The Songstress Murders

by J. B. Garner

  She nodded and turned her gaze back out the stained glass. The song above finally reached its closure and, after a few more minutes of waiting, the trapdoor to the tower's roof opened and the Purifier descended down the stairs.

  “Did everything work out well, Sister Gale?”

  “I would say so, Vela.” Wyst clasped her hands in front of her. “Interpreting the return verse, the Silver Bard wishes to meet with you atop the 'high light of the Second' at midnight. You are a native of the Second Ward, aren't you?”

  “I am, though how did -”

  “The Pure One tells me what it is she thinks I need to know, sister. Nothing sinister is at work.” Wyst had that bemused twist of the beak again. “Hopefully, your knowledge of the Ward will tell you exactly what that place exactly is.”

  There was no need to press further. “I know exactly where to go and, fortunately, I have much time to get ready for this meeting.”

  She inclined her head. “Indeed. Rest assured we will ensure our new acolyte's safety. Is there anything else the church of Nym can do to light your way, Vela Redmane?”

  I gave Christabelle a questioning glance which garnered me a smile before bowing to the Purifier. “No, sister, you have done much already. Thank you for your help.”

  “May Nym's cloak cover you on the path to the Garden's shade.”

  After that blessing and a brief hug from Christabelle, it was the job of another acolyte to lead me back through the clerical chambers to the nave of the church once more. My thoughts were preoccupied with the coming evening. I had the chance to open this case up and I could not let that slip away. I would need my mind clear and focused on the task, a mind that was still tugging towards Milady's manse above. My heart told me I should see her again before the eve, to ensure her own fears about my safety were at ease, as well as the need to let Scoven know that Christa was safe. Besides, thoughts of the Scale brought the realization that not every stone was unturned in the Second Ward. There was still work to be done.

  The realization that such work would be challenged didn't strike me until I stepped out of those vault-like double doors to the bustling landing. Waiting for me, announced by a loud clearing of his throat, was the stick-straight figure of Inspector Blackfoot.

  “Inspector, to what do I owe the honor?” Though surprised, my wit decided to gamely come to my aid.

  “Junior Inspector Vela Redmane, the Chief Inspector orders you to make a formal report at the Watchtower immediately.” Again, Blackfoot couldn't resist the emphasis on the 'Junior', nor could he hide the stilted formality of his pronouncement.

  “I did send a report, albeit abbreviated, though the fifth layer Stair Watch-post. While I fully intend to file all the required paperwork, I'm in the middle of setting up an important witness as we speak.” I took a challenging step forward. My Moral Compass pulsed in time with my beating heart; I was confident in my righteousness. “Do you want to endanger this investigation and let our murderer slip away because you tripped me up right now, Blackfoot?”

  “Spare me your theatrics, Redmane, and do not forget that I am still your superior officer.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down on me, the two of us almost chest-to-chest. “More importantly, though I wholeheartedly endorse them, these orders come not from me but Chief Inspector Feathers. Besides, from what I have observed, your idea of 'preparing for a witness' is doubtlessly another trivial and embarrassing dalliance with one of your admirers.”

  Only the Duty, the reminder that I could do no one any good if I was locked in a cell to cool off, saved Hors a broken muzzle from my clenched fists. “Are you bringing another charge before the magistrate? If so, remember how well that worked out last time. I believe the record would show that I was promoted from that, not blacklisted.”

  The jab pierced Hors' defenses and knocked the bluster out of him. “No, Junior Inspector, I am not.” Like any true Inammi faithful, he still clung to his chain of command, however. “I still would insist you return to the Second Ward Watchtower and report in with the Chief Inspector.”

  “Give my respect to him, but tell him that I will send a full report via the Harried Herald later this evening. He said to take any measures necessary to find this murderer and, after the fire last night, I fully intend to do so.” I let one hand unclench and settle on my truncheon. “The question that remains is if you will carry out that request, in line with the Chief Inspector's first orders, or be a prissy bottom and try to keep me from carrying them out?”

  Hors answered by stepping stiffly to one side. “Very well, Vela. It's your career on the line, not mine.”

  I brushed past him. “No, Hors, it's got nothing to do with careers.” Leaving him to puzzle over those final words, I took the steps two at a time as I hailed down a passing carriage. First, while the Celestial Stone still shone as the sun, I would put my heart at ease with Milady, then, fully focused, plunge into the depths of the City to seek out the Silver Bard and the truth.

  From A Matter of Love and Life by Yon Kyle, Olden naturalist:

  Sex, love, and procreation can be a complicated matter to study among the post-Collapse Folk. Not only are there considerations of differences between the Folk themselves, such as the inability of the Hive or Wass to procreate with other Folk, but cultural and religious differences. A prime example is the stark difference between Inammi and Myrienite marriage practices. The Inammi are strictly conservative, favoring single pairings between men and women only, considering it the only logical foundation for civilization, while the Myrienites encourage marriages between as many partners of any gender as love allows, a practice known as ‘many roots growing together’.

  From the notes of Lady Alysa Hsu, 15 Octavian 736 PC:

  Word came after dealing with other business. Hindsight always perfect, but still rued now knowing sooner. I should have expected it as the only logical course of events. So soon, though?

  It didn't matter. Recrimination was no longer important. Everything else was falling into place with Father, regardless of the potential danger. What I found now was that, for years of wanting only this absolution, this closure, realization of how much I limited myself.

  I could have more, deserved more. I lost my legs, Mother, and my heart in one moment. Cut away the rest to numb the pain. Now, though, could have some of it back. I could be safe in feeling again. Could have more; could have Vela.

  Problem remained the lack of certainty of the heart. Events could be predicted, logic followed, reason comprehended, but the heart was different. It was why the Bard was so unpredictable. It doesn't think; it follows other factors. Vela followed the heart too, but had a sharp mind. We had a connection. Could win what I wanted, but had to act now.

  Hard to balance after so long out of social circles looking my best versus looking natural. Worse, dealing with an inspector, junior or not. From experience, ninety percent of Watch dunderheads could not have discovered as much as she had. Respected that but felt wiser to err on side of success. It took only a small bit of mana to conjure the needed cosmetics for the occasion: fur dyes to highlight facial markings, powder for the hair, light perfumes for the rest. It reminded me of Mother and the old days. She adored this, the moments of finery.

  There was little to be done about clothing. Dresses were well-made but years behind City fashion. No need for such frivolity until now. Such crass conjuration would be obvious, so I settled. Myrienites cared for appearance, yes, but for more. Hoped that shiver meant there was more.

  Four bells came as the chimes struck from the mansion gate. Found myself holding my breath like a foolish girl, turned back to my equations. It was important to act natural, to not show too much anticipation.

  Xian came to announce Vela's arrival a few moments past that. Chose the legs she complimented at our first meeting. Luck, perhaps? Silly but true.

  She was waiting in the parlor we had shared breakfast in. She turned from looking out the window as I came in. “Milady, I -” Her voice hitched, jaw slightly unhinge
d at the sight of me.

  Blind panic started in. Did I miscalculate? “Inspector Redmane, are you all right?”

  “No, dear Alys, I am stricken.” She moved to me, taking my hands in hers with sweeping motions. “I have yet to see you so, so free with your beauty, not hiding.”

  Panic abated, but with warmth of my thumping heart had a hint of bile at deception. “I have no reason to hide from you, do I?”

  She stared for a moment, warm, brown eyes. “I want to say no. I want to sweep you up, to kiss you, to love you.” One hand clutched to her chest, where her Moral Compass was. “You have to tell me, assure me, banish all shadow of doubt from my mind.”

  Clenched her free hand, savored that warmth, wouldn't let go. “Doubt of what? What is it you need from me, Vela? Whatever it is, I will grant it.”

  “Tell me you have no part in this murder, murders now most likely. You aren't entangled in this, are you? Your study of musical magic, your knowledge of the Bard, your hand in making that arrow, it's all coincidence, yes?” Voice quavered. Redmane wanted truth, wanted assurance.

  Gave her what she needed. “Vela, I have no part in this. I don't know why this is happening, these horrible things, but I can only take heart that there has been one good thing these vile acts have brought.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What good can come from these deaths?”

  “I would never have met you if not for them.” Caught her eyes and tried to make her see the heat in my blood. “I have not felt like this for over a decade. My heart was dead, burned to ash, but it beats again from the very sight of you.” Did not want to mention the fire, but important to make her see why I needed her. The Myrienite in her would understand.

  Vela's hands moved, cupping my face. Finger pads rough from much physical activity brushed through fur. Eyes closed on their own and felt heart hammering against rib cage. Was this what actual love felt like or was this simply raw, physical passion? Don't care. All conjecture ended as her lips met mine.

  Had kissed, made love, known passion before in my youth, but all incomparable to that night. Though she did not say as we, with many stops along the way, made our sordid way to the bedchambers, knew she would leave sometime in the night. Before then, though, was determined to be her entire world for every one of those hours. It was what I deserved.

  From signs posted in the windows of Packard's Magic Emporium:

  Harness the spectral forces for your own needs! Send messages across leagues to anyone you know the name of! Purchase your charm of Harvin's Harried Herald today!

  From The Song of Myrien, Myrienite holy text:

  Beauty cannot grow in a cage and glory dims in chains. For you to know the joy and wonder of the world, to have your inner beauty shine for; there must first be freedom of will. Though the Unseen always tempts us, offers us outer radiance for what seems like such a small price, and though we always must have the freedom to give into that temptation, know that the only path to love, universal love, is through the Gardens of Myrien and the light that shines through the boughs of the trees.

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

  The hours of passion had come to a close and I felt both elated and disappointed with myself. Afternoon had burned to evening as, with every cycle of pleasure we experienced in each other’s arms, Milady yearned for another, something I was all too eager to provide. There was no shame in the love we shared, the raw, sensual beauty of the moment, but I had shrugged off my Duty in the process.

  I pondered this as I gazed naked out the balcony window, opened to let the cool, night breeze in and let my cigarillo smoke out. Milady lay asleep, half-shrouded in the silk sheets, her passion finally spent. For one that lived a hermit's life for a decade, Milady was no stranger to the art of lovemaking and the thought of her naked body, burn scars and lost legs included, even now brings me to the edge of my chair in anticipation. The problem lay in the fact that I had not intended for this, not now, not with a murderer running free and whole buildings burned to ash on my Watch, in my Ward.

  It was a good ten bells now, only a few bells before I needed to be at the first layer. The Bard's reference was simple enough to decipher: Keigan's Torch was the 'high light' of the Second Ward, shining a beacon for nighttime river traffic. Perhaps I could at least send a report to Feathers by Herald, fulfill at least part of my Duty, and still make my meeting. Turning back into the room, I was taken for a moment by the slow rise and fall of Milady's breasts, still magnificent despite the ten or so years she had over me (If only I age so well!), only to catch the accusing glow of the Moral Compass I had cast off on the nightstand.

  It was burning hot to the touch as I picked it up, the simple hematite arm pointing towards the 'Selfish' and 'Derelict' headings, reflecting my own shame. Enduring the pain, I concentrated on it, even savored it a moment as a beacon back to what needed to be done.

  “Milady, sleep well and know that I only leave as it is my Duty to do so,” I whispered softly before planting a kiss on her forehead.

  I did not fault her, for how could she know the full extent of what the Watch asked of me? No, this was my fault, but there was still time to make things right. I would hunt the killer down, hound him straight into the dungeons, and then celebrate here in Milady's arms. That was what I told myself as I dressed in one of the guest rooms. I made sure all my gear was in place before pulling out from my belt pouch the Harried Herald charm.

  Rubbing the gold-and-silver striped icon, I chanted the activation phrase, “Harvin, hear my plea! Accept this crown and bid your herald to me!”

  The gold crown evaporated from my hand, translocated to the coffers of one Harvin Harcourt, master enchanter, and the spectral form of the familiar, beleaguered messenger appeared before me.

  “Vela Redmane, it's been a while,” the Herald said. Its race often changed and tonight it took the form of a Daj with their usual thick goggles. “Now that the pleasantries over, what's your message and your recipient? I'm in a hurry, you know!”

  “You're always in a hurry.” I pulled out my notebook. “This message is a Watch report, so you know the proper protocols.”

  A roll of the Herald's eyes spoke volumes and, much to its exasperation, I gave him a detailed account of what today's investigations had uncovered. My own personal frustration would no longer let me keep Milady entirely out of the events, though this evening's spirited lovemaking was redacted for multiple reasons. Simply making the report helped assuage my guilt, but my Compass still throbbed a reminder that I had much to do still to make up for my shortcomings.

  “Finally done and it's about time!” the Herald muttered. “Where to? Hors Blackfoot? Isn't he your boss now?”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. “No, Hors is not Chief Inspector. You need to take this message to Verdigan Feathers and with it my apologies for its tardiness.”

  “Great! Fantastic! Can I go now?”

  “Yes, off with you.”

  With one last put-upon sigh and a flash of ectoplasm, the Herald disappeared, off to run its errand. I wondered, as I left a missive with the golem butler, if the Herald was a sentient being like we Folk, like so many suspected the Bard to be. How many creatures like that did we use every day, yet never truly acknowledge?

  The philosophy would have to wait. I was a Watcher and my only goal at that time was to catch my murderer. Hailing a swift, one-person cab pulled by a golem horse, I paid an extra crown for the quickest path to the Second Ward the driver could muster. Left in relative silence as the driver focused her concentration on the still-bustling City streets, I tried to put together an approach as to how to deal with the Silver Bard and extract the truth of the scene two evenings before.

  By the time the clocks throughout the City tolled eleven bells, my carriage curled around the final turn of the Great Stair down into the first layer. The driver had certainly earned her crown, so much so that I asked for her name as I departed. I tucked Abby Snow's card into my jacket pocket
as I strode through the moonlit streets of the Second Ward. Home once more.

  Though I had walked down resplendent, cobblestone paths and been awed by the dazzling heights of mighty churches that very day, neither could replace the feeling of intimacy that the Second Ward gave me. Argue as they may, no one could ever convince me that there was not a simple beauty to the aged buildings and ramshackle hovels. People here live, truly live, without golem servants holding their hands or enchanted charms for every one of life's inconveniences. Their beauty was in the struggle, in the vibrancy and spirit shown in and even enhanced by their hardship. It was there that I became the woman I am. No matter how flawed that woman is, every accomplishment, every step from apprentice to Junior Inspector is my own and I hold pride in that.

  Perhaps it was the look in my eyes or simply the Watch uniform that shielded me from harassment. Whatever the reason, I soon found myself at the base of the Torch, shining its beam of light off into the dark waters of the riverside harbor and the Orb Sea beyond. Rotting fish, salt water, and burning oil filled my sharp nose as I deftly picked the lock into the interior.

  As with many of the wonders of the Walled City, the lighthouse operated with only the barest of Folk attention. The motion of the gears was empowered by basic conjured spirits, invoked from the essence of motion itself, and the flame ran on an alchemically concentrated oil, burning with a heat, intensity, and duration of unprecedented magnitude. Finding myself dreading the daunting slog of ten flights of stairs to reach the lamp room itself, my mind wandered onto the source of the apothecary fire and whether there were charred bodies already under Kraatz's knife. If I was still on the case in the morning, my first stop would be the morgue.

  The quarter-till chime echoed across the tightly-woven rooftops as I stepped out onto the balcony encircling the lamp room. From there, I could gaze out across not just the Ward but most of the layer, as well as the glassy waters of the Great River below. Even at this late hour, a steady stream of ships slid through the currents to dock, head up river, or cruise out onto the southern ocean.