5

       MRS HARDWOOD

      It was well past midwatch when I made it back to the Two Fingers. The bright, sunny Gnada morning had turned into sweaty, sullen Citadel afternoon. The roads were choked with steaming wagons and their steaming drivers. I was not in the best of tempers, still plagued by a nagging doubt, and hardly ready for the surprise I found waiting for me on my return.

      I had already let myself into the office from the corridor before I noticed someone in the reception room. Opening the adjoining door to invite them in, it being the help’s day off, I found myself taking a breath even deeper than Highbury had mustered out on the beach. If you were to think I was unused to seeing stunning women, dripping jewels and wearing the latest in high fashion, waiting in one of my rooms, well, you would be right. She unwrapped legs longer than my treasure house deficit and stood up.

      ‘You keep irregular hours, Detective Strongoak.’

      ‘The sign on the door says “waiting”, lady, but it ain’t compulsory.’

      ‘It does not seem likely to encourage custom.’

      ‘Custom tends to find me, one way or another.’

      ‘Are you going to at least invite me in?’

      ‘Lady, the place is yours.’ And it probably could be, with just one little stone from one perfectly manicured finger.

      She strode across the room like an expensive racehorse. Her hair was as black as the deepest dwarf mine, and piled up high in a topknot, with some escaping down like a mane. I was willing to bet that pulling out just one pin from the complete, carefully contrived concoction would cause a whole cascade down her back. Thoughts like that can put a fire in your grate on long winter evenings.

      ‘And how was the beach, Detective Strongoak?’

      ‘The beach was just fine.’

      ‘Is that why you brought so much of it back with you?’

      I looked down at myself. Yes, she had a point. Offering her a seat, I got myself behind the business end of the desk and tried to instil the proceedings with just a little dignity.

      ‘Look, lady, this is a lot of fun, and I’m sure we could keep it up all day, but how about you just tell me what the matter is and I’ll tell you if I can help?’

      She ignored the offer of the seat and decided to keep on prowling.

      ‘But Detective Strongoak, I was so enjoying it, and I do tend to want more of what I enjoy.’ Finally she parked a perfectly formed rear on my desk and leaned towards me. ‘You do believe that, don’t you, De-tec-tive?’

      I must admit until she said it I did not know the word had so many syllables, but she pronounced each one perfectly and each one sounded like a sin. But she didn’t know who she was dealing with; after all, I’d just had my Citadel Guards 100 strides swimming certificate updated.

      ‘Lady, I’ll be willing to believe that Princess Panaline and the Dwarf Brothers were just good friends, if you’re footing the bill. Negotiations have yet to reach that point though, so how about I peel you off my lapels and put you into a seat?’

      This I did with the maximum of grace and the minimum of bodily contact. She still seemed unwilling to get to the point. From her new vantage point she surveyed the rest of the room.

      ‘You do not decorate your offices in the height of fashion, Detective Strongoak.’

      Fashion was obviously something she knew all about. She was wearing a dark-blue dress that buttoned at the front like a man’s double-breasted jacket. The effect was disorientating. Her long elegant hands held white pixie-lace gloves. She played with them, her only trace of nervousness.

      ‘Discussing hem lines would also be fun, lady, but I have a living to make.’

      ‘And what sort of living would that be?’

      ‘It keeps the wolves from the tree and fills the occasional pipe.’

      ‘Your manner is a trifle short, Sir,’ she observed, putting her gloves upon my desk.

      ‘I’ve heard them all before, lady. So come on, why don’t you put your cards on the table as well as those gloves, which you can’t quite stop yourself fiddling with?’

      I am not quite sure why I was doing the tough-guy routine, except that maybe she was expecting it. Certainly I seemed to have passed some unseen test, because she finally got to what was on her mind.

      ‘My name is Hardwood; you may have heard of my husband.’

      The amount of emotion I revealed wouldn’t have filled a pixie’s purse. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him.’

      Who hadn’t? Hardwood was one of the wealthiest industrialists in the Citadel, a real financial wizard. He owned half the petrochemical plants that added so much to the Bay area – and the Bay itself. The word was that he bought Councillors and traded in Aldermen, being one himself.

      ‘But then again, I’ve heard of Dofu the Dragon Herder.’

      ‘I don’t think Dofu the Dragon Herder ever owned the Hardwood emerald.’

      ‘No, I don’t believe he ever did.’

      ‘Well I do, and it’s gone missing.’ She dropped her head, making her expression unreadable.

      ‘Lady, if that means “stolen”, then you should try the Citadel Guards. The Cits aren’t quite the fools they are made out to be.’ I got up out of my chair and walked round the desk. I slowly sat down on its edge in front of her.

      ‘If “missing” means something else, then I think you probably want one of the big First-Level outfits, because this sounds out of my league. Why choose me? Apart from my big brown eyes, of course.’

      Face