Hell's Detective

Chapter One- The Going Price for Assassination

Ingleseid stretched his palm out against the wall, feeling soft vibrations travel up his hand. Yes, there was something in these walls. Something very nasty indeed. He dug into his bag and brought out a sleek, circular cutter. Placing it in the centre of the wall, he wove it around, the creamy flesh slicing like butter.

Inside was hollow and empty, insulation stripped from the walls, clumps still clinging in places, like tufts of fur on a stray dog. The only reminder that anything had been there was the stench, so thick you could almost taste it, the sort of stench you'd imagine a corpse would give off.

Ingleseid pulled a marble from his bag and rolled it across the floor. It sailed across the floorboards, then stopped. Ingleseid followed it, pressed his hand on the ground around it. The floorboards squeaked, and he stood, nudged them with his toe. This time, they let out a low groan. He jumped, and there was there was loud snap! as if a gunshot had gone off, and suddenly there was nothing beneath his feet. His back hit the ground, the impact rocketing through his bones. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he strained his eyes against the darkness. A sliver of light came through the gap in the floorboards above him, and he could see fresh soil clinging to the walls around him, roots snaking across the ceiling. Small, brittle looking skulls peeked through the dirt, the light dancing in their empty eye sockets, and for a second it was like they were staring at him. The tunnel was fresh, the air still thick with dampness. Only one creature was this efficient at making a home for itself in the dirt.

Goblins.

There was a light in the distance. Voices rang through the tunnel, shrill and high pitched. The ground squished beneath Ingleseid's feet as he waded through the darkness towards them.

The tunnel gave way to a clearing lit by melting candles. Scrawny goblins with blotched skin stretched far too thinly across their bones and squinting black eyes filled every inch, screeching, howling, biting. Warts riddled their faces, not the normal kind, either, but great, wobbling ones, each the size of a ping-pong ball. Yellowing teeth gashed together, saliva pooling at the lips, dribbling over the sides.

In the centre of the crowd, two of them were fighting, launching themselves at each other and snarling like rabid dogs. The sea of goblins clapped and cheered around them, magpie's eyes glinting with blood. One sat on what he probably thought was a throne, but was really a worn lounge chair, watching the action over his enormous belly. The king.

The bigger of the two goblins pinned his opponent down, his rubbery wrinkles contorted into a hideous grin. The king clapped his hands together, and his entire frame wobbled. He snatched up a small skull with a pointed muzzle and used the jaw to pick his teeth. Suddenly, Ingleseid had a fairly good idea of what had happened to Mittens.

The goblin on top raised a talon, plunged it down. An inch before it reached his opponent's quivering heart, the king bellowed, "Stop."

The goblins froze, chatter dying. All heads turned to him.

"I smell something," he said. The hair's on the back of Ingleseid's neck stood on end. "Something sticky and salty. It stinks. It reeks of sweat and blood and...fear." His eyes narrowed. "Human."

"Human!" the goblins squealed. "Human! Where?! Where?!"

Ingleseid cursed softly and licked his lips. There wasn't much point in hiding now. He straightened his hat and wandered into the centre, the goblins hissing and parting slowly, like a tide lapping at the shore. The candle light burned in the pits of their eyes.

The two fighters slunk away into the crowd, and Ingleseid said cheerfully, "Hello, all."

The goblin king studied him, a smile playing at his lips. "What's your business here, human?"