Hal didn't know what to expect when he entered the office. Braden himself had an uneasy look on his face. Anytime someone like him got nervous, it meant the Commanding officer was a hard ass. That hard-ass turned out to be a woman. Scars covered her hands and face. Her straw-like hair sat as it pleased. A faded uniform covered her muscular form.
"For the love of god, Koschei, enter." Her heavy Irish accent was confident and unbending. "I see you brought the rookie." Her finger pointed at Hal, "Step forward. Let me take measure of you. You may call me Scathach."
On reflex, Hal extended a hand. Thwack! A stick appeared in Scathach's hand and rapped him across the knuckles and engulfed them in pain. "What was that for?" He shook the pain out of his hand.
"Leave us." Scathach pointed to the door. Braden did as she asked without question. A drawer slid open. "Why do you think I smacked you, whelp?"
Given this woman's position, she wouldn't wallop him one without good reason. Hall scratched his head until he remembered what Braden said about the spear. "Touch activates certain kinds of magic."
A smile appeared on Scathach's face. She drew a glass and a bottle from the desk. "Aye, you are correct, whelp. Never touch anything with your bare hands where magic is concerned."
"Should you be drinking?"
"Let me tell you something, whelp," Scathach said with a deep scowl. "I once trained great heroes from atop my mountain. The age of magic ended, science arrived on the world stage and I was forgotten. Look at me now. I lead children who couldn't fight their way out of a burlap sack." She poured a generous amount of amber liquid into the clear cup. "After all I've lost, I've earned the right."
"I wouldn't call myself a child. We look about the same age."
"I was there when the old gods tapped mortals on the shoulder. You are a baby compared to me." Scathach sighed and drained the glass. "Enough about the past. Let's speak of the present. Are you comfortable working with Koschei?"
The wicker chair opposite the desk dug into Hal's back, and he squirmed to find comfort. "Braden seems decent enough."
"Never forget Koschei is not human. Trust him to get the job done, but not with your life. He likes you, and I don't know what to make of it." Scathach downed another glass. The back of her hand wiped the excess fluid away from her cracked lips.
"I'll keep that in mind, Captain."
"See that you do."
"Is there anything else?"
Three coins rolled across the desk into Hals's hand. "Take those to Quartermaster Volund. He'll know what to do." Scathach put the bottle and glass away. "Remember what we talked about this day. I would hate to bury a promising rookie."
Unsure of the protocol, Hal snapped his captain a sharp salute. "I'll keep that in mind Ma'am."
"It's Sir, Detective. Ma'am is for gentler people than me."
"Understood."
"There's a good lad."
***
Braden saw the coins and smiled. "Volund is an interesting fellow. He is quite the connoisseur of all things deadly. Volund can assess the quality of any weapon." He motioned for Hal to follow.
"Did you learn anything else about our suspect?" Hal asked. They turned down a dark hall. The ring of hammers echoed in the distance.
"I took his fingerprints to the workaday people."
"The who?"
"The workaday. The people who know all the boring science and computer stuff. They wouldn't answer the call of adventure if it sent them a text message." Braden stopped a picture of an old gnarled man wrapped in a fur cloak and nothing else. "A picture from my time as Koschei."
"When you said ugly, you weren't kidding. How many warts do you have on that nose? Some parts of you are underwhelming." Hal let out a small chuckle.
The taller man frowned and changed the subject. "Our suspect doesn't have a criminal record. A couple parking tickets thats about it. He had a myriad of odd jobs." Braden shoved Hal further down the hall. "I was two hundred when I had that painted. Things shrink with age."
"What do you mean, odd jobs?"
"His name was Jason Muller, age thirty-five. He stood in lines professionally."
"What?"
"The list gets weirder. According to his tax returns, Jason attended funerals for money, people hired him as a groomsman, and was a certified golf ball diver," Braden burst out in laughter.
"Hey, that's not funny," Hal said with a straight face. His partner went silent. Ten seconds later, he laughed until his sides ached.
Braden gripped the wall. "My last partner wouldn't laugh at such things." A handkerchief soak up the tears from his eyes. "Humanity never ceases to amaze me."
"What if he was a professional shopper?" Hal asked.
A stunned expression hit Braden. "You're on to something. What if someone hired him to buy something at an auction?"
"It would explain how he got the spear. Tell the techs to go over his bank statements. Lets find out who's hired him recently." Hal carried on down the hall. "When I'm outfitted, we'll talk to Roisin."
"Officer Lambert?"
"Yeah, Braden?"
"Thank you for trying to work with me despite the terrible things Scathach said."
"How did you listen in?"
"While I can't leave this body, I can stretch my astral form through objects in a limited fashion."
"I see." Hal shook the coins in his hand. "We all deserve the benefit of the doubt. Jackson said that a lot. It's how I choose to honor his memory."
"What about catching his killer?" Braden asked.
"Of course. But we should help Mr. Muller first." Hal headed down the hall.
***
Little clouds of smoke drifted on the air currents near the desk. Melted metal and charcoal scents wafted up Hal's nose. The metallic smell took Hal back to his father's welding shop. In his youth, Hal believed Ted Lambert could fix anything. As it turned out, Ted couldn't fix old age with his torch.
When Hal reached the quartermaster's desk, he saw a large bell and a mallet. A sign said, "Strike once for service. Don't strike more than once. It's annoying when people do that. If you've read this whole sign before you rang the bell, thank you." Hal picked up the mallet. He couldn't help but marvel at its construction. The balance was flawless, and the minute decoration was impeccable.
He drew the hammer back behind his head and struck the bell. A pure note rang across the area. A tuning fork couldn't hope to match such perfection. Hal leaned against the desk and admired the endless racks of weapons.
"I see you read the sign," A heavily muscled man said as he came into view. His accent marked him as German. Not a single hair on his head, but a thick braided beard hung from his chin. "Coins, please. I don't work for free."
The coins clattered against the desk. "I'm Hal Lambert. How does this work? Do I get to pick my equipment?" he asked.
"You don't get to choose," Volund wiped his hands on the heavy leather apron. "Weapons have spirits imbued into them upon creation. The spirit chooses the wielder."
"I have a hard time believing that."
"I'll make a believer out of you." Volund raced to the back. He returned with a Sig Sauer. "This gun belonged to two officers. The first one took proper care of it. Yet it jammed every second or third shot. He never made it to retirement. The second officer rarely cleaned it. This gun never failed to fire for him once. How do you explain that."
"Okay, I'll take your word for it," Hal said. Volund's thick, callused hands shoved a perfectly cut crystal into Hal's. "What's this?"
"A dowser crystal. It will match you with your weapons."
"How does it work?"
"Walk up and down the aisles until it resonates with a weapon."
"That's it?"
"It's not complicated, Hal Lambert."
His eyes watched the crystal while he walked up and down the aisles. Volund followed close behind. "Do you have to follow me?"
"I know every weapon by heart. Some have more features than others. I want you to understand each one." The smith said in a rough tone.
Thirty minutes came and went before the crystal started to glow. The light grew brighter when brought close to a pair of steampunk-esque revolvers, an odd badge, and matching shoulder holsters. The flawless metal gleamed in the light.
"The Fragarach Twins. I named them after a legendary blade. These guns fire arcane bullets, and they penetrate any shield. Stick with stuns rounds. Wounds inflicted by these guns require magic healing or the target dies. When pressed against bare skin, and the command word is spoken, it forces people to tell the truth. Although beings like Koschei are immune to its effects." Volund handed the weapons to him.
"What about the badge?"
"The badge identifies you as a member of the Ironguard and his standard grade three magical protection. Think of it like a bulletproof vest. It protects your chest and only your chest. Once a day, it can heal a grievous wound. Mind you, some injuries are beyond its capability."
"Can it heal injuries from my guns?"
"Of course." Volund helped Hal with the shoulder Holster. "I'll give you some stun rounds and some regular arcane shots. Please use the weapons with great care. One more thing, I’m the only one who repairs your weapons."
Hal nodded and headed to the exit, "Thank you for your time, Volund."
"You are most welcome, Hal Lambert." Volund said. He shoved a pair of gloves into Hal's hands. "These will protect you from most cursed objects, but..."
"Avoid touching magical objects until I know it's safe," Hal said.