Splashing some of the clear water on his face in an effort to jar himself into wakefulness, A.J. saw about the business of getting dressed. Standing on tip-toes to pour the water from the tub back into the overhanging vessel, he wound the spigot tight to avoid any leaks and set the cork and string back in the empty tub on the floor. Placing the silver ball bearing back at the top of the spiraling copper chute, he dusted his hands and at last headed downstairs to start the day.
“About time,” Dede chided as he neared the bottom step. No sooner had he set foot on the office floor than his arms were suddenly overflowing with papers stacked so high he couldn’t see over the top of them. The only evidence that Dede was still standing in front of him were the tips of the dark stalkerskin boots staring up at him from the floor. “You’re six weeks behind on field reports and lab invoices,” she told him. “Again. The city isn’t going to let you keep your license if you can’t keep up with the paperwork.”
Shuffling blindly toward his desk, A.J. deposited the stack of parchment, only just catching the top few pieces from tilting off balance and making a break for the floor. “I’ve said it before, Cordelia,” the gnome muttered, reaching up to adjust his spectacles, “you can’t die properly in Stenwahl without written notice--”
“--at least three days in advance,” Dede chimed in for the chorus, knowing the refrain all too well. One finger still raised in the gesture of making his final point, A.J. looked rather taken aback at hearing his own words repeated. Letting his hand drop defeated to his side, he made a gesture of clearing his throat and took a seat behind the desk, hesitating a moment before shoving the stack of papers to one side so that he might be able to see the dwarven woman seated at the opposite desk, diligently rifling through a far smaller collection of files with military precision. The triangular placard with “Legal Chaperone” emblazoned in well-polished brass sat proudly on the front edge of her desk, angled toward the door to present itself to any potential clients .
As she set her first stack of papers aside, pausing to ensure that the edges lined up pristinely, A.J. couldn’t help but admire her persistence. Two years of working in a forgotten corner of Lower Stenwahl as the legal liaison for the city’s only quarterstock detective hadn’t broken her of the illusion that this was some illustrious post, worthy of dutiful service. Having grown up a gnome under the shadow of Hammond’s Gate, A.J. knew all too well that she was the only reason he was allowed to act as an investigator at all. Gnomes were prohibited from performing any duties of, for or concerning the law, the church or foreign relations; the last of which always made A.J. chuckle. Under the mountain, where blood was thicker than brains, gnomes were about as foreign as one could be.
“Word came back from the town chairman on the public works committee,” she explained, not bothering to look up. “Your request was denied. Again.”
“Did he say why?” A.J. asked, staring woefully at the tall stack of his to-do pile.
Dede plucked one of the papers she had just finished signing out of her outbox and peered at the formal script. “Says they don’t have the necessary funding for a public renovation project , even if they were to get it approved by the Royal Beautification Commission.”
“Public renovation project?” A.J. echoed, his expression souring at once. “All I asked was that someone replace that stupid sign!”
Dede set the paper down in a huff. “Does it honestly bother you that much?”
“‘Welcome to the Magnificant Stenwahl Public Gardens ?’” A.J. answered, adding particular emphasis on the misspelled word. “It’s an absolute eyesore!”
“That’s the truth,” Dede admitted, dismissing his concern. “The whole garden is a-shambles now anyway. Hardly anyone goes there anymore unless they’re up to no good. Shame,” she added, gazing out through the slats in the blinds. “It used to be really lovely.” Catching the same foul expression on her partner’s face, Dede scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness sake, it’s just a sign! Can’t you just ignore it?”
“No,” A.J. said sternly, “I magnifi-can’t.”
“Well, you’ll have to learn, then,” Dede told him, returning her focus to her stack of papers and pointing A.J. at his. “Unless you can come up with one hundred signatures to convince the Royal Beautification Commission.”
“Only a hundred?” A.J. remarked, resting his chin in one hand.
Dede’s writing brush stopped mid-stroke as she glared across the desk at him. Knowing the look all too well, A.J. decided to drop the subject for now. With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and stretched a hand up to pluck the first handful of files off the top of the stack and begin seeing about the business of filing his reports. He yawned as he shuffled through them, looking over the familiar case numbers. Number 271, the case of the curious cummerbund. Number 219, in which he rescued an ailing cat. Number 224, the elf with the troublesome wink…
Setting the papers down in a heap, he rubbed his eyes again and reached for a second set, hoping to find something that might better excite his groggy mind into action. “Did you say someone would be stopping by?” he asked, squinting at the heading on the parchment in his hands to try and make out the clumsy writing of the deputy police chief.
“Yes,” Dede answered simply, not bothering to look up.
“Any minute now?” he prompted.
“Yes,” Dede intoned again, a hint of irritation creeping into her voice.
A.J. set the second stack of case files aside on top of the first, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms high overhead. “Well,” he said, pausing to wring out a knot in his shoulder, “then there’s hardly any point in getting started on these reports until they get here, isn’t there?”
Rolling up the last piece of parchment in her pile and stamping her seal on the edge, Dede placed it in the messenger box with a deliberate motion, setting it neatly atop the pile of similar scrolls all awaiting delivery. Folding her hands into a steeple on the desk in front of her, the dwarf stared pointedly at A.J. She didn’t say a word.
After several half-hearted attempts to ply her sympathies, A.J. rolled his eyes and reached for the next piece of parchment atop his pile, peering over his glasses and squinting at the page. Number 282, in which an elderly dwarf misplaced her home. Number 247…
A knock at the door filled his spirits with relief. Dropping the parchment haphazardly to his desk, the gnome hopped down from his chair and hurried over to the door, only to find Dede with her hand already on the knob, shooing him away. With a deep breath, she straightened up and pulled the door to, trying not to squint in the sudden rush of light coming off the white cobblestones. Standing on the stoop out front was the vague outline of a tall, thin woman dressed in trader’s leathers.
“Welcome to Quarterstock Associates,” Dede said proudly, welcoming the woman into the office. “Legal investigators and authorized notary public. Cordelia Cadwell, investigative liaison, at your--”
Before she could finish, the woman stormed past her and into the office, looking about with a frenzied expression. “Where is he?” she demanded. “Where is that bastard Pendlebolt?”
No comments:
Post a Comment