The Silvergrey Sea
Afterward: Home Again
A Beautiful Friendship
* * *
Tranker got home to discover the power and water had been turned off at his apartment.
It took ten minutes of pounding on the landlady’s door to get a key for the new lock. The fistful of Hermetic notes he pulled out to pay back rent did wonders for the old bat’s disposition.
Once home, Harry showered, tossed out all the rotten food in the fridge, and changed into his usual pre-rumpled suit, gumshoes, & trench coat. Slipping on his spare fedora, he finally felt home.
After squaring things with the firm Harry leased his office from, the P.I. bought a carton of smokes, a forty pounder of bourbon, and let himself in. The place was in serious need of dusting, but otherwise looked exactly the same. He made a note to have the cleaners informed he was back.
Harry spent half an hour checking messages. A few new inquiries that could turn into paying work; not that he would need any for a while but, hey, he liked keeping busy and prying into other people’s business was his happy place.
* * *
It took a week of eight to ten hours days to finish scribbling out the Case of the Silvergrey Sea. The detective fervently hoped he never found another case that took him offworld.
Sitting at his desk, a half empty glass of whiskey at his elbow, Harry put aside his pen and sanded the last page of his chicken scratch. Tipping the sand back into its box, he thumped the large book closed and sat back, ruminating.
Usually, this note taking helped exorcise the immediacy of the memory of each case. Maybe it was the length of time he had taken to write it—usually, he could get it all down in under a day—but this one insisted on lingering.
Toi was certainly still on his mind. He wondered how long until she came and wondered when it would be socially acceptable to call her. He’d have to use the booth at the Red Palazzo. He hated talking to the air in what was essentially a closet, but he really missed her voice.
When he’d returned to Santo Mortis with a fat wad of Hermetist scrip, Harry had promised himself a long vacation. He now realized working was the best relaxation he would ever know.
Time to hunt up some work. A few of the leads left in the last six weeks might still be good.
Harry literally had one foot out the door when his comm chimed. It was Sally Hermit up at the Chapterhouse. The new chief wanted a confab. Something was up with one of the gangs and Tranker had been recommended as a good source of local info. Strangely, the new guy wanted to meet at the quay.
Maybe Abram had told him how much the private eye liked the area for info it provided on was going on with the local underworld. He both looked forward to and dreaded who it would be. Abram’s deadpan expression when he’d denied knowing who was going to succeed him sprang to mind.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry stood in full private eye uniform staring out at the Faerie-lit black water, listening to the horn of a ship coming in and thinking about how lucky he was. Tranker had just pulled out a cigarette when a female voice behind asked, “Got a light?”
The P.I. turned and met the eyes of Mæve.
She smiled up at him around the end of an unlit cheroot.
“You’re the new Superior?” while he lit her smoke.
She smiled while he was lighting his. “Surprised?”
“A little, though I must say I’m pleased. You need help?”
“Yup. No one knows this town better than you, so Abram says.”
“So, you’re the reason for that pussy-cat smile Abram wore. I take back all the nasty things I was thinking about him on the way here.”
She grinned.
“So, what’s the beef?”
“Let’s walk and talk.” Taking Harry’s arm, she led him into the shadows of a fish processing plant. “Before I get into details, we should be more comfortable. Where does one go for a good time around here?”
As the fog enveloped them, an impulse from Harry’s subconscious forced him to say, “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“Who the hell is ‘Louis’?”
— Glyph, Toronto, Podunk,
Bellona, Innsmouth
Feb 2007 – Oct 2026
© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved
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