Terry Newman - Detective Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf

‘Tree-friend, eh?’ he said, his sad green eyes the colour of sunlight on a fading forest glade, looked around the supporting timbers. ‘These are all the woodland folk I have for company now, and a sorry lot they are for conversation. Sad, very sad.’ As if by way of confirmation, the silence settled in on us like a weight. ‘At least, Master Dwarf, they have left you your mountains and mines.’

I knew just what he meant. We paused for a moment: a moment that might have been caught in amber, and buried beneath a mountain for half the lifetime of the planet, only to be excavated by dwarfs and looked at in awe on winter nights beneath cold stars. Then, he shook himself like an oak in a fall storm, and laughed; the sound rolled around the rafters and the moment was gone in a pixie’s smile.

‘A drink, you said, Master Dwarf. Ho hum. Well, let me tell you, the ale is no better than the barrel it is kept in, and that I would not burn for kindling. The wines have not travelled well, or very far for that matter, and the manager waters the distillates at night when he thinks I am sleeping. However, the good news is that I have another little speciality of the house. One that is not advertised on the roster, but is kept tucked away behind the bar for those occasions that require it.’

He pulled out an old-fashioned stone crock that wasn’t bigger than an ale truck, but not that much smaller either. ‘Now, this the manager knows nothing about and so I can give it my wholehearted approval.’ He decanted a modest measure into a highball glass. ‘I find it is best to take these things a little at a time, Master Dwarf.’

As if to put a lie to his own advice he crooked it over one elbow in the time-honoured fashion and took a draught that seemed to go on forever.

I approached my drink with a little more caution. I had heard of the gravy the Tree-friends made. Some sort of fancy water, I imagined. At first sip it did indeed seem like the purest, coolest water that had ever bubbled up from a woodland spring. I took a large mouthful and it felt like standing under a mountain waterfall. I finished the glass and it felt like getting hit by a whole damn ocean.

‘What do you call this?’ I gasped like a drowning man. ‘I thought it was supposed to be some sort of Woodland cordial?’

‘Not unless they come with fifty per cent alcohol,’ he said, a smile spreading across his face like sunshine in a forest glade.

He refilled my glass. ‘I can see that there is some other matter that you wish to unburden yourself of.’

I briefly wondered whether to play it cute or clever, before concluding I had left it one drink too late to be clever and, despite my mother’s protestations, I suspect I may never have been what you might call conventionally cute. I put on my serious face and played it straight down the line. Well, that was what I was aiming for anyway.

I flashed my badge: ‘Nicely Strongoak, Master Detective and shield-for-hire. I am looking for a body by the name of Perry Goodfellow.’

‘Strongoak,’ he said, with extra weight. ‘A good name, but hardly dwarfish.’

‘No, it was a given name.’

‘Elfish, then?’ He looked a bit surprised, if I am any judge of these things, which I am not, and if emotion can be read from a visage as implacable as a roof joist.

‘Yes, the family were elf-friends.’

‘Good, very good. I have been to Tall Trees, where the elves have now settled. I liked it well enough, but I think perhaps the elves now care less for the trees than the homes that they have built in them. However, that is as maybe. Time always sprints ahead and leaves us stranded in its wake. I am Grove. I have had other names … but Grove will do for now.’

I let him continue at his own pace until he arrived back at where I wanted. ‘This Perry Goodfellow, would he be in any trouble?’ he rumbled.

‘No, but a young lady of his acquaintance was rather concerned at the speed of his departure.’

‘And this lady, she is who exactly?’

‘One Liza Springwater.’

‘Good, very good,’ he said again, making up his mind. ‘I thought I might have misjudged you there for a moment, got you confused with some form of snark. However, I met Liza a few times, oh yes, took to her quicker than many a woman of these later years. There was something very … unmanly … about her, if you follow?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted, ‘something about the eyes.’

He nodded agreement, like an oak tree moving in the breeze. ‘And Perry, he is as decent as they come. A bit wild, but he is young, and good wood often grows on the most wayward bough. I was … hurt when he did not say farewell.’

‘You too?’

Grove gave this simple remark ample consideration; summers came and went and whole mountain ranges wore down. He scratched a twiggy chin. ‘I take it he did not say goodbye to young Liza Springwater either?’

I murmured my affirmative.

‘Not good, not good,’ Grove continued. ‘I did not know that.’ He took another long pull on the crock. ‘If I had known, I would have been more concerned. I would have searched for him myself, not that I would have much idea where to start looking these days. Still, there are a few friends I could perhaps have contacted, to whom the name of old Grove might still mean something. Yes, I still have a few names that I can call upon if assistance is ever required. As it is, I am very glad that Liza has the sap to organise the hunt.’

‘You didn’t know that Liza had called here?’

‘No, she must have spoken with the manager and he has failed to pass on the intelligence – a petty revenge, probably – I do not think he took too kindly to my questioning him about Perry’s departure. Seemed to think it was not my affair. Hurhm! He was almost … curt. Finally he admitted that Perry had collected his wage, cleared his room and left very quickly. I should not have trusted the man, but I was sure, if he was in any real trouble, Perry would have come to me for help. He always knew he could come to me for help.’

‘And since then, no letters, no messages?’ I began.

‘Not a word.’ Grove’s concern began to be evident. ‘I think I have perhaps been guilty of letting myself go a bit to rot. It is easy to stop thinking when you get out of the habit.’

Who was I to argue? ‘Not thinking’ – at times I’d nearly made a career out of it.

‘Did Perry ever bring any elves back here, for a drink maybe?’

Now Grove certainly did look surprised as he replied: ‘Elves? No, never. I’m not sure he had any particularly close friends amongst the elf kind.’

‘Did he ever happen to mention any? Does the name Highbury mean anything?’

Grove slowly nodded his large shaggy head. I half expected to see a warbler or two pop out to see what all the commotion was about. ‘Yes, the only elf I ever remember him mentioning at any length, the young lord called Highbury who obviously thought far too highly of himself.’

Time was moving on and I tried not to appear too hasty or, the ultimate sin, too curt.

‘Would it be possible to give his old quarters the once over, if they’re not occupied, of course?’

Grove gave a slow nod. ‘We have not employed a new runner yet, so I do not think that will be any problem. The manager may think otherwise, but as he is not here and I am busy stacking shelves and the master key is lying on the bar, I cannot think what there is to stop you. However, I did clean out his sleeping quarters rather thoroughly, and I did not find any traces of any goods Perry may have forgotten, but then again I was not really looking for any. It is room 4-15, top floor.’

It was a lot of steps, but I felt my legs growing to meet them; marvellous stuff, that gravy the Tree-friends make.