Lich for Hire-Chapter 44: Diplomatic Measures

Ambrose wasn't particularly interested in meddling in someone else's domestic affairs. But since Gareth was here as a guest, courtesy demanded that he at least say a few words of warning. Once the guests were happily enjoying their free drinks, Ambrose pushed through the crowd to where Gareth was seated.

"Yo, Tiga, my man! Having a drink too?" Headless greeted him cheerfully, throwing an arm around his shoulders and introducing him to the leonine orc beside him. "This here's my bro."

The orc gave him a bashful smile. "I've heard of you, Master Megaman Tiga. Allegedly, the last time you were here, you managed to swindle a paladin of the Lyon Empire out of several thousand gold with just three sentences. Your tactics were truly impressive. I'm the owner of this bar, Una Hellfire."

Hellfire. Ambrose had heard that name before. She was from a prominent clan among the orcs, if memory served.

In other words... she was another wealthy lady.

He greeted the bar owner with polite courtesy, then tugged Gareth aside and whispered, "What have you been up to? You're a married man!"

Gareth belched and waved a hand dismissively. "So what? I haven't done anything wrong! I just came out for a drink. What, married men can't drink now? I don't even have a head—don't tell me I'm not allowed a drink!"

"Just a drink?" Ambrose snorted. "You've got that orc woman staring at you like she's about to eat you alive."

He didn't believe the "just drinking" line for a second. Anyone with eyes could tell that Miss Una Hellfire was about one glass away from dragging Gareth upstairs and devouring him whole.

"Una's a good woman," Gareth began. "But I only see her as a sister."

A classic scumbag line. Back on Earth, Ambrose thought, men who said that usually ended up stabbed with a kitchen knife.

"Gareth," Ambrose said wearily, "I don't care about your love life, but if your wife finds out, this could start a war."

Not a figurative one, no. If the bone dragon really flew into a rage, Alkhemia would have to go on full alert. Half the city could end up in ruins. Ambrose's own domain might turn to ash from the crossfire.

At the mention of his wife, Gareth sighed and poured himself another drink.

"I'm starting to think that maybe this marriage was a mistake."

Ambrose stayed silent. That wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

Ever since his transformation into a lich, his heart no longer beat. The hormones that once clouded his judgment were gone. What fragments of emotion he had once felt had been worn away by centuries of time. In shedding joy and sorrow, he had gained eternal life, but he had paid the price. He could only analyze human behavior with the cold logic of a bystander.

He couldn't even comprehend what was going on between Gareth and his draconic wife. Neither their species nor sizes matched, and yet they had somehow gotten married anyway. Love, it seemed, was a truly mysterious force.

Perhaps there was a story there that he didn't know about.

But before Gareth could continue lamenting his marriage, the tavern door burst open. A man in gold and crimson robes strode in, flanked by two metal automata from Alkhemia.

At the sight of his attire, the bar froze. Every drink returned to the table.

That robe, in those colors, belonged to an administrator of Alkhemia.

Thanks to the Alchemists' Council's obsession with research, the city's government was simple. There were only two ranks: councilmembers and administrators. Both were staffed by alchemists.

Administrators handled just about everything pertaining to the city: civil affairs, law, military, and trade. Outsiders could never tell them apart; to everyone else, they were just one intimidating blur of authority.

But there was one thing everyone in Alkhemia agreed on. When an administrator appeared in person, it was always a bad omen.

Alchemists far preferred their labs to the outside world. They had to be forced out, and only for critical matters. When that happened, their faces would screw up in rage, as if everyone they saw owed them a few million gold. They would much rather operate through remote-controlled constructs than deal with people face-to-face.

The appearance of an administrator in this bar meant serious trouble.

Most of the patrons were adventurers. And most adventurers had, at some point, done something technically illegal. Tension filled the bar in an instant. Two drow had already slipped toward the window, poised to make an exit.

The administrator ignored the stares and walked straight to the bar counter. He placed two vials on the counter and said to the orc bartender, "I'm here to investigate a missing person case. The bottle on the left is a potent truth serum. It may cause brain damage and leave you an idiot. The bottle on the right is a lie-detector. If you lie after drinking it, your organs will corrode. Choose one."

The orc bartender stared at the ominously glowing vials, then glanced helplessly at his boss.

Una Hellfire rose from her seat and walked up to the administrator. "Sir," she said evenly, "we run an honest business here. If you want to investigate, just ask. We'll cooperate. No need for such extreme methods."

The administrator barely reached her shoulder, yet even before the lioness of a woman he remained cold as ice.

"This case concerns a diplomatic incident raised by the Lyon Empire," he said. "An affair between nations allows for no leniency. Choose a vial, or I'll have everyone here arrested for obstructing an administrator's investigation."

The words hit like hammer blows. Even Una's fierce expression faltered.

Gareth set down his cup. "Una, need a hand?"

She smiled softly at him. "No, Gareth. I can handle it."

Gareth shrugged helplessly. Ambrose exhaled in relief.

That administrator had been lucky. He'd been seconds away from being reduced to paste.

Ona turned to her bartender. "Tell the truth. No lies." That was her way of telling him to pick the lie detector. At the very least, it might allow him to survive.

The orc swallowed hard, then downed the potion in one gulp.

Only when he'd finished did the administrator finally ask, "Did a paladin named Allen Watson show up here several days ago?"

Ambrose paused, his hand still on his glass.

Diplomatic measures, huh? So this was how they were going to play it.