The Folding Clouds

Part 1

"Murder?" sniffed the cocky barman in the face of an accusation that had not been made. "In my establishment? Never."

"Er," stammered the customer, taken aback. "I didn't say anything about a murder, I-I just asked where the rotten smell was coming from."

"And I told you!" repeated the barman vehemently. "It weren't no murder!"

There was the sound of feet running up steps from the cellar behind the burly Corellian, who turned from his customers hurriedly to see his recently-employed, and soon-to-be-dismissed, hired hand emerging from below ground.

"Chief! Chief!" she called out at the top of her voice, even though the barman was right in front of her. "There's been a murder! I found a body in the cellar."

"No you didn't!" called out the barman too loudly, glancing up at his customers and smiling far too much.

"Yes I did!"

"There's been no murder here," repeated the barman, showing breathtaking skill for speaking without moving his lips.

"Yes there has!"

"You're fired."

"Something to hide, Mr Profo?" asked the customer who'd asked where the smell was coming from.

The barman turned back to him, and took in his handsome, thinly-bearded features with a slight scowl of jealousy. "Look, who's askin' anyway?"

From his inner pocket, the customer plucked a small badge that had the words 'TELOS/REPUBLIC SECURITY' emblazoned on it in letters far too large even for the most stubborn Corellian to miss. "Well, you could say it's the filth, but if you do I won't hear it. I'd be offended otherwise."

"Y'know," murmured the girl with a black humour quite beyond her young years, "I've heard that a wine should have a good body, but this is going too far."

Carth Onasi stepped past her and surveyed the bloodied, battered and broken Ithorian body that lay slumped across the tops of the wine casks. The fight, which had all too clearly been brief, couldn't have happened more than an hour earlier, judging by the freshness of the blood, and the still-minor smell of decomposition. Whoever it was who had killed her, the Ithorian hadn't put up much of a fight.

The cellar wasn't actually in much of a mess, given that it was the scene of a very recent, very bloody murder. But it was enough to make Carth shake his head at man's inhumanity to... well, to aliens anyway. And actually, there was no reason to assume that a human had done this. Even though there was one human (just about) who stood as an obvious early candidate.

Carth glanced over his shoulder to the cellar entrance, to where the barman was stood looking very agitated. Carth gave him a slightly lopsided look. "Okay, Profo, why were you trying to cover this up back there?"

"I wasn't," protested Profo, weakly but genuinely. "I only discovered the body just before little Miss Discretion here did. I was just tryin' to keep it quiet till the militia arrived to take it away. People find out that some alien's been bleeding in the ale, they'll go drink some place else, right?"

"I know I would," admitted the girl, "but then I'd drink some place else anyway."

Profo gave her the latest in what seemed an inexhaustible supply of sour looks. "Why are you still here anyway? Didn't I fire you?"

"Why haven't you called the militia in then?" demanded Carth, refusing to be sidetracked.

"I was going to," sniffed Profo, "but before I got the chance some doof in the bar from Republic Security decided to ask me stupid questions about the smell."

"Looks like they were pretty smart questions, all things considered," responded Carth. "Here's another one. Did you kill her?"

"No," spat Profo, "and how do you know it's a girl?"

"Some guys just know a woman when we see one," answered Carth, trying to sound suggestive, but instead just sounding cryptic. Although he knew how to be secretive, he'd never been great at deliberate ambiguity. "Anyway, I've sent out a summons, the militia will be here any minute. They'll decide whether you killed her or not."

"Oh come on!" protested Profo. "You really think if I'd murdered someone I'd hang around here serving customers for an hour afterwards? Do I look stupid...?"

Carth looked at him more closely. "Not in the way you mean." At that moment there was a commotion from upstairs. "Ah, that'll be the militia come to take you into custody."

Profo choked. "Custody! What for?"

"Well a moment ago they might not have," Carth admitted. "But I now know you've been lying to me."

Profo looked shocked, and in a panic he almost ran for it, but Carth swiftly drew his sidearm and aimed it at him, and two militiamen were stood at the top of the stairs, their own guns drawn.

"Don't be stupid, Profo," Carth warned him, "there's nowhere to run."

Profo raised his hands. "Looks that way," he conceded, "but I tell ya, I ain't a murderer..."

"We'll see about that. I know you're a liar, that'll be enough to be going on with."

A few moments later, the entire bar had been cleared, and Carth Onasi was stood in the street outside watching as the militia cordoned it off. He frowned as he again spotted the girl who'd been working in there. She was sat on the roadside, propping up her face with her hands, her elbows perched irritably on her knees.

At a guess, Carth would've imagined she was in her late teens, maybe even as young as seventeen. She was of medium height and build, with fairly short and reddish hair, while her eyes were very blue. The cheekbones were quite high and prominent. Her clothes were casual, but nothing cheap or tacky. All-in-all, she had the manner of a street urchin, but the appearance of someone rather well-to-do with plenty of spare time on her hands. Also, she was very pleasing on his eye, which at twenty-two years of age was not the eye of an old man either. Carth walked over to her.

"Hey," he said gently.

The girl looked up at him in surprise, apparently not expecting that anyone would bother drawing her out of her reverie. "Oh," she muttered without enthusiasm, "you again."

"Sorry," answered Carth mock-defensively, "I hate to be a disappointment to a lady."

"You just cost this lady her job, I reckon," the girl retorted, "so you've been a major let-down for me so far."

"You never know," shrugged Carth, "Profo might be telling the truth about not being a killer. So the bar may not get closed down after all."

"He already fired me, remember?"

"Oh yeah."

The girl fixed Carth with a puzzled look. "For a detective, you've got a pretty bad memory for details."

"Yeah, well you're gonna have to help us with them, I'm afraid," Carth pointed out. "You found the body, so we'll need to ask you some questions as well."

The girl looked deeply annoyed, but in the end she shrugged. "I guess I ain't got much else to do just yet," she sighed. "Take me to your leader."

Deciding to make a show of being the gentleman he wasn't, Carth offered the girl his hand and helped her to her feet. "Pleasure's all mine," he smiled.

"Why do you think Profo's lying, by the way?" asked the girl as she stood up straight.

"He said he found the body just before you did. He then suggested a moment later that it had been lying there for at least an hour. If he only just found it, how can he possibly know that?" Carth paused, then realised he was still holding the girl's hand and released it hurriedly. "Doesn't make him a killer of course," he continued in a hurry to hide his embarrassment, "but he knows something he hasn't told us. What's your name, by the way?" he added.

The girl's irritation had melted into a soft interest as Carth had been talking. "Morga," she answered. "My parents call me that. It's short for Morgana."