The Silvergrey Sea
Part One: A Little Excitement
A New Client
* * *
I was awakened from a dream of water nymphs by a feeling I was in a boat on stormy seas. It turned out to be a hand shaking my shoulder.
My mouth tasted like a rat’s toilet. I slowly rose, upper vertebrae complaining, until I was approximately vertical. My left forearm was numb from where my head had lain on it. I knew, from memories of previous mornings at this desk, that my left cheek was red, my head severely bed.
As my vision cleared, I took note of the…man (fortunately) standing at parade rest in front of me. He was over six foot and trim. His black, straight hair was lacquered back from his vaguely Asiatic eyes. The suit he wore would have befitted a funeral director.
I coughed…for a little while.
After the fit passed, I swallowed—not wanting to spit in front of a potential client—cleared my throat and tried speaking again.
Finger combing my hair and straightening my shirt as surreptitiously as possible, I said, “Civilized people knock before entering a room.”
The ghost of a smile, condescension writ large in the creases across his forehead, “I spent some time doing just that, Mr. Tranker.” His tone was civil enough.
“Ah. Yes, of course. You’ll pardon me, I hope. I worked rather late last night.”
Two pairs of eyes darted to the empty rock crystal tumbler at my elbow. Thankfully, the empty bottle was behind the desk where my visitor wouldn’t spot it unless he sat my lap. I decided to ignore the glass. “Won’t you have a seat, Mister…?”
“Drago.” The legs of one of the wooden chairs squealed as he pulled it out and folded himself neatly into it, black eyes boring into my head across the dark stained oak of my desk. Had I a hangover, that look would have made me sick.
“What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Drago?”
“Just ‘Drago,’ thank you. I need your help, Mr. Tranker, on an urgent matter. There has been a murder.”
I’ve been in this business too long to let anything but cynicism show. I’m sure I looked as disinterested as I had before. I began with the standard line, “This is probably a matter better handled by the Hermetists, Drago. You’ll find the local chapterhouse up—”
“They cannot be involved in this.”
“Why? Were you involved in some way? I will not be a party to concealing any crime.” Mostly true. I’d bent a few laws in pursuit of my career, but always the choice had been mine alone.
“I was involved, you might say. But not in any active way.”
“I think you’d better explain yourself, Drago. I can’t decide whether to take your case without sufficient facts. Why don’t you start at the beginning. Who was murdered?”
“I was.”
— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026
© Gideon Jagged
All Rights Reserved
Discover more from Gideon Jagged, Author
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
