A cold fog clings to the tight streets of East Ending as morning gradually insinuates itself over Castorhage. The dull sound of cracked bells, ringing through the cold murk, accompanies the sound of a weary populace making its way to some godforsaken place to scratch out a living. The pedlars, the labourers and the vagrants are far from being the only folk abroad at this early hour…
Across the city, in the various districts where our unwitting heroes are going about whatever business they have so early, the sound of hob-nailed boots heralds the approach of an officer of the watch. With a cloak wrapped up around his neck in a futile attempt to stave off the cold, the officer gruffly hands a piece of paper to its intended audience. The paper, stamped with the official crest of the Office of the Watch, contains a scrawled note… East Ending, St. Swithin’s Lane. Come as quickly as you can… and tell no-one.
The note is signed ‘Muncy’… a familiar name to each of our heroes, Inspector Muncy is a mid-level detective who has built a small reputation within a mis-trusting people for working almost inhuman hours doggedly pursuing lost causes… and, in one or two rare cases, actually finding justice for those who thought it long gone.
Amelia leans on her scythe's handle, the razor sharp blade arcing over her head, almost forming a halo over her. Her dark dress shifts slightly, and she raises one booted foot and drives it down into the kidney of the man she's standing by as she reads the note. A heavy groan issues from the man as he stops moving. She nods at the officer. "I see, in that case sir, I give you Morgan Shale, wanted for wife beating, theft, assault, and spitting on a judge." Her head tilts. "Although it was Justice Willard..." Her tone of voice seems to say she'd be ok dropping that charge. "I officially give him over to you. His friends don't, unfortunately, have any outstanding bounties, but if you look I'm sure you'll find they have some outstanding warrants." She steps away from the beaten and bloody man, and begins to make her way through the foggy streets. "Well, let us go and see what we shall see this fine morning..."
The ratfolk sniffed the air anxiously as somehow she had been tracked down so easily. She must have gotten sloppy, relaxing in one of her favorite alleys, enjoying her bounty of three day old only slightly moldy bread crusts. She was feeding one to Millie when she was snuck upon by the officer.
As soon as he made his presence known, she threw her hood over her head, and replied to him in a much higher pitched voice than she normally had. She knew most in town wouldn't take kindly to her race, so she wanted to hide it as much as possible. "Mama Gnome not here for trouble, Officer. Just tinkering like we do." She shoved Millie behind her with her left arm, wanting to keep her safe from being spotted. As the officer left, she stood up and threw her crusts into her haversack.
She opened the note, and skimmed the contents. "Aww, Muncy. Mama heard good things about him. Hard working, one of the good lot. Let's go, sugarpie. We need to find the best route there, so as we don't get spotted too much. Mama got a little lazy there."
A second chance.
The notion was unheard of within the church. There was no precedent for it. It had been too much to hope, too much to dream. Had he heard correctly?
"You heard me right, swine." Septon Thereux kicked his high-backed chair away from his desk, standing remarkably abruptly for a man of his age and girth. Dressed in a simple but spotless crimson tunic embroidered with a winged blade, his drooping eyes nearly hidden beneath the folded wrinkles of his skin, he rubbed his temples. There, the last of his snow-white hair stood its last and most desperate ground against the inevitabilities of age.
The top of his head was completely bald and shone like a marble.
"A...second chance." He spat the words, twisting them in a way far removed from their usual meaning. "And you'd better make use of it. If there is one thing I...we cannot abide it is the reiteration of ineptitude. You will handle this. You will do so discretely. Or, by Ragathiel's Blade I will track you down and finish you myself. Is that clear?"
Gar had merely listened, stone-still and silent, as was the way. He nodded grimly, knowing the septon could read his thoughts, anyway.
A glimmer of doubt had entered his mind, merely the genesis of a more mature and cogent thought: But how..
"Do you have such little faith in the church!" Thereux snapped, snatching the very thought out of his head and breaking it between his portly fingers. "I...we have requisitioned the appropriate tools for this purpose. This should prove more than you need." The septon strode to a large crate beside his desk, kicking it open. The reflection from the candlelight all but sparkled against the pristine armor, in turn igniting the pupils of Gar's bloodshot eyes.
"More, indeed," Gar had breathed.
________________
Gar only grunts at the officer who hands Amelia the note, wiping bits of flesh and blood from the spikes of his gauntlet. Sauntering down the cobbled street beside the girl, his heavy boots thud and echo off of dreary buildings and dirty windows. She only a young girl draped in black, he an imposing figure donning plate emblazoned by winged swords, he knows they make an absurd pair.
”And who’s this summons for--me, you, both of us? Figure when Inspector Muncy knows where to find us at this hour, he knows more about our day’n we do. Makes a man wonder what else he knows.”
It wasn’t clear to Gar who exactly the Watch had summoned. Could it be they’d already caught wind of his return to the street, or was it merely coincidence? He was anxious, paranoid, and that was his weakness. Best to find out quick and put a lid on this pot.
”Makes a man itch to find out.”
Amelia tilts her head, her scythe held negligently over her shoulder as they walk. Her own boots, despite the steel hobnails and toe guards, make significantly less noise than his do, thanks to the bits of canvas sewn over them to keep them from making as much noise. "I find it's safer to assume people know more than you think they do, and plan accordingly. In truth, most people are idiots. Our quarry of this morning being a prime example. Inspector Muncy, on the other hand, is a very formidable individual, and not someone you want to be on the list of interesting people of. Unfortunately for both of us, I suspect he considers both of us interesting. Me for my lack of aging, and you for your previous connections." She swings the scythe in what seems like a negligent manner, but the sharp tip taps the armor he wears, precisely where the winged swords cross, in emphasis. "When it comes to Muncy, you should assume he knows more about your business than you want, and plan accordingly."
Elliomander looks up from his work bench as his sister leads a watchman into the back room of the shop. "Morning officer," the pale skinned, dark haired, rather plain looking alchemist calls out with a tip of his wide brimmed hat, "what can I do for the watch so early?"
He stops his work to take the letter and promptly reads it as the watchman is shown out. By the time Hestia returns he is already strapping on his gunbelt and bandoliers. "I have been summoned to speak with a higher ranking officer," he informs her, "I don't expect it to be trouble, probably looking to commission a pistol without too many questions. Have the apprentices start working on a new keg of black powder and I'll return as quickly as possible."
Covering himself in a dark cloak, he nods goodbye to his sister and disappears through the door into the long morning shadows. Moving stealthily through alleys and shadowy streets, he heads straight for the appointed meeting place.
With a steaming mug of tea in one hand, Vera sits at the large desk in her office, poring over a textbook on metalurgy and scribbling notes in the margins.
A sharp knock on the front door jars her out of her reverie. She gets up and walks to the door, picking up her rapier on the way. She peers through the peephole. She inhales sharply upon seeing a scowling city guardsman at her door, bearing a letter.
She unlocks the three bolts (but not the chain) and opens the door a crack. "Yes?"
After an exchange of unpleasantries, she takes the letter through the cracked-open door, and shuts it in the guard's face. He snorts derisively and stalks off into the choking smog.
She opens the letter and scans it quickly. She then looks over her spectacles at the paper itself, examining it for further information.
Is Muncy asking for my help with a case? If so, this can't be good. I didn't think he ever forgave me for upstaging him on the DeLancy case... Still, good for him to swallow his pride and knowing when he's out of his league.
Standing to her full five feet and four inches, she gears up for action, donning her mithril armor under a loose-fitting blouse. She buckles her sword-belt, hanging her raipier on one hip and her hand crossbow on the other. She then puts on her cap and a mack and trudges into the miasma toward St. Swithin’s Lane.
The grey light of dawn breaks through the dismal smudge that is the air of East Ending, barely beginning to illuminate the broken cobbled streets. The streets run between ancient tenements that seem to sag against each other as if in exhaustion and whose windows look out like blank, soulless eyes. It is the domain of the lost and the defeated, and the last place any sane person would choose to be at this, or indeed any, hour. A large, black sewer rat scurries through one of the many puddles of effluvia that gather among the cobbles as it runs for cover at. The early morning air is chill, but the cloudless sky promises to bring an oppressively hot day, especially here among the tall buildings and narrow alleys where a decent breeze can’t ever seem to reach. At least with the morning chill, the reek of the streets and those that live upon them hasn’t yet set in for the day.
Trudging through the ubiquitous puddles and potholes, the destination - St. Swithin's Lane - is soon just ahead... the various folk, requested at such short notice, arriving at nigh on the same time. Among the darkened structures and the rotten fencing that make up this alley stands one small hovel from which lamplights burn. The distinctive red rope of the Office of the Watch cordons off the door. It is a crime scene, and the familiar figure of one of the Watch officers stands in the doorway, softly illuminated by the lamp within... Inspector Muncy.
Inspector Muncy lights his pipe and steps out into the street to intercept his approaching charges long before they get a chance to glance into the doorway behind him. He looks the part of the quintessential Watch Inspector as he has always does, from his regulation moustache and sideburns, to his tweed jacket and pants, to his long coat from whose pocket his tiny Watch shield is suspended, to his city-issued, square-toed leather brogans. Even the brown bowler atop his balding head screams 'official business'. Yet, however professional his demeanour may be, this morning his eyes look tired and his face a bit pallid.
Inspector Muncy, Officer of the Watch.
With a grim face, Muncy retrieves a small wax tablet from his coat pocket and clears his throat as he reviews his notes, “First of all, thank you for attending so quickly... now let’s see. The deceased is one William Hughe, approximate age 70, at time of death, ‘Old Bill’ to the few people around here that knew him. He was a tinker by trade, though I get the idea he hadn’t done much business in a long time and mainly lived off the bread lines and charity houses. Didn’t get out much, didn’t have any friends as far as we know".
Muncy continues, “Bill’s body was discovered about three hours ago by a pair of street sweepers making their nightly rounds. They noticed that the residence was lit and the front door standing open... something no one in their right mind would do in the middle of the night in East Ending. The sweepers found the decedent inside and immediately ran to the nearest Watch Station seven blocks from here to report the crime. The constables immediately cordoned off the area and called me. No one has been in or out since then other than me, and what I found prompted me to call you in. Before you go in I must warn you, the scene is... shocking to say the least”.
As she approaches the scene, Vera notes one figure lurking in the shadows. She meets his gaze with a knowling eye, and keeps watching him as she ponders his intentions.
She then notes three others converging here. Two she recognizes professionally. "Ms. Blackheart! What brings a bounty hunter of your renown to this deplorable part of town?"
Turning to Gar, "And Brother Gar!" She nods to his holy symbol. "Still shilling for the Angel of Vengeance I see? I've told you before: the gods aren't worth your time. You should go into business on your own. But I suppose we shall continue to agree to disagree on that point."
She nods toward the unfamiliar ratfolk and steps into the alley just as Inspector Muncy turns to face the arrivals.
"Inspector. It's been some time since you last called me. How are you faring?" Vera politely extends her hand to the inspector, but her facial expression is cold.
After the inspector's explanation of what happened, Vera nods and retrieves a large magnifying glass from her satchel. "I'm glad you called. Let us see the grisly sights, and I will offer my thoughts."
As they approach, Amelia taps Gar on the shoulder with her scythe's knobby head. "Notice anything.. or anyone..." She asks, not looking at the man hiding in the shadows, but seeing him anyway.
Once Gar either notices or doesn't notice the man in the shadows, she tips her scythe to the man, pressing her forehead to the back of the head, with the blade pointed toward the man, and then pushing the point in his direction, as if tipping a hat.
Once they get close enough for Muncy to talk, she shrugs. "You've known me Sir, you know I'm not squeamish. But if you'll give me a moment before we go in, I'll call forth a bit of help." She steps out away from everyone, and then begins to swing her scythe around and around, flashing as she spins it in more and more rapid sweeps, moving in a circle as the blade flashes around her, like some horribly beautiful dance.
Ghostly red flame begins to dance from the blade of the scythe, and as it grows stronger, it stays in the air, forming a globe of red flames around her. Then the flames burst into actual flames before the contract down and form a small looking girl.
"Now then Lilly, time to earn our keep."
Lilly looks around, and sighs. "Do I have to work with Inspector Duncy again? He's soooooo boring... It's like he has an axe handle shoved up his a~*!@..." She glares at Gar, her ghostly and transparent form intimidating despite her age. "And you numnutz... I could have dealt with those thugs in half the time. You're old, you should retire... Or just die, either one works for me."
"Now now Lilly, behave." She shrugs. "Sorry Inspector, she's annoyed she didn't get to kill the thugs who attacked us this morning. You know how she gets." She turns back to Lilly. "If you're a good girl, I'll see about getting you a new flower."
The ghostly little girl glowers, but stops insulting people randomly... no doubt to begin insulting them pointedly at the earliest opportunity.
She's only a girl.
Gar had turned to the Bounty Hunter's Guild almost immediately. It seemed an obvious lead into the criminal underbelly of the city. True, he wouldn't blend in with the gristled cutthroats, scalawags, and ne'erdowells of Castorhage, but that was not his objective. His purpose was already clearly defined, cut deeply into his skin like so many other marks.
When Gar learned he would be a probationary, paired with a more experienced member of the guild, he prepared himself for the worst. He imagined some pot-bellied Watch solider who's glory days were behind him, clinging to the enforcement branch of the government because that was all he knew.
Instead, he met Amelia. She seemed a waifish young girl swathed in black, her pale, unblemished skin impossibly smooth and hard, like glass. She was merely an ingénue with gothic fashion sensibilities, and he wondered how in hells she'd come into the Guild.
Then he saw her scythe.
Then he met Lilly.
_______________
Gar smiles inwardly as Amelia tests his senses, though his face retains its usual dour and creviced presentation. She loves to test him, and as often as he passes, he fails. The girl has eyes like a cat, he knows, and he'd swear she could hear a whispered conversation across the street. Sometimes he even wonders if she can read his thoughts, as he reads hers.
Today, he decides he will play dumb. The man in the shadows hasn't threatened them yet, and he is hardly the only thing lurking on these streets. Gar is the pupil, after all, and it is expected that the pupil should make mistakes. Otherwise he might draw more attention to himself than he would like. He would rather this Inspector underestimate him, even forget him for a time. If Amelia should legitimately share a low opinion of him, it would only reinforce the image of an old, inept man past his prime.
And maybe that was true, anyway.
"I see a dead city," he grunts, "And a dead house within it. And a man who seems t'know more than he ought to. And now he's walkin' this way."
Gar stands tall and crosses his arms over his chest (no easy thing in his armor) as Muncy explains the situation. He had grown used to people disregarding Amelia for her age and addressing him instead, so he's a touch surprised when the Inspector addresses her immediately. Clearly, they know each other.
That detective gal, Vera, also surprises him by remembering his name. He has seen her from time to time, when he was permitted off temple grounds to run the errant errand. She is quite the celebrity in Castorhage, but he is no one. Had he made some impression on her, was he the subject of one of her investigations, or did she simply have an incredible memory? The number of people who seem to know him today makes him uncomfortable.
He gives her a half-assed salute, hoping the blood on his gauntlets isn't too obvious. "Mornin', ma'am. Seems like we got a party."
"Aw, hell," he whispers when Lilly appears. "Here we go again."
'great first impression,' Elliomander thinks sullenly as several people take note of him, 'apparently I should have put a little more effort into hiding if I was going to bother with it at all...' Stepping out of the alley he tugs the edge of his wide-brimmed hat to return the young girl's salute.
He listens attentively as the officer explains the situation. 'an investigation? I certainly didn't see that coming... I wonder why he would summon me for a job like this... best not to attract any undue attention though...'
The cloaked figure waits quietly until others head into the scene, at which point he follows close behind.
Vera nods at Gar's comment. "So it would appear." Is Muncy assembling a task force of civillian experts for this case?
Vera looks through her spectacles at the sudden appearance of a foul-mouthed spirit, seemingly summoned by Ms. Blackheart. She looks back and forth between the two. I'd heard that Blackheart could speak to ghosts, but this is something different... she has a pet phantom?
She then turns toward the man who'd been trying to hide in the shadows. "Not a bad technique. You likely weren't noticed by any but the most perceptive." She extends her hand. "I'm Vera Marshall, a private detective by trade. The Inspector and I go back a ways. And you are?"
Frill met up with the gathering group, keeping her distance at first, before drawing closer. She reflexively jumped back when the human girl did her blade dance, not sure what was going on. When the little ghost appeared, Frill wasn't sure what to make of it.
"Why sweetheart, that is just the cutest little trick! I've never met a ghost before," she adds, but she doesn't address the angry spirit, instead keeping her head low, and her face mostly hidden by the hood.
"Aww you all can call me Frill. I'm not used to being around so many people though. Mostly keep to my tinkering and Millicent," she adds in a bit of a half truth, again trying to put forth a bit of a gnomish image.
She then notes three others converging here. Two she recognizes professionally. "Ms. Blackheart! What brings a bounty hunter of your renown to this deplorable part of town?"
Amelia waits a tic, and then sighs when Gar misses the man in the shadows. "Training Mr. Gar as a bounty hunter, but he needs to pay more attention to his surroundings, or some cut throat is going to sneak up and do so."
When introductions begin, Amelia performs an elaborate curtsy. "I am Amelia Cordelia Evangelia Blackheart. My companion is Lilly Blackheart. It is a pleasure to meet you all." She indicates Lilly, who glares. "Now then, since it is myself who has delayed us, perhaps we should go in? Lilly dear, remember to watch your manners, the Good Inspector warned us that it was messy inside."
The spirit huffs but follows along quietly after Amelia for now.
Vera nods at Amelia's assessment and follows her in.
The quiet young man returns Vera's handshake and answers, "Elliomander; I'm an alchymist who occasionally takes commissions from watch officers."
He breathes a sign of relief when people begin moving inside without any further questions, and he quietly follows them in.
Greeting each of the arrivals in turn with a curt nod or, where a hand is offered, a cursory hand-shake, Muncy draws on his small pipe - sending wisps of sweet-smelling tobacco smoke spiralling into the cold air, "Some of you probably haven't had much in the way of dealings with each other... but you're acquainted now. Best you leave the life stories for another time and step inside"
As Muncy had warned, the inside of the hovel is the site of a gore-soaked massacre. The entry room is small and doubles as a both a sitting room and a kitchen - an open door leads back into a small bedroom. A small table next to the bedroom door holds the lit lamp that was apparently set there by Bill before he was killed, though the wick in it has burned down and is about to go out - it has obviously been lit for several hours. The window next to the front door has been broken out, and the glass shards all lie on the floor of the hovel alongside a broken cobble clearly taken from the street outside, confirming that it was broken from the street and likely served as the murderer’s point of entry since the front door has a perfectly serviceable bolt on it.
Old Bill himself, still in his night clothes, lies gruesomely dismembered in the centre of the bedroom floor in a pool of gore. He was clearly a victim of many of his own tinker knives and tools at the hands of someone who bore him great animosity. The blood-stained tools themselves lie scattered about the room as if they were thrown away in anger after they were used. Only the upper portions of the old man’s face and his staring, open eyes were spared the villain’s brutal ministrations — perhaps to better see and appreciate the killer’s handiwork. The semi-congealed blood on the floor and the corpse confirm that this murder occurred within the last few hours, sometime after nightfall last evening.
Frill clucks her tongue and reaches into her haversack, drawing a long thin wand. She says a strange word and shimmers silver for a split second before tucking the wand back in her bag.
She takes a look around the scene, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Perception
There is little out of the ordinary about the bedroom itself nor is there are any sign of vandalism or that the room was ransacked in any way. Scattered on shelves around the hovel, various knives, saws and pliers are on proud display... and, from the obvious gaps in the careful arrangement, it is from here this 'collection' that the tools used to commit the crime were taken. Other than these, nothing else appears to have been disturbed.
There is seemingly not a single trace left by the killer... until Mama Frill, tracing out the likely route of entry and exit from the hovel, notices a single, and remarkably small, footprint left in the spattered blood leading from the body to the front door.
Amelia looks over the room, and the splattered gore, without any apparent concern for her delicate stomach. She is very careful to avoid stepping in the blood, and doesn't touch anything directly.
When the small footprint comes up, she looks at Lilly with one eyebrow raised. "You haven't been moonlighting have you?" Her lips twist in obvious gallows humor.
Lilly's form floats over the scene as she studies it in detail, including the splatters on the ceiling and walls. Being incorporeal, she can get a much closer look at things and not disturb the crime scene.
Looking at the shoe, she compares her own foot to it, then grins. "Nope, but I like the decor. Too small for me even. I was 8." She tilts her head and looks at the body. "Bastard cut me in more pieces, Duncy thought this was messy? It took them three days to find all my parts." She says in a voice that's equal parts hate and pride.
Amelia nods, and turns to Muncy. "Did the victim have any family? A granddaughter perhaps? Or maybe he was one of those people, the ones who like little girls?"
"What she means Duncy, is was he one of those pieces of human s@#$* that likes to $#*..." Lilly starts to translate for Amelia before being cut off by her summoner.
"That's quite enough Lilly, Inspector Muncy is quite aware of what my question was." Amelia says firmly, and the small spirit gives Muncy an evil grin but goes back to floating around looking in places the others can't without a ladder.
Vera takes a very careful look around the crime scene, careful not to disturb anything. She looks through her magnifying glass at several things, including the body.
She also examines the footprint. "It's small... but is not the footprint of a halfling. No, that's the footprint of a human child of about six years of age."
Amelia nods as Vera agrees about it being a child. "The only real question being what a child was doing here... if it was a child." She eyes Lilly meaningfully.
A look of distaste crosses Muncy's face, whether it is the line of Amelia's questioning or the presence of Lily, is unclear, "As far as we know 'Old Bill' has no family... kept himself to himself. The street sweepers reckon he'd been living here a good number of years and they never saw him friendly with anyone... but, from what I've seen and heard, I can't really see a seventy year old tinker making too many enemies. Least, not the kind of enemy who would do... that... to him".
...and then, nodding at Vera's conclusion about the likely origin of the footprint and sure that everyone has examined the imprint in the blood, he ushers the group back outside once more. Clear of the oppressive space of the hovel, with its gruesome display and the cloying smell of death, even the cold fog of the Castorhage morning is a relief. Taking a deep pull of his pipe, Muncy addresses his charges, “Sure this murder is brutal and gruesome, but I’ve served as an Officer of the Watch for more than 20 years. Even the most stomach-turning crime scenes are nothing new to me”, Inspector Muncy’s eyes take on a haunted cast, “but that footprint... a child capable of doing this? That’s something unusual even for the Blight. But even this wouldn’t be such a shock that I thought maybe outside assistance would be of benefit except for what I’m about to tell you'.
While the others examine blood and glass, Elliomander inspects the tinkerer's tools. He notes which ones were used and which left on the shelf. He looks for a work bench or section of table where the old man did his work, and takes note of what projects are underway or if anything seems to be missing; and, he looks for any kind of notes on projects or clients.
It seems that whoever murdered 'Old Bill' selected the sharpest knives from his tool collection... and, examining them where they lie next to the dismembered corpse, it seems that they are most likely a butcher's blades... and would have made for quite cumbersome weapons. Moving on to where the old tinker worked on his tools, Elliomander finds a small bench where a handful of knives - each with a scrawled note around the handle. Examining the notes, and deciphering the dreadful handwriting, the alchymist discovers that the knives - in various states of disrepair - belong to persons with downmarket Toiltown addresses.
- Reg Whitefleck, 13 of High Street... 10 silver for repair and sharpening,
- Ms Smyth, the First of All Saint's Square... 5 silver for sharpening,
- Hieronymous Suisse, 43a of Butcher's Terrace... 20 silver for sharpening - 2 of,
- William Horton, 43b of Butcher's Terrace... Favour.
Mama Frill continues looking around the tool area as well, having a theory she wanted to test. She turns to Elliomander. "Pumpkin, do you see any gears or mechanical devices over there? Is there a chance he had a clockwork creation that might have gotten crazy on him?"
Old Bill's worktools are, on close inspection, quite rudimentary - whetstones, leather strops, oils and small pales of coarse sand... they are in good condition, an indication maybe of a certain pride in his work, but there is no evidence of anything so mechanically advanced as a clockwork.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Knowledge Local
Frill nodded as she scanned the scene. Her heart dropped a bit as she realized this was done by a living creature, not an automaton.
"We should keep in mind all options are there, it might not have been a small child. It could have been a spirit, such as Lilly. She is quite capable of leaving someone in such a state, when I allow it. Although generally I'm not fond of bodies in such a state. It makes turning them in for the bounty much more difficult." Amelia reminds everyone that a small footprint can come from many sources, including corporeal spirits such as Lilly.
For her part, the spirit draws her finger over her throat in a particularly bloodthirsty way, considering the grin on her face.
"I believe 'tinkerer' is the wrong term..." Elliomander replies to the small woman's questions about clockwork, "I see no signs of any complicated devices, or even the correct tools for such, he seems to have been mostly just a knife sharpener."
Ignoring the spirit's macabre antics, he waits attentively for Muncy to elaborate on his 'what I'm about to tell you' comment...
Muncy takes a deep breath, “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a crime scene where a brutal murderer appeared to have been a small child. It’s actually the second time, and the first was twenty years ago when I was just a green constable. I was involved in a murder investigation then, and that time, too, it appeared that the culprit was likely a small child. The evidence seemed too ludicrous for the Watch to seriously consider that possibility, so the case was closed and given a plausible ‘official’ explanation before being quickly brushed under the rug. But for all these years I’ve wondered what could have happened in that other murder, and now to see this, I can’t help but be reminded of that earlier crime and the unsatisfactory conclusion that the Watch came to on it".
Looking around to make sure no-one is eavesdropping the hushed conversation, “So that’s why I’ve summoned you here. Two decades have passed since that earlier murder was hushed up, so I know the killer can’t possibly be the same one that ‘offed’ Old Bill Hughe, but the similarities are uncanny and I want a fresh take on this one before the department gets ahold of it and decides it too needs to be closed and given a ‘plausible’ explanation. That’s where you folks come in. I know that you’ve got some special talents and skills that maybe aren’t found in a typical member of the Watch, and you can operate outside official channels to try and get to the bottom of this".
Amelia taps her lip with one fingernail and leans on her scythe. "I see... so you're not just looking for consultants, but actually to hire on some people to do some investigation for you off the books..." She says in a quiet enough voice that it doesn't carry very far.
When Lilly sucks in a deep breath to say something loud as she can, Amelia turns toward her and inhales deeply, and the small child's form begins to evaporate, turning into smoke that Amelia breathes in deeply until the spirit is gone, with only a faint echoing vulgar curse to betray it.
Amelia then takes out a black handkerchief and dabs at something that looks suspiciously like blood that begins to leak from her nose. "Apologies..." She says through the handkerchief. Once the blood is cleaned away, she clears her throat. "Now then, about the price? What is your offer?"
Gar had expected a grizzly seen, they had been warned against that. But a child?
He stands back, allowing the more light-footed among them to prance around the corpse while he looks at it from afar, trying to determine the nature of the cutting.
Back outside, he breathes a small sigh of relief when Amelia pulls Lilly back into herself.
"Aye," he agrees with Muncy, "Folks in this town got a way 'o sweepin' up a scandal. Right under the rug. I figure for every convicted criminal in East Ending there's three more that slipped off into the sewers."
"A babe's hoof stamped into the blood of two killings, well I see how that'd make a mark on a man, but what makes you believe these crimes's connected? A lot of people have feet, and East Ending's a crowded ward. Could be some street rat wandered onto the scene 'afore fleeing quick-like."
"If a street rat ran in and out, I want to find them and deliver them to the guild. Anyone who can leave only one single bloody footprint after accidentally walking in blood at that young an age is a natural born bounty hunter..." Amelia says with a snort... then looks thoughtful. "Or a born assassin...."
"A murdering child? Goodness gracious, how terrible. Makes me wonder two different things...first, is the child not actually a child (and is some tiny adult), or did someone teach a child to murder 20 years ago and has done so again for some reason? Either way is just awful," she clucks.
"I don't know too much about magic," Elliomander admits, "but from what I hear a mage could possess a child and use it to do something like this, or could transform himself into a kid... it does seem like more than a coincidence for two scenes like this to have footprints like that but even an elf would've grown in twenty years, I have to think."
Although he acts as though he hasn't noticed Amelia's question about payment, he listens attentively for Muncy's answer.
Amelia glares briefly at Elliomander. "Really? Let me know when you do." Then she turns her back on him while waiting for Muncy to respond.
- it isn't obvious from the way in which the body is lying nor from the pooling of the blood whether dismemberment happened post mortem... or earlier.
Muncy, in response to the queries from the group, continues, "I’ve been placed in charge of this investigation, so I can give you 48 hours before the Watch starts digging in in earnest, so you’ll have an undisturbed head start before any official interference could be cooked up. I’ll pull strings to keep you out of any trouble with the Watch, though obviously don’t start wrecking the town or roughing up witnesses", this comment seems rather pointed towards Amelia...
“Do what you have to do, within reasonable limits of course, to get this thing solved. I want to know who did this, the why, and the how. I’m not letting this one slip through my fingers like the other one did, and I can’t really trust anyone with it other than you. You’ll draw a Watch stipend while you do the work, and I can see to it that you get any mundane supplies that you may need, though it’ll have to go through official requisition channels, so probably the less you ask for the better"
It is well known throughout the Blight that a 'Watch stipend' is barely above a living wage and hence the corruption that is rife within the Office. Seeing the distaste on his charges' faces at the meagre offer, Muncy sighs, "Okay... okay, I can't offer anything more financially... my hands are tied on that. Let's just say that I can make sure any official files we have on you can be..., Muncy searches for an acceptable word, "...'cleaned'. That is surely payment enough? That and getting a killer off the streets - you saw what happened in there".
“Well, that’s about it”, he says as he looks out at the sky only now growing pink with the arrival of first light. “I think it’s time for me to take a lunch break. You gentlefolk better get to it” he says with a grim smile.
Amelia narrows her eyes at Muncy, but then puts on a smile. "Now now Inspector, you know my record is clean with the watch... so far. However, I think having an inspector intercede in the future should someone go a bit too far in my presence might be useful, so yes, I agree to your request." She dimples, and then stretches. "So, I assume you already have some notes on what you have from before you called us? Witnesses? People he did work for? Also, we need all the information you can get us on the other murder, from 20 years ago. If they are related, clues from that murder may help with this murder."
Amelia also asks for any other information that would help with getting started, treating the victim as if she were hunting a bounty, rather than a corpse, on the idea that tracking down people who are criminals involves dealing with other criminals, and if the man was into something he may have been killed by other criminals for some reason.
"I think we need to keep an open mind about this. The footprints may be something other than a child, it could be a Spirit, like Lilly, or it could be that the killer is leaving a calling card. It would only take a child's shoe on a stick to create a bloody footprint. A messy death like this has two reasons, hatred, or sending a message. If it's hatred, then someone really hated the tinker. Finding someone who hated him should be relatively straight forward. However, it could be he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The murder could be about his home, or he saw something and didn't know it. That will be much harder to track down. If it wasn't about hatred, then it was sending a message to someone, which again makes it harder to track down without knowing who the message was to." She pauses to look thoughtful. "Muncy was very freaked out over this, much more so than I would have expected for someone with his experience. He's not telling us everything... I wonder if the message was for him?"
Don't wreck the town. Right, 'cause it's such an orderly place to begin with. Hells.
Gar tenses when Muncy starts talking about official channels and Watch payroll. Thereux had ordered him to remain discrete, afterall, and the church certainly wouldn't want it widely known what Gar was up to. Thereux would kick his teeth in. The man is old. And fat. But his bite has more teeth than a shark. Gar has seen them more than once.
"Now that's more like it, Muncy," Gar grins wide and clamps his heavy hand down on the investigator's shoulder. "We'll clean up this trash for ya. Then, like ghosts, we never were." His eyes dart quickly toward Amelia.
________
Gar plants his boot heavily on the wooden shipping crate placed before his chair. He peeks around the dark, dirty pub they wandered into. The Slaughtered Doe. That had just been too perfect. He couldn't resist. A few silver pieces, a stern gaze, and a twist of his chin was enough to convince the barkeep to find work to attend to in the back room, out of earshot. Otherwise, the pub's empty. As far as he can tell.
As Amelia talks, he leans back in the chair, head turned toward the ceiling, counting the spiders above them.
"I think we need to keep an open mind about this. The footprints may be something other than a child, it could be a Spirit, like Lilly, or it could be that the killer is leaving a calling card. It would only take a child's shoe on a stick to create a bloody footprint. A messy death like this has two reasons, hatred, or sending a message. If it's hatred, then someone really hated the tinker. Finding someone who hated him should be relatively straight forward. However, it could be he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The murder could be about his home, or he saw something and didn't know it. That will be much harder to track down. If it wasn't about hatred, then it was sending a message to someone, which again makes it harder to track down without knowing who the message was to." She pauses to look thoughtful. "Muncy was very freaked out over this, much more so than I would have expected for someone with his experience. He's not telling us everything... I wonder if the message was for him?"
"Everything you say is true. But I don't figure every murder has a purpose. Most prob'ly do. But some? Some people's just crazy. The world's gone to shit, they say. This might be yet one more footstone in that pathway to hell."
"Still," he leans forward, kicking the crate aside and planting both feet on the ground, "Muncy seemed right...perterbed by this one. Reckon he might know more about either one of these killins he ain't sharin'."
"So as for Dead Bill over there, why don't we get started with a shakedown of people he did know. Didn't he have no customers?"
Before the group goes their separate ways for the day, Amelia walks with Gar for a half a block. In a quiet voice that carries to his ears and not much farther, she comments. "Mr. Gar, it has become obvious to me that you are joining the Guild not because you want the work, but because you have some other agenda. Now, I'm not prying, and I have no interest in your personal life. There are many of us in the guild for reasons that have nothing to do with a calling to this field. My own purpose is rather obvious, due to my age..." She smirks slightly at the word age. "...people do not take me seriously. And living alone in this city, without being able to carry around a visible weapon..." She nudges the rather large scythe she carries. "...means victim to a lot of people, like Pimps, Vagabonds, City Watch, Various Priests and Charlatens of Religion. Just to name a few. The guild provides me protection, and also freedom, which I hold dear. So long as your personal issues do not bring grief down on the Guild, or myself, then we will have no personal issues between us, and I will do my best to teach you what you need to know to at least pass as a Bounty Hunter in the city, and watch your back. However, if your hidden agendas bring trouble to the Guild, or to me personally, I can also promise you that they won't find all the body parts. Please do not let my appearance fool you. I am not so much like Lilly that I enjoy hurting people, quite the opposite." She gives Gar a smile and a light pat on the arm with one hand. "But I am quite capable of dismembering someone with a smile on my face if it comes to it. No one can survive in this city without that ability, so please do remember that. I actually like your rather gruff manner, so please do be careful? I'd rather trade war stories than blows with you. Do have a good nights sleep, and we'll meet again in the morning at Mordin's Pastry Cart, as usual." She curtsies and continues on her way.
"He did," Elliomander answers, "I found this list on his tool bench. Folks he sharpened knives for."
man, this Amelia's almost as b!tchy as her ghost friend...
As the inspector leaves, Vera follows. In a quiet voice, away from the others, she asks, "Inspector, we've had our differences in the past. But I want you to know that this case has my full and undivided attention. This may seem forward, but you seem particularly disturbed by this murder. While Old Bill's murder was grisly... this is Castorhage. I'm sure you've seen worse. I know I have. So, what's really bothering you about this case?"