Shadows of Valderia: An Urban Fantasy Detective Noir

Nairo followed Ridley out of the lifter. They had made it to the cavernous main entrance to the Houses proper. It was much quieter here and even less welcoming than the kitchens. No one menaced them with cooking utensils, but everywhere she felt the menacing gaze of men with hard eyes, dark coats, and suspicious sneers. No one stood alone. The foyer was populated by huddled groups of tense men having muttered conversations, glancing periodically over their shoulders. Hands were firmly shoved in pockets and Nairo didn’t need her copper senses to know they were gripping weapons.

“Come on, blend in,” Ridley hissed.

He pushed the trolley with confidence but kept his gaze decidedly low. Nairo followed suit and tried her hardest to straighten out her sodden, and now battleworn, uniform. To their right was a large sweeping staircase with eight burly men casually loitering around and to their left, by the entrance, was a different group of men similarly loitering. Nairo noticed that there seemed to be agreed lines of territory, as every group held their particular portion of the foyer, eyeing movement with naked suspicion.

“We need to find the other lifter,” Nairo whispered to Ridley.

“Should be just the other side of the Foyer,” Ridley replied.

Nairo scanned around and began to see more telltale signs of tribal warfare that plagued these halls. Every pane of glass seemed to be cracked or boarded up. There were crude etchings, some crossed out, on the clerk’s desks of what she assumed were party sigils. Plant pots lay broken and swept into the corners of the room and there was a particularly grim streak of dried blood leading round the back of the clerk’s desk like a body had been dragged. She caught sight of another trolley across the foyer and she tugged on the front of their one, directing Ridley across the open floor. They hurried past one of the groups of loitering men. The man closest to them turned to watch them. His face was a gruesome series of puckering scars, made no less ugly by the feral snarl of naked suspicion on his swollen lips.. Nairo felt the hard eyes of the group fall on them. She kept her gaze stuck firmly to the tiled floor in front of her.

“Morning, nice day for it,” Ridley said congenially as he caught the eye of a tall man with a thick ginger moustache.

“Is it?” he growled menacingly.

Ridley just nodded and pushed the trolley faster. They popped around the corner and found themselves in a plush corridor with thick mauve carpet and purple velvet walls. All the way down the corridor were golden gilt framed paintings of various old politicians. The clothing changed with the eras, but the same cold sneer of superiority haunted every frame. Ridley pulled the trolley up behind another pair of servers who were lined up in front of them. One of the servers turned back and looked at them curiously.

“You two new?”

“Naa mate, she is but I’ve been here for yonks. Name’s Clarence, but my pals call me Bill.” Ridley smiled, the lie dripping from his tongue with natural flair.

“Oh right,” the server nodded and then a puzzled look crossed his face. “Why do they call you Bill?”

“Dunno.” Ridley said with the toothy smile of a simpleton. “Beats being called Clarence though.”

The two servers laughed and then looked at Nairo.

“Poor time to be starting here,” one of them said to her.

“Yeah, it’s mental!” his companion laughed.

“I’ve… noticed,” Nairo answered politely.

“Well, we’ve heard before lunch it’s gonna absolutely kick off,” the first server said as the lifter grille shot open.

“Yeah, keep your heads down and find an empty closet if you can!”

“And watch out for the cannons!” The grille slammed shut and they were left with the disembodied laughter of the servers.

“Cannons?”

Nairo shrugged.

“Politicians.” Ridley spat the word like the filthiest slur he could think of.

“We need to get this done and get out of here sharpish. The longer we’re here, the more chance we have of getting caught.”

“Dunno about you, but I’d love to see the Cap’n’s face if he could see us now,” Ridley said grinning wolfishly.

Nairo’s face fell at the mention of the Cap’n. His betrayal still stung like a peeling scab. She was saved by the ping of the lifter. The grille shot open and Ridley pushed their dented trolley inside. Nairo looked curiously at the Pixie attendant, he was identical to the previous attendant.

“Where to?” the Pixie asked with the same dull, affectionless, tone.

“Third floor,” Ridley answered.

The Pixie turned and pulled the lever and then stared dead ahead at the wall in front of it.

“What’s your name?” Nairo tentatively asked.

She received no response.

“How long have you worked here?”

Again, nothing.

Nairo opened her mouth but Ridley waved a hand to stop her.

“Don’t act suspicious, remember?” he hissed at her.

Nairo shut her mouth and the lifter came to a juddering halt.

“Third floor.”

As they exited the lifter into yet another bruise coloured corridor they found their way blocked by a small tubby man sitting at a ramshackle little booth. He looked like a normal, beaten down and weathered civil servant, if it wasn’t for the helmet he wore and the billy club propped up next to him.

“Good morning,” he said with a bored expression. “Sign ‘ere ‘ere ‘ere and ‘ere.” He slid a paper in front of them with some densely scrawled information that was full of acronyms and number codes and at the bottom was a list, almost as long as the original document, of amendments and corrections.

Without missing a beat Ridley bent down and accepted the pen.

“Wait… shouldn’t we read it first,” Nairo asked.

Ridley snorted and rolled his eyes at the civil servant.

“She’s new.”

“Ahh right,” the man said, smirking.

“Here you are squire,” Ridley said as he handed back the pen.

“Lovely. Here’s your entry ticket, your licence to carry produce, your licence to deliver within the Houses and your declaration that any remuneration you receive outside of your basic income will be surrendered to the Treasury department for repatriation into City coffers etc.” He handed them a stack of papers and then peered suspiciously down the corridor at the sound of a banging door. “Keep your ‘eads on a swivel today… this is only the calm before…” he trailed off with an auspicious glance down the hallway.

Nairo fought to keep her face neutral despite the dozen or so questions that were brimming in her.

“Cheers bud… you wouldn’t happen to know where the loo is round ‘ere would you?” Ridley asked as he stuffed the paperwork in his pocket.

“Down the hall…” began the civil servant. “Aah… wait. That got condemned last night. Something bout a pipe bomb in the stall. Shot a humper up to the sixth floor!” The civil servant cackled and slapped his meaty thigh. “I’m joking o’ course.”

“About the pipe bomb?” Nairo asked.

“No… about the Junior Minister, he only got singed a bit in his delicates.”

“Well… where were the toilets?” Ridley asked.

“Down the hall, chuck a couple lefts, if yer see a smear of blood in the shape of a T you gone too far.” Then the man leaned forward conspiratorially. “Are you partaking in the Flutter?”

“The Flutter?” Nairo asked.

“Don’t mind her,” Ridley said, rolling his eyes again. “I might be.”

“Ooh well, please don’t tell me you’re taking any action with that fraud Stevenson from the City Works office.”

“Stevenson?” Ridley said in a tone of outrage. “You have to count yer fingers after you shake hands with that one.”

The civil servant laughed and then looked up and down the corridor again before hauling a thick ledger up from under his desk. He thumped it down and then flicked it open.

“I’ve got great odds right now,” he said, sliding his finger down the page.

The ledger was chock full of odds and percentages, with names and events scrawled all over it in neat but dense columns.

“I could give you 8/1 on a fire being started or 4/1 on another flood.”

“Really?” Ridley said, scanning the columns as the civil servant flicked through them.

“16/3 on Battersly’s boys winning the midmorning clash against the Tangerine Troupe. Or if you like more individual action we got a couple of ranked Street Hero bouts going down after lunch.”

“Really?” Now Ridley was actually interested. “Who you got?”

“We got Terry the Fig versus Abbacus the Boldfinger, Merryweather rules…”

“But Abbacus is 7th ranked, he’s gonna walk over the Fig,” Ridley said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Ahh but Terry’s got the speed advantage…”

“He’s got a glass chin, everyone knows that. Plus, Boldfinger’s been working on his cardio Coach Comway, he’s a whole different fighter this year.”

“I’ll give 4/3 on Boldfinger.”

“Hmm…” Ridley stroked his chin.

“Or we’ve got a superstar Tanza Broadway, three on three, between the Tornado Triplets and the…”

“We really need to get moving.,” Nairo interjected, looking at Ridley and nodding her head towards the trolley.

“But… the Tornado Triplets are the finest fighters from the planes of Abweigh, no one’s beaten ‘em in…”

“We really don’t have time!” Nairo snapped.

“They say they were birthed in the eye of a tornado…”

“We’ve got that meeting, remember?” Nairo hissed at him, arching her eyebrows.

“Fine,” Ridley said sulkily. “She’s a bit keen,” he said to the civil servant.

“The new ones always are,” the civil servant said.

“Say… before we go, what’s the betting like on whether Pleasently’s gonna survive all this?” Ridley asked.

The civil servant’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he cleared his throat surreptitiously.

“I, of course, as a civil servant must remain completely and totally neutral in any matters regarding party politics.” He threw a furtive glance around and dropped his voice. “Right now it’s an even split, but if these riots get worse I could give you some good money on him going down.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ridley replied.

“Well, you know where to find me.”

“Cheers. See ya later.”

Ridley nodded and they moved away.

“I didn’t know you were such a big fan of Street Heroes,” Nairo said, not trying to hide the grin on her face.

“You ain’t a proper denizen of our great city if you’re not,” Ridley said.

“Of course… it’s cute.”

“It’s two blokes kicking shit out of each other for nothing but the pride of the fight, it couldn’t be less cute.”

“Right.” Nairo said with a smirk on her face. “By the way, did you see that document had a clause about dismemberment?”

“Dunno, didn't read it.”

“But you signed it!”

“Yeah, as Dujore Maxwell.”

“Who?”

“My Nom De Plume,” Ridley said, imitating Barney’s perfect enunciation and comical elongation.

“Exotic, I like it,” Nairo said.

“Thanks. Got it off a dead prossie case I worked a couple years back. How many lefts?”

“Two I think,” Nairo said as they took their second left.

The corridors of the Houses were wide enough for three to walk comfortably abreast, but they were oddly oppressive. The thick carpet, heavy mauve tones and the constant sneering eyes from the hundreds of gilt framed oil paintings made Nairo feel claustrophobic. That wasn’t helped by the need to shove a random piece of oak furniture every ten metres that clogged up half the hall. Thankfully, many of these were smashed or half destroyed in some melee. This section of the Houses was uncomfortably still and silent but Nairo was grateful they had not come across any more members of the Party.

“You smell smoke?” Nairo asked.

Ridley nodded.

“Pipebomb?” he said.

“Yep. I think we’re going in the right direction.”

As the smell grew stronger, Nairo noticed the carpet becoming sodden and spongy beneath their feet. She ploughed on trying not to imagine the hundreds of litres of toilet water seeping into her shoes. They came around a final corner and knew they were definitely in the right place.

“He wasn’t exaggerating,” Ridley whispered.

The entire hallway had been the scene of a fantastic blast that had shook doors loose from their frames, smashed glass and burned half the hallway black.

“Do you think they’re in there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Ridley heaved his weight into the trolley, fighting against the quagmire like carpet.

The door to the toilet had been entirely blown away. They peered in and saw a graveyard of shattered porcelain and splintered wood.

“Hello?” Ridley called as loudly as he dared.

There was no response.

“We didn't have a backup rendezvous did we?

“Nope.” Ridley stepped into the toilet and looked around. “Don’t suppose Jimmy’s napping under a pile of rubble?”

“Wouldn't be the worst place I’ve ever slept.”

They both looked sharply upward to find Jimmy’s grinning face peering back at them through a jagged hole in the ceiling.

“Jimmy!”

“Sorry ‘bout the toilet. Damn thing went off a couple hours after I left.”

“Well… it’s not something you could calculate for,” Ridley said.

“Right? Anyway, well done on getting this far.”

“No thanks to you!” Ridley snapped. “Those kitchens were almost the death of me!”

“Yeah, gets a bit intense downstairs. But, you’re here at least.”

“How do we get up there?” Nairo asked, before Ridley could start ranting.

“Here,” Jimmy dropped a rope down the hole. “Bit of a tight squeeze but you should be fine.”

“Oh great, now we’re shimmying through a hole in a toilet ceiling made by a pipe bomb and we’re only at phase one of the operation.”

“Hush! This was your idea.”

“No it wasn’t! It was his!”

“You’re the one that wanted to break into the Houses, piece of piss you said! And now look at us, up to our knees in piss!”

“Umm… we’re losing time guys,” Jimmy said through the ceiling.

“Ladies first,” Ridley said, offering her the rope sourly.

Nairo glared at him before she hopped up on the rope and pulled herself up with practised ease. Ridley followed her, albeit with a lot more cursing, but eventually he pulled himself through the hole. They found themselves in a shabby little office that was plastered with dust and debris from the explosion. Inside the cramped room was Cripper. The big man was sitting on his haunches looking like a caged gorilla. With all four of them crouched in the room there was barely space to breathe.

“What about the trolley?” Nairo asked.

“Don’t worry. We sorted another,” Jimmy said, pointing at a neat dinner service trolley with crisp white linen, an ornate silver cloche, and a bottle of something expensive chilling on ice.

“I risked my neck to get that damn trolley,” Ridley muttered.

“Don’t worry, this is good. We’re already on the fourth floor now,” Jimmy explained. “Cripper will lead you lot to Archibald’s Alley where we’ll link up with Barney.”

“Is good,” Cripper agreed bluntly.

“Now we just gotta avoid a couple of the roving gangs of black shirts and the Oppos. We’ll be eating fish and chips in no time and you'll have this case all neatly wrapped up.”

“Let’s move,” Nairo said.

She stood up and dusted herself down while Ridley muttered petulantly about his trolley.

“Why are you lot so wet?” Jimmy asked.

“Don’t ask,” Nairo said.

He shrugged and swung himself into the under compartment of the trolley.

“Good luck.” With a thumbs up, Jimmy flipped down the neat white linen and got comfortable.

“You push,” Cripper said, jabbing a thick finger at Ridley.

“Sounds about right,” Ridley grumbled.