"If it made you unhappy to kill them, you were, of course, free to choose to let them kill you," General Mescher replies casually. "This is not Magnimar. Certain areas of Riddleport are dangerous places for dangerous men; if you don't wish to encounter them, I suggest you stay in safer neighborhoods ... and don't associate with Saul Vankaskerkin."
Braddon Hurst wrote:
"That letter was written and intercepted on Wealday, during the flood. Does that happen often? Everyone seemed to know what to do."
"The flood?" he asks, with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh, you mean the tidal surge. Every year or two, I suppose. Does a bit of minor damage, puts some coin in Casamen Cazynsik's pocket. They say there was one seventeen years ago so large that it destroyed the waterfront and flooded River District as far as Velashu Ferry. That was before I lived here, though."
"If that's all, gentlemen, I'll let you show yourselves out. And I'll send a runner to the Gold Goblin when the contents of the vials have been identified."
"I see a congruence, General, in our caring for those injured by her acts, and would even call us allies, but your officer Graves, when I suggested similar common cause and alliance, disabused me of my error, citing my lack of uniform. So I'll leave such suggestion to you to make, and until then imagine nothing like alliance, despite clear common cause."
Mescher levels a cold gaze at Gristav. "Graves has my full support in disabusing you of your misconception. The Gendarmerie are allies of no faction. We serve the Overlord and no one else. While we appreciate a compliant citizenry, our acting on tips from informants does not imply any sort of reciprocity on our account."
"You want us to head back to the townhouse again and see what else we missed?"
"No, thank you," the general replies. "I think it's best we keep these particular proceedings official. If you turn up at the Harbor View commanding cooperation on the grounds you're working with the Gendarmes, who's to say Lil can't send her own agents with a similar claim? I prefer to limit access, as much as possible. If the basket is discovered, I can send you a runner with the information."
"As for the vials," he turns to Gristav, "I should have their former contents identified before sunset. I can send that information as well ... with the caveat, of course, that should any of this leak into the common rumors of the town, I'll know who to blame." He fixes the half-elves with a dour glare before continuing. "The idea that the necklace might be planted elsewhere to deflect suspicion and impute blame has merit. Have you any idea whom Lil might want to discredit? Someone without an alibi for Sunday afternoon?"
"It's an outside chance it's still there," the general admits briskly, "but it harms nothing to check. A basket might easily have been overlooked or assumed to have been the property of the victim. Was there anything else suggested by the corpse's testimony?" He looks particularly at Gristav, who originally suggested the discussion.
Flinging Gristav an annoyed glare, the general selects one of his men seemingly at random. "Get Cooke on the paperwork when he finishes with the priest, and have any prisoners Graves brings in detained to incorporate their names and descriptions. Come along, gentlemen." Dismissing the interruption, he sweeps up the stairs to his office.
Nodding to the last to enter the close the door behind him, he sets the parchment on his desk and quickly scans it. "One thing strikes me," he notes. "The basket. Ananda didn't mention the false Vishki carrying a basket when they left the residence. It's possible it was left behind and overlooked as irrelevant; if we can lay our hands on the basket, it might help tie Lil Scarlet to the crime scene. Or," he sighs, "she may have thrown it over the cliff with the housekeeper, in which case it's almost certainly unretrievable in the harbor. I'll send a man back to the Harbor View specifically to locate a basket."
Mescher stares at Snake for a long moment. "If you're willing to sign an affidavit stating that the persons in question are innocent of illegal cultic activity and that you take responsibility for any future disturbance of the public order they might incite, I suppose they could be released into your custody."
Mescher picks up the transcript of the brief interview and invites Gristav and Braddon to follow him with a querying eyebrow.
On the ground floor, shortly after being passed by Cooke and Arnando Rolfe, Snake sees General Mescher arriving at the top of the stairs with a piece of parchment folded loosely in his hand. He tosses his pomander back in the bowl and heads for the main staircase up to his office.
"He is not welcome," Mescher says decidedly, "and how you chose to represent the service requested of him is irrelevant. He'll be paid fairly for his expertise, and that will be the end of his involvement in the matter."
"And it appears spells were used for compliance, which begs the question...", Gristav pauses, then asks with eyes circling the room, but landing on Mescher, "May we all discuss freely? Or are any or all of us unpreferred for discussing the facts of the case?"
Mescher glances over at Cooke, whose quill has been scratching away. "Did you get all that, Cooke? Good. Escort Mr. Rolf upstairs and settle accounts for his services. I believe the rest of us will reconvene somewhere with a more pleasant ambiance for said discussion. My office, gentlemen?"
The general looks on the verge of an angry retort, but he bites his lip and considers a moment, a dangerous gleam in his eye. "'How would you describe,'" he says deliberately, "'the appearance, demeanor, and personal possessions of the person to whom you last opened the door?'"
"Cooke!" Mescher calls quietly but authoritatively up the staircase, and the Gendarme in question appears. "I'll need a transcript of questions and answers," the general tells him, and the man nods, takes a parchment and quill from a drawer, and stands ready to take dictation.
General Mescher arches a brow. "My daughter was drugged, not enchanted" he reminds Gristav. "Still, as you say, we have no proof, at least until that pair of vials has been analyzed."
"Lil has a magic creature- a family. It's a bird and the gnome..." ("Better leave out the gnome.") "...I mean, it's always with her. So even if Gramma can't describe Lil she might describe her falim... famli...pet."
Mescher ignores Snake's departure with equanimity. "I doubt she's the only woman in town with a bird, even discounting sailors and Cyphermages, both of whom are known to have an affinity for pets. Still, it's a detail that can be ascertained. We can ask her to describe the last person to whom she answered the door; if she doesn't mention a bird, we could make that a second question. Alternatively, we could ask her to describe the sequence of events after the murderer entered, although I doubt we'll learn anything we haven't already guessed. I take it we're in agreement that the intruder likely drugged her as soon as possible and she'll know nothing that happened afterward?"
The general's eyes flash with annoyance as he looks over to see if Rolf is maintaining concentration. "Gentlemen, if this can't wait until after the interrogation, pray take it upstairs. The last thing we need is a distraction from the task at hand."
"Can't we just ask her what are the last events she remembers? And to describe the person she last saw? Cause that wouldn't be Ananda because she was upstairs the whole time."
"If the murderer was disguised, a description will be of limited use," Mescher reminds them quietly. "Still, we can only know what the late Mistress Vishki knew, which may be little enough. "
General Mescher shrugs. "Be that as it may," he replies. "We'll just have to try to work around your ... insufficiencies. We'll leave you be. Alert me when you're ready for me to feed you the questions." He gestures to the others to gather at the foot of the stairs to give the cleric space to prepare. "Inconvenient that he's so limited. Have you any suggestions how to word the questions? We must be exact; we've no margin for error if anything is less than clear."
"She's busy," Mescher lies effortlessly, "and there's a bit of a rush to get the matter settled. The body wasn't found immediately, you see, and is getting a little ripe. Don't worry; you'll be compensated for your time and trouble."
He leads the way to the small closet from which the stairs descend to the basement and passes around the bowl of scented pomanders to counter the ripening stench of the decomposing corpse. Arnando idly takes one, while frowning at the manacles and instruments of torture hanging on the wall. When everyone has been furnished with a pomander, the general takes up a lantern to light the way down into the dark subterranean space. Mistress Vishki is still waiting on the wooden table, looking rather worse than she did the night before.
"Your subject, Mr. Rolf, and our victim," Mescher says briskly, as he sets the lantern near her discolored face, pressing the pomander to his nose. "Is there anything you need? How long will this take?"
Arnando looks, if possible, even more confused than he was before Braddon's explanation, but he doesn't have time to respond, as General Mescher comes down the staircase. "Ah, Mr. Rolf," he smirks. "Thank you for joining us."
"Fine," he nods, sitting down behind his desk. "If anyone questions your presence, simply show your badge. When the priest arrives, come in with him." He gives you a friendly nod of dismissal.
"Certainly," Mescher replies. "Shall I have my staff set you up in an office downstairs, or would you rather have a look around outside while you wait?"
Ananda nods a little shyly, dropping a half-curtsey with a glance at her father. The general smiles and gives her a nod of dismissal, at which she leaves the room; you can see her climbing the stairs outside the open door.
"If you'll step back to my office a moment, Mr. Heart?" Mescher invites cordially. He opens the door and allows you to enter first before stepping in behind you. Closing the door, he turns to you with the first truly enthusiastic smile you've ever seen on his face and clasps your hand in his, shaking it delightedly. "Excellently done!" he beams. "I had no idea what you were on about when you started making such ridiculous suggestions, but you are a clever one, aren't you? You knew how to make her see reason, when she had been dead set against going to the country. I can't thank you enough!"
"If it is a ghost, an ordinary sword wouldn't harm it," the general points out, "and if you did succeed in dispersing it, it would return within a week. Unquiet spirits are difficult to banish. If it's incapable of doing anything other than scaring people and throwing rocks at them, probably best written off as a bit of local color."
You finish the lunch, easily the most elegant meal you've had since ... well, since leaving Ostenso certainly. The Three-Billed Duck serves a good bill of fare but nothing this delicate and intricately seasoned. Mescher announces the end of the meal by laying his linen napkin on the table and rising to his feet. "Thank you, Mr. Heart, for joining us," he says with a slight bow in your direction. "Your company was most welcome."
The general quirks an eyebrow at the report. "Similar to other witness statements. The apparition seems more intent on frightening its victims than harming them -- for which we can be grateful, I suppose. Perhaps it's merely a poltergeist. Did it throw anything at you?"
The general's sour frown expresses that perhaps whoever threw Zaiome Vishki off the cliff had done him a favor. "I believe you mean a yardarm, Ananda," he says didactically, "not a mast. And I would hardly call a system of laws which ensures that promises are kept and debts are paid a 'corrupt' one; in point of fact, it would seem more apt to apply such terminology to its opposite, in which a man's word means nothing and those who rely on promises and contracts in good faith are without recourse. What of it, Mr. Heart?" he asks you sardonically. "Did the apparition deliver an economic treatise on the benefits of collectivism?"
General Mescher is startled by the sudden change of subject. "Captain Cullie? Almost certainly an urban legend. We've had no reported deaths where the physical evidence definitively corroborates incorporeal attack. Most travelers found dead in the area seem to have fallen off the edge of the bluff into the swamp; some remains show signs of having been eaten by scavengers before they were discovered -- Ananda, excuse me," he suddenly remembers his daughter's presence and the fact that you're all at the dinner table. "Most witnesses only report seeing or hearing something frightening and running away. Why do you ask? Had a dare to spend the night out there, have you?"
General Mescher eagerly seizes the opening created by Ananda's discomfiture. "But my dear, that's what I want for you as well: a life of comfort and contentment. You've never lived in the country, and you're imagining it's isolated. From my understanding, this manor is no more than an hour's walk from a pleasant little village with shops and taverns. There would be ... harvest festivals and ... whatnot," he casts about, clearly somewhat at a loss himself about the rhythms of country life. "And there's a college, which would mean plenty of opportunities to meet young people. I really wish you'd consider the situation with an open mind rather than prejudicing yourself against it from the start."
"What if she wants to stay... with you? You're her family. Maybe she could be, like, your second in command... eventually."
It's Ananda's turn to look incredulous; apparently, a military career had never occurred to her.
"Mr. Heart," the general says, not unkindly, "you are undoubtedly a self-made man yourself, and it's to your credit. But having to struggle and fend for herself ... that's not something I've ever wanted for Ananda. I managed to give her a education befitting a young lady, out of respect for her mother's memory, but I find myself at somewhat of a loss in my attempts to give her a similarly suitable situation. I have neither great wealth nor great influence, outside of Riddleport: I should very much like Ananda to find friends who can advance her interests in my absence or inability."
The general's attendant enters the room once again, this time carrying a large platter piled with slices of boiled fish and simmered vegetables. Removing the soup bowls, he serves the main course to each of you, places the bowls back on the tray, and carries them out.
General Mescher looks as if you just suggested Ananda go to Tian Xia. "To --? How do you propose a young girl support herself in Absalom, without family or friends nearby?" he asks sharply. "Is she just to wander off the boat with all her possessions and place her trust in the first stranger she meets to find suitable living arrangements?"
The general looks a little annoyed at the topic being raised so soon and so bluntly, but he sets down his spoon and tries to speak lightly. "I thought it might be pleasant for her to get away from the heat and bustle of the city and enjoy a nice bucolic country retreat," he smiles down the table at his daughter. "She's only ever lived in an urban environment, and the serenity of natural surroundings will be a new experience for her. Haven't you been telling me that you'd like to broaden your horizons, Ananda?" She doesn't answer, and he presses on with determined cheerfulness. "I'd certainly enjoy some time away somewhere cool and green that doesn't stink of fish and grime, wouldn't you, Mr. Heart?" He turns his eyes to Braddon expectantly.
You hear the sound of booted footsteps approaching in the hallway. "Well, first thing after lunch then," the general's exasperated voice drifts through the closed door. "Tell Slyeg's office it's urgent."
The door opens, and General Mescher strides in. "Ah, Ananda," he greets his daughter with a strained smile. "I see you've already greeted our guest." Ananda, having used the moment before her father entered the room to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes and compose herself, nods distantly in Braddon's direction and takes her seat at the foot of the table. "Mr. Heart," he goes on with false cheer, clearly intending to plow ahead and ignore Ananda's mood, "please have a seat. I hope you're hungry." He takes his own place at the head of the table and rings a heavy brass handbell next to his plate.
"General, there's a woman surviving a cut throat in that house. Do you judge your men's gentleness in the search of Ananda's home as typical of their methods? Might an unmartial mage moderate their methods? With your blessing?"
Mescher stares at Gristav a moment, then shrugs and moves with him to the front door of the building. "Graves!" he calls into the courtyard where the Gendarme is gathering a group of men. "Civilian traveling with you. He'll be able to point out the men to be taken into custody." He gives Gristav a nod and an appraising gaze before turning to go back into his HQ.
General Mescher politely gestures Gristav, Piccolo, and Snake down the stairs in front of him and brings up the rear. "There's evidence upstairs that needs to be analyzed," he tells one of the Gendarmes on the first floor. "A scarf and two vials on my desk. Treat them with care, and take them across to Slyeg's man to be examined. Graves," he turns to another man, "I need a squadron to the flophouse known as Rag's End in Rotgut to pick up the losing end of a recent scuffle. Bring them in, both corpses and wounded. Better requisition a boat up the river; no point parading them through Leeward Common on a market day. Snyde, tell the cook I need another place set; there will be three for lunch. Oh, and inform the guardhouse that we'll be expecting Mr. Rolf of the Publican House sometime this afternoon; bring his party straight through, and inform me immediately when he arrives." The Gendarmes promptly disperse as he finishes issuing orders, going upstairs or out the door accordingly; there's little doubt but that Mescher runs a tight ship.
He turns back to the party. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen; unfortunately, few in Riddleport are as public-spirited as yourselves."
"Mr. Heart, if you'll step across the corridor, you'll find the dining room," General Mescher informs Braddon. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll have someone see to this evidence and inform them to set another place at the table. Gentlemen," he turns to the others, "I'll escort you downstairs. You're welcome to return with the cleric, if you care to observe the interrogation."
Mescher grimaces. "In my experience, family members being present during interrogation of a corpse is a bad idea. At best, it leads to distracting emotional outbursts; at worst, they may start demanding that their own questions be put to the body. I would prefer to keep the interview as dispassionate and unbiased as possible."
"As to the grandson's disposition, I have no objection to his leaving Riddleport and becoming the problem of some other jurisdiction. It seems unlikely that he has anything to do with the affair, having been in custody for so long. But if you think there is some value in questioning or following him, I'll have him held until you're ready for him."
"Of course," he replies and then frowns. "Or, rather ... she knows I obtained it. I'm not sure your name ever came up."
"Snake" wrote:
"Don't worry, General, I'll inform the bartender. That way, you and 'Mr. Hart' here can get started on that lunch."
"Excellent," the general nods. "I must enjoin you not to inform him of the identity of the suspect or any of the details of the case. He's here merely as ... an interpreter, shall we say? The less he knows of the matter, the more objective he'll be."
Gristav wrote:
"Snake, if you would come tell me when Arnando expects to report here, I'd like to be present. If I may, General?"
"Certainly," Mescher assents diffidently. "The more disinterested witnesses to the interrogation, the better. I presume you'll be willing to testify officially as to the dead woman's words? Oh," he pauses, "there's also the matter of the grandson's release. Have you given any thought to approaching him, or do you just want me to let him go? I imagine he'll be taking the first caravan out of Lubbertown before we change our minds about holding him."
"Excellent," the general replies, standing up. "Will you inform the Caydenite priest to come this afternoon at his leisure, or ought I to send a runner to carry the message? My men will expect you to deliver the scribe shortly after sunset. Inform me at once if there is any difficulty; we cannot afford the man getting loose and contacting Lil Scarlet." He hesitates. "Mr. Heart, in regard to your offer to speak with my daughter ... might you be inclined to stay to lunch with us?"
"But, you asked where... Rag's End, a name with distant echoes, but in this case a specific site in Riddleport. It should not be hard to locate, the steeple, the bell tower..."
Mescher makes a note of the location.
Gristav wrote:
"I have to preface this next with a disclaimer. I had suggested this to Mister Hart, and he... pointedly demurred, citing my... lack of parental experience. On which point, he is entirely correct. So, stating his objection, I'll now make my suggestion, leaving it to you to judge... It may serve your interests, in Roderic's Cove, Riddleport, and perhaps your household, to help secure and restore the Sarenraeite church. It's just the sort of charity a winning wife might have done as a girl, a girl might find profit in the cautions of, and a Gendarme presence in defense of either would protect both."
"I have neither the authority nor the inclination to sponsor a church of any faith, sir," he replies impatiently. "If you are inclined to take up a collection for the purpose, might I suggest you approach the residents of Windward District? They are both wealthy enough and sufficiently removed from the denizens of Rotgut to be idealistic about its prospects."
Braddon Hurst wrote:
"Yeah, a boat to a Velashu dock after dark. Much better."
"Excellent. We'll use one of the ones in Wharf District, the northernmost dock on the river side of Casamen Cazynsik's shipyard. Drugged and drunken men are always being loaded into dinghies there by press gangs; no one will give you a second glance. I'll have a boat waiting. My man will ask if you've 'another one for the Silver Abrogail'; flash him your badge in return, and he'll take the fellow off your hands. You'll remember the passphrase?"
Braddon Hurst wrote:
"Do we have anything else on the necklace yet?"
"A dead-end, I'm afraid," he sighs. "It was simply catalogued as confiscated from a known fence and presumed stolen. We did have it appraised, but it wasn't judged to be of any remarkable value. It was held as unclaimed property for the required ten months, at which point its ownership passed legally to the Overlord and his official representatives."
The General muses over Braddon's and Gristav's reports. "I'd prefer Weatherby not be marched through Leeward District; a squadron of Gendarmes will attract attention, and someone's bound to recognize him as a local professional. If he's supposed to be in Roderic's Cove waiting for Lil Scarlet's arrival, we certainly don't want word getting to her that he's been seen in custody in Riddleport. Can you get him discreetly to one of the docks along the Velashu after dark? I can send a private boat to collect him."
His expression sours a little when he hears the identity of the priest engaged. "The Lucky Drunk? Well ... I suppose it's better than involving Shorafa. He needn't fret; he'll receive fair payment for his efforts and inconvenience."
He seems outraged, however, by the news of Beltias's operations. "Sons of the Mask? In Riddleport? How dare they? Where is this congregation? I'll send a troop of Gendarmes immediately to round them up. We'll see about bringing them to light in Roderic's Cove as well; I'll send a strict directive to Jess Gildersleeve along with the contingent to arrest Lil Scarlet."
Braddon Hurst wrote:
"How's Ananda? I mean did you tell her about Mistress Vishki? Does she understand? Does she hate me?"
Mescher's face softens visibly at the mention of his daughter's name; he looks tired and immediately a little older. "I can set your mind at ease, Mr. Heart," he sighs. "At the moment, she's putting so much effort into hating me I very much doubt she has the emotion to spare for anyone else."
Mescher picks up the letter and turns it over to examine the inscription and the seal. "Hmm," he frowns sharply at each of them in turn. "The message is exactly as you told me? A simple directive to meet in Roderic's Cove? No specific address or location?"
He pulls a dagger from his desk drawer. Without removing it from the scabbard, he uses the point to turn over the vials and spread out the scarf to examine the pattern before folding the whole thing together into a neat package. "We'll have that examined," he says dismissively. "You're holding the scribe? Hm, yes, it is important to keep track of him until we have the woman in custody, lest he warn her. I should feel more easy to have him in Shoreleave for the duration, however. If you're amenable, I could have him picked up and transferred this afternoon?" He waits a bit impatiently for agreement.
Behind a desk is a dark-haired, middle-aged man in an impeccable uniform who manages to look tall and imposing, even seated. He glances up, shuffling some papers on the desk. "Mr. Heart," he greets Braddon, "you've brought the note for Lil Scarlet?"
You follow the general upstairs to his office. As he shuts the door behind you, he heaves a sigh, and his previously squared shoulders slump momentarily. "I don't suppose you're a father, Mr. Heart?" he asks rhetorically as he crosses the room and sits behind his desk. "Ananda had been away so long for schooling as a child, and the demands of my position are such that I could only rarely take away the time necessary to visit her; having her here where I could see her every day was ... gratifying." He takes a creamy sheet of parchment from a drawer, dips a quill in a pot of ink, and begins to scribe. "But you're right, absolutely. Riddleport is no place for a young lady, unless her ambitions are limited to spreading her legs for coin in Shorafa's brothel or marrying a middle-aged man for his money and social position. I am not a wealthy man -- my influence in Riddleport augments my salary -- but I will find a way to pay her living expenses in more suitable environs."
Finishing his pencraft, he spreads a handful of sand across the writing and then carefully tips it off to keep the ink from blotting. Then he removes from another drawer a palm-sized leather wallet and slides it, along with the paper, across the desk to you. "I am quite sincere about being obliged to you for your forthrightness, Mr. Heart, and I pay my debts. If you find yourself in need in Riddleport, this badge will ensure you the cooperation of any Gendarmes to whom you can show it. The affidavit affirms that the badge was not stolen but granted to you, by my authority, should any question your eligibility to carry it."
He pauses. "You asked earlier about the necklace that was taken. I ... have told you I am not a wealthy man. The necklace was, at some point, confiscated as stolen goods and never reclaimed by its rightful owner. After a certain amount of time, such valuables are deemed the property of the city. I ... wanted to give her something nice." He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "I can have the records searched, try to find out under what circumstances the necklace was seized, but the information may not be there to be found."
He turns a needling gaze on Gristav at the suggestion. "Your Varisian comrade has my token. If you'd shown it at the gate this time, you would have met with no obstruction. Mr. Heart, if you'd be so kind?" He begins to lead Braddon back up the stairs toward his office, then pauses and turns back toward the guard. "Cooke, keep an eye on our guests? While they are not being detained in our headquarters, they've no call to wander."
The Gendarme gets to his feet obediently, turning a bland smile on Gristav and Snake.
"A -- a moment, Mr. Heart," the general requests a little awkwardly, clearly a man more used to issuing orders than to making requests. "A private word in my office, if you don't mind? Your colleagues may wait, if they wish; it won't take long."
