Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

Their journey out West had been almost as tense as their journey to Goblin Town. Being that they were in the company of four hulking Goblins, including Rufi and Chuch, travelling through human occupied territory during the bubbling beginnings of a species war, the atmosphere was tense. To make matters worse the Wasteland was at the very other end of the city, meaning they would be travelling deep into the Landlord’s territory. All four Goblins kept their weapons unsheathed as their cab, manned by a non-descript Gnome driver, hurtled through every back alley and side street on and off the map. The windows were blacked out with heavy curtains, and every now and again Rufi would twitch them aside to see where they were. Luckily, the growing discontent and increased police presence had dulled the usual night time energy of the city and the streets were largely empty. Crossing the river had been their biggest hurdle as there were gangs of Humans patrolling every crossing. They had to backtrack twice before finding a strip of river shallow enough to drive the horses across. Once they were the human controlled West the mood darkened even more. None of the Goblins spoke. Every noise on the street made them twitch and grip their weapons tighter. The only one who didn’t seem particularly bothered was Chuch. He sat languidly back in his seat chain smoking and staring at the ceiling as if he found all of this somewhat boring.

“How much further?” One of the Goblins asked. He was young, and handsome, with a curl of dark hair and rare hazel eyes. He wore a dark blue suit and had a gleaming emerald earring.

“Can’t be much longer,” Rufi said, twitching aside the curtains again.

“If we was close you’d be able to smell it Mikkle,” the fourth Goblin said with a lopsided grin.

He was always grinning, even though the twitch of his eyes and the way he kept wiping his hands betrayed his frayed nerves. His name, as far as Nairo could tell, was Pug. He had spent the whole journey chewing Gomi leaves, which she was sure were not just the mild stimulant. Gomi leaves gave a similar buzz to a strong cup of coffee, but many youngsters in the city had found a myriad of other plant based intoxicants could be wrapped in the Gomi leaves and sucked on to release a powerful and long lasting effect. She had watched his eyes grow redder and his grin more slack the longer he rolled the thick wad of Gomi leaves from one cheek to the other.

“All I can smell is your breath, Pug! Would you give the Leaves a rest, we’re on a mission!” Mikkle growled, slapping Pug on the thigh.

“Maybe you should try some, might chill you out,” Pug said, grinning a mouth full of red and purple.

“Ughhh that shit disgusts me,” Mikkle said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “How you ever gonna find a decent woman with brown tusks?”

“Rub a couple gold coins together and women appear outta nowhere!” Pug cackled, holding his hand up for high five from Mikkle, who slapped his hand down.

“What do you even know?” Mikkle said. “Rufi you tell him?”

“I dunno, Pug makes a good point, don’t matter what colour your tusks are as long as your gold shines nowadays.” Rufi said, blowing a cloud of smoke out the side of his mouth.

“I’m not talking about your every night skirt, I’m talking good Kith! A woman that could bear your children and strangle your enemies with her bare hands,” Mikkle said passionately. “I’m talking about the kind of woman who keeps house and keeps her tusks sharp. Not some fuckin’ Koo’g’aj out on the cobbles every night, lettin’ ugly fucks like Pug have a sniff.”

Pug cackled and shrugged his thick shoulders.

“More for me then I guess!”

Nairo couldn’t help herself, she let out an almost guttural sigh and rolled her eyes so hard her world tumbled for a moment.

“Oh… scuse us miss,” Mikkle said apologetically. “Not obviously including yourself in that. You look like a nice…”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” Nairo said coldly.

“Woahhhhh!” Pug cackled, making the cab bounce in his excitement. “Be careful Mik, lady copper’s got claws!”

Mikkle eyed Nairo and didn’t respond.

“I would be careful,” Ridley said. “You’d be the second Goblin she’s taken down this week.”

“That so?”

“We can stop the cab here and you could find out,” Nairo said.

The Goblins went silent. The only sound was the wheels bouncing along the cobbles. Then they broke into gales of raucous laughter. Even Chuch joined in.

“I like you, Sarge!” Chuch cackled, wiping tears from his eyes.

The only one not laughing was Mikkle, whose lip curled with fury.

“Oh c’mon, relax Mik.” Rufi said, slapping his shoulder. “She’s a copper, ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

“Copper or not…” Mikkle growled, leaving the threat unsaid.

Nairo glared hotly back at him, unwilling to back down, despite feeling the bite of fear at the back of her throat. She knew the only thing stopping the Goblin from snapping her neck like a chicken’s was her badge and even that was a tenuous barrier. A bang from the Gnome driver on the cab quietened the Goblins. Chuch slid back the hatch.

“We comin’ closer now,” The Gnome whispered.

The Gnome’s words were perfunctory, the smell let them know they were coming up to the infamous Wastelands. Just as the RatHoles had been an inelegant solution to the excess creatures in the city, the Wastelands had been just as utilitarian and simple a solution to the thousands of tonnes of waste Verdalia produced each year. The city had simply decided to push it all out into the murk of the forest at the edge of the city. Somewhere where the swamps were so acidic you would lose a layer of skin if you went for a swim. These small dumps, prospected and fiercely protected by entrepreneurial individuals within the city, had been leased to various sections and industries to remove their waste. In the ensuing decades these little dumps had grown and multiplied and swallowed everything around them, spilling out in every direction. The living detritus murdered fertile soil and crops, laid waste to drinking water, and made anywhere within a mile radius totally uninhabitable. But there was gold in the Wasteland. The city had to keep dumping their waste somewhere and every year as space became more of a premium, the price crept ever higher. Add to that, the veritable treasure trove of recyclable goods that were thrown away each year had made the landfills akin to gold mines. As most things are wont to do when gold and scarcity are introduced, violence and tribalism came next. The previously peaceful, and much maligned, owners of the private dumps had swollen and grown as fat and toxic as the Wasteland itself. They were greedy, and protected their land with brutality and cunning. Afterall, there were plenty of places and piles a body could simply go missing. The Wasteland’s inhabitants, a strange mix of the detritus of society and the leftovers too stupid or disgusting for even the Foundries, had become as dangerous as the mountains of trash filled with noxious gases were.

Through the window, Nairo could see looming mountains of trash, bright against the moonlight. They looked eerily like the building of the Ratholes, all tilting and at crazy angles, ready to collapse at any moment.

“Ughhh, this place reeks,” Pug said, covering his nose.

It was true, the small was eye watering. Nairo felt herself gag as she got a deep lungful of the stink.

“It’s worse than Oz,” Nairo said, covering her nose while Ridley wretched and spat out of the window.

“Don’t worry, we ain’t going in,” Rufi said, as the cab veered away from the heaps and towards a small shanty town a mile down the road.

The smell wasn’t as brutal but it was definitely still there when they finally hopped out of the cab. The shanty town was really just a crude gathering of huts that melted into the brick buildings on the outskirts of the city. Everything, from the paving to the buildings looked like they were made from rubbish thrown away by the city. As Nairo looked around, she spotted magazine covers from two years ago stitched together to make curtains to someone’s hut and in front of that a bench made from squashed together tin cans. It was quiet. Most of the huts were dark and only a few sallow skinned creatures of indiscernible origin milled around taking no note of the strange group.

“This the place?” Rufi asked Chuch who nodded.

“Good. Reckon there’s anything decent to eat round here?” Rufi asked.

A rat the size of a terrier popped out of a pile of trash, hissed at them, and then scuttled away.

“Maybe we skip dinner?” Mikkle said, pulling a face at their grimy surroundings. “I’m gonna have to burn this suit when I get home.”

“We don’t have time for dinner,” Nairo said. “Where’s De Woolf?”

“Err… somewhere round here,” Rufi said with a shrug.

“You don’t know?”

“Relax Sarge. Like I said, we’ve had tabs kept on him. Come on, let's go check in with the Heap King.”

“Who?” Nairo said.

“The Heap King runs this part of the Wastelands,” Ridley said to her as they followed the Goblins.

“Oh great, so there’s a villain in charge out here as well?”

“Not just one. There’s a few. And they’re more vicious and a lot less organised than the ones in the city.”

Nairo sighed, and then regretted it as another sharp hit of the Wastelands odour burned her lungs.

“So now we’re in the middle of the Wastelands, in the dead of night, surrounded by villainous Goblins, while a species war brews in the city. No one knows we’re here. And we’re on our way to meet some lunatic who calls himself the Heap King?”

“Yep,” Ridley said, tired but still dogged. “That’s about the sum of it.”

“Ever wonder how your life turned out like this?”

“No, but I’m starting to.”

They stopped at a large greenfelt tent set up in the middle of the shanty town. It was the biggest thing around and looked only marginally cleaner than everything else. At the mouth of the tent a door had been nailed into the fabric of the tent.

“Mik,” Rufi said, indicating the door.

Mikkle looked at the grubby, peeling, door and then turned to Pug.

“Knock on the door, Pug.”

“Why me?”

“Coz you’re the youngest so you have to do as you’re told.”

“Chuch is younger than me!”

“So tell him to knock then.”

Pug turned, looked at the heavily shadowed, yet still calmly maniacal face of Chuch, cursed and then banged on the door with his elbow. After a few seconds a small flap snapped open and a pair of yellowing eyes peered at them.

“Ooos dat?”

“Here to see the King,” Rufi replied.

“Ooo you?”

“Tell him his green friends from across the river are here.”

The flap snapped shut. After a minute of standing around, they heard the bolt of the door slide back. Automatically, Chuch stepped in front of Rufi and Pug closed the gap between him and Mikkle. The door creaked open and a small bleary eyed Gnome looked up at them. He was wearing what looked to be an old potato sack with arm and leg holes cut out of them. He carried a small trident that was actually just a stick with a cutlery set tied on it. One of the prongs to his trident looked like a dessert spoon. He motioned for them to follow. Rufi stepped out from behind his Kith and patted them on the shoulders.

“You lot wait out here,” he instructed. “The King’s a little jumpy.”

“We’re coming in,” Nairo said.

“Yeah corse, you look harmless enough,” Rufi said.

Ridley and Nairo followed behind him into the tent. There was a roaring fire in the middle with more, grubby, litter garbed creatures of every description dancing and gyrating round the flames. Heavy metal drums rang out an intoxicating melody accompanied by screaming and laughter and smells that were so pungent and ferocious in their mixing that Nairo’s head swam. She looked left and right to get her bearings but there was too much movement, too many flickering shapes and bodies. She put her head down and followed behind Rufi, who strode as confidently through this scene as he had his own Hall in Goblin Town.

Behind the roaring flame sat a monolithic Troll on a throne made of literal garbage. Piled up sacks of refuse held up a throne made of a dozen different kinds of alloys and metals. He was so filthy that Nairo couldn’t discern his original colouring, instead he had the same yellowy-brown-greenishness of everything else within the tent. He was naked to the waist, his body was covered in grizzly scars and patterns of criss crossing burns. He had a leering, almost toothless grin, and the lid of a tin can as an eye patch, strapped on with string. A golden crown leaned listlessly off the side of his head. However, on closer inspection, the crown too was made of some sort of thin, beaten metal. The Heap King was a fitting name for the Troll.

“Ruf’gar!” The Heap King boomed. “You honour my hall!”

“The honour’s all mine,” Rufi said with only the smallest nod of his head.

“Come feast with us! We have dried swamp trout and the rat is particularly good this season!” He gestured towards the roaring fire and only now did Nairo realise, with gut churning horror, that one of the competing smells was sizzling rats the size of cats.

“I just ate before I came down,” Rufi said smoothly, not missing a beat.

“Doesn’t smell half bad though,” Ridley muttered from beside her.

“Don’t, I’ll be sick,” Nairo groaned.

“Might improve the decor a bit if you were.”

“Then come let us drink to our great unity!” The Heap King roared and his minions screeched and gabbled in everything but Forreste.

“What’s wrong with them?” Nairo said to Ridley, not worried about being overheard in the din.

“They’re off their faces,” Ridley said. “High as kites.”

Now Nairo looked again; she definitely felt the manic energy and the wild exuberance of intoxicants. And not just alcohol, but the really good stuff.

“Burn?”

“Morphers. Slash. Slugs. Anything in between. Can’t imagine you would be too picky if you lived out here.”

The Heap King gestured for drinks to be poured. Rufi walked up to him and talked quietly in his ear, the Heap King listened intently, nodding his head as if he were taking instruction. When Rufi was done, he patted him on the shoulder and looked at Nairo and Ridley, nodding his head to the back exit of the tent. Gratefully, they hurried out of the madness and back out into the cool night. Outside the tent there were a few small tables and crates set up as chairs. Rufi picked the sturdiest crate and eased his bulk down, gesturing for them to sit as well.

“What the hell was that?” Ridley said, flapping his coat out and sitting down in one smooth motion.

“That is the Heap King,” Rufi said, lighting a smoke. “Nutty as squirrel shit but he does good business.”

A woman limped towards their table with a bottle of wine and three cups. Nairo glanced at her and then did a double take. Her limp was caused by a leg so twisted that her foot faced backwards. She had a livid scar through her lip that exposed her yellowing teeth and eyes so dead they barely flickered with human recognition.

Rufi took the tray from her with only the faintest sign of disgust. Nairo didn’t like that. You couldn’t trust a creature that could control their face that well. It meant they had too much practice at lying.

Rufi peeled the wax off the bottle top and stabbed the cork with his thumb nail before twisting it out with a soft pop. He looked down at the cracked and stained glasses, pulled a face, and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“We don’t have time for a drink,” Nairo said to him impatiently.

“Yeah, I’m usually partial, but Sarge has got a point,” Ridley said. “Remember what Uncle said? Species wars? City exploding? Streets running red with blood and fire?”

Rufi took another swig, burped, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before offering Ridley the bottle.

“Relax. His Highness is tracking De Woolf down right now.”

“I thought you knew where he was?” Nairo said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know the exact shithole he is hiding in.” Rufi grinned at her again. “King’s been keeping tabs on him, we’ll have his location in about… one bottle’s time.”

He proffered the bottle again and this time Ridley took it with a shrug. He swigged the bottle and pulled a face.

“Not bad,” he said.

“Right? You’d be amazed what people chuck away in this city. Absolutely criminal.”

Rufi took a deep drag of his smoke and unbuttoned his top button. He stretched his neck and sighed. Ridley offered the bottle to Nairo but she shook her head so he passed it back to Rufi.

“So… explain this to me.” He took the bottle and then pointed at Ridley and Nairo. “This like a charity thing? An apprenticeship?”

“It’s an informal partnership,” Nairo said, guardedly.

“Oh yeah,” Rufi said with a broad smirk.

“Not like that.”

“The coppers needed an expert,” Ridley said.

“So they settled for you?” Rufi smirked at Ridley who grinned back. “To solve the case of the Diamond wot couldn’t be nicked?”

“You and your uncle seem to know an awful lot about this case, Mr Chaw’drak,” Nairo said.

“Mr Chaw’drak,” Rufi said, shaking his head with the bottle paused at his lips. “You know my whole life, only coppers and lawyers have called me that.”

“Would you prefer Lieutenant?” Nairo asked him and this time she saw a flash of surprise on his face. “I do my homework too.”

“Ain’t no secret I served in the army for a little bit,” Rufi said with a shrug. “But no, Rufi is just fine, Sarge. Or would you prefer Sally?”

“Sarge is fine, thank you.”

“Yes ma’am.” Rufi took another gulp of wine and handed the bottle back to Ridley.

“So, what Uncle was saying,” Ridley began. “How bad could it get?”

Rufi burped and flicked his cigarette butt away.

“Bad. Without getting to the finer points of street politics, this has been bubbling for a while now.”

“Has it?” Nairo asked. “I thought this pact between criminals was sacred?”

Rufi smirked at her.

“Always good to see what the other side does and doesn’t know.” Rufi leaned forward and lit another smoke. “The older generation keeps the peace because they all eat off of it. You see blood and guts is a young creature’s game. It’s the only way we get ahead. The older you get, the more you realise there’s power in maintaining the status quo. But the older generation, they’re not on the streets anymore Been a long time since they got their claws dirty on the cobbles. These streets are bloodier than I’ve ever seen ‘em.”

“Between Humans and Goblins?” Nairo asked.

“Between everybody and everybody. This food crisis has turned out to be a gangster's goldmine. There’s villains all over the city kicking in doors, cutting throats, breaking legs, all over a crate of crunchy apples. There's more gold and blood on these streets for your average heavy man than there’s ever been. You could become a Face around the place overnight just by boosting the right shipment.” Rufi accepted the now half empty bottle back from Ridley.

“And I expect you ain’t had a taste of that, have you?” Ridley said.

“Dunno what you’re talking about and, in fact, I resent the accusation.” Rufi took a glug. “But, regarding your earlier question Sarge, enough gold on the streets means certain creatures no longer give a fuck about an Accord made before most of ‘em were born. And there’s a lot of villains who love gold and aren’t opposed to sticking a one shot in a delivery man’s face and relieving him of his carrots and peas.”

“And all this violence means the streets are full of heavies ready to get wet,” Ridley said.

“Looking for any reason. That’s the problem with wet work, some creatures get a taste for it. They lose whatever bit of a person that stops them from willingly hurting others. Some just realise it ain’t really that big of a deal and it's a pretty easy way to get paid. Either way, streets are brimming full of fucks ready, armed, and looking to make their names legend.”

“We haven’t seen that much of a surge in violent crime,” Nairo said.

“Since when does the coppers not knowing about something mean it’s not happening?” Rufi snorted.

“That’s true,” Ridley said. “Is that why Uncle Sam’s so worried?”

“Listen, my Uncle's fought real wars!” Rufi jabbed a finger hotly at Ridley. “This little piddly street bullshit is nothing compared to what he’s done in his life. He ain’t worried. He’s just cautious. He knows battles breaking out on the streets is bad for business and bad for the civvies. That’s who Uncle Sam is worried about.”

“I know,” Ridley said, placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Good. Because if it really came down to it, those pigskinned fucks from over the bridge would have their guts opened and their hearts ripped out before the sun could rise. This city don’t belong to them anymore!”

They fell into an edged silence.

“It’ll be mayhem and death,” Rufi said quietly after composing himself. “This is why we need to find your fucking Diamond and whatever fuck stole it and is running round the city murdering creatures with it. We find him, he confesses publicly, your lot put a noose around his neck, and no one’s got cause to go to war.”

“Do they need a reason?” Ridley said sarcastically.

“‘Corse they do. You think the Landlord ain’t answerable to his people? He needed his war to be justifiable. Goblins tearing a couple young humans to pieces, splashing their guts across the cobbles, gives him plenty of reason. Now he doesn’t look like the war hungry mad bastard that he is…”

“He looks like the defender of his people,” Nairo said bitterly.

“Got it in one, Sarge.”

“Man, the streets really are political,” Ridley said with a shake of his head as he took another swig of the nearly empty bottle.

“Every creature answers to something,” Rufi said. “My Uncle always used to tell me that.” He looked wistful for a moment before his reverie was interrupted by the reappearance of the Gnome.

“They’re finished,” The Gnome croaked.

Rufi took the bottle from Ridley and downed the rest of it before flicking it over his shoulder.

“Good, I’ve had enough of smelling this place.”

“Who’s done?” Nairo asked.

Rufi grinned at them.

“Afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you, Sarge.”

“What do you mean?” Ridley asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Don’t worry you’ll see.”