Dales of the Unexpected: Chapter One

Detective Inspector Adams (Jeanette or sometimes Nettie to her parents, but Adams to everyone else, including her brothers, unless they wanted an unexpected traffic stop), was currently far too close to a troll’s armpit, which smelled exactly as one might expect a troll armpit to smell. The troll in question also seemed quite determined to squish her even deeper into that particular area, and while she was laying about wildly with her baton, it seemed to be having about the same effect as a toddler bashing their parents’ shins with a rubber sword.

“Police,” she managed in a strangled tone. “Stop—”

The troll just placed his free hand on top of her head, giant fingers tightening, and for one moment she wondered if she was going to suffocate or have her skull crushed first. Then she caught a sound, something like the crunch of an apple skin, and the troll released her with a howl that set her staggering, not sure whether to cover her ears or soothe her neck, which was going to have troll finger-sized bruises on the back of it by tomorrow.

The troll shrieked again, stumbling in a frantic circle, while a large, dreadlocked grey dog bounced away with scraps of the troll’s jeans hanging from his teeth.

“What the hell is that?” a brawny man with small horns protruding from his forehead demanded, pointing at the dog. “Who let the bloody hellhound in?”

Adams wiped her face with her forearm, as if that might rid her of the stench of unwashed troll armpit, and shouted a little hoarsely, “DI Adams, North Yorkshire Police. Everyone step away from the tables, now.”

There was a moment’s pause, and she wondered which way this was going to go. Strange little underground clubs were dicey enough territory when they were human-run. Here she could see more wings, horns, and tails than she could regular human appendages, and the troll bouncer who’d just rumbled her and tried to remove her head wasn’t even the biggest creature in the room. She probably should’ve brought backup, but the only other police officer she could’ve said Hey, I’m off to bust a faery-run gambling racket to was currently conducting his own investigation into missing prize-winning koi, so she was on her own.

Well, other than the dog, of course. Dandy turned back to the room, swelling in size from his preferred golden retriever proportions to something more bear-like, a growl rumbling at the back of his throat. LED-red eyes gleamed behind his hair, and Adams tapped her baton against her leg.

“Away from the tables,” she repeated. “Don’t make me ask again.”

The moment hung in the balance, waiting to see which way the crowd would tip, then a skinny, sharp-featured individual jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over, and pointed wildly at a tall, angular faery with slightly disturbing lavender eyes.

“You rigged the game!” he shouted. “I should’ve won!”

“My games are not rigged,” the faery said, her voice smooth with threat. “Be careful who you’re casting accusations at, Eddie.”

“I’ve been talking,” Eddie said, waving at the room in general. “Everyone always loses. Always!”

“That’s why it’s called gambling. One never knows the outcome.”

“Eddie, sit down,” Adams said sharply, and the faery looked at her, then back at the small man.

“You brought the sodding detective in? You little git—” She lunged over the table, grabbing Eddie by the front of his jumper, and a troll crashed through the door from the very dubious loos, throwing it open so hard it shattered against the wall.

“Hands off my Eddie!” he bellowed, charging toward the faery.

“Everyone calm down!” Adams shouted, without much hope, and ran for the table as the club exploded into chaos. She’d only taken a couple of strides when someone hit the lights, plunging the whole place into darkness, and the next moment the sprinklers went off. Or she hoped it was sprinklers, although she somehow doubted the damp, grimy cellar tucked deep into the flood-prone underground tunnels of York was in any way up to code.

There was no time to worry about it, though, and she simply concentrated on keeping her feet as the crowd surged around her, heading for the one exit. She could hear Eddie yelling more accusations at the faery, and Morris, the large troll, shouting, “Eddie, love, calm down!” She headed in that direction, one hand still clutching the baton and the other digging in her pocket to find her keys, and the duck keyring attached to it. She pulled it out, but before she could squeeze its wings to light it up, sharp claws latched onto her arm, and another set wrapped around her throat. She reacted fast, not thinking about it, simply driving one elbow back into her assailant’s belly, hearing them grunt as their grip relaxed. She spun, grabbing for them, and snagged an arm as she raised the baton.

They hissed at her in the dark, furious and toothy. “Damned police.”

“Lady L?” she asked. That was the name Eddie had given her for the faery who ran the club, the one with the disconcerting eyes. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of receiving stolen goods—”

“Give over, copper. You can’t hold me. You know it doesn’t work that way.”

“It should,” she snapped. “And I’ll bloody well try. Got to put a dent in your business, being dragged off by the police, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll put in some calls of my own. See you booted out. Already got a mental health break on your records, don’t you? And I bet your colleagues ask plenty of questions about some of your quirks.”

Adams could hear the smile in the faery’s voice, but simply said again, “I’m arresting you— Ow!” The ow was because someone – either the faery or an accomplice, unseen in the dark – had buried their teeth in her wrist. Luckily her jacket mostly protected her, but she could still feel the pressure of the bite grinding into her tendons. “Bloody hell—”

“Let go, Detective. You’ve no chance.” Lady L’s voice was by her ear now, so she wasn’t the one gnawing on Adams’ arm, and Adams wondered what – or who – was, and if she was going to need tetanus shots. Or possibly rabies. Instead of answering, she wrenched her arm away, skin tearing on her attacker’s teeth, and managed to grab one of Lady L’s wings instead.

“This place doesn’t stop with stolen goods, does it?” she demanded. “What else do you trade? Who’re you in contact with in the York police department, now Jasper’s gone? Who’re you paying off?”

Lady L laughed. “You don’t know anything, do you? Poor little southern lamb, lost in the north with your dog and your duckie—”

Adams wanted to tighten her grip on the faery’s wing, wanted to wrench an explanation from her, wanted to force her to reveal who she was really working with, wanted to make her talk, but she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t, but it was much the same thing. So instead she simply kept her grip and started again, “Lady L, I’m arresting you on suspicion— Oh for—” The last was lost as someone hit her hard, knocking her off her feet and slamming her to the stone floor. She took the faery with her, Lady L shouting, “For the gods’ sakes, get her off me!”

Adams tried to keep her grip, but something bit her leg, making her yelp, then someone – she suspected the bouncer troll – grabbed the back of her jacket and hefted her bodily off the floor while Lady L yelled, “Mind my wings, you cretin!”

Dandy was barking somewhere while tables and furniture splintered under falling bodies and glass shattered, and Adams twisted in the troll’s grip, trying to tear herself loose. Long, clawed fingers grabbed her face, and Lady L said in that cool smooth voice, “You’re out of your depth, little human. Leave it alone. Leave all of it alone.”

“What?” Adams managed. “Leave what alone?”

“Walk away.” A little light had crept in from somewhere, and Adams could see the faery’s pale eyes glittering, her face so close she could’ve kissed those thin, tooth-scarred lips. “You got your parents back. Sit down, shut up, and let things go. It’s the best choice.”

Adams glared at her. “You mean I should leave your dodgy club here alone? Or your connections to the York police? Which one?”

“All of it,” Lady L said, and actually did kiss her, on the forehead, chill and hard. “York and Leeds and London, too. Little humans shouldn’t meddle. It gets them stolen off to Faery to dance for a thousand years.”

Adams’ stomach was abruptly icy. London? But aloud she just said, “Oh? How’d that stealing away thing go for your mate Velmyr Duskthorn when he tried it on my parents?”

Lady L released her, stepping back into the shadows. “Get rid of her, Grub,” she said. “We’ll be doing her a favour as much as anyone else.”

The troll grunted, tucking Adams back under his armpit to drag her away.

“Police,” she managed, wriggling in his grip. “Put me down, Grub. You don’t want to do this.”

“I put you down in ooze,” he said cheerfully.

“In ooze?”

“River Ouse. Lots of currents. Bitey stuff, too. They like you.”

“Dandy!” Adams yelled, because it was December and she did not want to be dumped in any river, oozing and full of bitey stuff or not. “Dandy, heel!”

The room was emptying, she thought, the fighting a little less widespread, but it was still desperately dark, just shadowy glimpses of movement visible here and there as people used lighters and watches to find their way out, and Grub opened a heavy wooden door with one hand, releasing the scent of mud and rotting timber. Adams booted him a couple of times, gaining nothing but a sore toe, then he said, “Oopsy-daisy,” and hefted her straight through the door. Adams braced herself for impact onto a stone floor, but instead she was in free fall for one fractured, horrified moment of total darkness before teeth snagged her jacket and a heavy, dreadlocked body collided with hers, catapulting her back through the door and into Grub. It was like hitting a solid wall, and she bounced off with a breathless huff, but before she could recover, someone grabbed her and set her on her feet, as neatly as if she were a child.

“Off we go,” Morris said. “Hurry now.”

“Morris!” Eddie shrieked, and Adams could hear him thrashing in the troll’s grip. “Let me go! Let me at them!”

“Morris is bad troll,” Grub grumbled, which was followed by the solid thwack of a troll fist hitting troll flesh. Grub gave a gentle oof, followed by a crash as he hit the floor.

“Morris is a very miffed troll,” Morris said, and propelled Adams ahead of him toward the door. “Come along, Detective. Such a mess!”

Adams found herself stumbling rapidly over an unlit mess of groaning bodies and shattered furniture, pointed straight out the door and into the damp, cobbled streets of York, where Dandy offered her an empty coffee mug, wagging his tail gently.

That had not gone entirely smoothly.

#

“So what was with the whole me Grub, you bad troll thing?” Adams asked, as Morris bandaged her wrist carefully. He had surprisingly nimble fingers, considering the smallest of them was still twice the size of her thumb.

Morris sniffed. “Trolls have traditionally not had much concern for elocution. It’s not that we’re incapable,simply that we haven’t always had the benefit of an education.”

“Morris taught himself,” Eddie said. He was sporting a black eye and missing a tooth, which he’d cheerfully assured Adams would grow back in a week or so. He looked quite human, but clearly wasn’t entirely. She seemed to be running into that a lot these days.

“I wasn’t about to be judged on my inability to string a sentence together,” Morris said.

“You didn’t give up on the knocking heads thing, though,” Eddie said, taking a sip of whisky. As soon as they’d made it back to the shop he and Morris owned, he’d served up a tumbler each for him and Adams, and a herbal tea for the troll. Dandy had been gifted a disturbingly large bone and had vanished under the table with it, making his appreciation known via a lot of crunching and gnawing.

“You don’t give me a chance to,” Morris said. “I’d rather not be knocking heads, but if you will go about accusing faeries of rigging games—”

“She did! Couldn’t just let this go.” Eddie produced a satchel from somewhere, making Adams blink. She hadn’t seen him carrying it. He patted it affectionately. “I’d never have lost this if the game was fair.”

Morris frowned. “You won it back?”

“I mean, given a few more hands I would have. I was only down a bit—”

“Oh, so now you’ve stolen from Lady L? Wonderful. Just wonderful.” Morris slapped a bit of adhesive tape on Adams’ bandage to hold it in place, a little too firmly, and she winced. “I suppose I have to prepare for Grub knocking on our door now, do I?”

“I had to get it back—”

“You have to stop going to those games!”

“Hold up,” Adams said, and scowled at Eddie. “You told me Charles was getting tangled up with Lady L, and his charms might be at risk again.”

“He might be. He likes a game, does Charles.”

“Did you just use me as a distraction so you could get back something you lost?” She waved at his bag, and he hugged it a little closer.

“Not just. Gambling dens are illegal, plus plenty of questionable stuff goes through her tables, so it was in your interests.”

“Goodness of your heart, was it?”

“Civic duty.” He grinned at her, toothy and narrow, and she sighed.

“Right. Well, that’s just great. Really appreciate just about getting my hand bitten off.” She waved her bandaged wrist.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, eyes dark and gleaming in the mellow light of The Shop. Mismatched bulbs descended from the heavy wooden beams above them, and pigeons shifted and cooed sleepily on the big windows, where frozen rain ticked against the dark glass. It was warm in here, cocooned among the mountains of treasure and junk that formed walls and alleys across the entire top floor of the building.

Eddie’s voice was cooler than it had been when he spoke again, the excitable edges given way to something sharp and knowing, as he said, “Can’t just let people get away with all these illegal activities, DI Adams. Thought that was your thing, holding the line against chaos and all that.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But so’s not calling too much attention to myself when I’m off my patch.”

“You got to ask your questions, though, didn’t you? I heard you.”

“But I didn’t get any answers. I thought you were going to help me with that.”

“I said Lady L might be able to help you with that.”

“Yes, then you started spouting off and jumping on tables, so all that got was another bloody faery in a snit with me.” And a scary one, at that, she thought but didn’t say. She could still feel Lady L’s cool lips on her forehead, and the implacable grip of her claws. And the faery had not only known who she was, she’d known – or guessed – something about London. That wasn’t exactly reassuring. “So now I’d appreciate you telling me what you thought she knew.”

Eddie looked at Morris, who sipped his tea and shrugged. “You got yourself into this, Eddie. If you promised the detective information, you best pay up.”

Eddie didn’t reply for a long moment, tapping slim, restless fingers on the satchel. “Nothing’s changed,” he said finally.

“Changed since when?”

“Since you put Jasper down.”

Adams considered that. Sergeant Jasper Haworth had been behind the incident that had brought her to York last time, when the metalworker Charles had a charm stolen which enabled the holder to control metal guardians across not just the country, but the world. They’d come to the brink of an all-out battle between the guardians and Charles’s partner Heather, a nature goddess who was ready to tear the city apart to find the culprit before Adams had finally shut the whole thing down. Jasper had vanished, but his body had reportedly been pulled out of the river a few days later. She still wasn’t sure if it had been the guardians or Heather behind that, but it had certainly dealt with that particular situation.

It hadn’t dealt with the underlying one, though, which was that she was sure Jasper’s attempted heist in York was somehow linked to a corrupt cop in Leeds who’d stolen a sorcerer’s book and tried to flog it to the highest bidder, which she suspected was also linked to werewolves who’d disappeared from custody after she’d busted them brewing enchanted beer in Harrogate, which she also felt was linked to her own ongoing difficulties with internal investigations, and certain London police turning a blind eye to Folk-related disappearances, which was what had sent her north in the first place, intending to get away from such things.

That had also not gone to plan, considering she seemed to be sinking deeper into magic stuff every time she turned around, and she couldn’t even stand the word.

She took a sip of whisky, watching Eddie, then said, “Nothing’s changed how?”

“Well, nothing might be too strong. No one’s stepped in, going about leaning on Folk the way Jasper was. But the demands are still there. Someone’s collecting, we just don’t know who.”

Adams glanced at Morris, who shrugged gently. “Eddie’s right. Or mostly right. I think things have changed. The pigeons are nervous.”

“The what, sorry?”

“The pigeons.” Morris waved at the birds with one heavy hand.

“And that’s relevant because …”

“Canaries in a coal mine,” he said.

“The pigeons are canaries?”

“In a coal mine. Miners used to have—”

“I know, I know,” Adams said, waving impatiently. “But in what way?”

“I’m not sure,” Morris admitted. “But they always know when something’s up. They get restless.”

“Are you—” Adams started, and bit the words back. She’d almost said, Are you trolling me, and while she might not be up with all the Folk etiquette, she was fairly sure that was unlikely to be taken well. “Are you sure there’s not just a rogue cat about or something?” she said instead. “Or a bird of prey? They’re coming back to the cities in places.”

Morris shook his head. “It’s not just that. And, now you’re talking cats, that’s part of the issue. No damn cats in the city. Not seen any for days.”

“Really?” Adams asked, frowning. “That seems weird.”

“It’s more than weird. Something’s coming, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what.”

They were silent for a while then, the chill night pressing tightly to the big windows, and the mutterings of the pigeons suddenly disproportionately loud. Adams wondered if they were usually that chatty.

Finally Eddie said, “Do you want some Victoria sponge?”

Adams looked at him. “With whisky?”

“Best way to have it.” He got up, slinging Morris the satchel as he went. “Look after that, my love.”

Morris patted it with one heavy hand, and they watched Eddie vanish into the depths of The Shop. Only once he was out of sight did Adams say, “So what was so vital he needed me to disrupt a gambling ring and make an enemy of a faery over?”

Morris grimaced, and passed her the satchel. She opened the top, looked inside, then back at the troll. “Really?”

“Apparently it’s a vintage model. Very valuable.”

Adams reached into the bag and removed the engine carriage of a model train. “It’s a toy.”

Morris smiled, and despite his broken teeth and cracked grey lips, it was a warm and gentle one. “Everyone has their loves, DI Adams.”

She stared at him, then replaced the train and handed the bag back. “This had better be a bloody good Victoria sponge.”

“Oh, it is. It’s exceptional.”

Adams looked at her wrist and wondered if it was exceptional enough to protect against tetanus. If it didn’t, the whisky might, she supposed, and she had another sip, then became aware of Morris fussing with his shirt, which had lost a couple of buttons.

“What?” she asked, and he looked at her, the heavy, armoured plates of his forehead overhanging clear eyes.

He didn’t reply straight away, then as they heard Eddie making his way back, accompanied by a clatter of falling bric-a-brac and some muffled swearing at squirrels, he said, “Your friend’s been poking around all over the place. Including at Lady L’s.”

“My friend?”

“The posh one. He’s been asking lots of questions about Faery and portals.”

Adams nodded, her stomach tight. “Rory’s a grown-up. He can look after himself.”

“No doubt he can. But he’s not keeping good company. You should know that.”

Adams met the troll’s gaze, steady and evaluating. “Thank you.”

“One must be careful of one’s companions.”

“Like you?”

Morris smiled again at that. “Oh, there’s no accounting for love. It makes an awful mess of things.”

“Cake,” Eddie announced, slapping a towering sponge onto the table, packed with jam and blooming sliced strawberries and cream. “Nothing better after a rumble.”

Adams thought Morris was right. There really was no accounting for some things.