Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

Nairo and Ridley were escorted, politely but gruffly, to the west side. They pulled up outside a grand old pub on Coven Street. The pub spoke of the grandeur of a bygone day. When the city was still a series of smaller hamlets, the pub served as a central point for all travellers and trade. While the neighbourhood around it had grown and sprawled the pub stood unchanged. It still even had its original Oak lettering above the door that read: The Rangerman. The pub had an imposing feel to it, with columns and thick frosted glass windows. Everything was darkly stained or painted black, including its heavy wooden door. Nairo had heard about this pub and knew it wasn’t the type of place you went to without invitation… or a small army. The street was bustling but she noticed people wouldn’t walk in front of the pub, they would circumnavigate to the other side of the road, giving it a wide berth. Outside the pub stood two men with their arms crossed and deeply suspicious frowns on their faces.

Nairo and Ridley, with their escorts, walked up to the pub. Without a word exchanged, the two guards pulled open the heavy double doors and stood to one side. Nairo didn’t need her keenly honed police senses to know both of these men were heavily armed, as were their escorts. She wasn’t sure they were in danger just yet, but it was very close and very real. Ridley, being his typically blase self, nodded to the doormen.

“‘Fraid I’m all out of change, I’ll have to catch you on the way out.”

The doorman glowered at him but did not respond.

Inside the pub, the heavy stained and imposing motif continued. The floor was some sort of dark wood that had warped over centuries of spilt beer. The bar was almost chest high and looked like it could survive a hurricane without even creaking. It had old style brass pumps and an array of bottle liquors that would have impressed some of the wealthiest drunks in the city. There were private booths to their right and the rest of the pub was the typical affair of stools and tables. A stage was set up at the far back corner but stood empty as did the majority of the rest of the pub. Outside of some thuggish characters lurking in the background there was only one other punter, a shrivelled old man nursing a half pint of something black. He had thick, grey eyebrows that swallowed his eyes and a bristly moustache. The hand that clutched the half pint was gnarled and covered in scars speaking to a life of generous violence.

“Old Bob,” their escorts said, each one acknowledging the old man with a deferential nod.

Old Bob raised his eyes momentarily and gave him a nod before returning to his drink.

Ridley made straight for the bar and rapped his knuckles on the bartop.

“Can I get…”

“You ain’t here for a drink,” growled one of their escorts.

“Then why did you bring me to a pub?” Ridley asked. “Can I get something brown with a bite and touch of water.”

The escort made to grab Ridley but then seemed to think twice about it. Begrudgingly, all three of them stood awkwardly while the barmen poured Ridley’s drink.

“Cheers. He’ll pay.” Ridley scooped up his drink and pointed over his shoulder.

“Upstairs,” their escort growled through gritted teeth.

Ridley nodded and walked off to the back of the pub where there was a flight of stairs leading up. In silence, Nairo followed him, her senses still attuned to everything around them as she tried to figure out what they were walking into. She was fairly certain they weren’t going to be killed. You didn’t kill police officers, and you certainly didn’t parade around with them first letting everyone get a good look at you together. She was also certain that the no killing police rule extended to Edgewater and Washbottom. How had they been caught? Did someone see them up in the flat? Even if they had, how had they been captured? One flash of their badges should have been enough to get them out of there at least. Nairo chewed at the inside of her cheek as they were directed to a large open space office. As they walked through she saw the two corporals sitting on a sofa, their heads hanging, like two naughty schoolboys waiting for their parents to come and pick them up.

“Sergeant!” Edgewater brightened up as soon he saw her. “I knew you would come!”

“Corporal,” Nairo said, nodding to him. “Are you okay?”

“Washbottom,” Ridley said, nodding at Walley and sniggering as he went and flopped down with his drink on a vacant chair.

“Well he was telling the truth,” snorted one of the men, a large bald headed figure with a nasty scar running across his cheek bone, and gingery stubble on his chin, said.

“I told you!” Edgewater said to the man. “We’re police officers!”

“That true?” another man asked Nairo. He was lounging on the opposite sofa. Nairo noticed all of his front teeth gleamed with gold.

“Yes, and you better have a good reason for detaining two police officers in the course of carrying out their duty.” Nairo replied frostily. “Because the police force doesn't take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“I wouldn’t take that tone Sergeant,” a voice growled from behind her.

If it was possible for a pitbull to speak, that would have been exactly how it sounded. The voice was gravely, quiet, but promised brutality. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise.

The men around her all jumped to their feet.

“Mr Graves sir,” the ginger bearded one said. “This is the Sergeant wot these two wallys was blabbering about.”

“Thank you Mr Edwards, I gathered that.” The voice had a curiously slow way of speaking. Not like he was stupid, nor like he was carefully selecting his words, but like each syllable was an effort. As if human communication was something he didn’t enjoy taking part in.

Nairo wanted to turn and face the owner of the voice but she found herself unwilling to turn. She felt him swoop by her, his navy blue trench coat whipping past her legs. His boots thumped and she heard the clink of concealed weaponry with every step he took. He stomped around the desk and turned to face her and she knew without needing to be told she was locking eyes with one of the most violent and cruel villains in the entire city.

“Bill ‘The Landlord’ Graves,” Ridley said, his voice faltering as the glacially cold blue eyes of The Landlord flicked over to him.

“That’s Mr Graves to you,” the ginger bearded man snarled. He too faltered when those cold eyes snapped to him.

The room fell silent as The Landlord’s eyes flicked from face to face. His eyes never rolled or swivelled, they snapped from person to person, like a wild animal considering who to devour first. He was tall and despite his slender build, Nairo could see the thickness and power in his shoulders and back. Under his heavy trench coat, he wore a traditional working man’s shirt with a banded collar. On top of that he had a rough spun vest and as he leaned on the desk, Nairo could see the twin handles of two long daggers sheathed under his armpits poking out. His long fingers had faded tattoos on the knuckles. She recognised a few as being military ink but the ones that caught her eye were the backways G next to a K. An infamous tattoo on the streets worn only by those who had committed murder. The backwards G was for Goblin and the K was for Killer. She only noted all of these details because she didn’t want to look up. She didn’t want to look at that face. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to look up. He had a long, almost elegant nose that was bent from multiple breaks, and a nasty scar down his forehead, through his eyebrow and down his sharp cheekbone. That was when she made eye contact. Those eyes. They were so… cruel. As if they had never known kindness or warmth. They were light blue, almost grey, and they stared at her as if he was only a moment or a word away from cutting her open from belly to neck.

Bill ‘The Landlord’ Graves was known as perhaps the most terrifying human in the entire Free Cities and now she knew why. It was like being in a cage with a feral dog. She wanted to step back, to flee, to get as far away from him as possible. Instead, she looked down at her feet and let her hair fall across her face. Even Ridley was suddenly demure, choosing to stare into his glass rather than meet the Landlord’s eyes.

Bill took a few rattling breaths through his nose.

“Why were these two in my card house?” he said finally. Every syllable thudded around the room, demanding attention.

“Mr Graves, sir, we found ‘em…” Mr Edwards began before a deathly stare from Bill silenced him again.

“These two little piggies have been telling my boys an interesting tale, Sergeant.” Bill spat that last syllable, his tongue ricocheting off his front teeth.

Nairo cleared her throat and forced herself to meet his eyes and this time hold them.

“Corporal Edgewater and Corporal Washbottom were on a stakeout.”

“Hmm,” Bill growled deep in his throat. “So they are coppers?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Then what was they sneaking around in our card house for then?” Mr Edwards spat at her.

Bill was across the desk before any of them could even flinch. He slammed his forehead into the side of Mr Edward’s face. The man grunted and fell back into his chair. Bill rained down blows on the barely conscious man, his fists a blur as he hit him with both hands. He grunted with every strike. His fists thudding into Mr Edwards’ face and torso sounded like someone taking a hammer to a piece of liver. Nairo stood frozen. She wanted to move. She wanted to stop him. But she couldn’t. She watched wide eyed as he turned Mr Edward’s face into mince meat. Finally, only a few seconds later, he stopped hitting him. There were spots of blood everywhere. Mr Edwards groaned and fell to the floorboards, completely still.

Bill whirled on Nairo, only a foot away from her. His eyes were wide and wild, the blood speckled skin on his face was taut and pale. His breathing, however, was completely calm.

“You see there are rules, Sergeant.” he said. “And round here we obey the rules. You tell your Captain Mallory that the one who took his men has been dealt with.” He pointed a blood covered hand at Mr Edwards. “You will tell him won’t you, Sergeant?”

Nairo nodded. She wasn’t capable of words. Bill stared at her.

“But there are rules,” he hissed, taking a step closer, his shoulders hunched like a tiger about to pounce “And one of those rules is you don’t send coppers into my establishments.”

“They weren’t supposed to go in!” Ridley interjected.

Bill’s eyes snapped onto him making him visibly flinch.

“Who are you?” Bill growled.

“I’m… my name’s Ridley, I’m a private investigator,” Ridley said.

“And are you investigating me?”

“No.” Ridley said quickly. “And neither were these two idiots. They were just supposed to keep watch from across the road. How they ended up inside your card house, well that’s something we’ll have to find out.”

“Would you like me to find out?” Bill said, looking at Nairo, his eyes still wide and unblinking.

Timmy whimpered.

“Please sir. We didn’t know, we were just trying to…”

“Shut up, Edgewater!” Nairo snapped. “Their discipline is a matter for the police to take care of.”

“See that it is taken care of, Sergeant.” Bill said, his words punctuated by the scraping sound of Mr Edwards being dragged out of the room by two men.

Nairo met his eyes. Her heart thumped and she felt dizzy but she didn’t look away. He searched her eyes for a few moments before straightening up and walked back around his desk. He took a rag from his pocket and began wiping his hands.

“These two tell me you were looking for a particular vermin,” he said.

Nairo swallowed and tried not to visibly sigh in relief that she was at least a few feet away from him again.

“That’s right.”

“Some fucking toad?”

“A HobGoblin, yes.”

“Their sort usually stays on the other side of the bridge.”

“We have reason to believe he was desperate enough to try his luck over here.”

“He would have to be desperate,” Bill said.

“His name is Zimeon…”

“De Woolf, the bank manager,” Bill finished for her.

“Yes, how did you know?”

Bill didn’t answer her. He poured himself a drink from the decanter on the desk and then looked at the golden toothed man, giving him a slight nod.

“De Woolf came around here, but we knew he was bad business,” the man said. “We checked up on him with the boys out East and they said he was blackballed for card counting so we slung him out on his ear.”

“How long ago was this?”

“A few weeks back. Haven’t seen him since.”

Nairo looked at Ridley who nodded.

“That makes us square for this little… misunderstanding?” It sounded like a question but she knew Bill wasn’t asking.

“That was all we wanted to know. Thank you.” Nairo looked at Edgewater and Washbottom and nodded her head towards the door.

They didn’t need to be told twice. Cringing in terror, they scuttled from the room. Ridley stood up and left his drink half finished, following them at a slight step quicker than his usual saunter. Nairo turned to leave.

“You looking for this toad wouldn’t have anything to do with his bank being robbed, would it?” Bill said.

“How do you know about the bank robbery?”

“Oh I hear things. I heard something very sparkly went missing from there.” His cold eyes peered deeply into Nairo’s eyes.

“There’s lots of sparkly things in a bank,” Nairo replied. “Thank you, Mr Graves.”

Bill gave her one more long icey look before he nodded.

“Taa taa, Sergeant.”

Nairo forced herself not to race down the stairs, especially when she saw the streaks of blood across the floor from where Mr Edwards had been dragged out. She stalked out of the pub and breathed deeply when the fresh air hit her. To her surprise, there were sparkles of tears in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away.

“Sergeant, I…” Edgewater began.

“Not here,” Nairo said.

Ridley whistled for a cab and the four of them scrambled in. Nairo looked back up at the pub as the cab pulled away and she saw the outline of a figure in the window. She knew it was Bill, she could feel him from here.

“What the fuck happened?” Nairo snarled at Edgewater and Washbottom.