Vance cleared another bar. He finally got Himilco Magus to say the magical words: “You were going through a Redspine High.” It was a fact that had been obvious to Vance from the start, but it was a laborious task to prove it. If he hadn’t weakened the Necronette theory, Himilco would’ve probably refused to take a look at the two Vermeil marks. And if he hadn’t blindly insisted that he was being framed, he would’ve never gotten the chance to go through the examination. Many outcomes had been possible in the chaotic trial, but he achieved this one through patience, perseverance, and a pint of luck.
Not everyone, however, was satisfied.
“Himilco,” Solsnam said, “you know the kind of tricksters Necronettes are, and you’re better than to make such a mistake. Concentrate. Take a second look at the patch marks. If you say they are fake, the trial is over.”
“They don’t look fake,” Himilco said.
“They look fake to me, and we surely shouldn’t let things drag on.”
“I can’t lie.”
“I’m not asking you to lie! I’m asking you to take a better look!”
That two-faced elf! Vance boiled with subcutaneous rage. He didn’t bring up the examination to find out the truth. He wanted to use it as an excuse to convict me, to cut my defense short and give the final ruling.
“I took a better look, Solsnam, but I stand by my initial assessment,” Himilco said calmly. “I’m just as confused as you are, but the patch marks are genuine. As an alchemist, I can’t say otherwise.”
Hearing these words, Vance felt great relief. Now I know that there’s at least one honest person in this room. He looked at the elephant-mage. He could’ve just called the patch marks fake … He could’ve followed Solsnam’s hints and condemned me to death. But he didn’t. It was now clear that Himilco had changed over the course of the trial. He was now looking for more than a fast conviction—he was perhaps seeking a better understanding of the case or even searching for the truth in itself. This reversal had taken time, but Vance welcomed it nonetheless. If he’s back to his senses, that’s a dream come true.
And it wasn’t only Himilco who rose to the suspect’s defense. As soon as the examination was over, Eleanor got up from the stone chair and stood beside Vance, who was now dressed again. Her movements made it clear whose side she was on, but she still felt it necessary to assert her stance. She gathered her courage. Then she said, “The suspect is innocent.” She held his arm to keep him close. “I’ve been saying this from the start. He’s being framed.” She rattled his shackles. “Let him go. Give him a chance to help us find the real killer. We’ve already wasted enough time arguing among ourselves.”
Eleanor sounded rational and persuasive, but Solsnam laughed. Opposing both of his advisors, the elf picked up his notebook and said, “It seems everyone has forgotten all about my findings.” He flipped the pages. “So the suspect has no motive. So he was forced into a Redspine High. So what? Even if we are wrong about everything that preceded the crime, the most important fact has never changed: Shannon died in a locked room, and Vance was the only one inside with her. If you want me to let him go, then name a new suspect, and explain to me how this new suspect got past the lock.”
“We already have a new suspect: the person who drugged Vance!”
“How did they get past the door, Eleanor?”
“A Skill or a Class Ability or something like that.”
“That’s pure conjecture,” Solsnam laughed.
“It’s not. You have Hollie who can use Become Spectre.”
“Hollie has an alibi. She was on the ground floor all the time.”
“Then …” Eleanor hesitated. “Someone must’ve teleported into the room.”
“No one can teleport without Himilco Magus knowing about it.”
“Ugh, you’re right about that … But you still shouldn’t ignore the progress we made! We should look for the person who drugged Vance, not go back to square one and call Vance the killer again! Himilco, say something!”
“I agree with Eleanor,” Himilco said. “We need to find the full truth, or we risk similar druggings. I don’t want more Turncoats to die.”
“Fair enough,” Solsnam said, finally yielding to pressure. “Instead of wasting our time on arguments, we can try to look around.” He amended a page of his notebook—handing Eleanor the victory in their heated debate. Then he turned to Vance and said, “Consider yourself lucky, Wolfe. My advisors seem to be in the mood to keep you alive for a few more hours.” He sighed in boredom. “Now … We will need more information to find the individual who drugged you. We will need to know who came into contact with you before the Redspine High.”
Taking up the baton from Eleanor, Vance began to describe his cursed stay at the House of Turncoats—from the moment he received the Vermeil Activator patches, through his first encounter with Shannon, and up till the start of the Redspine High. It was the first time he was allowed to detail his perspective. He strained his memory and recalled the relevant events in the correct order. But a mere recollection was still insufficient. He realized, by recounting these events, that he had come into direct contact with too many individuals. Hollie, Oswald, Gunner, the crowd who was invited to sit at his table, the crowd who jostled him as he tried to reach Eleanor—everyone had a chance to drug him.
“There must be a way to narrow down the search,” Eleanor said.
“Dark magic, perhaps?” Solsnam laughed. “We have no clues other than the marks on Vance’s lower back. Should we go around asking for confessions? ‘Oh, please, kind Turncoat, did you drug Vance or kill Shannon?’ ”
“No,” Vance suddenly said. “There’s no need for dark magic or confessions.”
Solsnam stopped laughing and grunted, “What do you mean?”
“We have another clue,” Vance said, with confidence. “I received five Vermeil patches from Himilco, but you found only two marks on my back. This means that three patches are still unaccounted for.”
“That’s it!” Eleanor cheered. “We have to look for the missing patches! If we find them, we find the person who drugged Vance! We find our new suspect!”
“It’s doable,” Himilco said—emerging from long silence.
“Yes, it’s doable! Everything is doable!” Solsnam became flustered. “But why should we bother with missing patches? If I were a criminal who managed to drug Vance and frame him, I’d throw them away without a second thought!”
“We still have to look around,” Eleanor said. “Criminals make mistakes, and who knows, even if we find the patches discarded somewhere, they can still guide us in the direction of another clue.”
“Oh, I see where this is going! You won’t quiet down until we waste a few more hours!” Solsnam fumed. “Fine! I will authorize the search!” He amended another page of his notebook. “But if we end up with no results, if we don’t find new suspects or clues, we will move directly to issuing the final ruling!”
Without further ado, the search for the three missing patches began. More Dullahan Guards were summoned, and they scoured the nooks and crannies of the House of Turncoats for anything that whispered Vermeil. The newcomers who had received patches from Himilco were asked to account for their usage and to show the corresponding marks on their bodies. Meanwhile, the other Turncoats were patted down and interrogated. The scale of the search grew and grew as more people were cleared from blame. And Vance waited on the stone chair for any news.
The hours passed by, four in total, and then Eleanor, Himilco, and Solsnam returned. They entered the bedroom in strange silence—unaccompanied and empty-handed. Vance tried to ask whether they had found anything useful, but Solsnam shouted, “Sit down! The search isn’t over yet! We still have to waste a few more minutes and look around this room! You see, our brilliant detective Eleanor believes that the missing patches might be here at the crime scene!” These sarcastic words said it all. It was suddenly crystal clear that the search had failed—that it had yielded neither suspects nor clues. Eleanor was simply stalling, and Solsnam was only back to mock and gloat.
I’m done. It’s over. Vance retreated to the stone chair and sat with the weight of despair heavy on his shoulders. I finally hit a dead end. He resigned himself to his grim fate. Things were going well. If only they found the three missing patches somewhere, I could’ve worked with that. At the very least, I could’ve spun some tale and gotten some mercy. But now they will jump straight to the final ruling, and it doesn’t seem that Solsnam will vote innocent. That elf … He just acknowledged everything I said, but then he ignored it all in the end. It’s almost … almost as if I was wasting time trying to convince him of anything.
Vance sank lower and lower into the vortex of despair, but his Mental Eye continued to watch Eleanor, Solsnam, and Himilco as they searched the room. What good would it do me if they found the patches at the crime scene, where only Shannon and I have been? And they’re not even searching properly. He laughed at how Solsnam bent to look under the bed and how Himilco checked the window. If that’s how they searched the rest of the building, it’s no wonder they found nothing. He moved his Mental Eye to watch Eleanor. She was lifting the corpse off the bed to check the space under it.
Under the corpse? Seriously, Eleanor? He almost laughed at this stupid idea, but then he sprang up from his seat with a sudden realization. The dumbest ideas are often associated with strokes of genius, and it was at that moment that one inspired the other. Vance stood in the dead center of the room. As the world around him seemed to rotate, as a flash of insight lit his mind, he announced, with a voice so loud, “I know where to find the three missing patches! I know how the real murderer created the locked room! Delay the final ruling!”
***
The scattered clues combined to form a scenario. Perhaps Vance was letting his imagination run wild; perhaps his theory would prove wrong. But he had to try to present it to his accusers before it was too late. Unlike fictional detectives and enlightened heroes, he couldn’t afford to wait until the very last second, when he could presumably make a convenient revelation and solve the murder case, with a self-satisfied grin and a prideful finger pointed at the hyperhidrotic murderer. Nothing is certain; there is never one truth. And those who wait for absolute certainty will never move forward.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
But Vance moved forward with confident steps—against the impossible odds, against the misleading evidence, against the confusion of the Redspine High. He made uncertainty his shield and doubt his weapon. And they served him well and cleared the thorny path to this decisive moment. After he made the attention-grabbing announcement, after he said that he knew the location of the three missing patches, he walked to the bed and stood next to Eleanor. He looked at her and then at the corpse, before he said, “You told me that I should help you find the truth.”
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “The truth is more important than anything.”
“Because it keeps me alive?”
“Because it keeps Argilstead alive.” Her answer was strong and decisive.
“Well, I might’ve found the truth you want,” Vance said. “If you still believe in my innocence, I need you to do one last thing for me. Could you bring me a bucket of water? And a piece of cloth … And soap if you have any.”
Eleanor left the bedroom in a hurry. An unnerving silence followed. Solsnam paced the room, and Himilco retreated to his thoughts and instrospections. It seemed that they were both waiting to see what Vance would do next, but they didn’t dare pose a hasty question. Solsnam was especially cautious, because he didn’t want to start new discussions. After around ten minutes, Eleanor finally returned with a bucket of soapy water and a worn-out piece of white cloth. She put the bucket on the ground next to the bed and stretched the cloth with both hands as if it were a scroll on display.
“What’s next?” she said. “Do you want to clean the blood off the walls? Do you think it’s hiding a dying message or something?”
“No,” Vance said. “Could you please clean one of the stab wounds?”
“The wounds? Why?”
“You’ll see in a second.”
Eleanor dipped the cloth into the water, leaned forward with some care, and started to clean one of Shannon’s stab wounds. Solsnam moved closer to see what was happening, while Himilco looked away and again out of the window. The dry blood on Shannon’s skin continued to come off with every wipe and scrub. The dark scratchy layer melted away and revealed another coating of a much lighter red. Discovering this new hue, Eleanor started to scrub harder. She scoured the wound as you would a greasy pan, but the color of the skin refused to return to normal.
“That’s enough for now, Eleanor,” Vance said. Then he turned to Solsnam and added, “Could you check the body again? Take a look at the wound that Eleanor just cleaned. Tell me if you see anything interesting.”
Solsnam approached the bed. Before he even touched the corpse, he had already noticed what the scrubbing had revealed. He turned to Himilco and shouted, “Shannon has a sixth Vermeil mark!”
“What?!” Himilco raced to the bed. He stood next to Solsnam and absorbed the shock. Then he took the cleaning cloth from Eleanor by force, dipped it into the soapy water, and started to scrub the two other stab wounds. The dark layer of blood wore away, but the brighter red that replaced it was unwashable: the color was caused by a subcutaneous alchemical reaction.
I found them … I found the patches! Vance felt triumphant. Hope is alive and well! With an insuppressible rush of jubilance, he said, “Three missing Vermeil patches! And three marks hidden by stab wounds! Shannon wasn’t stabbed to death! She died from an overdose!”
It was a moment of shock, paralysis, and reversal. Solsnam and Himilco felt the causticity of the truth. How did they ignore this possibility? How did they fail to see this disguised reality? A thin crust of blood had deceived everyone. The real cause of death had been hidden behind the flimsiest veil.
“But if she died from an overdose,” Solsnam said, “who stabbed her?”
“She stabbed herself,” Himilco answered. He dropped to his knees and held Shannon’s cold hand with both of his. “Poor girl … Handed to Decay … Eight doses is just way too much. I can’t believe this happened.” He started to rub her hand gently. “When you use too much Vermeil Activator, you experience more euphoria, but then you’re hit by a series of vicious panic attacks. You lose your voice. Your heart starts to beat out of control. Your skin starts to burn. Then you experience a gradual loss of motor function. All your muscles relax against your will … and you eventually die.”
“This is why you only hand out five patches,” Vance said.
“Yes … Five patches is safe. Six or seven won’t cause an overdose. But eight is way too much, especially for someone with a small body like Shannon.”
“But there is no proof that she stabbed herself,” Solsnam said.
“The location of the wounds is enough proof,” Himilco said. “They coincide with the patch marks because Shannon was trying to save herself, to let the excess Vermeil Activator out of her body. If only I knew what was happening … I might have been able to treat the overdose and save her life.”
“You mean …” Solsnam scanned the room’s disconnected bloodstains before he turned toward the bloodsoaked purple dress. “Shannon panicked … stabbed herself … tried to stop the bleeding with her dress … couldn’t find the door in the dark … walked toward the light of the window … realized that the jump was too high … and … and fell on the bed, where her life came to an end. I … I need to revise the facts of the crime.”
***
Vance watched the elf as he scrambled toward the stone table. He turned the pages of his notebook until he found a blank one, and then he started to record the new findings and to reconcile the contradicting data. The elvenform letters flowed without cease. The process took a while, minutes that Solsnam spent writing and rewriting, with several pensive pauses and doubtful gaps. When he was done, he turned his attention back to Vance, who was more self-possessed than before. Tension filled the air. Silence begot unease. Then the conversation resumed in a new direction but with an old tone.
“You found the patches, Wolfe,” Solsnam said, standing with his feather pen in his hand. “But you still haven’t cleared your name. You’re the only one who could’ve caused the overdose!”
“Why me?” Vance laughed.
“The room was locked!” Solsnam said, the words bursting out in anger.
“But the lock doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Huh?”
“Shannon was already dead before she walked in here.”
“Are you mocking my elven intelligence? A corpse can’t walk!”
“It sure can,” Vance retorted, with confidence. “The eight patches were stuck to her body before she entered this room. A timer was already counting down to her death, to the overdose, even before the door was locked!”
Solsnam was taken aback.
“Absorbing the patches takes time.” Himilco agreed with Vance. “Although the overdose itself happened in this bedroom, Shannon could’ve been drugged by the murderer while she was still on the ground floor.”
“Oh, so it’s not a locked-room murder anymore!” Eleanor was jubilant.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Solsnam tore pages out of his notebook, crumpled them up, and cut them into pieces. “Do you understand what you’ve done, Wolfe? Everyone is a suspect now!” He threw his pen on the floor. “What should I do? Tell me! Should I put everyone in shackles? Himilco Magus, Hollie, Oswald, Gunner, and everyone else! Should I put them all behind bars or execute them one by one? When will you get it? You filthy short-ear! Someone has to answer for this murder, or we will have more criminals popping up like vermin!”
While Eleanor and Himilco rushed to calm Solsnam down, Vance retreated a step. This is bad. He was watching his defense backfire. I forgot how Argilstead works. Solsnam is looking for someone to punish in order to maintain the peace. This is what the trial was about from the start. He realized his naivete. Proving my innocence is not enough. I have to give him someone to punish. I have to find the killer. It’s neither Himilco nor Eleanor. Could it have been someone in the crowds? Vance closed his Mental Eye and reexamined the clues. No! No! It couldn’t have been someone in the crowds! He reached a sudden breakthrough. How did I not notice that earlier? We’ve had enough clues all along!
“Hold your horses, Solsnam,” Vance finally said. “I know how to narrow down the suspects! Down to only one!”
“I won’t hear anymore from you!” Solsnam shouted.
“Give him a chance,” Eleanor said. “Speak, Vance.”
Solsnam was about to shout again but then surrendered to silence.
“Normally,” Vance began, “it takes two to three hours for a human body to absorb Vermeil Activator. This was stated in your account of the murder. And this was the case with Shannon. In my case, however, the patches were stuck near the nerves of my spinal cord. Himilco, you said that this speeds up the absorption, but you never provided us with more details. Could you give me an estimate of the speed-up?”
“Oh, my, I forgot about that,” Himilco said. “Yes … I can give you a rough estimate. Since the two patches were also damaged, your body must’ve taken somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes to absorb them.”
“Great, this is all I needed to hear.” Vance felt a growing confidence. And he continued, “Listen carefully, Solsnam. My Redspine High began during the celebrations—when everyone was gathered around Eleanor to congratulate her for her appointment. 30 to 45 minutes before that, I was still sitting at the table and chatting with the other Turncoats. And this shortens the list of suspects.”
“You mean …” Solsnam murmured.
“The killer was sitting at the table with me.”
“That’s still too many—”
“And the list of suspects can be reduced even further.”
“What? How?”
“By using the fact that the patches were damaged,” Vance said. “According to Himilco, they were damaged because they were stuck to my back with excessive force, and if I remember correctly, there were only two individuals at that table who had a chance to touch my body in such a way: Gunner, who gave me a clap on the back, and Hollie, who tackled me from behind.”
“One of the two—”
“I’m not done yet, Solsnam,” Vance said. “There is one last fact that can help us pinpoint the real killer: the location of the patch marks on Shannon’s body. Shannon has five marks on her arm, and that’s just normal. But the three other marks are located on her abdomen … a part of her body that is usually covered by her dress. And this means one thing.”
“It means …”
“Hollie is the real killer,” Vance said. “She went with Shannon to the market, and while Shannon was trying on the Robes of Azara, she stole her patches and used three of them to drug her. Then she returned to the House of Turncoats and used the remaining two patches to drug me. She stuck them to my back when she tackled me from behind. I didn’t realize what she was actually doing. I thought she was just brash and rude. But I was wrong. Everything she did was carefully planned. Once I was dreaming and hallucinating, she pickpocketed my five patches and stuck them to Shannon’s arm. She started the countdown to Shannon’s death, and then she manipulated her two drugged victims and created the locked room.”
“But—”
“But she knew that her crime had one imperfection, so she joined Himilco in the chase. She didn’t want to avenge poor Shannon or any of that bullshit. She wanted to kill me as fast as she could—before I could tell anyone that I was drugged, before I could show anyone the marks on my back!”
“So … So Hollie perpetrated an almost perfect crime. Is this your claim?”
“It’s not a claim anymore, Solsnam,” Vance said. “It’s an inevitable fact! She’s the only one who could’ve pickpocketed ten Vermeil patches. She’s the only one who could’ve drugged Shannon in a natural way … by offering to help her try on a dress. The Robes of Azara were sent to my storage for a reason … They were Shannon’s dying message. It was her way to point at Hollie, to point at the real killer. But you ignored this clue like all the others!”
“Did Hollie have a motive?” Solsnam said.
“I don’t know,” Vance laughed. “You have to ask her in person. I’m here to argue for my own innocence, not to read the minds of others.”
“Does this mean that your defense is over?”
“Yes,” Vance said. “I told you why I’m not a Necronette. I showed you proof that I was going through a Redspine High. I discovered the real weapon used for this murder. And I narrowed down the suspects to one. The rest is up to you, Solsnam. You can ignore all of these findings and use me as a scapegoat, or you can live up to the title of investigator-judge and arrest the real killer. But know this: I’m innocent. I’m being framed. And no matter what you decide, I’ll never give my Flame of Revival to anyone. I will live and die with the flame.”