Diary of Samsneed, Part 5
By Moleare Kragnar
Old Forest Times
This is part V (of VII) of the ongoing series of publications by detective Samsneed, ranger at large. In part IV, our heroic detective duped madman Dirk Pleasant into revealing telling information regarding the origins of the Bree Murderer, before Pleasant was mysteriously murdered...
BREE - Dirk Pleasant was dead, and I was fighting a hangover the only way I knew how: straight whiskey, long, hard, and often. My name is Samsneed, son of Sherlock, and I've been in fixes before but never like this one. People were dead. The body count was rising quicker than Mom's flatbread (she was never a very good cook, but at least she tried) and every time I turned a corner I was left with more questions than answers. But, much like all the times in my past investigations, the angel over my shoulder had appeared. I'd never met him - hell, I don't even know if it is a "him," but any time I'd ever found myself in a fix, there he was. I'd wake up and there would be a note, written in the language of kings. This one, like all others, was revealing. It read:
"Where was the cheese in the first murder? What happened thereafter?
Brandelion --> Xade/xade --> BranMorda = Motive?
Bombadil/Aragorn connection?
DeepHelm = Sgt. Grump?
DeepHelm = Bree Murderer???!!!!"
It was the last line that got to me. I read it, and again, until it dawned upon me. Of course! Who else could possibly know as much as DeepHelm?! And who else could he be, but Sgt. Grump?!!
I sprang forth and ran, quick as I could, to the alleyway near the bar. He'd be waiting for me there. It was early evening - I had slept throughout the entire day. I only hoped it wasn't too late.
It was dark in the alley, like a thick blanket thrown over a lantern. I was immediately overpowered by the aroma of cheese - dank, disgusting cheese! As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a two-wheeled horse cart toppled over on the ground, but with no horse! There was, however, something large covered by a canvas in the cart! And whatever it was, it stank of cheese! It was the clear origin of the cheese in question!
Without pause - well, ok, I stopped to throw back a shot of vodka - I yanked off the canvas. There lay a large wheel of cheese. And not just any cheese, it was Brie Cheese! It was almost five feet in diameter and three feet thick. Next to it was a wooden bucket in the cart.
I crept cautiously toward the bucket. I'd seen my share of scary flicks, and it didn't take some brain scientist to know that something was going to jump out at me! Perhaps it would be the disembowed yet still living head of Dirk Pleasant! Or bugs - lots, and lots of bugs! But no, I discovered upon arrival that it was full of slightly-larger-than-bite-sized chunks of more brie cheese... then, behind the bucket, sticking out of the giant cheese wheel, I saw a foot! A bare, animal-like foot that was in more need of a pedicure than I was of alcohol counseling and therapy!
"YAAAAAAAAAH!!!!" I shrieked, and ran out of the alley. Upon regaining my senses, I took a deep breath and returned.
I began to circle around the cart, looking at the cheese wheel. After a few moments I came to a hand, sticking out of it! The hand was missing several fingers. I continue my circle around and then spot ... DeepHelm's giant helmet! I bent forth and after a few moments, I noticed the heavy, labored breathing from within. He was hurt, but still alive!
"Aha! And so we meet again, DeepHelm!" I shout. "Or should I call you ... Sgt. Grump!"
Like a priest in front of a stripper, I tore the cheese away as though it was articles of loose clothing, and pull of his helmet. Before me was the ugliest face I'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. It was like Thomar the Ugly had gotten into a fistfight with Domas the Big-Fisted and lost in a brutal, bloody way. It appeared to be an orc's face - or a dwarf's. (What? They all look the same to me!) Then I realized the truth - it must've been one of those half-breed "dworcs!" The face was misshapen and covered with scars. Even the scars had scars. The creature opened an eye, struggled to focus, and finally, struggling for breath, it gasped:
"con-spircy .... da sign .... proof .... under .... da giant .... 'C' ----"
"I don't know who you think you're fooling, punk!" I yelled. "I know you're Grump, and I know you did the murders with your own black digit-missing hand!"
Its body convulsed; its foot knocked the bucket off the cart, spilling the chunks of cheese on the ground. DeepHelm had stopped breathing. I knew then, that I was wrong. He wasn't Grump.
"No!" I yelled. "Not again!" I pounded the cheese-littered ground with my clenched fists, yelling "why God why?!"
I decided then to search the body. As I cleared the cheese from around DeepHelm's corpse, I discovered an arrow had penetrated his chest, and that his clothing had been torn by some kind of animal teeth! I decided to roll him over, and upon doing so I noticed something shimmering off his clothing. Upon inspection, it was revealed to be a sprinkling of... fairy dust!
One thing was for sure... it wasn't suicide. I knew then that I had to cut to the chase! Rasreth and Grump had to be confronted! One or the other knew DeepHelm, and one or the other had to be, in some way or another (why do I keep saying that?) responsible for the murder!
...to be continued...
Posted at October 30, 2004 06:16 PM | more from Old Forest