Centaur of the Crime: Book One of 'Fantasy and Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 1) by Michael Angel Read Free Book Online

at that one.
    Me, I was doing my best to count to ten and stay in my happy place.
    “This is blasphemous!” cried an older, grandfatherly figure, “We soothsayers will not stand by and watch ourselves be mocked by this outlander!” He held up a wooden walking staff and moved it menacingly. He wore a stained white jacket over a tunic made up of some kind of dark blue fur. To my eye, it made the old guy look like he’d gone out and skinned Cookie Monster from Sesame Street.
    “That is enough, good people, enough,” said the man sitting at the head of the table. He rose, and the crowd quieted. His head, cleanly shaved save for an espresso-colored scalp lock at the back, gleamed like polished wood in the soft light that streamed in from the window. “You have done well, Sir Galen. You have followed my orders perfectly. As I had wished.”
    An angry murmur ran through the crowd at that. Galen simply bowed his head in respect. “I am here to serve both our peoples, Duke Kajari.”
    The Duke leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. The very shape of his face looked commanding, from the angular cheek and jaw bones to the aristocratic slope of his aquiline nose. His scarlet-colored coat sported little bell-shaped buttons similar to the ones on Galen’s jacket, only trimmed in buttery gold. He wore no crown, but a satin mantle the color of ripe plums draped over his broad shoulders like a royal sash. Kajari’s voice wasn’t as deep as Galen’s basso rumble. But it made up for that with a smooth husk that compelled one to pay attention to what was being said.
    “As Lord Regent, I implore you all to assist in this matter.” He pointed out the richly dressed man and hawk-nosed woman. “That includes the both of you, Lord and Lady Behnaz.” He nodded at the man with the goatee. “Captain Vazura, you must stand ready should this woman call.” He frowned as he glanced at the old man with the staff. “Master Seer Zenos, be so kind as to speak to your guild. We hold them in the utmost respect.”
    “Utmost respect! I think not!” The old man turned on his heel and stamped out the door, pausing only to give me a look calculated to burn a hole in a wooden plank. This was followed by the squeak and groan of chairs on the stone floor as one by one, each of the people sitting at the table got up, usually offering a couple choice curse words, and filed by me and Galen.
    I counted four disdainful sniffs, three murmured words of insult, and a whole brace of noses out of joint. My knuckles were white by the end of this little ritual, but I maintained my temper. Duke Kajari, perhaps bored by sitting at the end of the table by himself, came over towards me, an uncertain smile on his face.
    “My sincere apologies, Lady Chrissie,” he said.
    The warmth in his voice melted a nice chunk of the ice that’d built up inside me over the last minute. “You come among us at a hard time. A fearful time. War has been declared between Benedict’s realm and that of the Centaur Kingdom. Hospitality is in short supply. Harsh words are not.”
    “Oh, no matter,” I said, though my voice fluttered in the back of my throat. “I understand, um…Sire.”
    Kajari smiled wider this time. He had even, white teeth that could’ve headlined a Hollywood billboard. And the man had marvelous blue eyes. Bright blue, bombardier blue. The kind of eyes I could dive into and paddle around in sans swimsuit.
    “You are not familiar with our customs yet, Lady. ‘Sire’ is only appropriate when addressing our King.” He indicated himself with a tap on his chest. “I am only the Lord Regent, until Benedict’s son can be recalled from abroad.”
    “Either way, it sounds like your subjects are restless.”
    He nodded wearily, and motioned for Galen and myself to follow him. We walked down another corridor, this one lined with trumpet-shaped metal torches and guards dressed in red and black livery draped over the glint of mailed armor.
    “Restless