A Fairytale Investigation Chapter 3: 3 of 4, a csi fanfic

Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.
A *huge* amount of appreciation is for Elyse and her website; I couldn't have done this without it.
Thanks to the graveshiftcsi groupies for the encouragement.

Author's Note: This is for b8kworm. Thank you for watching CSI in the first place. Thank you for getting me hooked. You know that I'll make you sorry for it.

Archives: the Graveyard, ShipperworldCSI, Working Love, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): G/C

***** ***** *****

Title: A Fairytale Investigation (3/4)

Author: Laeta
E-mail: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

For many nights after the first, the Inner Circle gathered and reported their efforts to the king. Impatience was rare yet it raged within him. All the preparations required time; time, what was running in circles.

Constable Brass and a team of men located the horrific organ grinder and destroyed the thing so thoroughly. As they watched, completely sick and somewhat fascinated, the smoked curled around them. Choking, they reached a healer before their minds collapsed and were useful for information. Their wills gave strength and time so the Wizard could release a Chaining Spell. Sooner or later, the organ grinder's creator would meet his demise.

The constable also maintained a strict vigil of the sky above. It was here that he and Sir Nick lay their trap for the Stalker who plagued the Capital City. Sir Nick used every trick in his book to uncover and track this man; the stalker was now awaiting the king's judgment.

She had pulled all stops; it was unknown how. Lady Heather's Box was complete. That trap was laid, baited, and ready. Now it was time to entice the enemy out.

Lord Warrick and the king had spent a lengthy amount of time to train those who called themselves the Alter Boys. They were, in fact, common street thieves; all who longed for a better life. Their connection to Lord Warrick was as shady and mysterious, at best, like the man himself, but their loyalty to Lord Warrick was not. When the time comes, they would fight well. Those who will survive had their rewards awaiting.

In his quiet voice, King Grissom outlined his plan.

"Three nights hence is fight night. There is no reason to assume the enemy will not strike before nor after. The burden of proof assures me that night is the night of reckoning. Until then, rest. Come to me at dinner; everything starts at the witching hour."

Then, once again, he was alone with his Lady, the Lady Courtesan. He saw the lines of age and fatigue, and perhaps some doubt. Her biggest role was still to come.

"Hide not your thoughts, My Lady."

"How sure are you?"

"I've examined everything. I have no doubts."

Her eyes flashed. "Scuba Doobie-Doo, My Lord. That does nothing to comfort me."

"Very well, the anatomy of a lye dictates the pattern; I had the Wizard Abra-cadaver what victims we had not yet entombed."

"And they all point to three nights hence?"

"The dead are never wrong, My Lady."

She moved restlessly around the private study, slender hands drifting over the warm, polished wood. It was time to place the last piece of his plan into motion.

The king rose and moved toward the door. "My Lady, snuff out the light and follow."

He led her outside and toward a rise in the land. Standing directly behind her, he leaned to whisper in her ear. No one could overhear, no one could discover his words should they be watched, nor was their closeness here an act unusual. He chose to tell her part of the plan here so her actions would be secret; he needed the stealth.

"My Lady, I need your strength." A formal request and nothing more.

"You need only ask." A formal reply; her loyalty to him was acknowledged.

Now cryptic words only she could comprehend. "I need to have your cats in the cradle in those trees there. Once the enemy realizes the trap of Lady Heather's Box, he will escape the moment we come to apprehend him. He will run, and we will be chasing the bus. Head him off in the trees."

She nodded. "We'll lay in ambush." She studied what she could of the forest in the moonlight. "We'll need at least three men, My Lord."

"Will Lord Warrick's boys suit? Or do you prefer Constable Brass's men?"

"The boys." She flashed a grin as she turned slowly to face the king. "We were all, at one time, on the same side of the law."

His eyes were serious. "It is a dangerous game you play."

"I know, My Lord. The males?"

"You've got males; they will go to you tomorrow night."

Again, she nodded. They remained looking for truths in each other's eyes while the night cherished their closeness. Finally, our king raised his hand and caressed the curve of his Lady's cheek.

Blue eyes became concern. "You are so gentle, gentle. How can I ask what I do of you, Lady?"

"Because I allow you. My Lord, the night fades. Good night." And, abruptly, the king was left alone.

Before retiring, he whispered a wish to the dawn. "Protect her. Let her execution not come to pass; let her be too tough to die. That is all I need."

The entire court was in attendance for the trial of the notorious Stalker, discovered and tracked by Sir Nick and captured by Constable Brass. The evidence and the interviews of those involved were heard and echoes of approval for the king were heard. Now the man was brought before the king for his plea.

A guard pushed a sniveling man into the court's midst. His head was erect and all could see he sincerely believed his act would warrant a release.

King Grissom addressed the man in formal entry. "The accused in entitled to a word of honor or a pledge. How would you proceed?"

"A pledge, Lord."

The king addressed the court. "Who pledges for the accused?"

From a far corner, a generally nondescript man walked forth. "For my brother, I'll be pledging Mr. Johnson."

"Very well. You have heard the interviews and seen the evidence. What is your will, Sir?"

The man gazed at his brother. "My Lord, I plea guilty for my brother. He is a bully who deserved to be checked."

And the accused lunged at his brother; the guard stopped him sparing few seconds before another death with witnesses occurred. When the accused man was finally suitably restrained, the king rose and gave sentence.

"The accused, by the word of who pledged, is a bully. For you, no death is good enough. You brought terror to other people. Now you will be forgotten in a long, slow death. You are to be burked. Remove him."