The day after the disappearance of Protector Keeper Zsig, Protector B.E.E.P. Atncore and Alchemist Theodora Silke was a day of action back in Last Stand. Officials questioned neighbouring shopkeepers and searched Rubedo for clues, and when no answers were found, they put their best investigator on the case. Lars Von Cercher.
If his name seemed like a coincidence, he would claim it was another sign of his unwavering dedication to his job and the Protectorate. Or something like that.
The Protectorate was a separate entity within Last Stand—and all five remaining points of civilization that made up the Eternal Collective.
When things got bad after the Corruption, the Protectorate materialized and restored order. They now serve as the primary governing body for the five cities that make up the remains of civilization on Triahkel—overseeing security, law, punishment and other political matters. No one liked to talk about the punishment bit.
Lars’ job was to find out what happened, like any investigator. If there was a culprit, he tracked them down and handed them over to someone who made more chronocoin than him.
Thirty-eight hours after the disappearance, Lars walked into his office, having previously enjoyed a lovely day off. On his desk was a missive; someone had come into his office yesterday.
“Hm.”
He scanned the modest-sized room for anything else out of place but saw no signs of disturbance. Not that there was much privacy inside Protectorate Central Command.
Lars sat down at his standard L-shaped desk and read the brief note sitting atop an investigation report.
Cercher,
Where are my Protectors?
Figure out what happened.
Now.
- High Protector Velric
“At least they understand my job description.”
He tossed the note in the waste bin and picked up the report instead. There wasn’t much to it. Two high-ranking protectors—the Protectorate judged its agents by perceived loyalty, not ability—were missing, a B.E.E.P. and a Keeper, which would raise many suspicions. And an alchemist. What did Theodora Silke have to do with any of this?
Was the B.E.E.P. conspiring against the Protectorate? Did Protector Atncore abduct Alchemist Silke and Keeper Zsig? Did Last Stand have an uprising on their hands, an underground movement? Or, was this merely chance, a coincidence? How did the alchemist fit into this? Well, that was an easy answer—the potion. But what was it?
His brain flashed through possibilities and theories. Some he immediately discarded as absolutely ridiculous; others he logged to inquire further.
Lars assembled a list of shops to visit and tucked his notepad into a pocket. Today would be simple. Citizens would figure out that he was investigating a case. Gossip would circulate that Cercher was on the hunt. And all he’d have to do is wait for anyone with a guilty conscience to do something dumb and rat themselves out.
He chuckled to himself. There were only so many places one could hide in Last Stand, and criminals did not run into the Wilds unless they would rather die than face Protectorate justice.
The protector’s report he scanned was all well and fine, but Lars’d do his own questioning. He put his recounter, a high-tech dictaphone—that also relaid everything to the Protectorate—in a pouch attached to his tactical suspenders and activated a small mic built into his vest. The recounter was mandatory on investigations, but Lars still preferred traditional note-taking. He'd rather keep his thoughts private.
He stepped out of his office into a desolate, grey hallway. But unlike the cave our adventuring trio was exploring, this tunnel was made of smooth, polished concrete. The walls—only interrupted by the evenly spaced doors—stretched excessively high, 5, maybe even 6 metres. The ceiling was made of the same material as the walls.
The hall was almost clinically bright, illuminated with energy orb chandeliers, much brighter than the residentially used version. The chandelier comprised a circle of eight light orbs, all connected via intercrossing metal bars. The charge in each orb travelled through the connecting rods—their charge-magnetic force keeping the spheres suspended as one.
When Lars heard the door to his office click and the locking mechanism engage, he turned right and strode through the hallway toward the exit, his heavy footsteps reverberating off the walls. But he was used to the imposing hallways. The effect was lost on him.
He was walking the halls of Central Command by 13. He'd done all the schooling. Shuffled into basic training with the rest of the sorry sucks. But where the others excelled at beating stuff with sticks and hiding behind energy shields, Lars was good at solving puzzles. Sometimes, it required forcing a few of the pieces together, but he always uncovered the real truth in the end. That was the reason he joined the Protectorate, after all.
Lars left the looming building behind him, making his way to the crime scene.
Upon approaching Rubedo, he first noticed the sunbathing flowers in a tranquil forest clearing. It was a beautiful digi-glass window, but the moon should be out and the flowers asleep.
Lars pushed through the front door of the open shop. An imposing calm. He didn’t bother waiting for his turn or even walking to the counter, for that matter.
“There a reason this place’s open?”
It had been said that subtlety was not Lars’ strength.
A few customers and a young woman with evergreen hair, highlighted with emerald, looked up from their business dealings. What kind of person had green hair? She was behind the counter, though, so she must work here. Lars jotted her description down: female, average height (maybe 170 cm). Appx. 20 years of age, slight build (maybe 60 kilos). Lineage appears to be Northern Triahkel—ancestors possibly hailing from Eltanu? Distinctive features: A dark spot above corner of upper left lip.
“I’ll be just one moment, Mrs. Canzel.”
The persistent customer who had tried to chase Theo down the street a few days prior huffed. But the green-haired woman walked around the counter to speak discreetly with the disruptive man.
“Is there something I can assist you with?”
She put her hands on her hips and quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head to one side. It was the picture of sass, and Lars had a millisecond’s moment of regret for not taking a more delicate approach. Damn. He had made this harder on himself. Oh well, nothin’ new.
“The shop was ordered closed. Doesn’t look closed to me, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Close Rubedo.”
“But the protectors that investigated yesterday told me I could reopen—”
"Dark-mech consume them!”
A gasp from around the room.
Dark-mech. It referred to the corrupted beasts in the Wilds. And it was an unpopular slang term, to say the least.
Many myths and legends surround the Corruption. One claims that corruption infected bio-mech monsters. Another says they were let loose as a test from some greater power. But, the truth was that the corruption was an inherent disease or glitch of some sort.
Some stories swear that corruption can also infect natural humans who venture into the Wilds—cautionary tales. And corruption was Triahkel’s biggest fear. Wishing it on someone was a highly frowned-upon insult.
“How dare you say that here!”
Lars really wasn’t making himself any friends right now. One breath. Two.
“Uh, sorry. Go on.”
Did that even sound remorseful? He couldn’t tell. The social interaction part of his job was so exhausting.
"—since there was nothing useful to be found here, they said I could open up. Theo may be missing, but I run the shop alone plenty.”
“Those idiots were wrong. Close it up.”
“But…but you can’t do that. Wait, can you? Who are you, anyway?”
She gave Lars a look full of doubt.
“On my authority as Protectorate Investigator Lars Von Cercher, I order a temporary shut-down of Rubedo, effective yesterday. Happy?”
“How am I supposed to make a living?”
“Not my problem.”
“But the clients! How will they get potions?”
She spluttered.
“Another alchemist shop? The apothecary? Herbalist?”
“But—”
“Everyone, this shop is closed until further notice. Leave.”
He announced loudly, ignoring the woman’s protests.
“What! Stop, you can’t—”
The shop waited, suspended, as the clients stared at Lars and then back at the woman as she argued with a Protectorate agent. Was she insane? But the customers could only buy potions here a few times a week. No one wanted to leave without finishing their purchases, especially if they didn’t know when Rubedo would reopen.
“Move, or I will have protectors do it.”
The threat of the Protectorate always put people into motion—customers made for the door.
Lars grabbed one individual by the arm.
“Leave it and get lost. I’ll remember your face.”
The man practically threw a glass bottle full of a deep wine-coloured liquid, with something resembling small spaghetti noodles floating in it. The shopper had tried to pocket the elixir on the way out.
Lars returned the potion and consulted his notes.
“Oh, that poor man. And now he will have to wait for who knows how long.”
She chuckled as she placed the tall, narrow bottle on a display shelf sitting on the counter.
“What was it?”
Lars, half listening, flipped through the pages.
“It’s more of a slogan than a name, but it’s called, You Protect It, We’ll Erect It. It’s one of my own formulae.”
“What’s it do?”
“Well, the elixir helps promote blood flow.”
“Hm.”
He thought about it. It took a moment to make the connection, but he eventually got there.
“Hm. And people buy it?”
“Hey! Everybody needs a little help now and again. Except for the mech guys. It doesn’t work on them.”
“If you say so. And the protect part?”
“We always encourage safety when it comes to intimate encounters.”
Lars took a moment to consider this. Was it relevant? Someone had tried to steal it. So, Rubedo had desirable products that attracted criminal behaviour. He couldn’t see how this would be important, but he noted it just in case.
“If you say so. Let's get this over with. Are you the apprentice alchemist to Theodora Silke?”
“What gave it away?”
She gave him a sardonic smile that rankled his nerves.
“Your cooperation would make things easier for the both of us.”
“My sincerest apologies, Investigator. Pleased to meet you, the name’s Anika Twile. How may I be of service?”
She gave him a huge smile—or was she baring her teeth at him—and enthusiastically stuck out her hand.
He didn’t return the smile or shake her hand. He nodded and thumbed through to a blank page in his notebook. Sure, there were more advanced ways to take notes, like the recounter, but as Theo would agree, nothing beat the old-fashioned combo of pencil and paper.
“Night before last, where were you?”
“I finished my closing tasks and went home for the night.”
“Were you alone?”
“No, Theo was in the backroom working.”
So, Anika could have witnessed the events.
“What time did you leave? Before or after Theo?”
Anika mumbled something, but all Lars could make out were the final words preserve us.
“What was that?”
“Huh? Nothing. I went home before Theo—about 17th hour.”
He’d have to check with neighbouring shopkeepers to corroborate this.
“And you spent the whole day at Rubedo?”
“I only worked a half day.”
“Why?”
“Because those are my hours on day 6 of each week. Can I be done now?”
No chance of that happening. He made a note. Anika would have had time to orchestrate a disappearance. Did Theo hire her to do something? Coerce her?
“Do you and Miss Silke get along?”
“She is the best alchemist there is. I would get along with her for that reason alone, even if I hated her.”
She shrugged nonchalantly.
“That wasn’t an answer, Miss Twile.”
“But answer enough, nonetheless, Investigator sir.”
“Vague answers and shrugging ain’t gonna cut it.”
Anika puffed out her cheeks.
“Alright, it’s like this. Theo lives up to her reputation as a jerk, but geniuses earn that, right? I learned more from her in 3 months than in 3 years of my first apprenticeship. And she lets me sell some of my own brews, a rare opportunity for apprentices.”
“People dislike Theo?”
“They just find her rude. I suspect she doesn’t mean to be. She’s just direct; people find her personality abrasive. Which it is. And she is lonely, I imagine—Theo’s at the top of her profession. Few, if any, in Triahkel could come close. And it’s always lonely at the top.”
Anika’s voice was actually quite pleasant—a low-pitched voice, animated and confident. The issue was her hands. They flew all about, as she explained. Talking with her hands to emphasize her words. Lars found it remarkably annoying. It made her seem far too energetic.
“Elaborate on the point of selling your own potions. Why is that unusual?”
“You certainly are not one for chitchat are you?”
If he just waited, she’d keep talking. She was the type. Over-explainers.
“Hrmph. Basic laws of running a business, Cercher. Most specialists would be too afraid of losing profits to allow their apprentice to grow in such a way. Of course, the apprentice will eventually become competition—if they are any good. But to let an apprentice sell their own goods and make some of their own sales is bad business.”
“Hm.”
He made a note.
“Why do you get special treatment?”
"Because she can’t be beat. There is little risk someone could put her out of business."
Anika shrugged, concluding the circular discussion.
"I’m going to look around. Don’t move. I might have more questions."
He was going to set out feelers today. Then watch. Let the suspects sweat it out for a bit. See if anyone he talks to gets nervous and starts acting strange. Only ask the basic questions for now.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Lars walked around the room, skimming the many wood and metal display cases and racks full of tonics, herbs, potions, crystals. If it was related to the hermetic and found in Triahkel, it could probably be purchased at Rubedo. He rounded the counter, bending down to scour the shelves beneath. All he found was a leger and some cleaning supplies.
"The report mentions a shopping list. Who wrote it?"
"I did."
"And where did you leave it?"
"On the end of the counter. Theo collects the list on the way out at night. She forgets it if she doesn’t see it as she’s leaving."
"Why didn't you do the shopping yourself? That seems like an appropriate job for an apprentice."
"Theo prefers to select the ingredients and supplies."
Her eyes flickered to the mic. She knew everything they said was going back to the Protectorate. Why would she be concerned with what the Protectorate heard, though? Unless she was hiding something.
Lars continued his circuit around the main room of Rubedo, hunting for anything out of place. But the shop was nearly spotless, even with the sudden closure. There was no dust, and all potions were in their proper spots. A few needed straightening, but Lars realized he would find no clues in that part of the shop. The scene was already too contaminated.
“The report suggests there was a potion. You know anything about that?”
“They confiscated it before I got here. I’d have to see it to even guess.”
Again with the damn shrug.
“Can you walk me through the process she would have taken to make a potion?”
“Potion creation is highly secret, Investigator.”
Anika gave him a scandalized look. Was it real, or a facade? He needed to read up on alchemical practices. She continued when he didn’t reply—typical.
“Besides I wouldn’t know. Theo was excited to experiment with an ingredient. She didn't say what it was. I’d guess that’s what went into the potion. Can I see it?”
“Not a chance. Wait here.”
Lars could tell she was being evasive with her answers, but he didn’t have any evidence to detain her for official questioning, and he definitely did not want to send the girl to interrogation. He almost shivered from the thought alone.
The backroom was like the front, overly organized. But it was also full of stuff—carefully organized stuff. The walls were covered top to bottom by shelves, bookcases, and display cabinets.
“Alchemists sure need a lot of storage.”
He spoke quietly to himse—
“It’s the ingredients. We have to organize them just so. Some are reactive by proximity alone. Don’t want the whole place to go BOOM!”
“I told you to wait out there.”
“Again. Don’t want the whole place to go boom. What if you moved the wrong thing, huh? Do you even know what happens if you get Selkon ashes on a gelid cap?”
“So Rubedo is a shop full of explosives?”
“No! Well…hmmm.”
That shut her up.
“Go back to the front.”
Racks were packed to bursting with ingredients, bulk jars of elixir bases, shiny rocks. Were those bugs? And the closer he looked, the more he realized some things on the shelves were strange.
A small tank had a frog that emitted green and magenta sparks when it jumped. Every few hops, the colours misfired, flaring simultaneously and causing a white spark instead.
Next to that was a hovering energy orb in a custom-size cubby built into the bookcase. The orb rapidly cycled through the entire colour spectrum—the hues created by bolts of electricity contained within the orb. Lars had never seen anything like it.
He wandered to a small table next. A huge glass jar sat on top. A thin metal lid clamped in place. Lars leaned over to look in it and saw that the contents were looking back. He staggered in shock.
“What are those?”
“Pickled pixel python eyes. Say that ten times fast. They are excellent on salads.”
Anika was leaning on a workbench, watching him.
She shrugged. And Lars debated shooting her with a Syncope Dart. Just to put her to sleep for a little while. Search in peace. He was 87% sure he could get away with it.
“I’m kidding! About the salad part, at least.”
“Why?”
That’s all he could think to say. He wasn’t sure if he was questioning the eyes or asking the universe why he had to deal with people like Anika.
“Because eating eyes is gross, Cercher. Theo taste-tested them once—a true alchemist utilizes all their senses for experimentation. We used a lot of Super Soaker Upper that day.”
She nodded her head sagely.
The crime scene was truly useless. The potential suspect, too. Still, Lars would only allow the shop to reopen once he was convinced it was of no further use to the investigation.
“Leave Rubedo. Don’t return till you get a notice of approval to resume operations. The letter will say if there are any provisions.”
“Provisions? Like what?”
He let Anika yell at his back as he made for the exit.
———
Once she gathered her wits about her, Anika went after Lars.
“Cercher, wait!”
The door was closing behind him when she got to the front room. So she did the only logical thing and followed. She grabbed her bag, flicked the switch to manually put the digi-glass and shop into sleep mode and left.
On the bustling artisan street, Anika looked around for broad shoulders, hickory brown hair, rolled-up sleeves, and a dark grey tweed vest.
Lars did not wear the combat-ready protector uniform that Zsig and Atn wore. He could dress more casually, suited towards office work. He looked like a proper investigator. A permanently dour expression and a willingness to rough up any baddies to get some answers—perfect for Protectorate work.
“Gotcha.”
She propelled through a gaggle of shoppers, headed toward Nuts and Bolts, the bolt makers shop. And yes, the master bolt crafter sold nuts—the edible kind. No one knew why, and he refused to answer if you asked, but the honey glazed were to die for.
You could buy many mundane goods at the market, but they lacked finesse and quality. But on the artisan's street, goods were handcrafted from high-grade materials, and consumers could expect the best.
The bolt maker, for example, could create charged cartridges for wrist bows. A very specialized knowledge, since the cartridge was so little. Other bolt makers could assemble cartridges for massive crossbows or ballistae. Large scale charged products were more straightforward to produce. There was extra space for the charge to occupy and generate its power.
Small items, though, such as potions or wrist bow cartridges, were vastly more complex. There wasn’t as much space for the charge to build momentum in its usual molecular size. Specialists had to shrink it. The method for doing so differed depending on what you were trying to contain the charge within. And each artisan that dealt with charged materials had secret techniques.
“Yum.”
She inhaled deeply. The smell of warm candied nuts and fletching glue was thick in the air.
Anika smiled as she covertly watched Lars approach Sabdur No Last Name, master nutter and bolt crafter.
Sabdur could be difficult until you knew how to interact with him. And he definitely would not be happy about the Protectorate sniffing around.
He was a lean man and on the shorter side, about the same height as Anika. His brown skin was pale, taupe-ish, lacking the warmer undertones the sun provides. Endless hours holed up in a workroom could do that to a guy. Specs of sugar stuck in his hair and eyebrows, standing out against his nearly black hair.
Sabdur pushed up the leather and glass goggles strapped to his face as the investigator addressed him.
“You the bolt crafter?”
Lars’ gravelly voice wasn’t nearly as rude as when he had entered Rubedo—which was saying something since it wasn’t exactly friendly now. Anika scoffed quietly.
Sabdur was a curious fellow, who Anika suspected had an equally curious past. His commanding presence and physical characteristics did not quite match the other citizens of Last Stand. Odd since people fled to the nearest cities during the Corruption. Every city in the Collective was diverse as people sheltered and eventually settled from all parts of Triahkel—families forever broken, separated by hundreds of kilometres of Wilds.
Sabdur was all about decorum. Especially with people he was not familiar with. Oh, silly Lars. He really should have done his research.
“Is there something I can assist you with today? You must be in great need to have forgone basic pleasentries.”
Lars paused, put off by Sabdur’s polite, demure tone and passive-aggressive words. He made a note.
“Are you Sabdur?”
“Yes, that would be I.”
“And your surname?”
“No Last Name.”
No one had yet to determine if that was his last name, or if he did not have a last name. It was all he would say on the matter.
“What is with these shopkeepers.”
Lars muttered to himself.
“What’s your name? Everyone in the Protectorate’s scope is registered with a first and last name.
Frustration leeched into the investigator's voice.
“I am Sabdur No Last Name.”
Sabdur repeated himself, and Lars made another note.
“Where were you on the 19th hour of day 6 this week?”
Anika had heard there used to be a fancier dating system, but the Protectorate changed it all when they took charge. She considered it part of their brainwashing efforts.
Now, the 13 months were broken up into four weeks. The weeks were week 1, week 2, and so on. The eight days of the week were also labelled 1, 2, 3 etcetera. And to really be original the hours of each day were the 1st hour, 2nd hour, going up to the 24th hour. The years began at the Corruption. Making the current date and time the 11th and 23rd hour of the 3rd week, 8th day of month 4, in the Protected Year of 152. It was a stupid system.
When the Protectorate saved Triahkel, they changed the calendar, street names, currency, religion, etc. They did it in stages, rolling out a program they called “The Purified Systems.” It took decades before the entire program was in effect. The Protectorate needed to ease the citizens into the levels of control they were trying to achieve. The slow onset meant the people barely realized their privacy and rights were dwindling.
And now, fools like Lars Von Cercher thought they were fighting the good fight and protecting the last remnants of civilization from the terrors beyond the wall. Doing his part to bring justice and peace to Last Stand and the Collective. Anika had a clearer understanding of the world than loyalists like Lars, though.
She focused back in on the conversation.
“—your business, but I was closing shop. Am I under official investigation, sir, or may I stop talking to you.”
The words put together formed what should be a question. But Sabdur was not asking a question. Lars jotted something else down.
“No official stuff, yet. But if you don’t answer I’ll just be back later.”
“Fine. Proceed.”
Lars bristled.
“You see anything suspicious around that time, the 19th hour?”
“Not that I took notice of.”
“Hm. You see any protectors walking around out front?”
“You dare accuse me, Sabdur, of sitting by idly staring out the window when there is work to be done?”
Again, he took pencil to pad. Lars was no good at reading people. He was making this far more complicated for himself.
The constant scribbling made her curious. What did the investigator think? The most logical answer was to creep up behind him ever so quietly. Anyone would do the same. She stretched up on her tiptoes to peek over Lars' shoulder, careful not to get too close.
Sabdur saw her and ignored her. They had an understanding.
Her plan was foolproof. Almost. But she should have accounted for the hair. A few strands of emerald fell across Lars’ shoulder; his peripheral vision was evidently spectacular because he instantly whipped around.
“The hair always gets you, An.”
Sabdur shook his head at Anika’s foiled scheme.
“What are you doing here!”
The gruff detective was rapidly losing his cool.
“I just cannot get enough of the honey glazed caja nuts. Have you tried them, Investigator Cercher?”
She attempted the innocent doe-eyed look but missed the mark if Sabdur’s expression and twitching lip were any indicator.
Lars cocked one eyebrow, waiting.
“I was interested.”
She shrugged.
“Why?”
“Pick a reason. She’s my boss. I need my job back.”
“Surely valid reasoning, Investigator.”
Sabdur nodded his support.
“And?”
“And…maybe I can help!”
Rubedo was closed, and she had nothing better to do except distill some herbs, which she was avoiding because she had to do in her home now that the shop was closed. The herbs were stinky. Refining them took days. It was not an enjoyable experience for her or her neighbours.
“Not a chance.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Stop trying to involve yourself with my investigation.”
“You’ll need my help!”
“Not. A. Chance.”
“You both are disrupting my business. You may leave.”
Sabdur interrupted the bickering. Arms still crossed, obviously not impressed.
Lars' face flushed, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed at the immature display.
“Yeah, we’re done. For now. File a report if you think of anything.”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you, Investigator Cercher.”
The sarcasm did not go unnoticed or unnoted. Curse that little notepad. She wanted to read it so badly.
Lars left Nuts and Bolts with Anika hot on his heels. She was snacking on some nuts. She needed to keep her energy up for the investigation.
“Want some.”
She gave the nut bag a shake as she offered it to him.
“Get lost!”
“Rude. The shop is closed so I might as well help. The faster you figure things out the sooner Rubedo can open.”
She shouted louder as he sped towards the next shop, trying to escape the persistent apprentice—Mrs. Canzel could learn a thing or two.
Into the next shop, they… he went. Lars let the door slide shut in her face, but that wouldn’t deter her.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Yikzo!”
“Excuse me, are you the shopkeeper?”
Anika and Lars spoke at the same time.
Lars glared at her as his face grew a tinge redder.
“You’d know his name if you had consulted me on the investigation.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Would you go away!”
“Not a chance. Huh, it is nice to say.”
The investigator may have kept his words brief, but he could undoubtedly let some expletives fly.
“This is not usual. Ignore her. I’m Investigator Cercher. I have a few questions for the shopkeeper.”
“I am a master of my craft, not some menial shopkeeper, my good sir, please refrain from addressing me as such in the future.”
“Erm, sure. Where where you the 19th hour of day 6 this week?”
“Hmm. Let me think.
Mr. Yikzo hummed and hawed.
“Ah, that’s right. I was returning to my humble establishment from the market.”
“Anything peculiar happen on the trip?”
“No, not that I can recall, sir.”
“No yellow flash?”
Lars probed for more information.
“Yellow? You didn't mention anything yellow to me.”
Withholding information! They would never solve the puzzle with that attitude.
“I may have seen a light. Yellow you say? Or maybe that was just the sunset. You know, I swear I see the sun on that digi-glass actually shining sometimes too...”
Mr. Yikzo, friendly as can be, blabbered on about all the yellow lights he had ever seen in his life, which led to a conversation about gold. Seeing as he was a goldsmith, this was not abnormal, just not helpful. They left with no new clues.
“Let’s check out that place next.”
She pointed towards a shop to the left of Rubedo. And Lars begrudgingly led them along on their investigation because (as he insisted) that's where he was going next anyway.
They interviewed three more artisans and two apprentices.
Bonnie’s Botany and The Jewel House had long been closed by the 19th hour. Most shops on the street had.
The eighth store wouldn't even let Lars through the front door. The shop closed and locked as he approached. When he knocked, a small metal plate in the door slid open, and a pair of eyes peered out.
“I’m Investigator Cercher. I have some questions.”
Lars gave his standard spiel.
“No.”
The metal plate slid shut.
Lars knocked again. The plate opened a tad violently this time, accompanied by a deep sigh.
“What?”
“I have questions for you. It’ll be quick.”
“Am I being detained? Charged with a crime?”
“Not yet.”
“Then shoo.”
Metal scraped against metal, and the eyes disappeared behind the door.
“Good day, Ms. Archivist.”
Anika shouted.
“Wait, you know her?”
“Of course, Rubedo does business with her.”
“What does she make?”
“She doesn’t make things, she collects them, trades them, stuff like that.”
“Why is she on the same street as the artisans.”
“Gets her more business. The customers who shop here can usually afford her services. The Archivist does not work for cheap.”
He made notes on all this. If she could just be a hair taller. Anika slowed her pace to try and peep a glance at the little pad of paper. Lars frowned and maneuvered it out of her line of sight. Dang.
“What’s her name?”
Pencil poised over the page, he glanced up at Anika.
“The Archivist.”
“Her real name?”
Anika shrugged and continued walking.
It took Lars a minute to realize he was following her now. When did that happen?
“Why are you here?”
“I told you. I want the shop to reopen. I need chrono to pay for things, just like the rest of us.”
“Yes, but you’re not an investigator. You’re not a protectorate official. So again, why are you interfering?”
“Well you obviously won’t get far without me. No one wants to talk to you, or—”
She pointed at the recounter mic.
“—and you know next to nothing about alchemy. But those are your only leads right now, and I happen to know people and alchemy. I think we can help each other, Cercher.”
“Civilians are not allowed to meddle in Protectorate affairs.”
“Think of it as a citizen detective.”
“It is against the law.”
Law smaw. She waved his words away.
“Amateur sleuth?”
“No.”
“Private consultant?”
“Never.”
She’d remember this when he came begging for her help. She should have brought her own notebook. Ha! That would’ve ground his gears to dust.
“Must they know?”
“Yes.”
Lars combed a hand through his hair, annoyed by Anika’s antics.
“Turn off the recounter?”
“No.”
Lars was a tough nut to crack. She would wear him down, though. She needed to track down some clues, so she had something more significant to offer.
“Can I make a citizen's arrest now that I am a private detective? Detective sounds the best, yeah?”
“No! You are not a detective.”
Okay. Tripping him up wasn’t an option. Next plan, appeal to him as a professional.
“May I examine the confiscated potion. There is a chance I can identify some of the components.”
“We’re bringing in an actual professional for that.”
“How am I supposed to properly help the investigation without seeing all the evidence? And don’t let someone else test that potion!”
The outrage! How could he think someone else would even know where to begin deconstructing a Silke original.
“You aren’t helping, and you are only an apprentice.”
“This would be a grave mistake.”
Theo, Keeper Zsig and Protector Atncore might be lost forever if the potion caused this and some nitwit alchemist wastes it all.
“Your input is unsolicited.”
“Don’t you dare let them test more than a few drops. But they really shouldn’t handle it at all.”
“Don’t care.”
“As a junior detective, I’ll find a way to prove you need my help. The other alchemist may even do the convincing for me.”
Lars turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the street. He called at her without ever looking back.
“Not a detective.”
Anika just shook her head in disappointment. We will see about that—time to do some sleuthing.