(In my daily life I'm a middle-aged and mild-mannered writer, but in my dreams I'm a police officer in a fantasy city. Or maybe it's the other way round. Who knows, really.)

***

It was me, Roch and Nehtë. Roch is big and burly and near-unstoppable in battle, but also an unusually conscientious officer. I like working with Roch. No reason to expect brilliant detective-work – that falls on me – but also never any nonsense.

Nehtë was the newest member in our infiltration team. Good with anything but guns, lots of street smarts, has a gift to sense even hidden augments. An unruly lick of hair falling over one eye, a lop-sided smile and a row of piercings on his long elven ears gave him an air of a cocky youngster prone to rash decisions – a carefully cultivated front to camouflage a competent officer. Although sometimes I do wonder…

We were supposed to just check out the mysterious new crime lord's headquarters, a simple intel gathering mission. Maybe gain some insight on the hitherto unseen boss. He, or she, was not an elf, not an orc, not a human or a fairy or a werecreature of any known sort, we had no idea really who we were dealing with.

It was a nasty part of town, smelling of rotting fish, buildings so close to each other there were no real streets, just back alleys and slimy ditches, and brick walls tagged from ground to as high as I cared to look. I ran my hand over one of the graffittis and licked my fingertips. Spray paint, made of ingradients with such beautiful and poetic names as Ethylbenzene and Acetone and Propylene Glycol Monobutyl Ether and whatnot. Should not be used here, some of that stuff is poisonous to fairies, but of course spray cans are way more convenient than scratching one's initials and protection runes with a dull knife. I signaled to Roch and she nodded, took a notebook from her pocket and jotted down a few notes. Environmental team needs to be alerted, and they will rush in to clean the harmful chemicals off the walls right after they have completed their more urgent tasks, so sometime in the next few thousand years. That's how this city is.

We were near to the entrance, just about to sneak in undetected, when Nehtë said, in tones of innocent curiosity, what was it with me tasting the wall. Then he looked appropriately shamefaced, as our invisibility glamour popped like a soap bubble. It withstands nearly anything but not words. But he got over his embarassment real quick, flashing a smile that said what was done was done and we had to make best of the situation as it was.


So, now it was a suddenly diplomatic mission, and I was wearing my ugly combat pants. Oh well. Roch made a frrhrrump-y sound and wiped her hand across her mouth, presumably to clean her tusks. Nehtë was already joining his palms in a greeting. Entry guards recognized us, but good manners compelled them to show us in.

The room we were led to was more a mixture of a barn, armoury and kitchen than a pristine show-off entrance hall, but in regards to personnell I've seen less organized princely palaces. Entry guards promptly handed us over to indoor guards, while someone went to inform someone else, all the way up to the secretary of the establishment, who arrived to greet us at precisely the same moment a receptionist walked in with a tray of refreshments. There were pieces of seaweed and some opened-up mollusks and glasses filled to the brim with a coral-hued spirit.


In tense mood of fake cordiality, each one of us took a glass. The secretary said some welcoming phrase. I lifted the glass to my lips, and enjoyed the delicious smell of the drink, even if I had to skip tasting it. Nehtë knocked his down straight, and I could not help hissing a little. That was the correct thing to do, according to Miss Manners, but even the strictest followers of rules of politeness would not expect anyone to eat or drink at his mortal enemy's lair. But Nehtë was doing his best dashing hero impression and he just had to do the chivalrous thing. The secretary was an elven lady, and Nehtë opened his arms for the ceremonial hug. Secretary did look quite charmed by his bravery. She gave him a proper elf hug, much like an aunt to her favourite nephew, and I noticed guards relaxing their stances. I made a mental note to seriously think about the practical benefits of Nehtë's approach, when he spoiled it all. He stepped back to my side, and whispered to me ”She has just one  standard weapon augment, nothing special, we could totally take this place down just the three of us”. Secretary's face froze back to the usual elven haughtiness. Of course there was a spell to catch whispers, and to whose ear would those be delivered if not the secretary's?

My attempt at laughter was caught in my throat, when Nehtë's eyes glossed over and he fell down. There had been something in the drink. Of course. Certainly I would have spiked the welcome drink if I were employed in a criminal organization and received uninvited guests from the police force. I caught the secretary's glance. She gave me a smug little nod.


I saw entry guards starting to push the front door closed, and other guards taking attack positions, and moving their hands towards their weapons – I can see real fast, in combat situations. And move too. The door, I yelled at Roch. She was already on her way to prevent it from closing. We'd never get out if it did, it was that sort of door. I threw a stunner spell at one group of guards, kicked a side table down to protect Nehtë, and then had to roll behind it myself too to not get burned by fireballs. I fired a round of shots, which should have hit someone, but did not – besides the whisper-catcher there was apparently a protective spell to make enemy bullets exceptionally unlucky. Roch was taking care of herself but could not move from the door. Nehtë was no longer breathing and his skin was going grey. The situation had turned ugly in less than thirty heartbeats. There was no time for regrets, or any thoughts not directly pertaining to what was happening, but there was an itch at the base of my skull to strangle Nehtë if I just first managed to get his body to safety and arrange him to be revived.

The secretary had run halfway up stairs at the back of the hall and I had ignored her. Only when she stopped and turned around I realized she was not escaping. She was searching for a better angle to use whatever weapons augments she had. I felt a crackle of gathering power in the air. Maybe it was a standard augment, but the secretary was using it to maximum effect. One straight hit would crisp me pretty badly. Even if I managed to get my shield up in time, I could withstand only three to four energy bursts. The outlook was not good. But to get to worry about third and fourth hit I needed to survive the first, so I concentrated my magical shield. I imagined it as a pretty purple mushroom, growing out of my heart, the cap turned towards danger. I screamed 'Ethylbenzene', to give the impression it was some exotic human magic, and let the shield blossom to full strength.


Flash, bang, ka-boom. Such a loud ka-boom I felt it in my bones rather than heard with my ears. The energy bolt had deflected from my shield, faster than even I could see, and exploded, tearing back wall down and setting the remains in fire. The staircase was a pile of rubble. There had been a door at the back wall, wide but low, and it was completely gone. I looked around cautiously. No-one was standing, except for Roch. Her hide is impenetrable. She made a go-ahead sign, and then a cutesy victory V. I got up. My skin was stinging and my ears were ringing. I hobbled towards the bac wall, just to make a quick check before getting the hell out of there. Something unusual had caught my eye. There was something reddish, orangeish, kind of long sticks sticking out at odd angles, and a weird, not completely unpleasant smell.

There had been a low-ceilinged but large room behind the back wall, half of it a swimming pool. Most of the water had evaporated when the energy bolt hit it, steaming the sole occupant alive. And if that had not been enough, a huge rock had crushed its main section, splashing entrails and shell shards around. Without doubt this had been the boss we had wanted to catch; a giant spider crab. One of the mysteries of the deep ocean, rarely seen, and never before known to show interest in criminal affairs.

Roch hauled Nehtë's body on her shoulder, and let me lean on her on our way back. She had a crab leg in her other hand, and while she thought I was not looking, took a nibble out of it. That would be tampering with evidence, but I could not get myself worked up about it. I was thinking about the crab. It had gathered a competent and powerful security team to protect itself. But it had not worked. Not the way the crab had intended. If the secretary's powers had been a little weaker, the crab would have survived. But was there any way it could have arrived such an unintuituve conclusion?


No doubt there's a lesson to be learnt from all this, but I'm not yet sure what it is.