A scream woke him. Llyr shot up in the bed, unaware that he’d actually slept for some time. He’d been lost in a most unusual discussion with an ithecal in his dreams. Like most Emean conversations, he shook it off quick enough. He grabbed his pants, pulled them on, and then hurried into the hall to look down the way. Lacing the waist tight, he looked one way, then the other.
There was a girl, in maid attire of an apron dress and rolled up sleeves. Next to her, a bucket of spilled wash water. The puddle spread along the floorboards. She stared into one of the rooms, hands over her mouth to muffle any more screams. Other doors opened; some with clients, some with workers, and some with both at The Lonely Mark. All to see what had caused the high-pitched sound.
Being an establishment for soldiers, most of the clients bothered to see what was going on. Llyr did so, as well. The room wasn’t that far from his own. He avoided the puddle of washwater. His wings had returned, formed overnight, and his halo shone brilliant above his head. It was enough to make the stunned girl look at him.
“Mister L?” She squeaked. He vaguely recognized her from other mornings. He didn’t know her name though. Whoever she was, she let out a wail and wrapped her arms around his bare waist as if he might protect her.
Llyr set a hand on her shoulder. He looked past the doorframe of Room 6. His breath halted. The pulse of his blood stopped cold. Two bodies sprawled in pieces, slashed and stabbed to horrific bits of carcasses. He recognized the long black hair and shreds of satin robe, despite the face being mauled beyond familiarity: Emmalee.
To the side, he realized by context, the hint of freckled cheek and pointed ear that’d evaded some of the brutality - Pattie the hostess.
In the morning light, the splattered patches of blood looked mostly brown with reddish tint. This hadn’t just happened. They’d been left like this, in the room, for more than a couple breaks or so.
Another man walked near and grumbled, “Ain’t that gruesome.”
The sound of running echoed up the stairs. A frazzled gray-haired man rushed in front of Llyr. He spread his arms wide between him and the doorframe. “Nothing to see here! Back to your rooms, please, if you will. Breakfast, whatever you want, on the house! And a… a break with any body of your choice for the trouble.”
The stranger beside Llyr shrugged and sleepily said, “Not bad.” He headed back to the room, as did the other bleary-eyed patrons.
Llyr remained standing in front of the proprietor. He vaguely recognized him from one of the nights he’d visited. He asked, “What happened?”
“You think I know?” snapped the man. He grimaced, then told the maid, “Yinna, go downstairs and get the fellahs to help with this.”
“Yessir,” said the girl. She let go of Llyr, then ran away from the crime scene.
“Did you need something else? Maybe, I could… uh… more than a break? With any… as many as you’d like?” offered the proprietor.
“No, not now at least,” said Llyr. He picked up the bucket. “That’s Emmalee in there, isn’t it?”
“Oh… Oh shit. Lee, and… damn. No, you shouldn’t have to see this. I’m incredibly sorry, sir. This has never happened before! Not here! We pride ourselves in maintaining a bloodless establishment. Shit… The blackguard will want to take a look and now they’ll be snooping around here. Dammit. Just what I need.” The gray-haired man ruffled his hair in worry. He absently waved at Llyr. “You should go before they get here. They’ll want to ask questions and... Not that… Obviously, it wasn’t you.”
Llyr stared at the shorter man’s frantic attitude. He asked, “Are you certain you don’t want my help? I could cle-”
“I’m certain, Mister L! Please, help yourself to whatever you need but I suggest you leave before the guard arrives.”
The biqaj hesitated, then set the bucket to the side. He walked down the hall, back to his room, though he lingered at the door in slight hope that the proprietor might change his mind. Instead, the gray-haired man vanished into the gruesome room and slammed the door behind him.
Llyr sighed and went back into his own accommodations. He gathered his clothing, then sat down at a chair to stare at the floor. He’d only spent time with Emmalee a few breaks ago. Had it been the detailed information about the gangsters of the south and north O.P.? Had the prostitute said too much to him? Or was it completely unrelated? Had it something to do with another client?
…or was it his fault?
He swore lowly, then rubbed at the temples of his head. His jaw hurt, and his lip had scabbed over with the cut that Danny’s punches had laid into him. An ache pounded in his skull, enough to make him want to settle under the covers for a couple more breaks of sleep.
Instead, Llyr dressed in his outfit from yestertrial. He hadn’t expected to visit The Lonely Mark that night, so he didn’t have a second set of clothes with him. Llyr searched the pitchers for any water or likewise, but everything had gotten used up and he suspected it had been Pattie’s job to replenish the pitchers overnight. …and she couldn’t quite do that when she was hacked apart like a crude butcher’s slab.
Head pounding, hands shaking, he managed to get a cigarette going and then left the room. His wounded lip stung from the smoke, but it was worth it to breathe in the tobacco. He double-checked that he had everything, from the largest item to the smallest. But nothing had been robbed while he slept… which seemed minor to worry about when he walked past Room 6 again.
In the time it’d taken him to dress and get ready to leave, rope had been strung up over the door to deter people from entering. Muffled noises of the soldierly patrons claiming their free hospitality sounded in the neighboring rooms. Nothing but a bit of civilian death for them, no more grisly than that which occurred on the battlefields or in Rhakros.
Llyr glanced down the stairs. He heard the proprietor anxiously instructing employees about, in what sounded like preparation for the black guard’s arrival. One of the maids had tripped with a box of scrolls, earning the stressed owner’s ire as he scolded her for the clumsiness and yelled at the others to help him get the scrolls into the nearest hearth fire.
Llyr glanced the other way of the hall, but no one was there. He ducked under the ropes, opened the door, and sneaked inside Room 6.
It reeked of death. Not old musty corpses, or stale necromantic catacombs, but fresh and pungent. He retrieved a handkerchief and held it over his lower face. He slowly shut the door behind him to keep quiet.
Delicately stepping around the pools of sticky dried blood, Llyr went to the window. He opened the shutters, to let some fresh air in, then turned around and leaned against the frame. He smoked while he glanced over the room.
From wall to wall, the place had gotten covered in life force. Bits of brain and fragments of skull stuck against the painted stone, severed guts strung over the bed posts, the sheets and blankets were on the floor with the mattress left bare and barely on the frame anymore. It was obvious that either Emmalee or Pattie had tried to climb up onto it to escape whoever had done this to them. The pillows had gotten thrown across the room, where they laid soaked in blood puddles.
“-don’t care what he says. If Lagolla has issue with me picking up this case before the bodies go cold, then he can take it up with me.”
Llyr leaned out the window slightly. In the adjacent alley, a trio of men had ducked into it.
“Keep your voice down, Garnet,” hissed a man in what Llyr recognized to be Black Guard armor. “We’re only following protocol.”
“Protocol? Since when is barring investigators from examination of a crime scene, protocol?” asked the other who wasn’t in armor, but whose attire was just as black in color.
“We don’t know if you’re assigned to it yet or not. We’ve got to wait for the go ahead fro-” the man stammered when the clothed man strode out of the alley. He looked at the other armored Black Guard and swore, “Dammit. I told you to stop him at the gates!”
“I tried,” insisted the other guard. “But you know how he is. Better he gets on it, anyhow. Might actually get solved then.”
A frustrated scoff served as the response. Llyr stopped listening and stared at the door when he heard the sound of stomped feet and the frantic voice of the proprietor.
“-was told that there wouldn’t be an investigator for another break or so!”
The door swung open. A grisly-faced old man, scars along one side of his face where his eye had gone milky blind, yanked down the ropes in his way. “Guess they told yeh wrong then, didn’t they? Who the fek are you?”
Llyr hesitated, but he didn’t move from his spot at the window. He flicked the cigarette out the frame and returned the handkerchief to cover his lower face.
“Ah, this is one of the patrons, he uh-” started the proprietor, but he found himself at a loss with an incredulous expression on his face.
“I wanted to see if I could help,” offered Llyr.
“Help?” snapped the detective. “Did you touch anything? Move anything?”
“No, sir.” Llyr moved away from the window and retraced his path to avoid the gore. “Only opened the window there. I was staying in a nearby room.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“…no. Afraid not. Other than the scream of the maid who found them like this.”
“A maid?” He looked at the gray-haired owner. “You said you found the bodies, Tamhas. Go get this maid. I need to speak with her immediately.”
The owner, Tamhas, stammered about having meant something else, that he’d been with the maid or that she’d come after or- he couldn’t get his stories straight and made his leave.
Llyr stared at the older man, and asked, “Who are you?”
“Investigator Dale Garnet,” he answered shortly. He paced along a clear path to look around the room. “You’re sure you didn’t touch anything?”
“Not in the slightest. Though the owner was in here for a time, alone. He seemed to not want anyone around. Told me to leave before any of you got here.”
“And a maid found this first?”
“Yes, sir. A short young woman with copper in her hair. Yinna was her name, I think.”
“Lisirra on a stick, look at that wall,” muttered Garnet as he turned around to look at the brain and skull fragments. “Like a fates damned necromancer redecorated the place. Okay, kid, I’ll take your word for it. But you need to leave. Close the door behind you.”
“You sure?” asked Llyr. “My name’s Llywelyn by the way. People here know me as Mister L, though.”
“I’m positive. I need to focus and can’t do that with someone like you around.” Garnet knelt beside a portion of Emmalee.
Llyr nodded. He hesitated at the door, then left and shut the door behind him. On the air, past the aroma of death, as he lowered his handkerchief… he caught a whiff of the telltale scent of ether. Another mage? Llyr shrugged, checked that he had everything again, then headed down the stairs to leave. He needed to get back home and as much as he wanted to figure out what happened, he didn’t have all trial to sit around. He’d contact the Black Guard later to inquire about it, once they had more time to investigate.
There was a girl, in maid attire of an apron dress and rolled up sleeves. Next to her, a bucket of spilled wash water. The puddle spread along the floorboards. She stared into one of the rooms, hands over her mouth to muffle any more screams. Other doors opened; some with clients, some with workers, and some with both at The Lonely Mark. All to see what had caused the high-pitched sound.
Being an establishment for soldiers, most of the clients bothered to see what was going on. Llyr did so, as well. The room wasn’t that far from his own. He avoided the puddle of washwater. His wings had returned, formed overnight, and his halo shone brilliant above his head. It was enough to make the stunned girl look at him.
“Mister L?” She squeaked. He vaguely recognized her from other mornings. He didn’t know her name though. Whoever she was, she let out a wail and wrapped her arms around his bare waist as if he might protect her.
Llyr set a hand on her shoulder. He looked past the doorframe of Room 6. His breath halted. The pulse of his blood stopped cold. Two bodies sprawled in pieces, slashed and stabbed to horrific bits of carcasses. He recognized the long black hair and shreds of satin robe, despite the face being mauled beyond familiarity: Emmalee.
To the side, he realized by context, the hint of freckled cheek and pointed ear that’d evaded some of the brutality - Pattie the hostess.
In the morning light, the splattered patches of blood looked mostly brown with reddish tint. This hadn’t just happened. They’d been left like this, in the room, for more than a couple breaks or so.
Another man walked near and grumbled, “Ain’t that gruesome.”
The sound of running echoed up the stairs. A frazzled gray-haired man rushed in front of Llyr. He spread his arms wide between him and the doorframe. “Nothing to see here! Back to your rooms, please, if you will. Breakfast, whatever you want, on the house! And a… a break with any body of your choice for the trouble.”
The stranger beside Llyr shrugged and sleepily said, “Not bad.” He headed back to the room, as did the other bleary-eyed patrons.
Llyr remained standing in front of the proprietor. He vaguely recognized him from one of the nights he’d visited. He asked, “What happened?”
“You think I know?” snapped the man. He grimaced, then told the maid, “Yinna, go downstairs and get the fellahs to help with this.”
“Yessir,” said the girl. She let go of Llyr, then ran away from the crime scene.
“Did you need something else? Maybe, I could… uh… more than a break? With any… as many as you’d like?” offered the proprietor.
“No, not now at least,” said Llyr. He picked up the bucket. “That’s Emmalee in there, isn’t it?”
“Oh… Oh shit. Lee, and… damn. No, you shouldn’t have to see this. I’m incredibly sorry, sir. This has never happened before! Not here! We pride ourselves in maintaining a bloodless establishment. Shit… The blackguard will want to take a look and now they’ll be snooping around here. Dammit. Just what I need.” The gray-haired man ruffled his hair in worry. He absently waved at Llyr. “You should go before they get here. They’ll want to ask questions and... Not that… Obviously, it wasn’t you.”
Llyr stared at the shorter man’s frantic attitude. He asked, “Are you certain you don’t want my help? I could cle-”
“I’m certain, Mister L! Please, help yourself to whatever you need but I suggest you leave before the guard arrives.”
The biqaj hesitated, then set the bucket to the side. He walked down the hall, back to his room, though he lingered at the door in slight hope that the proprietor might change his mind. Instead, the gray-haired man vanished into the gruesome room and slammed the door behind him.
Llyr sighed and went back into his own accommodations. He gathered his clothing, then sat down at a chair to stare at the floor. He’d only spent time with Emmalee a few breaks ago. Had it been the detailed information about the gangsters of the south and north O.P.? Had the prostitute said too much to him? Or was it completely unrelated? Had it something to do with another client?
…or was it his fault?
He swore lowly, then rubbed at the temples of his head. His jaw hurt, and his lip had scabbed over with the cut that Danny’s punches had laid into him. An ache pounded in his skull, enough to make him want to settle under the covers for a couple more breaks of sleep.
Instead, Llyr dressed in his outfit from yestertrial. He hadn’t expected to visit The Lonely Mark that night, so he didn’t have a second set of clothes with him. Llyr searched the pitchers for any water or likewise, but everything had gotten used up and he suspected it had been Pattie’s job to replenish the pitchers overnight. …and she couldn’t quite do that when she was hacked apart like a crude butcher’s slab.
Head pounding, hands shaking, he managed to get a cigarette going and then left the room. His wounded lip stung from the smoke, but it was worth it to breathe in the tobacco. He double-checked that he had everything, from the largest item to the smallest. But nothing had been robbed while he slept… which seemed minor to worry about when he walked past Room 6 again.
In the time it’d taken him to dress and get ready to leave, rope had been strung up over the door to deter people from entering. Muffled noises of the soldierly patrons claiming their free hospitality sounded in the neighboring rooms. Nothing but a bit of civilian death for them, no more grisly than that which occurred on the battlefields or in Rhakros.
Llyr glanced down the stairs. He heard the proprietor anxiously instructing employees about, in what sounded like preparation for the black guard’s arrival. One of the maids had tripped with a box of scrolls, earning the stressed owner’s ire as he scolded her for the clumsiness and yelled at the others to help him get the scrolls into the nearest hearth fire.
Llyr glanced the other way of the hall, but no one was there. He ducked under the ropes, opened the door, and sneaked inside Room 6.
It reeked of death. Not old musty corpses, or stale necromantic catacombs, but fresh and pungent. He retrieved a handkerchief and held it over his lower face. He slowly shut the door behind him to keep quiet.
Delicately stepping around the pools of sticky dried blood, Llyr went to the window. He opened the shutters, to let some fresh air in, then turned around and leaned against the frame. He smoked while he glanced over the room.
From wall to wall, the place had gotten covered in life force. Bits of brain and fragments of skull stuck against the painted stone, severed guts strung over the bed posts, the sheets and blankets were on the floor with the mattress left bare and barely on the frame anymore. It was obvious that either Emmalee or Pattie had tried to climb up onto it to escape whoever had done this to them. The pillows had gotten thrown across the room, where they laid soaked in blood puddles.
“-don’t care what he says. If Lagolla has issue with me picking up this case before the bodies go cold, then he can take it up with me.”
Llyr leaned out the window slightly. In the adjacent alley, a trio of men had ducked into it.
“Keep your voice down, Garnet,” hissed a man in what Llyr recognized to be Black Guard armor. “We’re only following protocol.”
“Protocol? Since when is barring investigators from examination of a crime scene, protocol?” asked the other who wasn’t in armor, but whose attire was just as black in color.
“We don’t know if you’re assigned to it yet or not. We’ve got to wait for the go ahead fro-” the man stammered when the clothed man strode out of the alley. He looked at the other armored Black Guard and swore, “Dammit. I told you to stop him at the gates!”
“I tried,” insisted the other guard. “But you know how he is. Better he gets on it, anyhow. Might actually get solved then.”
A frustrated scoff served as the response. Llyr stopped listening and stared at the door when he heard the sound of stomped feet and the frantic voice of the proprietor.
“-was told that there wouldn’t be an investigator for another break or so!”
The door swung open. A grisly-faced old man, scars along one side of his face where his eye had gone milky blind, yanked down the ropes in his way. “Guess they told yeh wrong then, didn’t they? Who the fek are you?”
Llyr hesitated, but he didn’t move from his spot at the window. He flicked the cigarette out the frame and returned the handkerchief to cover his lower face.
“Ah, this is one of the patrons, he uh-” started the proprietor, but he found himself at a loss with an incredulous expression on his face.
“I wanted to see if I could help,” offered Llyr.
“Help?” snapped the detective. “Did you touch anything? Move anything?”
“No, sir.” Llyr moved away from the window and retraced his path to avoid the gore. “Only opened the window there. I was staying in a nearby room.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“…no. Afraid not. Other than the scream of the maid who found them like this.”
“A maid?” He looked at the gray-haired owner. “You said you found the bodies, Tamhas. Go get this maid. I need to speak with her immediately.”
The owner, Tamhas, stammered about having meant something else, that he’d been with the maid or that she’d come after or- he couldn’t get his stories straight and made his leave.
Llyr stared at the older man, and asked, “Who are you?”
“Investigator Dale Garnet,” he answered shortly. He paced along a clear path to look around the room. “You’re sure you didn’t touch anything?”
“Not in the slightest. Though the owner was in here for a time, alone. He seemed to not want anyone around. Told me to leave before any of you got here.”
“And a maid found this first?”
“Yes, sir. A short young woman with copper in her hair. Yinna was her name, I think.”
“Lisirra on a stick, look at that wall,” muttered Garnet as he turned around to look at the brain and skull fragments. “Like a fates damned necromancer redecorated the place. Okay, kid, I’ll take your word for it. But you need to leave. Close the door behind you.”
“You sure?” asked Llyr. “My name’s Llywelyn by the way. People here know me as Mister L, though.”
“I’m positive. I need to focus and can’t do that with someone like you around.” Garnet knelt beside a portion of Emmalee.
Llyr nodded. He hesitated at the door, then left and shut the door behind him. On the air, past the aroma of death, as he lowered his handkerchief… he caught a whiff of the telltale scent of ether. Another mage? Llyr shrugged, checked that he had everything again, then headed down the stairs to leave. He needed to get back home and as much as he wanted to figure out what happened, he didn’t have all trial to sit around. He’d contact the Black Guard later to inquire about it, once they had more time to investigate.
