Jorjar looked at me in a shocked manner, admiration and disgust waging
a battle for control of his face. He couldn't help himself and asked,
"Doesn't this revolt you?", pointing at the corpse-I hadn't thought he
meant the ever present stench of slaughtered animals-"Don't you feel
sick?" I shrugged and lied, "Oh, please I was an informer in Glamour.
Worse things happen there at kiddie parties." It's the kiddie party
part that's the lie, worse things definitely happen in Glamour. All
the time. Unfortunately it's usually the authorities who do them
there. Also unfortunately I have seen worse. But I have to admit this
was pretty bad for Pavis. I don't think even a feuding Praxian who go
to such an effort. A look of something approaching admiration crept
over Jorjar's face and I finally thought we might be able to work
together...as long as I kept lying that is. "So who is he? Has he
been identified yet? Jorjar shook his head. "Then why is this so
sensitive then?" Jorjar smiled broadly and nodded at a dark corner.
Damn, I'd missed the pile of gilt plate lying there. Blast, a
sunshine boy. Jorjar kept smiling and I realized that I'd just lost
my hard won ground.
"So, have the bright boys been notified yet?" Jorjar grunted
negation. "Are you going to tell them," I asked. Again a negatory
grunt. This was getting to be like finding nits on a particularily
bushy-haired Ulerian. But not as much fun. "Is Sor-Eel going to tell
them then?" Ooh a nod. I win! "Hmm, so I take it no one at the
bridge saw the late bright boy here cross over?" Another negatory
grunt. "Have you started questioning the locals." "Not yet." "And
you're waiting for all the witnesses to skedaddle off are you?" There
was that scowl again. He ducked out of the building and started
yelling at his flunkeys. Ha, another point for me! I took this
opportunity for a closer look at the stiff. Yes he was stiff, he'd
been dead quite a while. No pool of blood on the ground, that's
strange. Pretty gruesome job, very professionally done. We'll have
to grill all the butchers around here. I chuckled at that one. His
wedding tackle was in the normal place so it probably wasn't revenge
for a cuckolded husband or a rape. Kind of strange not to remove it
anyway though. Pretty standard torture technique after all. They
hadn't finished then? Unlikely, no sign of any haste or rush though.
Hmm, I would have to think some more about this one. I checked the
pile of gear over. Sigh, an iron shortsword? A bag of wheels? Gilt
plate? Oh come on! This guy was wearing and carrying more wealth
than most Pavisites have on their person, in their homes and buried
under their dirt floors. Maybe this wasn't such a professional job
after all. I wonder if Jorjar had counted what was in the money bag?
Hmm, not worth I decided.
Just then I heard the sound of a trumpet outside. Subtle like a brick. Must be more of the bright boys. I ducked out to have a look.
To be continued.
Oliver
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