"Chapter 2: Death Hides a Tale" by Ian Plumb

Chapter 2: Death Hides a Tale

Celedur, Mayor of the city of Macon, walked into The Golden Trout Club -- the cities' most exclusive club. Membership was restricted not by rule, not even by noblesse, but by that strictest of formalities -- association. As Celedur walked in the door he was welcomed by the maitre d'hotel, Guillaume, whose knowledge of the rules of etiquette was the stuff of legend.

"Monsieur Mayor it is a pleasure to see you. The city is abuzz with the news of the financial coup you have managed to arrange with the Dwarven Clan in Roche Grande. I take it today's small entertainment is to thank those of your associates who made your will manifest in this matter?"

Celedur smiled. Guillaume spent his days amongst the members of the club. The Patriciate Maconais -- as the old families were occasionally dubbed -- that formed the vast bulk of the Club's membership were not the type to ever actually do anything themselves. Guillaume though was an astute man, and Celedur knew he was well informed on many levels.

"Indeed Guillaume you have the right of it. Capitaine Rana and our mutual friends that will be joining us today have done Macon a great service over the last month. A great service. It is only fitting that they should be my guests for lunch here at the Club."

Guillaume showed Celedur through to a cosy inglenook. Drawing the heavy curtains aside he ushered Celedur within. The fireplace was well alight and filled the almost-room with a cheery warmth. A dining table with eight chairs had been laid with a silver service. Between the table and the curtained wall there was just enough room for staff to perform their duties. A glass of his favourite red awaited him near the head of the table.

"Will the Chancellor be joining you today, Monsieur Mayor?"

"No Guillaume not today."

As he said this Guillaume moved Celedur's glass to the head of the table. "Will that be all Monsieur Mayor?", he asked.

"Indeed Guillaume that is all. Ah, a moment -- Monsieur Dwarf will be joining us. If you would be so kind as to prepare ale for him?"

There was the smallest intake of breath from Guillaume to show his displeasure. "May I assume that Monsieur Dwarf will be on his best behaviour today -- particularly with the other members and their guests?"

"You have my assurance Guillaume that Monsieur Dwarf will keep his comments -- and his eyes -- to himself." Guillaume bowed and left.

Celedur sat and sipped his wine. It was a full-bodied, aged red. "One of life's simple -- if expensive -- pleasures.", he thought to himself.

His colleagues arrived by ones and twos over the next twenty minutes or so. Urendox the Purple Dwarf, Celedur's right-hand "man". A lecherous drunk as far as most were concerned. A highly skilled assassin to those few in the know. Rana the Black Elf, Capitaine of the North Gate Guard, whose forces controlled the North Gate tower and barracks complex and were paid for by the city burghers themselves. Charlotte, Queen of Cats, the local girl made good -- from burglar to adjutant of the Capitaine of the North Gate Guard. The four of them -- Urendox, Rana, Charlotte, and himself -- were part of the Players of Cartélan, a fraternity created by the Chancellor Cornelius du Jaffe in the distant past, well before he became Chancellor of the Realm.

When they were all assembled Celedur spoke. "First, if I may, a toast. To absent Players -- may they rest peacefully in Charlia's arms." Everyone drank at the ritual tribute.

Urendox was the first to speak, "So, now that we've thawed out from the trip to Roche Grande and the bank's coffers are filled to overflowing -- what draws us together in this fine establishment. You mentioned you had something for us when you met us at the North Gate. I take it that it hasn't gone away in the time since then?" Urendox gazed fixedly at Celedur while holding his tankard somewhat reverentially (after all, Stumpy's Head ale was due a measure of respect).

Celedur set his glass down. "We all know that the fierce blizzard that chased you out of Roche Grande and harassed you back almost to the city gates was fueled by the magic of the Enemy. While it's fierceness was spent on you the weather duly changed here in Macon and here we are dealing with four feet of snow. Snow here is a rarity. Yes, it can be bitterly cold and it sleets and rains in winter -- but snow? It is unexpected. Pipes burst, roofs collapse, sewers freeze and block.

"It is this last that turned up something interesting -- in a decidedly unpleasant way. One of the main sewers that empties from the Ille de la Citie into the river blocked soon after the snows started. This was a public health issue and so the government sent a team of dwarves in to clear out the blockage. Nothing unusual there. Sadly the blockage wasn't caused by ice -- there was a body in the sewer. A well dressed somebody met a sticky end. At this time the body has yet to be identified -- odd in the circumstances as the man's wealth is obvious.

"I need to know who this man was and why he was slain. But in the meantime -- enjoy the meal and tell me all about the journey to Roche Grande."

Note: For explanations regarding the world in which this story is set, it's peoples and language please take a look at The Encyclopaedia of Everything located in my library.