1. Griff
one
Griff
Griff shifted in the plush theater seat, wishing he was anywhere else. Thieves, thugs, murderers— those he could handle in his sleep. He’d had over a decade of practice dealing with such criminals, unraveling their lies and ensuring they faced judgment for their crimes.
But the Light save him from politicians…
“Truly remarkable work, Inspector.” High Chancellor Dewani beamed at him from the seat to his right. The man’s ruddy face and broad cheeks reminded Griff of a drunken rodent, which was fitting considering his general disposition.
Idly, he wondered what the High Chancellor’s aura would look like right now.
He’d donned his aura blockers before he came, grateful for the sleek silver lenses that allowed him to tune out the ambient auras of those around him.
Without them, a public place like the Siren’s Call theater would quickly become overwhelming.
Probably bright and erratic, he guessed, studying the High Chancellor. Mostly yellows and oranges. Then again, you never knew just by looking at someone what might lurk underneath. It made him especially glad for his aura blockers around his current company.
He bowed his head, maintaining the practiced neutral expression he’d mastered during his years working cases. “Thank you, High Chancellor,” he repeated for the fourth time since his arrival earlier that evening. “But as I told you before, I was only doing my duty, as any Sanjarkan inspector would.”
“Of course, of course.” The High Chancellor waved a dismissive hand.
“But duty or not, that blackmailing case sounds like a nasty bit of work. To think: a Sanjarkan merchant daring to extort over a dozen minor Khordanite nobles!” He shook his head.
“Solving that case bought us a good deal of good will from Khordan, Inspector. Access to our private booth was the least we could do to show our appreciation. Believe me, I won’t soon forget it. ”
From what he’d heard of the High Chancellor’s nighttime penchant for drinking, Griff wasn’t so sure of that. Still, he gave a polite nod.
A nearby attendant drew the High Chancellor’s attention, and Griff seized the opportunity to excuse himself. Standing, he wove his way through the small crowd gathered in the theater box.
The massive private balcony was effectively a floor all its own.
It sat in the place of honor, with a direct view down to the stage below.
Griff had to admit that the Siren’s Call was an impressive building.
Long crimson curtains draped the mahogany walls and covered the stage where tonight’s play would soon commence.
He had no idea what it was supposed to be about, nor did he much care. Plays weren’t really his area of expertise. Nevertheless, he’d known better than to refuse a direct invitation from the Pentarchy. When Sanjarka’s ruling council called, you answered.
He passed by High Merchant Teodoro, a shorter mustachioed man who pretended not to notice him. That suited Griff just fine: one less politician he had to schmooze tonight.
The inquisitive part of him couldn’t help wondering what he’d done to earn the man’s disregard. Was it simply a matter of his relatively lower status? Or could the High Merchant have had some sort of stake in the blackmailing scheme Griff had recently unmasked?
It wouldn’t surprise him—not much would after nearly fifteen years on the job. If he were a betting man, he’d wager a stack of gallants that every single one of the powerful men and women in this booth had tweaked the law a time or two to make it here.
When he spotted a tall man in a familiar uniform approaching, he snapped to attention and pressed his fist to his chest in a crisp salute. “Sir.”
“At ease, Inspector,” High Commander Pern said. His voice was gruff, his lined face locked in a perpetual scowl.
Rumors abounded at headquarters of the strict demands he placed on those under his direct command. So far, Griff’s interactions with him had remained fairly limited. But after this latest high-profile case, he had a sneaking suspicion that might be about to change.
As if to prove him right, the High Commander’s craggy face split in a fierce grin. “You did our office proud, son. They’ll be gossiping about this bust of yours in the streets for weeks. Soon, there won’t be a single soul in Derimay who hasn’t heard of Inspector Griff Denton.”
The thought of such notoriety lodged a sliver of discomfort in his chest. “That’s not why I do this, sir. I don’t care about the fame.”
“Of course not,” the High Commander said, even as his raised brow and amused eyes suggested they both knew otherwise. “Whatever your motivations, keep it up, and I expect I’ll be seeing a lot more of you in the near future.”
A part of Griff recognized that he should probably be milking this opportunity for all it was worth. Countless other inspectors and protectors he’d worked with in Sanjarka’s capital would’ve leaped at this opportunity to brush shoulders with the city’s elite and advance their careers.
Yet, he’d always despised those sorts of political games. It was one of the reasons why, even after over a decade of stellar service, it had taken him this long to be noticed.
Bowing his head, he said simply, “I’ll do my best not to let you down, sir.”
“I’m sure you will.” The High Commander’s good humor faded as he glanced past Griff after the High Merchant. His gaze narrowed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Teodoro and I have business to discuss.”
His curiosity piqued, Griff turned to watch the High Commander stalking toward the High Merchant. Now, what was that all about? Some sort of political disagreement, perhaps?
“Ah, Griffin. There you are. Come, join us.”
The familiar voice instantly put Griff on edge. Setting aside his speculation, he reluctantly turned to find High Judge Septima and High Scholar Vesalain speaking together nearby.
The High Judge was a strict-looking woman who’d forsworn the usual colorful Sanjarkan silks, opting instead for an austere black robe. He’d known her for most of his life, but she still gave him only the barest hint of a thin smile as he joined them.
His back stiffened. Try as he might, he always struggled not to feel like a young boy again in her presence. “High Judge. High Scholar.” He greeted them each with a polite bob of his head. “How may I assist you?”
The High Scholar’s thin face broke into a broad grin below her keen eyes. “Septima here was just telling me about you, but I’d love to hear from you directly. We didn’t get much of a chance to speak when you arrived.”
That was because Griff had beelined straight for his seat as swiftly as propriety had allowed. Of course, that was before the overly talkative High Chancellor had claimed the seat beside him.
“I’m afraid I’m not all that interesting,” Griff told the High Scholar. His gaze briefly flicked to the High Judge’s stern face as he wondered what she’d been saying about him. “But I’m happy to answer your questions.”
“Not that interesting?” the High Scholar chuckled.
“I find that difficult to believe. Your recent blackmail case is quite the talk of the town. To think that those merchants had been getting away with their scheme for nearly five years. Then, you came along and saw right through it. I must admit, I’m intrigued by this peculiar talent of yours.
Is it true that you can tell when someone is lying? ”
Griff had grown used to answering such questions, and he smiled politely.
“Sometimes. But a person’s aura is a fickle thing.
Everyone’s is unique, with some aspects that rarely change and some that are constantly in flux.
A certain hue or quality in one person’s aura might mean something entirely different in another’s.
Reading auras helps me intuit information, but more often than not, it’s good old-fashioned detective work that solves a case. ”
That had certainly been true of this last one.
It would have been so convenient if his aura-sight had let him unravel the mystery at a glance.
Yet it had taken weeks of stakeouts, piecing together gathered snippets of overheard conversations with recovered documents, to identify and ensnare all the main culprits.
“I see.” The High Scholar peered at his face, leaning in close enough that he felt a twinge of discomfort. “And if I’m not mistaken, those glasses you’re wearing are of Vantoric design. I’ve never seen their like before. Did you find them here in Derimay?”
It had only been a decade since the artificers of Vantor split from their sister island Astralyn in order to pursue more open trade with Sanjarka. While Vantoric relics remained rare, a handful of skilled artificers had set up shop here in the city.
A familiar regret twinged Griff’s chest as he thought of one in particular. “I did.”
High Scholar Vesalain made a contemplative sound. “From what I can see of the craftsmanship, it looks like exquisite work. Would you mind introducing me to the artificer who made them for you? I’d love to commission my own piece.”
“I can ask. But she’s no longer here in the city. She returned to Vantor four years ago.”
The High Scholar tsked, shaking her head. “Such a shame! I can’t imagine someone capable of such marvelous creations struggling for want of customers. If she encountered any issues, I’d be happy to work with her to resolve them.”
Griff’s chest constricted further. “That’s very generous of you, High Scholar. But that won’t be necessary. It wasn’t Derimay that drove her away. She used to be my wife and decided to leave after we separated.”
High Scholar Vesalain blinked, appearing taken aback. Though whether it was from his words or the matter-of-fact way he said them, he couldn’t tell. “Ah. I…see. Well, that is truly a shame.”
Griff jerked a tight nod. “We’re still in contact, though. I can pass along your information to her if you like.”
“Yes, please do.”