Welcome to Deep Cove

The door to the office was opened and Garrett Willigins stomped into the reception area. At thirty-one, Garrett retained a healthy physique, and the door flew inwards under the strength of the man’s arm. Inside the main room a small green and orange dragon – no more than half Garrett’s size – reclined in his leather chair, his feet planted on a desk, an open newspaper occupying his attention. “Disgusting, Merle. I told you not to sit like that. I can see your baubles,” chastised Garrett.

“Pardon me,” replied the dragon. With a great show of effort, he slid his feet from the table. “Did you see this article in the gazette about the Hard Hawks?”

Garrett nodded solemnly. “The whole town is talking about it.”

“Shot down across the Ponce border,” squealed Merle. “This is big! We could be looking at war again. Not to mention this took place over a month ago and they’re just confirming it now! Who knows what the Poncemen have been up to for the past few weeks?”

“You know the military,” said Garrett. “Deny, deny, deny…” Crossing the room to his worn desk, Garrett shoved a stack of books to the side and retrieved an envelope from inside his leather jacket. He tossed the packet onto the desk before removing his coat and throwing it at a nearby coat rack. The jacket caught one of the pegs and oscillated violently. Rubbing at his temples, he frowned when he espied one of Merle’s adult magazines within the pile of papers he had thrust to the side. “What if we had clients in here?”

“Clients?” snorted Merle dropping the newspaper to the desk in front of him, “That would imply we were getting paid.”

“Things have to change around here,” continued Garrett with another frown. “Not everyone who comes in here will be as blind as old lady Wichuster.” Reaching into the top right drawer of the desk, he pulled out a small mirror and angled it beneath his nose.

“That reminds me,” said Merle taking a sip from his coffee cup. “She was in this morning. Said Piddles ran away again.”

“How many Piddles does that make now?” asked Garrett, adjusting the mirror.

Shoving the newspaper aside, Merle located a small notepad and flipped through its pages. “Let’s see. There was the original Piddles who disappeared last April. He was replaced by the tabby. When the tabby got run down by Earl’s carriage, you caught that calico in Rudy Wilson’s barn.” Merle licked his claw and flipped a couple of pages. “We had two black and whites, a persian, and then there was the chihuahua when we couldn’t find a stray. When she started questioning the barking, you substituted him for that old siamese from the Wang’s.”

“Right,” agreed Garrett, rummaging in his top drawer again. “Hasn’t he taken a liking to her wooden leg?”

“Mr. Wang?”

“The cat. Pervert.”

“He uses it as a scratching post,” agreed Merle. “And he pisses all over the place too. You know, the old battle axe might be three quarters blind, but she’s still got a nose on her Garrett. She’s been bothering me to get the apothecary to look at the damn thing, because she insists he has a bladder infection.”

“Okay,” snapped Garrett, “no dogs, and no male replacements. I’m not the only one to blame on that score though; we knew that old tom liked to mark his territory, and it was you who pointed out the original must have been named Piddles for a reason!” Removing a set of tweezers from the desk, Garrett attended his nose again.

“It was only an observation,” sulked Merle. “Let’s go with another calico this time. The first one lasted quite a while.” The little dragon watched as Garrett inserted the tweezers into a nostril and yanked at a wayward hair. “And you call me disgusting,” he remarked.

“It’s been bothering me all morning,” confided Garrett. “It’s hard to have a conversation with a hair waving about in there.” He set the tweezers down and shot a withering look at the dragon. “Besides, disgusting was finding another of your scales in my bed this morning.”

“Uh,” stammered Merle, “I uh… well… you were gone for a couple of nights and I didn’t see the harm in moving down from the loft. Your bed is bigger and softer. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Well I do mind, Merle. And another thing, if I find you’ve had one of your lady friends over in my bed…”

“Hey now, don’t be jumping to conclusions on me. I would never be that disrespectful.”

“Yes you would,” insisted Garrett. He tucked the mirror back into its drawer. “That scale was pink, Merle.”

“Your bottom is pink, my friend,” huffed Merle. “I’ve seen you in the shower, so don’t deny it.”

Garrett shuddered. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? At least if it was green or orange, I’d assume it came from your arm.”

“Okay, I get your point,” conceded Merle. “Now are you going to find something else to complain about or are you going to let me know how you did?”

“My application,” said Garrett knowingly.

“Come on buddy, did you pass or what?”

“Well, first there was the outstanding issue of my assessment. I received my papers by courier last night. King Renli has absolved me of any wrong doing while away on crusade and the assigned counselor has agreed to clear me for active duty.”

“Wow. Even that thing with Emperor Ho-Chi’s daughter?”

“Let’s put it this way,” said Garrett, “we won’t be practicing in Ho-Horaan any time soon, but as far as a clean record here in Vellia, we’re good to go. Renli advises we steer clear of the imperial courts of both Ho-Horaan and Sung-Ti. They do have close political and military ties, as you know.”

“Yes I recall,” agreed Merle. “Thanks to our little stint in his Majesty’s Armed Services, I also recall their unpleasant fondness for dragon meat. Once you’ve faced down an angry Sung-Ti chef with a cleaver in his hand, you have a little more respect for the fare put on your table.”

“You’re not going vegetarian on me, are you little buddy?” asked Garrett with a wink. “I was there too, remember? Do you think it’s any easier for me to consider Gronar’s exotic menu these days? It’s bad enough I find little pieces of you in my bed. Believe me when I say it’s the last thing I want on my plate.”

Merle’s gossamer wings buzzed into action as he lifted himself from his desk and settled to the floor. Waddling toward Garrett, his tail snaked across the tiles. “And your meeting this morning?” he prompted. “Tell me you held your tongue this time?”

Garrett beamed a smile and reached for the envelope he’d tossed on the desk. “It wasn’t easy. That woman has a way of getting under my skin!” Pulling forth the document, he held it up for the tiny dragon to see. “We’ll need to get this framed. We’re finally official, Merle. Check out the cool badge I have too!” Holding his certificate in one hand he tipped up the envelope and caught the shiny pin as it fell. The brooch was rounded on the bottom and shaped like the king’s crown across the top. In the center, the words Vellian P.I. were engraved.

“Excellent news!” breathed Merle. Jumping on Garrett’s desk, he leaned in close to get a better look at the document. “Where’s my badge?” he asked.

“Uh…we’ll get you an assistant one made up.”

Merle scowled and then nodded after giving it brief consideration. “I guess that’s okay. You are the one who had to deal with that counselor and all. At least we can finally get some decent work. Who needs old lady Wichuster’s pennies now?”

“At the moment we do,” sighed Garrett, pulling the paper back from Merle’s dangerously close coffee cup. “And don’t feign ignorance either, Merle. I know your math is far from perfect, but even you must realise how close we are to getting kicked out of this place.”

“You’re right,” groaned Merle. “I’ve been reading back issues of Dirty Drake for two months.”

“Poor thing,” exclaimed Garrett.

“Oh right! Speaking of dirty, Conn Carlson was in.”

Garrett exhaled, a visible shudder running through his frame. “More manure?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Merle. “He’s always got some kind of compost or fertilizer for us to bag.”

“Us? Last time, I could hardly get you to hold the sack while I did all the shoveling. I haven’t seen a woman whine so much about a broken nail.”

“I need these things for survival,” snapped Merle. He held his hand up and gazed lovingly at his perfectly trimmed claws. “Have you ever seen a woman disembowel a bull in self-defense? I didn’t think so.”

“The only thing I’ve seen you disembowel with those mangy little claws, is a fat sausage on your plate. And by the way, Mayor Holmston wasn’t impressed when you refused to use your knife the other night.”

“Who needs him? He only invited us out of pity. It’s been years since you saved the king’s life, and nobody remembers the story right anyway.”

“I’m a veteran,” sulked Garrett. “It was not a pity invite.”

“If that helps you sleep better,” retorted the little dragon. Leaping to the floor, he was headed back to his desk when the main door banged inward again. The muscled frame of the newcomer blocked all light from the outside as the giant ducked his head and entered the office.

“Vic,” acknowledged Garrett, standing from his desk. “We were just discussing who was going to deliver the rent to your boss. Weren’t we, Merle?”

“Damn straight,” agreed Merle, hurrying to his desk and avoiding eye contact with the large brute filling the entranceway. “It must be your turn Garrett, because I clearly remember doing it last month.”

“Don’t you Vic me,” said the newcomer in a slurred voice. “Mr. Kline say I weren’t to take no crap from you. You never pay him no rent last munt. You tink me stupid?”

Garrett cleared his throat, trying to look earnest, before shaking his head. Merle grinned at Garrett’s discomfort, but sputtered a “No sir!” when Vic glanced his way.

“And anudder ting,” yelled Vic, warming to his topic, “I’m no sposed to take no I owes ya paper no more eider!”

“Vic buddy, calm down,” said Garrett. “It’s just a misunderstanding. Mr. Kline is first and foremost on my list of associates to reimburse.”

“Huh?” snapped Vic. “You makin’ fun of me?” A frown creased the big man’s forehead and his beady eyes assessed Garrett. Slapping one meaty fist into the palm of the other, he took a half step toward Garrett’s desk. “De last guy who make fun of Vic not laughing now. He was squealing when he run away. If I catch him next time he gets two beatings.”

“Why not make it three?” whispered Merle from behind his newspaper. “I always believe in donating to those less fortunate than me.”

“Lock your lip, lizard boy,” warned Vic. “Somebody owe Mr. Kline tree munt’s rent.” He held up two fingers for emphasis and Garrett nodded quickly when he thought Merle might snicker out loud.

From the opposite side of the office, another door slammed open and a fourth figure entered the room. The new arrival was completely made of metal and wore a fine pink apron around his iron midriff. With one hand, he waved a feather duster at Garrett, and in the other, he held a cat up by the scruff of its neck. “One… of… you… two… nitwits… left… the… seat… up… again!” complained the metal man. His arm shot forward, clicking as it unraveled and carrying the frantic cat within a foot of Garrett’s nose. “And… who… in… Hell… let… this… cat… in… here?” The automaton shook the feline for emphasis, eliciting a loud hiss from the mangy beast.

“Neat,” breathed Vic with childlike enthusiasm, “a golem!”

“Oh dear God, you didn’t?” groaned Merle, pulling the newspaper over his head. “P.C, I’m sure he didn’t mean it!”

“Golem?... Did… this… cretin… just… refer… to… me… as… a… golem?” snapped the robot. P.C’s mouth twitched erratically, and the actuators in his neck clicked as he snapped his head from side to side – as if loosening the nonexistent muscles for battle. “I’ll… have… you… know… that… I… am… a… highly… developed… wonder… of… ingenuity. …A… technological… marvel! …Golems… are… clumsy… stupid… beings… who… must… follow… a… pre-programmed… mandate… to… operate. …I… am… self… sufficient… and… capable… of… leading… a… healthy… and… meaningful… existence… without… the… interference… of… a… governing… body.”

“P.C.” interrupted Garrett.

“Yes?”

“Execute code block 10165.”

“Yes… Sir,… shutting… up… Sir.” The robot’s mouth closed with a hollow thud. After a second of silence, a pensive look crossed his iron features. “Hey,… you’ve… been… messing… with… my… commands… again!”

Ignoring the automaton, Garrett reached into the envelope and pulled out a second sheet of colored paper. “Merle, remove that cat from him and get it over to Mrs. Wichuster right away. I have the feeling we’ll need those pennies now more than ever. I’m going to visit Mr. Kline with Vic here. Hopefully we can work out this misunderstanding without the need for violence.” Garrett shot Kline’s hired muscle a meaningful look, but it was lost on Vic as the man continued to stare in awe at P.C. Crossing to Merle’s desk, Garrett passed the paper to the dragon with a knowing nod. “Don’t let Molly see this,” he said.

“And what exactly is this?” inquired Merle, scrunching his face, his lips mouthing the words Golem Wars as he read the bold letters across the top of the poster.

“Rent,” acknowledged Garrett. “Meet me outside Club Coliseum tonight and have P.C. ready to go. That means lose the apron.”

“A… club?” squealed P.C. “You… guys… never… take… me… out… anymore. …Boy… I… hope… I… don’t… overheat… or… blow… a… valve… in… all… of… the… excitement.”

“Don’t we all…” agreed Merle crossing his claws for luck.