Daniel Polansky - Low Town

“I heard.”

“You heard about Crispin?”

I nodded.

He looked puzzled, then relieved, then apologetic. Adolphus has an expressive face. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, the fact that he honestly meant it worth more than any attempt at eloquence.

“You want to make it up to me, you could have Adeline fry some eggs.” I stopped him halfway to the kitchen. “How did you find out?” I asked, the obvious question not so obvious after a night spent pounding my brain into submission.

“An agent stopped by while you were asleep. He said he’d come back around later.”

“The Crown came by, and they didn’t roust me?”

“He wasn’t on official business. He said he just came by as a courtesy.”

That supposed a degree of civility unlikely under the best of circumstances. “What was his name?”

“Didn’t give it, and I didn’t much want it. Young fellow, platinum blond, bit of an ass.”

What business did Guiscard have with me? Revenge? I couldn’t imagine Crispin was so foolish as to publicize the highly illegal search he had performed.

Adolphus recommenced his trip toward the kitchen. “And make some coffee, while you’re back there,” I yelled as the door swung shut.

I pondered the circumstances that enveloped me and tried to blink away my headache. The giant returned a few minutes later with breakfast. “Did Adeline cook these?” I asked, chewing my way through a cut of burnt bacon.

He shook his head. “She took Wren to market. That’s my work.”

I spat out a piece of eggshell. “Shocking.”

“You don’t like them, you can cook your own breakfast.”

“I don’t imagine our friend is much of a chef,” a voice from behind me commented.

“Close the door,” I said.

He did just that, the baying of the wind rendered inaudible once again. Adolphus stared over my shoulder at the newcomer with an expression of undisguised dislike.

Guiscard took a seat on the stool next to mine. He looked weary and haggard, his white-blond hair disheveled. There was even a small food stain on his right lapel, certain evidence of the turmoil our ex-partner’s death was causing him. He tossed me a quick nod, then turned to Adolphus. “Black coffee, thanks.”

“We ain’t open,” Adolphus said, setting his rag on the bar and disappearing into the back.

I enjoyed my own cup of java quietly. “He doesn’t much care for me, does he?” Guiscard asked.

Actually Adolphus has a soft heart and an even softer entrance policy-he probably would’ve served the Steadholder of the Dren Republic, should his eminence have seen fit to make an appearance. I suspected the cruelties he had suffered the last time the Crown came through his establishment had left him less than enamored of law enforcement. “I’m sure I’d get a similar reception at your favorite watering hole.”

“You probably would. Did he at least give you my message?”

“I heard the news.”

“I’m sorry.”

Everyone was so contrite all of a sudden. “Don’t apologize to me-I’ve barely spoken to him for half a decade. You were his partner.”

“An awfully junior partner, and that only for six months. I don’t think he even liked me.”

“I know he didn’t like me, and I’m still sorry he’s gone. Any leads down at Black House?”

“Canvass didn’t turn up anything. We’ve got the Ice Bitch going over the crime scene now. Some of the men wanted to question you, but we got pressure from the brass to stay off. I guess you still have a few friends on the upper floors.”

The Old Man wasn’t a friend, however loosely one defined the term-but he wouldn’t want my operations interfered with.

“What about you? You have any ideas?” Guiscard asked.

I stared into my drink, the liquid thick and black. “I’ve got suspicions.”

“I don’t suppose you feel like sharing?”

“Suppose all you want.”

For the first time in the conversation I caught a glimpse of the man I had met standing over the body of little Tara. He worked to uncurl his snarl, and to his credit when he spoke his voice was empty of contempt. “I’d like to help if I can.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like him?”

“I said he didn’t like me, I always liked him-but that’s not really the point. He was my partner, and there is a code to these things. And if Black House can’t find who killed him, then I suppose I’m for throwing my hand in with you.”

That last note smacked a bit too strongly of youthful sentimentality for my tastes. I scratched at my chin and wondered whether he was lying, and whether it mattered. “Why should I trust you?”

“I didn’t realize you were so awash in resources that you could afford to reject an offer of aid.”

“All right,” I said, handing him the slip of paper from my pocket. “This is what Crispin was killed over. I picked it up off his corpse before you boys showed. It’s a critical piece of information in an unsolved crime. By not immediately giving it to the agent in charge of the investigation you are violating your oath as an impartial arbiter of the Throne’s Justice, and by not turning me in to Black House you are aiding a person of interest in a capital offense. The first will get you demoted, the second stripped of the gray.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“There’s a man on that list I’d very much like to speak to, a man who might be able to shed some light on Crispin’s end. I can’t find him, but you could. And if you did, and if I were to hear it… that would be of use to me. Provided, of course, I wasn’t in the gaol for violating a crime scene.”

We eyeballed each other, custom dictating one last round of challenge, then he nodded sharply. “You won’t be.”

“It’s the Mirad, third from the bottom.”

He got up from the stool. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Agent. You forgot something.”

“What’s that?” he asked, with what might have been honest confusion.

“You’ve still got my form.”

“Right, sorry,” he said, pulling it from his coat and handing it back to me before dropping out the exit.

Maybe Guiscard wasn’t as slow as I’d put him down for. I sipped at my coffee and plotted out the rest of the day.

Adolphus returned from the room. “The blue blood gone?”

“He ain’t hiding under the tables.”

Snorting, Adolphus reached into his pocket and handed me a thin sheet of off-white parchment, sealed with a wax sigil. “This came before you woke.”

I held it up to the light, taking notice of the seal, a lion quartered with a trio of matched diamonds. “In the future, you can just inform me of anything I’ve missed when you first see me. You don’t need to drip it out like an old man pissing.”

“I’m not a mail carrier.”

“You aren’t a cook, you aren’t a mail carrier-what the hell do you do here?”

Adolphus rolled his eyes and started cleaning the back tables. The afternoon drunks would be in soon, inclement weather or no. I tore through the wax seal with my thumbnail and read the missive. I find the supplies you tendered the night we first met have proved insufficient for my needs. Perhaps you could find your way to Seton Gardens tomorrow before nine with an equal amount, and we might speak after I complete some unrelated business. Your trusted friend, His Grace, the Duke of Beaconfield

In general my Trusted Friends did not send demands couched as requests, but allowances had to be made for the habits of the upper crust. I folded the note and put it into my bag.

“You open?” the slurred voice of a patron queried from behind me.

That seemed as good a cue as any, and it was about time to see what light the most expensive hooker in Rigus could shed on my situation. I grabbed my coat from upstairs, and headed out into the storm.