Chapter eleven: Mister Nek

Trigger warnings for those who need them

No trigger warnings.

“Hek! Brep da!”
My shoulders jump at the sound. It sounds harsh and guttural but also oddly efficient? I look at Hamala but she looks just as lost with it as me.
I do hope this man knows something I speak as well or this might be more difficult than I expected.
The door opens and the man on the other side looks to be in his fifties, hair and beard are neatly trimmed and he’s wearing clean, crisp clothes.
“Who are you?” He asks and I sigh a sigh of relief.
“I’m Alice Castella, I’m a detective on the Darren and Donna case.”
“Oh…well, not interested. The cops took the knife and I have nothing to say to the likes of you. Good day-”
“What about how the knife ended up on the stage? How it managed to fool multiple people into handling it without them noticing it was not a prop.”
The man rolls his eyes. “The murderer brought it himself, the police tried to push the blame on me and that’s all I know.”
“But the king is the first to handle it and he’s played by the actor manager of the entire theater. I take it the murderer didn’t just hand the prop to him while he was also on stage.”
“The stagehand will give the props. But they’re working out of a box that’s set up in advance, the murderer must have swapped out the knives.”
“But-”
“Look!” The man lets out a deep, long, sigh. “I don’t need to defend my case here. I’m just a guy doing his job and have nothing to do with any of this. If you’re a true detective you’ll come to the same conclusion.” He tries to close the door on me but I put my boot in the door opening.
“Who made the original trick knife, the one that’s just a loose dull blade in a sheathe?”
“Just a loose dull blade in a sheathe?” The man puffs up his chest “That blade was a masterpiece, I cut the half-gems embedded in the hilt myself, and I made all of the filigree. If you find the one who took it, I’d like to kick his face in.”
“You mean the fake knife is gone?”
“Yes, obviously. There’s supposed to be only one of them so having two would have been a dead giveaway. I bet they pocketed mine when they added their own to the crate. But the weapon is a weak imitation. The police showed it to me during their three hour long cross examination.” His nose curls up in disgust as he talks “I used sapphires but they used spinel. If only I had seen it before I’m sure to have noticed it.”
“Tell him if we find our murderer we’ll also find your knife most likely.” Hamala suggests.
“Good one.” I turn to the man “I’d like to find the one who did it and should this person have your knife in their position I’d surely return it to you.”
The man’s eyes narrow, as if weighing my words. He looks from me to Hamala and back before saying “Very well, but be sure not to touch anything. It’s delicate stuff.”

The workshop is a narrow and busy looking affair. The workbench is loaded with tools, materials, dishes and even a bottle of wine and a pair of wine glasses. Posters of past performances are pasted against the wall in between shelves and shelves of props, bits and pieces.
“I’d imagine you to have a storage room for all of this?”
“Well the big boss rather collects strays than give me a proper place to work.” He pulls off his knitted cap “Not to speak ill of the dead of course. May that girl find piece wherever she landed.”
“George’s house used to be your workshop?”
He nods “I still get to stash some bigger pieces behind a curtain, but Barnaby didn’t want to send the girl back home and didn’t want to take her to his own house for fear of how that’d look. So, one morning I just walk in for work and find a this young lady sleeping on the floor and Barnaby offering to help me move.”
“That must have been very surprising.”
“I was livid. Still am frankly, but the boss is the boss and I love the theater too much to quit.”
“You could go to Tripsies?”
The man scoffs “Have you been to Tripsies?”
“Not yet, they’re closed for renovation at this time.”
“Go to Tripsies when they’re open. You’ll see why I’d rather stay here.”
“Noted. So what are you working on now?”
“Well I was working on Jack o Hairt but now we’re two people short and Barnaby’s just doing tchiecks with old props while he ‘mulls things over’ and by the time he finally figures out what he actually wants he’ll give me barely any time to get it done.”
Hamala taps me on the shoulder for a moment.
“What is it?”
“I think this one looks very pretty wouldn’t you agree?” Hamala says pointing to a silken flower.
“Well yes, but we’re here for the investigation.”
She rolls her eyes covertly as she explains “The man looks to be in a bad mood, I tend to be more helpful when I’m in a good mood. And compliments go a long way in that.”
“Oh, okay that’s a good point.”
I smile at the man, turn to the pieces.
My eyes widen “These pieces look exquisite. Is this a moji era bashi?”
“Of course not!” The man exclaims and for a split second I worry I utterly messed up. Then his bushy moustache curls up “It’s a replica I made.”
I chuckle nervously “The cutwork in the soapstone is so intricate, so sharp and smooth.”
“Thank you, it’s for the costume of the butterfly prince. Are you a fan?”
“I wish had been here when it played. I spent my youth in Jaobai and didn’t have much opportunity to go to the theater. I never expected a foreigner to be this skilled at making sash beads. How long did it even take to make?”
The man shrugs “About three hours, I do use modern tools to get the roughing done. Barnaby tells me not to spend too much time on the pieces since you don’t see details well when they’re up on a stage. But that doesn’t make them insignificant to me. I don’t make props for the audience, I make props for the artists, the dancers and singers that need to perform around them. When they hold a goblet they need to feel the power. I’m simply help them to believe they’re a king sending troops out into war. It all needs to feel right. Cheapen out on the set and props and you cheap out on the experience. The audience can feel it if the actors don’t believe.” A smile curls around his mouth as he speaks, his eyes start to sparkle and suddenly this man doesn’t look as intimidating anymore.
“How come the props are made in house but the costumes are not?”
“You need to know we buy stuff in as well, I have a whole drawer full of boring gray-painted wooden fake daggers but when it comes to the specifics, the key pieces you need an expert to do the job and outside experts cost a fortune. It’s cheaper to deal with someone on a wage than someone considering each and every piece, appraising it as a separate project.”
“So it’s a matter of money?”
The man shrugs “We’re a business, it’s all a matter of money. We may like art, but we make money.” He frowns, I think I’m losing him. “Can I see the regular trick knives? Just so I can understand the principle?”
The man shrugs and walks to a drawer, I expected them to all be laid out neatly but instead he needs to rummage through it to pick one out “There’s a spring inside the handle that pushes the blade out when at rest, but it retreats inside itself is the blade it pushed down on.”
“How clever.”
“It’s the same technique that’s used for decades, but it still works. So is that all your questions?”
“I have one more. Do you get many guests in here? Other actors, personnel, visitors?”
“No, I like to keep to myself most of the time. Sometimes I need a performer to try on a piece but that’s a rare occasion.”
“Do you have any actors that needed to be in recently?”
“Johnasson did, I needed to take in the pants to his snake costume.”
“When was that?”
“Two months back, right before we opened.”
“Anyone else of note who came in here?”
“Barnaby does so occasionally, that’s about it.”
“I see. Thank you for your time Mister Nek.”
The man nods, Hamala bows quickly.
And then we leave.
Despite the man’s initial hostility, I really appreciated my time in the workshop. It’s amazing so see the craftsmanship behind the art.
“Well that was interesting.” Hamala says with a grin.
“Yes, very I do wonder why the man lied to me though.”
Hamala pull up an eyebrow “About what?”
“I’ll explain on the way back, I’d like to go back to the Griffin and look at that box you stole.”
“Ah yes. Good idea.”

Back at the Griffin, Hamala pulls the box from her sleeve and opens it back up again.
“I didn’t know you had the makings of a thief.” I tell her, genuinely impressed.
“I panicked and figured it be faster than diving under the table again. Besides you wanted to look at it right?”
“I definitely do.” I pick out the bottle again and carefully sniff the cap. I doubt it’s poison but in the fifth Delarouge book ‘A terrible gift’ that’s exactly what was in the perfume bottle. And it serves to be save rather than sorry. The cap smells surprisingly floral. Like a garden in spring rather than the woody, musky scents I recognize from my father and his many officials and subordinates.
It reminds me of fine ladies in long shimmering dresses in the Cygnian countryside fanning themselves against the hot summer sun. “This is a woman’s perfume.” I conclude softly.
“Really?” Hamala asks she takes the bottle from me and sprays a small cloud of aromatic droplets into the air before I can stop her. Dancing on the wind I can make out lavender, lily of the valley and magnolia “Huh, I smell what you mean. Why would a man hold on to a woman’s perfume?”
“Nostalgia perhaps? Or it was a gift not yet gifted?”
“But then the bottle should be full right?”
“Good point.” I write down my findings, then move on the exciting part. The note.
I dig the pieces of paper from the box and lay them all out so the written side is facing up.
“Did you have a picture puzzle when you were young?” I ask Hamala.
“A what?”
“Back in Cygne we had these puzzles that were made by cutting up a picture and the challenge comes from putting the picture back together again. You’d start with looking for the corners and then the edges…” I move the piece about as I talk. “Usually the picture would be some adorable animal or a pretty landscape but you didn’t know what it was until you finished it. Are there still pieces in the box?”
“No this is it”“That’s odd, then there’s at least one piece missing. And judging from the rest of the letter it’s just the name of the recipient.”
“Well what does it say?” Hamala asks.
I lean over the table and read;

— Dear
I hope this piece proves my apology to you to be genuine.
I hope it illustrates my devotion to you.
And can be the start of a whole new friendship.

With the kindest regards,
Valentine Garcia.
—
“Who’s that?”
“One of the previous dancers. He got fired from the company.” I huff. “Why is the recipient’s name gone? This is so annoying!”
“You don’t think Tashi is the rightful recipient?”
“With that scent? Not a chance, and what did mister Garcia need to apologise for? And if Tashi wasn’t the one who was supposed to have this box then why does he?” I sigh and rest my head on the table. “If only I hadn’t knocked. I’m certain we could have intercepted that man.”
Hamala puts a hand on my back. “And then he could have complained to the actor manager who would kick us out rather than let us talk to the propmaker instead.”
“Ugh, fine, fair enough.” I push myself upright again and fling my arms around her “Thank you for coming along, you’re a good side- I mean friend.”
She chuckles “You’re welcome. I thought it was surprisingly fun. If only I had more time for things like these.”
“I mean how about we just do the detective agency? That would save you a lot of time.”
“Well that depends, how much are you making for solving this case?”
“I uh, well, technically no one hired me so… But I’m building my reputation.” I quickly add as she gets up.
“You sure are. I’m going to see how Xuiyo’s doing in the kitchen. Good luck with the rest of the case.”
“Thank you.”
I open up my notebook and write down yet more questions.
I wonder when I’ll actually get some answers.
Is this how detective work goes in real life?
Garcia’s address didn’t get delivered yet obviously.
Tashi’s on the run.
Mister Craig doesn’t wanna see me in the theater anymore today.
I pull a little card out from a few pages earlier.
Guess I’m paying Millard a visit.