In the Belly of the Whale by Michael Flynn

Author:Michael Flynn [Flynn, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CAEZIK SF & Fantasy
Published: 2024-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

16CONFRONTATIONS

The tripartite oath—In Pass’ Christine—Battle at Hanging Bridge

Buxie found a wayhouse farther down the pass’way and offered to buy a beer for Two. But the blackbird led him aft through a longitudinal, then a manlift two decks down. “Less likely,” he said, “we run into anyone who knows us.” In response to Bùxiè’s quizzical look, he added, “I taken it from the trouble you gone to that you want to talk ‘down in the orlop.’ If so, just remember that I took the tripartite oath.”

Bùxiè nodded. “To the Ship, to Ship’s Security—”

“—and to our Client.”

“In that order, I’ve been told.” Two made no reply to this but tilted his head in interest.

“So, what be on your mind, Chief Inspector? Naught ordinary would warrant the pains you taken.”

Bùxiè paused while the beermaidle set two thick steins of lager before them. The wayhouse called itself The Dorfschenk and evidently intended to imitate an ancient stem ethnos, although Bùxiè was unsure which it was supposed to be. He took a sip of the lager and found it passable. “Were you working for Lord Helix when his wife was murdered?”

Two considered his answer. “Straight to the point—but what point? That’s old news and out of your jurisdiction. They recycled the man who did it. Like they say, ‘Lid closed, monkey dead.’ But no, that was before my time. What be your interest?”

“I’m not entirely sure. There was something in Lord Helix’s demeanor at my Woman’s funeral: a disconnect between his words and his expression. It was as if he did not really mean what he said.”

Two shrugged. “No mystery. Lord Helix has trouble expressing emotion.”

In other words, thought Bùxiè, he’s faking it. “Tell me,” he said, “does he often speak in past tense or passive voice?” When Two scowled, Bùxiè prompted him. “Come, brother, surely public behavior does not fall under client confidentiality.”

Two finished his lager and set the stein down. “Tain’t that, but the oddity of the question. Can’t say I ever noticed.”

“Have you ever seen him lose it?”

“You mean flip his lid? Get angry? Maybe that does fall under client confidentiality.”

Bùxiè finished his own lager and dabbed his lips with the napkin. He took a shot in the dark. “I’ve heard that he gets angry when his meals are not prepared to his taste.”

“Oh, that. I hadn’t thought that incident generally known.”

Bùxiè cocked his head. “Which one?” Pretending a wider knowledge often elicited a narrower response.

“A couple of dekadays past, he fired his cook, but I can’t say he ‘flipped his lid.’ It was more like he was coldly furious.”

“Dekaday?”

“Sorry. Metric time. One dekaday is just over a week, standard time.”

“Do you know the cook’s name?”

“You are a curious fellow, Chief Inspector.”

“It goes with the job. But none of this is Chief Inspector business. I’m just your old brother-in-arms, Bùxiè.”

Two visibly relaxed at that and said, “Cook was Yufreni Dox. I don’t know her contact particulars.”

“Thank you.” Bùxiè rose and extended his hand. Two looked at it a moment, then shook it, although he remained seated.

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