The Dead Dragon Job

Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Contents Foreword Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Pronunciation Guide But wait, there’s more! Cover Title Page Copyright Contents Beginning But wait, there’s more! 
 
 
 
 
 The Dead Dragon Job
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Anne Lyle
 
 
 
 
 
 Published by Knife & Quill, Cambridge, United Kingdom.
 Copyright © Anne Lyle 2023
 Cover art by Larry Rostant. Design by Anne Lyle.
 
 Anne Lyle asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
 ISBN: 978-1-915759-01-6
 
 This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or localities is entirely coincidental.
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Foreword
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 Chapter 3
 
 
 Chapter 4
 
 
 Chapter 5
 
 
 Chapter 6
 
 
 Chapter 7
 
 
 Chapter 8
 
 
 Chapter 9
 
 
 Chapter 10
 
 
 Chapter 11
 
 
 Chapter 12
 
 
 Chapter 13
 
 
 Chapter 14
 
 
 Chapter 15
 
 
 Chapter 16
 
 
 Chapter 17
 
 
 Chapter 18
 
 
 Chapter 19
 
 
 Chapter 20
 
 
 Chapter 21
 
 
 Chapter 22
 
 
 Chapter 23
 
 
 Chapter 24
 
 
 Chapter 25
 
 
 Chapter 26
 
 
 Chapter 27
 
 
 Chapter 28
 
 
 Chapter 29
 
 
 Chapter 30
 
 
 Chapter 31
 
 
 Chapter 32
 
 
 Chapter 33
 
 
 Chapter 34
 
 
 
 
 Pronunciation Guide
 
 
 But wait, there’s more!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 This book is written in British English, so some of the spelling, idioms and vernacular may be unfamiliar to a worldwide audience. Think of it as part of the exotic charm of a fantastical faraway land.
 
 Faerie, that is, not England.
 
 Also, the names of tarot cards are given in Venetian, which may look like the bastard offspring of Italian and Spanish but is actually a separate language in its own right. Many thanks to my Venetian friends Riccardo and Grace for their help with the translations.
 
 
 
 Anne Lyle
 Cambridge, England
 January 2023
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter One
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Freya loved Monday mornings. They were a welcome respite from the chaos of the weekend: the unsociable hours, sleep and meals snatched whenever you could find them, not to mention the endless parade of drunk, disheveled, bruised and bleeding individuals who cluttered the hallways of the police station, their raucous voices echoing from the tiled walls. By Monday, everything had settled down and she could sit at her desk in the Detective Branch, nursing a cup of hot sweet tea and catching up on her reports while the machinery of justice hummed quietly around her.
 This Monday was not one of those days.
 Her reverie was interrupted by the jingle of the telephone in Chief Inspector Vaughan’s office, muffled only slightly by the half-glazed wooden walls. Conversation in the detectives’ room died instantly. It might be nothing, but no one wanted to be caught idling if there was a juicy new case up for grabs. Sure enough, a few moments later Vaughan emerged from his office. A handsome, heavyset man in his fifties, with skin somewhat darker than Freya’s own and tight-curled black hair greying at the temples, he looked around the room like a soothsayer preparing to prophesy a death in the family.
 The detectives exchanged glances. Would it be a robbery? A murder? Who killed someone on a Monday morning, for Odin’s sake?
 The chief inspector looked directly at Freya, and the creases around his eyes deepened. Her heart tightened in her chest with anticipation.
 “Gitasdottir, take Melby and get yourself over to Rosegrove House on the double.”
 Detective Sergeant Arthur Melby sprang to his feet, his body stiffening to attention as if he still wore a uniform. Even the horn buttons on his jacket gleamed as if polished.
 “Yessir.” He saluted crisply, his fingertips barely touching the dark blond hair slicked back at his temples.
 Freya stood more slowly. Rosegrove House was halfway across the city, in the elegant district favoured by the more fashionable members of the Gentry. She had not been there in years, and she had no desire to go back, but Vaughan’s expression brooked no refusal. She clasped her hands behind her back and fixed a smile on her face.
 “Might I ask what we should expect, sir?” As the first woman to make detective in Ravensby’s history, she seldom got chosen over her male colleagues, so this was unlikely to be an exciting case. Probably ‘women’s business’, as Vaughan liked to call it, as much to spare his own blushes as hers.
 The chief inspector cleared his throat.
 “Lady Rosegrove’s butler has reported the theft of some jewellery. And I expect it to be found.” He fixed Freya with his gaze. “I have every confidence in your abilities, Gitasdottir.”
 The slight emphasis he put on the word ‘abilities’ left Freya in no doubt as to