Stories and novellas: White-knuckled Shopping

A novella

(C) 2023 P. Molnár 
(C) 2023 Knight-Errant Studios 

 

WHITE-KNUCKLED SHOPPING

Spinerette summer was passing into autumn proper. Rain and the cold had come in just before noon. The rain had passed, the cold remained.
A figure in a buffcoat and broader-brimmed hat stood on a street in Melza, in front of Ye Olde Blade Shoppe.
It was fairly warm inside the shop, added to by the wood panneling on some of its inner walls. Display shelves or small display cases of various types hung from the walls, presenting an array of kitchen knives, eating knives and utensils, hunting and woodsman knives, soldier knives and daggers, double-edged and single-edged swords...

The door opened, the little bell above it ringing, the figure entering.
The shopkeeper, standing behind the counter, had his back turned, checking up on some of the wares.
"Good day, sir," said a feminine voice. A calm, but firm voice. The door closed.
Skaal Grahnarf, owner and shopkeeper of Ye Olde Blade Shoppe, turned around to face the customer.
"Greetings," he said in his deep, husky voice. He placed his sizable and strong hands, furry, clawed hands, on the main counter.
As his patronymic family name, -narf, indicated, Skaal was a wolverineman. A very rare sight in central Aporue, even among the various beastfolk.
Though his face betrayed no emotion, he was perhaps a bit surprised by his customer, though not startled.
The lady, a young-looking human woman of average height, wore clothing more commonly associated with men. In Melza, and most other places in Aporue, it wasn't that peculiar seeing women wearing more utilitarian clothing, including trousers and the like. Instead, Skaal was mildly surprised by the woman wearing a light-coloured, creamy-brown-to-light-green buffcoat, of the type you'd see worn by soldiers, adventurers, brigands. She had just pulled down the black (or dark-coloured) hat with a broad brim she had worn while entering. The type of hat you'd almost never see worn by a woman. She had ordinary brown hair, shoulder-length, but now tied in a bun.
The lady's face had a self-assured, calm, patient demeanour.
Skaal, like all beastpeople, had no interest in human women or any human visage at all, but he figured human men would likely find her somewhat plain-faced. Perhaps even fairly pretty, attractive, by their human standards. Who even knows, with those madcap Bigfolk. They were a strange bunch. Then again, so were the other mustelid cousins of his own wolverfolk. Nevermind the other beastfolk !
All that said, like many of his human customers, she was taller than him, what with the wolverfolk known for their stockier build, even compared to their martenfolk cousins. Strength-wise, though, any human would be in big trouble if they ever angered a wolveriman.
"May I interest you in anything, ma'am ?" Skaal asked so matter-of-factly, as to sound almost bored or disinterested.
"Yes. I'd like to look around. Maybe you can even help me. To cut to the chase, I'm looking for a small defensive weapon. I already have something specific in mind," she explained in an accent that sounded somewhat familiar to him. Not directly, but... Sounded... northern.
"I'm always pleased when a customer isn't just dithering indecisively, but has at least a rough idea of what they want to purchase," he said.
"Now that is a compliment..." a little smile formed on her face, seemingly in approval of the shopkeeper's attitude.
"My own opinion is that shopping should never be a rushed experience. Especially if you want to buy a quality tool or weapon that's intended to serve you for years and years. I don't sell inferior stuff to anyone, and I steer clear of inferior products in this little establishment of mine. I consider its good reputation key to my business success. Ye Olde Blade Shoppe is an emporium for quality wares and goods only. You'll hardly find a finer place in this entire city. Ye Olde Blade Shoppe has it all, ma'am," he smiled back. It was a non-toothy smile, but there was just the slightest hint of large canine teeth hidden behind the muzzle of his otherwise unthreatening lips.
"That was an excellent advert, sir. Almost seemlessly introduced into our conversation," she remarked.
"If I may be so bold... You're not from this area, are you, ma'am ? You're originally a foreigner, like me. Perhaps also from the north."
"Takes one to know one, I suppose," she shrugged and nodded. "Yes, I'm from a northern country. Specifically..."
"One moment," he raised a furry palm, gently, then placed it back on his other hand on the counter. "Let me guess. Judging by the accent, you don't sound like women in Metsämaa, at least not to my recollection. None of the northern nomadic tribes, whether in Metsämaa, or in the wilderness of the North. And I've heard the sort of accent you have before. Not Lokytian or Aethelian. My guess is... You're Hrímlandic. Likely with a -dautír in your patronymic."
She gave him a wide-eyed look, nodded in appreciation, chuckled.
"You're not bad at assessing your customers."
"Madam, since we're already doing all this chit-chat..."
Raising his robust, large, paw-like furry hand over the counter, he offered her a handshake.
"...I'd like to introduce myself properly. Skaal Grahnarf, Son of Grahr. I'm the owner and proprietor of this fine establishment."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Grahnarf. I'm Tóla Titavháugsdautír."
"What a mouthful, ma'am. If you don't mind, I'll stick to your given name."
"Agreed ! Yes, I'm originally from Hrímland, born and raised. But now I live here," she paused, looking around the room, at the various shelves and display cases. "Seems I've come to the right place."
"You have. Mark my words, ma'am. You'll scarcely find a better, more professional place to buy a kitchen or workplace utensil, a tool, a bladed weapon or melee weapon in this entire city, than Ye Olde Blade Shoppe. Though I didn't found this place, once I've moved to this city some years ago, and decided to stay here and do business, I took over this shop, then a struggling business, and turned it around. Many told me, Skaal, you're aiming high, the higher you aim, the harder you'll fall... I proved them wrong," he gently tapped the counter surface with his palm, as if to emphasize his honest business success. "Oh, but, apologies... I don't intend to bore you with tales of my own personal enterpreneurial endeavours. Let's do business," he explained slowly and calmly, finishing with a mysterious smile.
"Indeed."
"Hm, one more thing, ma'am. I wanted to ask earlier, but refrained from it, since you're a first time customer..." he paused.
Looking down at Tóla's belt, he nodded towards it, then pointed his claw-tipped finger in the same direction he was looking at.
Pointing to the outline of a handgun holster.
"Now, I want to ask. Before we can continue with any sort of purchase... Is this a robbery ? Do you have a permit for that gun on your belt ? I don't take people walking into Ye Olde Blade Shoppe with a firearm lightly."
She looked down at the holster, then at Skaal. Her expression grew serious, with a hint of embarassment.
"I can explain..."
"Ma'am, you'd better. Right away. I have two reasons to ask, both reasonable: One. I don't sell or buy any firearms. I'm not as opposed to their use as most of my people in their stubbornly held traditions, but I'm not an enterpreneur in that area. Second. You know very well that the Melzan government permits the carrying of firearms on the city streets, in public buildings and in most private housing only under very particular and very clearly stated conditions. So you'd better get to explaining fast, or I might be... forced to take certain measures," he explained politely, but somewhat coldly.

Tóla handed him a license card made from durable materials. He studied it carefully.
"Ahhh..." he hummed to himself with interest. "A private investigator ?" he raised his eyebrows quizzically. "I had no idea there are female private investigators in this city. I've heard about The City giving some people a private eye license, in cooperation with the City Watch's oversight, but not much about giving them a special weapon license."
"I worked as a detective back in Hrímland, for a time. Had some education and practice abroad, here on the continent, much like you, though in investigation rather than your line of work. Things ultimately developed in such a way that I decided to stay on the continent and settle down in this city. Since then, I've been doing freelance detective work in Melza. In terms of residence and work, you have a head start by a few years. And... as for... first female private eye ? From what I've heard, I might be the first ever in Melza, indeed."
"Mmhmm..."
"As you can see, my license includes the right to carry a handgun. Though purely for self-defence or defence of a nearby unarmed civilian," she took the license back from Skaal, who was handing it back. "Strictly speaking, Mr. Grahnarf, if I ever end up in a situation where I might need to use a gun, I won't - and can't - use it without a genuine reason. If I caused a shoot-out in the streets, or got into one and behaved unreasonably, I'm directly accountable to both the Lord Mayor and the Chieftain-o'-the-Watch."
"Hm. You learn something new every day."
She undid the safety strap on the leather holster, carefully pulled out her gun and held it in both hands in front of Skaal.
It was a pepperbox, with a rotating set of barrels, a very recent caplock mechanism behind it (though seemingly one converted from an earlier flintlock), a trigger, and a grip more vertical than was usual for most handguns. By Aporuean standards, it was a very "modern" pistol design. It shared some resemblance with its more recently invented and still very rare cousins, early revolvers. In a world where one-shot handguns were still the standard, this pepperbox pistol offered some serious firepower, especially at shorter distances.
"Impressive," said Skaal. "Not too much decoration, aside of a few small elements on the grip, but seems quite sturdy. Unfortunately, I'm no gunsmith, so you'll have to ask other people for an assessment. I'm guessing it's a custom design ? What's the rate of fire ?"
"I'd rather not disclose too much about it, but it's fairly fast if you have it fully loaded and unwind round after round in close succession. That said, it has the obvious problem of running out of rounds quickly if I fire it all in one go. Accuracy's fairly mediocre, but that's the thing with pepperboxes, isn't it ? Even with a high-quality one like this. I don't really need a gun for longer distances, as most of the potential shoout-outs I could get into, here in the city, and even in a rural area, would be at short to medium distances. And whether it's custom ? Yes, it is."
"Hm."
"Made by a certain Hrímlandic gunsmith from our capital, in very limited numbers. He had some ideas of his own, and also took some inspiration from abroad. Hrímland's not exactly the gunsmithing capital of Aporue, you know."
"One has to wonder what Hrímlandic bladesmiths are like," smiled Skaal.
"Maybe a bit more known outside the island," she shrugged. "As for this type of pepperbox, there were only ten or so made, at most a dozen. One of them ended up as the handgun of my father. A gift from a friend of his, who knew that particular gunsmith. My father worked for law enforcement in our capital."
"Ha, ancestral weapons... In my homeland, it'd be an axe or a sword. Sometimes a shield," opined Skaal. "You're a private investigator, so largelly following in your father's footsteps."
"Correct," she said and put the gun back in the holster, securing it safely.
"Seems the apple had not fallen far from the tree."
"I wouldn't know that from experience. There aren't many apple trees where I come from. Wood in general is a prized, cherished thing."
"Very different from the forested, abundant in wood homeland of my people. How can our wolverfolk cousins in Hrímland cope with that..."
"I'd say they manage, after all these centuries of living there, much like we humans found a way to live in that land. It's a harsh place, with its pecularities, but we don't find them all that strange. Do you know what bigfolk, dwarves and wolverfolk alike say about forests in Hrímland ?"
"What ?"
"If you get lost in a Hrímland forest, just stop crouching and stand up," she briefly giggled.
"Well, I'll be... Makes sense, though. I'm guessing even the wood used for the grip of your pepperbox was expensive material."
"It was certainly something you avoided wasting carelessly. Every good bit of wood is worthwhile. Some in Hrímland have started an effort to plant groves with local tree species. Tend to them, enlarge them over time into small forests... An effort for several generations."
"I can imagine," he nodded, and changed the topic. "You've mentioned your gun can run out of rounds fairly quickly, if you decide to fire each barrel particularly fast. I'm assuming that's why you've come to Ye Olde Blade Shoppe. You want a melee sidearm, as a backup."
"Correct again !" her voice rang with approval. "To be completely honest, as a PI, I've had a few incidents where I've realized that merely carrying a gun with me won't help me if someone decides to attack me up close. I'm no fighter, Mr. Grahnarf, but a good detective has to be prepared for self-defence every now and then. Why risk things by having inadequate equipment ?"
"Yes. So, about those goods you were looking for..."
"Right. I'm looking for a smaller, defensive melee weapon. One that's easy to conceal in a pocket or another corner of one's outer clothes, or even in footwear. Not really a bladed weapon, you understand... I was thinking more along the lines of... say, a knuckleduster."
"Ah," Skaal raised his eyebrows slightly, and did a tiny nod that might have been just as likely to be sincere or ironic. "Though I myself do not favour such sneakier, or shall we say... more thuggish weapons, I know many find them convenient for self-defence."
"Are you sure you're not a Hrímlander by birth ?", asked Tóla. "You're quite the erudite-sounding man, Mr. Grahnarf."
"Well... Thank you," he hesitated. a mild frown appearing on his face. "Why would me being polite and professional to customers single me out as a wolverineman from your island ? No, I'm not from Hrímland... miss. I'm from the North, from an area where we continue to rule ourselves. It's been a while since I've seen my relatives. At a younger age, I went south, in search of education, learning trades not common among us, eventually becoming a merchant and shopkeeper myself. And here we are today. I've been running this honest little business for a while now and it's helped me feel more secure living here in Melza."
"I see. Quite the contrast between what one usually imagines about the wolverfolk from your homeland. Please don't take offence."
"None taken."
"It's just that your people, over in the North, are quite outspoken about their traditional lifestyle. Not too fond of cities or more advanced technology."
"Believe me... my words and my behaviour, it's not an act. I'm not trying to sound intentionally... soppy-sticker-ed."
"Erm, I think you mean sophisticated," a tiny smile appeared on her lips.
"Ah, that's the word ! Yes, sophisticated. See ?," he let out a gruff-sounding chuckle. "Given that particular proper melee, I doubt I'm some... intellectual type. I just want to be an honest shopkeeper, knowledgeable about my line of work, running an honest business."
"I think you meant... malaproper. A malapropism. Not proper melee."
"Hrrrm. Yes, I suppose. Anyway, about that knuckleduster," he said and walked over to the left section of the counter, at a 90 ° degree angle.
Shifting a little switch, he opened a concealed display case, its outer wooden panel sliding away, revealing a front and top glass pane, and behind it, the small weapons in question. A small light-reflecting mirror system on the ceiling above the counter cast several cones of light onto the display case's contents. (Electric lighting, though already experimented with in some interiors and exteriors of The City, was still far too expensive to implement in even a specialist shop like Skaal's.) The light shined on a whole array of knuckledusters.

Skaal's finger was aimed at the weapons on display, behind the glass panes.
"Feel free to choose something to your liking, miss private eye," he moved his hand in a slow wiping motion above the display case. "I have specimens suitable for several possible hand sizes, and of those, for both human and beastfolk customers. As you can see, I also offer these knuckledusters in several design variations. You have these traditional, more rounded ones, as well as these with conical or angular protrusions, or even this type with an almost push dagger-like holding style and additional protrusion."
"Truth be told, Mr. Grahnarf, I'm not looking for anything overdesigned. I'll go with the ordinary, rounded outside rim design. I feel it'll be more than sufficient for my needs as a private investigator. Just the right balance between easy concealment and enough sturdiness to fight back hand-to-hand."
"I don't know much about the mental, investigative and research side of a detective's work, but as far as your knowledge of self-defence goes, ma'am, you seem to have a sober view of things."
"Thank you, Mr. Grahnarf. What a nice compliment ! I'm not one to get into scrapes. I prefer to avoid them altogether. I don't like the idea of hauling around blades, not even for self-defence. Rubs me the wrong way. But a completely ordinary knuckleduster, that I find far better-suited to my personal needs and personal tastes."
Skaal picked up one of the ordinary knuckledusters with the simple, rounded outside rim. He handed it to Tóla.
She put it on her palm, weighing it in her hand, rocking her hand slightly up and down to guess the heft.
"Would you also like to try this one ?" asked Skaal, handing her a different model, though with the same basic design.
"Don't mind if I do," she put the first one on the counter, accepted the other one, and started weighing it by hand.
"The fingers go inside the holes, just below the front striking surfaces. The dimensions of the two models I gave you are very similar. You should try out both, to see which one fits your hand better and feels more comfy. It won't do you much good if it fits your hand badly and feels akward to use in an emergency. As for the backrest bar here, you rest it comfortably against the strong end of your palm..."
"Kind of you, but I know how a knuckleduster works."
"Just reminding you of how to hold it properly, ma'am. If you ever have to pull it out for self-defence, you can't waste time."
"True."
"I've estimated the appropriate size of the holes needed for fingers the size of your's, and gave you the two models I have in stock, for human hands, and for your finger size," he explained. He held up a similarly sized model, but with visibly larger finger holes. "This one is intended for some of the beastpeoples with more substantive fingers. Including my people," he said, and demonstrated putting it on his hand. His fingers would have felt tighter and uncomfortable in a model intended for human-sized fingers. Skaal did a few imaginary punches in the air, then flicking his wrist and showing his style of holding the palm-rest of the weapon. "Clear enough ?"
"Crystal," replied Tóla, already putting on one of the two weapons, checking if she can rest the bar against her palm without it slipping.
After doing a few air punches of her own in the middle of the customer space, gradually becoming more confident, she returned to the counter. She put on the other knuckleduster, went back to the middle of the customer area, repeated her little tests, then walked back.
She weighed them in her hands one last time, then decided.
"All right," she placed one of them on the counter. "This one."
"Ma'am, I'll take the liberty in informing you we don't gift-wrap this particular range of products," Skaal looked at her with a dead-serious expression.
She smiled, shook her head and prepared her money pouch.
"That said, I'm certain you won't be disappointed. I cooperate with a few local smiths, and these are quality, high-end weapons. Not some cheap thing home-made from scrap steel," he added, and started checking the griffins she was putting on the counter.

The door bell rang again.
Tóla turned her head with interest, seemed to recognize the figure. Skaal raised his head just slightly, busy with checking the money.
"You ?" asked Tóla, with a hint of surprise.
"Ah, Mr. Púrebrú," mumbled Skaal, still focused on counting the coins.
"Hello," said the man, decently dressed in non-ostentatious clothing, but with a somewhat scruffy quality to his apperance. He had dark-coloured hair and a beard or thick stubble of equal colour. "Mr. Grahnarf, sorry to bother you, but I've brought a thing I'd like you to look at, with your expert eye."
"Just a moment, have to take care of this customer. Are you..."
"Yes, I happen to be in a bit of a hurry," said Púrebrú.
"You don't say. You always seem to be in a hurry, whenever you've visited my shop," intoned Skaal, finishing the count. "I've heard from other shopkeepers and other townsmen you're in a hurry a little too often."
"I'll wait, but don't be long," sighed Púrebrú. He was clearly trying to sound unphased and professional, but felt a bit of frustration.
"We're almost finished here," noted Tóla.
Skaal walked over to a larger mechanical machine at the centre of the counter-top. He quickly wound a crank, pulled a lever. There was a metallic, spring-loaded sound, as a metal drawer deployed itself from the bottom part of the machine.
His customers couldn't see it from their side of the room, but the machine had a mechanical readout, counting the numbers of payed coins with every numerical keystroke and flicking of a switch. The cash lockbox at the bottom of the machine was unlocked, the shopkeeper sorting the coins he was given.
"I see you're moving with the times, Mr. Grahnarf. A cashier-calc," opined Tóla. "Still rare in most shops. Wonder what your own people would think about one of their kin using a machine like this..."
"I'm hardly obsessed with novelties, ma'am," remarked Skaal while pressing numerical buttons and flicking small switches, sorting the coins in their reserved slots in the machine's lockbox. "This also isn't one of those newer attempts, powered artificially by who knows what..."
"What would you say if I told you I have some experience with not only mechanical calcs, but those... newer, more untried types... as well ?"
"She has, indeed," said Púrebrú, still standing near the entrance, his voice rather colourless.
"You two seem to know each other," said Skaal, pressing the metal drawer back into the machine, until there was an audible clicking sound. Shut tight, locked. "Hopefully not in a criminal capacity," he raised his eyes from the cashier-calc, with a somewhat glum expression. "I'm hoping this isn't a cunning set-up of some sort..."
"We've worked together before... somewhat loosely... on a case or two," Púrebrú said, with Tóla giving a nod to his words. "Just keep calm, Mr. Grahnarf. No robberies planned. I'm not desperate for your or anyone's cash. I doubt she'd be, either," concluded Púrebrú.
"Two private investigators in the same shop, at once. My shop, even..." Skaal shook his head, clearly befuddled by this occurence.
"Technically, I consider myself more of an... investigative reporter, snooper" replied Púrebrú quietly.
Skaal pulled a second, smaller lever on the side of the cashier-calc. The end of a paper roll exited a slit in the device. A subtle cutting or snipping sound heard from the inside indicated the roll had been cut off at the end. Skaal gently tore off the end of the paper roll, now hanging on only by a thread. He carefully split it in two and gave one of the pieces to Tóla.
"Oh, I didn't know some of them are capable of that. Thank you," said Tóla, taking the receipt. "Truth be told, I might have a fair bit of experience with some of the message and communication calcs available at this point, but I've never worked with a cashier-calc."
"The more you know..." smiled Skaal. He pointed his clawed, furry finger to the side levers, not far from the crank. "When I do the number keystrokes, for the individual coin values, each of the keystrokes activates a little printing mechanism that prints out the value onto a revolving roll of paper, inside the machine. Once I'm done, I pull this secondary, smaller lever here, it dispenses and cuts off the end of the paper roll, with a complete receipt. One half for me, for book-keeping, one half for the customer. Easy-peasy."
"No more fiddling with hand-written receipts, ey ?" smiled Tóla. "Does seem to be quite the time-saver."
"In my case, it's not so much about saving time, as me not wanting to waste time with hand-written notes. While it might seem otherwise, it's also not about me being insufficiently traditionalist. All this technological progress... Call it an old prejudice ingrained by my upbringing, but I'm not fond of its pace. As I've said, this cashier-calc is a purely mechanical thing. None of those bewildering, mad, experiential attempts to power a calc with... basically, lightning... like some boffins are trying now."
"I think you mean experimental, Mr. Grahnarf," Tóla said quietly.
"Ah, yes, experimental. Quite right, that's the word I'm looking for. Simply put, this metal device, as new-fangled as it is, is still a thing of simple, understandable movements. But those latest calcs they're trying out now, fueled by... well, man-made lightning... that's just not right, in my book. Gunpowder is already wild enough. Maybe its my people's upbringing, maybe our superstitions, but we shouldn't dabble in wielding lightning. Sounds more like sorcery than science to me," he grumbled a bit. "Part of the reason I don't trust the Swishtram either. Seems splendid, but... one day, that lightning will come untamed, derail the whole damned contraption, it'll fall on people's heads from the elevated tracks..."
"Hasn't fried me alive or cursed me yet," said Tóla, "but it's a very new thing, I'll grant you. I wasn't that sure about using a calc powered by that sort of force either, back when I had my first opportunity working with one. I still prefer the mechanical calcs, at least they're proven."
"Proven and reliable enough for me," said Skaal, quickly patting the cashier-calc on his counter.
Skaal turned his gaze towards Púrebrú, nodded.
"Right, Mr. Púrebrú, what is it you wanted ?"
Púrebrú, patient but somewhat annoyed, walked to the counter.
"Next time, Mr. Skaal, less idle chit-chat with customers, more promptness. It's not Restday, you know. You'd be closed on Restday, anyway."
"Don't you worry, young man... You won't lose much time..."
"I certainly hope so," replied Púrebrú with a mild bit of sarcasm.
"Púr," said Tóla, as she stepped away from the counter and moved more to the side, "It's none of my business, of course, but... Is someone after you, again ?"
Púrebrú waved his hand in a Not now, please gesture, and pulled out a small roll of cloth from an inside pocket of his coat. He placed it on the counter and unrolled it, revealing a metal object. A dagger.
"I need you to identify this dagger for me. Don't take your time, I'm in a hurry."
"One would hope a hurry that won't endanger me and my shop..." mumbled Skaal, picking up the dagger and studying it very closely.
A few moments passed.
"What do you think ?" Púrebrú interjected carefully, not wanting to distract Skaal all that much, but clearly somewhat nervous.
"I wouldn't say it's particularly out of the ordinary," said Skaal. "Seems like a typical narrowed-crossguard dagger. Fairly pointy, but quite broad, definitely not a rondel dagger or other type meant for fighting someone in full armour... I did notice a particular detail, this insignia, which..."
"Good. Could you..." Púrebrú interrupted him, but...
The door opened, bell ringing. Another customer had entered.
"Hello, Mr. Grahnarf. Hope I'm not disturbing a transaction," said the man, dressed in very nice, but tasteful and ordinary townsman clothing.
"Not at all, just assessing something for a client. I reckon you've come for those eating knives you asked for a few days ago ?"
"Yes, and the eating utensils. A present for my wife, as I've told you."
"Don't worry, I remember well. I'll attend to you in short order, sir. Apologies for this small delay," said Skaal, while still focused on the dagger held in his hands.
"Kalev ban-Evliyezar, pleased to meet you, madam," he offered Tóla a handshake, which she accepted with a smile.
Despite Púrebrú looking somewhat nervous and gloomy, his frown mellowed out and he promptly offered the new customer a handshake.
Well, Púr, brooding investigative or not, at least you seem to have good manners, thought Tóla.
"Púrebrú. Pleased to meet you," he introduced himself.
"Kalev. Pleased to meet you as well. You seem a bit familiar... Ah, likely not. I must be mistaking you for someone, sir."
"You're Irim, sir ?" asked Púrebrú, largelly out of politeness, rather than curiosity.
"Yes," nodded Kalev with a smile. "I suppose you've guessed by the name. Me and my wife are having an anniversary soon, I'm buying her a small gift. We wanted to finally buy some new cutlery for the kitchen, and I want to surprise her."
"Mhm," nodded Púrebrú.
"Don't worry Mr. Púrebrú, I'll wait. I'm in no hurry," he said.
Despite a second of suspicion, Tóla reprimanded herself mentally. No, I doubt that's who's pursuing Púrebrú. She smiled at Mr. ban-Evliyezar.
"Unfortunately, I happen to be in quite a hurry," noted Púrebrú. "Sorry to delay you, sir. I honestly didn't want to. I'm hoping Mr. Skaal will complete the assessment soon, so I could move on and he can focus on you."
For some reason, his voice had an undertone of being worried for the other two customers and the shopkeeper.
"Ah, don't trouble yourself. As I've said, no rush. And Mr. Grahnarf here isn't too fond of hurrying either, from my experience." smiled Kalev.
Púrebrú's eyes accidentally wandered over to one of Tóla's hands. He noticed she was making certain... subtle gestures.
His mind delved into his knowledge of hand signals, many different systems, acquired over many years.
What upward you too, time this ? asked Tóla.
He decided to signal back.
You have some gaps in your knowledge of signals. You mean what am I up to this time ?
He noticed a tiny frown appear on her face, the "well, I never..." sort.
If digger you that here brought socialized with crims, treble come might to us, she signalled to him.
Púrebrú quietly sighed.
If that dagger you brought here was associated with crims, trouble might come to us, he showed her the correct sequence of the signals, and briefly added, I'm hoping I won't be long. I don't want to get you three in trouble, to lure it over here. I'm leaving, shortly.
She seemed to understand, and nodded.
"Nearly done here, Mr. ban-Evliyezar," noted Skaal, putting down the magnifying glass he used to study the tiny insignia on the dagger.
"It's fine. I can wait a little longer. Good things come to those who wait," said Kalev calmly, with a solemn smile on his face.

There was an abrupt opening of the entrance door, then loud and confident footsteps... and a longer and sharper ringing of the bell.
Not one pair of footsteps... but two... three... four pairs of footsteps in total. The customers looked to the entrance door.
The door was slammed without much care of any kind.
Four men, in serviceable but somewhat shabby commoner clothing, had walked into Ye Olde Blade Shoppe.
They seemed sullen and annoyed. The oldest-looking of them, whether intentionally or not, could barely hide his simmering anger.
"Where's the dagga' ?" he looked at Púrebrú, then at Skaal. "This fella' 'ere stole a dagger from our... group. He needs to give it back," he told the shopkeeper in a tone that wasn't interested in negotiation.
"Gentlemen, this establishment is owned and overseen by me," said Skaal calmly. "If you have any sort of quarrel with any of the other customers, I'd suggest you go outside, back on the street, and sort it out there... or call the City Watch, let them help with sorting it out."
"No Watch !" barked the oldest-looking of the thugs. "What are ya tryin' ? Tell that scruffy snooper to get over here and give us back the dagga'. We won't 'urt 'im, honest," his voice was dispassionate, but he said the last few words with the emerging hint of a cruel smile.
"They're from Šruta's gang," explained Púrebrú. "I'll spare you the elaborate details, but I was making a sting at one of the gang's safehouses. I had the good fortune of sneaking in, acquiring some intel and evidence. Including the dagger I brought with me."
"So you are that investigator I heard about," muttered Kalev quietly, in apparent surprise.
"Pure Rib 'ere s'gonna be fish food in the river if he doesn't return that dagga' and come with us," bellowed the oldest thug.
"There's a more reasonable way to settle this," Tóla attempted to speak up, trying to sound as level-headed as possible.
"Shush, broad ! What's it to ya ?!" he shouted at her.
Skaal sighed. The three customers had to admit, his sigh sounded much more huskier than usual, bordering on a held-back growl.
"Enough," said the wolverineman. He took a one-handed, double-edged sword from one of the weapon shelves, then a central Aporuean sabre (most likely a Lengelian style sabre) from another shelf. He jumped over the counter. "Catch !" he threw the scabbard with the sabre to Púrebrú, who just about caught it.
"But I'm no swordsman !" said Púrebrú, confused.
For a moment, the thugs errupted into mocking laughter. Tóla looked at Púrebrú, rolled her eyes.
Kalev did an even more pronounced eyeroll and he gently slapped his palm against one side of his forehead. He waved at Púrebrú and gestured that he throw the scabbard with the sabre to him. Púrebrú was hesitating whether to give him the sabre or not.
"I used to serve in the Frontiersmen ! Just throw me that sabre and I won't disappoint," pleaded Kalev, the urgency in his voice convincing.
"Don't be a dilweed, Púr, throw it to Mr. Kalev !" ordered Skaal, his voice unusually authoritative.
The investigator finally did so.
Kalev caught the sabre scabbard effortlessly. He quickly tied and tightened the belt with the scabbard around his waist and drew the sabre. Skaal drew his one-handed, straight-bladed sword, threw its scabbard on the counter behind him.
It was only then that they realized the sword design is rather reminescent of by-now archaic designs from centuries ago, but still popular among the wolverinemen of the North. A sword blade style more archaic than the arming swords, sideswords or basket-hilted swords popular in this era of Aporue. The blade was broader, the tip not as good at thrusting. Definitely a cutting sword, even distantly echoing some of the longer-bladed swords of Aporue's antiquity.
The little daring twinkles in Skaal's eyes said it all: He was holding a style of weapon which he trained with already in boyhood. Other sword designs or hafted weapons would do just as fine, but this... this was something he wielded with the utmost confidence.
Skaal's sword was aiming forward, diagonally, ready to carry out a few cuts and flat-strikes if the four thugs tried any foolhardy ideas.
"Oh, I've heard of Šruta before. Rather pathetic and cowardly even for a crime boss, in this city" Skaal's voice rung with dismissive bemusement. "Dear vagabonds from the gang led by Šruta, let me tell you: You're not exactly Beič's boys, from his Brotherhood. And you're not the violent lowlifes from the Razor Gang either. After all my years, I find these 'nasty guy' theatrics by the Bigfolk tiresome."
"Oi, look at 'is littul upstart ! You want your clock cleaned, shortie ?!" shouted one of the younger thugs.
Despite trying to appear tough, they were clearly taken aback by the sword and sabre in Skaal's and Kalev's hands.
"The clockmaker's shop is at the other end of this street," replied Skaal in an almost bored tone. "If you were going to follow Mr. Púrebrú into a shop and try to intimidate him there, you've picked the worst possible place to walk into, in this whole city," he warned them, and briefly looked around, as if to emphasize all the melee weaponry on the shelves and in the display cases.

Tóla was uncomfortable with the whole situation. She wanted to curse under her breath that Púrebrú had gotten her, the shopkeeper and another customer into this tense situation. These thugs from Šruta's gang seemed rather amateurish, but criminals should never be underestimated.
She started to carefully undo the strap on her handgun holster, as well as start slowly putting the newly-bought knuckleduster on her other hand. She really hoped the three men... even Púrebrú... would buy her some time until she was properly ready for a fight. At least Kalev, who was closest to her, seemed to genuinely know how to wield a sword, including a sabre. She was a bit surprised Púrebrú was an even bigger amateur in this area than her.
One of the younger thugs had suddenly started walking quickly towards them. Before she could react and do something potentially ill-advised, Kalev had already intervened. He threatened a torso-level cut, which scared the thug, who stopped and seemed to be searching for an opening. Kalev abused his hesitation, did a terrifying swing towards the thug's head... but then pulled back, creating a feint... This startled the younger thug so much that he ran back, and just about missed being struck by Kalev's follow-up cut, right after the feint. Once again aimed at the torso, around the lower chest and upper abdomen area.
"Back !" warned Kalev, raising his otherwise kind and cheerful voice to levels of seriousness they hadn't heard before. "I'm a peaceful man, but I was in the Frontiersmen years ago, and I'm still good with several types of blades. If anyone of you lot doubts that, I'll stop playing around and unleash more serious moves. Trust me, sabres are excellent against unarmoured opponents," he continued, hoping to scare them.
"Indeed," Skaal raised his voice, then did a low-level growl and worry-inducing frown towards the confused mobsters. "Amateur hour's over, gents ! You either stay here with us and we teach you the hard way not to interfere in the business of this shop, or you do an about-face and leave immediately. Never to return. Clear ?"
"We ain't takin' no orders from you !" said the oldest-looking thug.
"Mr. Grahnarf," Púrebrú spoke up, "This is all my fault. I'll give them the dagger I nabbed from their gang, I'll walk away from here, they'll come with me. It isn't worth risking your shop and..."
"Mr. Púrebrú, would you kindly... shut up for a moment ?" asked Skaal.
Púr noticed the look on Tóla's face. She said nothing, but shook her head slightly, in disbelief.
He showed her a quick hand signal.
She signalled back.
We'll think outside of them if we don't eat roasted stones.
He sighed, rolled his eyes for a change, and signalled her once more.
Need to learn gestures better, is what she could understand.
She signalled back.
Listen to Skaal. No heroics. All right. A few moments later, she suddenly added, Look. His hand.
Púrebrú didn't notice Kalev doing any hand signals, so looked at Skaal's free hand.
Of course ! Him knowing certain sets of hand signals wasn't all that suprising.
I'm going to try something, he could decipher. Don't go forward, stay back. I'll need you back behind the counter. Got a surprise for them.
"Mr. Púrebrú, are you familiar with Ap-Rhisiart's Principle ?" asked Skaal, a few moments after concluding the hand signals. "Also known as Cwlwmceiliog's Principle, after Dumnonian writer Morcant Ap-Rhisiart, known under the pseudonym Cwlwmceiliog."
"Erm, not sure I've heard of him, or read any of his works," Púrebrú frowned, genuinely confused at the apparent non-sequitur.
"He's a playwright," explained Skaal, also looking at Tóla and Kalev. "I'm not the most avid reader of fiction or plays, but I once read about his and others' interesting observations on writing. I couldn't help but think of them right now..."
"Oi, stop ya yappin' 'bout books n' plays, ya furry midget," barked one of the mobsters, upset, his temper clearly rattled.
Skaal turned to face him, in an outright instant. His face bore a death glare his customers had not seen until then. He held the sword in front of him, ready to deal a potential quick cut to the nearest of the thugs.

"Bad choice of words," he growled slowly, and opening his mouth, bared his teeth. Large, threatening, canine teeth. The largest pairs of canine teeth in any thinking species of Aporue. The wolverfolk took after their animal namesakes in all departments, powerful teeth included. "Very bad choice, indeed..." reiterated Skaal in a growly voice that suddenly lacked his previous verbal sophistication.
The eyes of one of the younger mobsters widened. He made an instinctive step back. The other three glared at him, annoyed... even though one of the "brave" ones seemed to break a sweat, a tiny droplet coursing down his forehead.
"Ap-Rhisiart's Principle," continued Skaal, his eyes focused on all four of the mobsters instead of his customers, "consists of the notion that the greatest way to enhance suspense in a story is an unpredictable element of surprise. Say, someone places or installs a hidden bomb underneath a table. A table with some characters, playing cards, having dinner, whatever. The readers, or the audience at a theatre, know there is a bomb beneath the table and it'll go off. But... They don't know when it'll go off. It was already suspensful, knowing there was a bomb... It's even more suspensful having no idea when it'll go kerblam."
He winked at Púrebrú and Tóla. Both of them had an uncertain expression on their face.
Kalev opened his mouth slightly, clearly wanting to ask what Skaal is up to. Nevertheless, he composed himself and remained silent.
Tóla placed her hand in a position where she could move it slowly towards the knuckleduster. Bit by bit, moving the fingers closer to the holes in the small steel weapon, until she'd have it in her full grasp. She was also preparing herself mentally. Preparing herself to draw her gun quickly, with her other hand, if need be... She was hoping it would not come to this... Her years of experience taught her never to fall back on the use of a weapon, unless the situation was completely dire.
"Mr. Púrebrú, I'm busy right now," declared Skaal. "We should settle this whole matter without violence. Could you give me a hand with helping this quartet of gentlemen from Šruta's gang ?"
"Um... What ?!" asked Púrebrú, bewildered.
"Hey ! What are you two gettin' at ?!", shouted one of the mobsters, flustered.
Tóla had, at long last, managed to place all her fingers in the holes of her brand-new knuckleduster. It wasn't easy doing it without seeing her own hand, or doing it inconspicuously, but she finally did it. If things get wild any moment now, at least she'll be ready to help the three men in the shop with fighting off the thugs from Šruta's gang. She tightened her already firm grip on the knuckleduster.
I go shopping for a weapon, for the first time in forever, and I wind up with white-knuckled shopping, she thought, resigned.
"For once, I agree with these scumbags," said Púrebrú, his voice frustrated. "I was trying to get away from th..." he started, but suddenly paused. He was looking at Skaal's free hand. "Ah, right. I see your point, Mr. Grahnarf. A sensible point. We won't delay these fine gang members longer than need be. We should concede our position and give them what they want."
Šruta's mobsters looked confused enough for three.
"Are ya ginna giv' us 'at dagga' ?" barked the oldest-looking thug, curious and careful.
Púrebrú grabbed the counter top, jumped over to the other side of the counter, then looked under it.
"Erh, Mr. Grahnarf, did you put that dagger I nicked from them in another part of the counter ? I don't see it here.", he asked, standing up again.
It was a complete lie. Púrebrú saw it right there, on one of the inner shelves of the counter. He knew they didn't have much time to buy at this point, nor had much time left before Šruta's mobsters would start a brawl.
"You'd make a terrible shop clerk, Mr. Púr. It's on the shelf to your left. Hurry up. This is a pressing matter," groaned Skaal.
When Púrebrú emerged from behind the counter a moment ago, Púrebrú was looking closely at Skaal's hand again.
The movements were very subtle, but he recognized enough to understand the shopkeeper's orders.
It also helped he put emphasis on seemingly unimportant words like "hand" and "pressing".
"Ah, got it, Mr. Grahnarf," replied Púrebrú.
He did a seemingly random flick of the wrist towards Tóla, whose eyes had wandered over to him.
Carpet. Not forward. Get ready.
Hopefully she understood it. He saw a spark of curiosity in her eyes.
Dammit, I hope she understood, thought Púrebrú.
"One stolen dagger coming right up..." he said, leaning down to the inside of the counter.
"Enough already !!!" shouted the oldest thug and made a step towards Skaal, wanting to push him aside.
The wolverineman did a swift, skillful cut with the sword, cutting through the man's two sleeves, but not through skin.
"You northern maggot !" yelled the thug.
"Charming," growled Skaal and bared his teeth again.
One of the younger thugs jumped forward, trying to bypass Kalev and Tóla.
Tóla no longer hesitated. Her arm flew out forward, knuckleduster worn on her hand, squeezed tight. Its front made contact with the mobster's nose. There was the subtle sound of a crack. Blood started flowing from the man's nose.
"Argh, you blue-eyed b..." he shrieked, but his curse was cut short.
"Back !" yelled Kalev, waving the sabre in careful defensive cuts. He successfully forced the thug back a few steps, onto the carpet.
"You're not my type, ruffian," she snapped back, her voice calm, but dripping with bitter sarcasm.
Skaal errupted into a laugh.
"The audience doesn't know when the bomb goes off !"
"Oi, he's got a bomb in 'ere !" cried the youngest and most nervous of the thugs, clearly starting to panic.
"Fools !!! I'd never damage my goods for the sake of defending against you lot," Skaal growled at them, his patience clearly running short.
This time, it was something of an act. They should have been paying attention to his free hand, rather than his big teeth and sword hand.
Now, went Skaal's hand signal to Púrebrú.
One of the mobsters seemed to finally notice and recognize the meaning of the gesture, wanted to scream a warning...
Púrebrú proved faster.
He pressed or activated something under the counter.

Skaal sprung himself backwards, sword in hand, his free hand waving in the direction of Tóla and Kalev, signalling them to step back.
Things happened very quickly.
The entire middle section of the customer area had collapsed downward, taking the carpet lying beneath the mobsters' feet down below, along with the mobsters.
A large trap door. In the middle of the floor of the customer area.
Tóla's jaw dropped. She was staring down at the spectacle in disbelief, unable to utter a word.
Kalev touched his cheek, looking down in astonishment.
Púrebrú frowned and whistled.
Skaal carefully looked down into the square hole that had formed in the floor.
The drop was small, and the mobsters had fallen into a stone-walled cell, with a floor lined with old dusty and musty sacks and the carpet that had collapsed downward along with them. The carpet hiding the trap in the floor.

"Only the second time I've used this," Skaal looked at his customers, grinning with his canines. "Didn't feel like messying my hands with this criminal filth." He paused, placed the sword on the counter and groaned. "Pity about the carpet, though ! Gonna have to haul it upstairs again, out of that little prison cell in the basement, once the Watch's done with these poppinjays."
Kalev broke out into a hearty, almost wild laugh, and even used his free hand to slap his own tigh in amusement. Looking at Skaal, he shook his head in disbelief.
Tóla, her hands relaxed and no longer ready to draw weapons, finally spoke up.
"Huh. That sure was... something. Well played, Mr. Grahnarf, well played."
"I have to thank Mr. Púrebrú and his prompt reflexes," replied the wolverineman.
"I'm just glad my fellow customers heeded your warning and didn't stand too far from the counter," chuckled Púrebrú.
"We're not quite done here, yet," warned Skaal, pointing at the end of the trap pit closer to the shop entrance.
One of the mobsters was still holding on to the edge of the trap pit, attempting to lift himself up. He managed to just about raise one of his hands above the level of the floor, waving to someone outside. They noticed a fifth man outside the shop, standing close to the window of the entrance door. He wanted to appear as if he was just passing by and minding his own business, but...
Skaal walked over to that end of the hidden trap pit, grabbed the mobster by the arm, held his arm in a tight grip. To the customers' surprise, he started raising the mobster by the arm, pulling him away from the edge of the square-shaped pit. He looked at the mobster, then at the fifth man outside, frowned at the latter, then at the former. The mobster, though scared, was trying to wrestle his way out, attempting to strike or poke the wolverineman. Utterly futile.
"Don't worry, it's a short drop," grinned Skaal, exposing his huge wolverine canine teeth again, then letting go of the mobster. He fell, with a thud and a groan.
Cries of Ah, you moron, you landed on my shin, were heard echoing from below, as Skaal waved to Púrebrú, still behind the counter.
The investigator understood. He activated the hidden button or switch the shop owner had secretly installed under the counter.
Whatever system of weights and counterweights powered the doors, they rose up again and shut.
Skaal walked over the square section of the floor with thudding but swift steps, as if to prove the trapdoors held firm, and headed for the sword left on the counter.
"The room below has strong iron bars on its locked door. They'll hold 'em until the City Watch arrives here."
He picked up the weapon and looked at Tóla and Kalev, as if daring them to help him with something. He quickly pointed at the entrance door window.
Kalev ran to the door, opened it and carefully walked onto the street, followed by Tóla. Skaal squeezed the grip of the sword harder and headed for the entrance door.
"Wait, where are you going ?!" shouted Púrebrú, confused.
"To catch the fifth one. You stay in or near the shop, and call the Watch here," ordered Skaal, walking out after the two customers. "Help yourself to a pollaxe, if you'd need one..." he called as he left the shop.

It was early evening, nearly dusk.
"There he is !" pointed Kalev, still holding the borrowed sabre.
The fifth man they saw through the door, was walking to the other end of the street, quickening his pace. He was dressed in similar attire as the four other thugs in Šruta's service. Skaal sprung into a fast walk, quickening his pace as well. For a fairly short and tough-bodied person, he was remarkably agile.
"If you're gonna fire, don't hit us !" he shouted over his shoulder, then waved his hand forwards. Kalev joined him, running carefully, trying to keep up. Tóla understood. She noticed the two men are sticking to the right side of the street. The fifth mobster had still tried to behave naturally, to shake off suspicion, but after he quickly looked over his shoulder as well, he entered into a mild gallop.
Tóla checked the holster, the strap still undone. She grabbed the grip of her pepperbox and started sprinting behind the three men.
Dammit, at this rate, I'll be out of range, a lightning-fast thought crossed her mind. She ran as fast as she could, starting to gain on Kalev and Skaal, all the while paying close attention not to accidentally set off the pepperbox.
All right, I'll hardly have a better chance, she thought. She stopped, standing on the left side of the street, and drew her pistol. Its more polished metal parts glistened in the rays of the setting sun. Aiming down the fairly meagre sights - it wasn't much of a handgun for long distances - she pulled the trigger.
A tiny ignition, puff of smoke, the black powder propelling the lead bullet at high velocity. The set of barrels rolled over like a dial, the empty barrel's place taken by a still loaded barrel.
The running criminal jumped in place, startled by the bullet. He didn't seem harmed. She had the impression the bullet flew past and hit a wooden barrel next to one of the houses.
One, she sighed.
She aimed once more, uncertain she'll be able to hit him at all. She pulled the trigger. The barrel of the gun fired, rolled over again.
The man's hat flew off, he ducked forward, but kept running. She was originally aiming for his left shoulder.
Two, she sighed again. It was worth a shot... Literally.
Skaal and Kalev were still hot on his trail, but were nearing a crossroad of local streets. Their attempt to stop him didn't look very hopeful.
Then it happened.

A shorter man, with dark, curly hair, wearing shabbier clothing and a well-worn hat, appeared on the left side of the street, at the crossroads. He was carrying some sort of flyers or small pamphlets. He walked in front of an approaching horse cab. The cabbie, startled, brought the horses to an abrupt halt.
"What are you doing, ya lunkhead ?!" cried the angry cabbie at the unknown street seller. An elderly couple, husband and wife, peered out of the cab and complained as well, shaking their heads.
"Could I interest you in this special sale of our travel agency ? Cheap tickets for sightseeing flights with the city's private blimp airlines ! Lovely chartered sightseeing flights, fun for the whole family, and..."
"Get off the road or I'm callin' the Watch !" shouted the cabbie.
The man raised a flyer, waved it in his hand in front of the horses.
"No interest, then ?"
The fifth thug was very near the crossroads, the cab blocking his way. He swore quietly.
The four people at the cab payed him no attention.
"No !!! Get off the road !" the elderly wife shouted from the cab, to the surprise of even her husband and the cabbie. "Or I'm coming over and you'll feel my wrath !" she glared at the curly-haired vagrant.
The man, appearing genuinely polite, but also mildly drunk, put the flyer back on the pile, nodded and started stepping aside.
The cabbie gave the signal to his horses and the cab started moving again.

"Drat, they almost blocked his escape route, and now they're leaving !" growled Skaal.
He was getting tired from the run after the thug from Šruta's gang.
"Should we..." Kalev slowed down, caught some breath, then sped up again. "Should we keep pursuing ?"
"There's still a chance... Even with that... cab leaving..." Skaal answered almost absent-mindedly, sharply focused on the escaping man.

"Apologies, if you're in a hurry, sir, but can I interest you in..." the curly-haired man called out.
"Shut your hole !" cried the escaping mobster, just about slinking behind the departing cab and continuing to run onward.
"People these days... Always in a hurry..." sighed the man offering flyers. "Don't hurry, fellow citizens ! Instead, enjoy slow flights, lovely panoramas ! Blimp sightseeing flights ! Guaranteed enjoyment ! At affordable prices !" he kept hawking.

The fifth thug felt that, though he was not out of the woods yet, his getaway could still prove successful. Things were looking up...
Then, a newtman came into view, from some alleyway, or other part of the street ahead... The thug had overlooked that part.
Besides being somewhat taller than even a Bigfolk human of average height, the newtman proved an intimidating sight in an urban setting. So unlike the green and waterry parts of the countryside the newtfolk liked to frequent...
The newtman stood there in the middle of the street, didn't say a word, but kept looking at the mobster very intently. Was he planning something ? The mobster, despite putting on an unflappable facial expression, utterly focused on running away, couldn't help but slow down. He was getting nervous and fearful about what's going on.
A motorcar, still a fairly rare part of the local traffic, was approaching them. The newtman payed it no attention, despite the car approaching behind his back.
He instead looked, no, stared at the thug with his large, rather spooky eyes, with peculiar sclera. The thug was slowing down, unsettled. Then the newtman smiled. A broad, friendly, almost... goofy smile. He lifted his greenish hand with amphibian-like fingers, waved at the thug and said in a nonchalant voice:
"Where ya running to, little criminal ? Mloš will'nah hurt you. Where ya running ? Huuhmm ?" he spoke in slightly rural dialect tinged Melzish, albeit with the deep, rather lispy, slurpy accent of the newtfolk.
The car was slowing down, started honking like wild. Mloš seemed to shrug, then perhaps sigh... and then turned around to face the car. He put his hands behind his back, observing the approaching car like a bemused spectator. Suddenly, he turned and ran back, a bit closer towards the increasingly scared thug. The fleeing mobster started backing off, then turned and began reluctantly running back.
And then, to his horror, he realized what Mloš is actually doing. The newtman stopped at one particular section of the street. The exact place where the street was quite narrow. Narrow enough for a motorcar getting stuck. Mloš turned around, waving his hands, smiling at the car. The car hit the brakes, sliding a bit to the side... and blocking the narrowest part of the street, just a few paces in front of Mloš.
"Ya stupid dolt of a piss-swimmer, what are you doing in the middle of the road !" yelled the driver. The passengers in the car looked confused and nonplussed.
"Gotta dash," said Mloš, doing a shrug, then a vocal similar to a frog's ribbit. He turned around and started running towards the fifth thug. The thug, terrified, was now running towards Skaal and Kalev.
"Look, a newtman ! And he's..." Kalev was too amazed for words.
"As long as he's helping, that's great ! The thug's almost here... Kalev, you take that side, I'm taking this one."

They heard the sound of City Watch whistles. Two watchmen were now jumping over the stuck car and its crew and running after the newtman and the thug. One of the cops was carrying a light two-handed crossbow most typical of the City Watch. And wearing a belt quiver with several trick-arrowhead bolts...
Mloš no longer ran towards the thug. He looked over the shoulder at the approaching policemen, slowed down, then waved at Skaal and Kalev, as if in acknowledgement. Immediately after that, he sprinted to a small section of the street consisting of a small bridge, built over an old waterway. With a few lithe, springy jumps, he jumped off the bridge.
Splash, he disappeared under the water.
The watchman carrying the crossbow pulled a bolt out of his quiver. A cylindrical, brassy-yellow arrowhead, greenish fletching... He shot the bolt from the crossbow, at a certain angle. The bolt flew a short distance, overtaking the fleeing thug, then hitting a house facade near him, at head height. The cylindrical arrowhead immediately pumped out a tiny cloud of green-yellowy gas. Though the thug wanted to evade it, he ran right through the cloud, his head making full contact with it.
He was slowing down, his feet beginning to tremble, lose coordination, his eyes began to roll, eyelids fall down... he stumbled a few more steps, then fell into a carefully arranged pile of wicker baskets at one of the shop fronts. The shop owner ran outside, chastising the thug as a "clumsy oaf".
Skaal and Kalev kept their distance, still carefully holding their swords, watching the mobster they wanted to catch.
The watchmen approached the lying thug.
He was asleep. Alive and breathing regularly, but unconscious for a short while.

Tóla was watching them from a distance, still at the place where she had last shot from. She'd put the gun back in the holster, certain it wouldn't be of any help right now. It was up to Skaal and Kalev to catch the man, if it was at all still possible.
She was also hearing some commotion up the other end of the street, closer to the shop they left. She recognized Púrebrú from a few of the louder sentences spoken. Several pairs of feet were heard walking, raised voices filled with curiosity. The City Watch had arrived at Ye Olde Blade Shoppe. Púr will no doubt handle those matters until the three of them return.
She noticed the fifth mobster being slowed down by a cab that came to a halt, then by the shorter man who stopped the cab... The thug nearly smacked that vagrant, ran away again... Then he got fenced in by a car that got itself blocked and stuck on the street... by a newtman ?! The Watch came running, the newtman decided to scram by jumping in some water, the thug only taken down with a knockout bolt.
I think I've heard they have smaller versions of those, even for dartguns, recalled Tóla. Maybe I should buy myself a dartgun once I earn enough money for it. Might come in handy in certain situations. A pepperbox can't fire trick darts...

She heard the heavy, plodding footsteps of another person. Right behind her, approaching.
Startled, before she even finished turning, there was a gruff, sleazy-sounding male voice.
"Well, 'allo there, toots... What's a pretty-cheeked face like yours doin' here ?"
A man had emerged from the shadow of an abandoned-looking doorway. She noticed he had the same basic attire as the five other thugs.
Ah, great, she thought, annoyed.
"Who the hell are you ?" she asked calmly, probing the waters, just in case.
"Not too lone, are we ? Should I help ya ? Give you a hand ?" he asked, a smirk appearing on his face.
He pursed his lips, then did a brief kissing sound. He started grinning, she saw his rather rotting teeth.
"Really ?! Where are your manners ?" she asked, trying to sound polite, but affronted, at the same time.
Without fanfare, he pulled out a knife, holding it menacingly. Very similar to the dagger brought to Ye Olde Blade Shoppe by Púrebrú.
"I likes me some blue-eyed missies with nice cheeks, like you. I don't likes me feisty missies, the sort that make a big fuss..." his voice sounded increasingly arrogant and cold. "You and a few of ya' friends pulled a number on me' good mates and on our bossman. I don't like that in a woman."
She realized she was still wearing her knuckleduster. And her pepperbox was back in the holster, but ready for a quick-draw, if need be.
He didn't seem to notice the holster with he handgun, worn on the other side of her belt.
One surprise, coming right up, she told herself.
"Hey, hey... How about introducing yourself first, pretty boy ?" she did an ironic smirk at the sixth henchman. "Manners will get you far. It's awfully impolite to court any lady without introducing yourself first. Didn't your parents or legal guardians teach you ?"
She knew what the answer would be. This man was raised by the streets, if not criminal gangs outright.
"Look 'ere, missie," he said with barely concealed anger, the bad state of his teeth clearly visible as he opened his mouth. "They never taught me to count to more than..." he hesitated, "forty... Forty, yeah. They taught me how to handle a knife. Would be an awful shame if something happened to a little missie like you."
"I heard some Watch boys scurrying nearby, it'd be awfully unpleasant if they caught you. I'm getting the impression they're closing in."
"Not close enough to help..." he muttered odiously, "...when I'm done with ya !" he yelled at her, then charged, knife ready to stab.

Tóla drew her pepperbox quickly, concentrated on the fluidity and speed of her movement. She instinctively aimed at the torso, but in a blink of an eye, aimed downward... below his knee. A pull of the trigger.
Boom.
The assailant stumbled, tripped, fell to the ground. He fell on his freshly injured leg, screaming. The weight of his body accidentally pushed down on the same shin he was shot in just a moment ago. He screamed some more.
Three, she thought.
"Sorry about that," Tóla spoke up, her voice somewhat husky. She blew the remaining smoke from the barrel(s) and holstered the pistol.
"Arghhh, you harlot, you b..." he cried out with fury, lying on the cobblestones and pressing one of his hands against his wounded leg.
"Spare me of the swearwords, sweety !" she remarked. "I could have shot you in the gut, chest, made the most sense. The torso as the easiest target. Could have shot you in the face... Or in the knee, ooh, that would've been nasty. A cripple for life. In this case ? You'll be crippled for a while, but you'll heal from it. I hope this teaches you a lesson how to behave towards women. Armed and unarmed."
"Ya little ruddy wh..."
She took a few steps closer and pressed her shoe on the wrist of his hand that still held the dagger. Pressing on the wrist, hard.
He groaned with pain, let go of the knife. She picked it up quickly, grabbed his fallen hat, and took a few steps away from the thug.
He seemed to be trying to stand up... He propelled himself upward with his unwounded leg, wanting to slap her or punch her... and received a prompt punch in his shoulder from her other hand, enveloped on the outside with her knuckleduster. The thug collapsed back on the cobbled street, grumbling and snivelling.
"I'm not interested in any... flirting or tumbles in the hay with men who don't care for their teeth... and who murder..." Tóla said, her disgust obvious. "Here. Your hat's not rigid, press it down on your wound. It'll help a bit. The cops will be here in a short while, they'll tend to the wound. You might prefer gentler female hands, but after this intrada, you're out of luck. Though I suppose you're lucky I didn't try aiming at... your personal treasures... down there," she rattled off.
Looking over the dagger quickly, it seemed to carry the same insignia as the one nabbed by Púrebrú. Tóla sighed to herself. If nothing good comes of this whole mess, at least they've caught six of Šruta's thugs, all in a single evening. She looked towards the shop. Some members of the Watch were finally arriving. Roundsmen and a sergeant.
She raised both her hands above her head, diagonally, and called out.
"It's all right. I'm with you. And with the shopkeeper and other customers," she explained.
She pulled out the PI license and handed it to the approaching watchman. He looked it over, nodding, and handed it to the sergeant, who studied it as well.
The sergeant, shaking his head, noticed the thug lying on the cobbled street, moaning in pain as he pressed the hat down on his shin wound.
"Self-defence, then ?" the sergeant looked at Tóla.
"Regrettably, yes. Wanted to outsmart him, but he didn't exactly leave me with much time or distance. I'm a sleuth, not a gunslinger."
"Well, that makes five crooks," noted the sergeant, looking at the wounded thug.
"Six, officer," she corrected him, pointing to the two watchmen, the thug, Skaal and Kalev, all approaching from the other end of the street.
"Huh," the sergeant chuckled, surprised. "My, my, quite the catch for today. Šruta's boys will get their warm soup and bread in the slammer, as long as they cooperate and provide intel on their boss." He waved to the fellow service members at the other end of the street. "Thanks."
"Believe it or not... A local hobo and some newtman helped out with the capture," shouted one of the cops at the other end.
The sergeant frowned, perplexed, and looked at Tóla again.
Instead of an answer, she shrugged and smiled.

The two groups had walked back to the shop, leading the two apprehended thugs with them.
"Thank you for finally coming," said a relieved Púrebrú. "They wouldn't let me move away from the shop, at all. Told me I'm potentially suspicious as the gang's possible collaborator. They wanted the shopkeeper to return before they could allow me to go anywhere."
"Righto, makes sense," said Skaal and turned to the watchman. "I'll take it from here, sergeant, I personally told Mr. Púrebrú to look after the shop while we chased down that crim."
He pointed to Kalev.
"Sergeant... Mr. ban-Evliyezar here, was highly instrumental with helping in the defence of my shop, along with my other two customers. He use to work in the Frontiersmen. Service rivalry or no, I'd suggest you tell your superiors in the Watch to consider giving him a medal for civic bravery."
"Oh, Mr. Grahnarf, that's not necessary," said Kalev with a perky, flattered tone. Tóla was almost expecting the middle-aged Irim to blush.
"I'll try to let them know, speak up for your effort," promised the sergeant, offering Kalev a handshake, then giving one to Skaal as well.
They thanked him.
Púrebrú handed the sergeant the dagger he - as he creatively put it, displaced from the gang, unlawfully but in the interest of the law - with one of the roundsmen placing it in a coarse-textured evidence bag.
"Mr. Grahnarf, if it's no bother to you, I'd like to finally buy that cutlery I came for... before we were rudely interrupted..." said Kalev, his voice calm, save for just the tiniest hint of urgency.
"Right, come with me," nodded Skaal and walking into the shop, waved his hand, gesturing at him to follow. "You need to return that sabre anyway."

Evening had arrived, the streetlamps on the street with Ye Olde Blade Shoppe lighting up, either mechanically or with the help of wandering lamplighters in employ of The City. One of them was checking a lamp post for any potential needed maintenance.
The Watch cell-wagon, with small barred windows and a barred armoured door of its cell box, was already filled with five of Šruta's henchmen, sitting on the wooden benches inside. The roundsmen were holding the sixth thug, with a wounded shin, under his armpits, helping him walk (or rather, hop ungracefully) into the cell box.
"Ain't no pretty missies in the gaol you're headed for," laughed one of the guards next to the wagon door. "Should teach you a lesson of not pulling out knives on women."
They sat him down on one of the benches, jumped outside. The guard slammed the door.
Púrebrú and Tóla were standing nearby, looking at the watchmen at work.
Some of the thugs inside, resigned to their situation, glared at them from behind bars.
"Bet there's a lot of 'Just you wait, we'll get you next time !' thoughts running through their minds right now," chuckled Púrebrú. "Dream on..."
"Toodles..." Tóla did an overly sweet smile and a very girly handwave with her fingers.
The sergeant climbed onto the driver's seat, next to the driver. A shaking of the reins and they were off, the horses strolling forward, pulling the wagon slowly but surely to the nearest Watch stationhouse and its custody cells.

Kalev exited Ye Olde Blade Shoppe, now lit up with the light of indoor shrouded gas lamps. He carried an elegant roll-up bag with the new cutlery he had just bought. Skaal also went outside, closed the entrance door and walked over to the group of three customers.
"I hope they serve you and your family well," said Skaal. "The warranty included in the cutlery bag is, I hope, generous. If the cutlery would fail under usual duress and ordinary use, bring it back immediately and I'll give you a refund or replace it with a better set."
Him and Kalev exchanged a handshake.
"Thank you."
"No, thank you. I'm terribly sorry we gave you that much trouble this evening," Skaal apologised sincerely. "You were very patient, brave and willing to step up in the defence of my shop and the other customers. Let's just say I'm thinking of giving you a discount for the year ahead. If you don't mind."
"Well, I wasn't in the Frontiersmen for nothing," laughed Kalev. "Thank you, a discount is a really high-minded present. I appreciate your kindness and won't take it for granted."
He offered a handshake to Púrebrú and Tóla as well.
"Thanks, Mr. ban-Evliyezar. You're a brave fella, and a far better swordsman than I could ever hope to be," Púrebrú smiled.
"Ah, don't doubt yourself. You're not that old. You could still learn decent swordfighting skills. If you'd ever be interested, let me know, I might give you a basic course. Or at least recommend you a good swordfighting trainer, though I'd have to search around a bit. Hadn't been interested in that area for a fair few years now."
"Hm. Wasn't expecting such an offer. I'll think about it."
"Mr. ban-Evliyezar, I would particularly like to thank you for being nearby when I was uncertain in the shop. I owe you one," Tóla shook his hand gently, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone that quietly surprised even Púrebrú. "If you'll ever need any detective, investigative help, contact me," she fished out some thin, hard card from a pouch on her belt and handed it to him.
Kalev took the card, looked at it, nodded, shook her hand again.
"The pleasure is all mine. I'll speak highly of you three to my relatives, you included, ma'am," he said with appreciation. "Crack as many cases as you can.. Preferrably more than noses," he finished with a polite giggle.
Him and Skaal shared one last handshake.
"Relay my best wishes to your wife and children," went Skaal's husky-voiced wish.
"Thanks. I will. Have a nice evening, all of you," wished Kalev and went on his way.

"So, ma'am... Have you are ever heard of Markanov's Gun ?"
"Um, no. Mr. Skaal, where do you get these random trivia ? You said earlier that you're not the most voracious of readers."
"I'm not. Read about it in similar articles as those on Ap-Rhisiart's principle. Markanov's an Ursanian playwright, short story writer, that sort of thing. He had this notion that, if a gun is hanging over the mantelpiece throughout a theatre play, it might as well be used before the story concludes. Well, and you... You showed me your pistol earlier, and you did eventually use it..."
"Three shots, two misses. Learnt my lesson not to use a gun with limited range accuracy over a longer distance."
"True, true. But you fullfilled that principle, amusingly enough," Skaal opined. For a moment, he seemed to be deep in thought. "Oh, yeah, and one other thing. Are you satisfied with your new knuckleduster ?"
"My first and only knuckleduster thus far. I'd say it didn't disappoint !"
"You had a unique opportunity to try it out right away."
"Yes. Though, personally, I hope next time Mr. Púrebrú is out doing a sting, he'll refrain from encouraging criminals and gangs to do a beeline straight to the same establishment where I happen to be at a particular moment," she turned to her colleague in investigating, giving him a bit of an admonishing look.
Púrebrú groaned, sighed, and excepting a shrug, didn't bother to comment.
"All the more that we took away from your precious time." she looked back at Skaal.
"Arh, don't sweat it," replied the wolverineman. "I don't get that many customers throughout the day. Relatively few in the early evening. I'm just glad none of you got hurt, the transactions were carried out... that you customers are satisfied."
"And we even helped the City Watch catch six gang members, in a single evening," chuckled Púrebrú.
"Mr. Púrebrú... You have friends and contacts among the city's press, have you not ?" Skaal asked diplomatically.
"A few. And I occassionally contribute with penning articles on my findings, though I'm mostly out in the field," he explained.
"How about doing a bit of publicity on these Šruta-affiliated mobsters getting nabbed by the one-man staff and three paying customers at Ye Olde Blade Shoppe ?"
"I don't do promotions," frowned Púrebrú, then patted Skaal on his shoulder, and smiled. "Thanks for helping us out. Especially me, as I was on the run from those thugs."
"Don't mention it. Next time, though, please don't lure them or anyone of their ilk into my shop. It's a real hassle arranging everything with the City Watch and hauling that carpet back to the ground floor," murmured Skaal, with a winking smile.

Tóla and Púrebrú were walking down the street, accompanied by the subtle sounds of the street lamps and the hoots of owls nesting in old attics of the city's rooftops. They would soon part, but for the time being, they'd walk together, chatting.
"Ah, there's that curly-haired fellow again," Púrebrú almost sputtered into laughter. "Still at it with the flyers and everything."
"Do you know him ?"
"Do I ? Even though you've lived here for quite a while, you really don't know that many people yet... By people, I mean... 'local flavour characters'," he grinned.
"That's why I have you around," she smirked. "A local, with detailed local knowledge. You were one of my best guides in Melza during my early days here."
"Tóla giving me a compliment. This is a once in a blue moon kind of eve, indubitably..." Púr laughed, clearly pleased with his sarcasm.
"Be glad for it," Tóla joked. "Like I told that thug from Šruta's gang, I could have aimed at his... ehem..."
"All right, all right, I get your point. Just don't lose your temper and don't get too trigger-happy. For someone who likes to present herself as cool, calm and professional, you really do have a cheeky side, don't you ?"
She didn't reply, but raised a question instead, as they neared the peculiar curly-haired man.
"So who is he ? Does he have a name ?"
"He's Kľus. Just Kľus. If he has any family name, I've never heard of it. Neither has Kľus, probably. He's smart, perceptive, I'd say he has a good heart... but he's a bit... eccentric. And a rascal. Makes some of Kereloj Inger's get-rich-quick cons seem utterly amateurish."
"Oh, don't laugh at him, we're almost near him..."
"Nah, don't worry. He takes it in good humour. Might be just that phlegmatic, might be just that eccentric. Who even knows."
"Sightseeing flights ! Chartered sightseeing flights, with blimps ! Buy a ticket ! Buy a ticket ! You won't regret it ! Fun for the whole family ! Ornithopter flights planned next year !" Kľus was waving either a flyer or an oversized paper ticket, hawking some sort of powered flight offer.
"Good evening, sir," Tóla walked over to Kľus. "What is it you are promoting ?"
He seemed pleasant to her, but smelled a bit. Well, smelled more than most people in Melza, under usual circumstances. The man's body odour aside, a thought crossed her mind. She held it.
"Ah, good evening, madam. I take it you and your... boyfriend ? fiancée ? husband ? and you would be interested in..." he lifted the flyer, holding it right in front of her, "a nice sightseeing flight, provided by a private flight company, a local business here in Melza. Chartered sightseeing flight, aboard one of the company's transport blimps. At a very affordable price. and next year, they intend to add flights aboard one of those new-fangled ornithop..."
"May I ?" she grabbed the flyer or ticket, looking at him with a kind smile.
"Of course ! Thank you for your interest, madam. Study it at your own leisure. You can take the flyer with you, and that lower fourth, that can be torn off and used as a coupon... well... a ticket, really, for the sightseeing flight, which you have to pay for on entry, at the latest. You can also pay me for the flight, right here, right now, and I'll deliver your money and your ticket to the company right away. They'll verify your ticket, and all expenses will be paid by the time of the next sightseeing flight, and..."
"Whoa ! Mr. Kľus, is it ?"
"The same..." he grinned at her, his eyes full of salt-of-the-earth innocence, but... she could see a teeny-tiny little rascally spark in them.
"Mr. Kľus, I will take this flyer and think it through. I currently don't have enough money with me to pay you directly for this wonderful flying extravaganza, but if I ever decide to, I will show up and pay."
"Ah, ah... Yes. Quite right," he said, sounding polite, but vaguely disappointed. "I assure you you won't be disappointed, neither you or Mr. Púrebrú here. A good friend, or that is, perhaps, more of an acquaintance of mine, of many years..."
"Hello, Mr. Kľus," said Púrebrú, barely holding back a smile. "We thank you for your generous offer, but we're not really interested."
"Ahhh, Mr. Púrebrú," Kľus smiled, recognizing him better at a closer distance. "Like I've just said, nice to see you again. Are you sure you and the missus..."
Púrebrú frowned and did an "ix-nay" waving gesture at Kľus.
"Not what you think, no," Púr told Kľus, "Just friends and colleagues."
"Ohhh. Ma'am, I'm sorry, if only I had known..."
"Erm, that's all right, Mr. Kľus," said Tóla, somewhat frazzled.
To his surprise, she offered him a handshake.
"Oh ?" he asked.
"I saw you earlier this evening. When you stopped that cab, you helped stall that escaping criminal. Good work, sir."
"Ahhh, that... Well, glad to be of help !" Kľus was stumbling over his words, but clearly surprised and flattered at the same time.
Púrebrú also shook hands with him.
"Right. Thanks again for the offer, and especially thanks for the help, Kľus," he said. "We won't forget it."
"Glad to be of service. Sure you have not the slightest int..."
"No," smiled Tóla. She found him endearing, even if he might be a bit of a scammer and scatter-minded fantasist.
"That's a big ol' nope, my old friend," shrugged Púrebrú. "Have a nice evening. Good luck with any gullib... erm, I mean, interested people."
"Thank you ! Have a nice evening !" Kľus greeted them as they departed. He looked around for a bit and decided to have one last go at promoting his sensational offer of honest-to-the-Maker cheap sightseeing flights in the weeks ahead...
Once the duo were already quite a distance away from Kľus, Tóla spoke up, sounding confused.
"Waaaiiit... Isn't there a real local company offering blimp transport to customers ? Chartered deals and such ?"
"Yes, there is. The problem... They don't know Kľus had appropriated their logo for his flyers and "tickets"... and appointed himself their street advertiser and travel agent all in one," he chuckled.

Street by street passed by as they walked.
"You've been rather quiet since we left Mr. Eccentric..."
"It's all right, Púr. I've just been thinking. About work. The work load. Sharing it with someone."
"Phew. Was terrified there for a moment that you thought about your personal life. In truth, both of us are married to the job."
"Surest of all marriages, I suppose. Ah, that work load. Honestly, I need a partner..." Tóla started, then paused. "Dammit. That sounded stupid."
Púrebrú was already chuckling.
"Partner ? In what sense ?"
"Professional, of course," she put an emphasis on each word.
"Oh. I'm glad. You've said before you're not much into relationships... of that sort. My commiserations. I'm not looking for a relationship either. Certainly not at this point in time. The future might take a different course, but not now."
"I see."
"Admittedly, there was that one time, in the early months of our cooperation, when..."
"Oh, stop," she interjected suddenly. "Yes, it happened. But we don't talk about that... my friend."
"Don't worry. It's our little secret. Not something I'd share with anyone. I was lonely, you were lonely. We're still young. It can happen."
"Knowing you, you're just itching to tell some crass joke about me getting to know the local matters, and you foreign ones," she sighed.
"After knowing you these last few years, Tóla, you've always struck me as a rather picky person," he chuckled. "You won't settle for any old interhuman relationships. Whether personal or professional."
"Perhaps," she said quietly. "Regarding men, there's simply certain things I seek in men that are not ten-a-griffin, as you Cittans say. Oh, and don't flatter yourself. You're not bad, but... I prefer different sets of qualities in men. That's all."
"Fine by me. Not blaming you. As long as we can always be good occassional co-workers, I don't have an issue."
"The fact of the matter is, I think you're a rather brilliant investigator, Púr. You are. But you're also a wild card, or as they say in the army... or is it the Watch... a bit of a loose cannon."
"Funny. I often find it a compliment," he smirked. "A loose cannon. Doesn't play by the rules. Stubborn and gets out of trouble..."
"...or into it..."
"...with last-moment ploys. Yeah, that's me," he concluded with a chuckle.
"I just hope you don't overdo it one day. Bravery is one thing, pushing one's luck another. You do seem to have a knack for getting out of absurdly disadvantageous situations, with your wits alone..." she opined.
"See ? Maybe you could learn from me in that department," he said, trying to keep her cheerful. "Look, even with all the risk-taking, I also prefer to be responsible, sensible... Know when to retreat. Know when to fold 'em. I think being careful and patient can get you far."
"I'll say..." she nodded. "With all that said, Púr, though you've helped me with one or two cases in the past, I can't rely on you to be my regular co-worker. I just can't, with a good conscience. I'll need to search for someone more willing to accompany me on my case-solving."
"Eh, you'll find someone sooner or later. I dunno, this might be more of a rival, but... Have you heard of that Klužič-Sibius fellow ?"
"That Trinitian aristocrat ? Isn't he a bit of a womanizer ? Er, no thanks..."
"There's all sorts of hearsay about him. Though, apparently, a true detective genius. One that could have even us two completely stumped."
"I've said you're brilliant, Púr, not a genius," she giggled.
"Ah, the Hrímlandic Frost Queen of the North lightening up again," he smirked. "Dekseriu, or whatever his name is, might be a detective genius, unlike us. He's also a lot better off. Family inheritance or just having moneybag patrons ? You be the judge... Never worked with him, not yet. Maybe he's not the type to share an investigation. Be mindful of that if you ever find him on a case you're interested in too."
"I will. Never worked with the guy. I just like my lone private-eyeing," she pondered.
"Same here, though I don't know if I'd call myself a detective... in the conventional sense."
"That's you all right, ever the hardest-to-define fella in the room. Or at least you think that about yourself," she remarked.
He felt her placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Still two streets left to go before we part ways tonight, T. What's the matter ?"
She looked him in the eyes, placed her hands on his shoulders gently.
"Look, Púr, you're brilliant, you're a bit of a doofuss, and I'm glad you're my friend. That... one thing between us ages ago... notwithstanding... You're like a brother to me. If I have any sort of... family in this city, I suppose, it's you. Then a few other people I know or trust."
"You never know, T., we might have earned a new pal today, in that Skaal fella."
"Yes, we might have. Let's hope so. Still, you're one of the people that really made me feel welcome here. Accepted. Not alienated. I'll always appreciate that. Just... Don't get into foolish approaches one time too many. Thrillseeking won't help either of us, if we get too cocky. I might have handled that thug today... Next time... I might not be that lucky."
"True enough. I'll be careful. Come on, we have those two streets left to go, then I'll head to the nearest Swishtram stop," he started walking.
"I don't use the Swishtram that often. Is the stop nearby ?" she asked, as she followed him.
"Yeah, the platform's not far from the spot we'll separate at," he noted, and after a few moments, asked, "Sure you're fine going alone back to your place ?"
"I still have three rounds left in the pepperbox. Gave a steel punch to two thugs this evening. I think I can handle it," she smiled.
"Righto. Good point," he laughed and offered her a smile. He never told her explicitly, but he was glad to have her among his friends.

Púrebrú walked up the metal stairs to the Swishtram platform.
There was only an elderly man there, modestly dressed, sitting quietly on the decoratively shaped bench.
Púrebrú nodded to greet him. The old man nodded back.
"Young man," he seemed to summon the courage to address him. "Apologies, if I may be so bold, but could you spare a copper griffin ?"
Púrebrú sighed, and though he was mindful of his surroundings, he pulled a few coppers from his money pouch.
"Here," he said, handing them to the unknown man. "But please, sir, use them wisely. Don't misspend them on pointless things."
"My dear young man, kind man, I will spend them on soup and a little bread."
Púrebrú nodded.
"Are you taking the Swishtram as well ?"
"Now I am. I am taking it to a nearby quarter. My legs aren't as swift as they used to be. Would have trouble walking there. I'm visiting my granddaughter."
"Oh. I wish you a pleasant visit."
"Thank you. Lately, I've been having trouble with my previous lodgings, but she and a few other relatives have promised to take me in."
"Well, I hope it all turns for the better."
"I think it already has. They didn't know I've recently been having trouble walking to their quarter. Wasn't sure who I could send with a message. Barely got up here to the platform... Now you've helped me."
"Oh, just a few copper griffins... Hardly worth mentioning," Púrebrú waved his hand dismissively.
"It might not seem like much, but you could have easily distrusted me. We're alone on this platform, the Swishtram's not yet here, I don't even know you, nor do you know..." he mustered up a bashful elderly smile "...me."
"The name's unimportant. Even in a city as often troubled as this, I'm not that distrustful of people. Part of why I do what I do, in the work that I do, is because I like the people of this city, The City itself... But also the countryside, all the neighbouring countries around us. Not to sound full of myself, but I do care. If I can help at least a bit, I try to help. Even though I know I might not achieve much."
"You're quite a sensible young man, yes..." the old man nodded.
"Here," he took his little notebook with paper pages, he took a pencil, and wrote something on an empty page. "You can get in touch with me here. Not where I live, I don't have the safest line of work, but... you can get in touch."
"May I add something to it ?" asked the old man, his hand reaching for the pencil. Púrebrú allowed him to write in another part of the page. He tore out the part written by the older man, kept it to himself, then tore out the part written by himself and gave it to the man.
"Thank you. If you ever need company, ever need a good person in your life, when you feel you're truly lonely, visit this address." explained the old man.
"Where is that ?"
"It's where my granddaughter lives. She's a good soul, but she is quite lonely at times. Says she'd like to find a close friend."
Púrebrú was completely flummoxed by the address and the man's suggestion. Rather than protest, he decided to quietly accept it.
"Thank you."
"We helped each other."
Soon, the Swishtram arrived to the platform, headlights shining fairly bright for such a novel vehicle, its brake system mostly automated. It came to a halt, doors slowly opening, sliding aside. Púrebrú helped the old man walk into the car.
"Do you know what I saw this evening, sir ? A newtman, some Mloš or whatever his name was, helping thwart an escaping criminal. For whatever reason. Not quite what you'd expect, based on the reputation of the newtfolk."
He helped the elderly man sit down on the bench. It had a very similar, almost identical design to the benches at the platform. An ornate metal frame, light but sturdy, a blend of organic natural motifs and cold, rational, industrial ones, forming all sorts of mostly abstract shapes. The surface of the benches was wooden, in a mildly curving manner that ensured safe seating. A thinner layer of upholstery offered some additional, if mild, seating comfort. Once he was sure the man is sitting well, Púrebrú sat down on the same bench.
"We are all the Maker's children, young man. We humans might seem just as odd to those ol' peculiar Nixies, as they seem to us..."
The mechanical innards of the sign display on the ceiling of the car came alive, flipping the sign to a new one. Next stop...
With a new hissing, the doors slid back into place, locking themselves shut.
There was a feeling of movement. The Swishtram departed the platform and soon sped up.
Púrebrú looked up at the faint electric lighting of the car. It was likely one of the few vehicles in Melza that had something so novel.

The old man had disembarked fairly early, at the platform in the city quarter he had spoken about. He walked down the stairs carefully, then continued through the lamp-lit streets. As he assured, his grandddaughter lives just a few streets away. Púrebrú noticed some locals boarding the other cars of the Swishtram, but no one entered his. Luckily, no one suspicious either... As paranoid as he liked to be, he felt the meeting with the old man was quite heartening.
The doors shut again, the Swishtram resumed movement. In the adjacent car, a mother was singing a nursery rhyme to a laughing toddler. A Permon miner and a friend of his, either a merchant or industrialist, were chatting quietly in another part of that car.
He even noticed a Rarach conductor, sitting behind the small window at the end of that car's main room, in the front cabin of the car. The Swishtram was almost completely automated, the conductors were there mainly to pay attention, resolve emergency situations, or deal with issues among passengers.
Feeling a bit bored, he looked outside the window, gazing at the panorama of the city. Dotted by all manner of lights, Melza was delving into the dark at the end of the day, night fully setting in. Crime was no doubt getting more active as well, the various individuals and groups of the criminal underworld being figurative nocturnal creatures. Easier to do burglaries, heists, whathaveyou with few light sources around, people being asleep, only a select few running night shifts...
As the Swishtram was passing by some nearby buildings with steep roofs, with pointy decorative turrets and added little spires, he noticed something. Out of the corner of his eye... He looked to the spot again. Either that's a statue, or someone in a cloak and hood is standing on one of those little roof spires. It was hard to tell, given the movement, but there was the tiniest hint of an elongated mouth and nose. Not a human. Martenfolk, maybe ? What's he doing up there ?
As if to answer, the figure moved its arms, hinting at holding something in the shape of a bow. An arrow flew out, pulling a... rope ?
Huh...
They were now out of view, the Swishtram leaving the brief, somewhat strange sight behind. Not long after, his mind was busy with completely different thoughts.
Púr was a little uncertain if he should continue the ride, add a bit more money to the fare machine. Based on his memory of the Swishtram schedule, this evening hours service could soon take him beyond the city's walls, out into the short countryside section of the line... then to Enemarp.
The spa town of the barony. A quiet, laidback place. Besides the fancier accomodation, they did have some cheap lodgings there as well. Maybe he should continue on, all the way to Enemarp ? Spend a few days and nights there ? Just to throw off the scent of those pesky mobsters from Šruta's gang. Or other crims and shady people in The City he had upset over the years, with his investigative work and snooping around. Throw off the scent, return in a few days...
Spinerette summer was fading. Spending what remains of it in the spa town and returning home for the early autumn sounded... good.

----​

♫ In the touch of the morning / The City awakens / The shadows are fading / The shadows are fading ♫

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Copyright

(C) 2023 P. Molnár 
(C) 2023 Knight-Errant Studios 

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Story notes

In central Europe, the Saint Nicholas tradition involves him giving well-behaving children presents in their shoes, put out on or under windowsills.

"Spinerette summer" is this setting's equivalent to the real world English term "Indian summer" (or to use one of my mother tongues' term, babie leto). The reason it's named after a spinerette is due to many spider species spinning their silky spider webs or extending their spider silk threads over longer distances, between higher objects. Figuratively, they're hard at work on their natural spinerettes.

Yes, the character of Skaal in this story, as well as his Ye Olde Blade Shoppe, are a reference to Skallagrim and his Ye Olde Blade Shoppe series of comedy sketches.

There are not that many wolverfolk characters in Melza, as the city lies outside of their typical homelands, but from time to time, you get certain expats like Skaal. Though starting as more of a humorous allussion, the Scandinavian-esque name of this character made it all the easier to make him a rare wolverineman in the city. Any future stories he appears in will mostly deal with him examining or assessing blades that Tóla might not be familiar with during her investigation work.

As for Tóla... well, this short story is her introduction as well. She's not the only private eye in the city, nor even the only foreign-born one... but the only known female private investigator in contemporary Melza. As mentioned, she's foreign to the city. She spent most of her earlier years in her native Hrímland, and is still getting used to her new home in Melza. A more recent arrival than Skaal, she had previously worked, studied and lived in other countries of Aporue, but decided to settle down in Melza, for whatever reason. Maybe a metropolis of its size offers ample opportunities for detective work ? It might be part of the motivation. Tóla runs a tiny detective agency from a small office, with exactly one employee, herself.

This is also the introductory story for Púrebrú, one of the three prominent private investigators in the city. While Tóla's the private eye, and the yet unseen Dekseriu Klužič-Sibius is a bored rich amateur detective, Púrebrú is the (wannabe) dashing investigative, that rolls together the perspective of a detective, muckraking journalist and part-time adventurer.

Finally, the story also features Kľus, who'll be a frequent recurring character in many stories. Kľus is a somewhat scruffier and legally shadier, but endearing fantasy cousin to real world 'local flavour figures', such as the late Ignác Lamár (1897-1967) in Pressburg/Bratislava. We'll eventually also come across crime bosses like Šruta, or the even more infamous Bimir Beič, in certain future stories. Whereas, somewhat contrary to the old saying, there is some sense of honour among Melza's thieves, the various mobsters in the city are a different matter altogether...

Hrímland ("Frostland") is an island country and equivalent to real world Iceland (self-explanatory), far to the northeast of the Aporue continent. It was settled relatively late, by people who shared some distant ancestry with the Lokytians and Karantians. The Hrímlander locals are mostly bigfolk or smallfolk humans, but there's also a sizable minority of wolverfolk settlers. Over time, the Hrímlanders grew somewhat culturally, economically and linguistically distinct from the people on the continent and on nearby archipelagos. The human languages of Hrímland have a more archaic feel, based on older dialects no longer spoken on the Aporuean continent, and even the Hrímland wolverfolk speak in a dialect that is now distinct from their relatives in northern mainland Aporue.

Some of the countries of Northern Aporue have preserved the naming convention of not having distinct family names, only patronymics. This occurs both in human languages, such as Hrímlandic, and in the language and dialects of the wolverfolk, whether of the continent or of Hrímland. A male or female suffix is added to the father's given name, and that forms the patronymic, indicating patrilineal descent from a particular person. Like the overwhelming majority of second female names (patronymics) in Hrímland, Tóla's patronymic has a -dautír ("-daughter") suffix, comparable to the real world use of -dóttir in real world patronymics of Icelandic women. Hrímlandic men would instead have a -son suffix instead. The wolverineman shopkeeper, Mr. Grahnarf, also technically doesn't have a real family name, just a patronymic. The -narf suffix means "-son" and the suffix -núar means "-daughter" in Wolvertongue, the language of the wolverfolk and Skaal's mother tongue. I don't know if Skaal has a sister, but if he had, she'd bear the second name Grahnúar, "daughter of Grahr", as the father of Skaal and Skaal's hypothetical daughter was named Grahr.

Similarly, but from a wholly different cultural context, ban-Evliyezar is a patronymic surname comparable to real world Hebrew (and Jewish) ben-Eliezer, and similar examples. Kalev's given name is even in actual Hebrew, the very oldest form of Caleb or Kaleb in more recent Hebrew and in languages that loaned the name.

You might think "Ah, a marten's teeth aren't that big and menacing, and a wolverine is just a bigger, buffer marten, it's quite cute and goofy, actually, so the wolverinemen of your setting no doubt don't have overly big canines and...", oh my. Oh my, indeed ! Imagine these not as part of a wolverine, but part of shorter-in-height wolverine humanoid. Any of the human criminals threatening Skaal at his shop are in for a creepy surprise.

Skaal's sword is indeed an early medieval style sword, specifically the iteration of swords we know from Scandinavia and northern Europe of that period. Less broader crossguard, fits a single hand tightly, far more cutting-focused than a thruster. Almost like a an ancient spatha, but medieval. Used primarily in tandem with a roundshield. The wolverfolk living in the North of Aporue, largelly unaffected by human societies, states and their tech advancements, are still living a mostly traditional lifestyle that hasn't changed in centuries. In turn, the Lengelian sabre borrowed to Kalev during the confrontation at the shop and on the street is essentially an early modern era Polish sabre (szabla) or a Hungarian sabre of the same era (they're very closely related). A very sturdy, versatile and deadly curved sword of central Europe (and a successor to more heavier sabres of the late Middle Ages), the central Aporue equivalent is of course Lengelian, since Lengelia is this world's equivalent to Poland. Kalev's feint of pretending a cut towards the head, fooling an adversary, but quickly pulling back and striking with the sabre at the adversary's torso, is actually a very common feint in Polish sabre fencing. Don't doubt that Kalev would have experience in swordfighting circles, given the real world presence of Jewish people in late-medieval and early modern era fencing and brawling sources and fencing societies (e.g. here, here and here).

I like to think of Tóla's pepperbox as something akin to this fictional design. (The style of the grip a bit of a nod to Deckard's gun from Blade Runner - a steampunk cousin, if you will.) As Tóla had noted, it was a very rare, limited edition type from her homeland, and something she inherited from her father who worked in the police force of Hrímland's capital. A one-of-a-kind thing in Melza, much like her presence. LIke all pepperboxes, it's hardly a long-range accurate weapon, but it's also quite fearsome as a detective's sidearm (especially to people who aren't much used to multiple-shot firearms).

By knuckleduster, I am, of course, referring to this. Wouldn't fly in most modern day countries of the real world, for good reason, and as Skaal notes, it's more of a favourite of criminals, given the concealability. So a private investigator buying one for hand-to-hand self-defence makes sense, but it essentially choosing a simple weapon used by many in the criminal underground... to fight off people from the local criminal underground.

The reason Tóla wears a buffcoat as an investigator is for practical reasons related to the weather and to self-defence. And also totally not a thinly-veiled excuse by me to give her a more "period-appropriate" equivalent to wearing a trenchcoat, like many classic noir detectives.

The specialised arrowheads already made an appearance in the older Saint Nicholas style story involving Ravan and Mürtli (where they mostly used the liquid-carrying version, to extinguish flame-based light sources). If you remember clearly, Ravan even had a knockout gas arrow with him, but luckily didn't have to use. Now you saw it in action, with the policeman using a crossbow bolt version to knock out the fleeing henchman from Šruta's gang from a distance. What bullets didn't accomplish, a non-lethal bolt did. The colours of the special arrowheads and colours of their associated fletching are intentionally consistent, to make it clear which arrow or bolt does what, especially when the person shooting is in a hurry. As Tóla's thoughts noted at one point, there are also small dart versions of these, built for clockwork dartguns or for one-handed pistol crossbows. And near the end of the story, that unknown... thief, probably, seen from the Swishtram, had shot an arrow carrying a rope. More about those in future stories...

The "cashier-calc" device is, of course, what we in our world would recognize as a cash register. Specifically, it's a 19th century style cash register, one of the earliest types. They try what they can, with the mechanical technology available to them, to make it fairly sophisticated (Skaal's shop has one of the more recent types), but it's still absolutely nowhere near even our 20th century mechanical cash registers. The "cash lockbox" drawer of the device is simply the same as a storage drawer of a cash register, for the collected coins and paper money, just with a different name. The purely mechanical number readouts on the cashier-calc feature the numbers used in the Archontic alphabet, not our real world Latin alphabet / Arabic numbers.

For lighting, Skaal's weapon emporium only has small mechanical mirrors (for illuminating some goods in display cases) and, for the evening hours, indoor gas lamps (e.g like this example). Electricity is already known in Aporue, but it's still a very new area of research. It's been tried, in limited amounts, for powering light sources, powering modified mechanical calcs already present in the setting (yes, Tóla has some rare experience with those), and even propelling some land vehicles (by onboard early batteries or by current brought in through a third rail), but it definitely isn't widespread yet. This is a world completely devoid of electronics as we understand them, but it's been making slow, shy steps towards harnessing electricity.

Melza already has some electricity generation and some smaller-scale electrical networks, in a bit of forward-thinking investment, but these cover only a very small fraction of The City and its infrastructure. Emphasizes the city's great deal of contrasts between the very old and the very new. The biggest of these contrasts is the Swishtram, a successful public train project in Melza, a bit of an engineering marvel even by Aporue standards. A mostly elevated urban railway, it was designed and overseen by a talented local engineer who originally wanted to power it with steam. When that proved insufficient, the elderly engineer despaired the whole project would be useless, but then recent breakthroughs in electricity generation made it possible to power the Swishtram's cars more efficiently. The engineer lived long enough to see the railway reworked for electricity and commence operations. The Swishtram's been working ever since, carrying paying commuters, and even getting slightly expanded in a few places. (Given Melza's central European undertones, the Swishtram is a bit of a loose nod of mine to real world things, like Budapest, a city no one would expect, being the second in world history to build and have an underground railway, after London.)

There are some companies and individual owners of airships in Melza, airships of varying size. The transport company that Mr. Kľus claimed to represent operates four smaller blimps, namely the Stargazer, North Star, Eclipse and Canopy of the Heavens.

The eating knives that Kalev ordered and came to pick up and pay for before the mobsters disrupted the evening at Skaal's shop were knives in the vein of these designs. Simply, second millennium European knives used mainly for dining at a table (at home or a feast), some of them also usable as kitchen knives for lighter food preparation work. The fancier designs are, of course, meant mainly for dining, particularly on special occassions. The various cultures in central Aporue are already starting to use some early eating forks, but the eating knife is still one of the main eating utensils in addition to the spoon. This is comparable to the dining trends emergent by the 17th century, so it's no wonder similar developments are going on in the society and culture of this world's Aporue as well. There is also combination cutlery for table dining - once again, based on some real world examples from the 16th and 17th century - but it's quite rare compared to usual cutlery. Such combination cutlery, e.g. incorporating elements of a fork and spoon (usually at opposite ends), tends to be favoured mainly by adventurers, members of science expeditions or treasure hunters headed to distant lands.

"Ap-Rhisiart's Principle" (a.k.a. Cwlwmceiliog's Principle) and "Markanov's / Markanoff's Gun" are, as you might suspect, this world's fictional riffs on the real world ideas of "Hitchcock's rule of suspense, the bomb under the table" and "Chekhov's Gun". The real world surname Hitchcock is actually a mangling of "son of Richard". Dumnonia speaks a fictional language depicted as real world Welsh, and to render such a surname in Welsh, it would be ap Rhisiart ("of Richard", "son/daughter of Richard"). That fictional playwright's pseudonym, Cwlwmceiliog, translated literally from Welsh, means "Hitch-cockerel" (cwlwm, "hitch", "hitch-knot", ceiliog, "cockerel", "rooster"). Similarly, Russian writer and playwright Anton Pavlovich Chekhov's surname translates to "of a Czech" or "of Czechia", so the Ursanian writer and playwright Markanov has a surname based on Markania, this fictional world's equivalent of historical Bohemia / Czechia.

This story was a more action-y piece, but one of the things I always focus on in these (and other) stories is that I try not to overdo it with the action or what the characters are capable of, given local conditions, the level of technology, and their current state. The characters, regardless of their skillfulness, are not superheroes, so you'll never see them doing incredible feats. The slower and steadier you go, the farther you'll get, goes an old saying in my country. Given that this is a grounded fantasy world, and I'm focused on the mundane experiences, worries and challenges of the various inhabitants, I've always felt all of the action should be relatively believable, characters vulnerable, even a simple for-real fight being potentially dangerous. You should feel the constant risk of any characters getting into scrapes.

You'll also notice that plenty of the characters, whether it's the shopkeeper, the watchmen, or even a private detective like Tóla, are trying to apprehend the criminals, rather than gleefully killing. Tóla's license doesn't permit her to get into shoot-outs willy-nilly anyway, so both for ethical reasons and legal reasons, she was forced to shoot that one thug in the leg, rather than go for the more obvious and safer-to-hit option of the torso. If he had serious internal injuries, he could have potentially died. (They don't have awful medicine and healthcare in this world, but it's nowhere near as advanced as today's. Things are riskier.) Shooting him in the lower leg, while a painful wound, is something that will heal over time (unlike a serious knee injury, without contemporary-level surgery) and is fully survivable.

Púrebrú's name is read like "poor-eh-broo" or "poor-eh-brew". The abbreviated nickname is self-explanatory. Tóla's name includes a long o, pronounced like the "-oo-" in the word "door".

The little cameo roles in this story were Mloš Rutač, the newtman who helped thwart the thug's escape, and... who do you think stood on that rooftop, hidden mostly in shadows, before leaving ? Let's just say our old martenfolk pal Ravan Hrámer was channeling his inner Batman again...

What about the song at the end of the story ? It's the ending theme from the late 2000s detective series Mesto tieňov ("The City of Shadows"), heard at the end of each episode. The series has a rather moody, noir undertone, so an atmospheric song with equally atmospheric lyrics was hardly a surprise. Given the content of the song lyrics, I think it also fits as a musical conclusion of this story, with Púrebrú riding into the autumn night on the Swishtram, as the City sleeps and awaits the eventual sunrise and morning. (See also the title card of this very thread, with the silhouette of Melza's panorama bathed in the light of early morning.) Here's the song lyrics and their translation:

Mesto tieňov ending theme lyrics by: Mirka Brezovská
Mesto tieňov ending theme performed by: Lucia Siposová

Dlhá noc
berie dych,
v dave duší
ospalých.

Máš čo máš,
zemská tiaž,
zvádza,
už sa prepadáš.

Výhra, pád,
kolkýkrát,
znova skúšaš
rovno stáť.

Málo síl, rieky slov,
ustáť chceš sám
pred sebou.

Dvíhaš zrak,
dvíhaš tvár,
stíchol dážď
a v diaľke svitá.

Kým vchádza deň,
ty dýchaš s ním,
kráčaš ránom
nesmelým.

Chorus:
V tom prvom
dychu
znova vstávaš,
už tiene miznú.

V dotyku rána
mesto vstáva,
už tiene miznú,
už tiene miznú...

V tom tichu neba,
Ty vstáváš,
Tiene miznú...

Už miznú z Teba.
Tiene zmiznú...

----

A long night
Too tired to breathe
In the crowd
Of sleepy souls

You have what you have
The earth's pull
Tempting you
You're collapsing beneath

Victory, a fall
How many a time
You try again to
Stand on your feet

Little strength
Rivers of words
You want to endure
Before your very self

You lift your sight
You lift your face
The rain has gone still
And in the distance the dawn

While the day enters
you breathe along with it
You walk through
The shy morning

Chorus:
In that first
Breath
You get up again
The shadows are fading

In the touch of the morning
The city awakens
The shadows are fading
The shadows are fading...

In that stillness of the sky
You get up
The shadows are fading...

They are fading from You
The shadows fade away...



I will leave the character of the elderly man at the Swishtram stop up to the readers' interpretation.