Detective Strongoak and the Case of the Dead Elf. Terry Newman
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already, Master Detective?’ she said, her eyes still fixed on the ocean. ‘Don’t I even get a chance to finish breakfast?’
I looked her over surreptitiously. My work did not lead me to mix with elf folk much. My clientele was mainly at the opposite end of the social spectrum. One thing I had noticed, though, was how different, and yet how very much the same they were – especially the ladies. Some had curves that would make a tree blush, but others, well, here was this tall, fair, blue-eyed lass with pipe-cleaner arms, every bit as elf-like as some twilight enchantress. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not got a fey fixation like so many of my kin, but neither am I made of stone. I’ve read all about those tricky scents they give off, but we’re all mortal. Or, rather, only some of us are, I reminded myself.
‘Right, sorry, your ladyship.’ I knocked the ball back into her half. ‘Let’s just finish breakfast, then I’ll go drown myself. It should be easy. We dwarfs swim almost as well as some elves surf.’
‘That last wave was just bad fortune,’ she cried, defensively. ‘If I had not been distracted by the sight of an overdressed dwarf, in a cheap linen suit, walking down the sands, I would never have lost my balance.’
‘Now that I object to,’ I said, butting in. ‘This suit is by Gaspar Halftoken, and was hand-cut by at least a dozen gnomes!’
She gave me the full-beam elf smile for the first time, and I felt something go fluttery inside. ‘Gaspar Halftoken! In that case, Master Dwarf, I am very sorry. It is a fine suit.’
‘And the name is Nicely,’ I said, handing her a card, ‘Nicely Strongoak.’ She took the card and examined it closely. Satisfied, she replied:
‘Well, I am Thelen, and I will answer your questions if you answer me one first.’
‘Fire away,’ I said.
‘Who are you working for?’
‘A young lady who has lost a boyfriend; I thought at first he had just ditched her, but now I am not so sure.’
She picked up a handful of sand and let it slip through her long graceful fingers. ‘This boyfriend, not Perry Goodfellow by any chance?’
‘The same. Did you know him?’
‘By sight and reputation. One of the best surfers around – had to be to win the Gnada Trophy.’
‘So it’s that prestigious?’
‘Sure.’ She shrugged. ‘Mind you, not everyone feels the need to enter competitions.’
‘Like you?’
She regarded me solemnly. ‘I know you have never surfed, Master Strongoak, so it is difficult to explain. Out there it’s just you and the big blue ocean. Total communion, total involvement. When I am on the board I feel free, like I imagine they felt in our ancestors’ times, when the world was still wide and the sky unbounded. That’s what it’s about, not trinkets.’
‘But Perry thought differently?’
‘I suppose he thought he had something to prove. He was very aware of the gulf that many say exists between the elves and the men of the Citadel.’
‘Go tell it to the gnomes, lady.’
‘Sure, but gnomes do not go surfing.’
‘Did anyone bother to invite them?’
‘Yes, an interesting point. That would really upset Highbury. Gnomes on his precious beach.’
‘And who is this Highbury?’
‘He is the self-appointed leader of the Surf Elves faction.’
‘Faction? I thought the Surf Elves were really just something invented by the tabard-shirt manufacturers.’
Thelen began picking up small pebbles and throwing them at a piece of driftwood, punctuating her speech with each direct hit. ‘Oh no, Master Dwarf, it’s about more than T-shirts. I would not grace it with the name of philosophy, let us just call it an attitude. An attitude of elfin elitism calculated to annoy most right-thinking members of the community.’
‘And it annoyed Perry?’
‘I am not really sure; as I said, I did not actually know him well. When he came to the Gnada and started surfing, I think at first perhaps he was flattered by the attention of the elves. It was obvious that he was a natural on the board. Later, when he started getting rather too accomplished for the likes of Highbury and his friends, he may have felt their displeasure.’
‘Would it have been enough for him to have quit the beach and run out on Liza, perhaps to prove himself elsewhere?’
‘See this board, Master Strongoak,’ she said, knocking our breakfast table and appearing to change the subject. ‘It is made of myrtle, a superb wood. It is wonderfully light, but extremely hard. It can be worked, but only by a craftsman, and in consequence it is very expensive and only the elves can afford them. Perry Goodfellow might have done a lot of things for one of these, but he would not have left his lady for a goldmine full of them. It was just not in his nature. And remember, he wasn’t the only one with something to prove.’
‘What, Highbury and the Surf Elves?’
‘Yes. The relationship soured on both sides. He had, after all, won the Gnada Trophy, and was, incidentally, the first man to do so. The Surf Elves like having followers, but they are not so keen on being on equal terms with mortals. And Highbury, well, let us say he has ambitions which encompass more than simply the sporting arena.’
‘You sound as if you do not altogether approve?’
She scored another direct hit on the driftwood. ‘No, I do not approve. I do not like elites, elfin or any other variety. The Surf Elves strut around with their air of superiority, and their silly blue shirts and badges, as if the whole of Widergard was arranged for their convenience. It annoys me considerably, as well as giving the rest of us a bad name. We are all in this place together, there’s no Never-Neverland left over the Big Sea, and so we had all better get on with each other. The last thing we need is a group of blue-eyed, blond egoists running around, causing racial tension and getting up people’s noses.’
I had to agree with her. I would feel the same if it was young dwarfs. Mind you, half the population of the Citadel don’t want to look like young dwarfs, but that’s their problem.
‘But this Highbury body, elf or not, he is, after all, just some kind of dune drifter, isn’t he? I don’t know what these ambitions of his may be, but at best he is just a half-baked athlete.’
‘Do not underestimate the appeal of the Surf Elves,’ Thelen responded. ‘These half-baked athletes, as you call them, have a considerable following among the younger men and women of the Citadel. They are, after all, the modern heroes in a world where heroes are thin on the ground, and have been since the times that men dismiss as myths.’
I thought about this for a bit. The elfess had a point. Since the voting age had been lowered, the Citadel youth seemed to have had an inordinate effect upon the proceedings of the place.
‘How did this Highbury take Perry’s victory?’
She laughed beautifully. It made me want to run off and become a comedian, just to perform for her and hear it every day.
‘Lord Highbury Evergleaming was absolutely furious. He had won the Gnada Trophy the previous three years and was beginning to consider it his own property. He went into the Surf Elves’ beach dwelling and did not come out for a week. It was wonderful.’
Her laughter was replaced by a look of concern. ‘And now Perry is missing and presumably the Gnada trophy with him?’
I nodded to her: ‘It seems that way.’
‘I know which one will concern the Surf Elves the most! Highbury wants that cup back on his trophy shelf. ’
Thelen got up with an ease I wish I could match. She