Daleman's Log - 23 / 04 / 2120

Quillian Daleman - Personal Log
23 / 04 / 2120 F.A.

"When was the last time you saw Agent Arnorson?"

The Chief Superintendent's office was big enough that it didn't feel crowded with both myself and his two other guests. They reminded me of Arnorson. Northerners, light of hair, skin, and eye. Immaculate suits beneath long dark coats. Their haircuts were almost identical; close-cropped buzz-cuts. These, however, had slightly glowing pupils in eyes like crystal. Subdermal circuits were visible around the eye orbits, suggesting more internal augmentations. They both looked male, but the slightly shorter one smelled like a woman.

"Wednesday," I rumbled. "We met at the library. He wanted to show me something."

I glanced significantly at the Chief Superintendent, who sat stiffly at his desk in his dress uniform. The two agents from the Antiquities Recovery Department glanced at each other, then the slightly shorter one turned to the Chief.

"Everything we discuss here falls under the Official Secrets Act. You understand?"

The Chief nodded, face set in stone. The agent turned back to me.

"Why did he meet you there?" the agent said.

"After I discovered evidence that linked the Black Circle with one of the museum's janitorial personnel," I said carefully. "Agent Arnorson concluded that a group may be attempting to weaponize the Morgul blade for a terrorist attack. Wanted to show me an antique book with a diagram for such a device, and provided me with a warning if I encountered anyone wielding the weapon. I believe he wished me to be aware of what dangers we might be facing in our investigation."

The agents showed nothing in their faces or the set of their shoulders, but I smelled something sour. They had begun to sweat.

"Where were you between the hours of 2000 and 0200 last night?" the shorter agent asked.

"In my apartment," I said.

"Asleep?" she asked.

"No," I stated.

"Is there anyone who can verify your whereabouts?" she pressed. Her gaze was unblinking. I wondered how much that augmentation cost, and how they would go about advertising such a bodymod.

"I engaged the services of a sex worker named Lilja. We were professionally engaged for the entire evening. She was still in my apartment when I left for work at 0630. I can give you her contact information, if you'd like to confirm what we were up to and how much they charge for Dwarf pussy and rimjobs in Moon City."

The Chief Superintendent stared daggers at me, cheeks flushed.

"Detective-Inspector, there is no cause for such...vulgarity," he turned to the agents. "I apologize. She was not promoted for her tact."

The agents didn't seem shocked. Probably Arnorson had told them a few things about me in his reports.

"No apologies necessary, Chief," the taller agent said. "It's what we've come to expect from these...animals."

I let that one slide. It was time for a question of my own. My voice was soft, a deep grumble.

"What happened to Arnorson?" I asked. "You're not poking your nose into my sex life just for the fun of it."

The taller agent answered.

"Last night, Agent Arnorson left his home. He took care not to be traceable. Sometime during the night, he was murdered. His body was discovered this morning. Someone was sending a message to A.R.M. Given your statement, it is likely that whoever stole the blade discovered that he was on to them. We will be transferring his active investigation, and that of his ****, to the Anti-Terrorism Task ****. We thank the Morgul Vale Police Department for their assistance in this matter, but circumstances have now taken this out of your jurisdiction."

Neither the Chief Superintendent nor I argued.

"Well done, Daleman," the Lodgemaster said after I rendered my report. The hall in the Black Crown Lodge hadn't changed, though I couldn't see or smell the veiled woman. "And I trust you found the remuneration satisfactory?"

I nodded. The blood money had been deposited in my account, with a fair number of zeroes behind the leading digit.

"Yes, sir," I said. It was just the two of us. My body still ached, and it hurt to take more than a shallow breath. I'd had time to stop at a street doc to get diagnosed properly, but it would still take weeks to heal. For a moment, I even allowed myself to hope that this might all be done with now. After all, the investigation was over. My part was done. Then I had to open my big mouth.

"Will that be all?"

"Not quite," the Lodgemaster said. He didn't smile, his withered mouth set in a tight line, those black eyes utterly dead as they met my own. I wondered what he made of the bruises on my face, or knew how hurt I really was. The A.R.M. agents hadn't asked about them, but he knew better. "Now that you've made your bones, and we know you can be trusted with certain matters, I have another task for you. The business with the White Hands. I'd like you to help us with that."

I stood still. What was I supposed to say to that? For a moment, I just wanted to change and swipe his head off. But I wasn't quite tired of living yet.

"Those two associates of ours you found were carrying a package; the White Hands were supposed to provide security, but failed. The package was lost. Attempts were made to recover the package, but these ultimately came to nothing. Recompense was demanded, things got a little heated...hence that regrettable incident outside your apartment. The White Hands have made arrangements with the original source to secure a replacement package. This time, we would like you to deliver it to us personally. Rimmer will be your driver."

My head bowed for a moment.

"Where?" I asked. "When?"

He gestured me over to a table that looked like a slab of black obsidian set in a frame of ancient wood. As he approached, a pale holographic map of Gorgoroth appeared. Moon City was shown at one end. On the other, a place labeled Black Labs. In the middle, I could see swathes of emptiness marked by elevation-lines, rivers and creeks, and the glowing blue path marked out for us that took us south of Mt. Doom and Barad-dûr.

"The White Hand leader Morgain will be there personally to see that the package is received into your care," the Lodgemaster said, and the holograms flickered across his dark, dead eyes. "They will convoy with you until you reach the Morgul Vale. There will be no mistakes this time. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," I said. I took a shallow breath, my palms suddenly itchy, claws wanting to come out.

"Rimmer will pick you up tomorrow," the Lodgemaster said. He looked away from me. He made a dismissive gesture.

It took everything in my power not to show him exactly what I had done to Arnorson. Yet I kept my cool. Turned on my heel, headed back towards the servant's hallway that led to the backdoor, where Rimmer waited to drive me home.

"The Elfkin whore, Vanessë," the Lodgemaster's voice echoed through the room, and I froze. I turned slightly. He was still studying the map, but he looked up at me, and there was something in the set of his face that was harder and colder than before, all pretense of amiability or civility gone. Like a cannibal who had gnawed the last bone clean. "She is quite talented in Elf languages. The Chief Superintendent tells me you recommended her for translation work."

There was a lump in my throat. His lips peeled back to show those diamond teeth, nearly transparent. He didn't utter a specific threat. Didn't need to. We both understood each other. Her continued breathing was now contingent on my good behavior.

"Yes, sir," I said, then just to make it clear. "I understand."

"Jolly good. I shall see you in a few days."

The Dwarf looked tired, tense, as she sipped an energy drink. The bags under her eyes, the slightly worried smell. She hadn't exactly moved in. Yet she hadn't left, either. Still in my t-shirt, which was now tied off under her breasts. It was strange to come back to my apartment to find someone still there. Being so...domestic. Like a tick in my fur I couldn't reach.

"Lil. They are going to kill Vanessë if this goes wrong," I said as I laid out my clothes for the next day. My service weapon and its shoulder holster had gone into the gun-safe hidden beneath one of the floorboards in my bedroom. What I had taken out was practically an antique.

The Tolc Mearas had been designed as a cavalry pistol, back before horses went extinct. An 8-round .44 single-shot revolver, with an 8-gauge shotgun barrel underneath on a second trigger. The barrels had been cut down to barely an inch, the trigger guard cut away so it wouldn't interfere with the draw; the walnut grip big enough for my oversized hand. No microchips, no plastic, no mithril, not good for anything except close range. The last time I used it, forensics couldn't find enough tooth fragments to do a dental record check on the victim.

"Lil. They are going to kill Vanessë if this goes wrong," I said, already tired of the argument.

"And if it goes right?" the Dwarf said. She leaned against me, wrapped her arms around my waist, careful of my ribs as she pressed her cheek against my spine. "Do you really want to be an Orc-trafficker?"

I really fucking didn't. Bared my teeth, and felt the growl deep inside of me, **** to get out. This wasn't what I signed up for when I started taking money to look the other way or cover up a couple of gangland hits. Yet I was in too deep. I knew it, in my bones.

"I've done worse," I told her. Then said, in a voice so quiet I surprised myself. "I don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Lilja said, her voice insistent. Her hands moved to my suspenders and undid them. My pants fell down a little from my waist. She delved down, questing fingers digging into my ass. I tensed, hunched forward.

"And we have a plan."