by I H Laking
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The mid-afternoon bustle of Traville was as intense as ever as the Detectives wound their way into the upper suburbs of the city. Ambrose and Percy were cutting up side streets in order to avoid the clutter of the main roads. Whenever he walked the street, Ambrose was greeted with waves from those who knew him, and the general respect that being an Inspector bought. His job was to uphold the peace through the solving of crimes, and he enjoyed it immensely. There were times, late at night, when Ambrose would reflect on the Empire, and some of the methods The Order used to maintain control of its citizens. Especially concerning were the rumours surrounding the Assassin’s Guild, who worked in many dark places. Most people who encountered an Assassin never lived to tell the tale, so great was their skill in disguise. Ambrose let his mind linger on this as he walked briskly, observing the faces of Traville’s inhabitants as they passed him by.
So many motives. So many secrets.
And who knew what awaited the detectives at the top of the hill?
The streets began to widen as the Detectives walked higher, and the view out over the plains to the south became more spectacular. Ambrose charged on, his mind focusing once again on Mrs Milliard’s Mech and the task at hand. He pulled up outside the address he was looking for.
Aurelious Artisan Workshops – 200 metres ahead read the sign on the front gate. Inside the property were the descendants of the great Archibald Aurelious, one of the finest minds ever to grace the Empire. And the final roll of the dice for us thought Ambrose, as he stared through the tall iron gates at the white two storied house in front of him. He turned around to see Percy puffing his way up the final section of the road to the house. They were now near the top of the hill, close to The Citadel. The day was beginning to wear on, and the sun had started its decent over the faraway hills. Ambrose ignored the gnawing sense that they were getting no closer to solving this mystery. On the side of the gate was a butterfly, fashioned out of bronze – the symbol of the Artisan’s guild. Turn for assistance read the small sign above it. Ambrose turned the butterfly and heard a loud buzzing noise in the distance. He waited, but no movement could be seen. Percy had arrived by this stage. “No one home?” He enquired. It didn’t appear as if anyone was responding. Ambrose turned the butterfly again, and once more heard the buzzing in the distance. When there was still no sign of movement, he pushed on the gate. It swung open gently. “Curious” muttered Ambrose, as he stepped into the courtyard.
Inside the courtyard, Ambrose and Percy found themselves in what seemed to be a refuge from the outside world. Trees and vines grew along the walls, lining the outside of the area with green. Brick tiles formed a pathway to the workshop, which was built of solid white stone – a rare sight in the dull colour scheme of Traville. As they approached the house, it became apparent that no one was in attendance. The brick path led to a pair of solid wooden doors, but as Ambrose went to knock, he noticed that the door was ever so slightly ajar. He gently pushed it open, and he and Percy entered the workshop.
Inside, it looked like a storm had broken out from the middle of the building. The ground floor was one large room, around fifty square metres in total space. Papers and schematics lay strewn around the room. Copper, tin and brass sheets lay in uneven piles on the floor. Someone had been searching this place. At the end of the room, a staircase along the wall led upstairs, to the living quarters. Percy broke the stillness with a whisper. “What do you think happened here?” Ambrose regarded the room carefully. He pointed to the middle of the floor. “Someone entered here peacefully enough, but it would appear that at some stage after being allowed into the workshop, they started attacking whoever let them in. You can see there’s a clear spot in the floor there – everything flew out from that direction.” But who could do this? Ambrose pointed to the staircase. “If there’s anyone still here, they’re upstairs, and they’re staying very quiet.” Motioning for Percy to stand close to the entrance, Ambrose began to quietly move towards the end of the room, closing in on the stairs whilst not disturbing any of the various items strewn chaotically around the room. There was a chance they might still be able to catch whoever was present unawares – and if the intruder tried to run, Percy would be able to stop them. Ambrose could feel his heart beating faster. As he crossed the middle of the room, through the clearing, he realised that it felt intensely warm. Like great energy had suddenly exploded from that point. Now was no time to find out about that though; he had to see if anyone was still in the building. He closed on the staircase. Ten paces to go. Thump-thump went his heart. Five paces. Thump-thump. Two. Thump-thump. One. He leaned around the corner and looked up the stairs towards the top floor.
The stillness was immediately broken.
The light from a window at the top of the stairs momentarily blinded Ambrose, and in that instant, a huge figure shot past him. All Ambrose had time to see was a haze of black and a shaved head as the man bowled him over. Ambrose shot back onto the floor, a pile of limbs flailing about in the midst of the chaos as paper and dust went shooting up around him. He looked up in time to see Percy’s face drained of all colour, and his mouth open wide as the man barrelled towards him at a speed that could almost be termed as unnatural. “PERCY!” Ambrose yelled. It was at that moment, somehow, that all of Percy’s training must have flown from his mind in the face of a giant man bearing down on him. Percy had left the door wide open, and instead of standing in the way, he was positioned to the side, allowing the perfect avenue for escape. The man closed in on the door, and was about to be out and free when Detective Second Class Percy Portland, overweight and hardly intimidating at the best of times, stuck his foot out in front of him. The last thing Ambrose saw as he scrambled to his feet was the man tripping on the outstretched limb and flying through the air. Ambrose ran as fast as he could to the door and joined Percy outside.
There, sprawled on the bricks, lay the bodyguard from outside Mrs Milliard’s pie shop.
