When Quinn needed to work, he liked to get out. It was amazing what a walk, a chat with a neighbor, or a fresh environment would do to dislodge stray thoughts or connect fresh insights. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Quinn found himself at his usual corner at Amberlight, his table covered in ledgers, timetables, and a map of the city. The Merrymead Menace had struck again. There were only a few more days until the festival, and the thief was taking it upon themself to rob a different restaurant or inn every night.
Not that they’d bother hitting here, Quinn thought. Target pattern: establishments with occupancy over one-hundred-twenty-five guests, catering primarily to out-of-town clientele. The exact opposite of this cozy cafe. The Merrymead Menace was clearly looking to separate some wealthy tourists from their valuables, then blend back into a crowd. If it weren’t for their seemingly impossible scale of activity and a certain flair for the dramatic—last night’s inn had seen every single safe box emptied, jewelry and gold and letters of banking replaced by a single dull copper coin in each—they’d would hardly stand out against the lost purses that inevitably happened around the winter holiday’s raucous pub crawls and outdoor parties.
With one last look around the room for his favorite barista—Odd... New scent in the air.—Quinn turned back to his work, tapping his pen against the alchemical flask sitting on the table in the hope the damn thing would change colors. No luck. He scratched another region off the map. Not from the Looms, either, then. While Quinn appreciated knowing he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the day canvassing up and down the clothing district’s notorious hills, he’d have preferred to know where to look, rather than where not to. A bit of flattery and a fresh lemon cake from the local bakery had bought Quinn a favor with the local constabulary’s evidence department, but he’d been able to borrow only enough of the mud collected from a windowsill to run one more test. Quinn furrowed his brow as he shook another vial.
He always was better at this sort of thing. Quinn split his thoughts, setting the majority of his mind on the notes in front of him. But with one part, Quinn drifted to the past. He’d met Arlo right when he’d been getting his start as a freelance detective. He’d needed a consult on the case of the vanishing coins, and several recommendations had pointed him in direction of a talented forensic chemist. Frankly, Quinn had disliked the man when they first met, with his adherence to protocol, but he’d identified the solvent used in the case with nothing more than a cursory glance, so Quinn resolved to work together.
Time and shared ambitions have a way of bridging the gaps between even the most different people. Waiting for lab work or a long stakeout left plenty of time to talk. Talks of the theater turned into a date to see Echoes of Everfall; talks of the virtues of Taldan white wines compared to Chelaxian reds flowed into a weekend getaway to the vineyards of Carpenden. Talks of a longer partnership turned naturally into a marriage, and for a time, everything was perfect.
But time can separate two ambitious people when their aims begin to diverge. First it was a canceled dinner here or there, spurred on by a breakthrough in a case (both men understood that you had to strike when a breakthrough came). Then it was a few weeks’ deployment to investigate this village or that town. When they did talk, it was less and less of theater or wine, more and more of work. By the time Arlo was scouted by the Qadira division of the Society of the Scales and Quinn had received that offer in Andoran, there wasn’t any doubt that it was a parting. They were two brilliant detectives at the height of their careers—they could deduce how things were going to end.
Quinn remains focused while working on the case of the Merrymead Menace.
Art by Kiki Moch Rizky.
A footstep to Quinn’s left, intentionally loud enough to be audible but not so much to be alarming, pulled him back to the present. Without turning his eyes from his notes, Quinn smiled as he moved his hand to clear a spot on the table. “Quinn, you know the only person I let do alchemy in my establishment is the chef.” Rhys placed a cup of (unordered) coffee on the table. “I can’t be making exceptions, even for my favorite customer.”
Quinn hastily noted the color in the vial before moving it back to his bag. “They have me on the case of the Merrymead Menace,” the investigator said as he attempted to piece together some numbers in a ledger before he became too distracted. Rhys nodded. “This residue narrows the culprit down to either the riverbanks, central square, or old ironworkers’ quarters, but there’s too many establishments to cover.”
“Maybe you could investigate during the festival?”
Quinn shook his head. He tried to keep business and pleasure as separate as possible, these days—and turned to Rhys. “By that time, the culprit—"
Apron steamed two days earlier than normal. Fresh haircut. That same floral scent.
“Roses.” Quinn didn’t need to look behind the man’s back to notice the bouquet. “You’re going all out decorating this year, aren’t you?”
Rhys coughed a bit, taking the bouquet out from behind his back. “I… thought they’d look nice along the bar?”
Slight flush. Eyes turning to door. A charming vocal hitch. “Or maybe they’re for a gentleman you’re planning on asking to a Merrymead party?”
Rhys laughed, and the sound warmed the cafe. “Really, Quinn, nothing gets past you. I enjoy the big night out with the group as much as the next guy, but I was thinking a quieter festival for two might be nice this year.”
Quinn agreed—he was about the same age as Rhys, and by now a quieter Merrymead for two sounded nicer than a loud party. Two people enjoying a walk along the river, two cups of spiced wine, two… Quinn bolted to his feet. “Say that again.”
Rhys stood up, smoothing out his apron and running a hand through his hair, tightening his grip on the bouquet slightly enough that even Quinn’s finely honed senses didn’t notice. “I was saying a quiet festival for two might—"
But Quinn was already shoveling his notes into his bag. “Exactly! For two—two of them! That’s how they’re covering that much space. Identical build, height, weight as well—it’s the Extrina Twins back in town, I’m sure of it!” He dashed for the door “Perfect! Absolutely perfect! Thank you!”
It was only when the chill of winter’s air touched Quinn’s face that something clicked in his mind, something obvious that he should say. He opened the door again, locking eyes with the barista.
“Good luck on your date!”
Rhys sighed to himself as the master investigator’s coat swept out into the streets. “Really, Quinn, nothing gets past you.”
About the Author
James Case (he/him) is lead developer for the Rules and Lore team at Paizo. His recent projects include the Lost Omens Tian Xia books and Pathfinder Howl of the Wild, and he’s very proud to work with so many awesome queer creators in this hobby where we write about adventurers and archmages and monsters and lasers. Happy Pride!
About Iconic Encounters
Iconic Encounters is a series of web-based flash fiction set in the worlds of Pathfinder and Starfinder. Each short story provides a glimpse into the life and personality of one of the games’ iconic characters, showing the myriad stories of adventure and excitement players can tell with the Pathfinder and Starfinder roleplaying games.
