He was relieved, therefore, when Og overheard the noise of children playing in the back and directed him there. Of course, the orphans were outside. The orphanage had a large green behind it where the children of the town congregated. A crowd of them had gathered on the grass, and in amongst them all was Brother Kane.
Grim walked closer to get a better view of what the priest was up to. He had several sacks with him, and the ogre watched as he dipped his hand into one of them, producing a hobby-horse which he gave to one of the girls, who promptly rode off on the toy, galloping about and making neighing noises. Brother Kane had a gift for each child: balls, puppets, hoops, dolls, toy knights, toy boats, spinning tops, rattles for the babes. He made sure each child received a toy and when he was done with the gift giving, stayed to play games with the children, his beatific smile never leaving his face. He gently settled disputes and dried tears when the inevitable happened and a toy was broken or lost within minutes of being received, replacing it with something else from one of his sacks.
‘So that’s what he did with his share of the loot,’ said Og as they watched the scene play out, still hidden by elven magic.
‘Doesn’t look like he’s our murderer,’ Grim said.
‘Could be an act,’ said Dog, unconvinced.
‘Oh come on,’ countered Og. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Is it? If you were an evil bastard trying to cover your tracks, isn’t this exactly the kind of thing you would do?’
‘So everyone who helps other people is automatically suspicious? What a sad world you live in.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Dog shouted.
‘Please don’t start—’ Grim began, then stopped. ‘Wait, where is he going now?’
‘Aha!’ Dog crowed. ‘Follow him, Grim!’
Brother Kane said his fond farewells to the children of Mer Khazer and walked across the green. Grim followed him, heading down one of the streets that led back into town. The cleric crossed to a residential street, walked a bit farther on, then walked up a path to a house. He knocked on the door, waited a short while, then the door opened, and he was invited inside.
Grim walked up to the house and studied it. It was a nondescript, wattle and daub affair, just the same as the other houses all along the street. There was no plaque outside to tell them who lived there.
A couple walked past them.
‘Do you know who lives here?’ Grim asked them.
The couple walked on as if he hadn’t said a word.
‘Oh, I forgot about that damned amulet,’ said Grim. ‘Take it off will you, Og?’
The sudden appearance of a three-headed ogre from out of nowhere caused everyone in the vicinity to scream, turn around and run away. Everyone except one stern, older woman, who had the look of someone who’d seen a lot worse than magically appearing ogres. She approached them and began wagging her finger.
‘You’d better not be about to feast on those inside there,’ she warned. ‘My mother lives here!’
‘This is your mother’s house?’
‘It’s not her house. It’s a home for the elderly.’
Grim sighed. ‘So first he visits an orphanage, then an old people’s home. I think we’ve seen enough of Brother Kane to tick him off our list.’
Dog made a sceptical sounding grunt. ‘We just haven’t uncovered his dark secrets yet, that’s all.’
‘What now?’ Og asked. ‘We haven’t got very much out of following them all over town.’
Grim thought about it. ‘You’re right, Og. I think we need to go back to Urlay.’
‘The village that was attacked? What’s the point in going back there, Grim?’
‘I think we’re missing something. Some piece of evidence that we haven’t noticed.’
And with that, Grim began to march for Urlay.
GRIM SOLVES THE CASE
Grim knew they were close to solving the case. If you were to ask him why he was so committed to getting to the truth, he might have struggled to explain it. But one of the reasons, surely, was that no-one expected an ogre to do it. Ogres, it was generally agreed, were stupid brutes. Somewhere deep down, beneath his conscious thought, he wanted to prove them wrong.
He used human roads; he tracked across heath and moorland; retracing routes that the adventurers had taken on their way to and from dungeons. Beside him, Og and Dog had their heads covered. One slept, the other muttered incessantly, an endless stream of complaints that Grim easily ignored.
They slept in the open, each brother taking a turn at keeping watch, waking the next when it was his turn. Grim didn’t doubt that many eyes observed their progress, watching from dark places; high places; secret places. What mattered was that none impeded their progress, and in the end, he found himself walking down into the valley where the village of Urlay stood by the river.
‘You can take the bags off now,’ he said, and his brothers re-appeared, eyes screwed up as they adjusted to the sudden introduction of light.
They wandered past the first houses. Those nearest the river were the ones that had been attacked. Some had been left with minor damage: others, those where fire had taken hold, were little more than charred remains. Og-Grim-Dog inspected the buildings. Grim’s brothers were quiet, respecting the fact that they were looking at what had been people’s homes. But they found nothing. With a feeling of inevitability, Grim found himself returning to the inn. If they were going to find anything, it would be at The Crushed Grapes.
Dog pushed the door open.
‘No-one around,’ he muttered, and Grim entered the lounge area. It was quiet, not even a clanging from the kitchen this time. Would the folk of the village still be cowering down in the cellar? Well, if they were, they would hear Grim creaking the floorboards—there was no point in an ogre trying to be quiet.
Grim looked about, thinking. He walked over to the bar, and then around it, taking the step up to stand behind it. Here he could look out towards the front yard and the river.
Og reached for a tankard. ‘It’s fun back here. Imagine if we were a landlord, eh Grim?’
But Grim was still thinking. ‘The landlady. Betty. Said she looked out from behind the bar, and she caught a glimpse of the heads of the orcs. That’s when they all hid down in the cellar.’
‘You’ve got a good memory, Grim,’ said Dog, filling Og’s tankard for him.
‘I know we’re a good deal bigger than Betty,’ Grim continued. ‘But don’t you think she’d see a bit more than their heads from here?’
His brothers looked out to the river.
‘Maybe,’ Og conceded. ‘Hard to tell.’
Grim grunted in acknowledgement. He left the bar area, walked back to the middle of the lounge, and took a deep breath.
‘Hello?’ he shouted. ‘It’s Og-Grim-Dog here. The ogre from a few days back? You probably remember us. We mean you no harm. Is Betty about?’
There was the sound of movement from down below, and then a door being pushed open. Footsteps. Betty appeared from the direction of the kitchen.
‘What do you want?’ she asked suspiciously.
Somehow, Grim persuaded Betty to help them. But he needed more than just Betty, so she called to the children down in the cellar. They appeared, gawping at the three-headed ogre who stood in their home. Grim was pleased to see that they came in all shapes and sizes, from a toddler who only reached to his knees, to a girl who had reached the height of Betty.