Welcome to Deep Cove

Don Kaxaun sat in his favourite leather chair, the stem of a wine glass gripped between his fingers. Of all the rooms in his manor, he felt the library was the most comfortable. Beside him, the fireplace crackled with dancing flames and the heat felt luxurious. Outside, it was raining again and the dampness had worked its way into the manor. Kaxaun’s eyes glided over the multitude of shelving and books, but his mind was not on the treasures within the bound tomes. He set his wine glass down and opened an envelope containing the missive he had received earlier in the day from Pacorro – the Syndicate’s First Assassin. Scanning the page once more, he read the information contained on the sheet.

We have used the information Don Fergani procured from the Dragon Council showing the orders were sent from the port town of Deep Cove. Number Two had the ingenious idea to trace the sales receipts of all global view units sold in the region from the last two years. There are only three dealers in the whole of Vellia licensed to sell the communication devices and the northern vendor has a son who lives in Deep Cove. The son has been quite forthcoming with his information on his sales receipts. Only seven units have been purchased in the last two years.

vThe Deep Cove police and the harbour master have upgraded pre-existing units.

vThe university purchased a global view unit through the teachers’ union.

vJonathan Gervani, owner of the ‘Wayward Gambler’ and the ‘Golden Gon,’ purchased two units care of the online gambling community.

vRudy Wilson purchased two units care of his employer Mr. Kline.

A quick check on Rudy Wilson’s employer –Daniel Kline – provided us with the information needed to proceed with our enquiry. Kline is a small time thug. He runs various lines of business from his hilltop manor on the coastline and owns several smaller properties throughout Deep Cove. We have traced one of the G.V.units to his warehouse and the hardware insignia matches that supplied to us by the Dragon Council. Daniel Kline or someone within his organisation issued the orders to General Omik from this unit. We have obtained a full listing of Kline’s employees. Awaiting your orders.

Number One,

Number Two

Kaxaun’s manservant – Philip – arrived at the library carrying a folder under his arm. The door was open, but the man stopped and knocked anyway.

“Enter,” said Kaxaun draining the last of his wine. “Is that Kline’s folder?”

“Yes,” agreed Philip. As usual the man wore his black suit and his shoes were flawlessly polished. “Shall I have your dinner brought into the study, my Lord?”

“Please,” returned Kaxaun, accepting the folder from the slim servant.

“More wine?” offered Philip.

“One more glass with dinner,” agreed Kaxaun. Philip nodded and turned to leave. “A question,” said Kaxaun and Philip turned attentively. “You come from near Deep Cove, don’t you?”

“Yes Sir. Lovely town. Sometimes I miss the sea.”

“Do you per chance remember anything about this man Daniel Kline?”

“Certainly, Sir. He runs the local muscle. Somewhat of an entrepreneur.”

“And if I remember correctly, he would be in his early sixties now?”

“Yes I believe that to be about right.” Philip nodded in agreement.

“His estate is large and situated on the coastline. He owns several business and properties, does he not?”

“Yes Sir. His grounds are indeed amongst the largest on the coastline. I believe his endeavours have made him very rich.”

“And he pays us monthly dues?”

“Certainly, Sir. His receipts are in the folder. He has prepaid for the rest of this year and next.”

“I believe he also owns a fleet of ships,” inquired Kaxaun.

“I’m sure he does, Sir. An intelligent man in his line of business wouldn’t make his home in a port and not use the waterways.”

“Of course,” agreed Kaxaun. The don pondered this for a few seconds. “To your knowledge, have we had any conflicts with this man or his family?”

“Not that I am aware of, Sir. I know very little of the man’s business to be honest, but I have never heard our associates mention any conflicts with him or his family.”

“Thank you, Philip.”

“Of course,” the servant bowed and made his way from the library.

Alone with his thoughts, Kaxaun sat in silence for several moments. Opening the folder, he flipped through the receipts and the small amount of notes gathered within. Near the back of the folder, he came across an article clipped from Deep Cove’s local newspaper – The Daily Deep. The article covered the death of Margery Kline in an unfortunate fall from the cliff tops above the local pier. The death was ruled an accident and had occurred almost twenty years ago. Tracing to the bottom of the editorial, Kaxaun read the last line. ‘Margery will be dearly missed by her loving husband and son.’

Kaxaun closed the folder and stared across the room, his fingers tapping agitatedly on the arm rest of his chair. ‘You want to start a war, Mr. Kline? I hope you are prepared to pay the price.’ Leaning over the fire, he dropped Pacorro’s missive into the flames.

12

Who’s a Comedian?

The cool spring wind from the coast would have been refreshing if it didn’t carry the scent of Kline’s pastures with it. Plugging his nose and turning his back to the breeze, Merle’s wings beat a steady tempo as he circled Garrett. “Man, I hate the smell of cow patties,” he complained, not for the first time. Garrett once again ignored his friend as they approached the iron gate on Kline’s compound. “How come Maury wants to meet with us anyway?”

“Just behave yourself,” warned Garrett. “It’s not business. He just invited us out for a beer and I agreed. He’s not such a bad guy, you know? We’ve lived here for how long? We don’t have anyone we chum around with and I thought it would be good to make some new friends.”

“I think all that time you spent with those ogres on Bellicose Island altered your perception of those beasties,” interjected Merle. “I’ll bet he’s a mean drunk.”

“Well you’re a stupid drunk,” returned Garrett with a glare. “Why do you always have to be so presumptuous? Can’t we just go out for a beer once in a while and forget about our troubles without you complaining about everything and sizing everyone up? And while we’re on the subject, did you have to start so early in the day? You knew we were going out.”

“I only had a scotch to warm up!” argued Merle defensively. Seeing Garrett wasn’t convinced, he gave in. “Alright,” he conceded with an ashamed look. “I didn’t mean to get your dander up, but you seem to forget it was my keen perception that kept us alive all those times in Sung-Ti.”

“And your prejudices that nearly put us in the chef’s pot in his Emperor’s Imperial Palace.”

“Us?” squeaked Merle, “I don’t recall seeing any human bouillon in that pot, only dragon fricassee!”

“Hey you guys!” called Vic excitedly from behind the gate. Smiling, he waved. “I gets to watch de gate while Frank and Hector are on supper!”

“Good for you!” called out Merle sweetly. “Now put your arms down before you hurt yourself.” Turning to Garrett, he tried his best to sound reflective. “Is it me, or does he act like he just escaped from a mental hospital?”

Garrett shot Merle another warning look. “I wouldn’t know,” he whispered, his smile in place and his own wave acknowledging Vic. “You’re the expert on mental cases.” Approaching the fence, he spoke to Vic before Merle could respond. “Did Maury tell you we were meeting him here?” he asked.

“Yup,” replied Vic, still grinning.

“Can we come in?” prompted Garrett, ignoring Merle’s impatient look and the rolling of his eyes.

Vic was about to reach for the lock when he stopped. “Hey,” he said guardedly. “You can’t trick me. Dat was a close one.” He nodded at Garrett. “You needs to know de password!”

“Riiight,” drawled Merle. “Of course we do. It’s not like we could just climb the gate or anything.”

“Okay,” agreed Garrett. “The password is Friday.”

“No it ain’t!” shot back Vic in an overexcited tone. “Dat was yesterday’s password!”

“Well Maury told me the password was Friday. Come on and let us in. You know who we are.”

“I can’t,” said Vic with a serious look. “Maury said not to let anyone in who not know de password. I’m sorry.” Vic crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head.

“This is ridiculous,” snapped Merle. “Let us in, you muscle brain.”

“Hey,” growled Vic, his face turning red, “You better watch it mule breath or I’ll ring your skinny snakey neck!”

“How are you going to do that?” quipped Merle, “You’re on that side of the gate and we’re on this side.” He buzzed past the iron bars to prove his point and Vic threw himself at the gate, trying to reach the annoying little dragon. “Look at me,” sang Merle, enjoying himself as he turned his back to Vic and sauntered past the thug’s outstretched arms, “I’m as free as a bird!” Suddenly, a thought struck him and a wicked smile spread across his dragon muzzle. Pumping his wings, he lifted himself up over the gate. Picking up speed, he came down over the top of Vic in an aerial dive that just cleared the big man’s forehead.

“Hey!” screamed Vic, “you can’t come in here unless you know de password.”

“Merle,” chastised Garrett, but the little dragon was having way too much fun to listen.

“Dat’s it!” growled Vic. In a leap that surprised the dragon, the big man soared high into the air, his hands outstretched and raking the heavens as Merle came in for another flyby. Vic’s pudgy fingers found purchase around the dragon’s middle and both of them tumbled from the air. Vic landed on his back, the dragon hugged tightly to his chest. Merle’s wings thumped erratically. “Dey didn’t give me de rugby trophy for nuttin’” snarled the big man.

“You’re choking me,” squawked Merle, his eyes bulging.

“Good,” laughed Vic. “What you say about free as a bird?” He gave the dragon a shake for emphasis.

“Don’t… make me… do it,” wheezed Merle. One of his hind legs was free, his dangerously sharp claws poised to strike at the man’s unguarded face.

“MERLE!” yelled Garrett and both Vic and Merle looked over at the man still trapped on the other side of the gate. “The password is Saturday,” he called in exasperation.

“Why you not say so in first place?” asked Vic with a disgusted frown. Flicking the dragon on the forehead with his index finger, he tossed his opponent to the dirt. “I guess you can come in now.”

Merle picked himself up and looked at Vic, murder in his eyes. Small tendrils of electricity crackled over his body.

“Don’t,” warned Garrett, “you started it.” Merle cleared his throat and dusted himself off while he waited for Vic to let his friend in. The electrical current disappeared after a few seconds. “Thanks,” grunted Garrett, making a hand signal for Merle to fall in and shut up. The little dragon grumbled to himself and cast one last heated look over his shoulder. Vic waved and turned back to the gate, guarding it with his life.

Approaching the guardhouse, Garrett rapped soundly on the door. “I don’t want anymore of your shenanigans,” he warned. Merle remained quiet until the door was opened from the inside by Frank. The large minotaur stood staring at the pair of newcomers, his beady eyes flicking to the little dragon. Chewing on a mouthful of something, he swallowed before turning and bellowing for Maury.

“Him?’ hissed Merle in disgust. “Why didn’t you tell me these guys were gonna be here? You know our kinds don’t mix!”

“Shut up,” returned Garrett quietly. Manoeuvring himself to his right, he stepped on the little dragon’s foot for emphasis.

“Oww,” squealed Merle. “What’s gotten into you? You know how I feel about minotaurs.”

“Ya, I know,” said Garrett, “You don’t like anyone.”

“Hey guys,” said Maury, coming to the door. He was naked except for a pair of tan shorts and a towel draped across his shoulder. “I’m just cleaning up after my shift. Come in and grab a bite if you like. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Frank blinked when Maury waved the pair inside. Shrugging, the large minotaur clomped his way across the hardwood floor and into the kitchenette. Hector was there filling a wooden platter with sweet grass and clover and the pair shared a half whispered comment. Hector glanced at Merle, made a further comment, and both minotaurs laughed loudly.

It wasn’t the size of the guardhouse that impressed Garrett, so much as the sheer excess of the furnishings. Beautiful maple hardwood cabinets matched the intricate flooring tiles and wall trim. A large dining table had seating for ten; both the table and chairs were beautifully worked maple. A separate seating area contained three plush couches, a soft velvet rug, and a large viewing globe suspended from the ceiling. An image of a woman in a scholarly robe filled the globe, but the volume was turned too low to hear what she was saying.

“Global view!” shrieked Merle with excitement. “We used to have G.V. in the old cave. What I wouldn’t give to get the D.B.N.” He turned to Garrett. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m sure I could subscribe to the dragon broadcasting network for free, being a dragon and all.”

Garrett nodded, but was hardly paying attention as he removed his boots. “Wow,” he commented, placing his boots beside the door. “A few free channels. Now we only have to come up with a fortune for the system.”

“Hah,” snorted Hector from his seat at the head of the table. “He’s not a real dragon anyway. Judging by his size, he’s only eligible for a quarter of the subscription.” The minotaur snorted with mirth and crammed a hoof-full of clovers into his mouth.

Merle scowled, but it was Frank who spoke first. Turning from the buffet of veggie delights at the counter, he waved a wooden platter in Garrett’s direction. “You guys care for a bite?” he offered.

“No thanks,’ returned Garrett, assessing the large G.V. unit.

“Nah,” confirmed Merle. “We’re more the steak and potato types.” Hector snorted in anger, his eyes flashing white. It looked as if he wanted to charge across the room and impale the brazen little dragon on his horns.

“Come on fellas,” said Maury, coming around a bend in the hallway and pulling a clean vest on. “Why can’t we just get along? We’re all on the same side aren’t we?”

“Yup,” agreed Garrett quickly.

“We’ve decided that the only meat served on the premises is chicken,” continued Maury. “We like to be respectful of our bovine friends here.” Maury stared at Merle to get his point across.

Despite Maury’s attempt at an intervention, both Merle and Hector looked like they might have further words. Frank picked up the G.V. remote and flipped through the channels. “Maury’s right, ignore him,” he said to his minotaur buddy. “Let’s just watch our movie and try to relax a little. We’ve all been wound tight around here lately.” Hector nodded and resumed his chewing, while Frank turned up the volume.

The room was filled with a soft blue glow and an increasing pitch from the six foot towers of quartz positioned beneath the one hundred inch viewing globe. Merle turned and stood transfixed by the soft blue sigil on the viewing screen that read ‘Audio Slam.’ The music byte reached its climax and the guardhouse reverberated with the bass of the final blast.

“We should talk to Mr. Kline about upgrading to the multi channel audio system,” said Frank. “I heard when they’re showing you the latest battle footage, you’d swear you were right there in the middle of the carnage. You might hear a sword banging off a shield from your right, a wounded knight screaming to your left and an all enveloping fireball exploding in all directions.”

“Ya, it’s worth it,” agreed Merle. “While you’re at it, you might want to look into the newer Eagle Definition model. That thing is so clear you can see a fly crawling across the ass of a horse from three hundred yards distance.”

“How would you know,” scoffed Hector. “There’s no way you could afford a system like that.”

“I might not be able to afford it, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen it. I know a guy in the business. Once in a while he has me come down and check out the new stock. Could probably get me a deal on a new system too, if you guys are interested.”

“No way,” said Hector. “You don’t have a guy.” He waved dismissively at the small dragon.

“Do too,” insisted Merle. His wings buzzed into motion as he lifted himself across the room. Dropping down onto the table, he reached under his back scales and pulled out a small stack of cards. “Ah,” he said triumphantly and flicked his find toward the seated bull.

“Gerry’s G.V. Sales and Distribution,” read Hector aloud. Shrugging apologetically, he pushed the card back to Merle.

“That’s actually his father’s card, but Gerry Jr. unofficially has access to his old man’s stock.” Merle stuffed the card back under his scales, looking somewhat mollified. All heads turned back to the viewing globe as a man’s deep voice resonated from the quartz speakers.

“Vellia: once a pristine land of beauty and innocence, a land where the cattle were free to graze on the sweet mountain grasses and to live their lives in relative peace. Now, things have changed and cowkind have been forced into a desolate existence lacking the most basic of necessities. Dragons have come to the grazing lands and nothing will ever be the same. Under the wing of this unstoppable horde, the existence of bovine life hovers on the verge of extinction.

“Osca One Horn knew the plague of dragons would come. Understanding the nature of these vile creatures, how could he run from his destiny and his herd? Milking his fortune for all its worth, he stampeded his way into the very heart of their depraved society. With the bile of their atrocities thick upon his pallet – he must work with this inescapable evil to preserve the existence of cowkind. Osca’s fight is one of heartbreaking tragedy as he struggles to see himself and his people through the holocaust and free of the cattle pens. Refusing to be led about by the nose, Osca must find a way to buck the system when he has nothing left to give, and nowhere else to turn.

“Starring Harry Hooves as Osca One Horn, and Red Goliath in his academy award winning performance, we now present the Saturday afternoon classic: Osca’s Cattle Log.”

’I heard this was a good one,” said Merle. “A little biased in opinion maybe, but still supposed to be a classic.”

“You’ve never seen Osca’s Cattle Log?” exclaimed Frank. “It’s one of the greatest all time flicks.”

“Does this mean you’re not coming out for a beer?” asked Garrett with a bewildered glance at Merle.

“We have a keg on tap in the back,” said Hector, jerking his hoof over his shoulder.

“That settles it,” said Merle with a contented sigh. Flying to one of the couches, he plunked down within its deep folds. “You guys go on without me, I might catch you later.”

Garrett rolled his eyes. Maury shrugged and made his way to the door. “Make sure you check on Vic in a bit. You know how he sometimes gets distracted,” said the ogre. “Come on Garrett we have to pick up B.S. on our way by.”

“We know how Vic is,” agreed Frank, taking a seat opposite Merle. “Don’t worry, I’ll check on him shortly. Besides, it’s just about time for him to do his evening feed run for those varmints.”

Garrett looked at Merle and shook his head in wonder as he held the door open for Maury. Before he closed the door, he heard Merle addressing the minotaurs again. “You guys aren’t opposed to popcorn, are you?”

“No,” said Hector earnestly, “It’s one of our favourites!”

“Me too,” agreed Merle happily.

* * * *

‘Bill’s Charity Barn’ was one of three watering holes in the lower city. The building was old and crumbling, but the single storey tavern had been around for as long as anyone could remember. Garrett had not visited the pub before and was surprised by the sheer volume of patrons crammed inside. The hall was well lit and contained a lengthy section of bar maintained by three bartenders. At the far end of the chamber, two dozen tables were placed before a central stage. Even more surprising than the volume of people, was the number of pub goers who stopped to say hello to Maury. Most of them knew the ogre by name and several came over to shake his hand or give him a pat on the shoulder and a friendly nod.

Garrett said nothing and remained in the background while Maury ordered two beers and a juice mix for B.S. Leading Garrett and B.S. to the row of tables in the front, Maury seated himself and motioned for them to pull out chairs.

“Do you do charity work down here?” asked Garrett good naturedly.

“Nothing so benevolent,” returned the ogre, wiping the foam from his upper lip. “I come here to get away from my troubles.”

“God knows we’ve had troubles of late,” said Garrett. Maury nodded and downed the rest of his beer in two swallows. In front of them, a thin man in a cotton shirt and dark pants made his way onto the stage.

“What’s that you’re drinking?” asked Garrett, assessing the thick juice in B.S’s mug.

B.S. smiled before answering and Garrett realised it wasn’t only Maury who had come to get away from his troubles. “Melon Medley,” said B.S. shyly. “I’m not much for beer.”

“I used to hate it,” agreed Garrett. “It grows on you.” He took a swig to prove his point and winked at the younger man.

The crowd erupted with cheering and the fellow atop the stage allowed the noise to swell for a moment before raising a hand for quiet. The man was middle aged with thinning hair, lengthy grey sideburns and a kind face. Clearing his throat, he took in the crowd before speaking. “Good evening all,” his tone was not overly loud and Garrett was sure the people at the back would complain that they couldn’t hear. To his surprise, the crowd quieted completely for the man. Not so much as the clanking of tankards could be heard from the expectant onlookers. “Looks like we have another full crowd,” continued the man in his even voice. “I’d like to remind you all that next week we will hold our spring boat race in the rill out back. This year all proceeds will be going to little Cathy Molligans and her parents. As you know, they recently lost their cottage in a fire. We thank God everyone was spared from injury, and by coming together as a community we can get the Molligans back on their feet again.” The crowd cheered.

“I’m taking the Carving Cup this year Bill!” called a man from the back.

“Well Elgin, you should take the time to whittle your boat this year as opposed to throwing a piece of driftwood in the creek and dubbing it the ‘The Hand of Nature.’ The crowd laughed, most people recognizing the man at the back.

“No, no,” assured Elgin, “I’ve found the racer that’s going to take the cup this year.”

Up on the stage, Bill pretended to look perplexed. Scratching at his thinning grey hair, he turned to another man in the crowd. “Armos, did you leave your winning schooner on the beach last year?”

Armos, another middle aged man seated at one of the tables near Garrett’s, raised up his mug of beer apologetically. “I might have, Bill,” he admitted. “Don’t worry, I’ve carved me out a ship twice as fast as that piece of driftwood Elgin tried to sail last season.” Bill smiled.

“One more piece of business before we get started this evening. I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of our community. He’s been a cop in Cassadia for eight years and served in his Highness’s Royal Legionnaires as a youth. Now he’s been assigned to us and has pledged to keep our streets safe. Detective if you’d be so kind as to give us a wave to let us know where you’re at?” For some unknown reason, Garrett found himself sinking into his chair. He had the same feeling in his stomach he’d get when he was a kid and stole the last of the cookies from the inn where he lived with his adoptive father. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” continued Bill, “Detective Archibald Honi.”

Honi made his way to the stage and waved to the crowd. His welcome was less warm than Bill’s, but he was greeted kindly nonetheless. “Thanks all,” he said gruffly. He was dressed in work clothes and carried a large wooden keg under his arm. “I’m not much for words, so I’ll make this short. Me and the fellows from the precinct would also like to help the Molligans. I’ve taken this tankard you folks have so kindly emptied,” at this, the crowd erupted with approval, “and I’d like to pass it around. If you have a spare gon or two, don’t be shy, all proceeds will get to the Molligan family. Me and the fellows at the precinct have agreed to match your donations.” Nodding, the detective stepped down from the stage and passed the empty keg to a man in the first row.

“That’s very kind of you boys,” said Bill. “On that note, I’d like to offer the crowd a free drink.” Cheering erupted again and this time it took Bill half a minute to calm the lusty audience. “So if you folks would like to donate an amount equal to that next beer you were going to buy,” he winked at the crowd, “We’ll have that tankard filled in no time for Mr. Honi. Feel free to donate what you can, of course!”

“Here’s to Bill!” someone called and the clinking of glasses was heard from the back of the pub.

“And to Mr. Honi and our friends down at the precinct!”

“Here Here!”

Bill nodded and clapped politely with the rest of the crowd. “Without further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s get this evening underway.” Bill waved a thank you to Honi who disappeared into the crowd. “You may know him from his stint on the stage at Curtains, or possibly from his day job down on the docks, but either way you love his comedic outlook and his spin on the life lessons he’s learned. Please put your hands together in a warm welcome for our very own Maury Popopal!”

The crowd let roar with the loudest outburst of the evening, and Maury stood from his seat and waved to everyone. “Enjoy the show,” he said to Garrett. Then motioning to the bar, he signalled for two more drinks to be brought to the table. Garrett stared at Maury, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open. Beside him, B.S. laughed at Garrett’s expression.

Maury waded through the crowd and stopped beside Detective Honi. The policeman leaned in so he was heard over the cheers and said something into Maury’s ear. Maury nodded and shook Honi’s hand. Clapping the man on the back, the ogre replied before making his way to the stage.

Bounding up beside Bill, Maury’s lopsided grin twisted around his incisors and his eyes gleamed with excitement. Shaking the inn owner’s hand, he waited for the older man to clear the stage before addressing the crowd.

“Hello everyone,” he called out. “It feels so good to be loved. I don’t know why I ever leave this place!” The throng of guests cheered their approval. “Just last week on my way home, two guys tried to love me in the back alley.” The crowd laughed as one of the bartenders carried a beer up to Maury. The ogre pulled a stool from the wings of the stage and set his tankard on it. “They said they were going to beat me ugly. What Could I do? I’m no fighter, so I backed up a few feet ready to take my thrashing. I guess I stepped into the light of the street lamp, as both of them fled. I figure the first guy realised I couldn’t get any uglier, and the second recognised me from Bill’s stage and knew I was broke!”

“It’s okay, we love you!” someone shouted.

“I love you too, honey,” agreed Maury. “Right after her, and her, and maybe her…” Maury’s finger signalled out three of the finer looking women in the crowd.

The audience chuckled and Maury took up his beer and wet his lips with the thick liquid. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked one of the men in the front row. “Never seen an ogre drinking from a mug before? I know it’s a little unsightly with all these teeth sticking out, but it’s also impolite to stare.” The man smiled, showing his own mangled mess of rotting teeth. “Whoah,” said Maury taking a step back, “by the Gods, what kind of accident were you in?”

“They’s always been a little crooked,” admitted the man with a good natured snort.

“What’s your name?” asked Maury.

“Richard,” guffawed the man, trying to cover his teeth with the back of his hand.

“Now I know why Richard was staring; he thought he found his long lost brother,” said Maury.

“I’s hung like an ogre too,” returned Richard with another gaping smile. The crowd erupted with mirth “Maybe we is brothers!” Maury grinned and pointed a finger at Richard as if the man had scored a point.

The ogre took a seat on his stool. “Speaking of large hairy packages, you all know I work with two minotaurs over at Kline’s. I get a lot of people asking me what it’s like working with such fearsome culprits as the pair of them. They’re not that much different than you and I, to be honest. Sure they plug the toilet a little more often, and they need a cleaver to cut their toenails, but other than that there are only minor differences. You guy’s ever met Frank’s old lady? Now she’s a real cow!” Maury paused to let the joke register. “No, I’m kidding, I was talking with Frank and Hector one afternoon and Frank assures us she’s lean beef!”

Maury held his mug of beer out to the crowd. “Hey, you guys hear of those crazies over in the east? They’re always trying to get the Minotaurs to join their holy war against us heathens in the west. Ya it’s true! They promise that if you die while fighting the western infidels, you’ll go to a place of udder delight!” The crowd chuckled and Maury winked.

“What do you call a minotaur with no legs? Ground Beef!” Laughter echoed across the tavern.

“Okay, enough picking on the big guys. I should be nicer, eh? When you look like me, it’s hard enough to find a nice girl who wants you for more than your money. It’s true!” he pointed an accusatory finger in Richard’s direction. “Richard here knows what I mean!” Laughing, Maury’s eyes playfully assessed Richard’s table and the woman sitting to the man’s left. “I’ll bet Richard has lots of money. How else do you get a good looking woman like that to come out with you when you look like you’ve swallowed a porcupine?”

“She’s his sister,” someone yelled from a nearby table and Maury smiled sympathetically when Richard’s face grew red with the truth of the statement.

“Well like I was saying, myself - I’m a single guy too. You know it ain’t so bad. You never have anyone telling you to get the chores done or what time to get home by.”

Richard agreed enthusiastically, “That’s right!”

Maury nodded to a table of gentlemen dressed in fine dark robes. They were young, but had a bookish look to them. “Here’s one for the academics in the crowd,” he said. “Maybe you fellas can answer this one for me. God knows I’ve spent my fair share of time wondering about it. Why isn’t phonetically spelled phonetically?” The crowd went silent, clueless looks passing throughout. The table of scholars erupted with mirth. One young fellow snorted beer through his nose when his colleague elbowed him in the ribs.

Maury winked and stood from his stool. “I might not be the brightest pearl in the ocean,” he said, “but sometimes these self proclaimed geniuses of the world, come up with some pretty stupid notions!” A ripple of laughter went through the crowd, and Maury drained his beer and signalled a man off to the side of the stage. The man passed up a ukulele for the Ogre. “All right my friends, I only have a few minutes left, but as usual I’d like to leave you with a ditty. This little tune is about my grandfather.” Strumming his instrument, Maury made sure it was tuned to his liking as the crowd began to clap along.

Grandpa was sentenced to the chain gang,

He was caught hunting Renli’s geese.

Some will say the man has repented,

But he’s not scheduled for release.

Many of the patrons began tapping the tops of their tables to the familiar tune of Maury’s song. Maury grinned foolishly and plucked a solo while some of the guests cheered.

He’d come from the bar drinking rye,

A man trying to unwind.

Somehow he’d gotten to thinking,

His better days were far behind.

When they found him in the hollow,

He was dancin’ him a jig.

“That’s no goose I’ve shot” he hollered,

Are you blind? It’s a bald eagle in a wig!

Grandpa was sentenced to the chain gang,

In our opinion he cooked his own goose.

Some will say he has repented,

But I don’t think they’ll let him loose.

Now we’re all so proud of Grandpa,

He’s making friends out on the line.

Big Mike, Big Lou, and Big Harold,

When finished work, they share their wine.

It’s not easy without Grandpa,

Who’s going to bring home the meat?

What will granny cook for dinner,

And who’ll be so kind as to wash her feet?

Oh Grandpa was sentenced to hard time,

And we all have to pick up the slack.

But why would he come home now,

When he’s got Mike to rub his back?

The ogre strummed an extravagant finale, indicating he’d reached the end of the song. “Thank you all,” he bellowed, bowing several times. “I’ll see you again next week!”

“One more….One more,” the crowd chanted. Maury pretended he was about to exit the stage, but at the last second turned back for his stool. “One more… One more.”

“I know what you want,” he yelled above the noise. He waved the ukulele at them. “You want one of Maury’s Dirty Ditties!” The crowd roared in agreement. “I must warn you now; this is indeed a fowl telling.” He strummed his instrument and the crowd quieted. “Of course this little tale was passed on to me by a friend! I don’t condone cockfights.” He winked and started to sing.

If you travel out west, may I suggest, you avoid the town of Hee,

If you must go, take it real slow, it’s a dangerous place you’ll see.

If your rooster’s a raring, in need of a pairing, you may try and press your luck,

Heed my warning; you’ll end up mourning, your chicken, she’ll likely pluck.

Meet Ilene, she’s not routine, she owns the nicest cockpit in town,

Take my advice; it’s not worth the price, her secrets will take you down.

Ilene’ a queen, prettiest you’ve seen, and she sports her own large rooster,

And when faced with her cock, most entrants do drop; it’s not a morale booster.

It’s big it’s black, it’ll take your back, the monster has one eye!

It’s mean, unclean, filthiest thing you’ve seen, kiss your ass goodbye.

Purple flapping sack, throbbing to attack, your cock will cease to crow,

Twelve inches of meat, straight at your seat, your eyes are sure to grow.

When all’s said and done, if Ilene’s had her fun, she’ll put away the beast,

Your pride will hurt, your birds inert, be thankful you’ve been released.

Clear the place, but remember her face, your shame you have been dealt.

You’re one of many, victims aplenty; another notch on Ilene’s belt.

Mean Ilene, with her bird unseen, a rooster under her skirt,

When you have your go, you’re sure to know, you’re in for a world of hurt.

You’d be wise, to observe my cries, this is not the war to wage!

Value your crower, don’t get to know her, and keep it in its cage!

The crowd was on their feet and cheering as he handed off the ukulele and bowed several more times. Waving to the audience, he made his way to Garrett’s table.

Garrett and B.S. applauded loudly as the flushed ogre pulled out his chair. “I thought you guys didn’t like comedians,” said Garrett above the cheering.

“Nah,” responded Maury humbly, “that’s just Frank, he’s touchy that way.”

* * * *

“Aren’t you going to eat me?” asked the girl. “The ogre looked her square in the eye and said ’Honey, that would cost you more than a gon!” Maury broke into rapturous laughter and slapped the tabletop. Garrett and the others cackled.

Richard wiped tears from his eyes and shook his head. “You’re a riot, Maury. Been a while since I’s had this much fun at a pub.”

“Anytime,” said Maury, nodding and draining the last of his beer.

“I guess its ’bout time I escorted my sis home though. Sun will be up in a few hours. Thanks again for the beers.”

Garrett nodded to Richard and his sister as they pulled out their chairs to leave. He blinked in an attempt to clear his vision and glanced across the now empty room. Detective Honi leaned against the bar with his own mug of beer, chatting with Bill. “I didn’t realise it was this late, I should be going as well.” Standing, he had to brace himself against the table. “Been a while since I closed a place.”

“Come on, chum,” offered Maury standing beside the man and lending an arm for support. “That’s what you get for trying to drink an ogre under the table.” Garrett belched and pushed his chair back.

They both stumbled when Garrett tripped, and Maury grabbed the table. “Oooh,” said the ogre. “I’m a little tipsy me self. B.S. Can you help Garrett up?” B.S. nodded and offered his hand.

Garrett lay on the floor laughing to himself. “I think that might hurt tomorrow.”

At the bar, Detective Honi finished his beer and shouldered his keg with a grunt.

“You sure you don’t want to pick that up tomorrow, Mr. Honi? It’ll be safe here if you want to leave it.”

“That’s okay Bill,” said Honi. “I have a carriage across the lane. I sent the young lad out to hitch it up an hour ago.”

“Alright,” conceded Bill. “You tell the fellows we really appreciate what you guys are doing for the Molligans.”

“Will do.” Honi waved without looking back and made his way out the door.

B.S. latched on to Garrett’s wrist and pulled the man to his feet. “Come on, Mr. Willigins I’ll walk you home. It’s on the way.”

“Me too,” said Maury stumbling for the door. “But I have to take a leak first.’

Bill smiled from behind the bar. “No wonder my roses aren’t growing in the alley,” he said and threw his bar rag at Maury.

Maury laughed and waved at the man. “See you next week, Bill.”

“Good night, fellas.”

B.S. held the door for Maury and the ogre was quick to head around the corner of the building to relieve himself. Leaning against the building, Garrett focused on the cart across the street and the detective fiddling with the carriage handle and trying not to drop the heavy tankard.

The door to the carriage exploded outward and Honi was knocked to the ground. A shadowy figure emerged from the coach and descended on Honi. From behind the cart, three more figures moved into view. The drum of money hit the cobbles and the lid was dislodged, sending coins spilling in all directions. B.S. jumped at the noise, his head swivelling to take in the scene. Beside him, Garrett was already running in an effort to reach the downed officer.

The blood was pumping in Garrett’s ears and he wished he hadn’t drank so much. The adrenaline seemed to clear his mind momentarily and he powered his way toward Honi with the intention of interceding. Behind him he could hear B.S’s footfalls as the young man raced to join him.

“Back off,” shouted an assailant who had appeared from behind the cart. All of the men were hooded and wore dark clothing. The man who had issued the warning was waving a loaded crossbow.

Garrett slowed and held out an arm to stop B.S. from running in headlong. “Crossbow,” he warned breathlessly as B.S. bumped into him. Twenty yards from where they stopped, Honi was rolling on the ground, doing his best to avoid the blows raining down on him as the other three attackers laid into him with kicks and punches.

The man holding the crossbow glanced at his comrades and B.S. dropped to the ground, his hand coming up with a stone. In a whirlwind motion, he released the rock with devastating effect. His missile took the bowman on the bridge of his nose. Dropping his weapon, the man stumbled into the cart, both hands flying up to cover his gashed face. The horses jostled in their traces, edgy at the flurry of activity alongside them.

Neither Garrett nor B.S. wasted the opportunity afforded by B.S’s perfect aim. Garrett launched himself into the crowd of men beating Honi, and B.S. rushed the cringing man at the cart. Swinging wildly, Garrett took one of the men in the forehead with an ambitious strike. Not waiting to see the outcome of his assault, he was already spinning, his boot targeting the midsection of a second man. His aim was off though and he spun past his mark. He found himself on the ground, but could not remember falling. He took a kick to the ribs and rolled to avoid a second. Risking a glance at Honi, Garrett could see blood covering the detective’s face. Two men continued beating on the officer.

Garrett struggled to his knees and caught his attacker’s boot as the man tried another kick. Garrett expertly twisted the man’s leg, sending him spinning to the ground. Ignoring the fallen man, he rose and dove for the assailant on Honi’s left. This time Garrett took an elbow to the nose as the man drew back to punch the detective in the face. Garrett blanched with the sudden pain, but his weight carried him forward and pushed the attacker from above Honi.

The mugger who had hidden in the carriage grabbed Honi by the front of his jacket and lifted the man’s head from the cobbles. “You’re not welcome here, detective. Take your shit back to Cassadia and drop your investigation. Next time you won’t get a warning.” The man’s large fist slammed into Honi’s cheek and the officer grunted as his head hit the cobbles.

With his eyes watering from the elbow he had taken to the nose, Garrett scrabbled to catch a hold of the man he had fallen on. He received a punch to the forehead for his efforts and the man worked himself loose from under Garrett.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” came a scratchy shout from behind them all. Garrett rolled in time to see Maury amble into the fray. He grabbed the man hovering over Honi and threw him six feet up the roadway. Snarling, the ogre turned to come after Garrett’s assailant, but the attackers had delivered their message and the idea of brawling with a seven foot tall, intoxicated ogre was apparently too daunting. All four men scattered.

Garrett felt his stomach heave and he turned from Maury as he covered the cobbles in stale beer.

“You okay bud?” asked the ogre, coming up behind Garrett and thumping him on the back.

“Yes,” assured Garrett, wiping the back of his mouth. “The excitement just caught up with me, that’s all.”

“Were they robbing that police officer?” asked Maury glancing at the unconscious Honi.

“I don’t think so,” answered Garrett.

“They would have made it look like that if we hadn’t shown up,” said B.S., coming to them. “I’ve seen that man with the crossbow before. He’s a cop.”

“A cop?” asked Maury. “Why would one cop assault another cop?”

“They’re into something they don’t want Detective Honi meddling in,” said Garrett, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his eye.

“Yes,” agreed B.S., leaning in over Honi. “Those guys are on our payroll.”

“What?” asked Maury, looking more confused than ever. “I’d know if Mr. Kline ordered an attack on the detective.”

“I’m not saying Mr. Kline ordered the attack. I think those cops took it upon themselves to send him a message.” Shaking Honi, B.S. tried to get a response from the downed officer.

“I don’t like this,” said Garrett. “We better get him to a doctor.”

“Nobody’s open this late,” said B.S. “We’ll have to wake one.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Let’s get him into the carriage,” snapped Garrett. Picking up the half spilled drum, he started gathering the coins.

“And then where do we take him?” asked Maury. “Mr. Kline won’t want a cop on his properties, especially when the blame for the assault could be laid at his feet.”

“We’ll take him to my place,” returned Garrett. “There’s an old man who knows a little about doctoring across the street.”

B.S. shrugged and leaned in to haul Honi to his feet. Honi groaned and tried to push the boy away. Blinking through the mess of blood, Honi stopped struggling. “You!” he wheezed, staring into the boy’s face. “It… is… you!” Then he groaned and blacked out.