(post deleted by author)
(My apologies for the delay. We’re trying to wrap this story up. I’ve had some other projects tugging at me, so alas, this one suffered. This took place just before the Armistice Ball. Many thanks to Feather, Rose, the Union for being good sports. Also, due to lack of fire kittens, white kittens had to suffice. Posted under wrong character, apologies again.)
Gen waited several minutes after Faithe had left the office, thinking about what she’d just said. She stared at the door, imagined the gnome rushing through any minute like gnomes are prone to do. Always in a hurry, their busy little brains never still. “I swear by all that is holy, I will strangle her myself if she gets in my way.” Overtaken with rage, she threw the expensive porcelain teacup at the door, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Tea ran down the mahogany door like blood. If only it were that gnome’s blood.
It would be soon enough. She wasn’t putting up with that meddling little busy body. Miss Scoop Hackson was about to meet with an accident.
Hemrich stuck his head around the door. “Captain? You all right?”
“Yes, I just dropped my teacup.”
He looked down at the floor. “Aye, ma’am. How many times?”
She raised a brow and gave him a half smile. “Once is sufficient if you do it right. I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me. Is the Maiden about ready to sail?”
“Aye, we set sail on the tide in the morning.”
“Good. Good hunting.”
He grinned. “Hope so, Cap’n. Hope so.”
The men always got a generous share of the spoils, so they enjoyed the hunt, hated to be in port not making gold.
She swept up the shards of cup and threw them away, then wiped down the door. For now, she had other things to think about. The ball was tomorrow, and she was hoping to lay eyes on the mysterious Bill Michell. He was connected to The Enforcer she was sure. First, a meeting with the Fire Goddess.
Gen had agreed to meet the fire mage at the tavern for a few drinks and to discuss some business if it was quiet, and it usually was on this night and this time. They were sitting upstairs visting quietly when the man in black walked in and sat down. Following him were two cats; one was white and one black as sin.
A few minutes later, an elf walked in, light-skinned, with purple hair, purple markings, attractive as most elves are, but a certain ethereal air about her. At first guess, she was a spell slinger. Rose, the fire goddess she had agreed to meet, perked up also and watched with some interest then started rummaging through her considerable arsenal of toys and gimmicks.
“Hello miss,” the man greeted the elf as if he expected to see her.
“Gosh!” she replied as if to herself upon making a great discovery “A mysterious man seated in the corner. I’m sure you are in need of adventures.” Then to him. “Hello mysterious man in need of adventures!”
“Always in need of adventure, ma’am. Especially with a beautiful woman such as yerself. Please, be seated,” and pulled out a chair for her.
Rose sent out an eye to observe what was going on and then whispered. “How I checked rooms for horde back in the day.” Then she laughed softly.
“Thank you, mysterious adventure-provider!”
“Soooo,” the man said cautiously, “in case you were the enterprising type, ma’am, but before we go there. Would you like something to drink?”
The elf was delighted. Her eyes glowed brighter. “Drinks! I like drinking. You’re much too sweet. But I must warn you, I am a licensed adventure services agent, and I cannot provide any discounts for word-related trade gestures. My name is Feather, by the way.”
“Stix, ma’am. And of course not. I pay full fees, ma’am. Is wine all right?”
She clapped excitedly in that childlike manner elves often do. “Oooo. They have wine here? This place is nicer than expected!”
He, noticing her reaction, bought several bottles of the best and placed them in front of her, then poured two glasses.
“Yeah, not suspicious at all Gen whispered.”
Rose smiled.
“Is this all for me?” Feather asked. “Shall we drink? I think we should drink.”
“We should,” Stix replied touching his glass to hers. “Take some home later to celebrate, perhaps.” He took a sip and leaned toward her. “Now, I have a proposition and a problem.”
Feather cocks an eyebrow and being an elf, that’s a feat in itself, then leans forward and peers at the wine, tilting her head askance. She finally plucks it from the table and swallows it like a glass of water.
Stix continues. “I have some business associates who came up with a plan to create the perfect companions.”
Feather blinked once, and smiled.
Stix barrels on, “Now, for me, that would be a lovely lady, but for them…they’ve been experimenting with kittens.”
Feather seems to be pondering this and picks up the refilled wine glass. “Perfect companions? Are they fire-based? Fire makes everything perfect you see.”
Rose nodded silently in agreement and smiled.
Stix shrugged. “True, but I don’t think they used fire.”
Feather sighed with disappointment, dropped her elbows on the table, and leaned forward toward Stix again. “That’s a shame.”
“Well, fire and kittens results in…dinner,” he said.
She sighed happily. “I do love dinner.”
“As do I, but not kitten chow.”
“They should have used fire,” Feather protested. “Flaming kitty friends! How could anyone resist?”
Rose nodded in agreement and took another drink.
Gen pondered if she was the only sane person in the place and she was quite sure she was a psychopath.
“They magically enhanced these creatures, so they are nearly irresistible. People fall in love with them.” He ordered some snacks when the waitress came by and continued when she left. “The problem with these things, is they are probably illegal in Stormwind and surrounding areas being magically enhanced and all. You know how Orwyn is. Rod up his back and all.”
Feather twisted the wine glass absently. “Oh, dear. I knew that the lack of fire would cause an issue. If you used fire, this wouldn’t be a problem.”
Stix thought about it for a moment. “Do you think so?”
She nodded sagely.
So did Rose. “Fire is the answer to everything,” she whispered.
“I think you’re right,” Stix said. “I’ll talk to them about this.”
“You must! Fire solves all problems you see.”
“See?” Rose whispered.
“So, my business associates thought there’s a big shindig coming up tomorrow. And that would be the perfect place to unload these things to stay out of trouble with the law, not being in Stormwind and surrounding areas and all. Plus, Orwyn can’t do anything if hordies have them, see.” He grimaced at the mention of the man’s name.
“We must set the kittens on fire, and then distribute them as weapons of mass conflagration,” Feather declared.
Stix blinked
Feather rubbed her hands together in glee.
Stix looked horrified. “Uh, no.”
“Think of the excitement!”
“Let’s just get them to the horde. Horde will fall in love with them and want more. We’ll get rich.”
Feather protested, “But… maybe it will be flaming hot love. How anybody can not love fire I just do not understand. Fire makes your food tasty! It keeps you warm! Fire makes unwanted evidence and rugs disappear!”
Rose nodded. “Very useful there.”
“And unwanted people disappear,” Stix said.
“I KNEW you’d understand!” Feather exclaimed.
Stix looks down at the black cat. “We did have one problem… This is Souleater. I call him that because, well…In working their magic, this fellow happened. He eats souls.”
Feather looked down at him. “Oh? Hmm. Are souls tasty? Is there relish?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I fed him before I came here. Some godless leather merchant.”
“Oh, excellent.”
“He won’t miss his soul, but I’m not sure how filling the soul was either. But,” he leans closer to the cat, I have a theory I’ve been working on and Souleater has proven it, I believe. I set him outside the Stormwind Watch. Just to see what would happen. His eyes never glowed, like they do when he’s getting ready to eat a soul. He was there all day, so I know he was hungry. You know what that proves? Not a single one of those blighters has gots a soul." He leaned back with a satisfied smile. "I knew it! Not sure if they have to be soulless to go to work there or they lose there souls as they work there, but not a single one has a soul.
Feather thought about this. “Umm… let’s see. As a professional seller of fire, fire-based accessory, and relevant services who deals with the law, … oh! Yes. Yes, that was exactly what I meant. And not at all that … um, let’s go with that.”
Stix hesitated to ask what she’d been thinking about. “We’ll toss Souleater into the mix too.”
Feather sighs, murmuring to herself. “I’ll fire their ducts some other time. You don’t know how distended people like their ducts.” She looked back to Stix. “Don’t you need Souleater for soul-eating purposes? Though I recommend fire. There are many benefits to fire you see. Setting people on fire ensures they are warm for the rest of their lives. It’s a public service, you see.”
“True.”
“Also, fire is terrific for cleaning ducts. And, if the ducts are terrible, fire is also excellent for removing ducts.”
“Eh, just a point of interest. I’m usually plenty warm without anyone warming me up with fire.”
Feather wagged a finger at him. “Everyone likes soap and water but fire is much more permanent.”
“Yes, I imagine it would be, but I’m allergic to fire.”
“Okay! Gosh. I am so glad I came into this quiet and perfectly mysterious tavern.”
“So am I,” Stix said. “We’re going to be rich. No one can resist these cats. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I will wait for your friends to contact me. Please explain to them I provide fire, fire-based accessories, and other fire resources tailored to discerning individuals’ requirements!”
“I will and I’m sure they’ll be in touch,” he said.
Feather stood from the table abruptly, as if she can suddenly instantly change her posture without adhering to the laws of physics. “Thank you for the wine! It’s delicious.”
Stix stood and bowed to her. “Be safe, lady, though I rather pity anyone who gets in your way.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t. Everyone needs to understand the benefits of fire!” She scooped up the remaining bottles of wine and zooms away.
They watched the elf and the man in black exit the tavern, trying to process what they’d just witnessed. “You should join up with that elf,” Gen said. “With the way you two love fire, you’d be formidable.”
“It would be odd at least. There is happy fire and there is rage fire.”
“Yes, well, back to our business and rage fire. I’m looking for a man and when I find him, I want his thugs burned to a crisp…after I get my partner out. If you’re interested.”
“Fire is always interesting to me.”
1 Like
((I know I didn’t really participate much as I didn’t know what was going on and went into observation mode heh. I don’t think Feather and Rose have met officially and this was Rose’s first encounter with her and loved it. Such liveliness and excitement with all things fire, polar opposite of me heh.
Rose burns things out of rage, pain, emo…
Feather burns things because “TeeHee”
I love it lol.))
(I know. We were whispering back and forth OOC and I took it into IC. I tried to contact you last night to get permission, but missed you. If you want changes made, I will, of course. I loved your comment about the two kinds of fire and had to include that.)
Amelia had dressed her in a pale, seafoam green gown, flattering to her form and surprisingly well fitted. She had remarked on that, but Amelia brushed away the question. “Some clothes here will fit the miss, but Mister had some delivered just for you. He’s a very good judge of ladies and their sizes, what looks good on them.” She felt the gown, smoothing it over Silk’s body. “Yes, I imagine you look quite beautiful. I haven’t always been blind, you know. Got some kind of illness as a child and lost sight, but I remember. What color is this?”
“Pale green,” Silk answered. “It’s quite lovely and you did a wonderful job with my hair. I can never do anything with it.”
Amelia smiled. “Mama said it is black as a raven wing. Mister chose well.” She tucked a few more sprigs of baby’s breath among the tucked loose braids woven about Silk’s head.
Harris looked up from his newspaper and smiled when they entered the dining room. “Amelia, you’ve done very well. Very well indeed. Silk, will you join me?”
Amelia grinned broadly and curtseyed. “Thank you, Mister.”
He rolled his eyes. “I keep telling her and her mother to call me Badan, but her mother insists it must be Mr. Harris or at the least Mister.”
Silk started toward the far end of the table.
“Come, come,” Harris said. “You are my guest. I don’t want to shout conversation to you while we eat. Next to me, dear.”
Sullenly, she sat next to him and looked down while he poured her water. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee is fine, thank you.”
A servant delivered breakfast and fresh bowls of cut fruit. “This is a lot of food,” Silk replied looking at the heaping plate.
“Yes,” Harris said with a sigh. “Beryl is concerned you’re too thin. She’s determined to put some meat on your bones. I told her you’re fine, but there is no deterring that woman when she’s on a mission. Just eat what you can to save her feelings.”
“The ham is delicious,” Silk said after reluctantly agreeing to at least sample the food. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
“Yes, we raise all, or at least most of our own food. Beryl is an excellent cook as well as housekeeper, though I give her a full staff.” He leaned over and put a slice of purple fruit to her lips. “Try this.”
She shook her head, but could smell the entice aroma of the fruit.
“I insist,” he said, dragging the fruit across her lip.
She licked the wayward drop from her lip and took a bit and then another. It was sweet, exotic, like nothing she’d ever tasted before.
“Good girl. See, that wasn’t so difficult. It’s a fruit I developed and very rare. That’s what gives that wine you drowned Beacham in its unique flavor. Too bad you ruined such a lovely wine just to kill that man.”
“He deserved it.”
Harris laughed. “Oh, I’m not denying that. Just decrying the loss of the wine.” He took a bite of ham, chewed thoughtfully while he studied her and then asked, “Why are you and your partners after me and my associates?”
“For something you did long ago. Revenge.”
“Ah so many things. I’ve done a lot in my life, but what specifically did I do to upset you and your partners?”
“I can’t.”
“All right. Finish breakfast. Let’s go for a walk in the gardens. You need some exercise.”
“I don’t want to go for a walk.”
He smiled. “Of course, you do. You’re used to action. Sitting around doing nothing will drive you insane.”
His gardens were immaculate and rivaled anything she might expect in a noble house. Exquisite statuary and fountains. Everything designed to perfection. The rose gardens were the crowning glory. Even so, it was hard to be happy about being a prisoner and she said little as he pointed out this feature or that.
“Come now. You must admit these roses are beautiful. Petulant women do not belong in these marvelous gardens. Under them, perhaps, but not in them.” He laughed at her horrified look. “Oh, you know I’m just joking. Now, tell me. Why are you and your partners hunting me?”
She shook her head slightly.
“Oh, let’s go visit my playroom!” he said brightly and took her hand. “I simply must show off some of my woodworking skills.”
She tried to pull away from him.
“Don’t try me, darling. I could have you on your knees and begging for mercy in seconds.”
((Oh no. No. Ms. Gentyl! Every kitten has the opportunity to grow and become a fire kitty.
Fire kitties; hobby, vocation, life-long dream))
1 Like
Dare we hope, Ms. Feather. Everyone needs a fire kitty.
(Not a lot new here, but it gives an idea where the Union is and drops a few more hints.)
Scoop spent much of her time in Dalaran investigating and stayed with a friend when she was there. Her home, much to her mother’s chagrin, was in a small cottage overlooking Stormwind. Those big cities were too dangerous for a nice little gnome girl, she’d fret. Then Scoop would assure her that she was perfectly safe, probably safer than radiated Gnome lands and surrounding areas.
She was putting together some new notes tonight and lounged on the rug in front of the fire with her cats Miss Marple and Watson. She was going to have to talk to Faithe again since it had come to her attention that she knew the mysterious Bill Michell.
She’d tracked down the woods used in the torture devices, but how much did she want to share with Orwyn? She thought back to her first interview with him.
There he was. The stud duck himself looked up at Scoop when she strolled in and then put down the report he was reading.
Scoop looked around the office and then sized him up. She knew who he was, of course. She’d watched the Union often enough and everyone knew Commander Orwyn. “Oh…” She thought she might have a moment to snoop around, but nope, here he was, so she slipped the notebook away. “People from Dal thought I should come talk to you. My name’s Scoop Hackson,” she said and stuck out her hand.
“Commander Orwyn. I’ve been looking forward to your visit.”
“Bet you have, big boy.”
He motioned to some stairs. “We can talk upstairs in my office. Would you like something to drink?”
She was trying to remember if they had any holding cells here upstairs or otherwise. “Coffee, tea, beer. Whatever you have. None of that cheap wine they plied me with in Dal.” She stuck her finger in her mouth and made a gagging motion.
“We have coffee,” he replied and poured a cup for her from the elaborate coffeemaker.
Scoop examined the machine with some approval. “Gnomish. The best.”
“Right you are,” he replied as he handed it to her. “This way then.”
“Lead the way bucko.”
Orwyn motioned to a chair opposite his desk.
“Nice chairs,” she said. “So comfortable you feel like you’re sitting on air.” (This only makes sense if you’ve ever interviewed with Orwyn who: gestures to one of the nonexistent guest chairs that really exist in his office. Then Scoop was sitting on the edge of the counter on air. Orwyn’s imaginary chairs always amuse me.)
“Thank you,” he said taking a sip of his coffee and rearranging the pens on his desk in order.
“So, what do you want to know?” she said.
“I want to know about the murder in Dalaran. The information sent by the authorities there left something to be desired. You have firsthand information, it seems.”
“I know everything.”
“I’d love to hear it,” he said took out a notebook and pen. I read your article, of course, but I imagine there’s more to the story."
Scoop slid a packet of pictures to the man. " Yeah, I didn’t put it all in there. I got pictures of everything before they kicked me out though."
He looked amused. “They must have loved to see you walking around the crime scene.”
She took another sip of the coffee, which was surprisingly good for police coffee. Not that she had ever been arrested very often for violating crime scenes or anything. No sirree. “Well, no one pays much attention to plants, you know. Not even you people. I just moved from room to room and made like a plant listening and taking pictures.”
“As you see, I have none in my office,” he said and smiled wryly.
“But you had one right outside your door last week.” She flopped back and feigned dying of boredom. “Nothing interesting here except a bit about that medical report. Anyway, the Dalaran murder. Banker Beacham was run out of Stormwind as you may recall some years ago. He became a prosperous businessman in Dal. Used to through extravagant parties for politicians, nobles, rich men, anyone who might be of use to him. Anything their perverse hearts desired he supplied.”
Orwyn nodded as if recalling the name and incident.
“And he blackmailed some of them I have no doubt. Still digging on that. He had a playroom as you can see in those pictures. Took lessons from the Scarlets in there. Over the years, several young women in Dal have disappeared and probably in surrounding areas. Still checking on that. The immediate staff knew he invited women to “visit” but said they were gone in the morning. They said they had no idea he was torturing people there. But I think someone must have had an idea something was going on.”
Orwyn was busy writing this all down. “What did the authorities make of the room?”
She shrugged. “A few of them threw up. Two of the bodyguard’s bodies were strapped in some of the devices.”
Orwyn tapped the pen on the desk thoughtfully. “Hmm. Did the bodyguards die before Beacham?”
"Yes. Whoever did it, sliced them up pretty good. Cut one guy’s head off. Beacham left bloody footprints down to the wine cellar. The killers were more careful about where they stepped. Dancers left footprints around there.
Orwyn looked surprised. “Dancers?”
She nodded and then danced around wiggling her hips. Orwyn looked away. “I think the plan was for Beacham and his goons to torture the dancers, but somehow their friends got in and rescued them. There was a note from a businessman name Michell introducing two dancers as thank you for the elf Beacham had given him at a party.” Scoop leaned forward, “Oddly enough, the note was in his handwriting, but he denies sending it or the dancers.” She raised an eyebrow. “Curious, eh?”
He went back to scribbling notes. “Two dancers. Ok.”
“Probably just doesn’t want to be involved.” She stretched and took the opportunity to look around the office again in case she could ever get in here unnoticed.
“Michell’s his last name?”
“Yes, he’s from Booty Bay among other places. Some importer or something. Bob Michell.”
Orwyn nodded. “Know much about him?”
“Kind of a mystery man.”
“How so?”
“I haven’t been able to find out much,” she said. No history, just kind of popped up from nowhere a few years back."
Orwyn snorted. “It does seem like a very lazily put-together name.”
Scoop laughed. “Pretty bland isn’t it?”
“Very inobtrusive.”
“Uh huh.” She was itching to see what he had in that file on his desk and asked for more coffee hoping he would go downstairs to get her some. Instead, he called one of his officers. Curses, foiled again.
“No one’s found the dancers?” he said back to the murder like a bloodhound.
“The working theory is either the dancers were bait or their friends found out where they were going and had heard about Beacham’s…predilections, and swooped in to rescue them. No description of them. But,” she leaned forward as if imparting some great wisdom. “oddly enough, the wine had been drugged. Dal authorities checked that. ALL of it that was open in the playroom. Every glass. Not just the glasses the dancers were drinking from. So, the dancers drugged the men too. Maybe they planned to rob him from the beginning because his maid said the safe had been cleared out.”
This seemed to perplex Orwyn who knitted his brow as he thought about it. “How was the safe opened?”
“It was a combination safe and opened with the combination. Maybe Beacham tried to bribe them, or they are safe crackers. No bloody footprints up to the bedroom with the safe though, so Beacham didn’t go up there.”
She could see the wheels turning in his head. Even with the door closed, she could hear those irritating kids running by screaming about that grindgear gorilla. Someday she was going to grab it and both those kids and throw them in the canal. “Not after he was hurt at any rate,” he said.
“Nope. And would he open it while his bodyguards were still active?”
He was back to writing. “I don’t suppose anyone knows what was in the safe.”
Scoop plucked a pencil out of one of her buns and waved it like a magic wand as if she were producing something wonderful, like a dragon’s treasure. “Lots of money and boxes and boxes of expensive gems and jewelry. A fortune.”
Orwyn looked up surprised. “Really? That’s a fact and not speculation?”
“Fact. I’m a reporter, not a gossip columnist. The mother knew and the maid knew. He showed it to her to impress her. The mother has bouts of dementia, but she’s also lucid at times. I think the maid was really disappointed the safe was cleaned out. Probably thought she could talk the old lady into opening it.”
“Did his mother live with him?”
“Oh yes.”
“Was she there when the murder took place?”
Scoop blew across the hot cup of coffee the officer had delivered and took a sip. “For a murdering, pervert, he took good care of her. She was asleep. They give her a sleeping potion at night. I don’t think she would have wakened if Deathwing had come calling.”
“Was the maid there?”
“The staff had the night off after they settled the old lady in except the bodyguards That’s when he had his special play nights. Sometimes they were still there when a woman or two would arrive, but would leave soon after. He usually keeps at least one person overnight to help with his mother except for one night a week.”
“What other staff are there?”
Scoop referred back to some notes. “Gardeners who live in two houses on the far end of the grounds. A stableman who lives in the stable. Cook, maid, housekeeper and her husband.”
“Beacham certainly was doing well for himself.” He smiled very slightly and nodded while he took notes.
“Yes, he was.”
“How many of the staff helped with his mother?”
“The maid and housekeeper. The cook is very fond of her and cooks her special meals. They’re still there taking care of her. Seem to like her, but not sure what will happen to her now.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Special meals?”
“She’d talk about something she remembered from her youth. Cry because she missed pumpkin pie so the cook would cook a sweet potato pie and spice it up like pumpkin pie for her. Or talk about how her aunt used to make her fried apples. How does a sweet lady like that raise a monster?”
He shook his head. “It’s not always due to parenting.” Then shifting courses abruptly as if he didn’t want to think about it, he launched back into the questions. “Did he pay his staff well? Were they happy working for him?”
She nodded and huffed a tiny bit. "Paid them very well. I think they were very happy though they knew something was off. Money buys quiet tongues and closed eyes.
“Yes indeed,” he said. “You think he was blackmailing some people in Dalaran?”
She nodded vigorously. “Like I said, I think when this comes out, there will be blackmail involved. Maybe someone got tired of it or maybe a relative of one of the girls decided on revenge. But, here’s the funny thing. Your captain was visited by a dancer too, wasn’t he? Now here’s the deal, Mr. Orwyn. I will share what I find out with you. But you have to work with me too. I want to break this story. Something was going on and you have some murders here. I think they are connected somehow.”
“It’s a big city,” he said noncommittally.
She shot up out of her chair and stormed forward. “Don’t play stupid with me. This story can make my career and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
He raised a hand to stop her. “I play it straight and don’t make assumptions. We have our fair share of murders. You’ll have to be more specific.”
She huffed at him still scowling. “How many murders do you have with cookies stuffed in their mouths?”
He looked taken aback and then smiled slightly. “Very few, actually.”
“Beacham had chocolate cookies crammed in his mouth and then a gag tied around his mouth so he couldn’t spit them out before they shoved him under in that wine barrel.”
“Did you check all the major cities for similar cases then?” he asked.
“None others that I can find. See any connection?”
“It’s unusual enough for it to be a possibility,” he admitted.
She rolled her eyes. "Ya think? The captain’s original story was two dancers were with that guy by the lighthouse.
“That’s right,” he conceded.
“Two dancers were with Beacham. And then a dancer goes to see Greyson and now his brain is mush. He’s remembering a girl he loved years ago and fantasizing about a woman who doesn’t exist.”
“Did anyone still alive actually see the dancers at Beacham’s?”
“No, just two sets of slipper footprints in the playroom. The assumption is they were trying to get away after the killing. Plus, the note introducing them and the lipstick on the glasses. Some partial prints of men’s boots, but the killers were careful. Then it was all jumbled with the bodyguard’s prints and the staff the next day.”
“The playroom? Is that a euphemism for the cellar?”
She looked up as if praying for help. “The torture room. He took the dancers there and drugged them.”
“Right.”
“All right,” Orwyn said. “So there were dancers and cookies.”
“And drowning. Believe all your victims with cookies were drowned also if my information is correct. That’s a very specific way to kill someone.”
Orwyn made a small grunt of agreement.
“Did you look at those…devices in the playroom?”
“In the pictures sent by the authorities.”
“I just gave you some up close pictures.”
He started sorting through the pictures.
“Look,” she said and pointed out various details. “This is a labor of love. These are new, fine craftsmanship. Lovely carving. Who creates beautiful torture devices? Find the man who made these and you may answer a few questions.”
Orwyn was studying them sloser with a magnifying glass now. “Hm. All right.” He looked at them thoughtfully and then rubbed his goatee.
“Against my better judgment,” she said, “I’m going to leave my notes with you. At least a copy of them. Not all of them. I’m working on some theories, and I don’t want to send you down the wrong rabbit holes.”
“Believe me,” he said, “I won’t take any of this to any reporters.”
“Thank you. I have a question.”
He looked up from the pictures. “Yes?”
“What do you have against fishing with explosives? I kind of like fish, but the idea of putting worms on hooks…” she shuddered. “Ugh, no worms.”
“It causes a lot of collateral damage and disturbs the peace.”
She rolled her eyes. “When is it peaceful in Stormwind? What is the fine for fishing with explosives?”
Before he could answer, Sigren called out from the entrance to the Union office. Scoop would recognize her voice anywhere. “Hello?”
“Hey, tall stuff,” Scoop yelled back.
“There’s an imp across the street casing the joint! Just thought you should know.”
Scoop laughed
Orwyn ran his fingers over his face and sighed.
“Better check that out,” Scoop said.
Then there was the sound of rocks hitting the side of the building. “Huh, they’re dodgier than I thought. P!ss off, felrat!”
Scoop looked at Orwyn. “Don’t you even care?”
“There’s nothing illegal about being outside the Watch office,” he replied.
She smiled. “Huh, good to know.” If she angled herself just right…Yes, she was sure she could take pictures inside that window with her high-power camera. Of course, the last time she did that when she was investigating illegal loan practices, she got some interesting shots of Banker Rhode and his secretary. That was an expose’ she could have done without. Some Rhodes were simply better left untraveled.
She was pretty sure none of that silliness went on here. It would mess up the perfect order of the desks and all.
Harris insisted Silk breakfast with him the next morning. She wanted to sulk and refuse to stir out of bed. Pleaded she had a headache.
“Mister will not be happy if he dines alone,” said Amelia, ignoring Silk’s excuses. “He bought some new dresses for you and would like to see you in one.”
“I don’t really care what Mister wants,” Silk said, pulling the sheet up over her chest.
Amelia crinkled a brow. “Oh, you should, Miss. I would prefer wearing one of these beautiful dresses to wearing, well, nothing and that will be your choice should you refuse his gifts.” She paused and shivered just a bit. “Or something else. Worse.”
Silk could imagine what that was. Harris had taken her to the playroom to show her his craftsmanship. The woodworking and mechanics were pieces of art. Intricately carved, with fine inlays of rare woods, jewels, and mother of pearl, but the machines. Those machines. At the end of the tour, he had strapped her into the rack with her screaming and fighting him every bit of the way then he’d put his finger to his lips. “Shhhh, just listen.”
She had out of fear and anticipation. He had turned the crank a tiny bit and there was the slightest tick. “Hear that?” he said. He turned it again and she felt the binds tighten. Another tick. He smiled. “The mechanisms are so finely tuned they barely make any noise. Not like those clunky, unwieldy things the Scarlets use. These are works of art. Mechanical marvels.”
“Yes, they are,” she agreed quietly. “Will you please release me now?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. This was just a demonstration.” He unbuckled one strap. “I’m sure I won’t need to use any of these on you…will I?”
She shook her head.
Pushing the recent lesson out of her mind, she got up and let Amelia dress her and do her hair. The hair styling gave Amelia great joy, so she let her do as she wished only advising her which ribbons matched the dress.
Harris leapt to his feet when she entered the room. “My dear, Silk. You look divine. Compliments to your lady-in-waiting.” He patted Amelia’s shoulder. “That would be you, sweet girl.”
Amelia giggled, flushed red, and curtseyed, then scurried out of the room.
He shrugged. “She really did do a lovely job, but then she had a fine palette to work with.” He pulled out a chair next to his thwarting her plans to sit at the far end of the table.
“Thank you. You’ve cut your beard.”
He felt his face. “Oh, yes, It will grow back. I much prefer the other style, but I was undercover last night. Did you know last night was the Armistice Ball?”
“I knew it was coming up.”
“I try to attend. It’s an important social event and I renew contacts. Plus, I just enjoy people watching. Unfortunately, I heard people were asking about Bill Michell and were looking for him to attend this year again.”
Beryl delivered coffee and asked if anyone had preferences for breakfast. “Whatever is convenient,” Silk answered.
“Meat and eggs and some honey plums. Silk enjoys them.”
“Meat and eggs and the trimmings,” she replied. “Yes, sir.”
“What does Bill Michell have to do with anything?” Silk asked.
He quirked a brow. “Hmm, I thought you knew. Michell is my alter-ego I do business under that name in various other places. Since people were asking about him, I decided to play servant last night and figure out who was looking for him. Someone from the Watch. No surprise. A gnome reporter. That was a surprise and inconvenient. And, surprise!” He threw his hands in the air. “A redhead named Gen.” He nodded at her wisely.
“I trimmed my beard, grayed my hair and beard, put a lift in one shoe so I walked with a limp, and got hired as a servant. No one ever notices servants, but no sense taking chances. Oh, the things I did hear.”
He leaned toward her as if to impart the wisdom of the ages. "If you ever want to be a spy, which you don’t because you will live out your days here, but if you did, you would be a household servant. No one ever pays attention to them.
"It was glorious. Cerwynne was there. I’ve crossed paths with her before and like her. She was there with Gen and Sigren visiting. I had just delivered some drinks when Cer took Gen aside and said, ‘I think Sig’s trying to make a pass at me.’
"Gen replied, ‘I’m sure she is. I’ll just give you two some privacy then.’
"I had to turn away and stifle my laugh. Alas, I think Sig’s advances were unsuccessful as she left the party alone, but you have to admire that gal. I’d hire her, but I fear she’d as soon cut my throat as not.
“There were the normal speeches. Some oddity about giving away kittens that smelled like smoke and a drawing for a possessed cat or something. Then, what should I notice towards the end of the party, but this redhead making the rounds, checking out men. Now, she could have just been looking for company, but she seemed to be asking a lot of questions. Got real interested in one guy, and then her heels cooled when he gave his name, but she perked up again when he said he was a courier. She said she might have a job for him putting up some flyers for a lost cat or something in Booty Bay. He said he would, and they exchanged information.”
He patted Silk’s hand and smiled. “I think I’ve found your partner, or at least one of them. If we have some flyers pop up in Booty Bay about my little lost kitten here, I think I’ve got her. Maybe I’ll have a pair of kittens to play with. What say you?”
She felt the blood draining from her face and fought to keep from fainting. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
He laughed. “Never ever play poker, my dear.”
Raven had been watching Faithe for a few weeks now. Mostly it was boring duty, but tonight, her shop in the undercity of Dalaran was crawling with people…and one new plant. She had known to be here at this time in particular because Fizzi, Faithe’s goblin assistant, was excited about the Watch coming by for a visit. Maybe there would be a cute goblin officer in the crew. Raven had made friends with Fizzi, found out what she liked, she was partial to green tea cakes with lemon icing and strawberry tarts…and cute gnomes, goblins, and dwarves. Raven had introduced her to a gnome friend of hers who brought her Suramar surf and turf and took her out to nice dinners. Raven paid for the wining and dining. Well, Gen did technically, but the little goblin loved to share what was going on in the lab with Max. They enjoyed their evenings out. Raven got her information. Win win.
The plant shimmered and disappeared and, in its place, stood a small gnome with bright blue eyes and dark pink hair done up in braided buns at her ears. She slipped unobtrusively closer toward the milling Watch members and Faithe and shifted back into a plant. Interesting.
Fizzi had promised Max she was interested in no on but him, but she was particularly dolled up tonight with an elaborate hairdo and makeup and a fetching lab frock.
Sedgegrave smiled reassuringly and held out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Sedgegrave, and these are officers Almaz and Tinst.”
The mechagnome named Tinst looked around the lab completely fascinated, but not noticing poor Fizzi at all. “Fascinating place, it reminds me of my lab. But…bigger. I need a bigger lab…”
Faithe glanced at Fizzi. “Yes, it’s very nice thank you…when my assistant experimenting too much.”
Tinst scoffed. “No such thing.”
“Hey!” the goblin objected. “I haven’t had any accidents in at least two weeks. Stop making me look bad in front of company.”
Raven noted that Almaz had taken up a position close to the exit, but shifted around to make sure her back wasn’t to it. Did she expect someone to try to escape or break in?
They discussed how she kept records and inventory. Sedgegrave was like a bloodhound drilling down for every last bit of information. Faithe was very meticulous in documenting sales, thefts, breakage. Each bottle was wax sealed with a small “D”. Fizzi helped her prepare the formulations, but she sealed each bottle herself and kept the ring with the initial locked up. Only she had the key to that drawer.
Sedgegrave, of course, wanted to see it and see how she sealed the bottles. He asked her about the bottles she had left with the Watch and the misplaced bottles she’d mentioned.
“Where did you leave the misplaced bottles?” Sedgegrave asked, still looking over various bottles on shelves and taking notes, then turning to the draenei, “Almaz, would you make a copy of the recent entries in her inventory book, please?”
Faithe looked up from the books she was pulling down. “I told the Commander I went to Gen Diarmand after the murders here and was very upset because the gnome reporter came to me. Hackson was convinced my potions had been used to drug young women over the past couple of years. I thought he was just using them to calm his mother. Anyway, I showed the two potions to Gen and told her what they did. Asked her what to do. She said I should contact Commander Orwyn because word would probably get to him sooner or later anyway. Best to be up front and see if I could help. I forgot the bottle and left them on her desk. When I was doing inventory, I realized I was short two bottles and then remembered where I left them.”
“Her desk in…Booty Bay was it?” Sedgegrave asked.
Faithe frowned. She’d already told Orwyn this. “No, Boralus. I returned to Gen’s office, and she pulled them out of her desk drawer. So, I put them back in stock.”
Almaz finished taking her notes and moved to where she’d been standing.
“Is each bottle specifically identified? Could you pick those two out of your stock right now?” Sedgegrave asked.
“They’re at the front of the shelf.” She pulled a set of keys from her belt and unlocked the cabinet, looked the bottles over carefully and picked out two bottles, then handed them to him.
“You’re positive it’s these two bottles?”
“Yes. I know the position they were in, and they are numbered. I like to keep them in order.”
“I see,” he said. “How much is used up in a dose?” Sedgegrave eyed them curiously before handing them to Tinst.
“They have identification numbers on them as I said and the date made, but there may be ten made at a time. As to dosages, a teaspoon for the calming portion for a normal human. It adjusts per weight and severity of disorder. The mind muddler, possibly up to half a bottle depending on how severe the trauma is. I usually used a few tablespoons on Mrs. Beacham to ease the memories and make calming suggestions, but sometimes up to a quarter bottle for the more disturbing ones that took her. Then I focused on the happy memories of her youth and let her dwell there.”
Sedgegrave was poring through the inventory books as she spoke. “You keep very precise records.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Would you mind if we borrow these for a while so we can investigate who might have misused some of these potions?”
“Will I get them back?”
“Of course. We’ll take very good care of them.”
“How is Captain Greyson doing? Has his memory returned?”
Sedgegrave was gathering up books and motioning to Almaz. “He’s getting the best treatment we can find.”
“That’s not what I asked. How is he doing?”
“I’m not really at liberty to discuss him.”
Raven could tell from the expression on her face she wasn’t pleased with the answer. Would she deny them the records?
Unfortunately, she didn’t. The Watch had no jurisdiction here. Raven would have told them to pound sand.
They all parted ways cordially.
“Fizzi, pull out a new inventory book tomorrow until we get our old one back.”
“Sure, boss,” she replied grumpily. “No one even commented on my hair tonight.”
“I think it looks lovely. Do you have a date with Max?”
She brightened up. “Yes, I should find Max.”
Luckily, Raven had already sent a message to Max when the mechagnome showed no interest in Fizzi. He’d be strolling in any minute with flowers and compliments.
Raven waited until she was sure the Watch had cleared out before she thought about leaving. She was still stealthed when the plant shimmered and became a gnome again. She strolled by and waved. “Hey, rogue,” she whispered and tapped a potion. “Stealth detector.”
Raven reported back to Gen who took it all in, including the news about them taking the inventory logs and the gnome reporter. Gen always paid well. Paid better when she was upset.
Raven was very well paid that night.
Gentyl was tempted to throw another cup at the door after Raven left. Her search for Bill Michell at the ball had turned up nothing. She thought she’d found someone to put up flyers for her, but he’d not answered her messages in weeks, so she’d found someone else. Now the Watch had those inventory books, and it was only a matter of time before they noticed that her ship’s doctor had also bought the mind muddling potion in addition to the regular supplies. He would cover for her if she asked him, she had saved his family from pirates, but it would be very difficult to explain.
And that blasted gnome reporter. It was time for her to disappear.
She fingered the box she’d received in the gift exchange and thought back to that night. The troll had agreed to meet her in Dal, a safe, neutral location for both of them.
“Got a package,” Nikruun said.
“I hope it’s a pirate,” Gen said.
He looked confused. “Stole ya…Pirate? Ah, I don’ t’ink so?”
She continued staring up at him. “Have a seat. You’re giving me a crick in my neck…and making me nervous.”
He pulled off his backpack before taking his seat with a good natured chuckle. “Sorry bout dat…” He withdrew a package from his bag and set in on the table.
Gentyl looked at the package without touching it. “Nope, not a pirate. Is it ticking?”
It was wrapped in festive green and white striped paper and topped with a red ribbon bow, the gift is small and solid, yet lightweight, and a comfortable size to hold between human hands. If jostled, the square box produces a faint rattling.
“Nope, definitely not a pirate.” She poked it again. “Might be a bomb.”
The sound and sensation were odd - giving the feeling that whatever is concealed within the paper were empty… almost as if the clattering is a part of the box itself.
“I hope it’s a bomb,” she said wistfully. “I’d like to go fishing in Stormwind again.”
“Coul’ be like a mechanical doll…?” he said hopefully.
“Hmmmm.” She looked up at him. “Shall we open it?”
He nodded. “Go 'head!”
There was a card is delivered with the gift, bearing a cheerful explanation of its origin. It reads: Hello! I hope you enjoy the gift - it’s a bit of a brain teaser. Though the credit in crafting it doesn’t go to me, but to a friend of mine. He makes them as a hobby, and I just think they are neat. Once you open the gift, you’ll see what I mean! Merry Winter Veil!
Gen slid a knife out of her belt and cut the ribbon carefully. When opened, the gift is revealed to be just that - a box. Finely crafted from the heart of a walnut tree, the dark wood has been polished to a dull sheen. Carved in counter-relief on the lid is a rose, and each carefully chiseled line of the shallow engraving has been filled with gold leaf.
In a note: If the recipient attempts to remove the lid, they will find that it is held fast in place, and no amount of wiggling or prying will open it… all with no visible locking mechanism. Interesting.
Tucked in along with the box is a folded square of parchment, sealed with a bit of blue wax. On the exterior a note is written in a neat but blocky hand, distinctly different from the gift giver’s: The secret of opening the box is contained within this note. You may attempt to solve the puzzle on your own, or follow the instructions inside. The choice is yours, but if you do endeavor to try, it is a simple mechanism which requires no magic, special ability, or brute force to reveal - only wit. Good luck. If the giftee takes the easy way out, (or is unable to solve the puzzle on their own) the instructions for opening the box are as follows: The solution is simple. Place the box on a level, smooth surface and spin it. The centrifugal force will retract a set of brass pins that hold the lid, allowing it to be removed. To close, replace the lid, and give the box a gentle shake to reset the pins.
Gen sat with the box in her hands admiring the beautiful woodwork. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s…just a treasure.”
“Mebbe someone can ‘elp you? Like a bondin’ experience!” he said.
Rachelle passed by shaking her head. “The coffee here is really strong!”
“Would you like some coffee?” Gen asked. “I hear it’s really strong.”
He shook his head. “We got lotsa 'andmade gifts dis year. Real lovely stuff!”
“I would have loved to have seen them. Will you help me please?”
“Course! What you need?”
She set the box down gently. “I’ve unwrapped it, but I don’t want to do anything to harm it. It’s just too lovely.”
“Mm, it look pretty sturdy? Shouldna worry too much bout dat.”
“Well, I am related to Gentyl…”
Nikruun blinked at her. “Ah, dey known ta break t’ings?”
“She blew up Plainswander the old bull a few times. Blew up Stormwind several times. Not on purpose, I don’t think.”
“Course not…”
“Experimenting mostly and fishing a bit. Cooking a few times.”
His eyes go wide. “Ah hah.”
She looks at the note again. “It says set it on a level surface and spin it?”
“Dis table be a level surface, right?”
He picked up the note, held it close to his face and squinted. “Yeah, spin it. Keep it level?”
“Yes.” She peered closely at it. “Is that it?”
“I t’ink so?”
She looked closer at the box. “The top comes off now?”
“Yeah, if you spin it, you shoul’ be able ta take de top off. Cause de pins be outta de way…”
Rachele says: The coffee here is really strong!
Gentyl nods sagely. “The coffee here is really strong. Sure you don’t want some?” Then she peered inside the box. “Definitely no pirate.”
“You coul’ put on in dere?” Nikruun replied.
“Think so?” she said dubiously.
“Yeah!”
She looked closer. “He’d have to be pretty small.” She read the note inside. “Please enjoy the gift.” “Oh, I will. Whoever made it is ingenious and whoever gave it quite thoughtful. Please do thank them.”
She sat there drinking her strong coffee and tapping the table. "You know, Nikruun, I have a job you might be interested in. I need some flyers delivered. I thought I had someone hired, but I haven’t heard back from him. Do you think you might could do that?
“Course! Where you wan dese flyers?”
“In Booty Bay.”
“Ah! We can do dat easy!”
“Good,” she said. “Just post them and leave. Nothing else.”
He nodded. “What dese flyers be?”
“Uh, someone is missing. I’m just trying to find information. Lost cat type thing.”
Nikruun nodded seriously. “Course. Gotcha. If ya give me de flyers today, I can 'ave dem posted tomorrow.”
“I need to get them printed up, but I will contact you soon.”
She shook her head, clearing the memory and tried to think of what needed to be done. She had the flyers. Contact Nikruun and get the flyers posted. Declare war on Michell and do away with the damned gnome. Michell might not be involved with Gentyl’s death, but he was bound up tightly enough with Beacham and his perversion that he deserved to be destroyed also. She put the key to the hidden treasure room inside the little mechanical box, and put it back on the shelf. Inside the room were records and treasures to be taken care of by her captain should something happen to her. He knew how to open the box.
Scoop was hot on the trail of every literary prize known to man or gnome. She would be greater than even, well, greater than anyone. She didn’t smoke, but she was thinking of starting so she could take an author photo in an appropriate sweater, holding a pipe and looking into the camera very stoically. She’d been practicing the pose. Maybe she’d just lean in some dramatic doorway and cross her leg over the other, put one hand on her hip and look out into the distance as if pondering the meaning of life. She’d practice that pose too.
In the meantime, she had an appointment at the Beacham house. She’d made friends with the staff who took care of Mrs. Beacham and they were going to let her bring some fried apples to her and a bucket of homemade vanilla bean ice cream. Her mom made the absolute best ice cream, but Scoop had made the apples herself and would serve them in little crispy pastry shells then scoop the ice cream over it. She was bringing enough so everyone could enjoy the special treat.
“Hi, Maril,” she beamed at the housekeeper who opened the door. “I brought treats for Mrs. Beacham.” Then she winked. “And everyone else too.” She held up the satchels.
Maril grinned back. “That is wonderful. Missus has been down in the mouth with Johnny gone. No one has told her the awful things he did. No sense upsetting her.”
“None,” Scoop agreed. “Speaking of which, are the things still here?”
Maril walked beside her, leading her to the kitchen. Scoop had timed her visit to arrive at the end of lunch so she’d be providing dessert for everyone. Mrs. Beacham would be in the dining room or the garden unless she was sick. Everyone else would be in the kitchen.
Scoop waved at the cook when they reached the kitchen. She would have one like this when she was famous. Maybe she would buy Beacham’s house. She’d let Mrs. Beacham stay so she’d be comfortable and not feel disoriented.
“Hey, Sybil. How’s Mrs. B. today?”
“It’s a good day. I told her you were stopping by with fried apples, so she’s excited. Ate all her lunch like a good girl.”
“I brought little pastry shells also and Mom made vanilla bean ice cream. I swear, it’s the best ice cream anywhere. I brought enough for everyone.” She was unpacking the bags as she spoke. “Do you have some bowls?”
“Bowls, we have, Little Bit.”
Scoop giggled. Her grandfather used to call her that. She carefully doled out the desserts for everyone and carried Mrs. B.'s in to her. “Hey, Mrs. B. Brought you a surprise. Mom insisted you needed ice cream with your fried apples.”
The old lady broke into a smile and then started crying. “Oh, I haven’t had ice cream in so long and I love it. I told Faithe the last time she was here I wanted some pumpkin pie and ice cream. Did she tell you?”
Scoop set the dessert down in front of her. “No, ma’am. I haven’t spoken to her.”
They sat in companionable silence in the garden enjoying their treats. Watching butterflies and enjoying the flowers that were in full bloom now.
The old lady was tired after lunch and thanked Scoop again before excusing herself to take a nap.
“That was uncommon kind of you,” Sybil said as she cut a huge bouquet of flowers. “I want you to take these home and give some to your mama. Keep some for yourself too.”
Scoop buried her nose in the fragrant blooms. “She’ll love them. I know I do. Thank you.” She cocked her head. “Sybil, you know I’m trying to find who killed Mr. Beacham and his guards. I understand the Dal police have left the devices here.”
Sybil shuddered. “Yes, they can’t figure out how to get them apart, so they’ve been examining them here.”
“Really?” Scoop frowned. “How is that possible?”
The woman shrugged.
“Were you here when they arrived?”
“We were all here when lumber started arriving and crates of things, but not when the workmen arrived to assemble them. Well, I was to take care of Mrs. B, but no one else. She was having a bad day, so I spent all my time with her. Fixed lunch for everyone and then went back to her room. Not sure why her medications weren’t working. She was fretting and fussing all day.”
“Is it possible someone forgot to give her the medicine?”
Sybil frowned. “I suppose, but Mr. B. was always very careful to give it to her. He knew she fretted if she didn’t have it.”
Scoop pulled out her notebook and made some notes. “Could I look at the devices?”
“Don’t know why you’d want to, but I suppose.”
She led her to the room and unlocked it. The tape had been taken down from the crime scene by now. Bloodstains cleaned as much as possible.
“Not staying in here if you don’t mind,” Sybil said. “Let me know when you’re done so I can lock back up.”
“Sure enough.”
Scoop took more pictures with her gnomish camera. Up close pictures of every device, of the wood, the inlays, the gems, the mechanics. Then she laid down in the rack, her neck in the cradle built to hold and person in position. Above the rack was a wooden half canopy built to look like a luxury bed. She took more pictures of that and stared at it for a while. Extended her arms above her head to imagine what it must have felt like to be strapped in this device staring up at the canopy in terror. Then her eyes narrowed. Was she imagining that? No. The woodgrain was slightly lighter. She stared at it longer. “T” “T what?” She gazed longer. “TE”
“Who is TE?”
She was excited now. Did all the devices have this on them?
She raced around the room, examining the devices from every angle. Each one had a TE somewhere on them, but who or what was TE?
She took out a small pen knife and cut slivers from the underside of the devices and wrapped them up in handkerchiefs. She had an idea what the wood was, but she wanted confirmation.
With all she could do her wrapped up, she went back to the kitchen and promised to come back soon and bring more treats for Mrs. B.
Yes, she would like to live here. When she was a best-selling author, she just might. She’d keep the staff. She liked them. The devices would have to go, of course. Maybe donate them to Stormwind. Orwyn would appreciate her generosity.
(First off, I wish more people had been involved in some of these conversations because even the ooc stuff was hilarious. We roll for how much information Orwyn is going to get or discover, etc. He is notoriously bad. So, he’s delegated that to Almaz now.
Alamz rolls. 15 out of 20.
Drat.
Gen-- “Almaz can’t roll anymore.”
Orwyn-- “She’s on the case. I delegate duties.”
“Coward.”
Orwyn had been like a bloodhound tracking down every clue he could find. He’d interviewed the bank teller of one of the victims and discovered the man had a weakness for blondes, especially when he was drinking due to a girlfriend years ago, he had lost. The man was partially human. Who would have guessed? It didn’t matter. He had forfeited his humanity card when he had help murder Gen’s cousin and then laughed about it. Plus, he had an unfortunate habit of beating women, other than blondes, and weaker people. Some people were soulless and needed to die. She was doing the world a service.
Unfortunately, Orwyn seemed to think he and his merry band were the ones who should mete out justice and he had asked her to come in for another interview. Just tying up a few loose ends. Nothing to worry about.
He pointed her to the chair across from his desk. ((That was totally there.)) She sat down with her tea, and smiled. She was still in her sea garb complete with the tricorn she favored. The vest was black heavily embroidered with thread of gold. The jacket had turned up cuffs with polished brass buttons that matched the brass buttosn marching up the chest. The white shirt had a heavily laced jabot. The black leather boots came up to her knees, blousing the sleek black pantaloons. The whole effect was elegantly funereal, but the gleaming sword at her side with the faint blue glow, usually subdued remarks about her appearance.
Orwyn leaned back in his chair across the desk from her. “All right. As you know, your friend Faithe Deveraux has gotten herself into a sticky situation because of the use of one of her products by a psychopath in Dalaran who was recently murdered.”
Gen raised a brow, but said nothing.
“She told us she talked with you about it, so I assume that part’s no surprise,” Orwyn continued.
“How could it be her fault some psychopath was misusing her medicine?” Gen asked. “She said you interviewed her. I assumed you realized she had nothing to do with the misuse.”
“I wouldn’t think it was,” he said agreeing with her. “Here’s the other thing though. Her products were also used to tamper with another murder witness’s memory here in our jurisdiction. One case is an isolated incident. Two is the beginning of a trend, and the Dalaran authorities are getting curious.”
Gen was a people watcher. She lounged in the chair comfortably, but from the corner of her eye she scanned Almaz. Almaz was one to watch. She was a ferret, nosing out little details. Like right now. She was trying to appear almost bored as she sipped her coffee, but her eyes were slightly narrowed. She leaned forward the tiniest bit. The tiny lines between her eyes showed she was studying. Watching. Her subject right now was Gen. She was watching for reactions, no doubt, but Gen had been at this for a long time. It was part of her training to resist torture and interrogation and to inflict both. Her face remained mildly interested. Then she started laughing. “You think Faithe tampered with one of your witnesses.”
“I think someone may want it to look like she did. Now personally, I don’t think she has any motive to hurt anyone, but someone could be using her products to throw suspicion on her and away from themselves.”
There was a dismissive shrug. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Better she goes to prison than they do, I imagine,” he replied not giving up.
A soft huff. “Have you been to her shop?” Gen asked. “That girl is like a little rabbit hiding out. Yes, well if anyone can convince a jury she is some mad killer, good luck with that.” Then she leaned forward raising a brow. “You know, I’ve had death threats on me lately. Makes me think you’ve got some serious mad killers running around and you’re chasing some frightened alchemist.”
Orwyn sighed and shrugged. “Not mad. Clever. Regardless, I told the Dalaran authorities the Watch would help. They’re too used to using magic to solve everything and won’t put real leg work in. They like easy answers.”
Almaz had raised a brow slightly at the mention of death threats, but said nothing.
“I think there’s a psychopath out there all right, but I don’t think it’s Faithe,” Gen said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Read that, Almaz.
“Well good,” he said. “Let’s talk about what you know and that will no doubt help her. First of all, how would you describe your relationship with her?”
She took another sip of tea that had gone cold by now. “We’re very good friends. I admire her as a healer. She’s treated my men in the past with remarkable results. I respect her.”
“How long have you known her, and how did you meet?”
Gen looked past Orwyn to the window behind him. It needed to be cleaned. How easy would it be to get in here she wondered? “Years. right after she was returned from that Goblin. I was with Gentyl in the rescue. Honestly, I didn’t think she was going to survive.”
He nodded with some sympathy. “It was no doubt extremely traumatic.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, yes, and she had been tortured.”
“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry to hear,” he said all this with a genuine frown.
“It’s probably why she started working with soldiers who had suffered shock,” Gen said.
Almaz had gone to another place. Her eyes clouded. “The Xenedar had many of those on board.”
Gentyl nodded to Almaz. Although it was common for people in war, it didn’t make it easier. “I can’t imagine anyone trying to throw suspicion on her. Maybe the killer.”
“Did she ever exhibit any signs of…I suppose a hostile or aggressive reaction to what she went through?” Orwyn asked.
“No, she just shut down, became very meek. I think that’s why she likes that dark hole of a shop. You’ve been there. I hate that place. It’s depressing.”
Orwyn scribbles more in his notebook as he has been all afternoon. “Is she close to other people that you know of?”
Gen’s brows furrowed a bit, she looked up as she thought, tried to remember. “Other alchemists and her patients. She liked Beacham’s mother very much. There’s an herbalist fellow she likes, but I have no idea who he is.”
More notes in his little black notebook. She should buy a notebook, but what would she keep notes on" People she wanted to kill? Orwyn was getting close to that list. She didn’t like people who annoyed her, and he was becoming a major annoyance.
"So, in your opinion she’s coping well with her past? Putting it behind her? " he said.
“Yes, she put it away. It took a while, but she learned to deal with it.”
He nodded. “She mentioned that the report might be looking into her past and became very agitated about it not being brought up.”
“She still flinches if a goblin male touches her unexpectedly, but I suppose a person can understand that.”
Almaz makes an ‘mm’ sound and nods.
Gen leaned forward, putting her now empty teacup on the desk. “People, when this first happened, said some very cruel things about her. Some women would say things like, ‘If I had been taken by a goblin, I would have killed myself. She must have liked being a prisoner.’ They’d say it just loud enough for her to hear. People have largely forgotten about the incident and she wants it left that way. She doesn’t want some reporter writing sensational stories about that again and going through the cruelty all over.”
“I can see why she wouldn’t want that brought up again,” he said.
“I don’t think anyone would,” Almaz, who had remained mostly quiet through all this remarked.
“What do you know about her business affairs?” Orwyn asked.
Gen shrugged. What did he want her to say? She didn’t meddle in the woman’s business. “She’s successful.”
“She does seem to have a good base of clients,” he agreed.
She nodded. “Yes, she does. People trust her. Physicians use her a lot. She’s very meticulous. If I go in to buy something, for instance, she grills me like…a police officer wanting to know what my symptoms are before she’ll compound something for me.”
He lifted his pen from his pad, thinking. “Of course, not being a police officer, an accomplished liar might be able to convince her to sell the wrong thing.”
Gen donned a surprised look for Almaz. “Do you think so? She’s pretty serious about those medicines.”
He shrugged. “Mr. Beacham did.”
“Those were for his mother. He just wasn’t using them solely for his poor mother.”
“Exactly.”
“She couldn’t do anything about that, do you think? If she gives a medicine to a doctor, say a painkiller to give to a patient and then he keeps it for himself, is that her fault?”
He was unmoved. Like the rock she imagined dropping on him. “Like I said, I’m just asking some questions about the matter.”
“Of course.”
On he plowed. “Did she ever talk to you about clients that seemed dangerous or suspicious?”
“No, not that I recall. She didn’t care for Mr. Michell, but he wasn’t a client.”
“Did Mr. Michell know her? Or of her, to your knowledge?”
She thought about it. “He was there several times when she went to deliver medications and check on Mrs. Beacham. She said she didn’t like the way he watched her even though he was quite charming, shy even.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No, I went to the Armistice Ball in hopes of meeting him. I had heard he might be there. He is in shipping and exports fine wines I’m told. I wanted to discuss business with him.”
“Hmm.” He continued taking notes. So many notes. She was surprised he didn’t have a cramp.
“I should come in one day soon and discuss paperwork so I can start docking in Stormwind. I have a good business in Boralus, but I have nice goods that might sell well here.”
“Have you ever bought any of her products herself? Told people how well they work?”
She leaned back in the chair and took an apple and knife out of her pocket and began to peel it. She was consciously training herself to peel apples in short strips. “Of course, I tell everyone how well they work.”
“All people you trust, I assume.”
She shrugged and took a bite out of the apple. “If someone complains they have an ache or pain or whatever, I tell them they should go see Faithe or a physician who uses Faithe. I don’t screen people to recommend them to a business.”
“Did you ever tell anyone about the relaxation potion or the mind-altering potion?”
She noticed that he automatically assumed she knew about them, and she didn’t deny it. “Not that I recall. That’s kind of specialized medicine. Usually just doctors use it. Mrs. Beacham’s doctor suggested using it for her.”
“You became aware of it that way?”
She laughed to herself. She wasn’t going to acknowledge she know Beacham in any way. “I knew she was experimenting with it. I’m not sure how I heard of it. She talks about new formulas she’s excited about. It would be like me getting excited about an especially nice horse. You talk to people about it, you know?” She waved the apple in the air dismissively. “She was excited about the results she was having with some of the traumatized soldiers. You seem particularly focused on what I knew about these medicines. I don’t even recall the names.”
“Those are what link her to the crimes, so yes.”
Did he sound a bit disappointed?
“Did she ever mention any friends, family, or others who might be causing her trouble?”
“She had no family. They all died in the attack.”
“Anyone else who might want to cause her trouble?”
She was getting bored with this little bulldog. “A few jealous alchemists would give her problems from time to time.”
Now he perked up. “Oh? Any names that you recall?”
“Nope.” She continued eating her apple
“Ah, all right,” he said as he continued to write away. “Now, after Mr. Beacham’s murder, she came to talk to you. Could you tell us about that conversation?”
Gen sighed. Again with this? “She was just very worried because she’d been told by that gnome Beacham had been using her medicines to drug and torture women. The idiot gnome even showed her photos of the torture devices. She was very upset. Felt guilty.”
He peered at her. “Right. And then?”
She was getting irked with the incessant questions, but stayed relaxed in the chair, crossed one leg over the other and swung a foot lightly. As much as she was trying, she felt her mouth go hard, so she took another bite of the apple. “Forgive me. I haven’t eaten today. To your questions, she was just upset. Felt it was her fault those girls had been hurt, possible killed. I tried to tell her it wasn’t.”
“Have you talked with her since that particular conversation?”
"Yes, I put in another order of medicines for my office, and she came in and talked to me about the gnome again.
Orwyn perked up as though this were new information although she already knew he was well aware she bought medicines from her. Raven had been in that hole Faithe called an apothecary shop when they interviewed her there and she told them so. “What did she say?”
“I keep my office and ships fully stocked with medicines in case of an accident. The idiot gnome wanted to know my history. Wanted to know if I dance.” She laughed. “Like I have time to dance. What kind of idiot question is that? I was a bodyguard to Bishop LeMaye, not entertainment.”
“So, the gnome was asking about you?”
She sighed. “I just said that.”
“Why was the gnome asking about you?”
“Who knows? Maybe I look like some prostitute one of the victims knew.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She held her eacup out. “May I have some more tea?”
The officer leaning against the door took the cup and excused herself. It wasn’t like she was going to miss anything important.
“Did the gnome ask about Faithe?” Orwyn said.
“Yes, that’s why Faithe was afraid she was going to do a story about her. She didn’t want her past dragged up again. There ought to be a law against that stuff, but of course there isn’t.”
He nodded noncommittedly and looked over his notes, then tapped a place in them. “You said she was very meticulous in her business affairs.”
She wrapped the apple core in a handkerchief and put it in her pocket, then raised her brow at him. “Faithe said you took her books. You should know that.”
“It’s good to get the same information from different sources. Did she talk to you about any bottles going missing or having been stolen? Or maybe having been misplaced or otherwise out of her possession?”
Now he was just trying to trip her up. “I’m not much to go by,” she said. “I’m not an accountant. She didn’t mention it, but she would have noticed missing bottles or whatnot.”
“We’ve already established they could have been purchased under false pretenses,” he said.
“I suppose. In that case, anyone might have bought them.”
“Right,” he said frowning. “I was hoping someone with a motive to make her look guilty might stand out. I’m not sure this will help much with Dalaran.”
“Perhaps a jealous alchemist or a family member of someone who died while taking her medications. One of the girls who disappeared. Revenge. I thought we already discussed this.” She accepted the fresh cup of tea and thanked Officer Almaz. “Who were the drugs used on?”
“I can’t answer that question unfortunately, since it’s an active investigation.”
Gen cocked an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “The gnome told Faithe it was that senile lighthouse guy. Not sure why anyone would mess with him.”
Orwyn frowned in irritation. “She didn’t mention that.”
“Guess she didn’t think it was important. Or you didn’t ask.”
“I wasn’t there when the reporter talked with Faithe.” He smiled. “Well, those are all the questions I have, and you’ve been very helpful. I appreciate it.”
She flashed her most engaging smile at him, but inside she was seething. That danged gnome was going to die and if she could find a way, she was going to firebomb this office and destroy those books. She was sure Orwyn or his merry minions had noticed her ship’s doctor had purchased the potions in question and they never had before. “Yes, sir. I’m always happy to help the law.”
Orwyn smiled at her. “Of course. I’ll walk you out. You said your cousin helped rescue Faithe, correct?”
“Yes. We both did.”
“And I recall she said she was also good friends with your cousin.”
“Yes.”
He frowned even more thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking?”
“And I thought she had no motive…”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Please tell me you aren’t going to try and pin that murder on her just to close a case. Besides, what did Beacham have to do with Gentyl?”
“Of course. Well, thank you very much again, Ms. D’Armond. And that murder is Dalaran’s, so no.”
She didn’t bother to try and hide her irritation. "What would Faithe have to do with whatever those other guy’s names were. Willard and….whoever?
“I really can’t discuss the investigation itself. I’m sorry.”
Odd how he couldn’t discuss a case when he wanted to clam up.
They bid good night again and she walked out, fed the apple core to her horse, and killed a Stormwind rat. She hated rats almost as much as she hated some men. It was bad enough eaten rat crap-infested food on ships, but being in a rat ridden prison…that was another level of horror. To wake up in the morning and try to stir your friend only to discover rats…. Well, best not to think about it.
Sure enough, that bulldog Orwyn was going to try and pin the murders on Faithe. Well, nothing for it. She had to finish the mission. The Enforcer had to die. Bill Michell had to die. That gnome had to die. She had to get Silk back.
She’d send a message to Nik to get the flyers up in Booty Bay and then see about taking care of the gnome.
She had an appointment with a fire starter later. Maybe she’d talk to them about starting a fire in a certain office in Stormwind also.
Scoop left the house with her gathered evidence and checked her mail. Someone had information about the case. Could I meet them in Stormwind?
“Yes!”
She fist-bumped the air.
Gen went to meet her fire starter later at the appointed time and place. She never liked The Slaughtered Lamb. It was innocent looking enough on the ground floor and she’d met people and drank there before. It was quiet, private, and people asked no questions. But it was below where things got murky. Ceremonies took place there and if you went deep enough, you’d find the crypts. She always wondered what kind of people were buried there.
A woman stood near the door as she approached and sized her up. “Paladin. You’re alone?”
“Those were the terms.”
She nodded and waved her in then continued watching. No one would be coming in tonight. She’d have to pay the barkeeper for lost business and no doubt he’d assure her this was expected to be a busy night.
Another woman stood near the stairs that led to the lower confines and motioned her over. Great. She hated being in the bowels of this place, but walked over. Without a word she led her down and past the people below who were conducting some kind of ceremony. They stopped and watched silently as the two passed by. Gen made sure not to pay too much attention to them or what they were doing. Down they went to the crypts.
These were old crypts, shrouds rotting away from the bones, the perfume of death and decay heavy in the air. A dead cat lay next to its last meal, a dead rat, and she wondered at that odd scenario. Thankfully, the fire starter led her into another section of the crypts where there were only dead people in caskets to listen to them.
She held out her hand. “I was told you have certain skills.”
He shook her hand with a warm, firm grip. “I have many as a hunter and as an explorer. Both have me well traveled and have experienced many things. It truly depends on what skills you are in need of. Rose was not very clear on that matter.”
Rose said he could be trusted, and she knew Gen needed something nefarious done so she had to trust the man. “I’ll come directly to the point. I need a cottage outside Stormwind burned to the ground. Not a stick to remain. It will be vacant. No people. No animals. I just need the cottage and everything in it incinerated.”
He pulled at his beard, thinking about what she’d just said. “I see.”
“If you are not interested in the job. I will pay you for your silence.”
He shrugged noncommittally. “No, that’s not it. The timing is interesting. Lately I have been in the the business of cleaning up messes.”
Gen leaned up against a wall and took out a couple of apples, offered one to the man and took out a dagger, then started peeling her in a single spiral peel. “Well, this is a mess, and I intend to clean it up.”
“This is what I’ve heard,” he said accepting the apple. “Best not to get the little fire bug involved. She has enough on her plate as is. She is at the point of breaking and things such as this would not help.”
Gen nodded in agreement. Rose had her own set of demons rising up from her past she was battling, and she didn’t want to add to her problems.
He pondered the situation. “Complete incineration?”
“Complete.”
“I do dabble is some explosives and have been known to set a fire or two.”
“So I’ve been told. Would you like to look at the cottage?”
“Perhaps a location for later. I do still have some agents who can quietly observe the area.”
“All right.”
He finished eating the apple and threw the core at a rat sitting up on its haunches watching them. “Wouldn’t be wise for either of us to be around and then magically something happens to it later.”
“Agreed,” Gen said and handed him a small map. “The cottage is in the hills above Stormwind.”
He looked at it for a moment and then stuck it in his pocket. “If I may, what are we hiding. The mention of a building only. I’m curious as to what is inside or won’t be by the end.”
“A reporter is digging up a lot of past history I don’t want dug up. It needs to go away.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. I can even relate. Missing journal pages suddenly appearing, black roses and what not.”
“Good. Now, you should know in the interest of full disclosure. The reporter will also go away, but that is my problem.” She thought about what he was saying and shook her head. “Poor Rose.”
“The past should stay there, long and forgotten,” he said.
“That it should. And I’m going to make sure it is.”
“Well then, I assume if I had a drink in hand I would say; Let the shadows of the past be forgotten so that the shine of the future may rise.”
"Hear, hear. If you’re interested in the job, I will pay you half now and half when the job is done.
Gen takes out a substantial pouch of gold and held it out toward him. “Half now and half when it’s done.”
He held his hand out and pushed it away. “We can speak of pay after. No point if something goes wrong and I blow myself up or something.”
“All right. Thank you for meeting with me.”
He stood and thought for a moment. “Perhaps even a trade in services. I have sent agents out to recover pages, some have not returned. Only a matter of time before Rose notices some of her wolves not returning.”
Gen raised a brow. “All right. Whatever I can do. I’ll send a bird to you when the house needs to come down.” She paused and looked at him. “I may need an office in Stormwind burned down with some evidence also. We’ll talk about it later.”
(The story referenced here. Origin of flame (17 of 17))
((Will post this in Shadows of the Forgotten as well as this is kind of a crossover event of sorts heh. Shadows is the follow up to Origins))
“I want nothing left standing.” She had said pointing to a house on the map she had provided. There was anger in her voice when describing how much that house needed to Not be there.
Accepting the task Wulfgrin began to move in making his preparations for the task. Having used explosives before in a previous job he was no novice around the tools needed for this. However, this job required more than just a bomb or two. Explosives can get the job done, but can leave unforeseen evidence, something that needed to be avoided.
Wulfgrin needed to think like an engineer and the best person to see is one he did not want involved in this.
Sneaking into her workshop, he had hoped to find anything to help with what he needed. Instead, he found the one thing he had hoped not to see in there.
Rose.
She sat at her workbench working feverishly on a project. Wulfgrin scanned the room and could see she had been there for some time. Mechanical objects had been made and placed all over as well as several dozen grenades of various types neatly placed in boxes. The arsenal she was creating was impressive and somewhat disturbing. He had never seen her build so much before. Lost in his wonder, Wulfgrin failed to see Rose had stopped working and was watching him. Her work goggles resting on her head, she leaned back and smirked.
“Like what you see there Wulf?” She said with a smile.
Still lost in wonder, he took a minute to reply. “I’m a little surprised is all. I’ve not seen a collection like this in a long time. Are you preparing for a war or something.”
The expression on Rose’s face switched to a more serious tone. “You’ve been gone a while and a lot has happened. I’ll explain in a moment, but first, how was your meeting?”
“It went well and we have a mutual understanding of the task needed done and you needn’t be involved. How was the Stormwind Unions event?”
Taking her goggles off, she set them down on the worktable. “It was good for the most part. The Horde had kept me busy throughout the city which is why I could not attend the meeting.”
Wulfgrin was surprised by this. “Fighting? Is that wise with the curse breaking. When I last left you, you said the only thing keeping it at bay was drinking. The requirement of pain no longer works, why take the risk?”
“As I said, a lot has happened since I last saw you. I have better control over it and can afford some conflict. I have a teacher now showing me how, you’ll meet him soon. Which brings me to other news. Denava has been killed fighting the figure in the golden mask. Her apprentice informed us as well as delivered another page from the journal. How has your search gone for the other pages?”
This news stunned Wulfgrin. Another damned page and this one in Rose’s hands and he had no idea what was on it.
“As of yet, nothing has been found.” He replied.
“Really? I heard different. I heard several pages were recovered from the SI:7 by Sephrine, isn’t that right?” She said as Sephrine stepped out of the shadows. Seeing her made Wulfgrin’s blood boil, but he keep it in check.
“The pages she recovered had nothing of importance on them and were burned. I saw no need to inform you about it.” He said giving a glare at the Rogue.
Rose sat quiet for a moment, studying Wulfgrin. He felt every second pass as she watched him. Taking her eyes off of him, she reach for her goggles again and strapped them on her head.
“Fine. You came here for something, what do you need?” She said picking up her tools. His guard still up, Wulfgrin breathed a little easier.
“I need something to make a hot fire burn faster and hotter. Do you have anything in the workshop that can be useful?”
“I’d say the best thing would be me, but other than me I would say Goblin jet fuel. I use it for my rocket boots and the stuff is pretty strong and Very unstable. You may need to head to Booty Bay as only the Goblins make it and I store none here. I’m pretty sure it is illegal in Stormwind. If you need anything else here, take it. Just not what I’m working on.”
Nodding in thanks he looked over the items throughout the workshop. “Why do you need all of this anyway?”
Picking up her tools again, she paused before working. “The figure in the golden mask that killed Denava, it was Celesa Wulf.”
This jarred Wulfgrin to his core. In his mind he was cursing the world. “How can you be sure? I sho…saw her die in front of me. We buried her for crying out loud.”
“The description provided by the apprentice was clear. No one has that kind of magic and we both have seen its destructive power. Denava knew she was going to die and made sure someone was left to report it.”
Cursing to himself again, Wulfgrin could not believe this was happening. Then he calmed himself and began to think clearly. There could be benefits to be had with this information.
“When I am done with this task I will do everything in my power to help you.” He said
Nodding in thanks Rose lifted her head again. “I welcome it. To help you complete it faster, take Sephrine with you. She has been rather helpful lately and she needs the experience in this sort of thing.”
Wulfgrin bit his lip shifting his gaze back to the Rogue. “As you wish. I’m sure we will have quite a lot to talk about.” He said gathering a few items before leaving.
There was to much to be concerned with now. A house to burn down, pages to destroy and now more from the past clawing its way back from the grave. Perhaps the payment for the house will be needed sooner than expected.
“More loose ends to deal with.” He thought to himself looking back at Sephrine.
What’s one more body to the fire anyway?
Officer Almaz, professional as always, greeted scoop at the Union door. “Thank you for coming by.”
Scoop took a pencil out and her trusty notebook and gathered up an orange tabby by her side. “Uh huh. Got word you wanted to talk.”
“Yes, but not because you’re in any trouble. We’re still investigating those murders.”
Scoop rolled her eyes. “Why would I be in trouble?”
“Some people automatically assume the worst. And some people… misunderstand… questions sometimes. We can go inside, or stay outside, as you prefer."
Scoop looked around. “Inside. Why would you discuss a murder investigation outside? Might have information I don’t want everyone to know about.” Scoop settled into her chair and stared at the bearskin rug staring back at her. “Now, how can I help?”
Almaz noted her uneasy glances at the rug and shrugged. “Human décor. As you know, we’re still investigating that series of murders, and I know you’re doing a story. You looked into some of the killings, and you seem to know a fair bit about what happened to one of the few witnesses who survived. How he lost his mind. Can you tell a bit more about that? Can we go back over that again?"
Scoop went back over her interview with Greyson and her theories about what Greyson saw happening with the dancers drowning the man and later with the dancer drugging Greyson and scrambling his brain. That was old news. She had an idea they were just trying to see if she had changed her story and she didn’t really have time for this nonsense.
Almaz nodded. “It certainly sounds like it’s possible the food was tampered with. How do you think it could have been done?”
“Yup, brownies.”
Outside the office Scoop heard the muffled cry of little Vin. “Weee! This is wonderful! I can see everything from up here! Good bye, Scoop! Thank you!”
Scoop jumped down from her chair and dashed to the door to look up where the little Draenei girl was floating away up to the clouds. “Uh, can anyone be charged with murder or manslaughter or child slaughter or whatever if you give a kid some balloons and they float away to their doom?”
Almaz furrowed her brows. “I don’t think so. Did they do it on purpose?”
“Uh, no. No one would do that on purpose. Never.” She returned to her chair. “Well, the potions the mad alchemist Devereaux makes, of course. Now, did the person put them in the brownies and a drink?” She shrugged. “There’s the question. I’m sure you tested the cake box and glasses and all.”
“We’ve collected what evidence we can, of course. Do you have anything more we should know about, or have you seen something?”
Scoop leaned forward. “I think there’s a gang.”
“A gang?”
“Yup. Families, friends, lovers of victims got together and murdered all these guys. They’re all connected. You wait and see. What if all these guys were involved in parties all over the place?”
Almaz seemed surprised at this theory. “Do you know anything about the friends or families of any of the victims that you think is relevant?”
“Those idiots in Dal didn’t even know there were missing girls. I’m still trying to find out who they were. Probably kidnapped them from Darnassus or Stormwind. Maybe over in Westfall. Who would care if those people disappeared? Victims no one would miss, it seems. Someone cared about these thugs. Something links them. I told you I would find out what. I intend to crack this case. I’m going to win the Rodel Prize and write a book. I swear, if it’s the last thing I do. If it kills me, I am going to find out who these killers are. I’ll be sure and spell your names right in the book.” She looked contemplatively. “Is it true you can’t fish with explosives in Stormwind?”
Almaz looked surprised. “Are you planning to try?”
“Yes. Well, maybe not in Stormwind. But somewhere. I think it’s fascinating. I’m going to do a story on it.” She shuddered. “I can’t stand worms, but I have a theory about fishing.”
“Follow the local laws where you intend to fish. That’s all I can advise.”
Scoop wasn’t really paying attention. “Uh huh. Anyway, I have some new information for you. I went back and visited with Mrs. Beacham Took her some fried apples and some homemade vanilla ice cream Mama made. She really enjoyed it. Staff are taking good care of her. They let me look at the devices again and I took more pictures.” She took out some copies and handed them over. “There are your pictures of the devices. You’ll note if you look real close on some of them very closely, you can see ‘T.E.’ in the woodgrain. I’m not sure if it was bleached in or inlay. It’s subtle You have to be a victim and looking up at the device to see it, but it’s there.
“Then, uh someone carved off a bit of the woods from underneath the devices where no one would notice. I took these to a friend of mine who’s a woodworker and he said these are all rare woods. Most come from the jungles of Stranglethorn, but a few are from Pandaria. They are all hardwoods and prized by mariners. Often used for figureheads in fine ships because they withstand the salt waters. Maybe fine work in captain’s quarters. Mantles and fine work in expensive houses or for art. Also the inlays are a special kind of mother-of-pearl from Stranglethorn. Semi-precious stones inlaid into the carvings. Beacham spent a lot of money on these toys.”
Scoop laid out some more notes and pictures. “All roads lead to Bill Michel. He uses these figureheads on his ships. Find the artist who carves for him, and you’ll find the man who did the carving for Beacham. Now, did he know what he was carving for?” She shrugged. “Maybe he thought he was carving a piece for a ship or a mantle, but find that carver and you’ll be a huge step closer to your answers. Michel is in Dal every Wednesday and lives in Stranglethorn.”
She looked at her watch. “Now. I have another appointment with a fellow I think will put the final puzzle piece in place.”
Almaz thanked her for the information and tapped the end of her pen on her notebook. "I know it’s what you do, but please be careful. These people have killed multiple times. They won’t hesitate to kill again if they think someone’s getting too close.”
“Of course. What could happen? Going to take the day off tomorrow and relax after I finish this appointment.” She motioned to the cat who had settled comfortably on the bearskin rug and gone to sleep. “Come along, Watson.”
The cat opened one eye and ignored her.
Scoop put her hands on her hips. “You cannot stay, Watson. We’re going to have a discussion when we get home. Miss Marple will be unhappy that you were going to stay here.”
Gen had an appointment with the reporter for later that evening. She had made preparations ahead of time. She always kept a scruffy set of men’s clothes for a disguise including a longer ragged waistcoat that covered her rear end. Women were simply built different than men. She also wore a scarf around her neck, ostensibly to protect her from breathing dust. The scarf was old and poor quality and of course dirty and dusty. Mainly, that was to hide the fact she had no Adam’s apple. She’d scratched up her fingernails earlier on stones to make them ragged and smeared black mud on the ends of her fingers and then wiped it away to give her hands the properly dirty, look of a working man. Worn, fingerless, leather gloves would finish disguising her hands. To disguise a woman’s looks one had to pay attention to hands and their necks. No matter how well they cared for themselves, hands and necks often gave away their age no amount of makeups and creams could hide. She dabbed purple and red powders under her eyes as if they had been irritated from the dust of stonecutting. Then rubbed a bit of charcoal across her cheeks and buffed it away leaving over a shadow. Over that, she pressed wet coffee grounds strategically to give the effect of beard stubble. The brown wig she clapped back on and tied a scarf around her head and tied it in the back, then put on the torn and tattered black hat over that. The last effect would be her voice and the one she hated the most. It was a vile concoction that nearly stole her voice all together and gave her a rough, gravelly voice, raspy, whiskey voice totally unrecognizable and several octaves lower.
The normal fishermen were gone from the dock when she arrived. Scoop was already waiting for her and playing with two cats. Gen sat down with her small bucket of worms and got out her fishing pole. Scoop had insisted on passwords to make sure she was talking to the right person.
“I’m fishing for a large prize,” Gen said.
“I’m fishing for a Rodel,” she replied.
“Jamison Danser,” she said nodding to the gnome. “Cute cats.”
“This one is Watson,” she proclaimed proudly holding up the Orange tabby. “And the Siamese is Miss Marple.”
“Pleased to meet you Miss Marple and Watson.” That made it even easier. We wouldn’t have to get the cats out of the cottage before we torched it. “Maybe we can fish up a fish for them.”
“Oh, they’d like that,” Scoop said. “I’m not much of a fishermen, but they love fish.” She looked up at Gen. “You said you had information for me?”
“Yep. My brother said you’d pay?”
“For the right information.”
“My brother heard you asking about that wood. He knows who did the fancy work in Stranglethorn and who commissioned it. That what you’re looking for?”
Faithe had taken a pumpkin pie to Mrs. Beacham the day after Scoop had been there and Scoop had been all excited about her discoveries, asking the help if they knew who had done the carving, who “T.E.” was and myriad other questions. The help were hopeful the murder would soon be found as the little gnome seemed to be on to something.
The gnome lit up like a firework. “Yes! That’s exactly what I need. Do you have it?”
“Yep, Let me get this fish out and I’ll get it out of my toolbox.” Gen pulled the fish up and cut the head off then gave it to the cats. She put another worm on the hook and cast again. “Hold my fishing pole while I get the information. You’re going to pay well, right?” she rasped.
“Yes, two hundred gold like I told you. Double that if I find him.”
“Pay attention. Don’t let my fish get away. Missus won’t like it if we don’t have dinner tonight.”
Scoop was busy staring at the bobber when Gen pulled the mallet from the tool box and hit her in the back of the head, then pushed her body into the water. It would look like she slipped and fell into the water hopefully.
Then she gathered up the cats with their little tagged collars with their names and their fish, put them in her toolbox and strolled down to the corner where an old homeless man always hung about asking for coins.
“I found these cats over by that dock,” she said. “Someone’s lost pets. I’ll pay you thirty gold to deliver them to the Watch so they can return them to the owners.”
“Thirty gold for delivering cats?”
“That’s all you need to do, but if you don’t deliver them, I will know.”
“No, sir, boss. I’ll take them. I’ll take them.” He held out a shaking hand and Gen counted out the gold and then took the cats out. “Bundle them up in your cloak so they don’t get away. Put the fish in with them.”
He walked away petting the cats in the cloak and talking to them as if they were the most precious animals in creation.
One last detail to tend to. Thankfully, the watch had a tour of their facilities a few weeks ago and demonstrations on how they solved crimes. It made life so much easier for some people.
The location was quite beautiful. Whoever this person was knew what they were looking for and chose it well. The house was high and away from the busyness of the world below. Overlooking the lush forest of Elwynn while having the mountains still tower even at this height provided a fulfillment of joy and calm to the mind of a chaotic soul. The waters below added to this theater of nature and sound. Even the night sky made the experience all the more wondrous.
Wulfgrin closed his eyes and took in a deep breath allowing the mountain air to fill his lungs. A momentary happiness that reminded him of his old home. A moment taken away at a tap on his shoulder bringing his mind back to reality and the task at hand.
Opening his eyes, he turned to the one disturbing his thought, Sephrine.
“I’ve done as asked and scouted the area. One patrol passes not far from here that would have been an issue. I managed to hire some local bandits to make some noise drawing them away for a time. Other than that, no one will be bothering us.” She said.
Wulfgrin nodded at this and turned back to the house. He stared at it with sadness in his eyes.
“Good. By the time anyone sees the fire, there won’t be much left. They chose this place well, but it is not without its faults, which is a benefit to us. Should disaster strike there is very little anyone can do to stop it. A shame really, everyone should have a place like this.”
Sephrine looked at the house with a curious look. “It’s just a house. Very little comforts inside that I saw that would suit me. I don’t see the draw to it, give me the city life any day.”
Wulfgrin sighed at that. “It’s not just a house. It is more than that. It is the mountains, the air, the trees around it. It is the small fire that gives off a flickering light creating shadows that dance along the walls. This young generation always on the move, always in a chaotic flow rushing to the next thing. You move so fast and miss so much. When you get to be my age, the little things stand out so much more and those things can bring you peace.” He said with a little pride in his voice.
Sephrine smirked slightly at that. “And here we are about to burn that peace to the ground.” She said taking out a small flask quietly taking a drink. Wulfgrin saw this out of the corner of his eye and gave the slightest of smiles. Virtually unseen through his long beard.
Refocusing on the task, Wulfgrin prepared a torch. “The Goblin fuel is in place I take it?”
Sephrine nodded. “Spread out as you asked. The stuff is overkill if you ask me. The Goblin who showed it to me in Booty Bay tested it on a pig, a Pig of all things. Poor thing screamed for maybe two seconds before being engulfed. There was nothing left, not even bone. They put this stuff in their every day gadgets? I thought the Gnomes were crazy.”
“No bones either? Good to know. Makes the fulfillment of this task exactly as ordered.” He replied
“I’m all for secret missions and stuff, heck, both you and Rose have sent me on a few lately. Sneaking in SI:7, stealing pages, passing notes for secret meetings in Front of the Union. I signed on with the Iron Wolves to protect people and so far all I’ve done is annoy those in that same field.”
“Do you know what the problem is with questions Sephrine?” Wulfgrin asked.
“I’d assume you get answers.” She replied smirking at the irony of asking a question about questions.
“Exactly. Answers can be good depending on the question or bad given the origin of the question. Secrets are questions that are locked away in hopes that the answers to them fade away over time and forgotten to history. Asking to many questions can put you in a path that can lead to your destruction. Do you know what happens to those who ask to many of the wrong questions?” Wulfgrin asked shifting his gaze back to Sephrine.
Sensing a shift in his tone, Sephrine casually put distance from the Dwarf. “What is that?” She asked noticing a slight tingle in her stomach. Ignoring it, she remained focused as she watched him light the torch he had taken from his pack.
“You get people like me standing at your house with a torch.” He said tossing the lit torch on the ground lighting a trail leading to the house. Once the flame reached the house it erupted in a spectacular flash of light and in an instant all of the beauty and calm the house provided disappeared in shadow and flame.
The sight stunned Sephrine who could only look on in wonder. Wulfgrin stared in silence, saddened by the sight.
“This is what you get for asking questions and searching for answers that do not want to be found. Which brings me to you, Sephrine. You seem to have been seeking your own answers to a story you are not even a part of. Did you think I would not know the pages you gave me were not what you stole from SI:7?”
Putting more distance from him, she put a hand on one of her pistols. The tingle from before began to become more noticeable. Something was very wrong.
“All you had to do was give those pages to me and just let things be. I don’t know why you didn’t give them to Rose or what you thought you were going to do with them, but here we are.” He said finally turning towards her.
As he did so, she heard the low growl of Meatbag as he emerged from the darkness. Seeing the large white wolf, Sephrine pulled her pistol out and aimed at Wulfgrin. The action caused the world to suddenly move like an ocean making her vomit dropping the gun.
Not moving forward, Wulfgrin grinned slightly. “You Rogues are not the only ones who dabble in poisons. As a hunter I have come across many a poisonous snake and many do not need to bite you for their poison to harm you. As an alchemist I can make various potions, or drinks in this case.” He said nodding towards the flask she drank from. “Three snake venom makes for mean whiskey don’t you think?”
As the venom continued to flow through her body, Sephrine dropped to her knees. Looking up in pain she struggled to speak. “I-I gave the pages back to the agent. He…he knows about you and will come…”
There was little surprise in his eyes at this. Reaching into his pack he pulled out an object wrapped in a cloth. Taking it, he tossed it at her. “You mean this agent?”
Looking down at the cloth Sephrine hands shook as she opened the wrapping. In it held a hand with the signet of SI:7 as well as the pages she turned over. Seeing this, she fell over from the pain.
“You should have left it alone. You had to stick your nose in this and now you see where that has led you. Just a pile of ash among the flames.” He motioned to his wolf as he stared back at the burning house. The wolf slowly moved towards Sephrine who still lay on the ground. Using his jaws, Meatbag grabbed her hair and began dragging her towards the building.
The poison traveling through her veins shot pain all over her body as the wolf seemed to make sure to hit every solid object on the way to the house. The pain was incredible and constant and even though she wanted nothing more than for the pain to end, one thing about it told her something.
She was still alive.
“Get up! Move!” She struggled to say as she began to resist with what strength she had left.
Annoyed by the struggle, Meatbag bit down again grabbing more hair and moved faster towards the house.
With the last of her strength Sephrine grabbed for her dagger. Taking it, she reached back to her hair and sliced at what the wolf had in his mouth. Finding her mark she cut herself free and in a single motion fired her grappling hook at the darkness away from the house hoping to hit something, anything. It to, found its mark and began to pull her away.
Wulfgrin seeing this, drew his rifle and took aim, but before he could fire there was a flash of light that blinded him. This gave Sephrine the time needed for the hook to continue pulling her away. Nearing the end of the chain, she could barely see where it was hooked at until it was too late. Unable to stop, the hook had pulled her off the high cliffs the house had been built on. With no strength left to stop herself, she fell into the waters below.
Looking down the cliff with his rifle aimed Wulfgrin scanned the area in vain. Cursing to himself, he could see nothing in the darkness. He looked back to Meatbag who still had her hair in his mouth gnawing on it. “Proud of that are ya?” He said looking back down the cliff.
“If the fall or the water doesn’t kill her the poison will.” He said turning back towards the burning house. Pausing a moment he looked back. “But still…” he pondered.
He shifted his attention towards the area Meatbag came from. There, another set of eyes flickered from the flames. With a sharp whistle, Wulfgrin pointed down the cliff and as if understanding, the eyes moved away.
Moving away from the cliff he walked back to the house which was now fully engulfed in flames. Sitting down, he watched as it burned while Meatbag lay beside him still chewing on the hair. Sighing, he slowly pet the wolf.
“At least one task went according to plan. I think we’re getting to old for this.”
1 Like