Read Online Yowler Foul-Up by David Lee Stone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Lee Stone
Ads: Link
first.”
“But what in the name of the gods is it?”
The loftwing shrugged. “A machine of some kind,” he said. “It’s camouflaged to blend in with the warehouse wall. The Harbor Master’s an elf, so there’s no way he doesn’t know about it … which leads me to believe that the owner of this monster holds sway over at least one high-ranking member of the Mariners’ Consortium.”
“It’s glowing,” remarked Modeset, taking a step back.
“Yeah, it does seem to do that, on and off,” said Obegarde. “At a guess, I’d say it’s part magic and part machine. There’s a lens on the top, a lever on the side, and tubes all over the pace. It’s got me puzzled, I don’t mind admitting.”
Modeset narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the look of it,” he said. “There’s something inherently destructive in the shape. Who do you think owns it? Your rock-thrower?”
“Could be, could be,” said Obegarde, nodding. “He visits it every night. That’s what first led me here. And he always brings a book. Does nothing with it, mind. It’s almost as if he just brings the thing so he doesn’t have to leave it at home.”
Modeset nodded. “Odd. Well, um, how am I going to get out of here, exactly?”
The investigator grinned. “You’re not,” he said. “You’re gonna come with me while I break into the Harbor Master’s office. I need to see if there’s any record of this monstrosity in the holding log.”
The first kick wrenched the cottage door from its hinges, the second sent it crashing to the floor.
“I thought you said the dockers were watching this place,” Modeset whispered.
“They are,” said Obegarde with a shrug. “That’s why I knew we wouldn’t have any trouble getting in.”
“I’m sorry I—”
“Dockers generally aren’t too bright. They’re big and slabby, but not too quick on the brain trigger.”
The Dullitch Harbor Master’s office was a bit of a dump; Modeset couldn’t see for anchors.
“Here we are,” called Obegarde, clambering over the desk to study the heavy logbook. “Hmm, recent entries … Aha!”
Modeset kept watch, peering around the fractured door like a nervous whippet.
“Interesting,” said the investigator, scratching his concrete chin.
“What? What is it?”
“Well, you need two signatures to legally deposit a crate, especially when it’s unlikely to leave the city. The machine is logged in as Herman’s Stare. There’s a brief disclosure note signed by one Augustus Vrunak, address in upper Dullitch. The other signature’s too blurry to make out, but the address is definitely Karuim’s.”
“The church next to the palace?” Modeset asked.
“Hmm … my last stop, I think. Night’s almost over.” He looked up and saw Modeset backing out the door. “Hey! Where’re you going?”
“Home!” said the duke. “And it’s no use you trying to stop me; I’m tired and I want to get some sleep.”
Obegarde rolled his eyes. “You’re joking, right?” he said. “Besides, I need some help here; you might as well just come with me. We’ll both head back to the Steeplejack when we’re done.”
“No!” Modeset shook his head. “I’m off now . None of this has anything to do with me. You can go wherever you like.”
“Okay, okay” said the investigator. “But you are involved now, whether you like it or not, so can you at least do me a favor?”
The duke sighed. “That depends; what kind of favor? Does it involve me dressing up, spending time in a confined space, or becoming embroiled in a street fight?”
“No.” Obegarde shook his head and passed him a small square of paper torn from the logbook. “Check out this Vrunak fellow for me.”
“What, now?”
“Not necessarily. Get your precious sleep; you can go tomorrow morning. Here’s the address.”
Modeset was about to decline, but when he saw the look on the loftwing’s rugged face, he thought better of it.
TWENTY-TWO
T HE ROTTING FERRET WAS bustling
“But what in the name of the gods is it?”
The loftwing shrugged. “A machine of some kind,” he said. “It’s camouflaged to blend in with the warehouse wall. The Harbor Master’s an elf, so there’s no way he doesn’t know about it … which leads me to believe that the owner of this monster holds sway over at least one high-ranking member of the Mariners’ Consortium.”
“It’s glowing,” remarked Modeset, taking a step back.
“Yeah, it does seem to do that, on and off,” said Obegarde. “At a guess, I’d say it’s part magic and part machine. There’s a lens on the top, a lever on the side, and tubes all over the pace. It’s got me puzzled, I don’t mind admitting.”
Modeset narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the look of it,” he said. “There’s something inherently destructive in the shape. Who do you think owns it? Your rock-thrower?”
“Could be, could be,” said Obegarde, nodding. “He visits it every night. That’s what first led me here. And he always brings a book. Does nothing with it, mind. It’s almost as if he just brings the thing so he doesn’t have to leave it at home.”
Modeset nodded. “Odd. Well, um, how am I going to get out of here, exactly?”
The investigator grinned. “You’re not,” he said. “You’re gonna come with me while I break into the Harbor Master’s office. I need to see if there’s any record of this monstrosity in the holding log.”
The first kick wrenched the cottage door from its hinges, the second sent it crashing to the floor.
“I thought you said the dockers were watching this place,” Modeset whispered.
“They are,” said Obegarde with a shrug. “That’s why I knew we wouldn’t have any trouble getting in.”
“I’m sorry I—”
“Dockers generally aren’t too bright. They’re big and slabby, but not too quick on the brain trigger.”
The Dullitch Harbor Master’s office was a bit of a dump; Modeset couldn’t see for anchors.
“Here we are,” called Obegarde, clambering over the desk to study the heavy logbook. “Hmm, recent entries … Aha!”
Modeset kept watch, peering around the fractured door like a nervous whippet.
“Interesting,” said the investigator, scratching his concrete chin.
“What? What is it?”
“Well, you need two signatures to legally deposit a crate, especially when it’s unlikely to leave the city. The machine is logged in as Herman’s Stare. There’s a brief disclosure note signed by one Augustus Vrunak, address in upper Dullitch. The other signature’s too blurry to make out, but the address is definitely Karuim’s.”
“The church next to the palace?” Modeset asked.
“Hmm … my last stop, I think. Night’s almost over.” He looked up and saw Modeset backing out the door. “Hey! Where’re you going?”
“Home!” said the duke. “And it’s no use you trying to stop me; I’m tired and I want to get some sleep.”
Obegarde rolled his eyes. “You’re joking, right?” he said. “Besides, I need some help here; you might as well just come with me. We’ll both head back to the Steeplejack when we’re done.”
“No!” Modeset shook his head. “I’m off now . None of this has anything to do with me. You can go wherever you like.”
“Okay, okay” said the investigator. “But you are involved now, whether you like it or not, so can you at least do me a favor?”
The duke sighed. “That depends; what kind of favor? Does it involve me dressing up, spending time in a confined space, or becoming embroiled in a street fight?”
“No.” Obegarde shook his head and passed him a small square of paper torn from the logbook. “Check out this Vrunak fellow for me.”
“What, now?”
“Not necessarily. Get your precious sleep; you can go tomorrow morning. Here’s the address.”
Modeset was about to decline, but when he saw the look on the loftwing’s rugged face, he thought better of it.
TWENTY-TWO
T HE ROTTING FERRET WAS bustling
Similar Books
