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

‘Well, I am Thelen, and I will answer your questions if you answer me one first.’

‘Fire away,’ I said.

‘Who are you working for?’

‘A young lady who has lost a boyfriend; I thought at first he had just ditched her, but now I am not so sure.’

She picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through her long graceful fingers. ‘This boyfriend, not Perry Goodfellow by any chance?’

‘The same. Did you know him?’

‘By sight and reputation. One of the best surfers around – had to be to win the Gnada Trophy.’

‘So it’s that prestigious?’

‘Sure.’ She shrugged. ‘Mind you, not everyone feels the need to enter competitions.’

‘Like you?’

She regarded me solemnly. ‘I know you have never surfed, Master Strongoak, so it is difficult to explain. Out there it’s just you and the big blue ocean. Total communion, total involvement. When I am on the board I feel free, like I imagine they felt in our ancestors’ times, when the world was still wide and the sky unbounded. That’s what it’s about, not trinkets.’

‘But Perry thought differently?’

‘I suppose he thought he had something to prove. He was very aware of the gulf that many say exists between the elves and the men of the Citadel.’

‘Go tell it to the gnomes, lady.’

‘Sure, but gnomes do not go surfing.’

‘Did anyone bother to invite them?’

‘Yes, an interesting point. That would really upset Highbury. Gnomes on his precious beach.’

‘And who is this Highbury?’

‘He is the self-appointed leader of the Surf Elves faction.’

‘Faction? I thought the Surf Elves were really just something invented by the tabard-shirt manufacturers.’

Thelen began picking up small pebbles and throwing them at a piece of driftwood, punctuating her speech with each direct hit. ‘Oh no, Master Dwarf, it’s about more than T-shirts. I would not grace it with the name of philosophy, let us just call it an attitude. An attitude of elfin elitism calculated to annoy most right-thinking members of the community.’

‘And it annoyed Perry?’

‘I am not really sure; as I said, I did not actually know him well. When he came to the Gnada and started surfing, I think at first perhaps he was flattered by the attention of the elves. It was obvious that he was a natural on the board. Later, when he started getting rather too accomplished for the likes of Highbury and his friends, he may have felt their displeasure.’

‘Would it have been enough for him to have quit the beach and run out on Liza, perhaps to prove himself elsewhere?’

‘See this board, Master Strongoak,’ she said, knocking our breakfast table and appearing to change the subject. ‘It is made of myrtle, a superb wood. It is wonderfully light, but extremely hard. It can be worked, but only by a craftsman, and in consequence it is very expensive and only the elves can afford them. Perry Goodfellow might have done a lot of things for one of these, but he would not have left his lady for a goldmine full of them. It was just not in his nature. And remember, he wasn’t the only one with something to prove.’

‘What, Highbury and the Surf Elves?’

‘Yes. The relationship soured on both sides. He had, after all, won the Gnada Trophy, and was, incidentally, the first man to do so. The Surf Elves like having followers, but they are not so keen on being on equal terms with mortals. And Highbury, well, let us say he has ambitions which encompass more than simply the sporting arena.’

‘You sound as if you do not altogether approve?’

She scored another direct hit on the driftwood. ‘No, I do not approve. I do not like elites, elfin or any other variety. The Surf Elves strut around with their air of superiority, and their silly blue shirts and badges, as if the whole of Widergard was arranged for their convenience. It annoys me considerably, as well as giving the rest of us a bad name. We are all in this place together, there’s no Never-Neverland left over the Big Sea, and so we had all better get on with each other. The last thing we need is a group of blue-eyed, blond egoists running around, causing racial tension and getting up people’s noses.’

I had to agree with her. I would feel the same if it was young dwarfs. Mind you, half the population of the Citadel don’t want to look like young dwarfs, but that’s their problem.

‘But this Highbury body, elf or not, he is, after all, just some kind of dune drifter, isn’t he? I don’t know what these ambitions of his may be, but at best he is just a half-baked athlete.’

‘Do not underestimate the appeal of the Surf Elves,’ Thelen responded. ‘These half-baked athletes, as you call them, have a considerable following among the younger men and women of the Citadel. They are, after all, the modern heroes in a world where heroes are thin on the ground, and have been since the times that men dismiss as myths.’

I thought about this for a bit. The elfess had a point. Since the voting age had been lowered, the Citadel youth seemed to have had an inordinate effect upon the proceedings of the place.

‘How did this Highbury take Perry’s victory?’

She laughed beautifully. It made me want to run off and become a comedian, just to perform for her and hear it every day.

‘Lord Highbury Evergleaming was absolutely furious. He had won the Gnada Trophy the previous three years and was beginning to consider it his own property. He went into the Surf Elves’ beach dwelling and did not come out for a week. It was wonderful.’

Her laughter was replaced by a look of concern. ‘And now Perry is missing and presumably the Gnada trophy with him?’

I nodded to her: ‘It seems that way.’

‘I know which one will concern the Surf Elves the most! Highbury wants that cup back on his trophy shelf. ’

Thelen got up with an ease I wish I could match. She turned to face me. ‘So, Master Detective, as you can probably gather, I will be delighted to help you in any way I can, especially if it adds to Highbury’s discomfiture.’

I got out one of the little leather-bound notebooks I use for this sort of business – a hangover from my days in the Citadel Guards, but good practices are best not forgotten. I soon had all the background on the Surf Elves that I needed. I left the lady with my business card and drove down the beach. She offered to teach me to surf. I said I would keep that in the cold store.

Thelen had directed me to the right part of the beach; the Surf Elves’ headquarters were the collection of ranch-style huts built into the dunes I had previously spotted. The surrounding sand was covered with dumbbells and weights and everything else for the body beautiful. The Surf Elves were easy to spot with their pointy ears, perfect noses, clean, lean, hairless limbs and cheekbones higher than a juiced-up eagle. Some still wore cropped blue beach jackets that sported a crossed leaf-and-sword motif. This was also the design flying on the flag above the huts. I had seen it sprayed up round the Hill all summer without taking in what it stood for.

I didn’t like it.

The device had a nasty military feel to it. From what I could gather there wasn’t much about these guys to like at all. My opinion was not about to change.

I drove the Dragonette onto the Strand, chancing any injurious effects of salt spray on the bodywork. I took out a spyglass from the glove compartment and scanned the area. It was interesting to see Higher and Lower Elves up close together. The differences, especially in height, were obvious, but they still shared that undeniable quality of elvishness.

There were a lot of boards out on the water and the riders all looked good at what they did. I tried to identify young Lord Highbury. It wasn’t difficult. I spotted him as soon as he came out of the surf. Who else would expect or court a round of applause? The admirers were elves with some of the Citadel’s better-looking men and (mostly) women. Even from that distance he had that elf glow, like gold straight from the forge, as if lit by internal fires. Overrated, if you ask me.