Abram Cleans Up After Drago

The Silvergrey Sea

Part Two: Serious Business

Abram Cleans Up After Drago

* * *

Madame Josie Arlington ran the best brothel on Noir. She was also a friend of long standing.

That was why Abram didn’t raise a general alarm when he and Madame Arlington discovered a corpse in Drago’s room.

Josie reacted well, being a tough old campaigner when it came to a business that was still occasionally more violent than carnal.

“Who is she?” Abram asked.

Josie was frowning. “Not one of mine.”

“This isn’t one of your whores?” Abram was taken aback.

A single shake of her head. “Tell me Drago didn’t kill this girl.”

He was already examining the body.

It was still limp. “She’s been dead no more than a couple of hours.” Buried in her chest, just below her sternum was the gold handle of a knife. Her hand was partly curled around it, as if she’d been trying to pull it out. The Hermetist reached for his scanner. The tiny cylinder caused the handle to glow violet. He passed it over the palm and fingers of her hand. A match, nothing extra.

Abram turned his head toward the still frowning Madame, “The only hand to touch that handle was hers.” Grabbing a sterile cloth from the kit he carried, the Hermetist gingerly pulled the knife from the wound.

“A stiletto,” Josie said, eyeing the needle thin blade.

“So, you know what that means.”

“She was here to do murder.”

“Judging by the swelling and discolouration around the wound the blade was poisoned. Not talking any chances, was she. Notice the dried semen on her breasts. Drago must have been straddling her when she made the attempt. She waited until his guard was down. That man must have been fast to avoid death.”

“Are you sure it’s his?”

“I’ll just check.” Again, with the scanner. The DNA in the semen matched that of Drago’s genome, taken when he’d been examined almost a week ago. “It was him.”

“Merde!” she turned away. “What am I to do, Cherie? I’ve never had a murder here.”

The Hermetist stood and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Not to worry. I’ll have a couple of lads come over to discretely clean up and dispose of the body. None of your customers will ever know this happened.”

She placed her hand over his and gave him a grateful look. “You’ve always been good to us.”

“You’re a respectable establishment. And my favourite place to be of an evening.”

She smiled. “The next three visits are on the house, Cherie.”

“Agreed, but only if one of them is with you.”

“Oh!” Feigned shock. “You are quite forward, sir.” She smiled, gratitude and relief chiefly evident. “Agreed, then.”

* * *

Abram drafted a couple of junior Hermetists who were on his shit list for minor infractions as a clean up crew. Once they had removed the corpse, as well as all traces of it and of Drago from the room, Josie’s chambermaids set to, getting the suite ready for the next paying client. While the latter were still present, Abram let slip that Drago had left in the night for someplace more anonymous with the Hermetists’ blessing.

Good deed done, Abram headed out on Drago’s trail. Had he wished a quick, discrete exit from the Red Palazzo, Drago would most likely have left via one of the room’s windows.

There were three of them, all facing the docks. Abram pulled up the sash of the leftmost one and stuck his head out. It was still raining of course, but his hat shielded him from most of it. The perpetual gloom of Santo Mortis was thus intensified. He could only see about four blocks; the mist absorbed all the gaslit lampposts further out. Dark buildings descended in front of him, burning yellow gas leaving wet highlights on every surface. He heard the sounds of vehicles and somewhere loud laughter. Faint was the smell of brine mingled with something savoury wafting up from the kitchens. The air left cool, moist kisses along the right side of his jaw and cheek. Abram remembered why he loved this city.

To business.

This room was on the third floor. The ledge below the windows was over a foot wide and covered with old leaves and silt except to Abram’s far right where something had disturbed the years of deposits.

Quickly ducking back inside and closing the window, the Hermetist moved to the rightmost one. After once again opening and looking out he was sure that Drago had left the room this way. At the corner of the building a couple of feet over was an iron drainpipe dropping down to the alley behind.

Five minutes later, Abram was standing in a steady drizzle near the drain. Using his scanner again, he checked the traces of Drago. As expected, he found them. Which way, after he hit the alley?

Playing the scanner along the wet cobblestone, revealed small scuffs. Footsteps headed down toward the waterfront. Follow, he must.

It wasn’t too difficult to track the Hyborean’s steps; he hadn’t bothered to hide his trail. The Hermetist wondered about that. Had he expected to be followed?

When the trial led into a particular alley off Waterfront that Abram knew well, he knew why Drago hadn’t bothered hiding his tracks. He’d gone through the Portal. Abram scanned the record for the last day. Ten people had gone through, both ways. It was a little more traffic than he’d expected. Only one that fit the probable timeline of Drago’s departure, though.

The Hyborean had gone to Glyph.

Abram spent a few seconds in the stinking dark cursing which, being a sailor he was quite good at. Harry was better still, but Abram figured he gave a good accounting of himself.

There was no effective way to trace him once he entered that city. They didn’t call it the City of Portals for nothing.

If Drago gave himself away to a Hermetist, the ones who had tried to kill him would be on his scent again, for if they didn’t stop him, whatever he was after could expose them. The Order of Hermes likely wouldn’t survive that.

Now Abram had to guess where Drago might have gone, and he had to get hold of Harry immediately.

He set out for Hyborea.

— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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