Alistair was almost impressed by the speed with which the Denerim guard responded to the call. Apparently gunshots were the way to get their attention. Good to know. Not that he hoped to have the guard's attention much—more the opposite.

Rank-and-file patrolmen in grey-and-green uniforms were taking witness statements, but Alistair had been ushered into the manager's back office, along with the three patrons who'd helped take down the robbers. That terrifying elven detective Alistair had seen on the news had told them to stay put before going out to supervise witness statements. Alistair got the feeling that Detective Leto knew these three.

They were a strange little group, even by Denerim standards. The elf looked like Alistair's usual clientele, a twenty-something in faded jeans, there to blow off steam after a day at school or a shift at one of the shops nearby. The human, on the other hand, looked more put together than most of the other patrons; her slacks were neatly pressed and her red sweater set off her dusky skin and dark brown hair. And Varric Tethras would have been perfectly at home in one of the criminal dive bars he described in his books. Alistair suddenly found himself wondering how much of Hard in Hightown was actually fictional.

He stretched back, trying to conceal his unease, then hissed in pain as a bit of glass in his collar sliced into his skin.

The human woman noticed. "Here, let me help. Where is it?"

"Neck," Alistair said, trying not to move.

The woman pushed the sleeves of her sweater above her elbows and produced a tissue from one of her pockets. A moment later, she'd reached into his collar and quickly plucked out the shard. "There you go. Here, let me see if there's any more."

"Thanks," Alistair said, trying to hold still as the woman checked his hair and collar. "Really, thank all of you. I'm not sure what would have happened out there if you hadn't stopped those two."

"You're welcome. I wasn't about to let them rob a fan," Varric Tethras said.

Alistair was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that his favorite author had just shot an armed robber in his bar. "Who are you three, exactly?"

"I'm Naia Tabris, and this is Juliet Hawke. We're private investigators. And Varric's a lawyer," the elf said, as if that explained everything.

Alistair looked over at Varric. "So you're an author and a lawyer?"

"How else would I get ideas for my stories?" the dwarf replied. "Besides, despite popular rumor most authors aren't rolling in cash."

Alistair could sense that there was more to it than that—for instance, he didn't think most lawyers went around with sawed-off shotguns—but he let it drop. "I'm Alistair. A bartender. But you already knew that."

"A bartender with excellent reflexes," Juliet observed.

"Why, thank you. I do take pride in my ducking-and-hiding ability." In reality Alistair was a bit embarrassed. He'd been preparing to chuck the tip jar at the first robber when Naia had appeared, but otherwise he'd done nothing except not get shot.

"Both are underrated skills," the elf said. "So. Any idea who wants you dead?"

If Alistair had had a drink, he would have choked on it. He'd hoped that he was being paranoid, that the gunman had been trying to shoot at Varric and had just been a really bad shot. But Naia had seen it too. The gunman had been aiming for him, even after it became clear that the robbery would fail.

All three of them were looking at him expectantly. Alistair shook his head. "Not a clue. And I'm not just saying that. I've only lived in Denerim for three months."

Juliet opened her mouth to ask a question, but closed it when the door opened. Detective Leto stepped in, his face completely expressionless.

"You four have had an interesting night," the detective said, flipping through his notebook.

Alistair felt himself make an incredulous face. "By interesting, do you mean bad? Because I would describe it as bad. Personally."

The detective ignored him. "Witness accounts are fairly consistent, but the four of you will need to make more formal statements, since you were directly involved with the shooting."

"I assume your witness statements indicate that Varric was acting in self-defense," Juliet interrupted. "He shot only after the robber fired."

The detective closed his eyes and looked extremely annoyed. "Yes, I know that. But the fact remains that a man is dead."

"What does his partner say?" Naia asked.

The detective's eyes fell back to his notebook. "His partner is being treated for a possible concussion. Which Miss Tabris appears to have given him."

"You say that like she did something wrong," Alistair said indignantly.

"That's not what I'm suggesting, Mr. …"

"Guerrin. Alistair Guerrin."

The room went quiet. Alistair had known it would. His adoptive father's last name tended to have that effect on people. It was why he didn't use it unless he had to, but right now he was glad for it. He wondered what would have happened if he used his biological father's name.

The detective's posture shifted subtly. "My aim here is not to file charges. But we need to have your statements on the record."

"I hope that record will reflect that we're cooperating under the assurance that the Guard is not pursuing criminal charges, Detective," Varric said evenly, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

The detective gritted his teeth. "Yes, Counselor, you have my assurance that you and your friends are not being questioned as suspects."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me, Detective," Varric said, standing. "All right. Point me to your patrolman so I can go home."

Detective Leto nodded. "The three of you, follow me. Mr. Guerrin, you can stay here. I'll return to take your statement."

As they filed out of the room, Alistair felt a tug on his sleeve. The red-haired elf slipped a card into his hand. "Just in case you need some help answering that question I asked," she whispered. "Drop by any time."

Alistair waited until the door closed to take a look. The card was plain white with black lettering; it said only "Tabris Investigations," with an address and phone number underneath. He tucked it into his pocket, mostly to hide it from Detective Leto.

He might not know who wanted him dead, but he had a pretty good guess about why. It probably goes back to Maric. It always does.


Fenris worked late into the night and filed his report on the shooting at the bar first thing the next morning. Once the medics had treated the surviving robber's injuries—not a concussion, as it turned out, just some bruises and a very sprained wrist—he'd immediately confessed to the robbery. Not that he had much choice about that. But when Fenris had pressed him on his motives, the man had insisted that they'd just wanted to rob the place and then had refused to say more without a lawyer.

The two shooters had lengthy but undistinguished records of burglaries and petty theft. That seemed to point to a robbery gone wrong, but Fenris's gut feeling was that there was more to the story. Someone taking a shot at a bartender who just happened to be Eamon Guerrin's son was too big a coincidence even for Denerim.

He wondered what the new Guard leadership would make of the incident. He didn't have to wonder long. An hour after he'd arrived, a young patrolwoman—a dwarf, rare for the Guard—came up to him. "Guard Captain Vallen would like to see you in her office, Detective."

Fenris collected his case notes, then climbed the stairs to the second floor of Denerim's guard house and went to the south corner office, the largest one with the best view of the street. He knocked quietly.

"Come in!" the Captain's decisive voice called.

Fenris pushed open the door and extended his hand. Captain Vallen stood from her chair and shook it, her grip firm and warm. The Captain was a few inches taller than Fenris, broad-shouldered and intimidating; Fenris could easily picture her chasing down and tackling a suspect. Her fair, freckled cheeks were slightly chapped from the winter cold, and her pale ginger hair was pulled back from her face, highlighting her strong jaw and broad cheekbones. She had rejected the formal uniform in favor of ordinary Guard grey-and-greens, though the badge pinned to her lapel marked her out as their Captain.

Fenris had visited this office several times during Captain Hammett's tenure, but after just a month in Captain Vallen's hands it looked utterly unfamiliar. Her predecessor had decorated the office with pictures of himself shaking hands with various luminaries and expensive knick-knacks monogrammed with his name. Captain Vallen had stripped the walls and placed a row of filing cabinets in easy reach. The only decoration on her desk besides a cup of pens was a small stack of folders. He immediately noticed that his report from this morning was open in front of her chair.

Captain Vallen sat down and gestured for him to do the same. "Thank you for coming so promptly, Detective Leto. I read your report on the incident last night. There seemed to be some ambiguity about the motive. The suspect claims it was a routine robbery attempt, but his accomplice just happened to take a shot at Eamon Guerrin's adopted son?"

Fenris nodded. Captain Vallen crossed her arms and frowned thoughtfully. "Interesting. Did Mr. Guerrin have any idea why someone might want him killed?"

"He said he did not." Fenris pulled out his notebook, more for looks than anything else; he had an excellent memory, and writing still did not come easily to him. "According to him, he's only lived in Denerim for three months. He spent the previous four years in the Templar academy but declined a commission when it was offered. He says he hasn't seen the Councilman in over five years. I gather the adoption was a matter of legal convenience, little more."

"Hmm. Still, it's worth having a chat with Councilman Guerrin to see if anyone might have it in for him or his family."

"Do you wish to conduct the interview?" Fenris asked neutrally. Captain Hammett, certainly, would not have passed up an opportunity to conduct some politics.

Aveline Vallen shook her head. "I'll pass. We don't want to give the appearance of special treatment." The Captain flipped to a new page of his report. "I see that three civilians are credited with foiling the robbery. They all seem to be very well known around this department." She reached for a new file, one packed so thick with papers that its spine seemed close to ripping in half. "Tell me about Naia Tabris."

How long do you have? "She's a private investigator," Fenris began, trying to figure out how to hit the highlights of Tabris's colorful career. "Extremely popular in the alienage—something of a folk hero, in fact. It was widely rumored that she was behind the Dark Wolf burglaries ten years ago. The guard was unable to prove anything. Almost everyone the Dark Wolf hit was involved in something illegal, which made victim cooperation problematic. Also, her age complicated the investigation." Tabris had been sixteen at the time.

"And since then?"

"Since then she has had a tendency to involve herself in police investigations"—hence the massive file with her name on it—"but she's stayed on the right side of the law." Mostly. As far as we know. "Her association with Tethras began shortly after the Dark Wolf burglaries. He appears to have been a stabilizing influence."

"Ah. Yes. Mr. Tethras, the lawyer." Captain Vallen lifted another file—this one so thin Fenris wondered if it contained any paper at all. "As far as I can tell, he has exactly three current clients: Naia Tabris, Juliet Hawke, and Elmand Tethras. And Elmand appears to be imaginary."

"We've never been able to prove that either," Fenris sighed. "Not that we've truly tried. The Tethras family businesses all seem to operate legally. There's been no reason to dig deeper into Cousin Elmand."

"And what about Juliet Hawke?" Captain Vallen tapped a third file, somewhere in size between the first two.

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. "She used to be a Guardswoman. She quit around three years ago." Not for the first time, he wondered if he'd had anything to do with that. Guilt twisted his stomach. "A few months after that she took up with Tethras and Tabris. The three of them share an office space out by the alienage. They take a mix of cases, some criminal, some civil, nothing high-profile."

"Strange. I could find nothing but glowing reviews of her work. By all accounts she was about to be promoted to detective. She left a promising career," the Captain said thoughtfully. "You think they were all there by chance?"

Fenris nodded. "Although I will admit that chance seems to place them in dangerous situations with remarkable regularity."

Captain Vallen's mouth quirked in an almost-smile. "Indeed. Well, detective. That brings us to—you." She closed his report and pushed the files aside. "How is your task force going?"

"I'm pleased with our progress so far. I've put a new system in place that ensures all reports from the alienage will cross either my desk, or that of someone on my team." Fenris shifted uncomfortably. "But to be truthful, Captain, I'm not sure I'm the right person for this."

"Is that so?" the Captain asked neutrally. "Why not?"

"Because I know very little about the alienage." Fenris paused, but he had to know. "Was I chosen for this because I'm an elf?"

Guard Captain Vallen leaned back in her chair and pinned him with a cool look. "No. You were assigned to this because I have serious concerns about your work."

Fenris felt as if someone had poured ice water down his back. Whatever he'd expected to hear, it wasn't that.

The Captain continued. "I've read your case files, Detective, and I'll be blunt. You're known around the department for poaching cases that involve illegal magic and mages, and for handing off cases that don't."

Fenris could feel his temper rise; he tried to stamp it down. "I happen to be uniquely suited to those cases, and not just because of my … abilities. I know first-hand what magic can do. Do you?"

The Captain's gaze wavered not an inch. "I do. My late husband was a Templar who died in the line of duty."

Aveline Vallen's voice asked for no sympathy, but Fenris still felt like a lout. "I apologize. I did not know."

"Few do. And I would appreciate it if you did not spread it around, Detective," she said briskly. "I'm telling you this so that we can be absolutely clear: I understand your interest in magic and its misuse, but a City Guard is not a place for carrying out one's personal vendettas. We are here to protect the people of Denerim. The fact that you've worked here six years and admit to knowing little about the alienage is troubling. I am giving you the chance to rectify that." She paused for emphasis. "But I wouldn't give you the assignment if I didn't believe you would excel at it."

Fenris didn't know how to respond to that, so he simply nodded. "May I be dismissed?"

Captain Vallen nodded. "Dismissed. And tell me when you've set up a meeting with Eamon Guerrin."

Fenris slipped out of the Captain's office feeling more than a little off-balance. Apparently I will not be getting off the task force any time soon.