Bacarov will wrap up the dagger in some spare clothing (assuming a strip of Bartley's pant leg) and will stuff the weapon into his bag.
Next he'll hold the magicked coin in his teeth as he scribbles notes and rapid drawings of what he can see. His goal is to get a view of the evidence and catalogue it before it's moved or destroyed.
As he works his mind is racing to make sense of it all, comparing it to other cases he's worked or heard about back home.
》 (cases & rumors back home)
》 (arcane rituals involving this paraphernalia)
Marsh drops out of his rage. He stands there looking down at Bartley. His breathing a bit labored, but through his nose. His mouth remains closed and the muscles of his jaw relaxed.
The big man makes a move to help the monk to his feet, but the younger man jumps up says some fancy ivory tower stuff, then expresses what Marsh is already thinking.
"Sorry bout that Dalton. Misjudged that one."
Marsh nods at Sebastian, but doesn't meet his eyes. Instead he turns away from the other two men and heads for a corner. He reaches inside his sling bag, pulls out a chamois, wets it and begins cleaning himself off. Keeping his back turned to hide his face.
"Sure sure boss. I hear yah. Justa . . . Justa gimme a moment. Gotta clean up a spell. It's like she guided my hands in. I uh . . . I f@#*ed it up again guys. I dropped my flail so I wouldn't. . . Just gimme a moment here and I'll go up."
Did he cut you guys? Dalton? Sebastian? You catch that blade?"
♤
♢
♧
"What happened..." He looks at the curve of the scars on Bartley's body. "...was set in motion many moons before we tread within these defiled walls."
He moves the coin to the right, playing with the shifting shadows cast along the hard angles of the dead man's face. What placed you on this path? What dark pool of hate drew your eye?
"Dalton and I escaped injury, Vinnie. Rest easy." Bacarov finally shifts on the balls of his feet where he's crouched over the body. He turns enough to face Marsh. "We travel a dark road, Vinnie. Things will get worse before it comes to an end. You need...no, you must control that boiling hate within you. Lest it consume your soul and you become that which torments you." Sebastian gestures to the walls and the implements and the corners still darkened by shadow. "This is the painting of a man given over to his inner demons. Don't let this become you. I'll help you in any way I can, to avoid it."
Bacarov pivots back to the body and resumes his study.
"Naw. I ain't that guy. Ain't never gonna be that guy. My demons have the faces of cherubs."
". . . The mask . . . What's it made of Sebastian?"
"The cuffs are worn down at the edges. Right?! From strugglin. The implements startin to blacken and pit from all the blood right? Am I right?"
"F!!$in doin this to his own girl. That angel doesn't even know how she's supposed to be treated. What God is it you think?"
"You need Dramlin down here."
♤
♢
♧
"Demons are demons, Marsh. I'm the one who sees your face when you give yourself over to your anger." He wanted to tell him he looked much the same as Bartley but he knew it wouldn't help the situation.
"We'll discuss what's here later. As I said earlier, I need you and Dalton to go upstairs and bring in Warshawski, Dramin and the mayor. If possible, warn Warshawski and Dramin to brace their minds." He looks to both Dalton and Marsh. "But tell the mayor nothing, save that I wish for him to have an account of the scene. I want to look into his eyes when he sees this to know if it's for the first time or not."
Bacarov tries to hold his patience, thinking on the case and the notes and observations to calm his nerves. Odd how those practiced skills seemed to have that effect.
"Once those three are down here, then I need you two back outside to handle anyone trying to enter the house. I'd like to preserve the crime scene."
Dalton doesn't say a word, merely gazes at Vinnie. His serious expression tells the other man that he understands. With another nod of respectful acknowledgment, he heads upstairs, taking them two at a time.
When he reaches the front porch of the house, he clears his throat at the mayor and the others. He has a little of the dead man's blood on his temple, which he tries to wipe away as he looks at them across the front yard.
It merely smears.
Something had gone wrong. It was there in the way Dalton walked. Not to mention the blood. I could see it. I just hoped the mayor didn't notice.
"Mayor," I said, threading my arm through his, "I think we should go see Bacarov. Escort me, please?"
I don't know what they found but it was bound to be more than just a man someone, Marsh probably, had killed during arrest. Otherwise, Bacarov would have come out himself. If I were in charge, I would want to see the mayor's reaction to whatever they'd found. Which meant it was my job to get him down there.
"You don't have to tell me Sebastian . . . I already know. And some of these f*&!ers in town hadda known too gods damn it."
Marsh picks up his flail and loads it back into its carrier.
"Thanks for watchin out for my soul, I'll keep watchin yer six. At least one of us needs to get to retirement heh heh---so we can die six years later at most right?"
Marsh is trying his best at comedy. Another wipe at his eyes and he goes to head up behind Dalton.
"Nice grab Dalton. Yer like a boa constrictor or somethin."
When Marsh sees Dalton has already summoned Warshawski he goes over to Dalton.
"I want you to go down there. It's a horror scene. Don't say s&#*, but look around good and hard. I want you to watch the mayors reaction too when Sebastian can't. I've got perimeter. Don't let your face betray anything if you can help it. Like playing taro cards."
As Warshawski approached Marsh watched the mayor close.
"Steady yourself."
He says to Warshawski.
"The stairs are steep."
Dramin sees Marsh walk on by on patrol. The look in his face tells him all he needs to know about the threat and he puts the bow away.
"Marsh. Whats the status? You all went awfully quiet. I'll assume that he was dealt with?" He hoists it back to its rest and struts on over.
He hears the reaction.
"I'll do my best to not say much then. I still have my mind opened for the time being, and I would rather explain the scene to Bacarov and Warshawski than talk anyway."
He doesn't really think and then speaks up as normal. "It can't be worse than the last time I presume?" He starts walking off as he finishes his thought and doesn't turn around to see the man. "Even if it was, I'm sure you dealt with it. We can't have a repeat of the previous scene."
His eyes are distant as he walks away from the man and toward the stairs, still studying the architecture in greater detail. They've adjusted quite well to the grounds here. I'm actually shocked it hasn't sunk yet with the booniness of this crowbegotten place.
Marsh keeps it low for Dramlin and Daltons ears only.
"Its justa crime scene now that jerkwad got himself sorted out. A little house of horrors down there though. Kinda hard to believe it's been left operatin this long an unnoticed. It's worse than last time. Just play it smooth and cool."
"That tattooed blowhard just kinda came apart at the seams. Only hit him once with the flail when he tried ta filet Sebastian---you know to soften him up a bit. Gave em a right hook to put him lights out---an his head kinda imploded."
"Anyway I don't want to be overheard."
"Head on down. Remember what I said."
"Of course, Miss Warshawski. Let us see what we shall see, shall we?" Mayor Kriegler laughs nervously. He looks uneasy as Warshawski and Dalton lead him into the Bartley house. He spots the smeared blood on Dalton's face and gulps, the color draining from his face.
Entering the Bartley house, Kriegler looks around in disgust. "Ugh," he says. "This sort of squalor I would expect from Robb Bartley. I had no idea he even had a cellar down there..." He seems to hesitate a moment before making any move to head down the stairwell.
- - - -
Inside the nearby Korzha residence, Dio suddenly begins to fidget. He nips at Calwen's clothing and begins moving toward the door, saying something in draconic that sounds urgent.
"What?" Marleyna asks, eyes widening as she looks at Calwen. "What's wrong? Something's happened, hasn't it?" Her fists squeeze at the fabric of her dress as she shuffles anxiously. Finally, she begins moving toward the door. "I have to go," she says, stepping past Dio, who follows her out of the house. They begin making their way toward the Bartley house.
- - - -
Kriegler looks sick even before he gets a few steps down the stairwell. His eyes immediately move to the altar and the bloody shackles upon it, and his hand goes to his mouth. "My Gods... those poor girls..." He blinks rapidly, then whispers: "I... I had no idea it went this far..."
It takes him a moment to notice the body on the floor, but when he does, he stares a moment, his eyes bouncing between each member of the party. He groans, lowering his head, and sinks down to sit on the stairs. "What have you done?" he asks quietly, his tone deflated. "I told you to come to me before you made any moves... and now this man is dead. I will not weep for Robb Bartley- I doubt anyone will- but, still..." He looks up, his face weary, and turns to Bacarov. "Please, tell me what happened..."
♤
♢
♧
》 (mayor)
》 (mayor)
Bacarov stands next to the body as the mayor descends into the basement. Body language, breathing, tone of voice...his eyes. When the mayor sees Bacarov there are differences in the Inspector's demeanor and appearance.
The mantle of his office is out , the steel links holding it across his chest instead of beneath his tunic.
Bacarov is different. Gone is the polite man. His bright eyes are hooded, cast in a dark ambience by the light of the coin. It was rare for him to bring a suspect into a crime scene, but it all hinged on the hunch that Kreigler was part of it. The painting in the house...the signature Warshawski had pointed out...
Abner Dagwood...
"...painted by a friend of my father..."
..."girls...those poor girls"..."it went this far"...
"Suspected Child Abuse, multiple counts..." Bacarov clasps his hands in front of him, palms down. His 'official pose' as Marsh would call it. Sebastian's tone is grim, bordering on the gravely sound of his singing. "Suspected Use of Illegal Drugs...and the direct threat of bodily harm upon public officials in the conduct of an investigation. I would have passed him by, but he provoked a response by threatening the lives of those under my command."
He steps forward, matching eyes with Warshawski for a moment to confirm she's watching the scene. Bacarov circles the mayor like a predator. "We moved in on the house with the goal of arresting one Robb Bartley. I spared two of my company to secure the Korzha man and Marleyna. We entered the house, uncovered this basement."
He finishes his perimeter around the mayor and stands before him, only three feet between them. "Robb Bartley proceeded to attack us upon entry here. We attempted subdual, but the man was crazed. We prosecuted the encounter differently at that point, survival great on our minds. I authorized the use of deadly force. You've been mayor long enough to know Magnimar law is clear in that repect." The mantle of office rattles at his chest a bit as he shifts stance. He turns from the mayor and steps towards the altar, gesturing to the sack as he goes. "I believe most of your town's supply of flayleaf has been found here. I'll catalogue it and see that it's destroyed immediately." A dismissive gesture and he adds, "...but we can discuss that topic later."
Bacarov returns his gaze to Kreigler. "Now, milord, you'll answer two questions for me. You said 'those poor girls'...what other girls?" He pauses and then asks his second. "Just how far did you think it'd gone?" Another pause. "Your answers are important, milord."
Vinnie was on point. That much flayleaf meant that they had just offed the local drug dealer. Someone would be pissed. Flay-heads would be out lookin for some leaf. Word would travel fast in a small town. Enemies would reveal themselves. The mountain man might show up soon he guessed. The woman in the picture and the elf the mountain man sought seemed an awful lot like the woman invading Dramlin's dreams.
Bacarov would want to analyze and go slow, but Marsh was ready for the s*~+ to hit the fan. The quicker the better. Trying to get sleep and watching everyone's ass got old quick. They needed to up the pace of their investigation. Strike any suspects hard and quick, keep the populace off balance and the pushback from scared innocents to a manageable level. Plus Dramlin was in a bad position. Marsh bet he would be attacked again. If that demonesss was connected to this place---great---if Marsh could smash her and save his friends mind even better.
Vinnies hand found the coldiron head of the flail resting in its carrier and rubbed it absentmindedly while he thought of Phedron.
The wolf surveyed his territory watching for any to threaten or approach.
Dramin steps into the basement, steeling his mind against anything that may be coming for him. Though he didn't show it, his nerves were on high gear, mainly due to the fact that something interesting had happened and perhaps they'd stumble across more clues.
He strode down and surveyed the scene, nose first.
Dramin's eyes glinted and he got to work.
"Bacarov." His voice was jittering. People who didn't know him would assume nervousness but he was excited. A scene like this would bring him closer to the truth regarding the dream woman, this town and the murdered students.
He whispers in closer, "I am assuming this wasn't a ritual suicide." His attempt at humour again turned deeply dark and upon seeing Bacarov get back to work, he moved away before he could hear the results.
His basking eventually ended him near Warshawski, busy looking around the material world. Finally I get to really see you work then. Might as well play nice with her and see first hand. He moves in next to her and crouches. "You just let me know if you cross something that stands out that screams." He doesn't even give a greeting to the woman and keeps talking on. "I'll be on the lookout for ritual implements, magic and any planar links here. I have already determined that the ground here is unsuitable for tunnels so I think this is the lowest we go." He starts to get up from his crouch, "Fitting isn't it?"
Dramin eyes the woman curiously, seeing if her reactions matched any of the jabs he just pulled out or if they were caused by an exterior force. If this place was as full of spirits and dead children, this is going to be the time to see it in full swing.
He got to work, the dead and abused girls only a tool on his mind to be used now.
And it didn't make him sick at all.
After a moment, you see a number of translucent, humanoid shapes crowded into the corner of the dungeon, huddling together as if for comfort. There are four of them, all girls- two of whom appear elven. They linger in the corner for a moment, but slowly rise as if only just realizing that Bartley is dead, and begin to fade from sight.
The drugs are ordinary narcotics, mostly flayleaf, though there are a number of other common narcotics tucked away in the stash as well. Seems Robb Bartley had quite the side business going on. There's some blue whinnis in there, but it has not been refined into its poisonous state yet, and the amount present is too small to make any decent amount of poison with.
You do not detect any magic here, however.
- - - -
Kriegler sighs as he listens to Bacarov's story. When the questioning turns to him at the end, he groans. "His eldest daughter, Brie. Before Marleyna came up from Galduria to stay with him... Brie was a beautiful girl. A real sweetheart. Won the Queen of the Founder's Festival one year. We knew Robb abused her, but there was little we could do about it... I had no idea it went this far. A damned torture chamber, right across the creek from my own home..." He swallows hard, then continues. "Brie disappeared the same night she won the contest. Robb must have been responsible... I could never prove it. Skender Cardzi, of all people, was the problem- swore he saw Brie jump in the river and get eaten by his damned wolf-of-the-waters that night. But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that Robb Bartley tortured that girl down here... and Marleyna, too."
He stands up and wrings his hands together nervously. "We should get my brother. Leonard can clean this up."
I ignored Dramin. He'd get over it but I needed to focus on what was happening. I caught a glimpse of them. Four young women. Two elves. That triggered something. Someone had suggested a proble with elves before.
Give. What happened, I can't say I'd be pushing for Marsh to face charges on this one.
I turned to the mayor.
"Explain to me," I tried to keep my voice calm but it was harder than swimming upstream. "Explain to me how you all "knew" this man was abusing his children and yet you didn't do anything about it. Explain to me how you let this man take part in the murder of FOUR victims and didn't do anything about it."
I turned away from the mayor before my anger turned to rage. I stepped up to Bacarov.
"Four souls." I knew he would grasp the intent of my words right away. "All female. Two elven and two human. Bound here while their killer lived. They're already fading from this world. I won't be able to question them or get detailed descriptions. But there will be four bodies somewhere and a man like this likely keeps trophies. Maybe Dramin could use those to find these girls so we can bury them properly."
Mayor Kriegler's expression darkens considerably. "You want an explanation, Officer Warshawski? I'm sorry that I don't have a pretty little bow to wrap this up in, but I suppose I owe you this much: I didn't do anything to stop the abuse because I'm a coward." He stares intensely for a moment, then swallows and continues. "Robb Bartley threatened my life on at least one occasion. I, like others in Ravenmoor, learned to tolerate his existence primarily because I feared for my own. That is, with the exception of my own domestic failings, my greatest regret in this life."
Another moment passes before one of his eyes twitches awkwardly. "Wait, what do you mean 'four souls?' How, exactly, do you know this, Officer?" Not waiting for an answer, he grabs Warshawski's arm. "Was Brie Bartley among them? She would have looked like Marleyna, but- but taller, with longer hair, and-" He seems particularly distressed now, eyes turning wild. He stops himself suddenly, releasing Warshawski's arm and taking a step back. "...I'm sorry. I knew nothing of any other victims, anyone outside the Bartley family... You said you saw two elves? Perhaps that might exonerate Markham Dagwood. In any case... if there are, indeed, dead bodies buried somewhere nearby, we will do everything in our power to make sure they are given a proper sending-off."
"Heh! Aye Dalton. Get a load a this lady marchin up here. Heh, like one of Warshawski's knock knee'd cousins. Guess she's pissed at the shopkeeper decided to handle the blusterin about herself."
Marsh lets her take a few more steps to ascertain her intent then engages her.
"That's far enough right there ma'am. You can't pass any further than this. This area is under the authority of Inspector Bacarov. The house and the grounds around it are closed to any but official use as he sees fit. If you have a question you can ask it from right there."
♤
♢
♧
He looks in the direction of the corner where Warshawski indicates the spirits are fading. He bows slightly in farewell then turns back to the mayor.
"Once I'm finished cataloging the evidence, the house and this infernal basement will be razed. A dark pox such as this should not be allowed to be exist in any form."
Won Queen of the Festival...died shortly after...
And just is this missing Brie to you, Kreigler?
Bacarov's jaw works, the muscle standing out. Did the festival somehow connect to Bartley's insanity? Or perhaps to Armand's murder? He runs a finger down the bridge of his nose and files the questions for later.He steps closer, expressing his disquiet with Kreigler's grasping of Warshawski's arm with a flat look.
"Fear is powerful, milord. But truth is more so." Bacarov puts in with calming tones. "Quell your anger at self and my company with the knowledge that fear has died this day."
"I wish to know more about this Skender Cardzi. When we arrived, the stink of flayleaf was strong in his demeanor. And it would seem he covered over a great many evils down here in order to preserve his habit." Bacarov fills his peripheral with Dramin, curious as to what he's learned. But he continues with the mayor. "Besides the ferryman, who else had dealings with Bartley. This bundle of flayleaf tells me he had costumers."
Bacarov waves to the altar. "My other concern is this, no one learns this in isolation. Bartley didn't strike me as a cleric, or a learned scholar, so who taught him these things? Are they still in this town?"
The locked book upstairs... Another question for later.
"Truth, milord. All of it is necessary if we are to work together to purge the fear from this town." Bacarov rests a firming grip on the man's shoulder. Encouragement and empowerment for the man who thinks himself less than a man.
Dalton can tell the woman's going to make a scene before she even opens her mouth; it's clear to see from her gait and her purposeful air. The monk doesn't respond to Marsh's jesting except for a distracted glance and a brief smile, his attention focused on the woman.
His nostrils flare slowly as he draws in the odors from the people nearby. He's no bloodhound; but he knows the distinctive scent of burnt flayleaf quite well. He wonders if perhaps the woman was high on something.
Outside:
The woman strolls closer, unperturbed by Marsh's sentiment. As she gets close, the dark circles under her eyes and the lack of teeth in her mouth becomes obvious. She stops to spit on the ground and glares at Marsh. "'Ey, why don't y'all leave poor Robb Bartley alone? That little harpy of his has caused him enough trouble already. You just tell Robb that Doriv said to keep his mouth shut, an' I'll bail 'im out if I hafta. An' y'all keep yer hands off 'im, y'hear? Or you'll have to answer to me."
From the Korzha house, Dio bounds forward, excitedly shouting something in Draconic and stretching its wings before trotting to your side, causing the woman who stinks of flayleaf to jump in surprise and back away slowly. Marleyna comes running up immediately afterward, and you can see from the look on Calwen's face behind them that she just couldn't keep them contained. The Bartley girl approaches Marsh and Dalton with concern heavy on her face. "Mr. Marsh, Mr. Dalton, what's going on? Are they- are you arresting him?" She peers up at both of you with both worry and excitement in her eyes.
"Oh, did you call this lot in on him?" The woman, Doriv, says, and spits in Marleyna's general direction. "Great. Just great. You're gettin' a bit too big for yer britches, I say, girl." Dio yaps angrily at her, and she spins on her heels and heads back toward the crowd.
"Shut up, Doriv," Marleyna grumbles under her breath. "Papa's girlfriend, owns the Ravenmoor mill. Sorry. She's not exactly a class act..."
- - - -
Inside:
Mayor Kriegler runs his hands through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts and rein in his emotions. "Very well. Give me a moment to collect myself." He sighs and idly cleans his glasses on his shirt sleeve. "I have no idea where Bartley learned all this insanity. His father was quite the character, from what I remember; perhaps this was passed down from him. Bartley did have some friends in town, though to the best of my knowledge the only person he was close with was Doriv Carmiscu, the lady who owns the Ravenmoor Mill- she's a cousin of the Lupescus, one of the oldest families in Ravenmoor. They were involved romantically, though I doubt there was any real romance in those dealings; more likely, they just sat around smoking their herbs and throwing back drinks between their more carnal sessions." His lips twist in disgust at the thought. "As far as Skender Cardzi is concerned... well, he's been old since I was a boy, and I know little of his personal life and history, though I do know that he and Abner Dagwood have been friends all their lives- at least until Abner's mind went soft and he was confined to his home. I don't think Markham likes ol' Skender coming around too often with his father's health the way it is. Skender's a big cog in the rumor mill around these parts, always either involved or at least passing them around."
He pauses for a while before addressing Brie Bartley. "Now, Brie... well, if you must know the truth, Brie was... well, despite what the rumors you might hear later may imply, she and I did not have an affair. I was going through a dark time, and she caught my eye, but never did I consummate those desires... Brie was a strange girl, much like Marleyna is, interested in all sorts of unusual things. I admired her, and that drove a wedge between myself and my poor Miranda..." He stops for a moment, as if choking, and raises a hand. "I'm sorry. I can't be down here any longer. Can we go up? This place... it's getting to me."
Marsh cocks his head, raises his eyebrows and nods a bit at what the druggie says to him. He folds his arms. Mildly amused and entertained, before the toothless flay-ho started spittin her rotten prong-trap juice everywhere.
Peace. Sebastian asked for no drama...
....but yah know what?!---f$#$ this b###& it's time to end all this abusive s@+!!
Marsh's face goes stone cold.
"Listen up you toothless f@%# toy. You spit at me or the girl again and yer gonna have a serious problem get it?!"
"You come up here to intimidate us? For real though?"
"I'll have to answer to you huh?! ---Beat it leafhead ---before your flappin gums and spittin gets you slapped in irons. You mess with us again we'll turn your mill inside out lookin for leaf and your assets will be forfeit. This young lady ain't a target for any of ya in this town anymore get it."
"Now walk away an spread the word. We ain't people to be trifled with. We are just the first of what's comin from Magnimar sweet heart. Now move along, before I actually get pissed."
♤
♢
♧
"The darkness should bother you, milord." He makes a few notes in his notebook. "The day it doesn't, you may wish to wonder why."
He heads for the stairs leading up, but he stops and turns before any can leave. "Tell me more about how this exonerates Markham Dagwood. You mentioned in your house that he'd been suspected of horrible brutality. A brutality directed towards elves. Can you explain this further? Perhaps who were the missing elf woman?" He pauses. "And, who is Bel to him?"
"You come up here to intimidate us? For real though?"
He heads for the stairs leading up, but he stops and turns before any can leave. "Tell me more about how this exonerates Markham Dagwood. You mentioned in your house that he'd been suspected of horrible brutality. A brutality directed towards elves. Can you explain this further? Perhaps who were the missing elf woman?" He pauses. "And, who is Bel to him?"
"You come up here to intimidate us? For real though?"
Outside:
Clearly put off by both Dio's growling and Marsh's... sass, Doriv mopes off- but not before shouting over her shoulder, "Oh, I'll tell 'em, all right! I'll tell everybody I find just what @$$holes you all are!"
Marleyna sighs and gives Marsh a light jab in the arm. "Yeah, that's pretty much her in a nutshell," she says. "Anyway, Mr. Marsh... please, what's going on in there? If you're arresting my papa, where are you going to keep him until you head back to Magnimar? You're not going to, uh..." She stops to snicker, in spite of how nervous she obviously is. "...drag him around in chains the whole way, are you? Because I'd rather like to see that."
- - - -
When Bacarov pauses in his questioning, Mayor Kriegler starts to open his mouth to talk, but then he says the name "Bel."
His face visibly pales, and his mouth hangs open a moment before he finally forces it closed. "I'm sorry, who? I don't know anyone named 'Bel.' I suppose I might have heard the name tossed around once or twice, but I've no idea who it is in reference to... Maybe you should- should talk to Markham Dagwood about that." Clearly shaken, he nonetheless tries to change the subject. "In any case, I was referring to that nasty rumor that Markham kept a pair of elves locked up in his basement- clearly, that was not him, but Robb Bartley, as Officer Warshawski has clearly seen. Somehow. These rumors do tend to twist and worm their way onto more convenient targets, I have found; I'm sure that certain people of Ravenmoor would have found it far more convenient to put the blame on the town outcast, rather than its friendly neighborhood... drug peddler, from the looks of all this... In any case I know nothing of the identities of any missing elves. You're the investigators; you tell me." There is no mistaking the note of hostility forming in his tone. "Please, get to the bottom of all this. This is supposed to be a joyous day, and I need to get out of this dank basement before I find myself too nauseous to oversee the Festival..."
"I'll be along." I told Bacarov as he led the mayor out of the basement.
Then I sat down, right in front of the body. I sat down and worked on my breathing. In through the nostrils. Out through the mouth. The smell of death in the air was enough to sour my stomach like three day old, molding cheese but that was alright.
It was death I wanted, right now.
"Great Spark. Blessed lady. Ashava. This man held great evil in his soul but we must know more. Please, help me speak to his spirit."
♤
♢
♧
Bacarov nods understanding Warshawski's way and hands her the magically lit coin. He then moves to depart with the others behind him. He leans down from the steps to say softly and evenly. "Make time tonight to discuss her." His cobalt blue eyes lock with the mayor's, and his face leaves no doubt as to whom he refers. "I'm sure time away from this room and spent at the festival will set alight your memory of her. Yet one more opportunity to let truth vanquish fear."
He turns back to the stairs and ascends, adding as he goes, "It is for the soul of this town we do battle, milord. The good people here deserve a home."
As they get upstairs Bacarov turns to the gathered - specifically the mayor - and asks, "How do you wish to handle the notification of Bartley's demise? Do you wish for us to hold off until after the festival?"
Dalton's face is ashen when Marleyna asks about her father. The blood smear on his temple feels hot and sticky. He glances at Vinnie, then puts a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder to lead her aside.
"Marleyna..." he begins, then sighs. This wasn't going to be easy, no matter how abusive her father might have been. She was still his blood. Like the stuff all over Vinnie's cestus...same blood runs through her veins. Silence those thoughts! he thinks to himself.
Shaking his head slightly to refocus, he tries again. "Marleyna, we were investigating your father's potential involvement in the missing tax collector, Elias. We..." he pauses, chewing his lip a moment. "we also had concerns...about your safety. Your affiliation with us was putting you at risk with him. When we were trying to talk with him, he attacked us. He had a knife. We were forced to kill him...to defend ourselves." He doesn't allow himself to pause during the last sentence, forcing himself to get all the words out even though it's one of the most difficult things he's ever had to say. Especially because he knows that Bartley didn't have to die.
Marsh wasn't gonna have this conversation out here in the open where the whole town was watching, but the cat was already left out of the bag. Marshes demeanor changes as he turns his back on the crowd and reaches out to the girl who had just been given the news.
"Sweet Pea, We tried to get him to surrender and come out when we were outside and then inside the house. We tried to negotiate with him when he retreated into the basement. He put on a mask and laid in wait. He tried to ambush and kill Inspector Bacarov."
"I was afraid that is the way it would go. Men that have done things like he did to you have a very hard time in jail. He was crazed and on drugs. He forced the issue."
"The important thing for you to know is, as you just saw, we are gonna do our best to protect you like you were our own daughter. People ain't gonna just use you for target practice anymore."
"I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to tell me right now. How much pull does Doriv have in this town? Who do we need to watch our backs from? Did the Mayor really have Leonard come and work your dad over a few times with fists for what he has been doing to you, or is that a lie?"
"We need to know anything that you know that can help keep you and the Korzas safe."
Outside:
Marleyna stares at Marsh and Dalton for a moment, lips quivering, eyes wide. "He's... he's dead?" she asks quietly, though having heard it from both of you, she already knows the answer to that. A dozen emotions cross her face in the course of a second, sorrow and anger and joy and fear all at once. She takes an involuntary step backward, hands raising to cover her mouth. "He's really dead...? I never thought... I didn't want him to die... Why- why did he attack you? What was he thinking? I just... I don't understand..." As her eyes fill up with tears, she seems torn between running home, running back to the Korzhas, or collapsing into your arms and sobbing, but after a moment, she sniffles and looks up at the two of you with determination in her eyes. "My papa was a bad person. I believe you when you say he did this to himself. He's done horrible things, to me and to other people, probably worse than you imagine. I ain't- I ain't gonna cry for him." She tries to wipe her reddening eyes, and fights back a sob. "But he was my papa..."
You can hear a growing murmuring among the onlookers- likely the sight of Marleyna and your reactions to her have started to clue some of them in as to what has happened here, and they are starting to whisper in one another's ears. You can almost see the rumors hatching and growing into proper gossip. Amidst the crowd, you both catch a glimpse of Doriv grinning toothlessly before leaning in to whisper into the ear of a nearby citizen, whose brows furrow immediately as he casts a suspicious look in your direction.
Marleyna is clearly at a loss, her face as red as a tomato, but she is holding herself together as best she can. "Can I see him...?" she asks hesitantly. "I mean... are we gonna bury him, or what...?" He gives a weak laugh and tugs at the beautiful dress Warshawski gifted her with. "I guess I'm out of the running for tonight, huh...?" The joke seems badly timed, however, as her smile immediately collapses, and she throws herself against Dalton and sobs into his chest.
- - - -
Inside:
"After the Festival, yes," Mayor Kriegler says gloomily as he ascends the stairs, shivering. "By the Starsong's blessings, I've never needed a Festival as badly as I do right now. Ravenmoor's transformed from a sleepy town with a few best-ignored secrets into a bloody quagmire over the course of a few hours. I appreciate your rooting out Bartley and making sure he never harms anyone else, but... well, I wish I'd never left Desna's embrace this morning. I was having rather sweet dreams, you know."
As he reaches the ground floor, Kriegler looks out the window and grimaces as he sees the crowd. "Lovely. We've an audience. What should we tell them, Inspector?" He squints his eyes. "Marleyna is out there. Looks as if your friends have already told her the truth..." He trails off and looks to Bacarov, hoping for some advice as to what to do next.
- - - -
After several minutes of careful attunement with the spiritual realm, Warshawski sees a mist-like phantasm begin to rise from the ruin of Robb Bartley's corpse. Even as it begins to coalesce into a humanoid shape, you see thick, translucent chains wrap themselves around its body and begin pulling it downward.
"Yes, yes, take me," the ghostly voice murmurs, almost in pleasure, as the chains dig into it. "Let me take my place in your fields of pain... I welcome it..." Its head finally snaps downward, as if only now noticing you. "Oh, you. Great. Too bad for you I'm on my way out..."
The chains suddenly go lax, hanging limply from the ghostly man's limbs.
"Oh. Well, damn." Bartley's ghost groans in admission of defeat. "Well, if I'm stuck here a while, at least it's with a sweet, supple thing like you. What a shame I went out when I did, eh? I had some nice plans for what I could do if I'd had a chance to get you or that elf of yours down here in my House of Pleasure." He snickers, a sick sound that suggests more evil than words ever could. "I'd have opened your eyes, girl. But since it seems the tables have turned, and I'm at your mercy here, what'll you have of me? I got all kinds'a juicy secrets to spill, if'n you can find a good way'a prying 'em outta me."
A sadist. I knew that. A believer. I suspected that. Worse, he was the sort that believed he was doing women a favor. Opening their eyes to the truth. I'd met his kind before. He liked games. He liked having power. And the only way to convince him to talk was to give him the power he craved.
"Bacarov! I need Dramin down here!" I called up the stairs. Then I turned to the shade.
"Here's the deal." I worked hard to keep my voice nice and level. "I'm going to give you the chance at one more romp in your house of pleasure."
As I talked, I unbuttoned my blouse. I let it slide off of me and to the floor. My chestband came next. I didn't hide how much I disliked showing off my body to him. He'd like that. Men like him enjoyed vulnerability. They thrilled to the feeling that their prey was weak.
"Each time you answer a question truthfully, my companion will take one of your toys. He will make me bleed and probably scream. You get to watch and talk to me however you like while you answer. When you're done, you'll go off to see your Mistress on the fields of pain. Deal?"
Dalton's mouth is a thin line as he embraces Marleyna and rests his hand on her hair in a weak attempt at comforting her. He glances at the Mayor, making eye contact when the man looks over at them, and sighs, returning his attention to the girl in his arms and just letting her cry it out against his chest.
♤
♢
♧
》 (crowd)
》 (secret messages)
Bacarov nods to Dramin to head back downstairs.
Then he looks out the window. Marleyna is weeping in Dalton's arms...the crowd is undulating like the ocean currents... "Rumors are like deck hands flying ship's colors. Each ship flies their colors so you know their allegiances." He spies some of the people as they start the process. "I want to know who is loyal to you, milord. And please point out this Doriv to me." He pauses as he continues watching the crowd from the window. "As for what happens next, I think the announcement will need to be now."
He turns back to the mayor. "And it will need to come from you, at least at first. Play up your prior requests for help to Magnimar regarding the bandits outside of town and the issues with Bartley...perhaps even make mention of his involvement with flayleaf distribution." He begins ticking off items in his mind, eyes distant even as he continues speaking. "I'd say that you should indicate you knew about Bartley's involvement in drugs and his abusive nature with Marleyna and the township. You requested aid from Magnimar to solve all three problems; bandits, drugs and Bartley."
Bacarov focuses on the mayor again. "All this time you've remained quiet will not be seen as fear, but as a prudent leader biding his time. Then, with Bartley and his vile pit of sacrilege destroyed...along with the flayleaf, you can announce that I and my company will be staying on to ensure the peace for the next few days and dig into the bandit problem." A nod of confidence passes between them. "You can do this, milord, and emerge a stronger leader for it. When you're ready, you can introduce me and I can take it from there if you think it prudent."
Dalton was a good man, but he was a jackass when it came to investigations. We needed the answers to those questions and now by the time we got em it might be too late. That's how it was when workin with victims and doin law enforcement. Now we had put on a show. We had tipped our hand to the whole town, other opportunities lost.
But standin there my respect for the monk grew about three sizes. I wondered what it was like bein the good guy and doin the right thing before anything else first. I also knew he was green.
I looked into the eyes of the leafhead and judged the crowd. We were in deep s*+&. What I said hadn't even phased her. She felt confident. Lookin back at the mayor I had some real reservations. He was puttin off a vibe. He had talked enough for me to find some chinks in his story. He was startin to smell a little like a turd.
This was becomin personal now with innocents to protect. I hoped Sebastian would see it how I was.
We were gonna be lined up in someone's sights. More people were gonna have to get the five fingered death punch.
Dramin hears Warshawski shout from the basement and sees Bacarov nod down. With the advent of the sobbing Marlyena outside, he decided he would rather take his chances with the torture room and the woman who would most likely stab him in the back.
At least I know that there are less threats down there. He stops in his tracks for a second and realizes what he just thought. Am I truly scared of commoners in a town like this? Dramin pull it together. Since coming to Ravenmoor he hadn't quite felt like himself. The place was filled with a deep and mysterious history and every single thing he saw made him doublethink and reassess what he thought he knew of the place. The sheer amount of hidden knowledge here was staggering and possibly a little draining.
Though that is what they hired me for after all. He grins and realizes his talents are worthwhile and steels up his will yet again.
Down the stairs he goes and there is more than a little creaking as he walks on down back to the room. He's sure he hears Warshawski talking to herse---
His paced quickened and he smiled like a child who had just received a gift.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and let his ioyn torch fly out, excitement impossible to hide. He slows down before he slips on the blood left by the surprise assault and reaches the base of the steps.
"Warshawski, did you find anything of interest?"
He blinked.
And again.
"Warshawski?
Mayor Kriegler steps reluctantly out of the Bartley house and raises his hands to calm the gathered crowd. He shoots a look back at Bacarov and nods, then begins to speak.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please do not be alarmed. Now, most of you are probably aware that we are playing host to a team of law enforcement officers from Magnimar today. I have been writing to Magnimar for months in hopes of receiving aid for routing the bandits that have been menacing folk up and down the Lampblack trail nearby, and these fine officers have made it their mission to do just that. It's been too long since those roads were safe for travel. Now, most of you are also aware that one Robb Bartley has been something of a local ne'er-do-well for some time now." He laughs nervously, as do a few of the locals. "I asked these officers to look into his laundry list of offenses in hopes of convincing him to consider a more peaceful lifestyle. Bartley was suspected of multiple counts of abuse-" he glances at Marleyna and swallows awkwardly- "...as well as the consumption and distribution of illegal narcotics here in Ravenmoor and nearby settlements- something that has been, of course, a huge concern to all of us in recent times." He clears his throat, glances at Bacarov again, then presses onward: "A short while ago, Robb Bartley made a number of threatening comments to the investigators without provocation. After securing the area, a few of them approached with the desire to speak with Bartley about the charges being leveled against him, and he fled into his basement where he then attempted to ambush the investigators with lethal intent. A... struggle ensued, and in the confusion, Bartley himself was... killed."
A number of gasps and shouts of surprise ring out through the crowd, and Doriv steps through into the clearing and stares, slack-jawed, her reddened eyes burning a hole into Marsh, Dalton, and Bacarov in turn.
Before Doriv can say anything, Mayor Kriegler speaks up again. "I know this may come as a shocking blow, but in the wake of this tragedy a number of crimes and offenses too terrible to name have been uncovered, right here under all our noses. Robb Bartley was not a friend to many, and in the face of what I have just seen, none of us should lose any sleep over this. It's not every day a member of our community is killed, but I can say as your Mayor, in all honesty, that we will be better off for his loss."
Doriv again starts to open her mouth, but with a sudden sharpness in his voice, Kriegler cuts in. "Today is the Founder's Festival. This is a day to celebrate this wonderful village, a village unlike any other in Varisia. This is our day to let our troubles fade away as if waking from a distant dream, shepherded away by the Dream Tender's grace to awaken anew and refreshed, stronger, wiser, and greater than we were the day before. Let us not be troubled by the passing of this violent, degenerate criminal; let us treat this unfortunate event as but the final moment of the night's passing fantasy, and awaken to a day of joy and merriment! Say your farewells to Bartley if you must, but do it quickly; we have a Festival to attend! There is feasting to be done, games to be played, and, tonight, a Queen to crown!"
There is no reason why this "Who cares if he's dead? Let's party!" course should work, and yet, for the most part, it seems surprisingly effective. Perhaps this is simply the way of Ravenmoor; troubles are discarded and forgotten with each month's Founder's Festival. A surprisingly large number of those gathered around the perimeter of the Bartley residence are satisfied with this, and many of them begin to make their way back toward the Festival Grounds. Then again, Kriegler seems to possess some curious charisma, some intangible element that causes the Ravenmoor flock to immediately attune themselves to his words.
Doriv, of course, is not one of them, instead continuing to glare with ever-increasing hatred toward the party, now visibly trembling with fury.
Kriegler, meanwhile, turns to Bacarov and smiles with surprising warmth, then claps one palm down onto the investigator's shoulder. "Done and done," he says, with an exasperated sigh. "I'm going to retrieve my brother now, so that we might get this horror-house cleaned out as quickly as possible."
- - - -
Marleyna, meanwhile, continues to sob into Dalton's cloak, not looking up even when Kriegler gives his speech.
- - - -
Inside the basement of the Bartley house, a scene most curious has formed. Warshawski, partially stripped down of her own volition, looms over the corpse of Robb Bartley, conversing with some invisible force above the body. Dramin stands startled, taking in the scene, the light from his ioun torch lending an eerie radiance to the underground torture chamber.
What follows is a bizarre scene indeed, but perhaps surprisingly, Bartley cooperates, seemingly satisfied- horrifyingly enough- with Warshawski's "performance."
"Those four girls? Damn, you see everythin', don't you? Hehehe... them was my special angels. Only so far a man can go when it's his own flesh an' blood on the table. Brie, Marleyna... they was always my favorites, but I couldn't go... all the way, understand? Not with them. Not with my girls. But the rest... first girl was some Shoanti trader's daughter. I caught her eye; guess they figured she did like that worm Korzha's wife, decided to stay an' start a new life. Them Shoanti don't care, they jus' let her stay. I kept her alive a couple weeks, jus' to hear the sounds she made. Then them two elves- hoo, they were a blessin'. Out huntin'. I caught 'em out past Doriv's secret fields, chasin' some game. Promised 'em drinks an' stories. Me an' Doriv overpowered 'em together. She don't have no heart for Zon-Kuthon's art like I do, but she knows a man's gotta have his fix. Them elves, boy, they were a lot of fun. But that Dagwood fella, he's got some kinda nose for them sylvan types, started sniffin' around and causin' me trouble... I got Doriv to start some rumors up. Goodness knows they were eager to believe us over him- that Markham's a right scary fella as it is. The last one? Hell, just some passin' merchant lady. Little old for my tastes, but still; couldn't keep that going too long. Marleyna started suspectin' something when I didn't bring her down here for a while. Damn girl nearly got me busted."
"Ah, my ol' man turned me on to Zon-Kuthon and his beautiful works. He put on more of a show 'bout worshippin' that stupid dream bug the rest of 'em like so much than I ever did. Never saw much point in that. It was just me an' him, and Doriv, I guess... but she's no true believer. She just liked havin' a man around who could tolerate her particular odor, in exchange fer helpin' me acquire my toys."
"We had a good business goin', me an' Doriv. She's got a mean flayleaf field up just north'a Ravenmoor, out on her family's land. We sell to the Shoanti, sell to bandits out in the Churlwood, provide to runners who sell that stuff all the way out in Riddleport- oh, them Riddleport folk do love their drugs. Locals, too. The Lupescus, the Loomises, the Talbots, the Whatleys- all them folk."
"I don't know nothin' bout no 'skeeter masks.' Sounds like the local kids' stupid Night Creepers. Local legends. I doubt anything real to it, unless one'a these weirdos is takin' their Stirge-lovin' a little too seriously. Then again... I dunno, I hear Alizna makes masks sometimes. I never saw any."
"Blight? Hell, I dunno. They talk about that stuff every Festival. Brie talked about it a lot, but then again, she was into all kinds'a weird stuff. Flayleaf grows just fine 'round here, an' that's all I needed to know."
"Elias Kyle... that was that pug-ugly do-gooder who came up about a month ago, eh?" Here, he pauses to snicker. "Oh, that little wannabe paraded around real good, tellin' us 'backwards hillbillies' that he was here to 'straighten us out.' If he didn't make it back to Magnimar, well, I'd put money on somebody icin' him just for being as obnoxious as possible. He beat y'all to that 'save poor Marleyna from her big bad papa' act, y'know. He saw me adjust her attitude from afar and put me up against the wall of my own house, said he wasn't no saint, but he weren't about to abide no devil, neither. Blew a lotta steam- for a minute, I thought he was gonna pound me with that mace'a his. Then he thought better of it an' backed off. I didn't tell nobody about that, o'course. Not 'till you."
"Now, this half-elf Armand, I remember him, too. Thought it was weird we got two out-of-towners so close together. All the girls in town were all wet for him, the tree-huggin' little idiot. I had half a mind to grab 'im and bring him down here, too, but I didn't have the chance. He found somethin' down at that abandoned farm on the south end of Ravenmoor, somethin' that sent him packin' but quick. Good riddance, I say."
"Yeah, the Ravenmoor folk are pretty devout, so far as I know. They don't have no fancy church- well, we would'a, seein' as how the Mayor was thinkin' of rebuildin' the ol' ruined church until his wife hung 'erself in there. That was their passion project, their special sweet thing they wanted to do together, 'till she flipped an' killed 'erself. Now nobody wants to touch that thing. Anyhoo, they seem to do all right with just their wicker doo-dads and fetishes and their idiot Festival games."
With this round of questioning done, Bartley's spirit hovers a moment amusedly watching as Warshawski chews over his answers. "You got spunk, girl, but this's been good mostly for a laugh. Y'see, it has occured to me that I don't get no stirrin's anymore, bein' dead an' all. Not that you coulda really gotten me impressed anyhow. You can't reach into those deepest levels of true agony- that's what real Zon-Kuthon obedience means. What you're doin' is like amateur hour at a Calistrian brothel with the kid-gloves on."
@Budd:
Dramin hears Warshawski's plan and when he realizes this may be the one time he could see her work and be intimately involved, he decides to carry it out dispassionately and with brutal efficiency. He hears the sounds the weapons make, the muttering of the investigator and the sound of the bloodletting on the horror-soaked floors and the wonderful cacophony provides him a great background as he swallows up everything he sees and hears. He doesn't notice if she flinches, nor is it important as a detail.
Many would consider such a task to be near impossible with their own comrade, but the combination of the investigation, being involved in the first-hand rituals of the dark god Zon-Kuthon and the exploration of Warshawski's talents drives him forward with no thoughts of regret.
Marsh watches the crowd for any clues as to hidden enemies or allies. Who holds hatred, who shows true horror and disgust, who looks away, who fidgets---any that reach for and reassure themselves that the dagger tucked in their waistband is still there.
+3 for items revealed by sight or concealed.
Marsh lets his eyes bore into Doriv's. Vinnie had determined she was a waste of skin and fresh air. She had skittered off seemingly unphased by his earlier intimidation, but his words might have more weight now. He communicated subtly to her through their locked eyes so delicately, so precise, like wolves circling one another
Your man lies broken in that basement.
Broken.
It seems what's left of my human side
Is slowly changing within me . . .
I think you have something to do with that Doriv.
Sometimes it's like looking at my own life's reflection
When suddenly it changes
Violently it changes . . .
Just like you did for her Doriv.
There is no turning back now
You've woken up the demon in me . . .
Thats right Doriv---Open up your hate, and let it flow into me
Anger is the gift, that has been given to me.
Look into my eyes---fuel me.
Let me see into your soul b*!!&.
I can see inside you, the sickness is rising
Don't try to deny what you feel
It seems that all that was good has died
And is decaying in me.
You are as rotten inside as your mouth is
It seems you're having some trouble
In dealing with these changes you are about to experience
The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me.
You are just like them aren't you, but I'm not.
Marshes mind wanders for a moment. Marleynas crying becomes that of a boy's the dark field becoming a dark windowless room.
Nooooooooo no no, don't do it again
Don't do it to me again
I'll be a good boy
I'll be a good boy, I promise
No, don't hit me
Why did you have to hit me like that! mommy!
Don't do it, you're hurting me . . .
Marsh clears the memory from his mind and refocuses on the Liar Mayor's speech.
Before Sebastian and answer, Marsh turns on a heel and addresses the man quietly.
"No need to trouble yourselves. It's our scene, besides, there isn't anthin down there you need for your festivities right? . . . I would love to hear Leonard's stories of payin Bartley a few though. Turns out, I only had to give him one good one. He kinda lost his head down there. It's amazing what people have in their homes. It's like hiding signs in plain sight, people either can't read em or don't even bother too."
"You and Leonard see to your town traditions. Looks like everyone here wants a little diversion right now. You know? Time to cut loose a little. They won't have to watch their backs with him lurking. Your town is a little safer tonight. I feel it at least."
Marsh smiles genuinely..
Dalton scans the crowd, becoming aware of Doriv's hatred immediately. That one is going to be a problem, he thinks to himself, I can tell already. Bartley had the same look in his eyes. I hope there's enough of a town left for us to protect by the time we finish rooting out the "evil ones..."
He mentally trails off as he considers one of the ones worth protecting, right there in his arms. He tries to make eye contact with a friendly, or at least neutral, face; but his garish tattooed appearance seemed to put them off. Nobody would meet his eyes.
The monk turns his face to Marsh and the mayor. He doesn't suspect anything off about the mayor's speech...in fact, he was impressed at how well the man put words together. I could never make a big speech like that in front of a crowd, he thinks to himself a moment.
He decides that Marleyna's grief has been a public spectacle for long enough. "No more tears, girl. There, now. That's enough. Let's take you away from here."
So doing, he puts his arm around the girl's shoulder and leads her away from the (hopefully dispersing) crowd. His intention is to take her to the Korzha's farm. If he sees either of the Korzhas in the crowd, he'd try to get their attention and motion for them to follow.
"You've seen a pair of t*~! before, Dramin. Get over it. I need your help."
I explained the plan to the wizard. I knew he could do it. Bacarov would pull his punches. Marsh would need to be pushed into it and then his temper would get the best of him and I'd be lucky to escape with anything less than my bones showing through the wounds. The monk was too young to understand. Which left the wizard.
I'll spare you the details. It took half an hour. Half an hour of asking questions and straining to hear Bartley's smug answers. Half an hour of experiencing just a tenth of the horror that his victims did. Half an hour of my back being beaten raw until I bled. But we got out answers.
"Go to hell, Bartley. Better yet, go somewhere else." I waved my hand. I had no power to release him, of course. That was up to the True Spark. But I was done with his shade. This entire house needed to be burned, torn down and sanctified. Possibly multiple times.
My hands were shaking as I pulled my shirt on. I didn't bother with my breastband. The feeling of it on raw wounds would probably make me pass out at this point and I refused to show any further weakness.
Step by step, I walked out of that horrible den of evil. Step by step, I walked back up into the light. I needed to feel the sun on my face.
Dramin is drained. Not as badly as the lashed and battered woman in front of him but the mental fatigue is definitely a different form of tax. It wasn't as much the process but the interesting repercussions and results and creating so many mnemonics on the fly.
When he sees Warshawski put her clothes back on, the knowledge haze dies down and he slowly puts down the lash and takes a step back.
He debates asking her if she needs assistance, but quickly decides against it. For once he quietly just stands there and watches.
When he sees her walk on by to go back upstairs he just turns and looks at her, giving a curt nod and diverting his eyes back to the rest of the room.
"I'll be down here." He doesn't turn around and lets the sentence linger a little. "Sorry."
The last word comes out entirely too quiet, saying it as he wipes the specks of blood off his face, his arms muffling it.