The Doktor's Spyglass

Chapter 7.2

Krizner got him sorted, handing him back his pistol with a smirk. "Might be time to start carrying something a little larger."

"It's all that fit under my dinner jacket," said Thijis. He checked the chambers and slipped the revolver into its shoulder harness. The state of the dinner jacket in question was a sorry one: the grosgrain lapels were stained with his own blood and a layer of dust and grime, apparently collected while unconscious, marred the beautiful midnight blue wool of the coat's body and tails. "I ought to send Tolvaj a bill, damn him." Krizner grunted.

"Get in line," he said.

"No love lost there, I see," said Thijis, though of course he already knew that. Krizner's eagerness to release him smacked of good old-fashioned police in-fighting, and it was unlikely that a dark-skinned Inspector got many chances to stick it to the head of Special Investigations. He excused himself a moment to go to the precinct's water closet, which had even less charm than he might have imagined, and transferred Helg's key to the more secure inside pocket of his coat.

Before leaving he turned on the flow of tepid water from the squeaking faucet and threw some on his face. The polished steel mirror above the basin was scratched and rather dull, but he could still see the spreading blotch of black that crept over the lower part of his face. He thought he might have the beginnings of a black eye, as well.

Fucking Tolvaj.

* * *

Krizner, as it turned out, had downplayed Helg's escape quite a bit. A skinny constable with a wet-behind-the-ears look to him was just now sweeping up the mess of shattered glass on the cobblestones. The light of Firstsun glimmered in wavy orange off of the uneven shards.

"So let me get this straight," said Thijis, probing absently at the mass of painful tissue at the back of his scalp. "You were holding him in an unsecured room on the second floor, and you left him alone long enough to wake up, orient himself, and defenestrate himself, most likely in that order?"

Krizner grunted. "All the cells were full. And he didn't look like he was about to go running off. Besides, they wanted him taken care of. Tolvaj left his own man on the door." Krizner's brown face was deadpan, his smooth, unlined skin as relaxed as a babe's.

"Ahh," murmured Thijis. "I'm beginning to see now. And how did this intrepid Special pass the time whilst guarding the slumbering Doktor Helg?"

Krizner shrugged. "Might be he fell asleep. Might be Helg got the jump on him—crazy's as good as muscles, sometimes. Might be a couple of constables were having a grand old time playing cards downstairs and our young Special got distracted. I don't ask questions. Questions are dangerous." A small smile, now.

"I'm impressed, Oskar," said Thijis, reminding himself never to cross Krizner if he could help it. All joking aside, an agile brain hid within his big skull, and when he put it to use it was wise to step carefully. "Tolvaj gets the credit, but he gets the blame too. Nicely done."

"It's not just that. Lot of bodies in that basement. Lot of local kids. Likely I know some of them. And I don't like these Kalan Park bastards coming in here and mucking things up. Hard enough to keep order around here as it is, without intrigue and high graft." Kalan Park was a bulb of grassy turf outside of the sheriff's central station, at the low end of the long mall that ran through Oridos' center of government. It served as both eponym and epithet for Oridosi law enforcement, more often spat than spoken.