by J. B. Garner
Stupid to feel jealousy over a moving statue, yet I couldn't deny the growing sensation. Contemplated a calming elixir, but needed the growing embers in me to see me through. There would be time later to recalibrate the golem and retrieve what was needed.
Still many bells to the evening. I could quell my warring emotions in work.
Overheard proverb among the Daj:
When a stone heart melts, expect to be burned by lava.
From Packard's Planar Bestiary, Adventurer's Edition by Packard Ussel, Ratiri sorcerer and businessman:
Just as with divine manifestations of the Unseen, creatures from the Pit leave behind a distinct residue of sulfur and ash wherever they go and on whatever they touch. Being of otherworldly origin, this residue is almost impossible to mask and can serve as a prime clue to any adventurer that demonic beasts are close at hand. Consider this yet another facet to the old adventuring motto: Stay clean and smell them coming!
Continued from the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 17 Octavian 736 PC:
My boots crunched in the splinters of charred wood littering the warehouse. The air stunk with sulfur and the perimeter of the sight had been lined with charms and scrolls of Nym. As I picked my way through the rubble, I wondered if I might share the same fate as those in the grand fire nearly a decade before. Despite the flashes of pain, I did seem to be healing well enough. More of Milady's work or was it the Bard's? I don't know, but either way I count myself fortunate.
With no way to know what it was Milady had come here to do, I had little idea of what I was looking for specifically. What I did have was a hunch that if Milady were connected to the Ragnard's appearance or the silver figure who murdered Ruji, I might find a clue in the vicinity of the murder site itself. I trudged through the burnt timbers, a perfumed handkerchief over my nose, eyes trying to pierce the glowing gloom as night raced ever closer.
The first indication that my hunch would pay dividends was when my boot tip slammed painfully into stone. Tumbling forward with a curse, I barely caught myself from being impaled on a broken beam before I realized the nature of my find. The floor of the warehouse had been stone, yes, but it had been flat as a board, with the main construction being solid wood with metal fixtures. Here, near the center of the wreckage, there shouldn't be any raised stone.
To confirm my suspicion, I grabbed up that same beam that almost speared me and used it as a measuring pole, sifting through the rubble to find the floor all around. In doing so, I felt out an oval-shaped lip of stone protruding from the floor, mostly concealed by bits of wreckage. Inside that lip, what should have been simply wood, ash, and melted metal was joined by chunks of stone, the same stone the floor was made from. Underneath that loose rubble, the floor was smooth and mostly untouched by the fire, with only a light layer of soot to show any sign of the carnage around.
It took a full hour of panting work to sort through this strange irregularity. When I was finished, I had cleared what turned out to be a slight cavity, the stone smooth as glass under the soot, making it look as if a Folk-sized egg had been lightly pressed into wet clay. The shards of stone were likewise shattered along smooth planes and I judged that, if I had an entire evening to waste, I could reconstruct the exact shell of stone that had been here before. It was if some power had shaped the floor into a hollow dome at some point during the early part of the fire.
The stone would have shielded anything inside from the flames. Nothing living, of course, as the air would be exhausted rapidly. Debris had then been used to cover and conceal it from the prying eyes of investigators, then shattered to reveal its hidden treasures after the main mass of Watchers had moved on. With the assault on the Foi, that wouldn't have been long at all.
Sorcery was the obvious answer and the obvious source was Milady. The maddeningly elusive answer was why? What had she secreted here? She came back today from a trip to the Second Ward, smelling of the Pit, but with nothing on her person, nothing that would require such a large space to hide. Unfortunately, I didn't know the full extent of her sorcery. Golemancy delved into many disciplines, after all.
I sat on a stable pile of metal and wood, puffing on a cigarillo to both fight the stench and steady my nerves. There had to be something I was missing. Milady did nothing without a reason.
As the world settled around me and the sounds of the Ward's bustling nightlife infused into my mind, my eyes caught the glint of moonlight bouncing off something among the last, tiny bits of wreckage I had swept to the center of the depression. It was far too bright to be the worked iron of the nails or braces comprising the building. No, it was flashing like the purest silver.
Digging into my shoulder bag, I pulled out a Magnification Monocle, putting it to my eye as I tip-toed towards the pile. Fearful of my footfalls causing the glinting object to be obscured again, it took all of my care and flexibility to bend down gently, until the enchanted lens could focus on the object in question.
There was a long, curled piece of silver-steel, not much thicker than a strand of yarn, mixed up in the wreckage. Gently plucking it free, it struck me as the leavings of a gouge, as if something had scratched into, say, a breastplate or piece of armor. The something would have to have unnatural strength or hardness, much like what I imagined the Ragnard must possess. I carefully put the piece of evidence in its own leather pouch, my mind flooding with possibilities.
The Silver Bard had been thoroughly examined when she was taken in. It was something that was standard procedure for what was being considered a 'potentially dangerous magical artifact', yet I would be lying if I hadn't felt a certain voyeuristic thrill. She was such a beautiful creature in every sense of the word.
I must force myself not to digress so. What is important is that I am certain that there had been no gouges or blemishes on the Bard's silver-steel skin. This evidence could help exonerate her, at least of Ruji's death. It also raises more questions, ones I don't have the answers to.
The clocks rang seven bells, echoing throughout the Ward. I had to go, to see the Bard. She no doubt needed a friendly face and now, with the new knowledge I had, I had new questions she may have the power to answer. At the very least, the Chief Inspector needed a report on this new evidence. Perhaps the Silver Bard could be free of her chains.
From the songbook of the Silver Bard, continued from the 8th Hymn of the 6th Movement:
Futile efforts, useless hopes,
Fill my heart so leaden.
The Lady deep in her tomes,
Her way with no burden.
For her, the path of blood
Is all it takes to stop the flame.
She does not see the flood,
Her soul the only thing to claim.
The only light that comes to me
Shines from the heart of bravery.
She is here now, to comfort and see
What will bring my reverie.
“I know that enchantment binds
Your lips so dear.
You cannot say if my finds
Are the truth so clear.”
My head lowered in shame,
But her voice was light.
“Still, if it is all the same,
We will not give up the fight.”
“Tell me now, if you can,
The songs of the Pure One
Ones from which demons ran,
As from the light of the sun.”
Singing heart of mine,
Beloved's wisdom shining bright.
“To quell monsters thine,
This I can tell you wrong from right.”
“The Ragnard's power blooms
When his hidden decade's past.
Also then is the demon's dooms,
When exposed is mortal heart.”
Courage's heart nodded at this,
“This is good then, is it not?”
I shook my head, bereft of bliss.
“It depends on the fashion, a lot.”
“If done with the Gods' power,
/>
The Pit can be sealed safely.
But if relying on sorcerer's glower?”
Then the chains tightened greatly.
Seeing the distress in my eyes,
Living arms embraced me,
Warm lips soothed my sighs,
“Say no more, for I see.”
“You will be set free,”
She said with a smile.
“I will end it, you'll see,
With justice and trial.”
My heart was heavy,
My soul worried.
Could my love carry
This quest unharried?
Alas, though one set
Of chains would be loose,
Another still met
To hold me in noose.
If only I could tell
My love what I knew,
But in this hell,
I must still stew.
Myrien and Nym,
Heed my prayer!
Save Vela from Him,
Or my heart will tear.
From Incident Report 1708736-Q, Watchman Cline reporting:
We breached the building (The Sleeping Drake Tavern) through multiple entrances at once. The intention was to trap the Foi Brothers using the tavern as a refuge from our sweep of the Ward. The Brothers fought with exceptional ferocity, as if guarding some particularly valuable prize. When Watchers Jensen and Kly were badly injured, our patrol regrouped momentarily in the common room, having taken control of the downstairs. Once my fellows were stable, the three of us who were uninjured moved into position to storm the upper floor when there was a tremendous commotion. By the time we made it upstairs, all but one of the Brothers were seemingly unharmed, but lulled into some kind of enchanted stupor. The last was dead, impaled by an arrow with a silver-steel head, with the only clue to the assailant’s identity being a glimpse of a silver figure with large wings flying away through a hole shattered into the ceiling. The deceased was immediately identified by me as Shi Foi, the middle brother of the Foi clan.
From Magical Nuances and Sorcerous Tools by Sol Yuriji, Myan sorcerer:
Pure sorcery can produce limitless effects, constrained only by the knowledge and mana of the sorcerer. However, these limits can be extended through a variety of tools, mental techniques, and tricks that can bolster the efficiency of a spell, aid in concentration, and ease the mental burdens on the sorcerer. Various numerical and mathematical techniques, such as sequences involving prime numbers, can be useful in adding to the strength of a spell, while incorporating physical artifacts, particularly gemstones, to serve as physical foci can make a spell have greater duration and stability when cast. A great sorcerer will do his best to combine as many of these tools and techniques as possible to make the most use of his time and power.
From the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 18 Octavian 736 PC:
Unable to sleep alone after the warm nights by Milady, I rested fitfully at best, so I started back to work early, sitting down with Cline's report and several books of arcane lore. My eyes ached as the first rays of the Celestial Stone's sunlight stabbed through my office window. The report was disturbing, more so that it seemed to confirm at least one of my suspicions, if not more. It seemed there was more than one silver-steel angel in our skies. One of them, though, was a murderer.
The only positive point was that the confirmation of another angel-in-silver would bring a reprieve for the Silver Bard. She would be released later in the day, supposedly under her own recognizance. That was mostly true, with the only wrinkle being the alchemical paste I had smeared on her back, between the wings. Almost colorless, the paste slowly breaks down into a particulate that hangs in the air and sticks to surfaces as it crumbles. Said trail can then be tracked; visibly glowing when viewed through the appropriate magics or enchanted items. If the Bard was going to be used as a tool in this, I had to be able to follow her.
As for the pile of ancient lore, if I understood the Bard's songs properly, Milady's ritual was as important to decipher as the murders themselves. If the Ragnard could not be stopped properly, her soul and perhaps the entire Ward was in danger. I had no fear that the monster would be stopped before it could threaten the City, but even one life sacrificed to the creatures of the Pit was a life too many.
Unfortunately, my knowledge of alchemy was no preparation to understand even the most basic sorcery, much less a ritual that could quell a powerful demon. My thoughts were twisted into knots from my attempts. Though sorcery was a science, it was also an art, something with elements that just could not be properly grasped without the talent for it. If there was one thing I wasn't, it was a sorceress and I could hardly consult Milady about the very thing she was concealing from me. There was another expert I could talk to, someone I knew who would have the knowledge and the temperament to give me straight answers. It would take the proper approach, one that wasn't exactly appealing, but I had no other choice.
Packard Ussel II's 'tower', called such on a technicality and his father's decree that it be so, was on the edge of the Thirteenth Ward, not far from the center of the fourth layer and far away from the Magic Emporium itself. If I knew the rat as well as I thought, he would be sleeping off last night's excesses. That meant this was the best time to make my move.
It only took one heavy swing of the knocker to rouse the archway golem, Yas. One advantage of being the only offspring of the most commercially viable sorcerer in the City was having all the best toys. The cornerstone melted and shifted to form a mouth as Yas boomed, “Who dares disturb the rest of -” Yas' voice shifted to a normal tone as he 'saw' me. “Oh, it's just you, Vela.”
“Good morning, Yas.” Normally I would have brushed him off as just a piece of furniture, but now I was trying to view him differently. Adding a flirtatious lilt to my voice, I quirked a smile and said, “Could you rouse Packie and tell him I'm here to see him?”
Yas pursed his stone lips. “Master Ussel was quite firm about being woken. He hit the bottle rather hard last night at the Packard's Parcel Passer release party.”
I puffed out my chest and started to unbutton my watchcoat. “But, Yas, he might be more upset that he missed my visit.” I punctuated the statement by stretching slowly over my head. “If you're sure, I'll go though I have Watch duty all day long.” I made sure to let the 'all' stretch out.
I wasn't particularly proud of this kind of act, but an inspector had to use every asset at her disposal.
It did have an effect on the golem. “Very well. Master Ussel does seem to have a particular attachment to your, er, you. Wait just a moment.” With that, the mouth dissolved back into the stone of the archway, followed by a booming echo into the tower's interior. Stone and enchantments muffled the sound, but it had to have been a shout that would have roused the dead.
As I waited, I finished unbuttoning my coat and producing a cigarillo. It was my honest belief that almost any act could be done with a seductive twist and, knowing that Yas could sense my actions even if his 'mouth' wasn't showing, I kept my act going as I licked the tip of the smoke before lighting it. A few deep puffs let my breasts heave in my blouse before I leaned lazily beside the door.
It only took a few moments for the door to swing wide, revealing the twitching whiskers and manic eyes of Packard 'Packie' Ussel II. I am not quite sure what I see in him, certainly not his looks, as he is the spitting image of his father. When I say that, I mean it quite literally, even down to the premature wrinkles and the paunch around the belly. As with most Ratiri, he is a few heads shorter than I and, at that moment, was wrapped in purple robes embroidered in gold. Maybe it's Packie's lust for life as opposed to his father's cynical mercantilism that I enjoy.
“Vela, Vela, Vela! My beautiful, bountiful maiden!” His eyes were bloodshot and the liquor was still strong on his breath. “Wait a tick, didn't you say -”
Before he could gather his wits and remember our last encounter, I flicked my cigarillo butt off to one side and swept Packie up in my arms, crushi
ng his nose into my cleavage. “Packie! Forget about what I said, just think about what I do.”
He offered no resistance as I pushed us both into the spacious foyer. Like many officially sanctioned sorcerer's towers, the interior space is magnified by spatial expansion spells. Giving him a quick peck on the forehead, I held Packie out again before his quickly roaming hands got too frisky. Not that it would have hurt to spend a few bells this morning releasing some built-up tension, but it felt a little dishonest both to my other relationships and to Packie himself. After all, I had to concentrate on business.
“So, my big firecracker, you forgot what having a little Packard in your life was like, huh?” The thing is that I actually like Packie, I do, but he never quite realizes that our relationship will never grow deeper than friends who occasionally shared a night of passion. There isn't anything wrong with that, but he always comes on too strong and wants the wrong things at the wrong times. “I could conjure us up some nice wine and we can … excuse me.” He let out a wicked belch and only a lucky draw allowed Packie to swallow back the vomit he was about to spew.
“Packie, slow down and you just let me take care of things.” I spun us towards the nearest wall and pressed his back to it. Packie's smile broadened, matching my own. I moved in close, still holding him up as we pressed together, our lips about to meet.
At the last moment, I turned my head slightly and moved my muzzle close to his twitching ear. “Sorry, Packie, if I'm leading you on a little, but I need something.”
What had been starting to press into my thigh started to soften. “Wait, what?” It took a moment for his raging hangover to let his brain catch up to reality. “We're not going to - “
