you almost had me there. For a wink I actually believed you."

Her unsmiling expression made me nervous.

"You are jesting, correct?"

"Well, Lorenzo did say he had problem finding a conveyance on such short notice."

"Problem? Problem? No, a problem would have been if he could find but a dogcart. That would be a problem. A hearse is more than a problem. Going to a ball at the Baron's in a hearse is a cataclysm."

"Master Jak Barley, settle down," Jennair said in her no-nonsense Frajan tone. "Lorenzo said you would make quite the impression coming in such a conveyance. It would be as if you were thumbing your nose at both the Duke and the witch Morganna. 'He will look quite the scamp arriving in such a mode of transportation,' he told me."

Jennair could see I was not being swayed. "He also said something I did not quite understand--that it would be a 'babe mobile' when it comes to witchlings and it was the closest he could come to something called a limo. Lorenzo said he had taken the liberty of having it outfitted with a bar, hot tub, and comfortable divan."

"A bar? A divan?" I peered out the window and examined the hearse with a less critical eye. "What is a hot tub?"

"He said you would like it."

It was a stylish rig for a hearse, I had to admit as I circled the jet-black carriage. I especially admired the way the burnished brass trimmings gleamed beneath the solitary street lamp. Through a smoke tinted window could be seen plush, red satin upholstery and rich wood trim.

"I would wager not many corpses complain about being hauled to the graveyard in this wagon," I mused out loud.

"Not a one," agreed the driver, a skeletal looking chauffeur dressed to match the hearse--all black. He smiled. It was not something he should do in public. The receding gums gave him a grin normally seen only on fleshless skulls. Add to it the sunken checks and eyes and we had a face that would launch many nightmare and cold sweats in the middle of the night.

"You must find this a different chore than your usual hauls," I tried being jocular to cover my surprise.

"How so?" the chauffeur eyed me strangely.

I mean, ah, you will be carrying live passengers tonight."

"Always do. Most days I drive for the Rainbox Tyke Academy and evenings I be driving for the passenger trolley between here and Stringtown. Yah don't take me for some meat wagon hauler, do yah?"

"Oh, certainly not. Well, ah, I guess it is time to go."

His look was now more of a nettled gaze as he watched me unlatch the door and haul myself up the rungs and into the hearse The rig jumped to a start before I could find the divan and I tumbled to the floor.

"Where to?" the driver yelled above the rumble of hoofs and iron-rimmed wheels clattering across cobblestone.

"To the residence of Morganna in the former temple of Dorga, Fish-Headed God of Death," I screamed back.

I was again sent tumbling to the floor as the driver reined in the two black horses and pulled on the brake.

"Yah said where?"

"The residence of Morganna in the former..."

"That be where I thought yah said," the highly agitated driver replied. "Ain't no ways I be taking fare to a witch's abode. I be not getting paid enough to risk my hide for a miserable evening's wages."

"Well, I hardly believe you would be risking your..."

The driver marched past my window and I watched him set off down the street.

"Actually, she is not a bad person once you get to know her. Hey, wait a moment. You cannot just walk away, you have a job to do," I opened the door and called. "Hey, hey, where do you think you are going? I need a driver. What am I suppose to do now?"

"Yah must be a devil's spawn yourself to want to travel to such a loathsome address. Call up one of your demon familiars and have it take yah," the chauffeur ordered over his shoulder.

The argument was over unless I wanted to chase him down the street. I kicked a wheel of the hearse in frustration, forgetting I was not wearing my thick leather boots well suited for bar brawls and wagon wheels. I clutched my newly injured foot, and for the third time in just as many minutes I found myself toppling.

"Oh, turd," I cursed. "What more can go wrong?"

"Git yore hands up, topper," a voice interrupted my pity fest, letting me know exactly how bad can turn to worse. "Hand over yah baubles and you won't git hurt."

I looked up to see four raggedy highwaymen hiding behind facemasks of rags so vile appearing one would have thought they'd swoon from the fumes.

I slowly climbed to my feet and leaned against the hearse. "Well, if it is not Grup, Frit, Frat, and Luginie. Still at work? I must give you credit for plying your trade with enthusiasm, if not deftness."

"Ah, thanks be to yah, ah, sire," Grup stuttered at the unexpected compliment, or at least what he took to be a compliment. " I, ah...Say, how be that you know us?"

The four were now nervously shifting around at this unexpected turn of events, pretty much confused at being recognized at an attempted heist in a section of Duburoake they seldom visited.

"It is I, Jak Barley, the private inquisitor. Your benefactor for this past afternoon's inebriations."

All four sets of eyes seemed to bug out from above their masks then the would-be scofflaws began nodding in spirited unison.

"It be true, I didn't recognize you in those posh togs," said Frit, who was easy to tell with his carrot-topped head. "What yah be sitting in the streets next to this hearse? Be yah on some case?"

I sighed. "It is a long story. And yes, I am on a case."

"Is it dangerous and be there a damsel in distress?" Frat asked as he pulled off his kerchief. "And be she comely?"

"Yes. All that and more," I assured them. "But I must be off, so I will say a good evening to you."

They again grinned in delight and stood as one gazing at me. I smiled back, rubbed my chin, and coughed. The four continued their cheery regard.

"Yes, well, I guess this is goodbye then," I observed and kicked a wheel, and winced.

"Godspeed," wished Frat.

"Sure, see yah," added Luginie.

After a bit of silence, I again bid my farewell, "So, I guess you will be off now."

"Yup," said Grup. "Me guess you too."

More quiet. A dog barked a street away and I could hear the last cry of the day from a sausage seller somewhere out of sight.

Grup cocked his head and looked with curiosity at the hearse. "Where be yah driver?"

"Oh, him. I am afraid he had to suddenly go home."

He grinned. "Me git yah. And now it just happens you must fill in for the meat hauler and go to some entombment. It is clever how you ferrets find your way into places. But me thinks you be dressed wrong for the part."

"That is private inquisitor, Grup," I corrected the brigand. Even I carry a bit of vanity and was loath to admit even to low-lease hooligans I was stranded in the middle of the street with a hearse. "I dress this way because I am the passenger."

"They all four eyed me with amazement.

"Cool, yah be a corpse," gasped Frat. "That be way awesome. What a disguise."

"No, I am not the corpse. This is to be my carriage and I was on my way to a ball at the Baron's when my driver fled."

"You be going to a ball in a hearse?" asked Luginie, who I would have thought to be the last one bound to the normal conventions of decorum.

"It was all I could get on a short notice," I replied with just a bit of defensiveness. "But it does have a bar, divan, and hot tub."

"Bar and divan?" they chorused and scrambled to look in the door.

"Cool, ain't never seen that in a hearse."

"It be very pretty."

"What be a hot tub?"

"I wonder if there be Rabid Dog Drool among them bottles."

"Funny this ain't been done before."

I waited until their surge of admiration had diminished to where I could herd them away from the carriage and shut the door.

"Yah driver was frightened off? Most likely he be wanted by the Baron's constabulary. Maybe we could help yah," Grup offered in an offhand way, though I could tell he was trying hard to contain his excitement at the prospect of such a glamorous job.

I eyed the eager crew and tried imagining the impression I would make at the Baron's estate. Crowds of commoners gathered to watch the rich and mighty being escorted from their carriages to the open doors of the palace. Everything from the color of the carriages to hem lengths and gown materials would be discussed for days afterwards.

"I could not ask such a favor of you men since there is great danger involved."

"Danger, at the Baron's ball?" asked a puzzled Frat.

"Yes, you see I first must pick up my escort--at the domicile of the Witch Morganna."

"Cool."

It was not the reaction I expected. My curiosity finally got the best of me. "Where has all this 'cool' stuff come from?"