“I think these are some of the most grotesque things I have ever seen in my life, Ipo.”

“Thank you, Commander!”

Commander Ajani slowly raised her eyes from the images spread on her desk, and stared down at Ipo. Ipo’s round, rosy face beamed back at her, barely visible over the edge of the desk. Scouts were always hired for their observation skills and their ability to tolerate unpleasant scenes, but Moana Ipo took things to a completely different level. She delighted in things that made even the most experienced officers’ stomachs turn in distaste. Her love of chaos and gore made her the best scout in the city, but it also made commanders uncomfortable, which was why Ipo was currently attached to Ajani’s poorly funded precinct.

Ajani ran her fingers over the glossy, flawless, hideous two-dimensional images before her. If Ipo had been assigned to a precinct with patronage, her commander would have been able to afford a compact holographic recorder for the scout, and she would be showing these to some unsuspecting individual in three glorious dimensions. Ajani couldn’t afford a compact holographic recorder, and the other two scouts had to carry around antiquated ones that weighed almost as much as Ipo herself. Privately, Ajani was certain that confining Ipo to the obsolete film recorders just made the scout more inclined to find hideous, unreported crime scenes to deliver. Ipo took great pains to overcompensate.

The scout’s bright black eyes were fixed amiably on Ajani’s sickened face, before peering curiously over the edge of the desk in an attempt to further admire her handiwork. Ajani coughed. “Ipo.”

The diminutive scout looked up again, grinned, and took an innocent step back from the desk.

“Thank you, Scout Ipo.” Ajani carefully shuffled the images back into a pile. “Have you taken care of your report already?”

“Yes, Commander. I went right to Cast as soon as I got in.”

Ajani nodded, while inside she sighed in relief. Cast was thorough and competent. He would have gotten every detail possible out of Ipo, not just the bits about the state the body had been found in. She suppressed a shudder.

“Is that all, Commander? Are you going to keep the photos?”

Photos – that’s what the two-dimensional recordings were called, presumably. Ipo would know better than Ajani. The commander nodded. “Yes, I think I’d better, Ipo. You may go.”

“Thank you, Commander!” Ipo beamed, saluted, and was gone from the office in the blink of an eye.

Ajani rubbed her forehead and pressed one of the many buttons decorating the equipment that littered her desk, holding it down with a black finger. “Mister Soo-Bae, I’d like to have a word with you as soon as you have a spare moment. Please bring the data-disk of the precinct’s current captains with you.”

Soo-Bae came in without making a sound and it wasn’t until Ajani heard him clear his throat that she pried her horrified attention away from Ipo’s recordings.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?” Soo-Bae asked calmly, his voice high, vague, and musical.

“Yes, Mister Soo-Bae.” Ajani pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t like her secretary. He was unfailingly competent and had a perfect memory. He was polite, courteous, and perfectly professional whenever he dealt with her. He was short, with brown skin and dark hair, and he rarely smiled. He was also half-elven, and Ajani always found the few elves that she’d worked with difficult without ever being intentionally offensive. Most days she would have preferred Ipo’s overwhelming, unending cheerfulness to Soo-Bae’s vague politeness. She ran a hand through her hair, looking at the secretary and trying not to show her present frustration. “Do you have the data-disk I asked you for?”

“Yes, Commander.” Soo-Bae slid the tiny disk across her desk without another word.

Ajani grasped it lightly between two fingers and placed it in the reader, watching it spring to life, swift and silent. She began to go through the list of the captains attached to the precinct. She looked up when she realized that Soo-Bae was still standing with his vaguely expectant look spread blandly on his face. Another disk was held lightly between two of Soo-Bae’s fingers. “What’s that, Mister Soo-Bae?”

“Inspector Chandi’s report against Captain Maweth has been returned,” Soo-Bae murmured politely.

“Maweth,” Ajani murmured, and her heart sank. Paperwork took a long time. After Ipo had brought in the new recordings, she had hoped that Chandi’s report would be lost in some kind of paperwork limbo. There was nothing to be done and she certainly wasn’t going to ignore the report, not after having already heard Chandi’s account of the incident. It would have to be dealt with immediately. “Thank you, Mister Soo-Bae. Could you get Captain Maweth for me?” She took the disk from the secretary with a sigh.

“Of course, Commander, my pleasure.” He left as quietly as he’d entered.

Ajani indulged in a quiet curse as she tilted her chair back. She had counted on being able to hand Ipo’s recordings over to Maweth and let him deal with them. This might be beneficial in the long run, but it made the immediate situation difficult to deal with.

Tilting her chair back into position, Ajani began to scan through the captain list until she found Maweth.

Captain Shomair Maweth. His age was listed as unknown, but he had been with the force for twenty-five years. His species was recorded as human. He had several citations on his record and this was his fifth time holding the rank of captain. The previous four times he’d been demoted for conduct unbecoming.

It was a very long file.

Ajani swore softly and put her head down on her desk until she heard someone outside the door. She straightened expectantly and the door opened. Soo-Bae stood outside and ushered Maweth inside. “Thank you, Mister Soo-Bae, that will be all for now,” Ajani murmured pointedly. Soo-Bae blandly shut the door as Maweth stepped toward the desk.

“Good afternoon, Captain Maweth. I suppose you know why you’re here.” Ajani steepled her fingers, eyeing the man standing before her. He was of average height and painfully gaunt. His hair was a dark, disorganized mess with faint streaks of grey. His eyes were pale and half-closed, his skin well-lined, and his nose was rather too-large and sharp.

Maweth blinked at her, slowly. “I would imagine it has something to do with the recordings Scout Ipo brought in earlier today,” he murmured blandly.

Ajani frowned. “How do you know about that?” she asked sharply.

“She reported to Cast. He’s in my division.”

“Was in your division,” Ajani snapped irritably.

Maweth’s expression didn’t change. “Is he being transferred?”

“No, no one has any problems with Cast, Maweth.”

“Ah.”

“I have here a report from Inspector Chandi.” Maweth said nothing. “Do you have any idea why Inspector Chandi would be filing a report concerning you, Captain?”

“No, Commander.”

Ajani’s jaw clenched tightly. “Inspector Chandi says that you broke his wrist last week.” She looked up, eyeing Maweth expectantly, but his silence continued. “When he was restraining you in order to prevent you from injuring a suspect. In light of your record, Captain, this is most unfavourable indeed. You made captain, hm,” she scanned through the file, “twenty-two years ago. Quite young for the rank. Twenty-one years ago you were demoted to patroller for causing a suspect Severe Damage during an interrogation. Nineteen years ago you once again managed to obtain the rank of captain, despite your history. A few months after your promotion, you killed a suspect before he was even brought in or formally arrested. Your commander at the time made you a night recorder. Took you some time to work your way out of that one, didn’t it, Captain?” She looked up irritably. “Do I need to go on, Captain Maweth?”

“I’m familiar with the incidents in question, Commander.”

“Then I assume you know why you’re here? You’ve certainly had enough experience with it.” Ajani sighed. No wonder no one kept Maweth in their command for very long. His intentional stupidity and disinterest would definitely irritate every commander in the force. “You’re being demoted, Shomair Maweth.” She passed him the data-disk, “In case you have any complaints about the situation.”

Maweth took the disk without interest. “Demoted to what rank?”

“Inspector.”

That seemed to catch his attention, because his eyelids lifted slightly. “Understood, Commander. Who’ll be handling Moana’s recordings?” he asked casually.

“That’s none of your business, Inspector.” She wrote something into her reader and pressed the com button. “Mister Soo-Bae, I’m sending you instructions for Inspector Maweth. Please have them ready on a disk for him as soon as possible.” She released the button and turned the reader off. “You will be transferred to Captain Iaslea’s division. Please go and clear out your desk. I suppose you still have the proper attire for the rank of inspector.”

“Captain Iaslea,” Maweth said in a voice devoid of emotion.

“Yes, Inspector. I’m glad to see you’re listening to me. You are dismissed. Collect your new instructions from Mister Soo-Bae, clean out your desk, and report to Captain Iaslea. That will be all, Inspector Maweth.”

Maweth nodded and stood, leaving the room without a word.

Commander Ajani sighed and went back to Ipo’s recordings after the door was shut. Everything always seemed to happen at once.

There was, Canathorn Iaslea thought, a sick kind of balance to be found in the universe. He stared with distaste at the flat graphics spread out on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. They were thoroughly repugnant, but presented a challenge that was hard to come by in the twelfth precinct. It would, he thought, make a nice change from regulating the assassins and slapping the wrists of petty criminals. It would have made a nice change, if Commander Ajani hadn’t handed him the file of a new inspector to join his division at the same time she had passed him Ipo’s grotesque recordings. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly a new inspector. Therein lay the problem.

Everyone in the city police department knew about Shomair Maweth. What they knew about him varied, but it always boiled down to the same thing in the end - everyone agreed that Maweth was a homicidal lunatic. Most people thought that Maweth was a genius, as far as policemen came. Iaslea thought that Maweth was an idiot. The man seemed to be demoted on a yearly basis, but no one ever thought to simply fire him.

Iaslea blamed Maweth’s continued existence on the union, one of the more exasperating developments of human society, and on the fact that no one in Ciddryn actually wanted to join the police force.

He looked with distaste at the man standing on the other side of his desk, his expression bland and emotionless, wearing the rough uniform of an inspector - short pants and a sleeveless, high-necked shirt with a breast plate of some unidentifiable metal fastened over top. Maweth’s breastplate had an uncountable number of dents in it, to the point where it bore no resemblance to the original shape, warped and mutated beyond what Iaslea had thought the limits of the near-impenetrable metal. Where to begin? It was easy when the new inspector was a new inspector, glowing with the delight of promotion. Maweth had been demoted, and he was no doubt used to it after so many years, but how was he supposed to act with his former captain? It wasn’t something they had educational holos about. Iaslea thought the police education committee should look into producing a very special branch of holos to deal specifically with Shomair Maweth, if no one was going to relieve him of his duties.

“Have you received any notice from Commander Ajani about my transfer, Captain?” Maweth broke the silence, his pale eyes fixed on the images spread over Iaslea’s desk. With a scowl, Iaslea pushed them out of view.

“Yes, Inspector. It was a . . . bit of a surprise,” Iaslea remarked, watching Maweth carefully for any sign of emotion. The man was as easy to read as a rock.

“It was, Captain,” Maweth murmured, lying beautifully. After twenty-five years with the force, Iaslea wouldn’t believe for a moment that Maweth didn’t know what to expect as a result from his insane actions.

If Iaslea pushed and pinched at his nose and forehead, he suspected his fingers would bore into his brain. He stopped. It did not do for a superior officer to look so ill at ease with someone in his command. “I don’t want any trouble from you, Inspector Maweth. You have a very poor record. I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour from you while you’re in my division. If the merest hint reaches me that you’ve engaged in any Conduct Unbecoming, I will not hesitate to have you demoted so low that you’ll spend your time doing the precinct laundry.” He restrained himself from continuing. There were worse occupations to be found in the precinct but to threaten anyone with being demoted to them could result in charges of sexual harassment, although he was sure Maweth would never dream of filing any charges against someone else, and the very thought of anyone wanting Maweth for that made his stomach turn. He quickly repressed the thought to the darkest part of his mind, where it would never be allowed to surface again.

“I understand, Captain,” Maweth continued in his subdued, almost drugged voice, his eyes fixed with lazy coolness on Iaslea’s forehead now that he couldn’t focus on Ipo’s recordings of bloody horror.

Iaslea was sure Maweth understood perfectly well, but that wouldn’t stop him from repeating previous indiscretions. He sighed, drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, and quickly stopped. He was letting Maweth unnerve him entirely too much. It was Maweth who should have been guilty and tense, Maweth who had been demoted. He should have at least had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable, but he remained as emotionless and bored as he always seemed in the station. It was when he really started working that the trouble started, and Iaslea supposed he should thank the spirits that Maweth wasn’t a raving lunatic as a result of his demotion. He sighed again and waved an irritated hand in Maweth’s general direction. “Go and talk to Recorder Keel, she’ll assign you a desk.”

Uncertainty flashed briefly on Maweth’s dull countenance. “Is there any work I should be doing? Any assignments or cases, Captain?”

Iaslea twitched slightly. The last thing he wanted was to put Maweth in any situation that could result in his reputation being damaged. Everyone said that Maweth was the touch of death to a career. “No, Inspector, just . . . make yourself comfortable. You will be alerted when you’re needed for something. You’re dismissed.”

Maweth left, giving Iaslea a perfect salute. Somehow, Iaslea was left with the impression that had Maweth spit on his face, defiled the shrines of his ancestors, and proceeded to make love to Iaslea’s wife on the desk, it could not have been as insulting as the perfectly executed salute.

Maweth stood silently in front of Recorder Keel’s desk, right outside of Iaslea’s office, and watched her from half-closed eyes as she went over his file on the computer. He looked, briefly and in boredom, at Iaslea’s now closed office door, and smiled in the privacy of his own mind before turning his attention back to Keel.

Recorder Keel kept looking at Maweth with unhidden nervousness as she worked. She was a young woman with short hair, the tips dyed an unattractive shade of pink. She had a round, dimpled face that would have been pleasant if she hadn’t decided to attack it with the stock of an entire cosmetics department. She was amply endowed and wore her recorder’s uniform in a way that best exploited these assets. She seemed to be asking for sexual harassment.

Maweth wondered if she should perhaps consider a different area of expertise while working for the police department. He shook his head, very slightly, and made her start. Truly a strange, desperate woman if she was hoping to find a husband in the police department. “You’ve missed a letter, Recorder Keel,” he murmured.

“A-ah?” Keel squeaked, and look up at Maweth. “What, Inspector?”

“It’s Maweth, Recorder Keel. There’s a ‘w’ between the ‘a’ and the ‘e’.” She stared at him in blank terror. “My name. You spelt in wrong in your records.” He leaned over slightly and pointed at her screen, tapping it softly.

“S-sorry, Inspector,” she swallowed, quickly changing it.

Maweth lost interest as he waited, turning his head again to look at Iaslea’s door. Inside, he could hear his captain pacing and muttering to himself. Typical of Canathorn Iaslea, to be unnerved by the thought of commanding the man who had petitioned to have him promoted to captain in the first place. Iaslea’s discomfort would produce enough amusement that the current situation would probably be tolerable.

“Inspector?” Keel coughed. “Um, here’s the disk to configure your new computer, and, um, the display cube for your desk, so that, um, visitors know where you are . . .”

“And my desk is?” Maweth asked, turning his attention back to Keel slowly.

Keel tried to point behind her while still handing Maweth the disk and cube. She squeaked and fumbled as both items fell. Without looking, Maweth caught them both in one hand. He fixed a cold, lazy stare on Keel, who stuttered senselessly as she pointed to a desk near the door.

Maweth gave Keel a cool nod and left her to gibber quietly to herself. He tossed the cube onto the desk and set the disk next to it without interest. He focussed his gaze on Iaslea’s door.

A demotion. It was inconvenient. He would have liked being able to leave the station and find one of the bars he usually lurked in immediately after a demotion. The taste of cheap, warm zvig beer would be welcome at the moment, as would the dreamless sleep that always followed enough mugs of the horrible stuff. But there were Ipo’s latest recordings. Ajani had assigned him to Iaslea’s division, true enough, and in previous commanders, it would have been the sort of well-researched gesture that would be the misplaced result of their desire to discipline him, humble him, embarrass him. Perhaps Ajani had some of that in mind too. But, she had given Iaslea charge of Ipo’s recordings, after having put him under Iaslea’s command.

It would be frustrating and more difficult than usual, but Maweth was certain his demotion was a skewed result of his prayers to be allowed to investigate Ipo’s gory, inexplicable recordings.

It was almost enough to make a man believe in god.

Maweth endured nearly a month of inanity under Iaslea’s command before the information surrounding Ipo’s recordings finally came back to where he could see it.

It was the beginning of another night shift. Maweth sat at his desk, filling out mindless paperwork without interest when Iaslea emerged from his office, a folder held tightly in one hand. Raising his eyes, Maweth looked at Iaslea’s face. The captain’s lips were moving soundlessly as he counted the number of his inspectors who were present. Apparently he found the six present to be sufficient, assuming he had reached the right conclusion. Iaslea raised his eyes and met Maweth’s bored gaze. The tapping of the folder on his knee grew louder and faster. Maweth watched him swallow and turn quickly to Keel.

“Recorder, I’d like you to get me the information on these people.” He slid the woman a list on a crumpled bit of paper. Tap, tap.

“Of course, Captain. Would you like them transferred to your computer?” Keel sat up to attention, thrusting her chest out, putting on an aura of false perkiness. If Iaslea hadn’t been so sharply attractive, Maweth suspected that Keel would have been less agreeable.

“No, Keel. Printouts, please.” Tap.

“Of course, Captain. It may take some time . . .”

“Just have the printouts please, Keel.”

The muscles on Iaslea’s face twitched in a way that suggested the elf was trying to resist the urge to rub his forehead or pinch his nose. He transferred the unsteady tapping of the folder to his thigh and turned away from Keel to look at the inspectors that weren’t currently engaged in street duties. He cleared his throat to make sure everyone was looking at him. “Your attention, please, inspectors,” he said needlessly when the six in the room were staring at him. He strode forward to stand in front of the nearest desk and lay the folder on top of it. Behind the desk, Inspector Womble shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “A week ago,” he said in a clear voice, “Commander Ajani gave into my charge some recent recordings of Scout Ipo.” Several of the more seasoned members of his detail groaned automatically at the mention of Ipo’s name, and were silenced with a glare from Iaslea’s sharp eyes.

“Scout Ipo,” Iaslea said again, pausing after speaking the name this time to see if any of his inspectors were going to make unprofessional noises. The room was silent, except for the uneven breathing of eight people, and the sound of Keel trying to get the information for her captain. He continued. “Scout Ipo brought in rather . . . unique recordings of a dead body.” His fingers lit briefly on the folder before twitching away.

Everything was silent.

“And?” Inspector Inkster finally asked, his voice bored and dancing dangerously on the line of insubordination. Maweth’s eyes travelled curiously away from Iaslea to look at the back of Inkster’s head. “People die all the time, Captain. It’s nothing for the police to be concerned with.”

Iaslea glared at Inkster and opened the folder, snatching one of Ipo’s recordings at random to wave for the benefit of his inspectors. “Do you know who this is, Inspector?” he asked, still glaring at Inkster whenever the waving of the photograph permitted him to.

Inkster leaned over his desk in an attempt to get a better view of the still-moving image. “Looks like an elf, Captain.” He shrugged, leaning back.

“Very good, Inspector,” Iaslea said. Maweth yawned, reminded of a particularly benign teacher he’d had at a very young age, standing before his class for the first time, all gentle words and easy encouragement. Except Iaslea’s eyes were twitching and restless and far from pleased. “Anyone else notice anything?”

“It’s a she,” Womble said, staring at the remaining images in the folder on the desk in front of her.

“Very observant, Inspector Womble. Anyone else? Anything?” All of Iaslea’s illusions of calm were evaporating as he began pacing in front of the inspectors.

“She’s just some elf, Captain,” Inkster said impatiently. “She could be anyone.”

“Exactly,” Iaslea said in a tight voice, turning sharply on his heel to stalk back to Womble’s desk. “That’s it exactly, Inspector Inkster, thank you very much. She could be anyone. And that means she isn’t anyone important. Not a politician, not someone in the business, just some elf who could be anyone. Not someone who would have a contract put out on her by the Assassins.” An uncomfortable silence descended over the room.

Across from him, Maweth could see Inspector Driftwood’s jaw drop. “You mean the Assassins killed someone without a contract, sir?”

“It could be that,” Iaslea nodded slowly, beginning to calm down now that there were seven other people to share his disturbing burden with.

“No it couldn’t,” Maweth said calmly. Too calmly. Iaslea’s head jerked around to stare at him. “It’s too messy, and they wouldn’t kill anyone without being paid for it. They have rules too.”

“So it was an accident?” Inspector Ai asked uncertainly into the tense silence Maweth’s words had left.

“Does this look like an accident to you, Inspector?” Iaslea asked sharply, striding past the neat rows of desks to stand in front of Ai’s, thrusting the picture under the small inspector’s nose. “The woman’s blessed head has been removed, Inspector Ai, and is at least five feet away from the rest of her body. What kind of accident could result in that, Inspector? Any ideas?” With his eyes shut, Ai shook his head violently from side to side. “Didn’t think so.” He stalked back to the front, dropping the image with the rest of the recordings.

“Captain, sir, are you saying . . .”

Iaslea turned. “Yes, Inspector Malerin?”

Malerin swallowed. “Are you saying that this person was killed by, by someone who wasn’t an assassin at all, sir?”

Iaslea slammed one hand on top of the recordings. “That is exactly what I’m suggesting, Inspector Malerin.”

“But that’s barbaric!” Ai squeaked, opening his eyes again.

“Yes, Inspector Ai, thank you, it is exceptionally barbaric. No one in Ciddryn would ever think of attempting something like that.”

“No one in the entire world would, I should think, sir,” Inkster said softly.

“Quite right, Inspector. So what does that leave us with?”

“Travellers,” Womble said, her voice tight.

“But why would an historian – ”

“Why would anyone, Inspector Driftwood?” Iaslea snapped. “Historians aren’t the only people who can Travel, although they’d certainly like you to think so. Recorder Keel should have the details on certain individuals in and around the Ciddryn area who are capable of Travelling, who are not members of the Guild of Historians. Do you have those printouts for me yet, Recorder?”

“J-just getting the last one,” Keel said hurriedly, going red and fumbling with a handful of printouts.

Maweth put his chin in his hands, grinding down on his teeth. Iaslea could scare people senseless without ever raising his voice, and if people were going around being senselessly terrified, things would only be slowed down, and Maweth would never be able to leave. He hissed through his teeth, and Driftwood looked at him out of the corner of one black eye, before quickly fixing his eyes on Iaslea, the back of Ai’s head, the ceiling, the floor, Keel, and anything else that wasn’t Maweth.

Iaslea snatched the printouts from Keel’s limp hands before she had a chance to speak. “You will be working in teams of two, in light of the unusual nature of this assignment. Womble, you and Inkster will be making enquiries of the Guild of Historians,” he dropped a heavy stack of papers on Womble’s desk as he walked past it. “Driftwood, you’re with Ai. The Guild of Engineers has two members who work with the Guild of Historians to enable them to Travel. You will make enquiries of Doctor Arion Ha,” two stacks of papers were tossed onto Driftwood’s desk, “and Moonlerion Invevavity,” a slimmer stack was dropped onto Ai’s desk.

A door opened. Iaslea spun around, catching a groggy looking Inspector Verity with his sharp gaze. The pale man paused, putting one hand to his head and staring at his captain in bafflement. Iaslea stabbed a finger in Verity’s direction. “Inspector Verity, you will be accompanying me on my inquiries to the Guild of Assassins.”

Maweth’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Iaslea’s back in disbelief, bile rising in his throat. Iaslea turned very slowly to stare at Maweth as he dropped a slim collection of papers on Malerin’s desk. “Inspector Malerin, you will be working with Inspector Maweth, to make enquiries of a member of the,” he rolled his eyes, some level of disgust and irritation able to override his current adrenaline rush, “University of Theoretical Science and Magic by the name of Deo Gideon DyBane.”

Maweth stalked to the door after Iaslea had dragged Verity into his office, slamming the door behind them, and the other inspectors were beginning to pour over their new assignments. He shoved the door open, and a hand wrapped around his wrist. He turned, twitching slightly, to stare down at Malerin’s hopeful face, before shaking her hand off. “What is it?” he asked sharply.

Malerin took a step back. “We’re partners for this investigation. I thought we should begin planning how to best approach Mr. DyBane. And when.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Eh?” Malerin stared up at Maweth with an expression of confusion on her face. Confusion or maybe stupidity. It was hard to tell.

“It’s best to approach DyBane tomorrow. During the day. Now,” he gave the door another shove, “if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” Before Malerin could gather her thoughts enough to respond to this dismissal, Maweth had slid out the door and let it slam in her face.

Teeth clenched and mind aflame, Maweth strode down the hall and out of the station, the tension in his shoulders relaxing somewhat as he took his first slow breath of the clammy night air.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Maweth began walking down the street, letting his mind wander free as he headed int the direction of the neighbourhood bar.

An elf was dead.

No.

An elf had been killed. But he had already known that. Ipo had shown him the recordings, blissfully unaware of what they meant.

He shut his eyes as he walked.

A female – it was hard to tell with elves, but it had definitely been female – elf with long blonde hair. It had been tied up in a fancy knot at the top of her head, as though the killer had not wanted to cut a single strand of the glorious hair when the head was severed from the owner’s slim neck.

The ends of the pale hair had been stained red.

She was no one of any importance.

Blindfolded with one stocking and gagged with the other. Her body had been stripped of all clothing. A calculated insult on the part of the killer? To what purpose? The elf was dead, she wouldn’t care, and she wasn’t anyone important.

Iaslea had been furious. Terrified, certainly, at the thought of anyone doing something so barbaric. But he was angry because . . .

Because . . .

Maweth gritted his teeth as he thought, his steps slowing.

Because the killed had stripped her naked for anyone to see.

No.

The killer had stripped an elf naked. It wasn’t an insult to the elf – she couldn’t care one way or another anymore – and it wasn’t as though who she was mattered. It was what she was and it was an insult to every other elf who might hear of it. Those who might live in society might be considered renegades, to associate with humans, but that didn’t mean they wanted humans, or dwarves, or anyone else to see them naked.

Killing some random elf, just to piss off a bunch of other elves. It was beyond barbaric. It was . . . stupid.

Maweth opened his eyes and found himself staring beneath the sign of the Empty Mug.

It was, he thought with a tight, manic smile, a sign.

He pushed the door open, stepped on the body that was sprawled a few feet from the doorway, gave it a few kicks for remembrance, and went to sit down at the bar. The regular patrons sitting nearest to Maweth suddenly found that they had somewhere else to be.

The bartender looked at Maweth, a resigned expression on his face. “Evening, Inspector.”

Maweth stared at the rows of bottles behind the bartender. “What do you have for me tonight?”

“Nothing to your taste, Inspector,” the bartender said. Maweth’s heart sunk as a scrap of paper was shoved over the bar top toward him. He stopped its progress with his elbow and allowed himself a quiet sigh. He had really been looking forward to a drink. As he stood, slipping the torn bit of paper into his hand, he cursed police informants with everything he knew.

Being a snitch was practically a full-time job. Maweth expected to receive some kind of memo alerting him to the establishment of a Guild of Snitches on a daily basis. They were horrible, unethical people, worse than cops, worse even than the people they helped apprehend. There was something unappealing about people who made a living by betraying those who trusted them . . .

He spared the paper in his hand a glance before crumpling it violently.

Instead of establishing fixed contacts within the twelfth precinct, snitches in the area had long ago established a tradition of leaving pieces of vague information with a bartender in the Mug, who would relay it to the next cop that came in for a drink. The snitches knew their cops very well indeed.

Maweth pocketed the crumpled note, grinning to himself as he walked out the door. This snitch was going to regret interrupting Shomair Maweth’s drinking. Outside, he wandered down past the Mug, slipping into the nearest alley. A cat lay across his path, rolling mad yellow eyes at him.

He kicked it out of his way, feeling some slight satisfaction as the creature hissed, spat, and vanished into the darkness.

“Really, Shomair. Cruelty to animals?”

Maweth froze. “There’s no law against it,” he said softly. Very slowly, he turned.

“You’d know, I suppose.”

“You’re no snitch, Fry,” Maweth said, as he saw moonlight glint off pale hair.

Fry laughed. “How good of you to remember.” He moved lightly, drawing closer to Maweth. Maweth stepped back, keeping himself beyond Fry’s reach. Fry laughed, softly. “Really, Shomair, is this the time for games?”

“I’m not playing a game, Fry,” Maweth said through clenched teeth.

“Ah, of course not. You always did take things far too seriously.” Fry continued to try and move closer to Maweth.

As though parodying some kind of formal dance, Maweth stepped back whenever Fry moved forward. “Are you here to kill me, Fry?”

Fry laughed easily. “Don’t be silly, Shomair. We removed the contract on you years ago. But I think,” he said cheerfully, stepping forward again as Maweth found himself straddling a trash can with no way out, “I might have better luck inhuming you than our more unfortunate members. What do you think, Shomair?” Fry asked sweetly, putting one hand on the wall behind Maweth’s head.

“I think . . .” Maweth said unevenly, leaning back as far as he could without actually touching Fry.

The barely visible man grinned, his teeth shining in the darkness. “Yes?” he purred encouragingly.

“I think,” Maweth repeated, hands clenched into fists at his sides, “that I want to know why you lured me out here if the contract no longer stands.”

“I just wanted to see you again, dear Shomair.”

“Bullshit.”

Fry sighed softly. “Crude, Shomair. Very crude. But, under the circumstances, I think I can forgive you such language.” Pale eyes swept down along Maweth’s uniform. “The captain costume suited you far better, I think.”

“Cut. The. Crap,” Maweth forced each word out from between clenched teeth.

“You only had to ask.” Fry’s other hand lit briefly on Maweth’s scarred cheek, stroking it. Maweth twitched violently, jerking his head away. “There was a body found, a week or so ago – ”

“– of a female elf with her head chopped off,” Maweth finished bluntly.

“Ah. You’ve heard, then.”

“Before you did.”

“Perhaps. I suppose it’s too much to hope for that your owners are letting you off the leash long enough to investigate.” Maweth said nothing, glaring furiously at Fry. “That’s a yes, then. Of course, some things,” long fingers tapped on Maweth’s breast plate, “may hinder your progress.” Another laugh. “You think we’re involved.”

“You’re always involved somehow.”

“You don’t think one of us did it, though. Shomair, your faith warms my heart.”

“I don’t think you’d let anyone that incompetent graduate,” Maweth snapped.

“Respect for our technique – even better.”

“Are you done yet?”

“Mm. Just wanted to make sure I had all the correct information. And to say hi.” Fry grinned and leaned forward until Maweth’s head smacked the wall. Then he kissed Maweth, worrying the inspector’s lower lip with his teeth until Maweth could taste his own blood. He released Maweth’s mouth slowly, running his tongue across the bleeding lip. “Hi,” he whispered against Maweth’s mouth, before he pulled away, vanishing once again into the darkness.

Maweth remained as he was for half an hour, before he thought of climbing off the trash can, walking unsteadily out of the alley, and going back into the Mug for a much-needed drink.

The sun was high but thankfully covered by a few thin clouds when Maweth had drunk his fill and walked the alcohol off. Eyes half-shut, feeling almost-normal, he walked back to the station. He got there at the same time as a well-rested Malerin. She beamed at him. “Oh, good, you got my message!”

Maweth felt, deep in the pit of whatever passed for his soul, that there should be laws made against people like Malerin, especially if they dared to enter his vicinity. “Message?” “I was worried you wouldn’t get ti and I’d have to wait all day, and by the time you got in we’d be too late.”

“Too late?”

“To go to the University! Can you drive?”

“The University . . .” He felt like an echo personified. “No, I can’t drive.”

“Me neither. You don’t mind public transport, do you?”

“I hate cabs,” Maweth said flatly.

Malerin actually seemed to hear this, as she closed her mouth on whatever she had been planning on saying, then opened it again. “The University’s outside of the city. Do you want to walk there?”

Maweth thought carefully about this, and about enduring the long, long walk in the company of the cheerful Malerin. He sighed. “Right. Get the cab.”

He watched through half-closed eyes as Malerin put her apparently boundless energy into the task of drawing the attention of a cab that went by the station. Seeing the inspector dart about in traffic, waving her hands, was enough to make him feel slightly cheered. He received over an hour of this entertainment before Malerin managed to get the attention of a cabbie and coax the woman into bringing her vehicle over near the walkway.

Malerin looked rather the worse for wear as she opened the cab door, her uniform damp and streaked with mud. Maweth smirked to himself as he got into the cab and she climbed in after him.

Taking a moment to dry her hand off on a corner of her shirt that wasn’t a mud-stained mess, Malerin then leaned forward to tap the cabbie on the shoulder. “Do you know where the University of Theoretical Science and Magic is, miss?” she asked politely.

The cabbie looked over her should to examine both Maweth and Malerin. She dismissed Maweth with a bored sniff and her eyes lit upon Malerin with more interest. She smiled wolfishly. “Sure do, handsome. Bit of a long ride, though.”

“I would imagine,” Maweth said dryly, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes on Malerin’s startled blush.

The cab started up, its driver turning back to stare out of the front screen. “Might be able to give a discount under special circumstances.”

Maweth heard Malerin squeak. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know that the cabbie had just given Malerin a very lewd wink via mirror. He grinned. “Sounds fine to me.”

Malerin squeaked a bit more, burrowing down into her seat, too humiliated to speak for the long drive out to the university.

When the cabbie pulled up in front of a massive gate set in a towering stone wall in the middle of nowhere, Malerin scrambled out of her seat as quickly as possible, while Maweth followed at a more sedate pace, opening his eyes and leaning against the cab. The cabbie leaned out of the window, looking expectantly at Malerin.

Maweth smirked. “You said you’d take care of the cab, Malerin.”

The other inspector shot him a dirty, exasperated look, before she edged toward th cabbie. She pushed a credit fob from the precinct into the cabbie’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks, handsome,” the cabbie purred, running the fob through the metre slowly, her eyes on Malerin the entire time. When she removed the fob, she pressed it lightly into the palm of the inspector’s hand with a piece of paper wrapped around it. “My number,” she grinned. “Give me a call if you’re ever off duty, hm?”

Malerin made an incoherent noise, shoving fob and number into her pocket and turning her back on the cabbie.

The cabbie’s grin grew wider and she reached out, pinching Malerin’s side firmly before speeding off.

Maweth fell over and lay in the road, blinking slowly, and rubbing the back of his head. “You could have been nicer,” he chided dryly. “She was probably our only chance of getting a ride back into town.”

Malerin made a horrible face at him, still blushing. “You’re so keen on walking, you can walk back to Ciddryn.”

Slowly, he got to his feet, ignoring her comment. “That must happen to you a lot,” he said, his voice disinterested. “And now you’re stuck working with the precinct crazy . . . Hate to be an half-elf in this city. Never would have thought Iaslea was that kind of bigot, though. Just goes to show, I suppose.” He slid his hands into his pockets.

“Are you quite done?” Malerin asked sharply, all her earlier enthusiasm gone.

“I’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind,” he promised serenely.

Malerin rolled her eyes, muttered something about needing to believe Glori the next time he told her someone was a nutcase, and stalked over to the gate, pounding on the thick wood with her fist.

Maweth watched, still standing in the road, as a panel far above the ground slid open and one gargantuan eye peered through it. Malerin glared balefully up at it and flashed her badge, asking to be let in with as much politeness as possible considering her foul mood. The eye blinked slowly as it digested this. The scene reminded Maweth of an old vid he had seen in his youth.

The owner of the giant eye would not be letting the rumpled, irate Malerin in any time soon.

Without a word, Maweth began wandering down the road, looking at the stone wall as he went. It wasn’t until he was well out of Malerin’s sight that he actually approached the wall, running his hand along it. It felt like he could have walked back to Ciddryn by the time he found a small gap filled with loose dirt and stones.

Students were the same everywhere.

Maweth scraped the filler away and squinted at the hole it revealed. It was incredibly short and looked painfully thin. He began unbuckling his breast plate, grumbling the entire time. Laying it on the ground by the rubble, he shoved his head through the hole, and began to worm the rest of his body through.

After a lot of swearing and a dislocated arm, Maweth lay on the damp grass inside the wall with a fine layer of grit on his hair, skin, and clothing. He stood, popping his arm back into the socket as he went.

A quick look around the university grounds revealed them to be almost completely deserted, save for a solitary figure lounging in the sun some distance away. Unavoidable, but the figure showed no sign of being awake, which would make things somewhat easier, as long as Malerin remained on the other side of the wall.

Maweth approached the reclining figure. When he was near enough to see that the figure was of the human male persuasion, blonde, and thin without being fit, the figure reached up and lowered his sunglasses to stare at Maweth. Maweth stared back into the bored, grey eyes. “Hello,” he said calmly. “I’m with the Ciddryn police department, Inspector Shomair Maweth, and I’m looking for – ”

“Trolls? Because that’s what you’ll find when word gets out that you entered University grounds without permission. The porters are trolls, you see, and they’re remarkably good at their job, and not at all fond of people who feel that the rules do not apply to them, particularly in regard to entering and leaving the University. I think it only fair to let yo know before they arrive. More sporting, I think. Of course, I think it’s also my duty to alert the porter on duty of your presence.” He paused to let his glasses fall back and extended a square hand to Maweth. “I’m Owdyn Sagae. It’s a pleasure to make your brief acquaintance, Inspector Maweth.”

Slowly, Maweth shook the offered hand. “Is the giant eyeball at the door the porter on duty?”

Sagae nodded. Apparently he had no desire to waste his breath on words unless there were many of them to say.

“My partner’s busy trying to convince him to let her in.”

Another no as Sagae sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, arms dangling inward.

“Are you a student here, Mr. Sagae?”

“A graduate student, Inspector. Which means that the faculty of the University keep me here to further my studies, without offering me any financial compensation, and in exchange I am permitted to remain in the same room I have been living in since I was a boy, and I am forced to endure the crime that they call food. I am also confined to University grounds under the misguided and antiquated belief that being allowed into a world where biscuits that are closer to animal life than the meat are not commonly found will corrupt and distract the mind. I’m a computer programmer.”

This, Maweth decided, meant ‘yes’. “Do you know a Deo DyBane, Mr. Sagae? He’s supposed to be a student here.”

Above his sunglasses, Sagae’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. I know Deo. We were roommates until a few years ago. He won’t be very willing to talk to you. He doesn’t like strangers. He doesn’t like anyone at all, really. And, as his friend, I feel it is my duty to preserve his privacy and not escort every prying police inspector who shows up without a warrant to where he lives. Particularly those who feel the need to enter private property via unorthodox routes.”

Maweth pursed his lips. “Mr. DyBane is a suspect in a very . . . unusual case, Mr. Sagae. Your cooperation would be appreciated.”

Slowly, Sagae got to his feet, stretching hugely. “Inspector, everything that comes into contact with Deo is unusual. It’s like some sort of contagious disease. If a perfectly normal individual spends time in Deo’s company, they’ll end up being at least slightly odd. But, as you may have observed, those impressive walls aren’t just for keeping people out. I can’t imagine how Deo is likely to commit any kind of crime, confided as he is to University grounds.”

“As I have observed,” Maweth shot back calmly, “it’s not all that difficult to get inside, walls or no. Besides, part of what makes Mr. DyBane a suspect is his ability to get into unusual places without effort.”

Sagae’s sunglasses fell down his nose as he started.

“You know what I’m talking about?”

The young man nodded, very slowly, and pushed his sunglasses back up with a finger. “Ye-es,” he said, drawing the word out. “I’m somewhat familiar with the ability in question. You must have a very small list of suspects, Inspector. Might I suggest we find somewhere else to discuss this? Where we are less likely to be overheard by prying ears, or turned into pry-bars by trolls. Are you at all familiar with the area around the University, Inspector?” Sagae began a slow, ambling walk over to the wall.

“Not particularly, Mr. Sagae. I’m not in the habit of leaving Ciddryn.”

Sagae nodded calmly, as though this fit with whatever was going on in his mind. “I suspected as much. A former Guild brat,” he said with a slow shrug, the vague wandering tone of his voice taking any possible string out of the words. “They rarely venture far beyond city boundaries. But the University is located a good distance from Ciddryn, for privacy, amongst other things. But it is hardly capable fo existing independently. No man is an island, supposedly, and no building either. Well, except for those that are. And so there are a scattering of small villages within easy walking distance of the University. There’s just one slightly to the north, called Killjoy. Charming place, very quiet and peaceful. Where I used to live, in fact, before being sent off to this picturesque hell.”

They wandered past the hole Maweth had entered through. “Don’t we go that way?”

Sagae glanced over his shoulder. “No. Only sorcerers and the magic students use that one. It’s too small for most people to fit through, but the magics can alter their bodies in such a way as to allow them to pass through with little difficulty. It is seen as a challenge. And, of course, prevents those who are not sufficiently advanced from leaving without supervision. Sciences, however, are rather more sensible and have their own hole, a good deal larger, and far better hidden than the magics little gap.”

“I see,” Maweth murmured, and continued walking in silence until Sagae stopped, parted a thick forest of spiny shrubbery, and pointed to a short but wide gap in the stones. “And why,” he asked, “are we climbing through killer shrubbery on our hands and knees instead of going to wherever it is you live?”

“Because that is not killer shrubbery,” Sagae said, lowering himself to the ground, “and I’m curious to see how far you’re willing to go for a bit of information. And, of course, find out whether some information on Deo is worth minor pain and inconvenience. Besides, we’re going to Killjoy, where you’ll be buying me a meal to encourage my cooperation.”

Maweth watched as Sagae scrambled through the hole. “Ah,” he said, with some surprise. “I see.”

Watching Owdyn Sagae eat was a truly awe-inspiring experience, although it took some time before Maweth was able to appreciate it.

After an hour-long walk through the razor grass that decorated the countryside, Sagae and Maweth had arrived in Killjoy. It was a positively minuscule village, smaller than a Ciddryn sector. A smattering of farms on the outskirts, and a collection of small, unimpressive buildings set by roads that showed no kind of logic or organization – that was it. It wasn’t the sort of place people would normally be found going to – it was the sort of place people left, going to bigger cities where the real world was.

Wandering along the quiet streets, next to Sagae, eyeing the tiny, doll-like houses and the elaborate little gardens, full of flowers, Maweth found it completely incongruent with Ciddryn and nearly possible to believe that they were to be found on the same planet, let alone the same country. It was disgusting.

Sagae seemed completely oblivious to it all, paying no particular attention to anything they passed, until they came to a little building near the centre of Killjoy. At the very heart of the village was an open-air market, which Sagae ignored in favour of going up the walk to the front door of the building and pushing it open.

Something chimed.

Maweth jumped and shook himself, features settling into a sullen glower when he found Sagae looking at him in amusement.

Inside was . . . a restaurant. Not the fancy sort of restaurant Maweth had not set foot in since his youth, nor the ugly, tacky sort meant to appeal to people who had lost their minds and decided to start adding more horrible life to the already crowded world. It wasn’t a cop’s sort of restaurant either, where the food tended to be old, salty, and kept in bowls on the country, and the primary concern of patrons was anything that would come to them in mugs.

It was, Maweth thought, a bit like a temple to food. The tables were clear, except for cruets of seasoning and a table cloth. The table cloth was red. The chairs were plain wood, like the tables, and there were windows. With red curtains. The walls were not red, but a very clean white, as though someone patiently scrubbed dirt off them at the beginning of every day. The air was thick with the smell of fresh bread, meat, and spices.

Maweth felt his shoulder blades itch involuntarily.

Sagae made his way to a table near a doorway – red-curtained – that Maweth assumed lead to the kitchen. He removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of wide, grey eyes with long, almost white lashes. He stared expectantly at Maweth until the cop took a seat opposite him.

After sitting at the red table in complete silence for several minutes, a head poked out from between the curtains. It was a big head with a cheerful, ruddy face and small dark eyes. It had enough jewellery dangling from its ears to start a wind chime store, and Maweth wrinkled his nose at the sight and sound. The top of its head was wrapped in a cloth of bright – shock – red with white flowers, and a few strands of black hair peppered with white escaped from its confines. Bright red lips parted into a huge smile, revealing very white teeth. “Owdyn!” the head said in a startlingly high voice, showing the owner of the head to be of the female persuasion. Probably.

“Charming to see you, dear boy!” she said. Then she took one look at Maweth, sized him up in a disapproving way, and vanished back behind the curtain.

“What,” Maweth asked, “was that?”

Sagae didn’t answer, apparently absorbed in his contemplation of the salt shaker as he spun it about gently between two fingers.

Maweth drummed his fingers on the table, watching Sagae watch the salt-shaker with a dream expression on his face, for several long minutes until the woman burst through the curtain, balancing several trays in her arms.

Now that he could see something besides her head, it was obvious to Maweth that the woman was clearly, abundantly female. She wore a white blouse and a long red skirt, with a white apron on top. She set a tray down in front of Sagae, and another in front of Maweth, followed by a coffeepot, a teapot, a sugar bowl, a pitcher of cream so thick Maweth suspected it would take several seconds to leave the pitcher if turned upside down, and a handful of steel cutlery in front of each man. As an afterthought, two cups with napkins – red – stuffed in them were produced from somewhere in her apron and put down before them. She flashed a bright white smile at Sagae, who was already lifting the lid off his tray, eyes alight. She rumpled the young man’s hair with a big hand. “And there’ll be more where that came from, Owdyn-love, if you just give the signal. Same goes for your man,” she shot a less-than-friendly look at Maweth. “Looks like he needs it, too.”

Maweth scowled. “I am not Mr. Sagae’s ‘man’.”

The relief spread across the woman’s face like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. She beamed. “You two enjoy,” she said cheerfully, before vanishing back behind the curtain with a swirl of white and red.

Something nagged at the back of Maweth’s mind, crying for attention.

Across the table, Sagae was plowing through the food before him – a brick-thick slab of meat in strangely coloured gravy, a mountain of yellow mashed potatoes with a gob of butter the size of an egg and a sprinkling of something green, and a rolling valley of unidentifiable greenery. He used his fork and knife like some kind of shovel, even though he chewed very slowly, as though savouring every molecule before swallowing it. He waved his fork briefly in the direction of the teapot – white with red trim – and after Maweth spent a moment staring blankly at the waving utensil, he reached out, removed the napkin from one of the cups – also white with red around the rim – and filled the cup with tea that was nearly black.

Maweth sighed. Snitches were unethical, certainly, but at least they were easy to deal with. And they certainly cost less than this meal was probably going to end up being. He removed the lid from his own tray, staring at the mountain of food. He poked at it briefly with his fork, causing some of the potatoes to avalanche into the vegetable valley. He poked at the meat.

He reached a decision. Then he reached for the coffeepot and the remaining cup.

The coffeepot was red.

Red and white, red and white, Maweth’s mind cycled between the two colours like a surreal clock as he wrapped his hands around the cup and stared into the black depths. The voice that had been nagging away at the back of his mind abruptly forced itself forward as he took his first sip of coffee. With care and deliberation, he lowered his cup and stared at Sagae. “This is a werewolf restaurant.”

Sagae didn’t even pause in his steady eating, merely giving Maweth a nod of acknowledgement as a full fork deposited its contents in his mouth. After a few minutes, Sagae’s plate was empty. “Well, of course. Killjoy is a very old settlement, reaching back beyond what is recorded in history texts. It became a werewolf community about fifty years after its founding. Approximately. According to village records, anyway. Some of those reach further back than history texts as well, happily for historians, I suppose.”

“You’re not a werewolf.”

Sagae rapped on the table with a fist. “Well, obviously. My family has only been in Killjoy for the last two-hundred years or so. We emigrated here from Fensfjord around that time. Of course, if we had been here around the time of the founding, things would be rather different, I suppose. But they stopped doing . . . things like that at least a thousand years ago. There are several families of humans, and elves, that make their homes here. Besides,” he finished with a smile as the woman pushed aside the curtain and removed his tray, laying another down in its place, “what’s the problem? They’re marvellous cooks.”

The woman – the werewolf, Maweth corrected himself – laughed and gave Sagae’s cheek a pinch, which he ignored, and went back into the kitchen.

Maweth sighed again. Werewolves were rare things in cities. The crowded urban centres weren’t suited to . . . whatever it was that they did, and he had never had the experience of encountering one before. It made him feel quite uncomfortable. But there were more important things to address at the moment. “About Mr. DyBane,” he began, before quickly giving up. As far as Sagae was concerned, there was nothing else in the world when there was food before him. He gave it his undivided attention.

As the young man happily plowed his way through what looked like an entire pie, full of an assortment of meats ranging from pale white in colour to bright pink and even charcoal black, occasionally abandoning it in favour of fist-sized biscuits with red flecks that Maweth sincerely hoped were berries, or to drain his tea cup. When Sagae emptied the cup, Maweth would fill it again automatically, before returning his attentions to his coffee.

When Sagae carefully set his utensils down, Maweth was ready. “So, about Mr. DyBane.”

Sagae blinked, very slowly, then nodded. “It’s about the dead elf, isn’t it? I saw it on the news. You people aren’t very good at keeping things a secret, are you?” Maweth narrowed his eyes. “If you’re thinking Deo did it, you’re definitely looking in the wrong direction. Deo would hurt a fly, sure, and probably most of his acquaintances, but he’d never go out and,” the young man grimaced, “kill someone who was a complete stranger. I don’t know how he’d manage it, either. I’ve known bigger elves than Deo. And he’s a sorcerer. They aren’t generally known for their physical prowess. And I sincerely hope you aren’t thinking of saying that he could have done it with magic. I’m working on the assumption that you’re not an idiot, and if he had killed,” again the shudder, “this elf with magic, you would be able to tell. Even I can tell when someone’s had a spell put on them, and I’m about as magically inclined as a rock. Less than that, even. Magic makes the air taste funny and it sticks around for a while after the spell in question as been cast. If there had been magic involved, it would be all over the news, and there would be more than simply you and your unfortunate partner lurking around the University.” Sagae drained his cup again.

Maweth digested this. Everything he had seen of Sagae so far suggested that the young man was not lying. Not because he seemed to be particularly moral or considered himself so, but because he was too lazy to bother making anything up. It was easy to put something like trust in a man like that. “I’ll decide whether Mr. DyBane is guilty, not you, Mr. Sagae,” he said, because there are some things cops needed to say under any circumstances, regardless of the actual details that might apply to them.

Sagae shrugged and knocked on the table again. This time, before the werewolf left, she paused and looked over her should, glaring pointedly from the still-full and cold tray to Maweth and back again. The hairs on the back of Maweth’s neck rose, but he ignored their presence and met the werewolf’s irritated eyes with his own calm, bored ones. Eventually, she left with a sniff, as Sagae dug into sausages and another pie, this time filled with vegetables, spices, and hot sauce.

“The thing about Deo,” Sagae said as he licked the last drop of sauce from his fork, “is that just because he can Travel – Walk, he calls it – doesn’t mean he does. He’s certainly been to other worlds, or at least the world his father’s from, but he doesn’t really care about leaving this world. He has no interest in Travelling. Besides,” a little smile twitched across his lips, “you seem to be operating under the assumption that this crime has been committed by someone who lives in the Ciddryn area. If they can Travel, they could be from anywhere. They don’t even have to be from this world. There are people on other worlds who can Travel like Deo can, and other worlds where people have developed that sort of technology. You’re limiting yourself, if you’re just looking in Ciddryn.”

Maweth gritted his teeth slightly at having Sagae voice his own thoughts so calmly. “Captain Iaslea,” he said, “wants to investigate people in Ciddryn. We are therefore doing just that.”

“And you’re obviously very delighted about the entire thing, Inspector. A crime has been committed,” Sagae said, his bored voice almost thoughtful, “that we no longer have a word for, although I’m sure an historian could dig up something for you, against an elf. And so the elves are full of rage, and demanding justice, and wondering who could have hated this poor elf so much to do such a thing. When, of course, everyone knows that humans hate elves, and half-elves hate elves, and everyone pretty much hates elves, and so you have elves, feeling persecuted, and wanting justice, while you . . . You try to get me to take you to Deo DyBane. It must be,” he said, knocking on the table, “very frustrating for you.”

Maweth glared at Sagae in silence until the young man had finished a fruit pie made nearly invisible by ice cream, strawberries in chocolate and cream, and a mint the size of a brick. “Do you know where Mr. DyBane was at any point between the evening of the twelfth and the morning of the thirteenth of High Spring?”

Sagae shrugged. “I would guess in bed, in his room. It’s really no concern of mine. I didn’t pay that much attention to what he did even when we shared a room.” Maweth believed it. “I certainly don’t keep track of his whereabouts now that his behaviour has no effect on my sleeping habits. The person to ask would be one of the monitors in Green Hall. That’s the name of the building where he lives.”

“I don’t suppose,” Maweth said, glad to have gotten back to business, “that this Green Hall is actually green.”

“You’re out of luck there, Inspector,” Sagae smiled lazily. “Wouldn’t want to make things easy for you. Of course, if the Green monitors don’t know, you could always ask,” the faint smile abruptly changed to an expressive grimace, “Cui.” Maweth arched an eyebrow in an indication that Sagae should continue. “Cui is Deo’s roommate. He’s from Killjoy too. An elf, not a werewolf. If you can get something coherent and sensible out of him, I will truly be impressed with your interrogative powers, Inspector Maweth. Cui is, like Deo, a sorcerer.” Sagae spoke the word ‘sorcerer’ in a way that suggested it could be synonymous, in this instant, with ‘bloody nuisance’.

Another sigh, Maweth thought, would be too much. He held it in. He had never met a sorcerer before, and he already wanted to arrest the lot of them for being so damn irritating. He removed his credit fob fro his pocket. “How do you get that . . . person back in here without her bringing even more food?”

On cue, the werewolf appeared from behind the curtains and took the fob from Maweth’s hand without a word. She lifted Maweth’s still-full tray and smiled fondly at Sagae. “I’ll just box this up for you, Owdyn-love.”

“Now that you’ve eaten enough to feed a small family for a month, Mr. Sagae, do you feel up to escorting me to wherever Mr. DyBane is lurking?” Maweth asked as he slipped the fob back into his pocket and Sagae gathered the large box of food in his arms.

Sagae smiled easily at Maweth, stood, the box held against his chest, and nodded.