Among piles of stacked books, Marbrook heard the tingle of the front door chimes. The front door whose OPEN sign clearly faced inward. The pair of entrants, a goblin in goggles and a human with a coat and cane, made themselves at home browsing the bookstore’s shelves. Or they were casing the joint to rob. If they were going to rob her later, they would be the second most audacious thieves Marbrook had ever witnessed. The most audacious thieves, meanwhile, were those the two would be if they were to rob her in this very inconvenient moment.
The bookseller suppressed a huff, feeling her bleaching subside from the annoyance. There were greater challenges at hand. Ages ago, someone had rearranged her entire store’s inventory. While it was a hilarious prank, Marbrook would rather eject her soul back to the First World than run her shop out of alphabetical order. This created her current impasse: ignore the intruders or stop replacing the books momentarily.
The choice was obvious. Marbrook let the intruders be, as they were entranced by the books floating about the store and seemed to pose little immediate threat. The spectral assistants responsible for that spectacle, which she remembered neither hiring nor requesting, were both a blessing and a curse. They were handy at keeping the shop tidy, and less so in put the books back in order.
The human of the pair waved at the spectral figures. “Hello! Pardon our intrusion.” The spirits said nothing back. “I don’t think they can help us,” the human concluded, stroking a trimmed beard.
“Not for talking. For cleaning, maybe?” the goblin guessed.
“The store is spotless. Maybe she planned a holiday,” said the human. “They are moving the books about rather… unnecessarily, however.”
The goblin pointed to the corner furthest away. “Fumbus will start over there.” The human watched Fumbus skitter away before realizing the goblin meant to search for the source of these ethereal spirits. Following his example, the human strolled to the other far corner. With this division of labor, Marbrook reckoned she had three minutes before she needed to decide which of the two tomes immediately at hand would best suffice as a weapon: the Revised History of Taldor, 28th Edition, or Encyclopedia Chelaxia, volume 18.
Long before that time came, Marbrook heard the familiar squeak of the floorboard from the center of the shop. She did not suppress her huff this time. She meant to fix that loose board, except books happened.
“Quinn!” Fumbus shouted, probably meaning the human. Quinn strode over, footsteps crisp and measured. This was followed by whispers, then the rustling of a backpack, then the groan and splintering of floorboards. Quinn vocalized dismay. Fumbus oopsed.
Marbrook stood like a war god roused to battle. She watched from behind her book pile as Quinn reached into the new hole in her precious floorboards to pull out a bowl of… blue stuff. Marbrook had not put that bowl there. Or rather, she did not remember doing so. Maybe her bleaching caused a memory lapse, but somehow, that blame felt misplaced.
“A ritual.” Quinn drew a sharp breath. “For… spirit custodians?”
“It can last a year.” Fumbus poked the inside the bowl and made a face at the squish. The goblin then sniffed the bowl, and made a different face. Finally, Fumbus licked the blue stuff. A wide smile appeared. “This one is fresh. Three months.”
“That lines up. Now, until the duration expires, the spirits continue their task unless ordered otherwise. If I recall correctly, it usually gave you one, two, three…” Quinn trailed off. There were only three assistants to count. “Fumbus, have you heard any gossip lately?”
Marbrook did not know why Quinn changed the subject, but she did sheathe her inner war god. Reorganizing the books had kept her indoors and away from the gossip on the street for too long. Long enough she suspected she had bleached a shade. If these intruders were about to share some juicy secrets, she would very much like them to continue. She might even forgive them for the floorboards.
When Fumbus replied “I have. I saw some,” Marbrook rejoiced. The bookseller crept out of her book fortress, adjusting a small pile of rummaged paperwork as she passed.
Quinn sounded equally delighted. “Excellent! What have you heard?”
“Orange worms!”
The goblin looked expectantly at his companion, whose blank stare rivaled Fumbus’s own emotionless goggles. It gave Marbrook time to settle in for a good view, and put more paper away. “You don’t say?”
“Yes, while you were talking to the jeweler about whatever, I was listening to the gardeners tending the shop’s flower box. And do you know what Fumbus heard? The orange worms are back, and that means the ebon rooks will be back, and you know what that means!” Quinn clearly didn’t, but while he had initially tried to ignore his yammering companion, the passion with which Fumbus recounted the tale pulled him away from his distractions. Marbrook was equally rapt. What could the goblin be going on about?
For the better part of five minutes, the goblin barely paused to take a breath as he led Quinn and Marbrook down a roundabout stream of consciousness—some overheard, some observed, and much seemingly coming from the random recesses of his overactive mind. Rooks. String. The best cucumbers to pickle in this part of the country this time of year. An annoying Isgeri folk song stuck in his head. Some alternate lyrics to that song. Something about soil composition. Bird droppings (employing rather rude language, if Marbrook was being honest).
When he reached what seemed the logical conclusion of his line of reasoning, he once again stared intently at Quinn. After a long, expectant moment, Quinn said, “Yes, I see.”
Fumbus’s mouth gaped open. “You do not see, Quinn! The orange worms mean the soil is especially rich in phosphorus, and the droppings—” (again with the language) “—of the rooks after they eat the worms makes the perfect reagent for longer burning fire.”
“Ah,” Quinn interjected, clearly hoping this was the end of it. Marbrook got the sense that this was not the sort of “gossip” he’d had in mind when he inquired, and it certainly wasn’t what she’d hoped to overhear.
“But!” Fumbus jabbed a finger at his friend. “This isn’t the first time Quinn has missed something so obvious to Fumbus.”
Quinn, clearly wanting to escape the conversation, held up the bowl. “So, rituals need help—"
Fumbus and Quinn investigate the nature of some helpful apparitions in this illustration by Christoph Peters from Pathfinder Player Core 2
Fumbus, like a flame running out of fuel, lowered his arm and deflated, finally pausing to catch his breath. “Was… that enough?”
“More than enough. You did great.” Quinn squeezed out an assurance. “I think we know now which one of our friendly spirits here is the gossip-loving grandmother. I saw some papers instead of books being moved.” Quinn turned and looked straight at Marbrook. Into Marbrook.
“Also flinched when I swore.” Fumbus too met her gaze. The red-tinted googles reflected… nothing. No bleachling gnome, nor gossip-loving elderly bookseller. Just red glass with a spot of ethereal blue light.
A blush of embarrassment, of being caught eavesdropping, washed over Marbrook. Then came an emptiness—ethereal, spirit, void, death. Cold reality sank, disbelief hollowed. Blurred emotions unnamed, the swirl reverberated like a bell toll echoing dead, dead, dead in crescendo.
Marbrook screamed.
Goosebumps ran up Quinn’s arm as the moan crawled under his skin. Beside him, Fumbus strangled a shriek. The ghost of Marbrook the bookseller, now in her shape in life, closed the distance. Quinn saw a missing eye, a slashed throat, and through the translucent body, a stab wound in the back. Such death would make a ghost of anyone, and make them want to forget it happened.
Crash! Glass shattered upon the ghost. Drops sizzled on the floor. Fumbus had retreated a distance, then improvised some acid from among his carried reagents to throw. Quinn was thankful the alchemist’s aim spared him, still beside the ghost, from collateral damage. He was also thankful Fumbus didn’t throw his usual alchemist fire. Not that it mattered against the ghost. Neither would have worked.
Quinn made his own retreat, thinking. They were ill-equipped and without backup. No blessed weapons, no holy water, no cleric. How do you fight a ghost under such circumstances? An intimately familiar voice in his mind answered, “you don’t fight if you can help it; you try talking.”
What should one talk to a livid ghost about? Hello there, may I inquire why you are a ghost? What tragedy befell you? With this bookstore, there were no signs of a struggle, no blood suggesting violence, not even a corpse. The shop was immaculately clean without even a speck of dust— unless it had not always been so.
The custodians. Their erratic shelving of the books. Quinn looked for the spirits. All three were gathered about the acid damage and broken glass, prodding at the stains and sweeping. Fumbus was right. The ritual was for cleaning. Cleaning up evidence, specifically. What “clean” means beyond stains and messes can be ambiguous. In some languages, clean also conveyed “to tidy” or “to organize”. One command, and you could not only erase evidence of a crime, but also make a store look as if its owner was still about, just… reorganizing inventory.
This was no normal crime, nor an average criminal. This was a professional.
Across the room, Fumbus shrieked with a gurgle, running away from a pursuing Marbrook as he downed a vial of red liquid. Quinn stowed the rudimentary criminal profile away. The plan for the immediate moment: One, talk Marbrook down from violence; two, ask questions without prolonging her suffering; three, leave this place alive with Fumbus.
Just in case, Quinn made an alternative plan which skipped to step three. There were some rook droppings he needed to make sure Fumbus had a chance to collect.
About the Author
Sen H.H.S. is a Taiwanese TTRPG freelancer and one of the winners of the Diana Jones Emerging Designer Program in 2023. Her works with Paizo include Rage of Elements, Pathfinder Adventure Path #196: The Summer that Never Was, and the Tian Xia World Guide. She has upcoming contributions in the Tian Xia Character Guide as well as the Curtain Call Adventure Path.
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.
Players who want to pick up the investigation where Fumbus and Quinn’s adventure leaves off need look no further than Pathfinder Player Core 2, which remasters eight Pathfinder Second Edition classes including the alchemist and investigator. Among the many existing and new character options for members of all classes found within, you’ll find the phantasmal custodians ritual responsible for the fastidious apparitions in this story. Pathfinder Player Core 2 is available for preorder now, and will release in hardcover, special edition hardcover, retailer exclusive sketch variant hardcover, and PDF on August 1, 2024, and in pocket edition softcover in October.
