Competition Winners
The Case of the Precious Possession
This story was one of the Runners-Up in our Dragon Detective Competition from Issue 29. It is by Aaron Elbel (13) from Co Kerry in Ireland.
High on a hill, in the Duke’s castle overlooking the city of Gricon, with the first glimmerings of dawn on the horizon, Sergeant Anderson was doing his rounds, looking forward to his comfortable bed within the hour. He strolled through the torchlit cellars, peering through the bars of each door, checking that the Duke’s treasures were in safe storage. At the end of the corridor was a room containing the Duke’s most precious possession. It was guarded by two soldiers, both of whom were slumped against the wall. The torches at that end seemed to have gone out. Sergeant Anderson peered into the darkness at the dimly outlined shapes of the two guards. Was it just his imagination or was the door between them standing open? ‘Hello?’ he called out, stepping further into the blackness. ‘You know there’s no sleeping on duty.’ He looked more closely at the soldiers. Something wasn’t right; he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. To his relief, one of the guards replied, ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’ As he turned away, he realised what he would have known immediately if he had not been so tired. Their weapons were lying on the ground! Before he had a chance to draw his own weapon, there was the sound of running footsteps behind him. He was hit on the back of the head and fell in a crumpled heap.
The messenger boy plodded along the streets of Gricon, memorising the address of the famous Derikils Detective Agency. They were new in the city but so far had successfully solved over 11 difficult crime cases. ‘Derikils Detective Agency, Bog Lane. Derikils Detective Agency, Bog Lane,’ he muttered to himself repeatedly. Then, as he was bored, he started changing the name. ‘Deridils Detective Agency, Log Lane. Tweribils Detective Agency, Snog Lane.’ He continued along this train of thought for a while until he realised that he had completely forgotten the original address. He reached into his pocket where the address had been hastily written down and found to his dismay that it had fallen out. Just then, he turned into Hog Lane and found himself staring at a sign for Merihills Detective Agency. He thankfully walked up to the front door and pulled the bell chain.
‘Mr. Merihill, sir?’ Isaac Merihill, owner of Merihills Detective Agency, grumbled something incomprehenmsible. ‘Mr. Merihill, there’s a messenger for you outside the door.’ ‘I’m still in bed! Tell him to go away and come back another time,’ mumbled Merihill. ‘Well, OK,’ said Jamie Twat, Merihill’s apprentice in detecting. ‘Just I’d hate to turn away a duke’s messenger like that.’ ‘Duke’s messenger!’ Merihill exclaimed, eyes wide open and leaping out of bed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that?!’ He rushed down the stairs, still in his pyjamas, and opened the front door. ‘Hello, I’m terribly torry, I mean ’sorry’ to keep you waiting.’ ‘That’s all right,’ said the boy, looking up at him. ‘Lady Wechester had me waiting an entire day before I could relay my message ‘cos she wanted to paint a picture. By the way, the Duke said you’d give me tuppence for delivering the message.’ ‘Very well, but what is the message?’ ‘Well, he wants you to discover who stole his most precious possession. There will be a great reward you know.’ Merihill could hardly believe his ears. Ever since the new Derikils Detective Agebcy had moved in, he and his band of detectives had been stealing all Merihill’s cases. Merihill and Jamie Twat had been idle for weeks. Now they had a chance to redeem themselves in the eyes of the public with a crime case from the Duke, no less! ‘So,’ asked Merihill. ‘What is it?’ The messenger frowned at him. ‘Well I haven’t ever seen it,’ he replied. ‘The Duke said you’d know what it looked like.’ ‘How am I supposed to know what it looks like? I haven’t ever been in the Duke’s castle, except in the case of old Mrs. Doherty’s missing cat.’ The boy sauntered off down the street. ‘Don’t ask me. I’m just the messenger,’ he called back.
Merihill and Jamie Twat were sitting in the palace guard’s headquarters, interviewing Sergeant Anderson. ‘Right,’ said Merihill, motioning to Jamie, ‘write down everything that we say.’ The detective turned to Sergeant Anderson. ‘So what exactly did you see?’ ”Well,’ replied the Sergeant, ‘it was all dark and I didn’t see much, except the guartds seemed to be aslep against the wall. I was just turning away when I realised that their weapons were on the ground and I was hit on the head. Luckily I was wearing my helmet so I wasn’t completely knocked out and I managed to grab my assailant’s shoe, but he escaped. I still have it, by the way.’ He proffered a worn leather shoe, with strips of leather tied around the soles. ‘Oh yes, and we also found this,’ he said, holding up a blood-stained dagger, with the crest of a sword and a duck on its hilt.’ ‘Um, couldn’t you have washed it?’ asked Merihill distastefully. ‘Of course not!’ exclaimed Sergeant Anderson. ‘That could be very valuable evidence.’ Yes, I’m sure the blood of two dead guards will be extremely helpful to our enquiries,’ said Merihill, standing up to leave. ‘Jamie, have you all that written down?’ Jamie looked up from his notes. ‘Well, I’m on ‘luckily I was wearing my helmet…’ Could you say all that again, please?’ Merihill sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Jamie and Merihill were back at the agency, examining the dagger. The shoe lay discarded in a corner. The newly-washed dagger lay on the table between them, glinting dully in the lamplight. Merrihill held a large book open in front of him. ‘The sword and the lion… no. The duck and the cat… no. The sword of the helmeted duck wielding a mace… no.’ Merihill groaned. Would he ever find the crest he was looking for? Jamie looked over his shoulder. ‘What about that one?’ he asked, pointing. ‘Yes, that’s it!’ exclaimed Merrihill. ‘The sword and the duck. The crest of Lord Humphrey! Come on. I’d say we’ve just about got this case solved. All we’ve got to do now is find the Duke’s most precious possession.’
On the carriage ride to Lord Humphrey’s mansion, Merihill went over the plan with Jamie. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I’ll keep him distracted while you sneak round the house looking for the Duke’s most precious pssession.’ The two detectives gazed nervously at the imposing front door. Merrihill yanked on the bell pull and it was opened by a large, sullen-faced butler. ‘I believe you’re looking for the servants’ entrance,’ he snapped and slammed the door in their faces. Things weren’t going to plan. They walked around the side of the building to a door with a grubby sign over it, declaring that this was the servants’ entrance. They knocked and a voice from inside growled, ‘Who is it?’ ‘A delivery for Lord Humphrey,’ replied Merihill. The door opened a fraction. ‘Give it here then.’ ‘This delivery must be seen to personally by me as it’s very important.’ ‘If it’s so important, why didn’t you go to the front door?’ ‘Well that pig of a butler turned us away before we had a chance to say anything,’ came the reply. ‘He is a right hog, isn’t he?’ chuckled the voice from inside. ‘It should have been me answering the door to all those posh guests, but instead I was put here, in the stinking servants’ entrance.’ Merihill saw a way to get in. ‘If we bring this delivery to Lord Humphrey, then he’ll be delighted and, just think! When he finds out that his butler didn’t let us in, while the servants’ entrance doorman did, I haver a feeling there will be a rapid promotion on the way.’ ‘Yes indeed,’ said the hidden doorman. ‘I think you might just be right.’ There was the sound of bolts sliding back and the door opened. Merihill and Jamie stepped beyond the threshold. They were in!.
Merihill sat in the armchair in front of Lord Humphrey in a room lined with portraits of long-dead Humphreys. ‘So,’ Lord Humphrey snapped irritably. ‘I thought you said you had a delivery for me? Come on, I haven’t got all day.’Yes.’ said Merihill, stabbing the dagger theatrically into the desk beside him. Lord Humphrey exploded in rage. ‘What kind of joke is this? That was antique mahogany!’ ‘This is your dagger,’ stated Merihill coolly. ‘The dagger you used to kill two innoce-’ Lord Humphrey was standing now. ‘Why, you thief! You come in here, you ruin a family heirloom and it turns out you were responsible for the theft of the Humphrey dagger, which has been in my family for generations. Guards!’
Meanwhile, Jamie was having troubles of his own. He had been spotted loitering around in the cellars, looking for anything suspicious and disregarding the fact the he in turn looked suspicious. ‘What are you doing here?’ a voice barked. Jamie whirled around guiltily. ‘Um, looking for the toilets…?’ The butler who had opened the front door was staring at him. ‘You’re one of the tradesmen I turned away at the door, are you not?’ Suddenly something seemed to click in his head. ‘Of course, you’re thieves!’ he exclaimed. Jamie made a dash for the door but found it blocked by two burly guards.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Sergeant Anderson. The two detectives were back at the Agency, nursing their bruised egos. They had been given a lift by the Sergeant after he had negotiated their freedom from the city gaol. As the police cart clattered into the distance, Merrihill realised he’d not returned the sheet of evidence from a recent crime that he’d picked up from the back of the cart and had been aimlessly reading. He had just placed it on the table when something caught his eye. ‘Crime Scene items: PAIR OF SILK SLIPPERS.’ Someone had scribbled a note in the margin - ’soft, silent and with a strong grip. These cost a pretty penny!’ The comment rang out in Merrihill’s head as he looked at the shoe in the corner of the room and the strips of leather tied to the sole. ‘Of course!’ he murmured. The thief couldn’t have been very well off if he had to make do with homemade stealth shoes. Either that or he hadn’t been in Gricon city long and he wouldn’t have known where to buy them.’ Merihill realised he needed outside help and there was only one person with the experience and knowledge that rivalled Merihill’s own. He would just have to swallow his pride. ‘Jamie, stay here. I’m going to meet someone.’
Merihill stood in front of Derikil’s Dectective Agency. Darkness was drawing in fast and the light was fading. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he glimpsed a shadowy figure duck out of sight into a nearby alley. In the distance, a glimmer man was lighting the street lamps. Merihill rapped at the door. It opened, displaying a grinning Derikil. ‘Ah, Mr Merihill, how are you? Come in, come in.’ Merihill stepped into the house and the door snapped shut behind him. ‘I just came to congratulate you on the success of your recent cases, and I’ve come to ask your opinion on something.’ He was led into a sitting room which housed a log fire, a collection of swords on the walls and a strange white tortoise housed in a glass case. It had a golden band around its neck with the name ‘Molly’ etched into it. ‘Ask away,’ declared Derikil, sitting opposite him in an armchair. ‘Well,’ asked Merihill, ‘if the Duke’s most precious possession was to be stolen, then who would be the most likely person to have taken it?’ Derikil leaned back in his chair. ‘Why, Lord Humphrey of course. He was saying to me only the other day that he’d love to have it.’ Merihill opened his mouth to tell him that it couldn’t have been Lord Humphrey that had stolen it, when several things came together in his head. He remembered Lord Humphrey’s shout of “Thief - you are the one who stole my dagger!” and his earlier thought that the person who had used homemade silent shoes instead of buying a proper pair was either poor - or NEW TO THE CITY! Merihill gazed speechlessly at the man sitting calmly opposite him. ‘Y-You!’ he gasped. Derikil looked him in the eye. ‘Yes, I stole the Duke’s most precious possession. It happens right now to be eating a lettuce leaf by your right hand.’ The detective looked into the glass case containing the tortoise. ‘THAT”S the Duke’s most precious possession?!’ ‘Yes, sad isn’t it?’ came the reply. ‘Of course his wife’s so embarrassed about it that she’s sworn the palace staff to silence. But, I suppose being an ivory shelled tortoise, it’s pretty valuable.’ ‘B-but, you’re a detective,’ stammered Merihill. ‘Exactly,’ said Derikil, flashing a broad smile. ‘I steal precious items and then “solve” the case while managing to frame one of my enemies. In fact, once I’d “solved” this case, you would have been my next target. No hard feelings! Unfortunately, things got a little complicated when that stupid messenger boy got lost. Now I’m terribly sorry but I’m going to have to kill you. I can still frame you by saying that you had committed the crime and then came here to try and murder me, as I knew too much. Unfortunately, you were killed yourself.’ He snatched a rapier off the wall and lunged at Merihill, who stumbled backwards and knocked the tortoise’s case over. Molly fell onto the ground and began methodically crawling away. Derikil made another swipe with the rapier and this time Merihill fell over a footstool. Derikill stepped forward to make the killing thrust, but his foot skittered on Molly’s shell and he fell backwards onto the fire. There was a thumping on the door and a voice called out ‘Sergeant Anderson - Open up!’ Merihill opened the latch and let the Sergeant and two of his soldiers in. ‘How did you find me?’ he asked shakily. ‘Jamie followed you.’ Merihill remembered the dark shape flitting into the alley. ‘When, after a while, you didn’t come out, he alerted us. What happened? And what in Heaven’s name is that smell?’ ‘Well, first he tried to kebab me, but then he decided his own head would be tastier.’ Sergeant Anderson stared at him blankly and the two soldiers emerged from the sitting room. ‘We’ve found it Sir! The Duke’s most precious possession!We’re forever in your debt, but,’ the Sergeant said, staring at the tortoise who gazed serenely back, unaware of all the commotion it has caused, ‘I’d rather you didn’t mention this to anyone.’
And so Jamie and Merihill were rewarded handsomely, and after that business boomed. If they were good enough for the Duke, they were good enough for the ordinary people. In the future, any crimes committed in the Duke’s household, the name to be called upon was ‘Merihill and Twat - Elite Crime Investigations’.
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