by Jon Evans
The Thieftakers were reputed to be the utter dregs of the Watch, a group of ill-disciplined troublemakers and undesirables. It was public knowledge that a posting there was just one step away from being discharged and was strictly seen as a punishment duty.
Theirs was a grim duty, with none of the perks of normal life in the Watch. No soft guard duty, no fancy barracks, no parades. Just desperate chases through the city pursuing the worst criminals.
He looked at his friend, all vim and vigour as he tucked into his food, seemingly oblivious to the true meaning of this posting. The Watch had sidelined him, and this was as far as his career would ever go.
Fortunately, they way they'd done it meant that he'd been made up to Captain which was a comfortable grade for a man with modest needs like Loft. He'd never rise to a Commander's rank from the Thieftakers, and that meant he'd never get to put his ideas to work across the watch. He pictured an older Loft, ground down by the hard slog on the city streets and a lone voice still calling for change.
Gardener sighed and dug into his own food. That lifted his spirits somewhat, he'd been living on very plain fare for months, trying to scratch out a living with the patients who'd visit his surgery was proving difficult.
Not least because he couldn't really bear to turn people away and was charging too little for his services. He knew it, but he really didn't like the way some of his colleagues picked their clients. The size of their purse should be less important than the severity of their illness, he felt, though he knew it was not in his own best interests.
He had been feeling rather glum recently, so it was good to see Loft, even if he did come bearing a corpse. Some work for the Watch might ease his financial concerns a little too, especially if Loft was working with the dangerous Thieftakers. They must have plenty of need for medical care, and unlike many of Gardener's patients, the Watch would at least pay a fair rate for a doctor's services.
"This food is excellent, as always Loft. Thank you for the meal. So who do you want me to examine?" Gardener enquired.
"A spice merchant in my district. We think he was probably murdered in the last couple of days," Loft responded.
Gardener nodded as he slowly chewed his food. He swallowed, took a swig of his drink and asked, "Surely someone would notice a merchant had been murdered sooner than that, his employees or buyers, his family?"
"It's a small shop, and the body was upstairs. I suppose it's possible he didn't have a family, and customers may have thought he was just away. That's definitely something we'll be looking into though. If you don't mind though, I'd rather not talk about it whilst I'm eating," Loft asked, feeling slightly queasy as his mind flashed up images from the crime scene.
Gardener shrugged, "Suit yourself, old boy. The blood and guts don't really bother me anymore, a strong constitution is either something a doctor is born with, or else they develop it before they finish university. Rather like Watchmen and their utter distrust of their fellow man, I suppose." He looked up at Loft and grinned broadly at his own joke.
Loft rolled his eyes and got back to his food. He managed to keep his friend off the gruesome details of the case until they'd finished the meal, making small talk about the city and the politics surrounding the Regent.
Gardener was far more interested in that sort of thing than Loft, the plans of the great and powerful didn't really impinge on his thoughts unless they related to crime and punishment. He nodded and smiled politely as his friend chattered away.
Once they'd finished their meals, Loft paid, and they exited the cafe into the crisp morning air. The sun had risen whilst they ate, and the fog had started to lift. In this part of the city, that was more of a curse than a blessing, revealing the general state of dishabille that identified the area. At least the overall smell wasn't so bad as the more industrial area around his Watchhouse.
"Now, if your food is quite settled, why don't you tell me what's got you all in a spin, eh?" Gardener enquired.
"It's horrendous Merrick, I've never seen anything like it. Even my Sergeant who's a veteran in comparison to me found it thoroughly disturbing," he replied.
"You mean you puked like a couple of freshers at their first autopsy?" Gardener prompted.
"It pretty much was an autopsy, Merrick, and yes, alright, we both chundered out the window after we saw that body. We were just about handling it until I offered the Sergeant the chamber pot in case she felt sick, and that set us both off," Loft explained.
"Bit full was it?" Gardener chuckled.
"I don't know, Merrick. Do two human eyeballs in a chamber pot amount to it being full?" Loft said.
"Oh, I say. That's a bit much, isn't it. Whoever you're looking for they must have an odd sense of humour," Gardener said.
"That's one way of putting it. I just can't think why you'd open someone up like that, the whole thing is bizarre," Loft replied.
"Cannibalism?" the doctor suggested.
Loft stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at his friend, surprised to realise that he wasn't joking.
"Well, that's a repulsive thought, thank you for that. I truly hope that isn't the case. There wasn't anything missing that's so obvious that we spotted it, though I confess, we didn't rummage around inside counting his organs," Loft replied sarcastically.
"No problem, old boy, you wouldn't know a liver from a kidney in any case! Just how many kidneys and livers do you think we have, anyway?" the doctor asked cheerfully.
That question pushed Loft's train of thought off the beaten path for a moment. He was pretty sure the answer was two and one respectively, but now he was starting to wonder if medical science had proved that wrong and he hadn't heard. Or was it a trick question?
It occurred to Loft that he should probably brush up on basic anatomy at some point in case this sort of question came up when he needed the answer at short notice. Also, he was now worried about cannibals and the possibility of not recognising their victims.
"I won't dignify that with a response but if you find any extras, let me know, won't you, there's a good chap?" he said.
"Ohh yes, that would be much more unusual than a cannibal I suppose. A murderer who leaves behind parts of his other victims. That would be a puzzle. However, what you've described to me so far sounds much more like someone really didn't like this man. I mean, beyond the usual dislike required to murder someone of course," Gardener said diffidently.
"I would concur with that assessment Doctor Gardener," said Loft.
Chapter Three
By the time they had arrived back at the spice shop, Constable Knave had been joined by Corporal Skorta and Constables Libult and Pelunt. A group of onlookers were standing about, idly gossiping about what might have happened.
The other businesses in the area had started to open up for the day, and several of the shopkeepers were conspicuously bustling about their frontages, half-heartedly pretending to clean up while they exercised their rights as nosy neighbours. A number of their customers were hanging around longer than you might expect.
Loft sighed. He didn't have time for this now. With any luck, Skorta and his colleagues hadn't told these people any of the details, but he hadn't thought to give him specific instructions and didn't know the man well enough to guess what he might have done.
He wended his way through the small crowd, Gardener trailing behind him. Skorta snapped to attention when he saw him approaching if by snapped you were willing to accept a definition that included 'slowly straightened his back'.
That sort of laxity could explain why he'd been sent to the Thieftakers. Loft didn't care about that kind of thing, but his superiors certainly did. Smart looking Watchmen standing around looking the part, were important to the Mansion or Northridge Court to give Watch Headquarters it's proper name.
Libult and Pelunt much more readily fitted the image of a member of the Kalider City Watch. They stood to attention and even saluted correctly as Loft breached the crowd. They were much younger and less worn down than Sko
rta, not yet drowning in the cynical outlook of an older Watchman. He nodded to them in acknowledgement and moved to talk to the Corporal.
"Any problems Corporal?" he asked.
"With this lot Sir? They're just shopkeepers and crafters. They're not the type to tangle with the Thieftakers," Knave responded in a gruff voice that sounded like he was chewing coal.
"No, I suppose not. Anyone said anything I should know about?" Loft asked.
"No. Just gossip about the merchant. His wife and kids haven't been around yet. Probably a good thing. Don't fancy explaining to a widow why she can't see the body. Who's your friend, Sir?" Knave asked.
"Ah yes. Pardon my manners. Corporal Skorta allow me to introduce you to Dr Gardener, our new," Loft fumbled for the right word but came up short and turned to the Dr for help.
"Pathologist is the word you're looking for I think, Captain. Not that I'm a specialist by any means, but I'm sure my knowledge is sufficient for your needs," Gardener filled in.
"Pleased to meet you, Doctor. The body is pretty grim if you hadn't heard," Skorta said.
"Ah damn it. That reminds me I forgot to stop at an apothecary," Gardener said.
"No problem Sir. The fellow over there is an apothecary, the one that looks like a ferret. Probably not the standard you'd usually frequent, but maybe he can help," Skorta supplied.
"How fortunate, thank you for the information. Do excuse me. Loft, Corporal."
"See you in a minute," Loft replied, "Libult ring your bell a couple of times, would you, please? I need to speak to this crowd."
Libult did as ordered, flipping the catch that released the clanger from inside his watch truncheon. The business end was part mace and part bell. It wasn't the best at either task, but people didn't tend to get up quickly if you bashed them over the head with one and the bell was loud and clear. A simple catch kept the damned thing from clanging as you walked around, a simple feat for modern engineers to design.
A couple of rings from Libult was more than enough to get the crowds attention, they turned to face the Constable and perked up when he spoke.
"Listen up folks, Captain Loft needs your attention," he called out, then stepped back, gesturing at his superior officer.
"Good morning, ladies and gentleman. I am Edrin Loft, the new Captain of your local Watch House. As you may be aware already, a terrible crime has been committed in the shop behind me, a man we believe to be the owner has been murdered," he announced in a loud, clear voice. There was a susurration of muttering from the crowd at the unwelcome news.
"My officers will be speaking to you individually this morning to try and identify the murderer," Loft continued. The reaction to that was almost as noticeable as the announcement that there'd been a murder at all. Loft could tell that these people weren't keen on talking to the Thieftakers, but that was tough, he needed any information they had.
"Please, remain calm. I am not making an accusation against any of you fine folks. We are simply looking for witnesses who may have seen anything unusual in the past few days. Perhaps you knew the shopkeeper and can tell us where his family are? Maybe you knew his business contacts or saw someone arguing with him. Any information you can give us might help us identify his murderer and bring him to justice. Please rest assured that we will do everything possible to find the culprit so you can feel safe in your homes and businesses. Now, if you have anything to tell us, please speak to one of my constables, otherwise, please go about your daily business," Loft said.
The crowd whispered and chattered amongst themselves, but Loft was pleased to see that they did begin to disperse. No-one stepped forward, but he hadn't expected them to. His experience told him that most of the citizens of Kalider found the concept of being questioned about a crime they weren't charged with committing, quite strange.
Loft began to pace back and forth in the narrow street in front of the shop, stopping dead when he reached the spot below the window he and the sergeant had made use of. It was still somewhat ripe, but this was one of the advantages of command.
"Constable Libult, fetch a bucket, a broom and sluice this mess away will you, please? The scene is quite pungent enough." Libult nodded and went inside the house to look for cleaning equipment.
"Constable Pelunt, do you think you can find us a cart that we can use to get the body back to Old Gate? Failing that a stretcher will have to do and some kind of canvas or blanket to cover it up," he asked.
"Yes, Sir, I think I know someone who'll lend us one. They might charge us a few pence though," Pelunt said.
"See if you can impress upon them the benefits of civic duty, but if not a few pence is fine, Constable," Loft replied, "Corporal, you stay here for the time being and make sure the onlookers don't get too close. I assume it goes without saying that we don't want to give any details of what is inside out to people?"
"Yes, Sir. None of their business," Skorta said, "I'll be fine here, Sir, though I think I'll stand aside until Libult gets that puke cleared up."
"Er, yes. Sorry about that. It was the eyeballs that did for us," Loft said, blushing.
"Really? The entrails were enough for me, but I was ready with a bucket because Sergeant Gurnt warned me," Skorta said with a grin.
Loft returned his smile, happy that he and Gurnt weren't the only ones finding this difficult. Skorta didn't seem like the sort of man to be squeamish, but the worst Loft had seen before this was bodies pulled from the river.
Instructions given, he stepped inside the shop to survey the damage. The place was remarkably orderly considering the events upstairs. Aside from the broken jar of spice in the middle of the floor and the smashed open door, there was nothing out of place.
Loft looked around and pondered what had happened in the room. Something was scratching at the back of his mind, a thought he couldn't quite bring to the fore.
He closed his eyes and stood still, trying to clear his mind. He let himself relax and took slow, deep breaths. A couple of minutes later his eyes snapped open, and he moved carefully across the floor to the remains of the broken jar.
Crouching by the jar, he slipped on a glove and turned it over to look at the label, among the lettering he didn't recognise there was one part he could read. A single word 'Heshneva', written in the standard Imperial script that was used in Denethria and across the Shattered Empire.
It wasn't a substance that sounded at all familiar to Loft, not that he had any knowledge of cooking or medicine. Cautiously he picked up a pinch from the floor and sniffed it. It didn't smell of all that much really, although the whole room was steeped in a confusing melange of aromas that made it difficult to pick one out.
Why throw this jar at someone? It wasn't the largest jar he could see, and the spice itself didn't seem particularly strong. One or two nights out with friends, drunkenly agreeing to try some of the more exotic dishes from the City States had familiarised Loft with the concept of food so strongly seasoned you broke out in a sweat after the first mouthful.
He switched his gaze to the rows of neatly ordered jars and boxes on the shelves. They were full of jars, each one had a label on the shelf below it indicating its proper place, and there was only one gap.
Loft stood up and moved behind the counter. The vacant slot was labelled 'Cero Seed Powder', next to it was a jar full of powder that read 'Chives', and then one identified as 'Cinnamon'. A simple alphabetical system then, in Imperial as well, not whatever language was native to the merchant.
He walked along the shelves until he found the jar of cero seed powder, in a slot marked 'Heshnevah'. Cautiously, he unstoppered the jar, and just the release of the air within it was enough to make his lean back.
He certainly wasn't going to try and take a sniff of this stuff, whatever it was. The scent was unfamiliar but much stronger than the Heshnevah. Perhaps the shopkeeper had intended to hurl this jar, reaching for the strongest spice he had to hand when his attacker came in?
Loft couldn't imagine how else the spice jar would have en
ded up in the middle of the floor unless the merchant threw it deliberately. He set the jar carefully on the counter and resolved to try and identify the contents properly later. Maybe if he knew what it was used for, or more about its properties it would be a useful piece of the puzzle.
"Hello, Loft? Ah, there you are," said Gardener, breaking Loft's train of thought.
"Yes. Watch out for the glass on the floor unless you fancy a trip to the cobblers," Loft said.
Gardener gave the remains of the jar a wide berth and walked behind the counter. He picked up the jar of powder on the counter, "Doing some shopping while you wait? Cero seed powder? I've never heard of it, which leads me to think that you're not chef enough to experiment with it, Edrin."
