Chapter XVII
Owen arrived at the office in the morning just a few minutes ahead of Jessica. It was on odd feeling since he really didn’t have any idea what he was going to do. Overnight, he’d come to a conclusion regarding the tattoo artist. As far as he was concerned, the disposition of Konrad Van Esper was up to someone other than him. In fact, it was up to everyone other than him. He’d gotten the name Evelyn had wanted and delivered it. Case closed. Even if she convinced someone to pursue the artist, Owen was pretty sure he wouldn’t get within smelling distance of the scene.
Jessica arrived with a smile. She popped her head into his office to say good morning and noticed him clicking his mouse with frustration. Heading behind his desk, she saw what looked like a homemade web site on his screen.
“What’s this?” Jessica asked.
“Collection for Anton’s family,” Owen explained. “He won’t get paid while he’s in jail and his wife now has to take care of his kids by herself.”
“Careful,” she said. “You just put in a donation of a thousand dollars.”
“I know,” he said, clicking the submit button.
“A thousand dollars? You gave them a thousand dollars?”
“He saved my life.”
Jessica shook her head, muttering to herself. “A thousand dollars.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Owen asked. “He was your partner. Shouldn’t you be happy to see his family getting all of that help? We can actually make a more significant contribution from the agency now that…” He stopped when he finally understood the look on her face.
“Are you having an affair with him?”
“That’s none of your business,” she steamed through clenched teeth.
He paused a moment, then said, “You’re right. It’s not my business.”
She left his office after that. He didn’t know what she was doing and didn’t bother to ask. He couldn’t claim to understand the mechanics of human emotions. And if human males were complicated, human females were doubly so.
It was almost twenty minutes before the door buzzer went off. Owen had never heard it before and didn’t know what to do. Later, he would think it humorous that this strange, out of place sound would get him so flustered as to paralyze him. Through his own office door, he saw Jessica go into the reception area and open up the office to their visitors. It was Evelyn Van Deign. She was accompanied by another elf in a black suit. He was tall, even for an elf. He had to be close to seven feet.
“This is Inspector Orlando Van Keats from the Elf Judiciary Board,” Owen heard Evelyn introduce him to Jessica. “He’ll be conducting the investigation into Konrad Van Esper.”
“Detective,” he said, taking Jessica’s proffered hand.
Standing, Owen took a breath and headed out of his office. Evelyn greeted him warmly. Van Keats seemed offended by her display and barely even acknowledged Owen’s presence.
“Inspector Van Keats has agreed to let you accompany him when he goes to see Van Esper.”
Van Keats passed Owen a bitter look.
Owen said nothing, wondering why he should be going at all. As a police officer, it would be his job to see the case through to an arrest, but this was different in so many ways. In the first place, the suspect was an elf. An arrest would probably consist of the two elves going to a coffee shop and discussing Van Esper’s indiscretions. In the second place, Owen was not a cop. He was a private detective who had been hired to unearth a name and turn it over to his client. He’d done that. Case closed.
Evelyn seemed to notice Owen’s trepidation, but she didn’t say anything. He looked at her closely, then at Jessica to see if she was making the same observations. Jessica was either clueless or had a fantastic poker face. Evelyn, on the other hand, would have lost her house in a card game. Owen realized that she wasn’t sending them with Van Keats so that they could satisfy their own curiosity. She wanted them there. She wanted Owen on the front lines of whatever battles would need to be fought in this crazy war.
“Well,” said the councilwoman after a brief, yet uncomfortable pause. “I suppose I’ll be getting back to my own office. Owen, I’ll have the balance of your fee transferred into your account this afternoon.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?” he asked her even though he had known all along that she was not.
“The councilwoman,” Van Keats said smugly, “among others, has no business questioning a suspect.”
An awkward silence ensued.
Finally getting past the moment, the four of them got up and left the office. The two detectives followed the elves to the elevator and waited for it to arrive. They rode down in silence. Owen looked aggravated. Jessica looked nervous. Evelyn looked uncomfortable. Van Keats was the picture of serenity. When the elevator opened, the inspector led them into the street, stopping eventually beside a cream colored Van Kerrigan. It was the luxury model. Bidding Evelyn a good day, he unlocked it with the remote and got into the driver’s seat. Jessica took the passenger seat.
Owen paused, standing alone at the curb with Evelyn towering over him. “I’m not sure I understand,” he finally drummed up the nerve to say.
“Do you need some extra money?” she asked.
“You know I don’t. Didn’t you hire me because of my integrity?”
She nodded sadly. “I’m not trying to use you, Owen. I swear it.”
“One day I’ll tell you what my great grandfather used to say about the oath of an elf.”
“It’s probably very similar to what my great grandfather still says about the oath of a dwarf. I trust you, Owen. I don’t trust him.”
“Should I be trusting you?”
She smiled that Evelyn Van Deign reassuring smile. “No. Probably not.”
Owen harrumphed and piled himself into the back. Van Keats made a show of checking the mirrors, but Owen got the impression that he was using the mirror to check on him. After glaring back and cautioning him against dirtying the seats, the inspector finally pulled away from the curb. Behind them, Evelyn stood watching until they were out of sight.
Once they were on the road, Van Keats began speaking. “Neither of you is to say anything to Konrad Van Esper. Keep your hands at your sides. Don’t even look him in the eye. It’s an embarrassment to have to take you along at all.”
“You’re very kind to do so,” Owen quipped.
“Shut your mouth, dwarf. The only reason you’re here is because Mrs. Van Deign needed a pet.”
The comment burned into Owen. He wanted to caution Van Keats by reminding him how often it was that pets turned on their masters, but he kept silent. They were an unlikely trio, an elf, a human, and a dwarf working together to solve a case. Owen could hear the doubts echoing through his mind. Each of them seemed to be coming in full stereo and in Caesar MacGregor’s voice.
“Inspector,” Jessica said. “With all due respect, what if the golems attack?”
“Golems!” Van Keats laughed. “Ms. Church, there is no such thing. Golems are an invention of the human imagination. They’re a form of magic unknown to the elves and therefore fictional. Humans are always dabbling in the fictional.”
“Then what are they? Detective Keefe and I saw the Berryll brothers on Thursday. Since we met a different Marvin Berryll yesterday and we know that Herschel is dead, how do you explain those other two?”
“Plastic surgery, my dear, enhanced by illusion.”
“I see,” she said dubiously.
With no other questions forthcoming, they rode on in silence to their destination. Van Esper did, in fact, still live in the village. He had an apartment just off 8th street, near the NYU dormitories. It was a great place to earn commissions and meet aspiring artists. Each of the three races had their own forms of creativity. Magical art was something that was, of course, restricted to the elves. While humans mostly ran the film and television industry, magical artwork had overtake
n traditional painting and drawing. Without the constant threat of battle, the dwarves had turned to gaming. They waged war on tables or in small arenas. Some of the best military strategies had come from dwarf gamers.
The Village was primarily populated by humans. There was a scattering of elves here and there, most of which were into art or owned galleries. The building in which Van Esper lived was well maintained. The lobby was freshly painted and a doorman buzzed them in. He informed them that Mr. Van Esper had stepped out earlier and was very likely at his studio in Chinatown. There was no mistaking the look of disgust that shadowed Van Keats’ face when he heard that an elf had deigned to work in Chinatown. It was a part of the city that was entirely human.
The drive down Broadway took almost twenty minutes with the traffic and the lights. Owen was amused at Van Keats’ frustration. They parked by a fire hydrant and approached the run down Chinese restaurant that sat above Van Esper’s studio. There was no direct entrance to the studio which meant that they had to walk through the filthy place, into the kitchen, and down the stairs. How an elf managed to tolerate this every day was beyond the inspector’s understanding. At the bottom of the stairs was a door with a sign on it. The sign was written in plain English and said Konrad Van Esper, Magical Artiste. There was a spell upon the sign, though, which was intentionally blatant to anyone with any magical sight. Owen and Jessica did not notice it. Van Keats laughed at it. It was really just a warning spell, something to replace the expense of a camera. At least they didn’t have to knock.
The door opened revealing a very interesting looking elf. There was something wrong with his back, causing him to stoop. He wasn’t very tall to begin with and, with his disability, was almost at eye level with Owen. He wore a thin mustache and a beard that opened up around a pinkish scar on his chin. Facial hair was very uncommon on an elf. His pointed ears drooped slightly and his skin was a bit darker than average. The eyes, though, burned with life.
“Are you Konrad Van Esper?” the inspector asked.
“Pleasure,” Van Esper responded in a smooth and uncharacteristically deep voice.
“I am Inspector Orlando Van Keats from the Elf Judiciary Board.”
“What brings you by, inspector?”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Van Esper moved to the side and allowed Van Keats to step inside. Owen was about to move when a subtle gesture from Jessica halted him. Noticing, Van Esper laughed out loud. “Please join us,” he said.
The two detectives walked past him and into the studio.
It was what one would expect from an artist’s studio. There were canvases all over the room, some half finished, some finished. The wall was scarred with scorch marks. Sometimes, artistic magic can get away from you. The rest of the place was filthy. There was a bathroom in a far corner. The door was wide open and they could see things crawling around inside. There were two other exits from the room. Neither had a door, but red curtains hung over each. When Owen noticed the wrinkled nose on Van Keats’ face, he knew that this was not a space befitting an elf.
“Konrad,” Van Keats said, establishing a familiarity between them. This was protocol among elves. “There have been concerns over some of the tattoo work you’ve been doing.”
“Of course,” Van Esper admitted. “Like the one I did on Lancelot’s head, I imagine.”
“Just so,” Van Keats agreed. “It’s a very suggestive pattern.”
“As intended.”
“Well, while I certainly share your disdain for the dwarves,” Van Keats continued with absolutely no regard for Owen’s presence, “as an inspector for the Judiciary Board, I can’t condone genocide. A society needs a lower class to serve the needs of the upper class. Dwarves fill that role quite nicely. If they were destroyed…”
“Look around you!” Van Esper suddenly shouted, silencing Van Keats in mid sentence. “You see a well ordered society where I see chaos. You see balance where I see unrest. I have entrenched myself in filth in my own life as a reminder that we are surrounded by filth in this world. The world, Inspector, needs a good cleansing. Do you really think we need dwarves? Between magic and machines, we could easily fill in the labor gaps left behind by the dwarves.”
Van Keats was doing his very best not to react to the artist’s words. The least pretentious of all of the elves was a strong proponent of segregation, but the complete annihilation of a species was a crime reviled by all three races.
“If that is your opinion, then, Konrad, I feel we must continue this discussion down at my office.”
“You’re arresting me?”
Van Keats waved a hand. “Well, you understand.”
Owen was beginning to grow uncomfortable. Putting aside the fact that he was in the company of a genocidal maniac, he was sensing imminent danger to the three of them. There was something not right about Van Esper. He’d seen elves arrested by the Judiciary Board before. They mostly took on an oh well attitude and went along with the inconvenience. Van Esper didn’t only think himself better than the dwarves and the humans. He also thought himself better than the elves. Looking over at Jessica, Owen was comforted to see that she had one hand on her gun, ready to draw if need be. Only Van Keats seemed oblivious to the possibility that they might be in peril.
“You should go now, Orlando,” said Van Esper. “I have too much work to do to be bothered with your investigation.”
For a moment, they all stood still in the small studio. Jessica’s hand was poised over her gun, but she wouldn’t dare draw on the elf. Owen stood like a statue, his fingers tensed and ready for action. Van Keats stared at the other elf as if startled that he would meet with such resistance.
He cleared his throat. “I think, Konrad, that it is in your best interest to cooperate. Our brief interview has led me to the conclusion that you incited Troy Van Walls to carry out his murderous rampage and, quite probably supplied the drugs that fueled it. I can see several bags of marijuana on the table over there, and a vial of cocaine sticking out of the bin in the corner.”
As if sensing their master’s danger, the Berryll brothers suddenly came from behind one of the curtains. They looked almost like twins with their shaved heads and strange tattoos. Marvin came first, a bit taller and a bit older. He was naked from the waist up and cut with muscles too dense for a human. Like his brother, Herschel was also shirtless. He was at least as well built as his brother. His tattoo was more filled in, the pattern snaking down his neck and onto his shoulder.
“They’re not human, inspector,” Owen warned.
Van Keats ignored him, perturbed that he had had the audacity to speak.
“He’s right, you know, Orlando. You know what they are, but you don’t want to believe it. They’re golems, made by human magic. Lancelot gave them to me as a gift.”
“They are nothing,” Van Keats hissed, appalled at Van Esper’s utter lack of regard for what was right, what was proper. “They are an abomination.”
With a flick of his hand, the two golems were thrust backward. They crashed through the curtain, pulling it down with them.
Jessica drew her gun, but Van Keats warned her off. “This is not your affair.”
Apparently, he was more formidable than he appeared. Already, Owen could see a shift in the elf’s aura. He was practicing magic now. Offensive magic. His hands had not gone blurry, which meant that he wasn’t planning on conjuring spellfire. Without it, Owen didn’t know what he was capable of. He had so little experience with magic.
“This is your last…”
Van Keats was taken by surprise as a strong hand gripped his wrist. It was Herschel. Marvin stood just behind him. Somehow they had righted themselves and closed the gap between them and the inspector. No one had noticed it.
Van Keats let out a cry of pain as the hand closed around his wrist, snapping the bone. Jessica took aim and fired her gun. The bullet hit Her
schel in the head, which snapped back on his neck, but his grip never loosened. He brought his head back into position and continued to squeeze.
Jessica muttered an obscure obscenity.
Owen now felt it was time for his well specialized services. Getting behind the golem, he grabbed it in a bear hug and squeezed with all of his might. Its flesh didn’t feel like flesh. Its frame didn’t feel like the frame of a man. Still, there was muscle and what felt like bone so he squeezed and squeezed until he felt one rib and then a second pop. Herschel finally let go of Van Keats and turned, trying to shake the dwarf off of him. It would take more than that to unseat a dwarf.
Off to the side, he heard more gunshots. It was Jessica plugging Marvin in the head. But it was no use. The things didn’t have vital organs and they didn’t feel pain. How the hell were you supposed to kill a golem?
Owen dropped off of Herschel’s back and gave himself some distance. He needed a blade.
“Jessica,” he said. “Go to the kitchen and bring me the biggest knives and cleavers you can find.”
Without asking why, she turned and ran. Herschel was advancing on Van Keats again, but the inspector had recovered his composure. With a flick of his healthy wrist, he sent them sprawling once more. Owen tried to advance, but was forestalled by a blast of spellfire hitting floor just in front of his feet. On instinct, he whipped out his gun and aimed it at Van Esper.
The elf grinned. “Go ahead, detective. Won’t the press love it that you get to join your friend on death row for the same crime? But, who am I kidding? Once you’re in custody, you won’t even make it back to the station house. They’ll have you lynched before you get out of Chinatown.”
“Lower your weapon, dwarf,” Van Keats ordered from behind him. “Now!”
Grumbling under his breath, Owen replaced his gun. The golems had recovered again and were closing on Van Keats. The elf, wounded as he was, would be too slow to react this time. Owen, however, chose them as a convenient outlet for his rage. Barreling into them with his head and one shoulder, he sent them stumbling back. They recovered and came at him again. It turned into an all out melee as he landed blow after blow. They were staggered by his strength, but unhurt. Owen, however strong he was, was still made of flesh and bone. His body was taking more punishment than it was meant to handle. When he sensed that Jessica had returned, he extricated himself from the combat. She was carrying a large slicing knife and a cleaver.
“Perfect,” he said, taking them from her.
She watched as he moved back toward them. The golems had seemed momentarily confused by his absence, but responded quickly to his return. She eyed Van Esper, noting that he was content to watch his creatures do all of the work. Van Keats, too, seemed much more interested in the fight between Owen and the golems than actually arresting Van Esper. On closer inspection, though, Jessica realized that the elf inspector was using the respite to divert his magic into healing. As she watched, the shape of Van Keats’ wrist began to normalize and the fine sheen of sweat that had broken out on his face seemed to evaporate.
With blades in his hands, even butcher’s blades, Owen was able to demonstrate his combat skills. With a steady grip, he plunged the knife into the abdomen of one of the golems. The flesh was tougher than human flesh. Without his dwarf strength, he doubted he would have been able to penetrate so deeply. Still, it was almost without effect. The wound would have gutted the real Marvin, but to the golem it was merely an annoyance. Retracting the blade, Owen cocked his arm backward and sliced downward, cutting straight through the groin until the leg was attached by only the small string of flesh above the wound’s entrance point. The golem staggered and fell, but the wound began to close before their eyes.
Grunting, Owen changed tactics. Moving to Herschel this time, he sliced at it with the cleaver. Great swathes of flesh were cut from the body, leaving behind pinkish, bloodless wounds. Though the wounds closed up and regained their normal color, there was less mass on the body. The pieces that had been severed shriveled away to nothing on the ground.
“Gotcha, now!” Owen cried, diving in. His next slash of the cleaver cut straight through Herschel’s left bicep. The arm dropped to the floor and dried out. The wound closed and the arm began to sprout again. As it did so, the rest of the body started thinning out. Completely uninterested in the process, Owen continued to hack at it, taking off the other arm and then the new ones as they grew in. All the while, he kept Marvin at bay with the knife. He wasn’t able to do any severe damage, but healing up slowed it down.
After several minutes, Herschel had been reduced to an emaciated skeletal frame. Still, it came, but its attacks were slowed and its strength was tremendously diminished. Owen kicked it aside and started working on Marvin.
“You see?” Van Keats rasped at Van Esper. “Your ridiculous constructs have been defeated by a dwarf. Such is the result of human magic.”
Angered, Van Esper turned toward Van Keats and launched a blast of spellfire. Van Keats raised both his hands to block. The distortion exploded around him, shooting in all directions. But he was weakened despite having healed his wrist. Some of the fire leaked through and he was burned. Dropping to the floor, he felt the energy drain out of him.
Van Esper threw a blast toward Owen. It wasn’t well aimed and barely nudged him aside. Marvin, however, was caught fully and erupted in flame. Later, Owen would decide that Van Esper had meant to miss. If he’d wanted Owen dead, Owen was sure he would have been dead. Jessica pulled her gun, but it melted in her hands. Crying out, she dropped it to the floor. The elf artist stalked toward Van Keats, heedless of everything else around him. His hands were just blurs as the power built and built. Owen knew that if he didn’t stop him, there would be little more to the inspector than ash in moments.
Owen drew his gun. Van Esper didn’t even seem to notice.
Owen took aim. Van Esper raised his hands toward the half-conscious inspector.
Owen thought of what the elf had said, of what would happen to him if he were to take action. He wanted to do the right thing. As much as he detested Van Keats, he didn’t want to stand by helplessly while the artist killed him. But when Van Esper launched the magic, burning through the hapless elf inspector’s body as if it were scant more than kindling, Owen did just that. He stood with his gun out and aimed right at Van Esper’s head. He stood and he did nothing.
When it was over, the artist turned toward Owen and looked him dead in the eye. He smiled. “Because they would find your bullet in me and they would know that a dwarf had killed an elf. Would Inspector Van Keats, I wonder, even have thanked you for saving his life? Would he have defended your actions in court? I think not. Because even the best dwarf dare not kill even the worst elf.”
Van Esper looked around his studio and clucked his tongue while Owen, still frozen, stood with his gun out. In the wake of the battles, the room’s filth had lost its significance. There was now only the withered form of Herschel and the charred Marvin. Van Keats wasn’t even recognizable, just a stinking and smoldering mass of flesh. Shaking his head in disappointment, Van Esper grabbed a few things and put them into a bag. He slung the bag over his shoulder and elbowed past Jessica. She gave him a vicious look, but nothing more, as she cradled her burned hand. Then he hobbled over to the door and up the stairs and was gone.