Denerim Confidential

Chapter 2

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."