The Songstress Murders

by J. B. Garner

  Cleared my throat and nodded. “Xian cleaned and mended your uniform as I mended you. We have much to discuss, assuming the Watch does not break down my door shortly.”

  “There is no fear of that, Milady,” she said as I clunked to the guest room door.

  “Surely with you missing, they will hunt down every lead to find you, even those of your informants.”

  “You need not fear that. I have kept your words off the record and kept your privacy safe.”

  I did not expect that. Looking back while leaving the room, I was unable to control the faint smile. The Inspector continued to impress me. So many years alone and all I had learned was how to underestimate outsiders. I could do so no longer.

  A half-a-bell passed before we sat once more at a small table, Xian laying out a breakfast with coffee and tea. Small ink stains on Redmane's claw tips, no doubt from an attempt to order her thoughts. Wise. At my behest, she recounted what was clear in her mind from the evening before.

  “That leads me to this morn. I can already make some assumptions, put together some pieces, from what you told me in brief, yet there are many unanswered questions.”

  I nodded. “I may be able to answer all of them. Some I certainly can.”

  “I thank you dearly for tending to my wounds and the warmth of your bed, yet I must still ask that we dispense with the verbal dancing of the day before.” Would guess she was in a bit of fluster, as I was. Hard to understand, my charms were gone, burned and cut away years ago. “If I ask these questions of mine, dear lady, will you be truthful and direct in response?”

  I had already decided to be direct now, so it was easy to nod. “Yes. Now please speak. If you truly aim to put these deaths to an end, time may be critical.”

  “Was there another murder while I was fallen?” The idea made Redmane almost jump out of her chair.

  I raised a hand, a bid for restraint. “No, no, but who knows what happened last night? Maybe another of these Foi brothers you spoke of met his end in the struggle. More may be in danger.”

  A nod and the impulsive youth was overtaken by the detective. “Let us be swift then. You said a winged golem brought me here. The Silver Bard, I assume?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why here? What is your connection to the Bard?”

  “I am one of the few with the skills and knowledge to repair and maintain it. When it was damaged by a gang of thugs that realized a solid silver golem was immensely valuable, it was referred to me for repair.” Swirling a spoon in tea helped order my thoughts. “Since then, the Bard has come to me from time to time for small things and requests. I can only assume that, as it knows and trusts my ability to repair things, it brought you here for similar repairs.”

  Slow nod from Redmane. Her eyes flashed with insight. “The arrowhead belongs to the Bard, doesn't it? That's why you recognized it, because you had either seen it during your repairs on the Bard or, perhaps, you crafted such a weapon so the Bard could protect herself from future attack.”

  Bit my lip and nodded. “Yes, Vela, I apologize for withholding such information, but I found it almost impossible to think about. The Silver Bard is just a songstress, a tale-teller, not a murderess.” I took a long sip of tea. “Oh, and the Bard is an 'it' not a 'her'. If you let yourself fall into personifying it too much, you will only cause yourself to make mistakes in understanding it.”

  Vela's muzzle contorted into a small frown. “Yes, but … never mind.” She looked into coffee for answers. “Though the means of murder now fit perfectly, there is no other sense to be made of this. Why would a golem programmed to spread joy and song murder anyone? Does Christabelle know more? She knew part of the Bard's song, enough to sing it.”

  “Well, Vela, no one knows who created the Silver Bard; hence no one knows the true depths of its programming. Perhaps your Foi brothers committed some transgression or triggered some sort of defensive measures in the Bard's eyes?” Wanted to give Vela a spark, wanted a smile or an upcast gaze. Touched her gently on the forearm and savored the shudder this time. “If I understood the Bard's poetic speech, your Christabelle isn't lost. The golem said it had 'swept the maid into Nym's embrace', whatever that means.”

  Ah, perfect. Vela's head snapped up and she grabbed up my hand in a swift but gentle hold. “Of course! Nym's cathedral!” She kissed it, not as chastely as yesterday. “The Bard was protected by the Nymian church before, so where else would she, er, it consider a safe place? It obviously protected both of us, for whatever reason.”

  Tried to ignore the heat in the room now, but made myself smile. “That makes sense, from what I know of the Bard. It is only a trip down the Grand Stair to get there, though what about the Bard itself? Might it already be moving to kill again?”

  Vela considered that for only a moment. “We don't even know why it killed once. We can't be sure it will plan another murder.” She shook her head. “No, I had best track down Christabelle, ensure her safety, and make certain as to why the Bard did what it did.” She released my hand slowly. “While I have no doubt my Nymian brothers and sisters can provide sanctuary against certain evils, the Foi Brothers would care nothing for the sanctity of the temple. That poor woman is in danger regardless of what else she may know or not know.”

  Considered pressing, either to make her stay a time as my body desired or to press her towards the Bard, the safer of the other options. From last night, knew that the Bard wouldn't hurt Redmane ever. Not sure if it would work, could insult her. I didn't want that at all.

  “If you must go, you cannot do so unprepared.” Voice was stronger than intended, betrayed too much with it. “I will not see you as you were last night or, worse, dead. I will not abide it.”

  Vela's eyes softened. “Milady ...”

  I cleared my throat, forced myself back together. “I took the liberty of having Xian gather a few things from my sanctum. You should see them by the front door on your way out. They will help keep you safe.”

  Redmane rose up. She had a mask as well, the one for the outside world, the resolute Watcher, and she put that one on now. “I will endeavor to do so, Milady, but the City comes first. Still, my many thanks for yet another gift.” A hint of a risqué smile broke through the mask a moment. “When I call upon you again, perhaps I will have a suitable gift to return in kind.”

  “Perhaps, Inspector, perhaps.”

  Redmane eagerly made for the entrance hall. I deflated into my chair, want gnawing at me. Worried if had told her enough or, even worse, too much.

  From Watchwords of the City from an anonymous press:

  The Great Stair is the spine of this City; it will never steer you wrong.

  From the Nymian Rite of Cleansing, closing stanza:

  Seal this body and soul from corruption, from the Unseen,

  Leaving only the clean and pure behind.

  Our Covenant with Nym made freely, may it

  Last over the fickle will of sinful Folk.

  From the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 15 Octavian 736 PC:

  In addition to the red velvet bag by the door, Milady had bidden her golem butler to fetch a carriage to the Grand Stair. Without hesitation, I nodded my thanks to the butler, though it wasn't needed, and hopped into the carriage before I even peeked into the bag. The urgency I felt to carry on my task had overridden the justified kernels of suspicion that lingered in my deductive mind.

  Though many of the pieces to this puzzle were fitting together nicely, there was a central component missing. Until I found evidence of this crime's motivation or an eyewitness to the events, I had only implications and second-hand information, neither of which would hold up in City court or my own conscience. Even if the accused is a golem, technically a soulless thing; the situation required just as much care and judiciousness as any other murder.

  Those lingering suspicions also were cast upon Milady. The more she revealed, the more I came to realize that she possessed the tools needed to carry out the murder herself. Milady was study
ing magical music, she had access to all the materials needed for both the resonance crystal and its arrow of delivery, and she lives as a hermit with no alibi to speak of. Again, as with the Silver Bard, there is a complete lack of motive; and the whole matter is complicated by my feelings towards Lady Alysa.

  Perhaps it was the pain I could sense beneath the careful facade, that hint of self-loathing evident in every moment of surprise when I paid her just compliment. My every desire was to wipe that away to reveal the natural beauty I saw in her face, her elegant motions, and the mind that flashed like lightning behind those eyes. Yet I was forced to hold back, to stay my hand, until the truth of the case was discovered. Duty to justice and the City above all else, that is the Watch's creed.

  To distract myself before we reached the Stair, I made an inventory of the sack's contents. There were three more bundles inside, each with a pinned note written in tiny, exquisite letters. The largest of the three was labeled as 'Bolts, standard grade' and contained just that, enough small quarrels to refill my case. My memories of the last eve continued to swim in a cloud of silver and song, leaving me confused as to how I could have used my entire stock of ten bolts.

  The other two were much smaller. Of the two, the long, thin package opened to reveal a singular bolt of much higher quality than the others, with a head of a dusky gray metal. Its note was longer than the last, noting that the bolt had 'an alloyed steel head, with an enchantment antithetical to the spells animating golems'. The moment I finished reading, my stomach curdled slightly. Why I would care about having to deactivate a golem, even one so highly regarded, I could not say, but I felt the answers lied buried in the haze of the past evening.

  The last package was the smallest. The label plainly stated that the enclosed stone bore a simple spell to send my words to Milady's ear once I bid it to do so. The mana infused into the gem would only work once, but the note insisted that I do not hesitate to use it if I needed help, that Milady would find a way to assist me. The warm smile came to my lips unbidden as I tucked it into a pocket before reloading my bolt case. Though my mind remained mixed about her, I could not deny the growing feelings I held towards Milady, feelings stoked hotter by her protective instincts.

  Taking a deep breath, I gathered my errant thoughts and emotions together as the two-horse carriage turned one last corner to look upon the Great Stair. While I always understood why it was called such, the simple name doesn't quite do the primary artery of movement through the City justice. The massive structure is five horses wide, arranged in a sweeping spiral that starts here at the top of the City, running parallel to the City walls as it descends all the way to the first layer, so far below. The Stair itself consists of multiple lanes, some narrow stairs, others ramps wide enough to allow cart and carriage access. It is a marvel of engineering and, frankly, a marvel that the Watch has enough patient men and women to manage the constant flow of traffic both day and night.

  Before our descent to the fourth layer and Nym's Cathedral, I bid the young Aard driver to take us by the Watch post, long enough for me to get a short letter sent on to the Watchtower and Chief Inspector Feathers, informing him of my status and an abbreviated, somewhat edited version of the events thus far. When asked if I needed any sort of immediate assistance with the investigation, I politely declined. I'm not sure if the sergeant on-duty believed me, eying the mended slashes in my coat and the hint of washed bloodstains, but he followed my request dutifully. With a salute and his bidding the Dealer smile on me, my carriage was off once more.

  Fortunately, the mid-morning flow moved swiftly down the Stair that morning. Before ten bells, my carriage trotted out into the streets of the fourth layer. Outside of my regular visits to Myrien's Gardens and the occasional Watch errand to pick up supplies from Packard's Magic Emporium, I had rarely been to the fourth layer in my life. Only slightly less well-to-do than the fifth layer, it was a maze of high-end businesses, finely-built houses, and the majority of the religious centers of the City.

  The second largest of these, only slightly smaller than the Wallmaker's temple, Nym's Cathedral soared over the courtyard that marked the Stairs' landing on the layer. Despite its size, the Cathedral is surprisingly stark with an alabaster facade and hard-angled architecture. There are flashes of color in the multitude of stained-glass windows, each depicting scenes from the Pure One's hymns and famous events from the faith's history. If one pays close attention, the dichotomy of Nym is obvious, as scenes of great joy are intermingled with ones of sacrifice and martyrdom, all for the sake of hope and purity.

  I found myself, in light of what had happened, staring up at the Cathedral's spires mutely. I only stirred into action at the behest of the carriage driver, no doubt eager to pick up a new fare. Giving the young Aard man a tip of my hat and a half-crown, I pushed myself onward, up the steps to the imposing double-doors of the Cathedral. Pushing the doors apart, my Moral Compass burned at my own perceived faults, real or not, and the purple carpet leading to the altar stretched out like a narrow line leading to salvation.

  The rows of cushions for the faithful curved out in a semi-circle from the central path, the room sparsely populated that mid-morning. The shafts of colored light from the stained glass played off the polished white walls, creating a dazzling display before me as I stepped up to the acolyte-on-duty by the rows.

  “Good morning, sister Inspector, what can we of Nym do for you today?” the Ratiri man, whiskers the same color of white as his robes, said, bowing his head slightly to me.

  “Good morning, brother. I do not wish to cause alarm, but I am here on Watch business, vital business.” I looked past him, hoping for a glimpse of senior clergy. “It is urgent that I speak with one of your superiors.”

  His eyes widened. “Nym's cloak, cover us!” He swiveled his hooded head with a look of embarrassment and lowered his voice again. “Of course, Inspector, please come with me.”

  The nervous acolyte led me along the right wall of the nave and through a small door into the clerical chambers beyond. The stark, angular theme continued, only colored by the rare portals of colored glass. A few twists and turns in the claustrophobic chambers later, my guide deposited me in what I assumed to be an unused cell with spartan furnishings.

  “I shall not be long, sister,” he said with a low bow. “If you have need, there should be a prayer book and hymnal on the table. You are on holy ground, after all.” With that, he backed out of the chamber and scurried out of view.

  I didn't even bother with sitting on the thin cot. What fragments of the lyrics I could remember from the night before had the cadence, the flow of a hymn of some kind. While it might be an entirely original composition; that should be impossible, at least by Milady's view. Golems couldn't create. They could only repeat what had been programmed or told to them.

  If that were true, part of the answer I sought could be contained in the hymnal I had picked up off the cell's desk. I knew most of the Myrienite hymns by heart, despite my off-key singing, so it had to be a Nymian song, if it was a hymn at all. Much like its sister church, the Nymian faith relied deeply on song to communicate with the Pure One, and the songbook was heavy in my hands as I cracked it open.

  The songs of Nym, much like the Cathedral, range from glorious melodies praising the light and celebrating the cause of purity to grim recollections of martyrs and saints who gave their lives facing down the forces of corruption. My heart was moved in sympathy by these songs. They touched me both as a lover of beauty and a Watcher. More to the case at hand, I discovered similarities between the song last night and the more upbeat songs of praise in the tome, even bits of phrasing that were identical, but no piece matched the song precisely. I closed the book with a sigh, left precisely where I had started.

  A few minutes after I set the hymnal down, there was a quiet knock at the cell door.

  “Come in please,” I called out.

  My words were answered by the door opening wide. Standing in stark majesty was a tall Wind wom
an with large, luminous owl's eyes. Tufts of gray-and-white feathers poked out of her elaborate white-and-gold robes, leaving her age impossible for me to guess, accented by a pure silver chain around her neck. Upon that chain was the heavy weight of Nym's symbol, a silver disk bearing the likeness of a crescent moon on the right, expanding into a sunburst towards the left. The priestess's sanctity was a palpable presence, one that almost robbed me of my voice and threw me off my feet.

  I fell to one knee, taking my hat in one hand as I lowered my head before Nym's Radiance, High Purifier Wyst Gale. “Her Radiance, I am both honored and unworthy of such an audience.”

  The chirping laugh that was my reply threw me off. Free and light, it was the laugh of an unburdened soul. “Please, Vela Redmane, there is no need for such words.” Soft, feathered fingers took my right hand and my heart calmed. “Your arrival has been expected and your cause is just. Nym and all her servants welcome you.”

  At the Purifier's pull on my hands, I stood and looked back into those eyes, so old and yet so young. Again, the Nymian dichotomy: love and joy mixed with sacrifice and indomitability. “Radiance -” A quirk of her beak made me alter my words. “– Wyst, I need to speak with a Ratiri lady, a lady I believe to have brought to you for sanctuary. Her name is -”

  “Christabelle?” I swore Wyst's beak quirked into what I assumed to be an amused smile. “She is here and she is safe.” Releasing my hand, the Purifier made a sweeping turn, her robes fluttering with a life seemingly of their own. “Come, Vela, and shine light on the truth you seek.”

  Still reeling, I centered myself and followed in Gale's wake. I had a Duty to carry out, after all. There would be time to be overwhelmed later.