Jak Barley-Private Inquisitor and the Case of the Seven Dwarves (27 page)

A slight frown wrinkled my friend's forehead.

"Well, we at least now know who is sending the Reverian Assassins; a bunch of Dorga priests still upset about my part in the fall of their temple in the capital city," I observed.

"I am afraid it is not that simple. Why would they be involved with a young maiden living with a bunch of dwarves? But we will get to that later. For now we must find that parchment."

I again followed Lorenzo up the spiral staircase. We emerged into Klis' vandalized study. The two assassins had given no respect to the importance and rarity of Klis' collection.

I gingerly stepped over the torn tomes and trampled parchments--none of which were the half spell I was seeking. I could not even imagine where to begin the search. Lorenzo had stopped behind Klis' desk and was staring at the floor. I picked my way across the room to stand at his side. My worst fears proved true.

The owner of the bookshop was sprawled across his beloved manuscripts; the arid parchment thirstily soaking up Klis' blood as he had once drawn upon their writings. I turned away, no longer able to regard any longer the assassins' mean work.

"I'm sorry," Lorenzo said softly as he put a hand on my shoulder. I was appreciative that he did not speak further.

I forced myself to consider our current state of affairs. "I wonder if they found the document?"

"I'll check our unlucky friends," Lorenzo said and left to examine the two bodies.

Klis must have had held out for a great period of time. Reverian Assassins are professionals and do not torment their victims for sport. I glanced across his messy desk. An assortment of bills, receipts, orders and miscellaneous correspondence littered the surface. One scrap of paper bore a few lines of his handwriting, scrawled as if hastily written, "Gay Nymphs In Bondage."

"They're clean," Lorenzo had returned. He peered over my shoulder at the note. "The sequel is better."

"I think this was written for me. Klis was trying to tell me something," I stated. "He referred to a case when I was here last. He had helped me work on it with my brother Olmsted several years ago and it had to do with some vengeful naiads and a licentious barge hand."

I snapped my fingers. The sailor from the flat-bottomed coastal freighter had been short of funds, a state many of my clients are sadly in. He managed to assemble a few marks and paid the rest in assorted merchandise he had no doubt nicked from his place of employment. I had passed on one of the pieces to Klis--a sculpture of a Malltease hawk. It perched atop the highest bookcase in Klis' study.

I slid a ladder down the row of shelves and stopped beneath the clay figure. I noted that unlike several other curios lined along the top of the bookcase, the hawk was not dusty. I flipped it over to reveal a small cap of cork which easily pulled free at the first twist. A few shakes produced the torn manuscript.

How could a man's life be worth a piece of parchment with ink scribblings? And why had Klis so stubbornly refused to oblige the assassins? Even though he would have realized the pair would never let him live, surrendering the parchment would have meant a much quicker and painless death. It must have been his collector's pride, I guessed.

An open carriage waited for us around the corner. Lorenzo flipped a coin to a young ruffian who had been guarding the cart and horse. I tried in vain to relax as we began leisurely winding through the perplexing maze that newcomers find the streets of Duburoake to be. My restlessness could be blamed on the hard seat, my aching ribs, Klis' death, or the numerous unsolved mysteries. The list went on and on.

The horse stopped in front of a seedy looking hostel. We were not in one of the more respectable parts of the city. All of its shutters were pulled closed liked the clenched eyes of a nauseous plague victim. Lorenzo hopped quickly from the carriage and approached a large wooden gate with faded, peeling red paint. He fiddled with a latch and the gates swung out. Lorenzo made a motion to enter. I took the reins and flicked them only once before the horse pulled forward and we entered a small courtyard. The cobblestones were heaved aside in many places by saplings and weeds.

"Why are we stopping here?" I asked as he swung the gate closed.

"I need to show you something."

"What is 'here'?" I amended my question.

"One of my places of residence."

The courtyard had an air of abandonment due to the invading vegetation, closed shutters, and the absence of a normal hostel's din of coming and going guests and servants.

Pausing at the back door, Lorenzo stretched to pull free a hidden bit of rope from above the doorframe. He gave it several quick jerks until he appeared satisfied with the results.

"Just disabling a few surprises for the unwary," Lorenzo explained over his shoulder as he finally opened the door. We entered a surprisingly clean foyer that led into a long, narrow hallway. He pushed aside two finely polished doors of a rich dark hue to reveal an impressive library. Books of all sizes and colors lined the walls. A stuffed owl next to a vaguely human-shaped skull peered down at us from atop one of the bookcases. This room also was amazingly free of dust. He motioned me to one of two stuffed chairs placed near a massive, unadorned stone fireplace. The rock was embedded with fine specks of crystal that must sparkle eerily with a fire.

We both sat for several minutes in silence. Lorenzo shifted uneasily in his chair. I waited patiently for my friend to speak.

"I've been mistaken in some of my assumptions. Your case with Frost Ivory sidetracked me. I was wrong to presume the assassins and mages were simply hired to seek vengeance after your last escapade. It's a much more dark and twisted venture."

"The priests are not behind this?" I asked confused.

"Yes, but they are just the middlemen."

"The middlemen? But who--"

"Not who, but what," he interrupted.

"What?" The day had taken its toll upon me and I felt baffled by what Lorenzo was saying. "You cannot mean…"

"Yes, Dorga, Fish-Headed God of Death."

I found my mouth hanging open like that of some village dunce. "But there is no Dorga. We found a speaking apparatus in the belly of the idol used by the priests to impersonate their god."

"Placed there after Dorga disappeared some centuries ago," Lorenzo spoke as he tiredly rubbed his eyes. "He was the last surviving god, dispatched by a troop of brave men weary of his depraved reign."

"If he was 'dispatched,' how can he be behind the assassins and mages?" I asked, becoming more confused as Lorenzo spoke.

"Dorga is not an easy god to destroy, if not almost impossible. He can't be burned. The first attempt at dismembering Dorga resulted in the pieces of his body drawing back together. Those in that party met an agonizing end. The second attempt was successful."

"But how if he only reassembles?"

Lorenzo stood and walked over to one of the bookcases. With his back still turned to me, he continued, "The men were quick. Each leg was placed in an iron sarcophagus. Two more were used to hold his arms, another his torso. His hands and feet were likewise interred. The final iron casket was used to imprison his head. All the caskets were then scattered far and wide--some thrown into the heart of a volcano to become entombed in the cooling magma. Some thrown into the deepest depths of the ocean."

"And?" I urged Lorenzo on when he fell into another silence.

"The priests have never given up a quest to find all the body parts. Somehow one of Dorga's hands was found and returned to one of his temples. Gathered bits of information say that hand is now enthroned on the altar of that secret temple, writing out orders that will lead to retrieval of the rest of his body."

The image of a hand scampering across parchment with a quill pen sent shivers up my spine.

"Its sole drive now is the gathering of its cadaver parts, not some petty reprisal. For some reason Dorga must believe you play a part in this."

Now I was confused. "How? I know nothing about any of this. There must be another reason."

"Think. What could you have seen or done that concerns Dorga's plans?"

I was startled by a sound of claws upon the wood floor and spun to see a crooked figure clad in only its coarse, wrinkled skin. Red eyes glared at me from its misshapen head. I moved to draw my sword.

"Rush, go back to your rounds. You are not needed here," Lorenzo snapped without turning around.

I opened my mouth to inquire about his strange servant then decided to ignore the unexpected creature.

"Nothing I can think of, honestly," I returned to his question.

Lorenzo lifted an object of the shelf and turned to display a large iron box. An equally massive brass lock adorned its front. He walked over and sat it on a small table between our chairs. It looked heavy.

I gazed at it, not wanting to even speculate on its contents, though some chilling thoughts were fighting their way free.

"Ah, do not tell me that, ah…"

"It's Dorga's head," he answered bluntly.

I jumped from my chair and took several steps away.

"How and why in Hades would you have the head of Dorga, Fish-Headed God of Death? You are joking me, right? It is really just some large carp head."

"I was given this recently when its previous owners believed the priests of Dorga had discovered its hiding place. I've been attempting to think of ways to safely dispose of it."

I know I was still gaping at the chest with a slack expression most probably resembling that of a carp.

"Ah, Lorenzo you are not going to… No, I do not think that is wise. Lorenzo!"

My friend had withdrawn a large skeleton key from inside his coat and placed it the lock. With a quick turn, he snapped open the lock and it dropped to the table. I backed up several more steps as he lifted the lid.

The room took on an unnatural stillness and I swear the air cooled to that of a deep cavern. A slight tang of fish permeated the room. I closed my eyes, refusing to look.

"Jak, steel yourself. It is important you look at this fish head. It might give you a clue to this business," Lorenzo sternly spoke.

I reluctantly forced myself back to the table and gazed into the dark depths of the sarcophagus. Looking out was a fish head that actually did resemble that of a carp, one with a body that would have weighed at least three hundred pounds. It looked dead and I was just beginning to relax when its mouth began to violently snap. I again retreated several steps back.

"That is disgusting," I shivered. "I never want to see something like that again."

"You are a ferret who has just single-handedly slain a piss dragon and a Reverian Assassin. Tell me what you observed."

"That be private inquisitor." I swallowed once before returning to the box. "I, ah, see a disgusting fish head that is trying to talk. Probably some curse that if it had lungs, would sear me to a cinder."

"What else?"

I peaked again into the box. "It does not have any eyes."

"And what else?"

"Where are its eyes? In another box?"

"No one knows. They were lost ages ago. What else?"

"What color were they?"

"I don't know. It's been forgotten. Let's not get sidetracked."

"Ah, Lorenzo. Remember when we were going through the dead assassins' effects in my room--and what I found-of which I had also a duplicate?"

Lorenzo stared in puzzlement for several seconds before his eyes widened. "The glass eye!"