Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

7

Nairo caught up with Ridley just as he was flagging down a rusty looking cab. He acknowledged her presence with a sullen nod.

“Didn’t think you were coming,” he grunted, favouring his good arm as he pulled himself into the cab.

“You’re not that lucky,” she muttered, wincing as she followed him up the small step and into the cab.

“Where to, marm?” the Cabby asked through the little window separating him from the cab.

“Upper Parliament Square,” Ridley answered peevishly, mouth clamped around a smoke, his injured arm cradled to his chest.

“Righto.” The cabbie flicked the reins and set off.

“Why are we going back into the city? The Bull said…”

“He said he was supposed to be there in an hour,” Ridley said, cutting her off. “And in criminal terms that means a couple hours at best, plenty of time to start throwing out some lines.”

“Lines?”

“You know… lines.” He made a reeling gesture with his hands. “Fishing for clues.”

“Right.” Nairo said. She was finally beginning to understand the way Ridley spoke: it was all clichés and awful metaphors. She didn't enjoy it. “So… what bait are we using?”

“Bait? Why would we need bait?” he asked her, his smoke pausing at his lips.

“To fish wi… never mind.” She waved her hand for him to continue.

“Gonna go speak to an old buddy of mine, time to try and get ahead of the chase, might actually be able to see the finishing line.” He puffed his smoke with an air of satisfaction of a metaphor well butchered.

Nairo nodded and leant her head back, taking the precious time the journey gave them to rest her battered body.

Quicker than she would have liked the cab began slowing down and, after a brief argument with a local traffic cop over the legality of his horse’s hooves, solved only by Nairo’s interjection, they pulled up at Parliament Square.

“Two bob if it pleases ya, sir.” The cabbie doffed his hat, his face disappearing into a mass of wrinkles as he smiled obsequiously.

“She’ll take care of ya.” Ridley pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at Nairo as he clambered out.

“Of course I will,”Nairo muttered darkly, shrugging off the desire to push Ridley from behind into oncoming traffic.

She placed two coins in the cabbie’s grubby hand and offered him a small smile in gratitude. She stretched out her sore back and followed the puffs of smoke that followed behind Ridley. They had been dropped off on the Sochii Bridge just outside the Parliament building, sitting squat and corpulent on the riverfront, all white stone and finely carved pillars. The building had been the first gift from the Goblin Tribes after the city was claimed as a free city and it showed. The Goblins had a finesse for stone work that no other hand, or claw, could match. They worked with the pure white stone as if it was soft clay, sculpting the many fauna and curves the Goblins seemed to be fascinated with. The building was almost impossibly large, dwarfing everything else on the riverfront in both width and height. Usually the great carved blackoak doors were open to a constant mass of bureaucracy. The House was always teeming with the rapid activity of democracy, today however, the doors were firmly shut. Two Officers of the House stood outside in their black uniforms, scowling at passers by as they went about their business.

“Since when is the Parliament shut in the afternoon?” Ridley scanned the odd sight in front of him, he had begun to notice more and more black shirt activity.

There was a wagon parked around the corner, with several officers placed at strategic points around the building. They scowled. They thumped their heavy truncheons against their palms. They patrolled. And they scowled some more. Every citizen gave them a wide berth, knowing they were only one wrong look or misstep from a beating and even worse a hefty fine.

“Usually when a threat is made, or when a council of war is convened,” Nairo answered, noticing the odd amount of security dotted about the parliament. “Let me guess, your contact is in there, right?”

“Right,” Ridley nodded and worried the end of his smoke, brows creased in consternation.

“Why is nothing about this case straight forward?”

“Not straight forward but not difficult,” Ridley said. “It’s lunchtime.”

He looked around for a minute and strode off. Nairo watched the security detail for a few more moments then followed. Ridley had sauntered over to a food wagon, a nifty creation imported with the influx of Gnomes about fifty years ago. Gnommish food, like most things Gnommish, was quick and straightforward. Their menu choices were all things that could be cooked within minutes with just a bowl and an open flame. Some enterprising Gnome had realised the hustle and bustle of city life was crying out for food that had as little patience as its citizens, so she set up the first food cart: a converted wagon that could park up anywhere, open its side shutters, and deal out flavourful soups, noodles and fried goods of every description. No licences, permissions, or hygiene necessary.

With a flap of his coat Ridley mounted one of the empty stools at the side of the cart.

“Any meat on the menu today, gabba?” Ridley asked the Gnome, using the term of endearment Gnommish men used for one another. Loosely, it translated to: Similar one.

The Gnome looked up from the bowl he was fastidiously wiping with a grimy cloth. He eyed them and then shook his head.

“Not today,” the Gnome had that swift clipped way of talking peculiar to Gnomes.

Their own language was a barrage of short syllables and wild hand gestures, no different from how they spoke the common tongue.

“Figures,” Ridley said, sucking his teeth. “Been weeks since I’ve had a decent scrap of meat.”

“Ha! I gotta meat… but not meat pinks like you’z would eat!” The Gnome gave them a leery grin.

“Lemme guess, it didn’t go baa or moo?”

The Gnome gave a snigger and shook his head.

“Woof?”

Again he shook his head.

“Meow?”

“Stop it Ridley. I’ll lose my appetite.” Nairo rubbed her stomach and gingerly plopped herself down onto the stool next to him.

“We’ll stick to the veggies… they crunchy?”

“Not anymore”

“Serve em up, gabba. Two bowls.” He rapped his knuckle on the counter and held up two fingers to the sweaty little Gnome.

“Didn’t think you were the type to give up so easily,” Nairo said as she tenderly kneaded her sore hip.

“Who said I’d given up?” Ridley said, eyeing their surroundings.

Within minutes, the Gnome plonked two large bowls of steaming soup and noodles in front of them, the spicy tang making Nairo’s mouth water the second she smelt it. Ridley picked up his spoon and dipped it into the steaming bowl hungrily. The Gnome coughed and looked at him pointedly. Ridley turned and looked at Nairo with the same look on his face. With a muttered curse, she slapped some coins down on the counter, then took up her spoon with zeal. Noisily, they tucked into the rich, spicy bowl while the Gnome deposited Nairo’s change next to her bowl. She reached out to grab the coins while slurping at her spoon but Ridley made a noise and shook his head, a waterfall of noodle and browning vegetables hanging out of his mouth. Nairo shrugged and went back to her bowl, a chunk of hard, black bread was slammed down in front of her. She tore it in half and dipped it into her soup, the food nourishing her, giving energy back to her broken body. She could feel the ache and fatigue melt away as her stomach filled. With the noodles gone, she happily raised the big chipped bowl and slurped greedily at the spicy soup. Suddenly, to her right there was a bang and then a torrent of cursing. She dropped the bowl, ready to spin and face this new threat, only to find Ridley holding a filthy, little, foul mouthed ball of grub by the arm off the ground.

“Still nicking change from tourists, Billy?” He shook the child until Nairo’s change fell from his filthy little claws.

“Whooaarrr, get out of it, Ridley!” Billy squawked, wriggling in Ridley’s grasp. “Lemme go! Never knew it were you!”

Ridley shook the urchin once more for fun and then plonked him down on the stool he had been sitting on. Nairo watched this all with curious fascination as she polished off the rest of her soup.

“What ya gotta do all that for, Ridley!” he said indignantly, straightening his grubby waistcoat. “That’s, wot ya call it, ent… ent… tra…”

“Entrapment?” Nairo offered while licking her spoon clean.

“Yer that’s it, you entrapmented me!”

Ridley leaned forward and wagged a finger in the urchin’s face.

“What did I tell you last time I caught you thieving again?”

“Said you’d take a finger, didn’t’chya,” he replied, little feet swinging in the air. “An’ I know which one you can take.” Before the middle digit could point skyward, Ridley clipped him across the ear.

“Don’t get cheeky,” Ridley reached into his pocket and slapped down a golden coin on the counter. “Bowl and a gold in it if you can find him before I finish my noodles.”

Billy shot off the stool without further prompting, in a cloud of grime, his little shabby loafers clicking away in the bustle of the crowd.

“Another one of your illustrious contacts?” Nairo asked, holding up a finger to the Gnome for another bowl.

“Don’t get snarky,” Ridley muttered into his bowl of noodles. “That little bastard knows more ‘bout what goes on round here than most your lot.”

The Gnome behind the counter in the yellowed apron slammed a fresh bowl down in front of Nairo.

“Must be quiet with the Parliament closed?” Ridley asked him casually, eyes not leaving his bowl, speaking in the manner of someone filling time with small talk.

“No gooda! How I’m s’posed to run the business, wit no bloody customer?”

“Shut on a Thursday, bit odd.” Nairo said, swirling her noodles around her bowl, recognizing a fishing trip.

“No shut! Bigga meetings. All day, no lunch, no break! Shitter for business!” He waved his tongs belligerently, clacking them with every clipped syllable.

“Terrible.” Ridley tutted sympathetically, for the first time his dark eyes flicked up to look at the Gnome. “Must be the Elves in town, got everyone jittery.”

The Gnome clattered the pan he was handling, dropping it on the burner. He turned to Ridley, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What you know ‘bout Elves?”

“Only what you’re gonna tell me” Ridley replied, another gold coin magicked on to the counter.

The Gnome eyed the gold, then Ridley, then the gold, then Nairo. His hand snaked out, slapping on to the coin, sliding it back towards himself. He surreptitiously checked the authenticity of the coin and then leaned over the counter.

“You not heard it from me, yes?”

“Never do.”

“Elves come late late-last night, right after earthquake back home, very hush hush shh shh quiet,” he hissed at Ridley, rather pointlessly since people across the road would still have been able to hear him.

“And?”

“Stable boy, he like number 3 wit extra pigeon sauce, he tell me all bout time he had in Ling.” With that he gave Ridley a gold toothed smirk and a sly wink before straightening up and going back to his cooking.

“Interesting,” Ridley muttered, his noodles forgotten. He had the look of a dog chewing on a wasp.

“What’s so interesting about a party of Elves stopping over in the city on their way back from Ling?” Nairo asked, trying to string together the paranoid thoughts Ridley was obviously indulging in, to see where the path was going to take them.

“And they decide to leave this Diamond for what, one night, in the bank? Where it happens to get stolen? Coincidence can either be a detective's best friend or his worst enemy, just depends who he’s working for.” Ridley leaned back and lit a smoke, rolling it in between his lips while he thought.

At that moment Billy returned, red faced and out of breath, although Nairo suspected that was more for their benefit than was actually required.

“He’s just held chapel. Now he’s stepping out round the back of Angel’s square for a fag and a cuppa. Said he’ll be waiting there for ya, getting ‘is shoes shined,” Billy said flashing them the yellow toothed smile of a job well done.

“Nice one, Bill.” Ridley spun and hopped off the stool flicking the urchin a coin, which he deftly snatched out of the air.

Nairo hopped off her stool and helped Billy on to it, holding up a finger to the Gnome.

“A bowl for our associate here,” she said, returning Billy’s grin, and then checked her pockets, just in case, before walking off after Ridley.

“He’s a nice young man,” she commented to his hunched shoulders.

“He’s a thieving little shit,” Ridley said, eyeing the dark garbed officers of the Parliament suspiciously as they walked past them. “But he’s useful.”

Nairo too found her eyes drawn to the imperialistic demeanour of the guards. They were not upright, rigid and alert like guards should be. They were more loutish, round shouldered and thuggish. She locked eyes with one of them, the snarl that curled his lips told her a few seconds longer and she would be feeling the strong arm of democracy. Ever since Nairo had joined the academy she had heard about the Black Tops’ particular brand of civic duty, namely a list of brutality charges that would make even the likes of Charlie and his boys say things like “steady on,” and “that’s a bit much.” Officially of course the Black Tops were responsible for all judicial matters within the Parliament in order to prevent bullying or bias on behalf of the police force. Their purview ran from: protection of officials, transportation of members, investigating corruption, to handling all internal matters of law and punishment within the Parliamentary Houses. Unofficially, they were little more than a militia for hire, their responsibilities including no small amount of intimidation, assault, blackmail, and the occasional murder, although this was rather rare as, if one had to resort to murdering an opponent, then one would be forfeiting the game. To be fair to them, they were unbiased. They had no political agenda, other than a stringent economic policy based around deep pockets and tight lips.

“They don’t look too happy,” Nairo said when they were out of sight.

“Thugs. The lot of them,” Ridley grunted back, dipping down a neatly laid cobbled alley, coat swirling behind him.

These alleyways weren’t the kind she was used to, they were meticulously clean, not even an overturned bin or a stinking gutter that any respectable city alley should have. Private money saw to the upkeep of this part of town, not so much in paying wages or cleaning bills, more like making sure the riff raff were kept out and that public money was funnelled to where it was more useful.

“Who are we meeting?”

“An old friend of mine, a Street Hero.”

“Your friends with a Street Hero? Why does that not surprise me?”

“Let me guess, you got a problem with them too?”

“No Ridley, why would I have a problem with bare knuckle street fighters who build reputations by elaborately bashing each other’s skulls in for nothing more than pride and ego?”

“There’s worse reasons to bash a fellas skull in,” Ridley muttered. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t a couple of yore lot from back in the days Heroes?”

“That was a long time ago. We don’t bash people’s heads in anymore… well at least not professionally.”

“You sure about that?” Ridley snorted.

They stepped through an elaborate decorative archway, with wrought iron gates that looked like they cost more than Nairo made in a decade. The space opened up into a beautifully maintained square with a white stone fountain in the middle of an angel playing a harp. The square was populated by men dressed in long morning coats of the most outrageous hues. Purples, blues, reds, pinks, and oranges, were dotted all around her like the nursery of a colour blind botanist. As well as their sartorial eccentricity, they all also wore their facial hair in well groomed, but peculiar, fashions. There were sharp little goatees, mustachios waxed to fierce points, twirls, twists, and bobs all round, with the glint of the odd monocle. Although, she noticed the greyer the beard the more demure their designs were. Most of the gaudy gentlemen were hidden behind bed sheet sized newspapers and sipping on strong cups of tea. There was a general low murmur of conversation, punctuated with the odd harrumph and ‘well I say.’

Ridley seemed unfazed by the bizarre occupants of the square and made a beeline for one figure in particular. He looked rather shabbier by comparison to the pristine attire of his colleagues, like the nettle in the rose garden. He was sitting down, elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging. He was wearing a dark green waistcoat with his bloody shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. A small fossil of a man buzzed about him, stopping every now and again to push his thick window pane like glasses back onto his face. As they approached Ridley’s Street Hero looked up and three things struck Nairo: how young he was, that someone had very recently used his face as an anvil, and how despite that he was handsome in a roguish, black eyed, bloody toothed way. One of his twinkling green eyes was swollen shut, his lips bloody and raw as his knuckles, but that didn’t stop him cracking a lopsided grin at Ridley.

“”Wotch’ya Jimmy,” Ridley said, throwing himself in the vacant metal lawn chair opposite him.

“Wotch’ya Ridley,” Jimmy replied, gingerly shaking Ridley’s hand, causing the old man to tut, as he was in the process of washing out the blood from between Jimmy’s mangled fingers.

“Still meting out democracy one concussion at a time?” Ridley asked as he pulled out a couple of smokes offering one to Jimmy, who took it and smirked at Ridley, before spitting a thick glob of blood and phlegm on to the cobbles.

“Honestly Rid, I was safer bare knuckling on the cobbles than running with this mob,” he screwed the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and grinned at Ridley.

Nairo noticed his odd way of speaking, it was somehow coarse and screamed off a deprived childhood, yet he clipped his syllables and enunciated in the manner of someone who had attended a school where they had their own anthem.

“That bad, huh?”

“Been a madhouse, bruva. Just this morning a whole mob from the other side rushed the chancellor’s chambers during morning session. Barely managed to keep 'em from storming the place, even the Chancellor had to get involved, showed ‘em that gavel ain't just ceremonial.” He finished with another glob of bloody phlegm and then held up his swollen knuckles. “I been in chapel all morning just so our lot could get ten minutes with the Wigs.”

“That why the Black Tops shut the place down?”

“Naa, that was already in the works, probably why everybody was getting their licks in before the Lock Out. Damn Black Tops, only get involved when they're certain someone’ll pay ‘em handsomely for it.”

“Running the city’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it,” Ridley said twirling his smoke absent-mindedly, leaving Nairo to wonder if she had just stumbled into more of Ridley’s subterfuge laced prattle.

“Preaching to the bloody choir.” Jimmy leaned back and flicked a glimmering eye to Nairo. “Who’s ya friend?”

“Friend’s a bit strong,”Nairo interjected before Ridley could and extended her hand. “Sergeant Nairo.”

Jimmy shook her hand and then turned to Ridley.

“Rolling with the ol’ Bill Ridley? Here on official business are we?”

“Piss off, I’m just here visiting an old pal, catching up on the good times,” Ridley said nonchalantly, before flicking a meaningful gaze at the old man, who was in the process of rewrapping Jimmy’s hands.

“How rude of me. Al, why don’t you get our friends here a cuppa?” Jimmy said after catching Ridley’s eye.

The little man nodded and stood creakily. After tidying away the bloody bandages he shuffled away in silence.

“So what’s the game, Rid?” Jimmy asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“This one’s a bit deep Jim, I won't lie to you.”

Jimmy paused for a moment, taking a deep drag of his smoke, before he nodded for Ridley to continue.

“I need some information.”

“Right.”

“And the creatures I need this info on are deep.”

“How deep?”

Ridley looked around and then leaned even closer to Jimmy.

“I’m talking way up there in the trees.” Ridley looked upwards meaningfully and Jimmy followed.

“You’re not talking about folks with pointy ears, are you, Ridley?”

Ridley nodded.

“And would these creatures have entered our fair city last night?”

Again Ridley nodded.

“Has this got something to do with that bank job?”

“How d’you know about that?”

“C’mon Rid, you know gossip flies through this city like the squirts. The shoe shines and horse boys’ve been gabbing about it all morning.”

This time Ridley shrugged.

“I’m just on a missing person case, mate. But… yeah probably.”

Jimmy leaned back and whistled through his teeth. Before he could say anymore Al had come back with their tea.

“Sugar, ma’am?” he rasped.

“Please.”

Ridley impatiently tapped his foot and lit another cigarette, looking pointedly at Jimmy again.

“Ahh Al, seems my cup’s gone a bit stone, couldn't bother ya for a top up?” Jimmy asked, picking up his forgotten cup.

Without so much as a flicker of irritation Al scooped up Jimmy’s cup and shuffled off.

“That’s a big favour,” Jimmy said, taking Ridley’s tea and sipping on it.

“I know.”

“And you don't need to remind me ‘bout what you did for my aunty,” Jimmy said, wagging a finger at Ridley.

“I would never,” Ridley said, holding up a hand.

“Why would you wanna go mixing yourself up with bloody Elves for?” Jimmy hissed the word ‘Elves’ as if they might spring from the ground summoned by wayward utterances.

“We’re just following the clues.”

Jimmy eyed him for a long second, the swelling around his eyes gave his face a suspicious warp.

“Well… how can I help?” he said after a few seconds.

“We need you to dig out some files for us. Preferably all entry and exit documentation on our pointy eared friends: when they came into the city, travel itinerary, where they come from, who they’re travelling with. Any information about them at all.”

“Wait… hold on. I thought the Elves were the ones who got robbed?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Oh Ridley, this aint part of your crusade against the Elves is it?” Jimmy asked him incredulously.

“No.”

“Ehhh,” Nairo said.

Ridley shot her a cold look before turning back to Jimmy.

“I promise you Jim, I wouldn't put you out if I didn't believe there was a very strong chance that something wonky is going on here and I’m being led blind by the nose… and their Elves!” Again, he hissed the last word like some sort of curse.

“I mean that’s some high level clearance Ridley, I don't have that type of clout, nowhere near. If I go round pissing people off about Elves that could be my neck…” he trailed off as Al came back with his cuppa. Jimmy looked from Ridley to the harrumphing gentlemen around him and then he spat a bloody wad of phlegm in the nearest gutter. “How does the Mayor feel about this?”

“Well and truly perturbed,” Ridley replied.

“And would you finding some dirt on his pointy eared mates ‘turb him further?”

“Oh he would be well and truly ruffled, mate.”

Jimmy ran his tongue around his mouth and then winced when he must have hit a cut in his gums. He drained his cup and spat.

“Screw it. Can't say no to a mate can ya?”

Ridley beamed at Jimmy, which may have been the first time Nairo had seen him smile at another being..

“I owe you one, Jim.” Ridley said, jumping to his feet and extending his hand.

“I said I’ll look into it. No promises.” Jimmy took his hand and shook it warmly as Al resumed his ministrations on the livid bruising around Jimmy’s eyes.

“Thank you Jimmy and it was nice to meet you,” Nairo said, offering him her hand as Ridley turned and walked away.

“Nice to meet you too Sergeant,” he replied, shaking her hand. “Fancy dinner? I know a great place that still has kind of fresh seafood.”

“Oh,” Nairo said, taken aback.

“Promise, I don't always look this bad,” Jimmy said and cracked a wonky swollen lipped smile at her, his one good emerald eye twinkling.

“Ummm… maybe when this is all over,” she replied with a small smile.

“Yeah… maybe. Taa taa, Sarge.”

“Hurry up!” Ridley cried as he hailed down a cab.

Nairo hopped the last few steps and bobbed into the cab.

“Done flirting are ya?”

“Yes actually,” Nairo said with a knowing smile on her face that made Ridley’s brow furrow.

“RatHoles and don't spare the whip!” Ridley snapped at the driver.