I Won A Pirate (RP)

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been watching the cottage for some time. She’d gone over it with a fine-toothed comb for evidence. Mostly the gnome had books. Light, did the girl have books. Scoop read night and day when she wasn’t snooping. She wrote. She had dreams of being a novelist.

The rogue had read a lot also. Some of the manuscripts were pretty good. Others were romantic drivel.

The cottage was neat and clean, and one Raven would have liked to have lived in. She’d become friends with the cats since she’s visited the cottage so frequently. She always brought them treats. It was with great sadness she knew the day was coming both the gnome and her cottage would be gone. Gen had given her permission to save as many of the books as she could so on the appointed day, as soon as Scoop left with her two cats to go fishing and meet the informant, Raven put her hair up under a tight hood, put on some gloves and started packing books out of the house. She’d put them a safe distance from the house to be found later. She couldn’t save them all, but she’d save a great many and the unfinished manuscripts the gnome had been working on.

When she saw movement above the cottage, she knew the Firestarter had arrived and gave up her book mission. She didn’t want to be caught in the cottage when it went up.

Retreating a safe distance, she sat in the shadows and watched. Whatever else he was, he was thorough with fire. Assassinations, perhaps not so much. They’d know if a body showed up in a few days.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been watching the cottage for some time. She’d gone over it with a fine-toothed comb for evidence. Mostly the gnome had books. Light, did the girl have books. Scoop read night and day when she wasn’t snooping. She wrote. She had dreams of being a novelist.

The rogue had read a lot also. Some of the manuscripts were pretty good. Others were romantic drivel.

The cottage was neat and clean, and one Raven would have liked to have lived in. She’d become friends with the cats since she’s visited the cottage so frequently. She always brought them treats. It was with great sadness she knew the day was coming both the gnome and her cottage would be gone. Gen had given her permission so save as many of the books as she could so on the appointed day, as soon as Scoop left with her two cats to go fishing and meet the informant, Raven put her hair up under a tight hood, put on some gloves and started packing books out of the house. She’d put them a safe distance from the house to be found later. She couldn’t save them all, but she’d save a great many and the unfinished manuscripts the gnome had been working on.

When she saw movement above the cottage, she knew the Firestarter had arrived and gave up her book mission. She didn’t want to be caught in the cottage when it went up.

Retreating a safe distance, she sat in the shadows and watched. Whatever else he was, he was thorough with fire. Assassinations, perhaps not so much. They’d know if a body showed up in a few days.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been watching the cottage for some time. She’d gone over it with a fine-toothed comb for evidence. Mostly the gnome had books. Light, did the girl have books. Scoop read night and day when she wasn’t snooping. She wrote. She had dreams of being a novelist.

The rogue had read a lot also. Some of the manuscripts were pretty good. Others were romantic drivel.

The cottage was neat and clean, and one Raven would have liked to have lived in. She’d become friends with the cats since she’s visited the cottage so frequently. She always brought them treats. It was with great sadness she knew the day was coming both the gnome and her cottage would be gone. Gen had given her permission so save as many of the books as she could so on the appointed day, as soon as Scoop left with her two cats to go fishing and meet the informant, Raven put her hair up under a tight hood, put on some gloves and started packing books out of the house. She’d put them a safe distance from the house to be found later. She couldn’t save them all, but she’d save a great many and the unfinished manuscripts the gnome had been working on.

When she saw movement above the cottage, she knew the Firestarter had arrived and gave up her book mission. She didn’t want to be caught in the cottage when it went up.

Retreating a safe distance, she sat in the shadows and watched. Whatever else he was, he was thorough with fire. Assassinations, perhaps not so much. They’d know if a body showed up in a few days.

[Silk-cenarion-circle]

Michell was particularly cheerful when he invited Silk out into the garden after Breakfast. “You look particularly fetching this morning, Kitten.” He reached up and stroked her cheek, ran his hand over her hair. “I’m glad Amelia left your hair down. The small braids at the side drawing the hair away from your face are fetching, but I prefer the bulk of that mass down. It glimmers like a raven wing.” He petted her again, there was no other word for it. “Yes, it’s like satin and shines just so. When I return, I think I’ll read to you be firelight with you by my side so I can indulge in feeling that luxurious mane.”

“You’re going somewhere?”

“Yes, I want to check on some things in Boralus and Stormwind. I’ll be gone a few days I would think. Before I left, I wanted to visit the rose gardens. Samel says you’ve taken an interest in the gardens and exercise!”

She flinched when he mentioned Boralus, but if he noticed, he said nothing. “I like to keep in shape.”

He ran his hand across her stomach causing the muscles to ripple and contract and then wrapped an arm around her with his hand resting on top of her hip. “Hmm, yes, you have a lovely body. I like that you take care of it.”

“Of course. A person needs to take care of themself.”

“I agree. I’ve always prided myself on keeping fit. It gratifies me to find a woman who values the same things I do.” He pulled her a bit closer when she tried to disengage from him.

They were in the meticulously arranged and planted rose gardens now. The scents were heady, almost overpowering. Several beds of similarly colored roses were planted in long, rectangular plots along a path with a few benches along the way and strategically placed trees for shade.

“Do you enjoy my roses?” he asked.

“Yes, I love them. I have worked among them several times. Amelia and her mother enjoy it when I bring bouquets to them.”

He smiled genuinely it seemed, pleased that she thought of them. “I’m glad. They really ask for so little and appreciate any kindness.” Then he nodded to a tree by the outer wall with a bench under it. “Samel says you sometimes run up the trunk and then pull up on a branch several times. Exercising your arms?”

Her eyes widened a bit, not that he could see, but she felt he sensed her tense up. “Yes, the dead weight of your body is good exercise when you pull it up on a bar or branch.”

“Let me build you some bars to work out on. That branch is far too rough on your delicate hands.” He bent to cut a yellow rose them trimmed the thorns from it and handed it to her after inhaling deeply of its perfume.
“Thank you.” She put the rose to her nose also, it was a rich, spicy scent, with a hint of musk perfect for perfuming.

“I breed my own roses, you know. It’s a passion of mine. This is my Tiriana Gold.”

She ran her fingers over the velvet petals. “It’s an intoxicating scent and pure velvet.”

“Yes, the petals remind me of her skin. She had skin like yours and the most beautiful golden hair.” He gazed down at the bed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tiriana. She was a guest of mine. I was quite in love with her, but she didn’t, shall we say, love me as much as I did her and tried to escape. Bribed a guard who was quite smitten with her, and they fled together. I found them, of course. Brought her back and explained the error of her ways. The guard got to demonstrate the error of his ways over a few days to my other guards. He apologized and I accepted. I’m not without heart. Afterwards, I worked on developing a new breed of roses to honor her. It seemed only fitting since she would be feeding them.”

She dropped the rose in horror and looked down the row of rose beds. “How many…”

“Oh, I should say eleven. Some are not worthy of the effort to put in the rose garden, but I would make a spot for you. In case you’re interested, the drop on the other side of that wall is a good twenty feet.”

Her knees turned to jelly, and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t lose her breakfast right here.

“Come, my dear. You look a bit ill. It must be the early morning heat.”

[Raveneye-cenarion-circle]

The swarthy druidess spun on her heel irritably as someone slipped a rolled-up note into her hand. It was a child, who immediately darted off and vanished into the crowds of Stormwind. Raveneye did not feel like giving chase at this late hour of the day. Growling under her breath, she unwrapped the note. “The Slaughtered Lamb.”

There was no signature.

Her curiosity was piqued in spite of her annoyance. The Slaughtered Lamb used to be one of her favorite places to spend a rowdy evening, but she’d not been there in quite some time. She would go to the inn, but using her human form. Glancing around again, Raveneye could not see anyone who seemed to be observing her. It was an ordinary Stormwind evening, the sun setting beautifully over the harbor, and gulls were crying in the distance. People were trudging home after their long day’s work. She made her way up the grassy city corridors to the Slaughtered Lamb, wondering if the mages of the town used magic on the verdant paths. They never seemed to get beaten down.

The inn door was already ajar as she entered. Raveneye peered about, but the tavern was nearly empty save for the bartenders. However, one lone woman with exquisite red hair was standing at the counter, and had a flat leather satchel tucked under one arm. She was already watching the druidess keenly as Raveneye entered. Candles guttered on the tables, and half-empty steins of beer were left here and there. This inn had never been as well kept as the Blue Recluse was.

The human was actually quite beautiful, and she nodded to Raveneye, beckoning her over and motioned to Jarel the bartender. “Get her whatever she wants.” Well, that was…generous? People don’t give out favors unless they want something in return - at least, in Raveneye’s experience. She resigned herself to the fact that there was probably a request of some sort coming next. “Why thank you. I’ll have the bourbon.”

After the drinks were placed in front of the two, the woman turned to Raveneye again. “I’m told you can be relied upon. Would you care to come downstairs?” And there it was. Of course the drink wasn’t free. Raveneye nodded without a word, and followed the woman past the haphazardly draped sailcloth at the end of the room, through the small doorway that led to a steeply descending tunnel. Raveneye’s mild interest rapidly turned to concern. This wasn’t suspicious at all. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she followed the woman. The smell of death and decay grew stronger the farther down they went. This had clearly been a burial site long ago. Raveneye did not like tunnels or caves or anything underground for that matter, let alone crypts.

The young woman strode on, leading Raveneye through several rooms and down more staircases strewn with spider webs and occasional bones. She finally paused in a chamber lit only by a small torch, and a candle set into a burial alcove. Several empty coffins lay carelessly stacked at one end of the room, and Raveneye noticed a large spider watching them closely from the eye socket of a human skull that lay on the same alcove that the candle was on. Its many eyes glittered out of the dark hole in the skull in the flickering candlelight.

The woman set her drink on a ledge chiseled into the wall, and turned to the druidess calmly. “I need some fliers distributed in Booty Bay. They are for a missing person. I had someone else lined up to do it for me, but he seems to have disappeared, and you were recommended.” Well, she had gotten straight to the point at least. Raveneye studied the woman as she spoke. The druidess was not usually one to be easily intimidated, but there was an unsettling lack of empathy in this woman’s manner, and she never stopped looking at Raveneye as she articulated. Her eyes were the color of cornflowers. “I pay well for silence, and I pay up front.” She pulled a stack of papers from the leather satchel, and extended them along with a pouch of coins to Raveneye.

Raveneye cautiously accepted the papers, taking care not to glance at them as she tucked them into a large pocket of her robe. “I can easily get it done. Is there a timeline that you need them distributed by?” The woman’s piercing gaze still was on the druidess. “Immediately. And of course, please do not speak of this meeting.” Raveneye decided not to ask the woman who had recommended her. In fact, she suspected that any further time spent here would be unwise. She downed her shot of bourbon in a single swallow, and nodded. “I hate questions anyhow. And it’s always interesting to visit Booty Bay. I’ll have it done within a day or so.” She turned and walked towards the staircase that led back up the way they had come. The young woman gently spoke as the druidess walked away. “Excellent.”

Raveneye could have sworn she heard an eerie cackle come from the spider in the skull that had been watching them. Or perhaps it was the skull itself.

She knew she could get to Booty Bay by the next morning if she hurried and took a gryphon. The brief exchange had left her rather uneasy. Raveneye had certainly dealt with her share of unsavory characters before, but that young woman, while certainly not unsavory at first glance, had displayed a calmness and tranquility that was almost unnatural. But, gold was gold, and the woman had given her a substantial sum. Raveneye would get the job done and leave the Eastern Kingdoms for a time.

Her arrival in Booty Bay was as it always was - the salty air was infused alternately with the smell of seaweed drying on the boardwalks of the town and the tropical flowers that bloomed everywhere they could take root. Only now did she read what was written on the papers.

“T.E.
Silk is not your style. I’m offering a trade for something more interesting with a substantial bonus.
Leave a message with Nixxrax in the Salty Sailor Tavern.”

She was tempted to go question the tavernkeep herself, but she reminded herself it was none of her business. Best to get on with it and leave town. Raveneye decided to post the fliers as a cat, since she could easily slip between buildings and disappear whenever she chose that way. She avoided the greasy Bruisers patrolling the town, driving the papers through loose wood splinters and old nails popping out of the buildings. Deep South Tannery, Boucher’s Cauldron, and even The Old Port Authority all had areas behind them where the guards did not patrol much if at all. She even left one deep within the tunnel that connected Booty Bay to the other end of the Cape. Hopefully the rats crawling everywhere would not chew up the fliers before they were seen by whomever they were intended for.

The last one had been posted, and Raveneye took flight to the north again. She was not about to hang around to see what transpired. No gryphons this time - she would take her own path. Perhaps she’d pay a visit to Pandaria for a while.

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

Gen didn’t have any remorse about killing those men. Perhaps a little bit about people they left behind who may have cared about, but not the men. They deserved to die and die miserably. No regrets there. She felt bad about the gnome, though. She had a mother who loved her. Friends. People liked her. She felt bad about killing her.

Even so, it was time to move on with life. She had met with the druid Raveneye to post the fliers in Booty Bay. The woman was highly recommended. Gen had watched her for a while before making a decision. In human form, she was swarthy, dark-haired with hazel eyed and an athletic build as many Worgen held even when shifted. Even if not for the build, she might have guessed her for what she was. It was the eyes. They always retained a certain feral aspect. She’d be perfect. Get in, get out and avoid attention.

The druid had accepted the drink and followed Gen downstairs. Down they went to the bowels of the Slaughtered Lamb. Down again to the catacombs. It was the safest place for discreet talks. Besides, Raven her pet rogue and Hekatê had swept it earlier and the warlock was still watching.

Brushing aside a few spider webs and lots of dust, Gen had placed her glass of Dalaran red on a shelf and sized the woman up before starting. She was dressed well, but not extravagantly. The face was attractive, strong, curious though she asked no questions and waited for Gen to open the conversation.

Gen explained what she needed done and stressed that it needed to be confidential. The woman assured her she was good at not asking questions and following instructions.

A deal was struck, and the woman left. As she did, a skull with a spider in it that had been sitting as if watching them laughed. The woman started and looked around. Gen sipped her wine and acted as if nothing had happened. When she was sure the woman was out of earshot, she thumped the skull. “Seriously, Hekatê. Did you have to do that?”

A woman’s soft voice responded. “Ouch, Stop that and you have to admit that was funny.”

“Well, a little. Thank you for keeping an eye on things.”

“Anytime, paladin.”

Four days later she was relaxing in a small, out of the way tavern in Boralus. It was one of her favorite places to drink. It was comfortable and clean, the staff was friendly without being nosey, and the liquor and food was excellent. A man sat down at her table with two glasses of wine. “Mind if I join you,” he said with a charming smile she was sure melted hearts on three continents.

“Not really in the mood for company, thank you.”

He slid a folded piece of paper over to her, the smile changing slightly. “I know what you did.”

“I’ve done lots of things.”

“Fish with gnomes often?” He raised a brow at her, the smile now changing into a smirk.

Her back stiffened and she swallowed hard. “Not often.”

“I’m not surprised. Finish your drink and let’s take a walk.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

He lowered his head shyly and looked up at her through long dark lashes as a small boy might. “I’m not going to hurt you. Miss D’Armond. Just want to talk to you…alone and share some better wine.”

Every nerve in her body told her to run, but she was completely trapped in his web. “What do you want?”

“I told you. I just want to talk. Open up the paper and then finish your drink.”

It was one of the fliers from Booty Bay. He raised his glass as if toasting her when she read it and winked at her. She downed the glass and stood.

“Good girl.”

Her teeth gritted when he said that as if she were a trained dog responding properly. He guided her to a private and peaceful grassy swale above Boralus. A man waited there beside a blanket on the ground and a picnic basket. She looked askance at him? “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to enjoy a conversation with you in some comfort. A little wine and some cheese, breads, fruit.” He smiled and motioned to the blanket. “No cookies though. That seems to be your specialty.”

She growled softly and started to protest ignorance.

He raised a hand. “Please, my dear. Let’s not start our relationship with falsities.”

“How did you find me?”

With a gracious wave of his hand, he guided her to the blanket. “Please, let’s get comfortable. I assure you, I just want to visit and your flier did indicate you wanted to visit.”

She pulled her arm away from him and settled where he indicated like a good little terrier. She accepted the glass of wine he poured for her and watched him methodically set out plates of food then hand one to her.

“I enjoy having picnics with attractive women. Sharing some wine, always mine, of course as it really is some of the best. Something to eat, always grapes as I enjoy feeding a lady grapes. I won’t you as I fear you might bite my hand. By accident, I’m sure. However, do enjoy your food and wine.”

She envisioned biting his hand like a rabid dog if he even attempted to feed her. “Tell me what you want.”

He reclined on the blanket and smiled at her then sipped his wine. “Well, it’s more what you want. You’ve been killing some old business acquaintances of mine.”

She started. “I don’t even know who you are nor what you’re talking about.” The piece of bread in her hand crushed.

A brow rose. “Really? Well, let’s digress a bit. I watched you at the Armistice Ball. I heard some people were looking for Bill Michell.”

“You know him?” She looked down to hide her surprise and picked some grapes off the stem.

“Quite well. You might say intimately.”

She popped a grape in her mouth. “You’re Michell.”

“Very good. Why were you looking for me?”

“He was Beacham’s friend and might know where I can find someone else.”

He offered her a piece of white cheese that she didn’t have on her plate. She shook her head. There was that boyish smile again. “You thought about accepting, though.”

She had.

“Who else are you looking for?”

“Someone named The Enforcer.”

He sipped his wine slowly and looked at her over his glass. “Oh, darling. Tsch Tsch. He’s such a terrible character. You really don’t want to get to know him.”

“Not charming like you,” she said with a small snort.

“Nothing. But, let’s not speak of him.” He shuddered dramatically. “I was watching your office in Boralus. You had gone in that morning and no one else went in so imagine my surprise some hours later when a man with a scruffy black shadow of a beard, long dark hair braided messily and bound with a leather thong came out. He was a workman of some sort, kerchief about his throat, gloves, boots, torn rough breeches. Well, you know how he was dressed.”

He winked at her. “Intrigued, I followed this mystery man.”

“You must have been very interested to watch for hours like that.”

“In my former line of work, I would easily wait for hours or days for someone special to come along.”

He poured her some more wine as she had drained her glass. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it was, but back to our worker. He met up with a little gnome reporter in Stormwind. They had a curious conversation about The Enforcer. What kind of wood he uses. The mother-of-pearl inlay in some woodwork he did. All very captivating. The workman promises to get her more information and the gnome is sure she’s on the verge of cracking the case about who The Enforcer is and who the killer is. I think she believes The Enforcer is behind the killings.” He laughed.

“You don’t think so?” Gen felt sure she was on the verge of passing out.

“Oh, no. I haven’t survived this long by being stupid. I only kill former business partners if they unwisely start talking about me.”

Her head started swimming and she faltered. He reached over quickly to wrap his arm around her. “There, there, love. I have you.”

He held her there for a few minutes feeding her slow sips of wine until her head cleared and she pushed him away.

“Oh, here’s the good news, darling. You hurried away with her cats to find someone to take them to the Watch. My man watching you was impressed with that. While you were saving the cats, I was saving the gnome.”

“You saved her?” Gen croaked.

“Yes, yes. She’s far too innocent to die don’t you think. I’m sure you smashed her in the head with that hammer by mistake.”

“Yes, totally a mistake.”

“You make lots of those and that will be your undoing. Putting those fliers up for instance. Why on earth would you offer yourself up for Silk and what makes you think you have anything else that interests The Enforcer?”

“Because she’s my friend,” she said quietly.

“Here’s the thing. I’ve grown quite fond of her. I’m not letting her go, but I’m going to make you a deal. It’s only a matter of time before Orwyn and his merry crew figure out who murdered my friends or at least cohorts. You’ll no doubt swing for your crimes. Now, I think that would be a terrible waste of a lovely woman with a few bad habits. Besides, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “So, here’s what I’m going to do. When the law starts closing in, if you want to string this out, you can come live out your days in comfort with me and Silk.”

She looked at him in pure horror. “You’re totally insane. You torture people. Build torture devices.”

He shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

[Bilmichell-cenarion-circle]

(Life gets in the way of everyone. Although the rp has continued in game, it’s been difficult to get the story posted by parties and I apologize. We want to wrap the story up, though, so that’s what we’re trying to do now. My thanks to all who have participated. It’s been some remarkable rp. I wish everything that happened in the game could have been posted, but then we would have had a book.)

He laughed at her expression. Yes, she would be amusing to toy with. From what he had seen, she was normally good at keeping her emotions well hidden. She’d make a formidable poker player, but he’d managed to peel off the veneer and pick at the soft inner core. Yes, she’d make a nice addition to the collection. What type of red rose for her? Something with deep sanguine petals. It takes time to develop new roses and the chances of taming women like Silk and Gentyl were always unsure. Still, he liked a challenge.

“You will rebuild the gnome’s house, of course. Or pay to have it rebuilt. Once it’s completed, I expect to you to have the money donated to her to completely refurnish her little cottage as appropriate.”

Gentyl scowled at him and took a bite of the apple slice in her hand. She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “And if I don’t?”

“Silk will very much wish you had. Do we have an understanding?”

She looked away to hide her expression, but he caught the hot anger. “Yes.” A moment’s hesitation. “You know she’s not going to stop until she digs up the truth about both of us.”

“I know she’s going to keep poking,” he replied, "that’s why I’m going to give her all the information she wants to break the case. Only it won’t be the right information. She’ll get a plausible explanation for how they were all connected and who killed them. As for The Enforcer, he was killed while trying to capture a ship. He lowered his head in reverence. “Alas, his ship went down with all hands.”

She snorted. “And no one heard of this attack or sinking?”

“I suppose you didn’t feel like dealing with the authorities.”

“What!”

“Take one of your ships and capture and sink one of the buccaneer ships somewhere south. Not too close to Booty Bay. You’ve done this before.”

“I don’t—”

He held up his hand. “Please. I know exactly what you’ve been doing. I just didn’t care as long as you didn’t mess with my ships. So far you’ve been focusing on certain merchants and scavenging ships from the buccaneers from time to time.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Good, she was giving in to him. He held a piece of honey fruit up to her lips, but she shook her head and turned away. “In time,” he said.

“What about Orwyn? He’s not going to believe any of this.”

“Leave him to me. I’ve been doing this for a very long time. But, you’ve been careless. I’m not sure I can save you from the noose. If he starts closing in, I will send someone for you. It may not be the life you chose, but it will be life.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be so stubborn. It doesn’t become you.” He took another sip of wine. “I’ve been wondering. Why did you take your maiden name again? You were married with a child before their deaths.”

She looked startled. He liked that.

“You’ve been thorough.”

He nodded and waited.

“Because if anyone ever discovered what I was doing, I didn’t want them linked to it.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure the Fairwinds would appreciate it. I’m also sure they would appreciate not having their home burned down around their ears if you don’t do what I tell you to do.”

She looked at him miserably, then inclined her head slowly.

“Now, try a bite of this fruit. It really is quite delicious.”

She started to shake her head until he raised his brow. Then she took a small bite and lowered her head again. Baby steps. “Good girl. I will contact you soon.” He rose and turned to leave.

A glass smash behind him and he laughed.

A few days later, just as he was getting ready to leave town, he received a message the Stormwind Union wished to interview him at his home. He balled the message up and launched it into the fire, then he took out his knife and threw it at the painting of Gentyl D’Armond Fairwind he had hanging in the parlor of his Stormwind home. It was easier for him to point at the painting and tell one of his men, “Follow that woman,” than give a description that may or may not put them on the right prey. Now he would have to tell them, “Follow that woman, but she hasn’t been stabbed in the heart…yet.”

He didn’t like attention. He certainly didn’t like attention from the law. Refusing to speak to them would draw even more attention though, so he prepared, ordered some fresh pastries, replaced the paladin’s painting with a landscape, and made sure nothing was out of place.

He wore simple, but well-tailored clothes of good quality, freshly laundered and starched. He was a businessman after all.

They were right on time with their business-like knock. He opened the door to an attractive Draenei, young by the looks of her, but it was so hard to tell their age. The white pigtails didn’t help.

“Yes, can I help you?” He flashed that engaging boyish smile that served him well.

She smiled politely in return. “Good evening. I am Agent Irlii with the Stormwind Watch. I have an appointment with Mr. Michell, which I believe you are based upon your appearance.”

Leaning on the door a bit, he regarded the woman with an uplifted brow. “The watch has put out a description of me?” He tried to look amused, but inside he was seething. “Yes, of course, agent, not quite what I expected. Come in.”

Just about then, two young soldiers came by discussing a recent skirmish. The young, scantily clad paladin waved her hands in the air. “Yeah…I died there twice…alone!” she sniffled. “And without a snickers bar to revive me!”

The paladin next to her in the purple and gold armor protested, “You died a HERO!”

“I don’t think the Tauren liked me for asking for a patty melt either,” the first one said.

Bill nodded slightly before stepping aside for his guest. Yes, that may have been a mistake young paladin. Best keep a Snickers with you next time.

(Hat tip Narianna and Iracebeth. That overheard conversation was too much fun not to include.)

She came in and looked around, taking in all the details. “You have a fine and well-appointed home, sir.”

He shrugged. “It’s a cottage, but sufficient for when I conduct business here.” Then he motioned to the two expensive, ornately carved leather chairs near the fireplace. “Please be seated. Would you like some tea or coffee? Wine?” Though he had guards posted nearby, she didn’t know that and he eyed the door. “Forgive me. I forgot to latch it.” He locked the heavy main lock and then slid shut two more latches.

“That is a wise precaution. Stormwind is a…boisterous town.”

Michel nodded and shuddered slightly. “You will forgive me, but I am not fond of Stormwind. Far too much crime for my liking.” Then he brightened and smiled again as he slid a plate of pastries across the table before them. “Tea? Coffee? Wine?”

She again returned a small smile. “You offer wine to an on-duty officer?”

“I offer wine to everyone. I have one of the best vineyards around. I especially offer wine to lovely ladies in uniform or not.” He picked up the delicate China teapot. “Tea then? Pastries?”

“You are too kind. But no, nothing for me. I have recently eaten. I must eat healthy to stay in shape.” She smiled again.

Much better than that sour Orwyn, and yes, she did stay in shape. Quite a lovely shape. He tightened his grip on the teapot to mask the twitching fingers and poured himself a cup. “Now, what can I help you with?”

She took out a notebook and pen, then looked over at him. “The Watch is assisting the Dalaran authorities with the investigation into the murder of Mr. Beacham.”

He already knew, of course, but looked startled, and took a sip of tea. “Oh really? That surprises me.” He shook his head and lowered it a bit at the mention of Beacham.

Her head cocked to the side. “It surprises you?”

“Well, yes, it’s a bit out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been asked to help. It’s an important case.”

“I see,” he said. “Poor man.”

“We thought you might have some information that would help us identify his killers.”

“Me! What in the world would I know about his killers aside from the rumors that they ruined an exceptional cask of wine? If true, that is an absolute travesty. They should be hanged for that alone. It was my best vintage.”

She smiled at the outburst. “Unknown connections are often revealed through conversation.”

“I sold Mr. Beacham wine. He liked to entertain.” He waved a hand airily. “I’m afraid I’m a rather boring person myself.”

She tapped her pen on the pad. “Oh, I can hardly believe that. Now, to begin with, how did you come to know Mr. Beacham?”

He blushed shyly at her. “As I said, I sell, sold him wine. I have a shipping business and sometimes he employed my ships. I import exotic goods. He liked fine things. If I ran across something I thought he would like, I’d send a message. Fine cloth, leathers, tapestries, art. He always paid well and was right on time. His mother was quite lovely. I liked her a lot and always remembered her a gift when I sent a shipment or went to visit.”

She continued writing. “He first made your acquaintance when he sought you out for your services?”

He scratched his stubbled jaw, thinking about this a bit. “Yes, I believe so.”

“How many years ago was that?”

Quite the little interrogator here. “I provide a variety of things as you can see, so he purchased various things over the years. As to time, it’s been a while. After he got into that little dust-up in Stormwind. So, a few years I would say. Not long after he left Stormwind. Perhaps seven years ago?”

“Which dust up do you mean, sir?”

He raised a brow. Did she really not know? He flushed and tried to look flustered. “Oh, perhaps I am speaking ill of the dead, but the cat’s out now. He got in trouble with the bank and some investors. That paladin uncovered the whole mess, and he was fired. Run out of town in disgrace. Had to rebuild his fortune.” He poured another cup of rose tea and swirled in a bit of honey, raising the cup to his lips with a slightly trembling hand. “I don’t like speaking ill of people. It’s just so…vulgar.”

She nodded. “A dark time for him. But he recovered quickly, it appears.”

He smiled briefly, as if happy to be moving on to other subjects. “I think he had a knack for business.”

Pondering this a bit, she halted and then made a note. “Given his reduced means, I wonder what service he wanted from you that he thought he could afford?”

“Easy enough. He had invested in some rare tapestries he managed to get out of Stormwind that I thought might turn a nice profit and they did. He made a tidy profit on them and then reinvested the money into a small mine. The owner was an older man and suffered an unfortunate medical catastrophe not long after that, leaving it to Mr. Beacham. I know nothing about mining, but I think it turned out to be a very productive venture. As I said, he had a knack for business. I tend to be a simple man.”

She looked like she wanted to chew on the end of the pen now. “Hmmm. A knack, and some luck perhaps.”

“Luck always helps,” he replied noncommittally.

“How would you characterize your relationship?”

“I visited his home now and again. Deliveries and so forth. Visited with his mother. I always liked her. Lovely lady. I imagine she is devastated. He always took very good care of her. He was quite dutiful. A loving son. Good man I suppose. Always took care of me anyway. No complaints.” He leaned forward and looks at her with great interest. “I read a story in the newspaper that he was involved in some…unsavory things…torture. Do you think that’s true?” He shuddered his hand trembling a bit as he set the cup down.

She refused to take the bait. “I think we shall get to that, in time. Did he ever visit you here?”

He snorted. “Oh, no. I am seldom in Stormwind myself and he got run out of town. He hated it here.”

“Would you say you had become good friends?”

“Good friends? No, I would think not. Business acquaintances mostly though He invited me for dinner a few times and parties when he entertained business associates. Mr. Beacham served my wine, and I was available to answer questions about it. I make the rounds at some of these social functions because I’m a wine merchant after all, but I spend most of my time at my vineyard.”

“But you did send him special gifts.”

He cocked his head to the side thinking. “Oh, the chocolate? Yes, once. I found some rare chocolate I thought he might like. It’s hard to transport that without melting, so I don’t send it often. Then I always brought his mother gifts. She particularly liked some special honey plums we raise. I always brought those in season. Is that important?”

She took out a photograph of the forged handwritten note that gave the courtesans passage into Beacham’s home and shows it to him.

He laughed and then blushed and covered his face. “Oh my. He thought I was sending him dancing girls? Where does a person even find those? I mean I’m sure they are to be had, but…oh, my, no I did not send dancing girls.” He chewed on his lip for a moment and looked thoughtful. “Do they have dancing girls in Dalaran? I suppose they aren’t illegal.” He shrugged.

“No doubt, there are some,” she replied, “but is it not interesting that he immediately let them in when he saw that you sent them? It’s far removed from chocolates.”

He looked at her with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Ah, my dear. Mr. Beacham enjoyed the ladies. Frankly, if he let these girls in, I imagine he thought it was a joke, but he wasn’t about to pass up some entertainment. I did send his shipment of wine to him on a camel once as a joke, but later told him I wanted the camel back as I had borrowed it. So, the camel wasn’t really a gift. I’m sure I don’t know why he thought I sent him dancing girls.” He sipped more tea and looked out the window thoughtfully. “He sent me a night elf lady once. Maybe he thought it was payback.”

He almost laughed at the way she perked up with the quizzical look. “He sent you a night elf lady?”

“Yes, I was grousing because my housekeeper and her daughter were gone to visit a sick relative and I missed them. He sent the girl to help keep the house until she returned. I thanked him, but she didn’t stay. You get used to having things done a certain way you know?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “And your sending dancing girls would be considered payback?”

“Oh, who knows with Mr. Beacham. As I said. He was a bit of a lady’s man. He liked to have pretty girls around. Even if he thought it was a joke, he wouldn’t turn them away if they were pretty.”

She didn’t look convinced. "A lady’s man with bodyguards and a very secure home. One would not think such a man, rightfully concerned with his own safety, would admit two armed strangers on the direction of a simple acquaintance. Wouldn’t you agree?

“Officer, I have no idea. He trusted me enough to do business with me and he made money. He allowed me in his home and allowed me to become friends with his mother because she took a shine to me though she was rather reclusive. Why he allowed two dancing girls in his house is beyond me, but doesn’t surprise me. Once again, he liked ladies and presumed women liked him.” He picked up a pastry off the plate and took a bite. “Do you think I set him up?”

“Why would you want to kill him?” she replied.

“Exactly. He held a lot of parties. Ordered a lot of wine and promoted my wine. I had no reason to kill him.”

“But someone did. Someone who knew that Mr. Beacham would admit the courtesans on your word, and someone who could forge your signature well enough to fool him. Can you think of anyone like that?”

“Someone who had been watching him for a while and knew he trusted me, but then Mr. Beacham had, even for his bodyguards and high fences, had grown lax. He trusted a lot of people and threw too many parties.”

“And someone who could find enough examples of your signature to duplicate it,” she rebutted. “You don’t strike me as someone who would make that easy.”

He laughed and brushed a stray crumb from his pant leg and put it back on a napkin. “Of course, it’s easy. I sign shipping dockets every day.”

“You sign your own? I see.”

“My ships are not always coming in, but I’m always ordering things. I have to sign for them. I inspect most of the goods that come in.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“Forgeries of expensive objects are common and I don’t like being swindled. I am a mild-mannered man, but still, I like to take care of business.”

She nodded. “So, you can think of no one that might be a suspect?”

“If the rumors are true, he was torturing people. I would think a loved one. If not, someone he defrauded years ago. To drown someone in a very expensive cask of wine is a brutal way to kill someone. And the reporter seemed to be sure of her facts in that story.”

“The killers are quite brutal,” she said.

“I’m afraid I’m not much help.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“So, it is more than one?” he said and took another bite of the small cake.

“By all appearances. Does that help suggest anything?”

He winked at her and grinned. “Maybe Mr. Beacham stole my girlfriend, and I killed him in my finest wine!”

She peered at him closely. “It’s always of interest to me how people react to the deaths of people they know.”

“I would think a more true reaction would be when they first hear of the death. By now it is old news, and every fish wife has repeated the story and added more delicious details with each telling. I’m afraid at this point my remaining grief is abated, especially if the rumors are true about the sadistic things he may have done. I…just can’t fathom this and I was in that house. Sadly, no. I’m at a loss for how someone got past his guards. I would think it would take four or five people really.”

“One might think, yes.”

“I am saddened by Mr. Beacham’s loss. He was a business associate, but I worry more about his mother. I can’t imagine how hard she is taking it. I’m devastated for her. I should check on her.”

“That is thoughtful.”

“Well, she was a lovely lady even given the…episodes. I think she had a hard life.”

She flipped through her notebook again. "Perhaps a different line of questioning may help us now. Do you know a Donovan Wills?

He frowned a bit. “I don’t think so. Should I?”

"I cannot say whether you should or not. "

He tapped his fingers on the table and looked up and to the right as if searching his memory. “Nope, not ringing a bell.”

“They are also business associates of Mr. Beacham, from about the same time as you first met him, and were also brutally murdered.”

“Intriguing. Maybe I’m next!”

“It is something we have considered.”

He dropped the tea cozy he was lifting so he could refresh his tea. “I was joking, Miss. Surely you aren’t serious.”

“I am serious that we have considered it.”

“Perhaps I should hire a bodyguard, not that it did poor Mr. Beacham much good.” He picked up the cozy with trembling fingers and placed it back on the pot then put his hands in his lap.

“He was incautious,” she said as she looked at her notebook again.

Michel lowered his head, seeming to try to focus. “I don’t know what to do.” The voice is soft, forlorn, almost a whisper.

“Help us find the killers,” she replied. "Do you know a “T.E.?”

“T.E. What is that?”

“Initials. Another associate of your friend.”

“A person?”

She nodded, watching his reaction.

“Wonder what it stands for. Theodore, I bet. Or Timmy. Little Timmy. Is he dead too? I haven’t seen him around in a while.”

She looked startled. “Uh, no. I don’t think it’s Little Timmy. We haven’t identified T.E. yet to be able to say. He did leave his initials on some of the torture devices, however.”

His eyes flew open wide. “Oh! So, there were torture devices. And someone carved their initials in them? Maybe it was a victim. Do you think it was someone who used them? One of the bodyguards perhaps.”

“It wasn’t carved like graffiti. It appeared to be a maker’s mark. Carefully crafted.”

“Hmmm, a maker’s mark? How odd.”

She nodded in agreement. “To take pride in such a thing is abnormal.”

“It is. How many people do you think build torture devices? That has to be a limited market.”

“Yes. Particularly using the rare materials he did. No doubt they would have been highly prized, by people interested in such devices.”

He leaned back and sipped his wine. “Rare materials also. Someone who valued these things. I had no idea Mr. Beacham…well, he collected rare things, but who knew there was a market or desire for torture devices made of rare materials. The things you learn about people. What kind of rare materials?”

“For example, a particularly dark teakwood from Stranglethorn, juvenile elek ivory, and an unusual, blue-tinted jade from Pandaria. All things your company has traded in the past, I am told by other merchants.”

He waved his finger in disagreement. “Not true. I don’t deal in juvenile ivory. Frankly, I don’t care for it and the practice of killing infants. I do deal in all manner of rare woods and gems though.”

She smiled at him. “Ah, I see. Perhaps you might check your records and see if anyone with those initials made a purchase from your company.”

“Of course. I’ll be happy to.” He took another sip of tea. “You really should try this tea. I raise the roses I make the tea from.”

"Can you think of anything else that might help us identify the suspects? She asked as she examined the tea.

“Oh, I’m afraid not. I’ve learned so many…frightening things about Mr. Beacham. How can someone Torture people and no one knows about it? It’s amazing. Terrifying really. Would you like to take some tea with you?”

She looked as if she were thinking about it. “Of course, some knew. And no doubt they shall be identified at some point.”

He shook his head sadly. “How can people do that to another person?”

“That is a long conversation” she replied and then motioned toward the tea. “Perhaps one cup before I leave. You have been so helpful, after all.”

He poured the cup and then placed the teapot back on the warmer and replaced the cozy.

She accepted it with a nod and took a sip. “The temperature is perfect.”

He pushed the honey and pastries toward the officer.

“Only one, thank you.”

They finish the interview amenably and he asked once again if she thought he was in danger. His hand trembled when she assured him that he might be.

To his dismay, she asked him to remain in Stormwind a bit longer in case they needed to speak to him again to which he reluctantly agreed. He sent her away with the box of pastries for the office and a box of rose tea.

After she left, he called Rowdy down from upstairs. “Go out the back way and have someone follow her. Then find me a messenger boy to take a message to the Union.”

He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and with a shaking hand, penned a note to Orwyn pleading for protection as he feared for his very life and it was his fault he was having to remain in Stormwind. Please! Could he not assign someone to keep him safe? Not quite satisfied with it, he dropped a few ink splatters on it as if he had hesitated when writing and smudged a few more. Then he sealed it into an envelope and set his seal unsteadily over the flap.

When the message was done, he sat down with a new piece of rare wood and began to carve a woman’s face. “I swear by all that is holy, and every known unholy that those women will pay for inconveniencing me.”

[Inic-cenarion-circle]

Inic carefully placed the paintbot outside Gentyl’s door.
" I hope she likes green" he snickered to himself before he ran away.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven was sitting on the upper floor of a tavern, nursing a drink and waiting for lunch when the urchin dashed in and handed her the note. She tossed Ian a coin and thanked him. In years past, the Silent Guard wouldn’t have used children, but there were myriad options back then. Blackskull Mercenaries and Pia had a steady if quiet working relationship. Imperon’s Lluchdeu Ocheliad could be called on, for a price. Plus, she had a few independent contractors she used that could be trusted to not only do their jobs, but also keep their mouths shut. Those people were necessary when Pia was embroiled in dangerous operations all the time. Today, as far as anyone knew, Pia was dead. As far as anyone knew. Those who were in the Silent Guard had gone underground and still kept watch on things that mattered to them and to the new leader, Gen Fairwinds, D’Armond again. The Pia Presidium was running very deep these days.

She always sat back in a corner where she couldn’t be easily observed from below unless one of those pesky druids decided to nap in the chandelier as cats were wont to do. Jump on top of anything they weren’t supposed to be on, push anything that was in the way off, and go to sleep. No druids were about today. Nor were any rogues. Just a few workers and sailors below who had wandered in for lunch and drinks.

Leaning down, she pulled a stiletto out of her boot and held the blade in the flame of the candle on her table. When it glowed red, she slipped the blade carefully under the black wax seal with the GDF monogram. The wax, a soft mixture of some sort, but not ordinary by any means, melted and ran down the envelope. She watched, somewhat enraptured, it never failed to amuse her. The real seal was in the envelope and wouldn’t be broken until the melted wax spread over it. If a person tore open the envelope or just cut the seal, they would only find a blank piece of paper inside. Once she was sure the wax was right, she passed the envelope over the flame twice to activate the lettering inside.

If it had been a normal message, the monogram would have been GFD, which amused Raven, but she supposed GDFD would be a bit pretentious. Certain everything was right; she lifted the flap. The message was short. Meet Gen in Boralus. Make sure she wasn’t followed. Disguise and hire a hedge mage to portal her.

She held the message to the flame again and burned it.

Gen was fond of apples, so she bought a bag from a street vendor who was selling apples that looked suspiciously like the ones that grew along the canals. Everyone needed to make a living and times were hard. At least he was working and not stealing or begging.

The sailor propped nonchalantly on a barrel near the door to Gen’s office, continued carving some kind of bone, but nodded briefly to Raven to approach. Just as Stormwind had its watchers so did Boralus. This reminded her, she needed to talk to her the fishmongers who had been watching Michell and Stormwind Union.

She knocked softly on the door and received entry. “Brought you some apples.”

Gen smiled. “Thank you, I was out.” She reached into the bag and took one out, then started peeling the apple with a razor-sharp dagger.

Raven watched. The peeling would come off in one winding strip as was her habit.

Gen smiled at her. “I hate eating the peelings. You’re wondering why I called you.” She walked over to the door and looked out a peephole and then locked it.

“I was a bit curious. There isn’t much happening. Michell is still a nuisance, but you know that. He came to Boralus last night. I’m sure your people picked him up.”

The was almost a growl in response. “Yes, the weasel came here to meet me. I am to have the reporter’s house rebuilt as it was or better and refurnish it.”

Thankfully, she had set the coffee cup down to add some cream or she might have dropped it. She was at home enough here to make her own coffee and not expect to be waited on. The expression on Gen’s face told all she needed to know about how she felt regarding these orders. “Are you going to?”

“Yes, I have no choice. You got a good look at the house?”

“I did. It’s stored away up here like a photograph,” she said tapping her temple.

“Would Stormwind have issued a building permit to build it?”

“Possible, though it was up on the hill above the city proper.”

“See if you can find the permit and plans without being noticed. If so, build the same house. If not, build something similar, but change it up a bit. Make it nicer. Make sure no one can identify you. Dress up as a widow with veils and say that you are trying to do a good deed in your husband’s memory. Take the floorplan and money to the builder’s guild with instructions it’s to be built as soon as possible. There will be a substantial bonus for finishing it quickly and doing good work.”

Raven was already thinking about this. She had a widow’s outfit that would be appropriate. She wore padding under the dress making her look at least seventy pounds heavier. Heavy veils and gloves, a cloak would complete the outfit. And a blonde wig, of course. “Yes, I can do that. Draw from the account?”

“Yes, I’ll have some more deposited by courier.” She gathered up the curl of peel and cut it into small pieces, then put them in a bowl. “The books were delivered safely to her?”

“Yes, I destroyed the ones that had any evidence, but her personal books and such, I boxed up to save from the fire. No sense wasting books.”

“I agree. Good job.”

They walked outside where Gen knelt and started tapping on the ground, her nails clicking lightly. From nowhere a small group of chickens descended on us, wings fluttering and clucking madly. “I loved chickens,” she said and scattered the pieces of apple peel about. One pullet picked one up and took off running with three other chickens after her like they were playing some mad ball game. The peel dropped and another chicken picked it up to take off in the other direction. The worry, anger, and seething fury from earlier melted from Gen’s face and she laughed at the apple-crazed hens.

Standing, she put her hands on her hips and stretched. “Some nights when I’m particularly upset or worried, I bring some of the hens in and let them sleep under my bed. The rustling soothes me.”

“Have they been sleeping there recently?” Raven asked.

“A couple of months now. I’ve thought about putting in a chicken door for them so they can just come in at night, but some gnome would probably just see it as an invitation. Apparently, Gentyl had a gnome sleeping in her desk drawer. There was a little bed in there anyway. I never met the gnome, but they must have been close.”

Raven nodded. “Very close. Well, I’ll go take care of that business. Furnish it like it was?”

“Or better.”

---

Sometime later, Gen heard something at her door. She loved her hens, but she had so much work to do and stalked over to shoo them away. “No, it’s too early!”

Then she heard the mechanical whirring and looked down. She was green. “INIC!”
Without another word, she kicked the still-spraying paintbot across the street and stormed back into her office. The paintings rattled on the wall when she slammed the door. “You know, I don’t think anyone would miss that dwarf and they can only hang me once.”

[Captgreyson-cenarion-circle]

(This is a Captain Greyson addition. He is a cantankerous old curmudgeon who likes the ladies. If you are easily offended, please be advised.

I said when I started this story, I would let the chips fall where they may. I had no idea where it would go or how it would end. Now that it draws closer to the end, we have an idea. Gen needs an attorney if anyone is so inclined to roleplay one.

If she is proven guilty and the sentence comes down that she deserves the death penalty. So be it. She will die. There will be no more in the D’Armond line. That’s it.

Obviously, I’d prefer to avoid that, but I’m not godmoding the story or pulling some wild escape. It will just play out and I’m good with that.

If you’re interested in taking on the role of the attorney, respond here ooc, mail me in game, or whisper me if I’m on.

I appreciate so very much all who have participated and followed the story. You’re the greatest. Gen’s pilot.)

Captain Greyson was sitting in the shade of an old oak tree at the hospital sipping a cup of tea and tossing bits of cookie to the dove a few feet in front of him as had become his habit. He enjoyed peace and quiet and that was not to be had in the hospital, neither of which was to be had even in the depths of night. An attractive young woman approached and stopped in front of him. He raised a brow and offered her a smile and a cookie from the plate. “Aye?” Then re-put on her glasses and regarded her more fully. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

She smiled faintly, and blushed, but didn’t respond. Accepting the cookie, she thanked him. “Commander Orwyn asked me to escort you to the office, sir, if you’re still willing to speak with us.”

He took out his pipe and filled it, tamped it thoughtfully with his thumb as he thought, and lit it. “Used to know a man named Orwyn. Skinny little fellow with freckles. Sure, I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s the commander,” she replied. “Right this way.” And she gestured in the direction of the cathedral.

“Commander, huh? He did well. I’m surprised.” Standing, he crumbled up the rest of the cookies and scattered them about for the birds. They weren’t that good anyway, but the birds liked them.

“Need to check with the nurses and get my boots from them. The last time I tried to go walking around they sent two thugs after me and set this alarm-o-bot on me to blast a warning if I get too far from the hospital.” He motioned to the little flashing light sitting by his feet.

“I can summon some horses if it’s too far to walk,” she offered.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, let’s walk. Haven’t walked with a pretty girl in a long time. Maybe we can go for a picnic later.” He held out his arm for her, but she ignored it and gestured vaguely toward the northeast.

“It’s that way, sir.”

“Come on, darling, I don’t bite. Much.”

“And there’s a random paladin following us,” she said with a sigh.

Greyson looked around and smiled at the newcomer. “Oh, two ladies!”

Almaz tried to direct his attention back to the route. “I don’t bite either, sir, but my cat might.”

He shook his finger at her. “No fighting over me.”

She stared at him. “Who’s fighting?”

He tried to pat her arm. “I don’t want you two fighting over me. There’s enough to go around.”

She huffed and hurried toward the Stormwind Union door. “Captain Greyson, sir With bonus paladin.”

“Yo,” said the bonus paladin. (You never know who you are going to pick up when you’re roleplaying. Fun times.)

Orwyn nodded. “Thank you, Almaz.”

Captain Greyson stared at the small mechagnome standing before him. “Why’d you folks stick a head on that machine?”

Orwyn smiled at him. “Good evening, Captain.”

Greyson peered at him uncertainly. “Evening. Thought I was coming to meet Shots Orwyn. You aren’t my old shipmate.”

“No, I’m Commander Orwyn. We’ve talked before, but you likely don’t recall.”

Shaking his head slowly and still studying Orwyn, he finally answered, “No, can’t say that I do.”

Almaz sits down in a chair near a large bearskin rug and glances at another of the officers before turning her attention back to the conversation.

“Mind if I sit down,” Greyson asked. “Was kind of a long walk over here and those witches at the hospital won’t let me walk around much anymore. Scared I’m going to go get a drink or tobacco or go fishing I guess. You folks should hire those harridans. Criminals in this city would flee like fire before them.”

“Of course,” Orwyn said. “Please be comfortable. Captain, you’ve been subjected to a potion that’s damaged your memories, unfortunately.”

Greyson smiled becomingly at Almaz and sat down next to his officer lady.

“Can he have something to drink, Wellwelded?” Orwyn said to the gnome.

Greyson looked surprised and a bit irritated. “Why couldn’t I have something to drink? Well, those nurses in that place I’ve been staying won’t let me drink, but Billy brings me something now and again. Bless him high and low for that.”

There was a soft whirring. “Mhmm, coming right up.”

“Not that kind of drink, I’m sorry to say,” Orwyn said to Greyson’s great disappointment.

The gnome held up a long glass filled with blueish-green liquid.

“We’d like to try to restore your memories, Captain. For your own benefit, and also because you witnessed a murder.”

Greyson looked aghast at the drink in the gnome’s hand. “You expect me to drink that naga p!ss?”

The gnome huffed in a tiny, tinny way. “If this was naga urine, it’d be yellow.”

Leaning forward, Greyson narrowed his eyes at him. “How do you know? Have you been watching nagas p!ss?”

Orwyn sighed. “I meant something like water or coffee.”

“Coffee would be good I guess.”

The gnome wheeled around, probably on wheels, “Commander, you want to give him coffee? I thought he was vital to an investigation.”

“What’s wrong with coffee?” Greyson demanded.

Orwyn gave Tinst a long look. The gnome shrugged as much as mechanical gnomes can shrug. “Okay, okay, I’m on it.” Then he walked out muttering about being a genius but also fetching coffee for people.

“It’s evil,” the officer named Anya grumbled.

“Only if you don’t make it right,” Greyson replied.

Almaz looked on without interrupting, then said, “Acquired taste.”

Orwyn also cast a long look at Anya to stem the coffee debate.

Tinst handed the cup of hot coffee to the man. “Here, though I do not comprehend why you would drink that.”

Still not sure what the creature was, Greyson took the cup carefully, “Thank you.” He wasn’t in the habit of thanking machines, but it had brought him coffee. Just to gauge its reaction, he said, “You didn’t ask if I wanted cream or sugar.”

Orwyn noticed Tinst’s look and stepped in immediately. “Now then. Wellwelded and our staff here are professionals and have prepared a method we’re certain will help you.”

Tinst stared at the man, but said nothing.

Greyson looked over at Anya. “It puts the wind in your sails.”

“Humans don’t have sails,” Tinst snapped immediately.

Greyson raised a brow. “Lead in your pencil?”

Orwyn pinched the brow of his nose.

Tinst looked at his commander. “What? You wanted me to give him coffee.”

“Do you want anything in your coffee, Captain?” Orwyn asked.

“Whiskey would be good.”.

Orwyn let out another long-suffering sigh. “We have cream, and we have sugar.”

“Why would I drink syrup?” Greyson said, taking a sip of the coffee and peering at Orwyn over his cup.

Orwyn looked as if he might have a headache. Greyson hated those. “All right then. Moving back to the entire reason you’re here, sir.”

With a nod, Greyson settled back in his chair. “Now how can I help you? I remember the year ought nine when we first sailed out of here.”

“We’re going to attempt to fix your memories, sir.”

"I just told you I remember fine.:

Tinst chirped in. “Not the bit that matters.”

Greyson frowned at him. “How do you know what matters? I remember Sarah Jean McElroy just fine.” He breathed out a happy sigh."

Orwyn stepped in again before another argument broke out. “I know you believe you do, Captain, but it’s an effect of the potion.”

Greyson nodded knowingly. “In ought nine I was just a cabin boy on the Mary Donia.”

Tinst lifted the vial up in a silent gesture of “say the word and I will shove this down his throat.”

He thought about it for a moment. “Well, h3ll. Give me some more of that potion if I can remember everything I did in ought nine.”

Orwyn motioned for Tinst to go ahead. “It does sound like an…exceptional year,” he said and sipped his own coffee.

“It was. Six years after that, I met my true love.”

Tinst offered the potion. “I promise to hear every single story you want to tell me if you drink all of this.”

Greyson ignored him. “Course I weren’t but fourteen at the time, but I told her I was going to be a captain and marry her.”

Tinst shuddered. “Ew. Drink.”

Greyson looked around the room. “I can’t tell you all my stories in front of ladies, but we can meet at the bar and I’ll share.”

Orwyn agreed maybe too quickly. “Drinks on me.”

“For instance, there was this little gal down in Booty Bay. Ever wonder why they call it Booty Bay?”

Almaz lifted an eyebrow.

“Cause that gal had the finest booty in the eastern kingdoms and they named the bay after her,” Greyson continued.

“I highly doubt that,” the gnome said. “Drink up.”

Greyson glared at the gnome. “And what would you know about fine booties? Knees maybe.” Then he reached out for the drink.

“I could calculate the literal perfect posterior right down to the exact angle values. I’ll tell you about it after you drink.”

“What’s it taste like?”

“Whiskey,” the gnome said.

Greyson rolled his eyes while Orwyn looked slightly amused and then took another sip.

“I believe that tin can is lying to me, but I’ll do it for Miss Almaz because she’s going to have a picnic with me.” He rolls his eyes again. “Measuring booties and figuring angles. Prevert.”

Anya glanced at Almaz and raised an eyebrow.

Miyoo looks back and forth between them, but stays quiet.

“That promise still stands,” Tinst said. “All you have to do is drink all of it.”

Two kids came by talking about crockolisks in the canal. “Do you really think they are in there?” one asked.

“Yes,” Greyson yelled as he eyed Tinst up and down, 'there are crockolisks in the canal! I fed a robot to one yesterday." Then he turned back to Orwyn. “Commander, you drink first. Not that I don’t trust your machine, but I don’t trust your machine.”

Tinst sniffed. “I’d be offended, but I’m too good for that. It won’t kill you…”

Almaz looked back at Anya with an amused look and shook her head ever so slightly where Greyson couldn’t see. “You won’t come to harm here, sir.”

Greyson howled with laughter. “He just said it won’t kill me. There are worse things. Like losing my…manliness.”

Mechanical eyebrows knitted. “And we’ll surely find out soon if you don’t get to drinking.”

Greyson seemed not terribly concerned by this as he took out a small pocketknife with a carved scrimshaw handle. “I’m a ship’s captain. I can build or unbuild about anything that was ever put together on this land. Was that a threat?”

Anay stepped in. “If you’re harmed, you’ll be duly compensated by the crown for your trauma, sir.”

Greyson snorted. “Commander, you drink first.”

“Do you promise if the Commander drinks some first, you’ll drink the rest?” Tinst asked.

“Never make promises I can’t keep, but we’ll see.”

“Does he need the entire dose?” Orwyn asked and took another sip of coffee.

“He needs at least three-quarters of it for me to be sure he won’t need multiple doses.”

“All right,” Orwyn said and held out his cup.

Tinst took it looking entirely unamused and poured some of it into the cup, then swirled it around. The Coffee is notably a strange purple color now, for some reason. “Here.”

Orwyn takes the cup. “All right captain. The potion and coffee. Same as what you’re drinking.”

"Used to know a mindbender who used purple all the time, Greyson said. “That’s how you could tell he was around.”

“Captain,” Orwyn nudged.

Greyson looked at Orwyn’s cup, then held out his own. “Did you drink it all?”

“I want to make sure you see it,” Orwyn replied.

“And I want to make sure you drink it,” Greyson said. “I can see fine.”

Tinst looked impatiently between them.

Orwyn drank the coffee.

Anya murmured something under her breath for a moment. Probably a prayer or maybe wondering who would be in charge next if Orwyn died.

“I’ll drink it if this little elf here joins us on our picnic,” and winked slyly at Anya.

She looked at him with disinterest. “I’m spoken for, sir.”

He shrugged. “Well, then I guess me and Miss Almaz can go on two picnics. And leave the machine in the bin.”

Tinst took in a long, audible breath.

Orwyn took a small sip of the potion in the vial. “Hm. That’s definitely better not mixed with coffee.”

“All right Captain Greyson. As you see, I’m fine.” He held out his empty coffee cup. “Now please.”

“Of course, you’re fin-” Tinst huffed.

Greyson pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked closer. “Yes, except for your ears, you look all right.”

Tinst poured the potion into the captain’s coffee quickly, quietly.

Orwyn, completely exasperated, stood and walked across the room, then turned to give the man a stern look. “Captain, we’re trying to help you, and we have been nothing but polite and respectful. I’m certain you can reciprocate.”

“Have you been listening to that creature at all?” Greyson said completely flabbergasted. “I was right. There is something wrong with your ears.”

Orwyn ignored this. “If you would be so kind.”

Greyson did as he was asked and sipped the coffee then sputtered. “Gods above and below you just ruined my coffee, but I’ll drink it. Reminds me of that fruit rum in booty bay.” He took a breath and chugged it down.

Almaz puffed up like a toad. “Thelaera serves an excellent fruit rum, I’ll have you know.”

“I like fruit run,” Greyson said, just not like this."

Tinst narrowed their optics. " I made it knowing you were a sailor, so I got my hands on artificial flavoring so it didn’t taste like medicine. It wasn’t designed to be mixed into coffee."

“Then why didn’t you just give that naga p!ss to me straight?” Greyson demanded.

Tinst’s head turned ridiculously fast back to Orwyn. “The next time I need to work on someone, tranquilize them first.”

Greyson clutched at his throat and started coughing, then collapsed to the ground.

Tinst was unmoved. “Dramatic fleshbag.”

Greyson opened an eye. “Oh, shut up. That was pretty good.”

Orwyn sipped from his fresh cup of coffee and frowned in disappointment at Tinst. “Officer. You’ll earn some time in my office if you keep that up.”

The gnome looked down. “I earned that.”

Greyson sat up and grinned at the gnome. Orwyn eyed him up and down and he got back up and sat in his chair. Greyson leaned forward and booped the gnome’s nose. “Got your nose. Now, what do you want to know about?”

Orwyn watched him. “I suppose it’s not immediately effective.”

“It’s not what I want to know, it’s what the Commander wants to know,” Tinst said and then turned back to Orwyn. It should kick in soon enough. Again, I didn’t expect to be mixing it into things. Just give it a moment, sir. Relax."

Orwyn nodded.

Greyson lay down before the gnome. “All right.”

“Not that relaxed! Not you!” Tinst looked at Orwyn helplessly.

“Oh.”

“Do you recall talking to me previously, Captain?” Orwyn said.

“Yes, you came to the hospital.” Just about then, a strange little gnome dashed in the door and dropped something, giggled, and ran back out the door. A moment later the guard nearest the door was neon green. Greyson jumped up and pointed. “See! See! That damned naga p!ss turned that guy green.”

Anya seemed unmoved by the occurrence or her green comrade. “There are many fine people who are green, sir.”

(And Inic’s alter ego Perkid strikes again. It’s always an adventure.)

Orwyn had gotten this far and refused to be pulled off the scent by green officers. “Do you recall talking to me previously, Captain?”

“You were asking questions about the murder.”

“Yes. Do you remember my officers asking you questions at your lighthouse?”

Greyson nodded, but he was still watching the green officer and looked down at his own hands to see if he was changing. “Yes, Miss Almaz, Sedge someone, Murphy, Zath or something.”

Orwyn nodded encouragingly. “Could you briefly summarize what you saw of the murder itself?”

Almaz nodded too as if agreeing she was there.

“Two dancers. I like dancers. You know the way they move their hips—” and he began making a motion with his hands.

Almaz slid her notebook out of her pocket, clicked her pen, and started to write.

“Didn’t you ask me about this before?” Greyson said.

“I just want to see how well your memories have recovered.”

Anya did the same. (Not the hip thing, the writing thing.)

“Oh, so what did you want to know?”

(Out of character note here. Orwyn rolled to see how effective the potion was going to be at restoring the memory and he rolled high. I’m going to have to take those dice away from him. Tinst would have been upset had he rolled low and understandable because, in his words: Tinst analyzed that potion down to every last ingredient, because his body is a mobile crime lab. I’d have been distraught if I got something like a 3 because it just wouldn’t make sense for all that work to not work lol)

“You saw two dancers, and what did they do to the victim?” Orwyn said.

Greyson smiles and rubs his beard. “Well, there they were. They were having a picnic. Showed up with cloaks on, but took them off pretty quick. The elf set out a picnic while the shorter gal was fooling around with the guy.”

Tinst looked visibly disgusted.

Greyson eyed Tinst up and down. “This is the expert on perfect booties?”

Almaz interrupts. “Shorter gal - human? gnome? dwarf?”

“Human I would think. No offense, but didn’t have elf ears.”

Anya’s stubbed ear twitched.

Almaz nodded and made a note.

Greyson looked at Almaz, “Sure you’re taken? Once you go with the sea, can’t ever let them be.”

Orwyn stepped in yet again. “Please, continue sir.”

Almaz didn’t look up from the notebook. “We’re sure.”

“Anyway, the elf started playing the lute and then the human gal started dancing.” He wiped his brow and moved his hands in a sinewy motion. “This gal could dance. Never seen anyone quite like her and I’ve been around.”

Orwyn nodded.

“The guy was grinning from ear to ear. I probably was too.”

Orwyn looked skeptical. “You could see that?”

Greyson shrugged. "Well, I was bored and using my glass. I have a very good glass.

“All right.”

Tinst made some indescribable noise.

Greyson glared angrily at both Tinst and Orwyn. “Now, you want to know what I saw or do you and half-pint here want to keep insulting me?”

“I haven’t spoken in nearly ten minutes,” the gnome protested.

“Has it been that long? I can still hear that tinny voice scraping in my ears.”

Almaz looked up from her notes. “So, the guy was grinning. Was it just a dance or more than that?”

“The gal, the one dancing, starts singing.”

Orwyn frowned at the outburst, but said nothing.

“She’s getting him all worked up,” Greyson continued, “and then the other one is dressed in that filmy outfit too. She stands up and starts dancing too. Then the guy pulls the human down to him. She starts undressing him, slow, playing with him. Kissing him, The elf starts playing again. The human has the guy’s shirt off. He’s lying down and she sits on top of him. Kissing him, stroking him, you know?” He glanced at Tinst. "Well, bucket o bolts wouldn’t, but you know.

“We can skip these details I believe,” Orwyn said.

“You wanted everything,” Greyson protested. “This is the good part.”

"No, I wanted a brief summary. Let’s move on to the actual events of the murder.

“Oh, I looked away to see a ship coming in and when I looked back the guy was in the water. Brief enough?”

“Where in the water?”

“If you would but let me tell the story…”

“She, the human had a rope. While she was on top of him, she pushed his arms above his head and acted like she was going to tie him up. He wasn’t going for that and hit and sent her flying. Then the elf hit him over the head with a wine bottle. Like I said, I looked away for a minute and when I looked back, the guy was in the water. Tied to the pylon. The human gal got on top of the pylon and danced and sang to him. His head was barely above water anyway and the tide was coming in. The gal just kept dancing and singing to him. I couldn’t leave the lighthouse to go check on him. By the time my relief got there, it was too late. That’s when I sent word about it.”

“How long did all this take?” Almaz asked.

“They were there about forty-five minutes. If they planned that, they knew about tides and when they were coming in.”

“Excellent, Captain. One more question.” Orwyn peered at him.

Greyson frowned. “No, you can’t go on the picnic with me and Miss Almaz.” He looked at Almaz and smiled becomingly. “Right, sweetie?”

“Did anyone not known to you, and not with the Watch, visit you after the murder?”

“I’m sure they did,” he replied to Orwyn. “People were curious. Then you have Bob who fishes down there every day.”

“No, visit you.”

"Oh, visit me?

“Yes.”

"I thought you meant the pier. I got distracted by Almaz’s dazzling beauty. Yes, that writer gal.

“Who do you mean?”

“That writer gal and the reporter. Well, the writer gal brought me brownies and wanted to hear my story. Then we drank a bit. And,” he hesitated and looked at Almaz.

Almaz lifted an eyebrow at the ‘and’.

“Don’t hate me,” he pleaded. “I am but a man.”

She smiled faintly and continued writing. “Just so.”

“Well, she was quite shall we say enamored of me, and we….” He sighed and got a faraway look in his eyes. “She’s a dancer too, you know. She danced for me and then we, uh, spent the night together.”

“What is her name?” Orwyn pressed.

“Selena Donner. That gnome reporter told me she was some kind of famous writer. Selena’s probably been looking for me while you had me tucked away with those sour nurses.”

“Selena being your writer slash dancer friend?”

He nodded. "So, Selena and Scoop and seems like I saw Daisy, but that can’t be, she’s been dead for years.

Almaz perked up. “Daisy?”

Greyson wiped a tear away. “The girl I was going to marry. She died while I was away at sea. I never married, but I might if I met the right girl,” he said and looked at Almaz meaningfully.

“It’s never too late, sir,” Orwyn said.

Greyson looked at Almaz triumphantly. “See! He gave you permission to marry me!”

Orwyn looked between the two of them shaking his head. “Perhaps this Selena…what did you say her last name was?”

“Donner.”

Greyson scowled at Orwyn. “You can’t give permission for Selena to marry me. She doesn’t work for you.”

Almaz looked horrified. “I’ve got someone who would most strenuously object to that, sir.”

“Whoa!!!” Greyson exclaimed. “What about our picnics? So you got me to take that potion under false pretenses? Heart breaker.” He pointed angrily at Almaz. “You, madam, are no lady.” Then he spun to face the non-binary mechagnome. “And neither are you!”

Almaz flipped her notebook shut and tucked it back into her pocket. “Just an investigator.”

“I did promise you a round at the bar,” Orwyn said.

“No, my memory is quite good, Commander. You promised me drinks, not A round, and BoB, short for Bucket o Bolts, promised to listen to All of my stories if I would drink the potion, which I did. Now, being a man and machine of the law and your word, I expect you to keep your promises. Also, I expect to be returned to active duty at the lighthouse.”

And thus did BoB and Orwyn get to hear about Ought Nine and various other years and adventures. They also learned the value of making promises.

[Gentyl-cenarion-circle]

Orwyn was getting to be too much of a pain in the neck to deal with and so it was time to put some protections in place. She burned any paperwork that might remotely be incriminating aside from her secret ledger and that was safely hidden. Only Silk and her captain knew where that was.

That meddlesome law dog knew about her farm, which was her place to relax and get away from everyone and everything, but she wouldn’t be safe there now. It was time to do something different, so she traveled to Westfall. She arrived at night with eighteen dead chickens in two gunny sacks, a bag of apple seeds, and some bags of gold and gems. Jewels were easier to transport than gold, but gold was easier to convert to cash. It was a tradeoff.

It wasn’t all her fortune, of course. She scattered that out in several places, but this would be another cache in case of emergency.

It would have been easier had she brought help but the more people who know what you’re doing, the more chances for tongues to wag, and so she spent most of the night digging very deep holes in what she intended to be an apple orchard. At the bottom of nine holes in an order only she would decipher, then she dropped a tin with gems or gold. After that, she filled the hole a third of the way back up and put in a layer of straw and a little manure from the barn. Then another small layer of dirt. The dead chicken, more dirt, and at last she planted the seed and watered it with water from a bucket. For the other nine holes, she did the same except there was no treasure at the bottom.

A person had to be careful about adding organic material to new plantings. A city friend of hers once bought a farm with the idea of planting an orchard with rare nut trees. He spent a small fortune on the saplings and then had the holes filled completely with cow manure because if a little is good a lot is great. Except when it isn’t. It burned them all up and his orchard died. Some people won’t listen to advice because money buys everything including instant knowledge. Except when it doesn’t.

The rest of her prize would be buried underneath the hearth. She carefully pried out one of the bricks at the back of the fireplace and slipped in the remaining bag of gems. The mortar she’d brought had ground charcoal mixed in with it so it would blend with the old joints better. She’d loosened this joint long ago preparing for this day. When the joint was mostly dry, she rubbed more soot over it. Then she started a fire in the fireplace and went to bed.

Later that day, she washed up, put on some clean clothes, and went to the neighbor. They were nice people, hard-working, and she trusted them.

They invited her in for lunch, which she hadn’t planned but appreciated as the apples and cheese for breakfast were a little thin. One of the children had been over before she woke up and gathered the eggs, so there was nary an egg to be found.

“I have a proposition,” she said over the bowl of stew.

“Oh?” Mr. Matthews said, curious, but as ever a man of few words. It was one reason she liked him.

“I know you’ve been working on an addition to your barn for your hired hand and his wife to live in. She’s expecting a baby. How about they move into my house? It will be easier for someone to take care of my critters that way and better for a young family.”

“Where will you stay when you come to visit your farm?” he protested.

Mrs. Vellen looked at her young husband and smiled hopefully, her hand on her stomach.

“I’m pretty busy these days so I don’t know how often I’ll be able to get back to the farm. I brought some paperwork for you. The farm is yours with conditions.”

He was already leasing the land to farm and took care of the house and her farm animals. She would give the animals to the youngsters and lease the land to him for a silver a year and other valuable consideration for twenty years. The consideration was that no one was to discuss her with anyone. Also, the personal possessions she left behind were not to be disturbed or sold. They would think it referred to the furniture and a few paintings. It referred to the gold and gems should anyone find them as unlikely as that was.

“I’m leaving a few things behind. You can put the paintings and such in the attic if you choose. Store the furniture in the barn and cover it up if you don’t like it, but don’t get rid of it, please.”

“Really?” Mrs. Vellen gasped. “We don’t need to buy furniture?”

“Furniture, dishes, animals, all of it stays. I may take a few chickens with me. I’ll give you the animals to use as long as you stay. If you leave, Mr. Matthews can have them. The garden is in good shape, I think. Oh, I planted what will be an apple orchard. I put up stakes where the trees will be. Please water them and put up fences around the trees when they come up to keep rabbits away. Deal?”

Everyone nodded. Mr. Matthews was still reading the lease, but his wife had already scrambled to get a pen and ink bottle.

“I’m going to take a few of the Westfall hens with me because I like them and a few personal things. Most everything else stays. I’ll have some men come by tomorrow and pick up the things I have marked to move.”

The few personal items she cared about she would have Haethulf put on the ship in the captain’s cabin.

“Remember the deal. Not a word about me to anyone. I hate gossip and our business is our business.”

Solemn nods all around and she left to pick out some of my favorite hens.

Back in Boralus, she was going over some ledgers and paying bills when not dashing out to break up another hen fight. Her Anacona chickens were not welcoming the Westfall chickens at all. She had just settled back down to the books with a fresh cup of coffee when someone banged on the door. “Gen! Gen! Can I come in?”

“Yes,” Gen replied wearily.

Faithe stuck her head around the door. “You’ll never guess what happened.”

“Probably not. It’s a strange and wonderful world. Come in and get a cup of coffee.”

She popped in and shut the door. “Did you know some chickens are fighting with your hens? I tried to shoo them away, but they wouldn’t leave.”

“They’re all my hens, but the new ones don’t like the old ones, and vice versa.”

“Oh, I guess it’s good I didn’t chase them off then.”

“Yes, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever. I stopped by the apothecary shop the other day and visited with your assistant, but she said you’d been away for a while.” She stopped by there frequently actually. That’s how she learned how to mix the base formula that went in Faithe’s memory eraser and the calming potion. It’s surprising how few active ingredients are in most medicines.

“I’d been checking up on Mrs. Beacham and they asked me if I would just stay there since she liked me being around. So, I moved in.”

That surprised her. “I thought they would put her in a home or something.”

“Actually, she’s doing much better. She hasn’t had a violent episode since her son died. They believe he was drugging her heavily on the nights he did his,” she hesitated as if searching for the right word, “parties. Do you think even drugged she may have heard the women screaming and it triggered her memories of being abused?”

“It’s possible. I’ve seen soldiers react to loud noises or smells.”

“Plus, Scoop has been living there and she loves her,” Faithe added. “That little gnome is such a live wire, and she tells the greatest stories. She keeps her laughing all the time. Which is why I came here today. Someone came to the house yesterday looking for Scoop. A widow heard about her house burning down and had a new one built for her. Can you believe it!” Faithe’s arms flew in the air like they were spring-loaded. “They even bought new furniture. We’re supposed to go look at it today and I wanted you to go see it with us.”

“Why me?” she asked perfectly horrified.

"Because you donated money to her building fund.

“I’m sure lots of people did.”

“Yes, everyone is going to be there, but you kind of kicked it off.” Gen had initially donated out of guilty conscience and then Michell decided she didn’t feel guilty enough and she needed to build the house. Period. The rest of the building fund would be used to furnish the house from what Raven told her.

“I really have a lot of work to do.”

She flipped the ledger shut. “Numbers can wait. You need to celebrate with Scoop.”

The last thing she wanted to do was be around that troublemaking gnome, but it was plain Faithe wasn’t giving up. “All right. I need to clean up. What time?”

“In two hours.”

With any luck, she would forget about me.

“Don’t forget. I’ll be watching for you.”

“Of course not. She needs a garden. I’ll bring some hens to keep the bugs down and a couple of peafowls for watchdogs. They’ll start screaming if anyone or anything strange comes around.”

“Good idea. I’m bringing some plants from my greenhouse and the garden society in putting in a garden and landscaping for her.”

Gen nodded. Maybe that would keep the little busybody occupied.

At the appointed time, she showed up on the little swale overlooking Stormwind along with about a hundred other people. Scoop stood blindfolded in front of the brand-new, shiny cottage with its bright white paint and green shutters. Colorful flowerbeds overflowed with every type of flower that thrived in this area. A little white picket fence surrounded a newly sodded yard. Over the gate was a white trellis covered with bright orange trumpet vines intertwined with purple wisteria. The combination should be garish, but it worked. How they got the flowering vines here and planted them was a mystery.

She had brought Jack along for support and also protection as she didn’t trust Michell nor Orwyn when it came right down to it and also because she was tired of listening to him grouse about Silk.

A man stood across from her in the crowd covertly watching her. He had been in the tavern the night she met with Michell. He was a stranger to Boralus and although he did his best to act nonchalant, he was large, well-muscled and under the loose jacket she could tell he was ready to spring in an instant. She had guessed that night he was a bodyguard. Why he was here this afternoon? Surely Michell wasn’t here. He nodded to her and smiled as if saying, “well done.”

She glared as if saying, well, it doesn’t bear repeating what she would have said.

Jack walked over to give Faithe the chickens and the two peafowls. She didn’t want to be close to the gnome. There was always a chance she might recognize her somehow.

There was an excited scream when Scoop saw her house. She couldn’t help but smile. Raven had done well. Scoop was running around like a child at winter veil looking at everything and squealing with each new discovery. “My books!” rang out from inside the house.

Good for Scoop. She was happy. Gen could leave.

“Mr. Michell would like to speak to you,” someone said softly from behind her.

“Tell him I’m kind of busy. I’ve done what he wanted.”

“You should speak to him.”

“You should leave me alone.” She walked away before Jack noticed him talking to her.

She felt like the walls were closing in around her and didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t abandon Silk, but if Jack had any idea that Michell’s henchman was at that gathering and who Michell was, he wouldn’t have hesitated to try and kill him. He had no common sense when it came to that woman.

“I have to get away for a little bit,” she said when they returned to Boralus. Gen hadn’t had much of a chance to adventure in the Dragon Isles, but from what she saw, she liked them. She especially liked the Iskaara for some reason. Maybe because they liked to cook or tell stories. She liked stories. She helped one of the little ones build a snowman. Cooking soup was always an adventure. They always needed help fishing and she loved to fish.

Today, one of the elders asked her if she would go play fetch with some young otters. she gathered up some snacks and flew off in the direction she indicated. She had warned Gen they might bite, but she had some dried fish snacks with her. Gen wasn’t fond of fish jerky, but the otters liked it.

When she landed, she tossed out fish jerky to all the young otters in the pond to get to know them and then pulled out the ball. They were all chirping happily at me. Someone had played ball with them before. This would be fun.

The otters that were playing fetch with her were friendly and playful, tossing the ball back several times and chirping and barking excitedly as they do. She sat on a rock after several rounds and pulled an apple from my pocket, peeled it on one continuous peel as she was wont to do, and watched them dive and float around on their back. Some dozed as they floated. If souls were reborn, and some people thought they were, she would come back as an otter. It could be worse.

If Orwyn had his way, she may have a chance to test the theory of coming back after death a bit sooner than she’d planned.

Apparently, the iskaara thought the otters needed a lot of playing with because before too long a druid appeared. He shifted into his owl form and hooted something at the otters. The otters looked at him and then her expectantly.

She shrugged. She didn’t speak moonkin.

Then he tossed them a ball. Instead of the otter tossing it back as they had done with her, it attacked him. At first, he backed up, but when it continued biting him, he danced around, feathers flying, big feet stomping. He was a bird. He could have flown off. But, no, moonfire flew. I suppose he felt he had to defend himself and squawked at it angrily.

I gasped. “What did you do to that poor otter?”

“All tuckered out from playing catch,” he replied and went back to playing catch with the other otters.

I nudged it with my foot. “This otter is dead. It is no more. It has ceased to be.”

The druid continued to toss the ball, not fazed, and certainly not bothering with the otter at my feet. “He’s reeeaaally tired. Classic otter sleeping style,” he said.

I nudged the body again. It was not moving. Then, before my eyes, the otter disappeared.

“And now he’s burrowed into the earth to get comfy,” the druid said and nodded sagely.

I suppose druids know more about these things than I do, so I left him to commune with nature and do druid things. Like killing cute little otters.

(Many thanks to Wareagle who gave me permission to use this random encounter. Oddly enough, I was doing stupid quests while I was trying to figure out how to write the next section when he appeared. It was a fortuitous meeting.)

[Bilmichell-cenarion-circle]

Devon returned to Michell’s house later with the groceries his employer had requested. He’d been chosen because he didn’t have the appearance of Michell’s other bodyguards who were massive, though, to someone with a practiced eye, they might guess him to be more than a simple manservant.

“The gnome get her house?” Michell asked.

Devon continued putting up groceries in very precise order. His boss was a stickler for everything arranged just so. “Yes, sir. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her screaming clear across the city when she saw it. She ran around like a new puppy. They did a good job. Planted flowers and a garden for her. Furnished it. It was cute. She’s happy. Then she saw her books and cradled them like a baby. ‘My books. My books.’”

Mitchell smiled. “Well done my little paladin assassin. At least she’s better at hiring carpenters than she is killing gnomes.” He started peeling some potatoes for supper. “Speaking of which, did you tell her I wanted to see her? Shall I plan for a dinner guest?”

Devon carefully folded the bags and put them away, then cleared his throat.

“Did you tell her?” Michell asked.

“Of course, sir.”

“And?”

“And she refused. She said she did what you asked. She was busy and you should leave her alone.”

“She did, did she?” He stabbed a potato so violently it cracked the cutting board. “I should leave that wench to Orwyn to string up. I should give him every bit of evidence he needs and stand right there in the front row and smile at her when they drop her, but she owes me a pound of flesh and I shall have it. I’m going to have it in smaller pieces now. That woman will pay for inconveniencing me and making me look like a groveling cowardly fool. She will pay for disobeying me and she will pay for a very long time.” He tugged the knife out of the board and continued peeling potatoes. “After supper, have the invitations delivered and tell Maria and Josiah to be ready in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

He had scanned the local fishermen for a long time before picking one out for certain attributes. He was lame, a broken leg probably. He was the same size as Michell. He was old. That he had a fishmonger wife was a bonus. They had been hired to bring their catch by his house every morning for him to choose a fish for dinner and then Maria had set her cart up in Cathedral Square to hawk her fish where she did a brisk business. She also overheard a lot of gossip to do with the Stormwind Union.

In addition to the fish they left each morning, they also delivered the news from Cathedral Square and Josiah collected information from the docks where Michell’s people slipped in information from Booty Bay. They were well paid for their information and tomorrow, they would disappear. He had promised them a home of their own wherever they wanted as long as it was out of Orwyn’s jurisdiction. The land was bought. The house was built. And they would be on a ship tomorrow to retirement.

Who said crime didn’t pay?

He stood in his doorway that night, sipping wine as he often did and watching people. People intrigued him. The officer in the shadows across the was well hidden. Good job, officer. How boring that job was, but he’d spent many a night like that himself watching prey, gathering information, and then waiting for the right opportunity to finish a job. He didn’t kill children and he didn’t kill elderly women. A man had to have standards, after all. Once he was hired, the job was always done with no loose ends to worry about. He was worth his price and his price was high.

He checked his watch and smiled at the beautiful woman smiling back from inside the watch cover. It was never good to want something too much he reminded himself. That’s why he kept her picture. Her husband wanted her too. Unfortunately, he was as unlucky in cards as he was in love. He’d lost a huge pile of money to Michell one night and Michell told him half joking, but not really, that he would take his wife and they’d call it even. Samuel had been horrified. He refused to give up the love of his life. Threw in his wedding band the heirloom watch that had belonged to his grandfather, but he kept his lovely wife’s picture in, the deed to his summer home. Michell asked him if he was sure. Offered him a diamond ring the man admired plus the wife. No, no. He could never give up his wife.

Four years later, Michell saw him on the street. The woman was berating him in public for something. Screaming at him for being such a failure. Her features had gone hard and bitter. Michell kept the watch and the reminder. Never want something too much. Fate has a way of looking out for you if you are not foolish.

But by all the gods great and small, he was going to have that blasted paladin and carve her heart out if it was the last thing he did.

[Raven-cenarion-circle]

Raven had been diving her watch on Michell with Falcon. The pair had taken up residence at the top of a shop across the street. The Union had also posted people nearby supposedly for protection, but she had a feeling that was like posting a collie to protect the fox. He wasn’t the inept and terrified fop he pretended to be and she was sure the Union didn’t believe it either.

His routine seldom varied. The old man and his wife brought their cart by with freshly caught fish and let him have the first choice of the catch. Then they went inside and had coffee or tea, whatever he was serving, and some breakfast pastries that had been delivered earlier and they visited for a while. The curtains of the front window were drawn so it wasn’t hard to tell what they were doing. Michell seemed not to care that people could see in his parlor with a good glass or if they passed by. Raven had the best glass a person could buy.

In her estimation, people saw what he wanted them to see. He wasn’t stupid. Still, they kept watching.

This morning was different. Not only did they leave more than one fish, but a chef had been there to go through the fish and discuss them. Everyone had disappeared to the back of the house, the kitchen she presumed to finish negotiations. Soon after a butcher arrived with an order. Caterers bustled in and out. A tailor. The tailor’s aide. Curtains were drawn then the tailor started drawing out some suits, presumably to try on.

Something was up.

She noticed a street urchin run from near where the Union officer was posted.

A florist came that afternoon.

Was he having a wedding?

Then late in the afternoon towards dusk guests started arriving. Men in tuxedoes wearing top hats. They were all clean-shaven. All bald as close as Raven could see. Michell’s man greeted them at the door. One was in a wheelchair. Raven studied him carefully. It was a local doctor being wheeled in, but she didn’t realize he’d been sick. The other men were, as far as she could recognize, prominent men of Stormwind. Bankers, lawyers, and businessmen. All wealthy.

The dinner party lasted until well after dark. Six men arrived. Six men left. Caterers left. The lights went out in the house sometime later.

Falcon took the watch that night, but nothing else happened until the next morning. “Wake up, Raven.”

“What?”

“Trunk leaving the house.”

“What the heck is going on?” Raven watched closely with her glass. Moments later, a man in a Tuxedo walked out. It wasn’t Michell.

Raven laughed softly. “Michell is gone. He slipped out yesterday. I’ll be right back.”

She hurried over to the house and knocked on the door. Michell’s man opened the door.

“Hello, Gen Diarmand would like to meet with Mr. Michell this afternoon if he’s not busy.”

The man looked regretful. “Oh, I’m sorry. That won’t be possible. Mr. Michell is indisposed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know when he’d be available?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t say. He’s quite under the weather.”

She laughed. “Well done. Very well done.” She tipped her pork pie cap to him.
“Perhaps I will see you around again someday, miss. Maybe you and your friend can find some more comfortable quarters soon.” He winked at her.

[Bilmichell-cenarion-circle]

Badan rode into the courtyard of his villa with a great heave of satisfaction. He could shed the Bill Michell skin and be himself once more. Years ago, Orwyn would have disappeared for inconveniencing him, but he had mellowed and just wanted to live out the rest of his days in peace. Perhaps he would have children. More children and live to dandle grandchildren on his knees. Yes, he would like that.

He should check on Marcell soon and see how he was doing. His uncle sent him regular letters and assured him the boy thrived, but he longed to see him again for himself. Perhaps gift him with a fine horse. He liked horses. He’d promised to bring his aunt some of his new roses. Even though she was his mother’s sister-in-law, she shared that same obsession with roses as his mother. She’d passed that on to him as he spent many a happy hour in the gardens with her as a child. He should check his own roses in the morning. The Lady Marie Pinks he’d named after her should be blooming now.

It seemed all the staff swarmed out of the palatial house to welcome him when word went out he was home. He’d shipped gifts home for everyone if Orwyn’s crew hadn’t stopped the trunks. He had no reason to or even search them, but you never knew with law dogs when they had the scent.

He hoped the ladies of the Union enjoyed their treats. Unfortunately, he hadn’t located any roses he liked. He’d send those later.

Beryl and Amelia raced out to meet him first and clasped him in a hug. He hugged them both back and picked Amelia up and swung her around in a circle as he had when she was little. She squealed with delight and threw her head back laughing. It was good to be home.

“Mister,” Beryl chided. “You spoil that child.”

“And why shouldn’t I? She’s a good girl.”

Silk stood back watching shyly, but smiling. “And how is my other good girl?” He strode over to her, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her tenderly. “I have missed you so much.”

Her cheeks bloomed red. “I-I’ve missed you too, sir.”

“Badan,” he corrected.

“Badan.”

“Come, let us get something to eat. I’m starved and it should be dinnertime. You all can tell me all about your adventures.”
Bill had sent word ahead he was coming home, so Beryl had prepared his favorite meal, roast prime rib with all the trimmings, and started off the dinner with fresh asparagus soup. He continually sighed with contentment. It was good to be home, surrounded by those he cared about. Soon, he would add another to his family though he cared about her in another way. He smiled at the thought. His fingers twitched a bit. The playroom had been vacant for too long.

Marcus stood near the door, standing guard like a faithful hound, though the villa was a veritable fortress. No one was coming in without an invite, but his personal men still insisted on staying at hand. He glanced over and caught the man in an unguarded moment watching Silk. There was a softening in the eyes, the longing.

Badan laughed. “Oh, Marcus, you have fallen under Silk’s spell.”

The man started, stiffened as if he’d been slapped. “What?”

“You have fallen for our little Silk.”

Silk’s spoon clattered to the table. “Sir, I assure you he has done nothing.”

Badan dabbed at the corners of his mustache and smiled. “Oh, sweet girl. That man has done everything a man can do to a woman.”

She shook her head, blood draining from her face.

Marcus broke in. “Sir, I assure you. I haven’t laid a hand on the girl.”

Badan waved his hand airily. “Oh, I know you’ve curtailed your courting shall we say to your mind. You still have your job—and your life. Who can blame a man for having such thoughts? I don’t.”

They finished dinner with quiet conversation and he insisted on taking a quick look at the gardens before retiring.

“The roses are looking remarkably well,” he said to Silk. “Have you been tending them?”

She smiled with no small amount of pride. “Yes, I asked the gardener to teach me about roses. He’s letting me take over much of the care now.”

Badan beamed at her with genuine pleasure. “My mother was the one who taught me about roses. They were her great pride, aside from me, of course.” He uncharacteristically blushed a bit at this. “She may have doted on me a bit, but I think it was to make up for the lack of love on my father’s part.” He paused. “To both of us maybe.”

They continued walking until they got to the knot garden and the bench. He turned to Marcus who had been strolling with them. “Go to Amelia and ask her to give you Silk’s hair brush and bring it to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

They sat and visited on the bench taking in the garden. Discussing the flowers and the birds. She wanted more hummingbird feeders. He agreed to get some for her. Marcus returned with the brush and handed it to her, but Badan took it from her hand. “You may leave, Marcus. No one is going to attack us in the garden.” He knew even if Marcus left the garden, one of the men would remain nearby if out of earshot.

“Sit down between my knees with your back to me,” he said gently. She did as he asked, and he began unbraiding her hair. "My mother had jet-black hair like yours. I would brush it for her when I was a little boy, often in our gardens. We had a knot garden like this. I designed this one like our old one.’ His fingers ran through her hair, loosening the braids. Then he began to brush.

“Is your mother still alive,” Silk asked softly.

“Oh, no. She’s been gone for years. Her death is what started me on this path I’m on.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I wanted to be a surgeon. My father, the baron, felt that was beneath a nobleman and forbade it. Mother supported my decision as she thought most nobles were largely vapid and useless. Better to have a useful like serving man, she said. So, her family physician agreed to teach me as he could. I assisted him with autopsies, and he let me study medical and pharmacy journals. When I reached majority, he was going to sponsor me to the university. Mother said she would deal with my father.”

"That’s…"Silk hesitated as if astounded.

He laughed and raised a brow. “I know. Who would have dreamed an assassin ever wanted to be a doctor? But my mother had a spill from her horse and hurt her back. She was in tremendous pain. My father hired a personal nurse for her.” He paused thinking about Katalyn. “She was young, blonde, entrancing in her beauty. Such a sweet voice and manner. My father was certainly besotted. Her little Kitty-Kat he called her.”

“You didn’t like her?” Silk asked.

“No, I sensed something off about her from the beginning. She was far too attentive to Father and instead of trying to get Mother well and moving, she wanted her sedated all the time. Her doctor and I as well as Mother felt she should be moving and stretching the muscles so they didn’t atrophy. Then Mother started getting sick. Dark circles under her eyes, her eyes yellowed, she was swelling and in tremendous pain.”

Silk gasped, “What was wrong with her?”

“Some kind of unknown fever the nurse said. I was convinced she was being poisoned. She’d been mixing her own potions from the garden. I started studying the new plants that appeared in the garden and finally with the help of the physician we determined what the poison was, but it was too late. The damage was done. Her liver and kidneys had been destroyed. Her hair was falling out.”

His breath hitched and he turned his head to wipe angrily at his eye. “I insisted on brushing her hair when it started falling out because it upset her so much to see all the hair in her brush. I had pretty scarves brought for her and wrapped around her head to make her pretty.”

There was a silence in the garden then Silk laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry.”

He patted her hand. "Thank you. She died, of course. Father married Katalyn a few months later to no one’s surprise. He was the only one who was supposed to be happy it seems. I had married the doctor’s daughter without his permission, but he demanded we annul the marriage as she wasn’t at all suitable for a baron. Father could marry a house servant though with no thought.

“I brought Katalyn a rare bottle of wine one day to celebrate joining the family. Fortunately for her, I had studied poisons thoroughly in trying to cure my mother. It wasn’t a slow-wasting poison like the one she fed my mother. It was quite agonizing though. Excruciating in its agony. She screamed for hours. Clawed at the floor. When it was over, I put her in her marriage bed and waited.”

Silk sat still, taken by the horror of the scene. “Where was your father?”

“Oh, he was off checking the estates. I knew he’d be away for two days. I offered him the wine when he returned and told him Kitty-Kat was waiting in bed for him. He elbowed me in the ribs. ‘Now that’s the kind of woman every man wants to come home to, eh?’ I agreed. 'Yes, she’s everything you deserve, Papa.”

“And he dashed upstairs to find his dead wife,” Silk said looking at him eyes closed, not really wanting to think about it he was sure.

“Oh, yes, he took the stairs two at a time. Screamed when he found his corpse bride. Then screamed when the poison started taking him.”

“And no one ever caught you?”

“No, I had arranged it so the wine was a gift from someone. An anonymous delivery. Such a mystery. Then I gathered my pregnant wife, we had remarried, and took her to my uncle to care for her. Asked him to care for the child as his own. He was to care for my estate, and I disappeared.”

He looked over at her. “You are shivering. You must be chilled. Let me fetch my jacket and we’ll go back to the house.” Picking the jacket up off the tree limb, he placed it tenderly around her shoulders. “Mustn’t let anything happen to my girl.”

[Silk-cenarion-circle]

(I was unaware other people had gotten involved in the story. So, Badan’s/Michell’s demise is being forestalled for now.

My apologies.)