The Quicksand Singularity ArQive: Array.init:0

A0T5.5 Clean House (Abridged)

The once stately rowhouse looked as though a whirlwind had torn through it. Holes had been blasted through the walls, the inner workings thereof spilt all over the floor like shoals of gutted fish. Furniture, what of it remained identifiable, had been smashed, cut to pieces, and rifled through. Legs of tables all akimbo with fragments of whatever compartments or drawers they once had, with their contents, lay upturned in piles amidst their faces, each reduced to individual timbers and arranged in teepees as though to be made a bonfire of. Sofas and armchairs had been toppled over, spines broken, upholstery split, innards ripped out and flung aside in the manner of wild dogs, rabid and enraged. Ceilings, floorboards, light fixtures, not a thing remained in the house that had not been in some way violently defiled.

Ullifrikh's first thought was that he had stepped into the scene of a robbery. The scale of destruction quickly disabused him that notion. Whoever had done this was looking for something. Although it was impossible, given the state of Jaafarek's domicile, to determine whether or not it had been found, Ullifrikh felt as though whomever was responsible would not have departed without their prise.

"Watch your step," Læfeln said, as the two stepped inside.

"Taking that as a no," Ullifrikh assumed, stepping around a hole torn in the floor.

"Just..." Læfeln began, but the words caught in his throat. "I..."

The big city detective sighed heavily.

"Left Alfarsstvo to get away from all this?" Ullifrikh finished, as Læfeln led him upstairs.

Every niche and frame on the right side of the once stately staircase had had its contents smashed, torn out, or toppled. Sections of walls, the bases of the niches, and every third stair had been torn up, the contents behind or beneath which exhumed and littered about whatever remained intact. Once grand and ornately carved balustrades of old-growth chestnut had been smashed to pieces, their decorations no longer discernible midst their splintered remains.

"Yeah," Læfeln agreed, stepping around a pile of rubble.

"What did the old man get his hands on to warrant this?" Ullifrikh wondered aloud.

"No idea," Læfeln replied, reaching the top of the stairs. "Makes you think it was worth a planet's weight in tanzaurum."

"Þrain's Mane," Ullifrikh muttered, joining Læfeln on the narrow balcony set between the stairs to the first and second floors.

"You sure you want to see this?" Læfeln asked, gesturing toward the closed door to Jaafarek's parlour.

Surprisingly, the stately chestnut door had remained unscathed. Ullifrikh shuddered to imagine why, or what lay beyond.

"No choice," Ullifrikh responded.

Læfeln nodded his reply before banging on the door.

"Sawbones!" Læfeln barked. "Boss is here!"

"Ge' nae ferr semma, wihjja!?" Old Sawbones shouted.

"What did he say?" Læfeln asked Ullifrikh.

The local accent may as well have been an entirely different language. Of the Alfarsstvoans, only one had achieved much success in deciphering it.

"Give no fair second, wouldn't ya," Ullifrikh translated, "let me handle him."

"Fine by me," Læfeln agreed, passing Ullifrikh on his way downstairs.

"Æy! Jja bocks mæyd flog! Biggitab jja mæk nae hae!" Ullifrikh barked at the Old Sawbones. (Oi! You box-mad flog! Pick it up! You'll make no hay!)