Goblin Precinct (Dragon Precinct) by Keith R. A. Decandido Page A

more complete story.”
    That resulted in a scowl that would have done Osric proud. “That would require me to actually have a friend to contact.”
    With that, Danthres also strode ahead. Torin was now three strides behind his partner, and five behind Fanthral. Plus neither of them was talking anymore, so Torin supposed that he had gotten what he wanted, more or less.
    They reached the castle after another few minutes, and Fanthral actually led the way to the winding staircase. Torin had to admit to being impressed with the elf’s recollection of the castle’s sometimes confusing corridors. Prior to coming to Cliff’s End and working for the Castle Guard, Torin had spent his life living in the wide-open spaces and modest houses of Myverin, outdoors (occasionally, if he was very fortunate, under a tent) both after leaving Myverin and when he joined the army to fight the elven wars, and in the occasional inn during his other travels. None of that had adequately prepared Torin for the labyrinthine halls of the castle that served as the seat of Cliff’s End. By now, of course, he knew his way around easily, but in the first year, he often got lost on his way from the squadroom to the privy.
    Fanthral was the first one to arrive at the bottom of the stairs, where the large wooden door with the gryphon door knocker was wide open.
    Boneen was standing over lothSerra’s body when they arrived, and he looked up at Fanthral. “You must be the elven emissary.”
    “I am Fanthral. I am here to—”
    “I am not interested in why you are here. Suffice it to say that this case has implications that are far more important than whatever witch hunt you might be on.”
    Fanthral snarled. “It is not a witch hunt!”
    Torin, however, was more interested in Boneen himself. His white hair, normally wild and flying in all directions, was trimmed to a simple monk’s fringe, and his white beard now only went as far as his throat instead of his chest. He wore the same drab, ill-fitting clothes he always wore, of course.
    “I wasn’t aware, Boneen,” he said with a grin, “that meetings with the brotherhood had a dress code.”
    Boneen just gave Torin one of his trademark annoyed looks. “Bravo, ban Wyvald, you noticed that I cut my hair. That puts you one up on your captain.”
    “Well, I am a detective.”
    “Bravo for your ability to detect, then.”
    Fanthral looked as if he was about to crawl out of his skin. “May we please get back to Elthor lothSerra?”
    “Ah, yes.” Boneen waddled over to a stool and sat down. “Whew. That’s better. It has been a very long and difficult day, and this elven corpse has increased that difficulty by a great deal.”
    Danthres was leaning against one of the lab’s walls. “What did you find, Boneen?”
    “This is my first examination of a body that has overdosed on this ‘Bliss’ substance. Indeed, it is my first examination of Bliss in any form. There was no need, really, since I have absolutely no interest in the myriad substances that people choose to eat, drink, inhale, or ingest in the name of briefly feeling better.”
    Torin smiled. “Which is why you don’t generally accompany us to the Chain.”
    Fanthral shot Torin a look. “The what?”
    “The Old Ball and Chain,” Torin said. “It’s a tavern where we tend to congregate after work.”
    “I see. If I may ask, what does any of this have to do with lothSerra?”
    Boneen regarded Fanthral with irritation. “I’m getting to that, if you’ll just give me a moment. Now, where was I?”
    Danthres said, “Eating, drinking, inhaling, and ingesting.”
    Boneen snapped his fingers. “Yes, of course. Now then, the first thing I did when confronted with this body—”
    Holding up a hand, Fanthral said, “Wait, you examined the body first?”
    “Yes. If I may continue—”
    “Why did you not meet us in Haven’s Way? You were to perform a peel-back—”
    “Which I will perform in due course,” Boneen snapped.