Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves (18 page)

"Good evening. I would like to offer my respects to the Lady Morgana and the famous ferret, Jak Barley."

"That
be
private inquisitor," Morgana and I replied as one.

Before us stood a tall, gaunt figure dressed completely in black. The garb was of a simple cut that still spoke of money. The inside of his cape bore only one color, a brief flash of bright red showing when he bowed.

Until now I would have sworn only Frajans could be that pale--his unwholesome lack of color brought to mind maggots, corpses, and a number of other unnamed creatures that insanely gibber during fetid summer nights in coastal swamps and perverse temple ruins.

He watched us with ice blue eyes set above high cheekbones and full lips more at home on a woman. The visitor's black hair was swept back and glistened from the use of too much hair oil. Still, some females might think him handsome.

I stood and bowed, not wanting to shake hands. He inspired a strange dread--and I have had more than a few confrontations with ghouls, demons, and the undead. I forced myself to smile; more for bluster in front of Morgana than civility for the stranger. It felt as if the temperature around our table had dropped by twenty degrees.

"And you are?" asked Morgana. She was fortunate etiquette did not demand a female to stand for an introduction or a gentleman did not kiss the hand of an unmarried woman.

"Forgive me, I am Count Frederick of Kripdenstein, visiting your fair city on a trading mission."

"Please have a seat, Count," she properly offered. I made several pained faces behind the Count's back as he turned his full attention to Morgana. She ignored me.

"I would not wish to intrude," he responded and turned for my consent.

"Why of course, Count," I sputtered just in time to wipe the grimace from my face.

I took several long steps and quickly pulled out a chair that would place him the furthest from Morgana and me. It might have looked strange, but I didn't care. There was no way I was going to be seated close to whatever the Count was. Morgana smiled graciously to make up for my strange actions.

"That is very cordial, but first let me retrieve my drink I left at another table." He bowed again and turned, offering another fleeting glimpse of the red cape lining.

"Jak, why are you acting so strange?"

"Morgana, why did you invite him to sit with us?"

"You are being silly. I was only being polite. No one else has presented themselves to our table."

"And they sure will not now--not with Count Cadaver here. We will be lucky if we can get a servant to bring a drink," I hissed, as if he could hear me from halfway across the room. For all I knew, he could.

"I admit he appears a bit odd, but there is something about the count. I think it must be his eyes."

"No, those high wire opossums over there are odd. Count Frederick is well beyond odd, weird, or even bizarre,"

"Jak, you are upset. What is the matter? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous of the coffin kinder? Hardly. The count is definitely vile news. I think he would rather nibble on your neck than finish his glass of wine."

"Do you think he is a vampire?" Morgana's eyes opened widely. "I have never met a vampire. Mummsie never had anything to do with them. She claims they make a horrible mess at the table."

"Blood is probably difficult to get out of silk napkins."

"I think you are imagining things. The count is a bit pallid, I will admit. But he does have a commanding presence. Be good."

I could not retort. Count Frederick had returned and was seating himself across the table. I pride myself on being an easygoing person when it comes to most nonhumans, but I have had an abhorrence for vampires since a case involving a missing merchant's daughter. The private club frequented by S&M female vampires turned out to be a false lead in the case, but that night turned out to be one of the more twisted experiences I have weathered. I was never so thankful to hear a cock crow in my life.

"How long have you been in Duburoake?" Morgana asked.

"Only a couple months, but I have been enjoying discovering the secluded parts of the city off the beaten tourist paths."

"More likely dragging tourists off the beaten path."

"Did you say something?" the count politely inquired.

I must have spoken my thought out loud. I shrugged my shoulders at a frowning Morgana. "I said you must try our wonderful beaches. There is some excellent fishing off Broken Jaw Reef. Last week someone caught a sixty-pound muck eel. Or you could just sprawl on the sand and work on your tan. Ouch." Morgana had kicked me under the table.

"Did you arrive by ship, Count?" Morgana steered the conversation to what she hoped were safer topics.

"Yes, it was a pleasant voyage for the most part, though I cannot say much for the ship cook's idea of fare," he laughed.

"Not enough blood sausage?" This time I managed not to make a noise when Morgana booted me. It seems women are always kicking me under the table.

"Blood sausage?"

"Ah, yeah. I, ah, heard blood sausage is a favorite food of Kripdensteinians."

"No. Though maybe you heard it was pig fat," he laughed hollowly, though the smile shown to me lacked mirth. "Many of our peasants eat it like cheese when they are consuming the national drink, a fiery distillation made from fermented mare's milk. The fat supposedly coats the stomach as a protection."

"Really? It sounds like charming fare."

"You must visit my castle sometime and I will have you for dinner."

"As the main course? Ouch."

"Ha-ha, you Glavendalians have such a strange sense of humor."

"Here, have one of these roasted garlic cloves," I said as I pushed a small silver tray in his face. "I have noticed you are eating nothing with your wine."

"I am sure the count can feed himself," Morgana firmly spoke as she tried wrestling the serving platter from my hand.

Did I detect just a bit of alarm from the count? He was twisting away from the bowl and leaning toward Morgana. I shoved my chair back, dove across the table, and flung myself onto the count. Food and drink went flying. He toppled backwards and I fell with him. Panicking because I had no silver dagger or wooden stake, I ground the tray of garlic into his face.

Morgana was yelling and I could hear other shouts of alarmed guests. I found myself roughly hurled off the count. I sprawled, stunned, on my back as he scrambled to his feet.

"Count, I am so sorry. I do not know what came over my..."

Her words were cut off as he grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes blazing an angry red and his snarl showing a pair of canines that would have done a direpoodle proud.

I frantically stumbled to my feet, knowing I would not be in time. A vampire needs minutes to properly drain a victim dry, but only seconds to inflict its poison. I watched in horror as he lunged for her throat, only to throw back his head and begin violently coughing. I threw my weight behind my left shoulder and crashed into the Count's side. He lost his grasp of Morgana and stumbled--too engrossed in his apparent strangulation to strike back.

I roughly shoved Morgana behind me and snatched at some silverware, coming up with a fork. I hoped it was at least silver-plated. Waving it back and forth in front of me, I cautiously approached the choking vampire.

"Please, not the salad fork, young man. We are too far into the feast for that. Here, try the butter knife."

The stubby piece of dinnerware was thrust into my other hand. I jerked away and turned to face the witch Morganna. She gingerly reached out and with one finger pushed the fork to the side.

"Never aim a fork unless you plan to use it," she advised then turned her attention to the vampire. He laid flat on his back and clutched at his throat, though his thrashing was growing feebler. The witch calmly walked to his side and stomped her heal in the middle of his chest.

With an "humpf," he spat out a garlic clove. He took a deep breath then aimed a sickly smile at Morganna. She flicked her fingers and he was gone, just the sound of a faint pop to show for his disappearance.

Morganna brushed her hands and said, "Another visitor and I have not even changed the sheets from our last guest in the dungeon."

I felt arms circling one of my own "How did you know the count really was a vampire? He almost bit me." There was a slight tremor in Morgana's voice.

"Ah, the silver garlic bowl. I could see you, but he had no reflection."

By now those around us were coming out of their shock. There was a hushed murmur of fearful voices. Some women were wringing their hands and a few cringed against their escorts. A table of five Ayrian women, part of the Mountain Queen's Guard stationed at their local consulate, were sheathing their swords. I noticed at least half dozen men with the provincial militia had drawn their sabers.

An upset Baron Ruble, accompanied by his personal palace guardsmen, pushed his way through the ring of onlookers. "What has happened? Barley! I should have known you would be involved. What manner of disturbance are you creating at my ball? I will have you--"

"Rewarded for his swift action?" Morganna finished the Baron's admonishment in a dangerous voice. She had placed herself between the Baron and her daughter as well as myself. The witch seemed to have grown several inches and her menacing presence caused the Baron to recoil.

"A guest of yours, Baron, tried to attack my daughter. It was a vampire--a vampire at your precious ball. What kind of guest list do you keep? Master Barley saved her. One would think a mother would not have to worry for her daughter's safety in your domicile."

Blinking nervously and looking about, the Baron began blubbering, "Who? What? This is an outrage. Of course my dear madam, I will see to it this moment. Where is the villain? I will have him questioned..."

"That has already been taken care of, Baron. He is safely restrained at my estate. And you will be sure I will be questioning him later tonight."

The ominous tone of her voice stopped further protests. All within hearing, including the baron, were only too glad they were not the one to face her inquisition.

"I believe my daughter has had enough excitement for one evening. We will be leaving now, Baron. Please give my regards to the rest of your family," Morganna stated coolly in a voice that promised she would suffer no fool gladly, but would be only too glad to make a fool suffer. She began herding us toward the distant doorway.

"Mother, please, I am not a child," Morgana protested her mother's overbearing actions.

"We will discuss this matter once we are on our way."

The daughter sighed loudly in resignation. I was not about to argue with a woman who can make a vampire disappear at the snap of her fingers.

We again cut through the throng like a swift ship through high seas. The faces we passed were even more cowed than before. Either this would enhance my reputation as a private inquisitor, who rubbed elbows with even mighty witches, and clients would be lining up for my services, or my office would be regarded with the same sentiment as that of a leper colony.

A servant eagerly handed back my sword as we reached the front hall. I reached for a coin and he scrambled away as if I were about to pluck some curse or poison from my pocket.

Word had been sent ahead and the hearse was pulling up to the steps as we descended them.

The smile on Frit's freckled face died when he saw the third party was not Mika but the infamous witch Morganna. I motioned the rest of the "servants" to open the doors and help the women up the steps.