Grak: Private Instigator (Orc PI Book 1) Read online

  As Yocto walked across the kitchen toward us, I was bedazzled by bedazzle. If I had thought the imposter Yocto was obnoxiously dressed, this possibly-Yocto made the other one seem understatedly demure by comparison. Yocto appeared to be garbed from head to toe in glittering diamonds… not just any diamonds, but diamonds infused with internal sparkling rainbow fireworks that were almost as gaudy as they were blinding.

  For all I knew, this Yocto could be clothed entirely in miniature spectralphotometers, or whatever the things were really called.

  I was impressed with Kordeun’s self-control, for Yocto looked to have a dragon’s horde of gems draped across his diminutive form.

  Maybe Kordeun was a bit more financially secure than I was and could resist the urge to snatch potentially valuable treasure when he saw it.

  For my part, my fingers twitched at the sight of him. With the thought that I might be able to sell the goods off the fallen not-Yocto, I resisted the impulse to loot Yocto’s diamond suit.

  “Could you turn those down a bit?” I asked.

  I didn’t need to be blinded any more, temporarily or not.

  “Sure thing. It’ll just make my analysis take a bit longer.”

  Hadn’t we been through this already with his evil twin?

  “We’ve got time,” I said. “Can you take a sample and then purify the room, or would you prefer to wait until the Home Guard arrive?”

  If the threat of the Home Guard did not elicit a response, then nothing would.

  “I have no problems waiting. The more data I have, the more robust my models and conclusions will be.”

  All gnomes must be data-driven siblings.

  Yocto’s lack of concern about the Home Guard told me he was who he claimed to be.

  “I’m Grak,” I said as Yocto came close enough to see my partially ruined body and the fully ruined gnome at my feet. Indicating Kordeun with a nod of my head, I added, “This is Kordeun.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” he replied, entirely unaffected by the gore and the air filled with reactive mutagens.

  “Would you like me to try to heal you?”

  Normally, I’m all for combat medicine, but when a gnome offers to help, it’s always a good idea to think carefully.

  “I’m usually resistant to external magics…and attacks.” I did not need to add excluding in this case. Except, if that blast had hit anyone else, they would be in no position to banter with a gnome who looked like a chandelier.

  “This will merely accelerate your already accelerated healing factors.”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  Yocto reached into a pouch and threw a handful of amber crystals into the slowly closing hole in my chest. The ocher plume lit me up like an inn afire.

  Some would later say that my roar was confused with a volcanic eruption.

  I knew I should have asked a few more questions.

  Blasted gnomes.

  If he hadn’t been trying to help, there might be another gnome lying on the ground.

  While I doubled over in pain, Yocto offered peaceably, “Interesting defensive modalities, by the way.”

  “Huh?”

  “You all are protected from the tailored mutagen in different ways. You,” he said, pointing at me, “through your innate arcane regenerative and resistive makeup. You”—he indicated Kordeun with a look—“through your eldritch shielding. And”—here, he gestured over his shoulder toward the bar—“the barkeep because of his magical resistance and the fact that he is already more monstrous than this particular mutagenic strain would create.”

  “Orthanq,” I amended. “Orthanq owns the bar and is kind enough to share his passion for great drinks and good food with the rest of us.”

  “That is a generosity of spirit we can all support,” Yocto replied with a smile.

  I thought I was going to like this Yocto.

  Real or not.

  Then I collapsed to the floor as the world constricted away to nothingness.

  28

  When I woke some time later, the room was clean.

  I was propped lovingly in a corner amidst a pile of smashed boxes and shattered wooden crates.

  “Good ta see ya back with us!” Kordeun’s smile was as bright as his beard was long.

  “So, the corner, huh?”

  “Didn’t want ya ta get in tha way o’ tha Home Guard doin’ their work.

  “They tried healin’ ya some more, but yer body resisted that about as much as tha damage from tha spectralphotometer.”

  At least Yocto had been able to help.

  The mental scars from his help would last a lifetime, though.

  “Are they gone?”

  “Nah. They’re up front finishin’ their sweep after collectin’ evidence and cleanin’ up with Yocto in here.”

  “They find anything interesting?”

  “Aside from an Orc too tough ta die and too stubborn ta be healed, seems like their findin’s are about tha same as tha original Yocto’s.

  “This time, though, they’re actually gonna share tha information and not just taunt us with it.”

  “Good.” I smiled tiredly. Healing from life-threatening injuries, especially after ignoring them for too long, is tiring work.

  “Got any food? That’s the best thing for my healing. I need to eat.”

  “Be right back! I’ll ask Orthanq fer somethin’.

  “I’m sure tha Guard’ll want ta have a few words with ya as well.”

  “Tell ’em I’d like to eat first.”

  Kordeun laughed. “I don’t think they’ll listen ta me.”

  Too tired to argue further, I closed my eyes and waited for some grub.

  A few minutes later, I was rewarded with a heaping pile of—well, I don’t know exactly what it was. It looked like the innards of some giant grey worm looped and whorled upon itself floating in a broth of black ichor that had been tossed haphazardly into a bowl big enough to swim in.

  And it was divine.

  Unfortunately, the bowl came with an iridescent gnome, a hairy dwarf, a hovering demon, and two rather imposing members of the Home Guard.

  They were all veiled from me by a welcoming, pore-opening plume of succulent steam emanating enticingly from the bowl.

  “Are you able to answer our questions, Grak?”

  One of the two Home Guard present was asking the question.

  I shook my head, then began to slurp up the slimy worms vigorously as I buried my head in the bowl.

  “Let me rephrase. Answer my questions, Grak, or I take your bowl.”

  This guy knew how to fight dirty, by threatening a man’s stomach.

  Now I knew he meant business.

  He knew I could not risk losing the bowl.

  This was the larger, and obviously meaner, of the two Home Guard. He was wearing a suit of crystalline armor that flowed like water over his demonic form. I could see my reflection in its polished surface.

  I decided I did not look half bad for an orc who had just had his chest blasted wide open.

  The two giant crossed band-aids decorated with superheroes stuck to my chest were a nice touch.

  I would need to thank Yocto when we were done.

  Looking up from my reflection to the Guard, I couldn’t say what species he was, but I could say what he looked like.

  If an angry orc had been crossbred with a battle-worn red dragon and then permanently lit on fire, this Home Guard might be a close relative—the kind of relative you avoid because he is angrier and more battle-tested than anyone else in the family. The glowing pommel of an eldritch blade that was probably as long as I was tall was visible over his shoulder. I was sure that would shorten his wait in lines at the local market. A halo of bluish-purple flames licked around his marbled red skin as he stared at me intensely while I slurped my tendril stew.

  The soup was that good.

  His partner was almost as big but was something else entirely. Also wearing the radiant crystalline armor characteristic of the Gu
ard, the second Home Guard appeared to be a humanoid earth elemental of some sort. A mace with a head the size of my chest dangled welcomingly from his belt. He probably used it to smash his way through mountains to make room for new clan members at family reunions. If I had to guess, I would venture that he was made of marbled gneiss, but I could be wrong. I wasn’t paying too much attention as I shoveled quivering loops of pallid flesh into my mouth.

  Tasty!

  My body needed energy far more than I needed this conversation.

  The dragonoid spoke again, this time trying to add a bit of friendliness to his tone. His demeanor seemed to say, “If you answer my questions, I won’t slice that noxious bowl of yours in two.”

  But what he really said was, “Tell us, in your own words, what happened here and why, Grak.”

  What other words would I use?

  I wasn’t a ventriloquist or a magician.

  I didn’t do imitations.

  Whose words would I plagiarize?

  Finally, after slurping in a particularly jiggly mouthful, I answered, “We were trying to determine the cause of the monstrous transformations plaguing the city. Apparently, this guy”—I gestured toward where the dead negentropy gnome was floating in a stasis field by the wall—“did not take kindly to our interfering.

  “So, he tried to kill us using the mutagen his cronies in ANGST developed.

  “Only, as you can see, that didn’t work out too well for him.”

  “And why, Grak, were you involved?”

  I could see both of the Guard measuring me, wondering why I would ever do something for the public good.

  Especially when that something involved so much risk.

  “For a lifetime supply of booze.”

  Both Home Guard looked at each other and nodded as if I had just said the most logical thing in the world.

  Which I had.

  “His story checks out.”

  And, just like that, my interview was over.

  No more questions.

  No more arm twisting.

  No forced visits to Alyon for further cross-examination.

  We were done.

  “If you find anything else of interest, let us know.”

  Not only were they leaving, but they were encouraging me to continue?

  What had the world come to?

  “I would like to claim rights of salvage to the corpse.”

  Dragonboy, to whom I had not been introduced, raised the scaly equivalent of an eyebrow.

  “I promise to buy you drinks with the proceeds.”

  He grinned, showing layered row upon fearsome row of finger-sized serrated teeth.

  “Certainly, Citizen Grak. Once the gnome’s items have been examined and cataloged, we’ll take you up on that offer.”

  For once, I could say I was not looking forward to having a drink.

  Turning his formidable attention away from me, the dragonoid said, “Thanks for all the information, gentlemen.”

  The living rock then spoke, his voice surprisingly smooth and cultured. Exactly not like I had expected. “If we find anything else that may help your investigation, we will let you know.”

  This was good news.

  My method of solving cases is rather simple. I cause as much pain, mayhem, and discomfort to the suspected parties involved as possible. Then, like metal drawn to a magnet, the guilty come to me.

  Being more trouble than the bad guys sometimes has its advantages.

  Having the Home Guard’s assistance might actually help alleviate some of my pain and discomfort.

  Turning to Yocto, the dragon-orc said, “As always, thank you for the many insights, Yocto. Your efforts will make the city a much safer place.”

  What about my efforts?

  I was the one who had had his chest blown open by a super laser.

  At least the chance for free alcohol was still on the table.

  That was all the incentive I needed.

  I supposed that Yocto’s presence, and whatever answers he had provided, had played no small role in giving the Guard the information they needed to leave me alone to finish my soup.

  For that, I was thankful.

  So, with the promise of unlimited spirits still alive and a half-finished bowl of monster tentacles waiting to be devoured, I took the first few hundred bites on the road to recovery and revenge.

  29

  “What can you tell me about the Home Guard’s visit that I missed?”

  Yocto, Kordeun, and I were at the bar.

  I figured the combination of more food plus alcohol would do restorative wonders for my injury.

  “We found enough bugs in tha bar ta repopulate a jungle,” grumbled Kordeun.

  “When we’re done here, we should sweep your home as well, Grak,” added Yocto. “Then, when your place is all clear, we can decide when to call the gnome and how we want to proceed if we get in touch.”

  “I don’t think my place will ever be clear if we all go.”

  Kordeun raised a bushy eyebrow questioningly. “How d’ya mean?”

  “We’ll all get stuck!” I laughed hard, far harder than the joke warranted. The resulting pain in my chest was merely totally debilitating as opposed to rendering me completely unconscious.

  “Are you in good enough condition to respond if we need to proceed now, Grak?” Yocto was far nicer than his evil twin; I would give him that for sure.

  “I’ll make it. They can’t hurt me much more.”

  “What d’ya think about just lettin’ tha Home Guard handle callin’ on tha gnome?”

  “And let them have all the fun?” I scoffed at such a suggestion. My scoff came with a cough, but that was no matter. I would be healed and ready for more damage soon enough.

  “I will let the Home Guard know when we engage,” added Yocto.

  “Good thinkin’, Yocto. Otherwise, with tha beatdown we’re about ta deliver, tha Guard may think tha city is under attack.”

  I was glad to see Kordeun was not going soft on me.

  After taking a blast of starfire to the chest, I was soft enough already.

  “Everything good here, Orthanq?” Before I left, I wanted to make sure my one and only potentially paying client was satisfied. Yocto had used his magic to clean up the mess our duel in the back room had created while I was regenerating.

  “I’ll feel better once I have my customers back and can serve them in safety.”

  “Let’s be off to get Orthanq his customers back!”

  Orthanq’s rictus maw opened scarily in what I knew was his monstrous equivalent of a smile.

  As we headed out of the bar, I hollered, “If you need anything, call us! We’ll come running.” At the rate we were going, I assumed we would already be running, probably from something, if Orthanq called.

  Practice makes perfect.

  30

  As we were leaving the bar, I decided that I needed to use the bathroom.

  In a city with hundreds of sentient races, finding a restroom suitable to your needs can be a definite problem.

  An orc’s needs, for example, might vary significantly from those of a gaseous heilon whose act of relieving involves the discharge of excess electrical currents. Thankfully, at least in areas of sophisticated magics, commodious accommodations are universally flexible. Assuming the species in question can fit into the space, a challenge which is generally overcome by the liberal use of space-enhancing pocket dimensions, the user is scanned before entry. The restroom then adjusts automatically to the user’s needs.

  Trying to use an out-of-order or malfunctioning restroom, however, is often an adventure worthy of the grandest sagas.

  Thankfully, Orthanq’s restroom was in working order. I was in no condition to wrangle with it.

  “Be right back! Gotta take care of business before we leave.”

  Kordeun nodded as he finished the frothing pitcher of steaming dwarven lava water he had taken to-go to tide him over until we reached my place.

  Leaving
Yocto and Kordeun by the exit door, I walked to the back of the bar, past the polished wooden chairs, booths, and tables. The lavatories were nestled against the back wall, hidden behind wooden doors that looked sturdy enough to outlast a siege. Considering what often went on inside, I appreciated their rugged design.

  “Orc,” I said solicitously, nearing the leftmost door.

  The bathroom didn’t need my help, but it wouldn’t hurt, either.

  A brief scintillating light scanned me in preparation for my arrival as I reached for the doorknob.

  I opened the door, stepped through, and was met by an unexpected second flash of light. Then the world filled with darkness.

  I opened my eyes after the surprise flash and jolting dislocation to find myself not looking down upon the usual tiled room with a mirror showing my handsome mug, a reinforced toilet capable of supporting my bulk, and a sink almost large enough to take a bath in. Instead, I found myself in some dismal dungeon with slime-covered stone walls sweating rivulets of water that did little to wash away the filth accumulated upon the floor. As I materialized, manacles snapped firmly on my wrists and ankles with an echoing finality that made me forget the joyful expectation of bowel relief.

  “Gotcha!” a squeaky voice piped triumphantly as I was fastened securely in place.

  I heard a door jerked open and then slammed shut somewhere ahead and to my right. Slippered feet rushed down a carved stone stairway angling off into the gloom above.

  What is a booby-trapped bathroom called?

  A doody-trap?

  Whatever it was called, that’s where I was.

  In but a few moments, I was about to meet my most eager, agreeable host.

  “We got you, Grak!” yelled a small robed gnome as he careened down the stairs into the room.

  I did not share his excitement.

  If I had been in his place, I would be rather disappointed.

  I was not much of a catch.

  But caught I was.

  His enthusiasm would dim as soon as his fancy glyph-covered robes began sopping up the muck slathered so gratuitously across the floor.

  “ANGST has tolerated your opposition long enough, Grak!”