Diary of Samsneed, Part 4

By Moleare Kragnar
Old Forest Times

This is part IV of the ongoing series of publications by detective Samsneed, ranger at large. In part II, our legendary detective encountered DeepHelm himself in a dark alleyway of Bree, learning a good many things regarding the case. Then, while entering his favorite bar, insane assistant General Manager Dirk Pleasant got the drop on our hero...

BREE - They say that you don't really know the mettle of a man until you've dangled him from his ankles while standing on the edge of the cracks of doom. Me, I've been there, ankles dangling, watching the bubbling, boiling lava spurt up toward me like a baby bird ready for supper. To be honest I felt safer then than I did with that madman standing before me with weapons drawn. As hot as that lava was, at least it wasn't three legs short of a chair, and it wasn't pointing the cool steel of Elven arrow shaft at my heart, either!

It was Dirk Pleasant, and "insane" wasn't just his middle name, it was his way of life! I knew that I had to play it cool, because acting suddenly could cause his fragile, dangerous mind to snap in two like Sauron's finger in the Great Battle. I quickly dropped to my knees, tears streaming down my face.

"Please, don't kill me!" I begged. "I have a wife! Two wives! And children! Lots of children!" I began to blubber, at which point Pleasant's aim strayed minutely to my right. I knew that was my chance, and after I'd finished emptying my bladder I began to convulse like a cheese addict suffering from withdrawal!

"...what...what's wrong with him?" Pleasant asked. Frankelm the bartender shrugged.

"Alcohol dependancy?" Frankhelm suggested. It was at that moment that I sprang forth, knocking Frankhelm out of my way as I dived behind the bar for saftey.

"You'll never shoot me from behind here," I yelled out. "The joke's on you, Pleasant!"

"I... I just wanted to talk," Pleasant replied.

"I don't know what you're trying to sell," I said, "but I'm not buying! No sir, it's return to sender from me, buddy!"

"About the case, about BranMorda!" Pleasant said, but I ignored his protests. He was insane, crazy like a loon driven insane by other loons who forced him out of their looney group of loons!

"She did things to me," he said, his voice wracked with emotion. "She hurt me! She was crazy and I would've killed her if they didn't get to her first!" I still wasn't buying, but I had to milk the information out of him if I could, so I swallowed my fear and decided to play mouse to his game of cat.

"They? Who's they? Did the Bree Killer have an accomplice?"

"You're missing the big picture," he said, his emotions swinging from wretched to angry. His voice tittered, and I wondered where the butterfly nets were. "There is no Bree Killer! It's really an entire UCK!" The crowd of barflies gasped, and after a few deep breaths I ventured my head above the counter.

Pleasant was standing in the middle of the room, his face purple. "An entire uck? What is uck," I asked. "Tell me!" I sprang over the counter and grabbed him by the collar. I began shaking him. "Don't play games with me," I yelled as his eyes rolled back into his head. That was when I realized he wasn't breathing! His body shivered once, and he toppled over. I opened his mouth, and inside I found... a single piece of cheese. Bree cheese, to be exact.

Later, the onlookers failed to give a solid description of what had happened. One moment he had been ranting and raving, the next moment there was a breeze, a rustle of some kind, and his face began turning purple.

Who killed him? And why wasn't I able to stop it? Was I losing my edge? While I contemplated all this, I changed into a spare outfit - I always carried one in case of situations like these - and began a night of intense drinking. I sat stoically at the bar, throwing back shot, after shot, after shot. Before long I had passed out in my stool.

When I woke in the morning, there was a newspaper before me. An ad was circled. It was DeepHelm! He wanted to meet me again! And what's more, there was a long note, written in short hand, in the ancient languages of kings ... the language I had grown up learning, writing, and speaking! If only I could still read it!

I concentrated, threw back a shot of rum, and worked my way through the note. What I found was shocking indeed!

to be continued...

Posted at October 29, 2004 09:10 AM | more from Old Forest