The Curious Case of Morgrim City

The Brewery

Laguna looked at the stack of paperwork on her desk and ran a hand over her face. Bodies turning up was not good for anyone; it created far too much paperwork. Havok's report had been less than useful. Oh, he had done a good enough job and got the answers, they just weren't as forthcoming as she had hoped. The leads the corpse, no, the victim, Mary Sadler, had come up with were flimsy, but it was better than nothing. Rising from behind her desk, Laguna crossed over to the board she had set up with links and leads surrounding the victim.

The only real link they had was the Whitcomb Brewery.

She knew the place, and had drank more than her fair share of ales that had come from there. It was owned by a rotund leprechaun name Wotan. She wrote his name on a piece of paper and stuck it under the brewery's heading on the board.

It was time to pay the brewery a visit.

The chief had given her permission to run through the investigation as needed so long as she kept him informed. Simple enough instructions.

The door to her office opened and Terry stepping inside. Stepped wasn't quite right, he more glided in as though he were floating. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "Are you ever going to stop dressing like that?" she asked. The vampire had a black and red cloak on over his uniform and she was sure he had powdered his face. He was usually pale, he was a vampire after all, but today he looked translucent.

"No," he replied, "Some standards have to be maintained." He looked over the board and pressed his thin lips together. "Not much to go on," he said.

"Come on, we're going to pay Wotan a visit," she said. She did not bother grabbing her coat, it was relatively warm out there. Terry followed, not making another comment.

The heavy gloom that lay over the city seemed deeper than usual to Laguna. It was always there, how else would those with 'skin conditions' survive? She did not miss the sun either, she could leave the city if she wanted to feel the warmth on her skin at any time she wanted, but she didn't. The dark let her hunt in her element, and those that found themselves on the wrong side of the law soon faced her. It was a satisfying life and one that suited her well.

Morgim city was not large, however there were carriages for the police to use. As much as Laguna wanted to run, she knew Terry would not approve. He could keep up, but he wouldn't. Something to do with those standards.

"Do you think Wotan will actually know anything?" Terry said as he shut the carriage door. The driver clicked the horses to life and they moved away.

"Not much," Laguna said. "But it's all we've got.

The vampire nodded and fell silent, his gaze turning to the gloomy streets passing by. There were few people out and about in this part of town; most would be at working anyway. A couple of zombies lurked on a street corner, however they moved when they saw them coming. While lurking was not a crime as such, it was discouraged from those of a dead nature.

The brewery itself as a large building on the east side of the city. Cordoned off by a large wooden fence, it looked as though it had seen better days. Gaps allowed those on the outside to see the weed covered yard beyond. There was a thin stream of smoke coming from one of the buildings however, and Laguna could hear the workers beyond, so not all had been abandoned. She supposed that those outside the city had little call for beer brewed by a leprechaun who regularly employed those from the other side of the grave.

The carriage stopped outside the front of the brewery. Large open gates, haloed by a rusting iron sign announcing the name Whitcombe and Sons. Who Whitcombe had been was now a mystery, his legacy, like the sign, was rusting away to nothing.

Laguna hopped out of the carriage and sniffed the air. The scent of mouldering hops and barley penetrated the street. She pulled a face. As much as she liked drinking beer, she did not appreciate the smell of it being made.

"Must be a hop day," Terry said as he joined her on the pavement.

"Foul," she groused, annoyed at the sensitivity of her nose. She scanned the yard, located the office – in this case it was a shack that was more a haphazard pile of sticks than a building, and headed over. When she reached what she thought might be the door, she hesitantly knocked. Moments later, a familiar face appeared through a slight crack. "Wotan," she said.

"Laguna!" The leprechaun was a rotund fellow with bright eyes and a shrewd face. He took a step back and let them in. Inside the shack was more unruly than the outside. Terry waited just beyond the door, arms folded. Wotan looked at him curiously, before realising his error. "You can come in," he said. That ritual passed, the vampire stepped over the threshold and into the shack. He looked at the pair of them and raised an eyebrow, "Something tells me you're not here to purchase a supply for the police station. What brings you both to my delightful establishment?" Wotan asked. He scooted around to a desk almost buried in paperwork and settled back into a worn but comfortable looking chair.

"We're here about Mary Sadler," Terry said.

Wotan paused for a moment, running the name through his head. A hand touched his ginger goatee before realisation dawned on him. "The Karanan woman who was supposed to meet me a couple of days ago about a business venture. She never showed."

"She was found dead earlier." Laguna kept her face level, watching Wotan carefully. His face fell and the colour drained from his rosy cheeks. The warm smile fell away as he looked at her, then at Terry.

"That's why you're here," he said. Laguna nodded; it was difficult to keep the wolfish look off her face, but she managed. Wotan looked uncomfortable, and she savoured that discomfort. Terry coughed, reminding her that they were working, not hunting.

"That's right," she said.

The Leprechaun gestured to two chairs and pressed his lips together, "You'd better sit down," he said. The chairs looked as though they'd collapse the moment someone touched them. Laguna did not decline. Terry remained lurking where he was.