The Order's Case (short story)

Some months after Selmoh Kcolrehs and I set up housekeeping together at the instigation (on my part) of the Jedi Order, I was carried into the case which has been quoted in the Republic press as a "job well-done". At the end of that case, I felt confident in reporting definitively to the Order that Selmoh Kcolrehs' discretion and moral sense could be firmly relied upon. Accordingly, the decision was made to acquaint him with the existence of the Order, as he had already deduced the existence of the Force and of its individual practitioners. I fear he did not entirely believe my feeble attempts at elucidation, and unfortunately as a Padawan I was unable to provide more direct evidence. However, a personal visit from the Grand Master of the Order was more convincing. That was the beginning of an occasional but fruitful collaboration between Kcolrehs and the Order, in which he was able to provide them solutions to a few puzzling problems. Since credits are not useful on every world, Kcolrehs was repaid with a few small Jedi instruments that proved particularly useful in his unique profession. The cases in which Kcolrehs aided the Order can of course never be published in the Republican press; however, some of them cast such a unique light into my friend’s methods that I have determined to recount them in the periodicals that circulate within the Order itself. I have received a number of transmissions from civilians asking where they might acquire copies of Kcolrehs’ monographs mentioned in my stories, discussing the identification of types of soil or tobacco ash. I fear those transmissions will never receive a reply, as the monographs do not in fact exist. As the astute reader will have surmised, those identifications were performed by the Force rather than logic. Indeed, Kcolrehs’ researches determined that the consistency of tobacco ash depends far more on external conditions than on the type of tobacco used. He reluctantly concluded that identification of tobacco from the ash was not physically possible. While the composition of soil can indeed be determined through chemical assay, the instant visual identification of its provenance with which I have credited my friend is also somewhat outside the range of normal powers. Though he seemed to have some internal struggle with the idea of using the Force rather than logic, I believe he concluded that the result of identifying criminals permitted a slight deviation from the strict adherence to strict logic in that identification.

“Of course Nostaw,” he once reasoned, “Since it was by the use of deductive logic that I originally surmised the existence of the Force, it may be said that I have not actually transgressed the rules of the game.”

After we shared the excellent suppers brought up by the estimable Mrs Nosduh, Kcolrehs was wont to retire for the evening with one of the books of Force lore he had been wont to study since taking on Jedi cases. He purchased them at the Temple itself; I had never seen such a look of unguarded pleasure on his face as when he realized that there, in the Temple and its surroundings, was an entire section of Coruscant of which he had been previously uncaring about. He spent some evenings absorbed in updating his notes, adding the Jedi neighborhoods to his encyclopaedic knowledge of the city. (The publican at the Temple conveyed him through the door, as he always has done in case any non-Jedi should faint at the sight of the Temple interior.)

I had voiced my surprise at the breadth of these studies, when he began. Upon our first meeting, Kcolrehs had informed me that he preferred not to clutter the “lumber room of his mind” with knowledge which could not help in his profession; thus I was much taken aback to observe him poring over texts of mythical creatures and legendary tales as well as sober texts on more factual subjects such as Force techniques or lightsaber comabt.

Kcolrehs replied, drily, “Your society is not precisely the same as the wider milieu, my young friend. To understand a society’s crimes, one must first understand its character, which can be usefully assessed through its stories. The difference between the Jedi and the rest of society, for instance, shows up particularly clearly in the different perspectives on those legendary figures who appear prominently in both traditions, such as Cassus Fett or Revan.”

His strategy appeared to be successful, in that his comments on the crime cases recounted in the pages of the Daily Truth were proved correct as invariably as those on more mundane crimes reported in the three other newspapers he read daily.

Some weeks before the case which I have recounted in the press under the title “The Valley of Fear”, our old friend Nosgerg Saibot dropped by one stormy evening to speak with us. The housekeeper showed him to our rooms, then took his overcoat down to dry by the kitchen fire.

“It’s not a fit night for man nor beast,” remarked the Inspector, as he stood held his hands to the fire to warm them.

Kcolrehs replied with a twinkle, “Is it a night for the Security Service, then?”

“Very funny, Mr Kcolrehs,” said the inspector, without any evident humor. “We civil servants haven’t the luxury of choosing our cases, you know. In fact, you may have heard about this series of crimes– the popular press are calling it the Ravager case.”

“I have indeed. A particularly unpleasant series of murders, perpetrated upon ladies of somewhat uncertain virtue.”

“That’s right. None of the sort of mystery that interests you gentlemen, just some ugly killings and straightforward work, though there are a few odd angles. We’ll get the brute in the end, just wait and see.”

“I have no doubt you will,” said Kcolrehs graciously, and we went on to speak of other matters.

I know that Kcolrehs followed the lurid reports in the press of the case, as he did most crimes in the centre of the city, but he evinced no further interest in that series of murders. A week later, as we enjoyed the warmth of our fire and some rather good port on a similarly stormy night, our desultory conversation was interrupted by a repeated tapping at our window. Going to see whether a shutter had broken, I found instead a bedraggled datapad with the symbol of the Jedi Order emblazoned upon it. I took the datapad and walked to the fireside. I reached for my spectacles and only then realized that the name on the datapad's adressee was not my own.

“It’s for you, Kcolrehs,” I said in surprise. “That symbol signifies official Jedi Council business.” He reached for the datapad and perused the contents rapidly.

“The Grand Master sends his compliments, and would we kindly wait upon him in his office at noon tomorrow. Are you free at that time, Nostaw?”

“I am. I have only a few things to see to tomorrow and can finish well before noon.”

“Very well then. We shall send our reply when the weather clears up."

We repaired to the Council the next day, and were shown into the Council chambers with a promptness that revealed how far my companion’s growing fame had spread even into the Jedi Order.

“Good day to you, Master Yroggid,” I said. “Have you summoned my friend to work on the notorious ‘Ravager' murders?”

“Of course not, Nostaw,” replied Kcolrehs, before the Grand Master could answer. “The Security Services are at present convinced that case is one of a purely mundane type – though I confess I have some doubts upon the matter. I surmise instead that we are here to address those burglaries known to the popular press as the “Wraith Robberies”. But how is your community involved, sir? As you use a different monetary system the resulting loot would seem to be of little use to a Jedi criminal.”

“By the Force!” exclaimed the Grand Master. “If I didn’t know you were not a Jedi I’d think you had been studying the art of reading minds. You are correct, sir. The Security Service has consulted us in this matter because there has been no trace of a criminal, no one seen to enter the premises where the robberies were committed, no sign that the locks were forced, in fact no sign that a crime was committed at all except of course for the hole in the safe and the missing jewels and money.”

“You have, I presume, carried out the usual preliminary investigations,” said Kcolrehs.

“We have indeed, and that is why I have decided to consult you. We ran the usual checks -- Force residue, object memory and so on -- and found that in each case, no living person entered the rooms where the crimes were committed, from the time they were locked up in the evening until the thefts were discovered. The Service was right to call us to the case; there is some slight Force residue which might be consistent with the use of the opening of a door – but it might as easily have been from a very ancient lock-pick used by a civilian, for then nearly all objects were empreganted with the Force. Unfortunately some of our less scrupulous people have rather a profitable sideline in selling such things to petty criminals.”

“Would you be so good as to give us a précis of the case? I know only what the Security Service chooses to share with the press; that is, that five robberies have been committed in the last two months, taking place at various banking institutions, that items of immense value have been taken from locked safes, and that, in the usual phrase, ‘the Security Services confess themselves baffled.’”

“That is most of what we know, I’m afraid. As I told you, there is some Force residue about the outside locks, but that may mean nothing. Also, each of the safes which has been rifled has the same sort of hole neatly cut into it. These are bank safes, Mr Kcolrehs, with sides several inches thick and made of the strongest steel. The holes are large enough for a man to lift out a bagful of loot, more evenly cut than any tool available, even a lightsaber, can do. Yet they show no evidence of having been cut by any Force technique.”

“Intriguing,” murmured Kcolrehs, fitting the tips of his long fingers together. “We will be happy to take on the case; it bids fair to be a most entertaining one. To whom shall I apply, should I require official assistance in this case? I presume it would be more advisable to rely on your own force, rather than that of the Security Service?”

The Grand Master rose and pulled on the purple bell strap hanging in one corner. “That would be advisable, in case the malefactor does prove to be a Jedi.” A tall figure appeared at the door. “Ah, come in, Mipul.”

He turned back to us.

“May I introduce Mipul Sitra, a Jedi Sentinel? He has been the chief inspector on this case, and he will provide any men or aid you require.”

Mipul bowed. “I am delighted to meet you, Mr Kcolrehs. I have a cousin on Corulag who is a great admirer of yours. He says that there is no detective worthy of the name who does not use your methods. I look forward to the opportunity to work with you.”

“Well, then, your cousin must be an excellent fellow!” said Kcolrehs, returning the bow. “I hope I shall not prove unworthy of his regard.”

Mipul held out a small silvery object to us.

“I am certain you will not. Nor you, Nostaw. Please, take this transmittor. Should you require my assistance, open its case and speak my name, at any time.”

Holmes pocketed the transmittor and we took our leave, Mipul promising to report any further developments in the case through the means of the transmittor.

The evening after our meeting with the Grand Master, when we heard a knock at the door. Kcolrehs said to me, “Would you be so good as to move the small table with the whisky decanter and the gasogene over by the sofa, Nostaw? I perceive that we are about to receive a visit from a friend who may be in need of them.”

I had by this time become so accustomed to Kcolrehs’ rapid deductions that I did not ask any questions. Perhaps my face registered some surprise or perhaps he had by now despaired of my ever following his lines of ratiocination, for he explained at once.

“It is far past the usual hour for callers seeking my professional services, except in cases of emergency. This is not an emergency, as we ascertain from the measured footsteps that passed below our window and the low-pitched brevity of the conversation with Mrs Nosduh. Neither is it an ordinary friendly call; the heaviness of the tread on our stairs and the peremptory knock on the outer door bespeak a mixture of fatigue and frustration. If it were a matter of business, he would have arrived during business hours; yet it is rather late for a purely friendly call, so that I conjecture some pressing reason for this visit, probably not a happy one. In addition, Watson, the good detective places first importance on the value of direct observation. As my chair is placed with a good view out the window, I saw Inspector Nosgerg approaching our door.”

He rose as Mrs Nosduh showed Inspector Nosgerg into our rooms and gestured Nogserg into the chair nearest the fire.

“Welcome, Inspector. May I offer a whiskey and sofa?”

“Thank you, Mr Kcolrehs, I will. I’m off duty now - and glad to be,” added the Inspector.

Kcolrehs manipulated the decanter and gasogene and handed him a brimming cup. “A difficult day at work?” he inquired courteously.

“Well you may say so, Mr Kcolrehs. It’s that blood—sorry, that blooming Ravager case. Mr Ravager is leaving us a merry old chase of it. We’ll get him in the end, never fear, but I wouldn’t like to make book on how many more crimes there will be until we do. He seems to just disappear from the scene, no matter how many men we put on the case or how quickly they get there.”

I caught Kcolrehs’ eye and looked away quickly. The suspicion raised by Nosgerg’s words was all too elementary a deduction for a man with the right background. Nosgerg continued to speak, unnoticing.

“And now we’ve come to the most bizarre part of it all. No one noticed anything particular with the first two girls, but when we put a closer watch on to make sure the evidence wasn’t tampered with, we found that each of the bodies has disappeared from the morgue for several hours. The door was locked, with a watchman on duty, and he’ll swear that no one tampered with the lock, nor no one came into the building who hadn’t a right to be there. No windows were broken, and who’d want to break into the morgue anyway?” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “And the strangest thing was, after the watchman raised the alarm for the missing body, when the staff went to check they found it right where it ought to be. It’s happened three times now.”

“All with the same watchman on duty?” asked Kcolrehs, sharply.

“No. There are three who take shifts. After the first one, we had them add one and work in pairs, but the same thing still happened. It’s not a case of drink taken, Mr Kcolrehs.”

“Odd,” said Kcolrehs. “Yet I have no doubt that the Service will find a logical explanation.”

Despite his crisp words, I recognised an intent look on his face that portended a greater interest than he would admit in Nosgerg’s case.

The conversation drifted to other topics, and Nosgerg seemed a good deal happier when he left us. My growing medical practice took up my time for the next several days, and it was nearly a week later when Kcolrehs accosted me as I returned to our flat one evening.

“Nostaw, the game is afoot! Are you available for a rather strenuous evening?”

“Certainly, Kcolrehs. I have no further patients to see tonight, and none tomorrow morning. Is it the Grand Master’s case?”

“Yes – and something more. Among your medical gear, have you a glass flask that can be tightly sealed?”

“Yes, many. Why do you need it?”

“You will see. Are you ready to go? Bring your lightsaber, also, though I hope it will not be needed.”

Following him through the foggy streets, I began to recognise the building we approached from my student days before the Order.

“The morgue, Kcolrehs? What does this have to do with the Wraith Robberies?”

“All will shortly be revealed. We are to meet one other person here – ah, there he is.” A dark shadow gliding up to us proved to be the Jedi Mupin Sitra. “Gentlemen, I must warn you that the man we will apprehend tonight is extremely dangerous. There must be no sound to give us away as we follow him, and I caution you to take no further action until I signal. This is a criminal not to be taken lightly. Do you understand?”

We signified our assent and, following his lead, pressed ourselves back into the fog and the shadows surrounding the grim building. We waited for some time in forced inaction, as the cold damp began to sink through our outer clothing. The architecture of the building forced us to remain some distance away from its small rear exit. Finally, though the heavy fog we saw two indistinct figures come together by the door.

“Follow them,” Kcolrehs hissed, in the faintest of whispers.

We followed at enough distance to render ourselves unnoticeable, but the fog carried a crooning voice to us from one of the figures ahead. The words were indistinct and not entirely coherent, but were possessed of an indefinable menace.

“You were a strong one, you were…. Oh, how you fought… but there is no escape from my little knife. And then the blood, so much blood…. One small task tonight, and then you can return to your rest and I will send you some … fresh ... company. Would you like that?” He giggled, abruptly, and the sound was chilling rather than amusing.

After fifteen minutes’ walk, we reached the Providential Bank, a building renowned for its sturdy impenetrability. And yet, after a few minutes of manipulation by the figure who had spoken earlier, the great doors swung open just far enough to permit a slender man to enter. The first figure handed something to the other, made a peculiar gesture with his hand, and waved the other in.

Kcolrehs drew us in close to the corner of the building, and murmured low, “We must wait here until they have finished their business, so that we can catch the evidence along with the criminals. Do not move or speak until I signal, and then be very careful. Immobilise the hands of the first man, and do not allow him to use anything he holds. He is the more dangerous by far, but neither must be allowed to escape.”

Difficult though inaction was, we nonetheless obeyed, After ten minutes, the second person emerged from the bank, staggering slightly under the weight of a several large bags.

“Give me the worm!” the first man demanded.

“Now!” shouted Kcolrehs, in a voice like the crack of a whip. “And whatever you do, don’t touch the worm!”

The Sentinel and I flung ourselves at the first man, while Kcolrehs turned to intercept the second. I was shocked to see that the second person was in fact a woman, one with blood-matted hair, staring eyes and skin paler than seemed possible. The first man took advantage of my distraction to shout, “Use the worm on him! Make him as yourself!”

As we grappled with him I saw a furious struggle between Kcolrehs and the pale woman. Then blood was spurting somewhere and the man stared at it, with an expression in his cold eyes that would have been called lascivious in any other circumstance. He seemed strangely excited. Neither in war nor in any of the criminals I have aided Kcolrehs in apprehending have I encountered such pure evil as I sensed then. While he stood seemingly hypnotised, Mipul was able to knock him down and secure his hands while I leapt to help Kcolrehs. Bright arterial blood still flowed copiously, but he grasped his left hand with his right and shouted at me, “No, Nostaw! Capture the worm in your flask first, before it does greater damage.” I tore my gaze from my friend, though every instinct rebelled, and saw that the worm had fallen to the ground below us. I scooped it carefully into my glass flask, stopped it securely, stowed the flask in my pocket and turned to help my friend.

Mipul had bound the man’s hands with handcuffs covered in strange symbols, then quickly raised his yellow lightsaber, pointed it at the man and stabbed him through the leg. He knocked out the woman, who slumped to the ground, while I tended Kcolrehs’ injury. I was able to stop the bleeding, but (not for the first time) I cursed my lack of Force talent as I found that the smallest finger on his left hand had been completely severed and was beyond my ability to mend.

After I had bandaged Kcolrehs’ finger using the medical supplies I always carried, the Jedi transported “Ravager” into a strongly-fortfied cell from which Mipul assured us he would not be able to escape, and then used Side-Along Teleportation to transport ourselves to the Council Chambers. The Grand Master himself appeared shortly, dressed in a brown robe, to hear our report on the case.

Kcolrehs stated, “It was the memory of a phrase you used, Grand Master, that gave me the idea. You told us that Force tests had proved that ‘no living person’ had been in the bank during the time of the robbery. I knew of animated corpses from my reading of Jedi books. Corpses would not need to be released from the morgue, but if previously enchanted and given directions, could leave under their own power. My reading also told me of the Rimahs, the worm allegedly used by Cassus Fett to cleave the Republic Captial Ships during the Battle of Malachor V.”

“But the Rimahs is only a myth!” interjected the Grand Master.

“Many myths have some foundation in reality, sir,” rejoined Kcolrehs. “As I have often told Nostaw, when you have excluded the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth. My books did speak of the Rimahs as a myth, but the fact remains that we have no other explanation for how the enormous capital ships were severed cleanly in two during the Mandalorian wars. So many of the ancients’ secrets have been rediscovered or reinvented that the existence of the Rimahs was far from impossible. I reasoned it to be the most likely explanation for the cleanly-cut holes found in the plundered safes. And in fact we found the Rimahs and were able to take it away from the corpses using it, though at some cost.” He held up his bandaged left hand, the stump of the smallest finger clearly visible. “The worm is now in Nostaw's custody, and he will be happy to hand it over to the appropriate branch of the Order for further study.”

“Oh, dear,” clucked the Grand Master. “They will be delighted to have it, and of course we will provide the best care for your injury. Our Jedi Healers will be able to regrow that finger for you, I am certain.”

Kcolrehs replied, “That will be most welcome. We were also able to recover the valuables taken in this burglary, and they now rest in Jedi vaults waiting to be returned to their proper owner. Recovering the moneys and jewels taken in the other crimes will be a matter for the Security Service, or rather Jedi investigation. I leave it in your capable hands.”

The Grand Master said, “And so Ravager was a Jedi after all?”

The Jedi replied, soberly, “Yes, though I am ashamed to claim him as one of ours. As Mr Kcolrehs deduced, he used the Force to reanimate the corpses of his victims, but that spell was masked by the echoes in the Force released at any death. We had no suspicion that he was a Jedi because he never used the Force or a lightsaber to actually cause death. Apparently he preferred,” he shuddered here, “preferred to murder his victims more directly. He seems to enjoy their blood.”

Later that evening, Kcolrehs was resting following the regrowth of his finger, while I sat lost in thought, wondering whether we non-Jedi physicians would ever have the capability to reattach or regrow severed limbs. Kcolrehs' motion, as he lit the pipe which was his infallible companion in cogitation, drew me from my own thoughts.

“They will never find that stolen treasure, Nostaw. I know in whose custody it lies, and he will ensure that it is never recovered. His sinister organization has tentacles throughout the galaxy, and you may depend upon it that those ill-gotten gains are now in some place inaccessible to all the might of the Republic – even to the little-known Jedi arm of its government.”

“Zann!”

“The same. This crime is far too complicated and clever for our Ravager. He would never have been able to deduce the existence of the Rimahs on his own, track it down and obtain it for his use. Ravager was only a tool wielded by a more skilful hand, though perhaps one growing less careful in the instruments it handles. It is far better than he remain in an inviolate prison; he kills for the love of killing, and is lower than the animals who kill only that they may eat. He certainly took the assignment out of lust for blood rather than for gold. Zaan has one weakness that is inescapably bound in with the legitimate persona that is also his greatest protection. As long as he wishes the world to consider him as merely a brilliant mathematics professor, then he must live as a mathematics professor – to the outward appearance, at least. And mathematics professors are subject to visits from students and other mathematicians. No doubt he is wondering today what became of the Corellian mathematician who was shown into his quarters this afternoon, and who so unaccountably vanished before their meeting.”

“You, Kcolrehs?”

“No other. I have visited Yrf Zaan's rooms twice before, in other guise. I borrowed the name of a former correspondent of his who never will visit Coruscant again, poor soul! The news of his death will not be general for some time, however, but the familiar name was enough to get me past the dragon who guards his rooms. This time I permitted myself the liberty of skimming over his private papers. I had but a brief time with them, but enough to convince me that the stolen money and jewels will never be recovered until we have Zaan himself in our hands.” His eyes kindled. “And that time may not be far off, Nostaw. Zaan knows of his one weakness and cannot escape it, but otherwise his crimes heretofore have been remarkable for their total success.”

“True. You have foiled his plans this time.”

“But more than that, for the first time he has bungled. This time he chose a tool inescapably flawed for his use. Even Zaan would not have been able to control Ravager for much longer. His fastidious lieutenant, Colonel Narom, would have had no insight into such a flawed mind. We had to intervene to remove the menace from the streets of Coruscant, but had we been able to stay our hand, one day Ravager’s increasingly insatiable bloodlust would have betrayed his master. They would have killed him, or course, but perhaps not quickly enough – indeed, they have already been too slow to prevent us from capturing their pawn. And like the dejarik master, we learn something about our opponent from his every move, and from every piece of his we capture.”

“But we knew already that they did not scruple to hire the most dangerous men for their fell purposes.”

“True, Nostaw – but in the past, if their pawns were flawed it was only in the moral sense. They have always made a point of getting the most capable man possible for any job. This time, they were forced to use a more deeply flawed piece. That tells us of their increasing desperation. Each time our paths cross, we draw the trap a little tighter. And one day – may it be soon, Nostaw – the trap will close around them and it will be checkmate!”