Chapter 28 – The First True Quest

The sun had begun to rise by the time Johanna dragged them across Iscrimo to where the guildmaster was being held, causing what little light could pierce through the smog to bathe the city in an eerie orange glow. The streets were almost quiet at this time of day, since though the city never truly slept—as the lava canals lit up the city to make it as bright as day even in the middle of the night—the early hour still managed to bring the city to a serene stillness. Even the mafia didn’t bother patrolling their territory yet, leaving it to the few shopkeeps and street sweepers who wanted to get an early start on their day.

This had always been Giulia’s favorite time of day, Palmira reminisced with a painful nostalgia. She’d drag the two of them out to bask in the silence, much to their chagrin. She’d always found the silent city to unnerving, while Lenna had just hated going outside in general.

Palmira flexed her fingers, for a moment almost able to imagine her old friends standing beside her once more, hand in hand.

…Lenna was here. Barely a few blocks away from where she was right now. That was… she wasn’t Giulia, but…

Then Chiara bumped into her, nearly knocking her over, and the moment passed.

“Hey!” Palmira grumbled, pushing the half-asleep half-elf off of her causing her to slam face-first into Lorenzo’s wooden bicep. “What gives!?”

“Shut… up…” Chiara drawled, nearly stumbling over her own feet. “I am… I’m fine…”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, before grabbing the girl and throwing her over his shoulder with ease. “You didn’t get any coffee this morning, did you?”

“…I’m fine…” she slurred, “See? I’m… walking on my own…”

“Sure you are,” he scoffed. “Get some rest up there, just make sure you’re awake when we finally get to the guildmaster.”

“…”

Palmira glanced at the half-elf dubiously. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s an addict,” Lorenzo rolled his eyes again. “Chiara here can’t function without coffee in the morning. Like, at all. It’s one of the few luxuries the guildmaster’s unable to deny her either, but even he’s been cutting costs lately. We’ve only had black coffee in stock, which she hates, but she drinks it anyway. That’s half the reason she’s been so grumpy lately.”

“See, that’s why you shouldn’t drink too many potions,” Morte told her. “You’ll end up like that. Unable to function without your stamina potions.”

“She’s not addicted to potions, staff,” the druid corrected him. “She’s addicted to coffee. It’s much healthier. I think.”

“Bah, kids these days. Back in my day, coffee was a stamina potion!”

Palmira tuned out their bickering over what did and did not count as a potion, and quickly after that they arrived at their destination. Surprisingly, they were in the nicer part of the city, the building they entered overlooking the massive lava pool at the center of Iscrimo.

And then, surprising her more, they went up rather than down. Instead of the sweltering dungeons she knew were somewhere beneath the city, they were brought up to the top of one of the towers attached to the building, where they were told the guildmaster’s cell was located. The ‘cell’ itself was barely guarded, only a single bored watchman standing outside a heavy locked door. He gave them a quick glance before ushering them in with a negligent wave.

Dante’s ‘cell’ also wasn’t at all what she’d expected. It wasn’t a big room, but it still managed to fit a large bed and an ottoman with room to spare. Sunlight poured in from the several small windows which dotted the walls, giving the room a feeling of what could almost be warmth. The guildmaster himself sat at an ornate wooden desk off to the other side of the room, covered with stacks of paper and a whole roast duck platter. For some reason.

The room couldn’t be called opulent, but only barely.

His prison cell was nicer than her room back at the guild, and that kind of pissed her off.

Dante jumped to his feet the second they entered, quickly making space for the six of them to join him in the room.

“Finally!” he sighed in relief. “I was worried they wouldn’t allow me any visitors.”

“Well, we’re here now,” Teresa grumbled, rubbing her forehead with a scowl. “Not that it seems to have mattered. So, how long before they let you out of here?”

Behind her, Lorenzo absently dropped Chiara, the girl falling to the ground a loud ‘tink’. Instead of waking up though, she just rolled over, snoring into the dusty floor with barely a grumble.

“I don’t know,” the guildmaster sighed, picking up a cup that had been hidden behind the roast duck. Making his way back over, he grabbed his half-sister and started waving it beneath her nose. As he did, Palmira subtly began making her way around the room. “I thought when they first grabbed me, they were only taking me in for questioning. Unfortunately…”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Dante. What do you mean, unfortunately?”

The guildmaster sighed. “It seems someone’s in need of a scapegoat. I had thought that the Duke just drank himself to death, but when they investigated his glass they found traces of poison. I am now, it seems, the prime suspect in the murder of the Duke of Iscrimo.”

“What!?” Chiara yelped, snapping awake in an instant. “What do you mean!? Surely you’re joking, right!? You can’t even kill a slime, much less a Duke!”

“Yeah!” Teresa agreed over the guildmaster’s scowl. “What would you even gain from that? It’s not like any of us have any reason to want the Duke of Iscrimo dead!”

Palmira remained silent.

Lorenzo glanced over to her, asking a silent question with his eyes.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

She shook her head rapidly. In the back of her mind, she heard Morte chuckle.

“I doubt they care,” the guildmaster grimaced, dropping his sister onto the ottoman with her coffee. “This isn’t about who killed him—it’s about if they can get away with blaming me for it. Hell, the only reason we’re even able to have this conversation is because of my relation to the Cadorna Famiglia. If I were just some unlucky common man, I’d have been executed already, and the true perpetrator would have gone free.”

“Huh?” Chiara furrowed her eyebrows. “But we aren’t—?”

Dante snapped forward and covered her mouth. “Shh! Don’t tell them that! The only reason we’re getting a trial at all is because they’re afraid of the reprisal of the Cadorna Famiglia. So just play it safe and don’t say anything.”

“Right,” she rolled her eyes, her voice muffled. “Now get your hand off my face.”

“As I was saying,” the guildmaster continued, stepping away from her. “While I’m the primary suspect, they don’t have any real evidence to use against me. That’s why I’ve been placed under house arrest, so that just in case they find the real culprit my family won’t get offended by my—Palmira, what are you doing?”

Everyone in the room stopped and turned to look at her.

Palmira, who had torn off a leg of the roast duck and now had her face half buried in it, stared back with wide eyes. Then, calmly, she tore off the chunk in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Nodding, she responded, “I’m hungry, we skipped the inn’s free breakfast for this, and there’s no way you’re eating this whole thing alone. Let me have this.”

“You know, she’s got a point,” Lorenzo hummed in agreement, before he joined her in tearing apart the roast.

The guildmaster gave them both an exasperated look before shaking his head. “Whatever,” he sighed, looking like he was regretting his life choices right about now. “As I was saying, they are giving me a trial. Which means that hope isn’t lost yet. It will be difficult, but the lot of you can still come and go as you please, which gives you ample opportunity to investigate. Therefore, I grant you all your first quest as part of our new Firozzi Famiglia!” Dante spread his arms wide, looking each of them in the eye. “Investigate any other suspects, discover the true cause of the Duke of Iscrimo’s death, and clear your guildmaster’s name!”

--

An hour later saw the six of them sitting around a table at the bar, half-touched drinks and food scattered between them. Each of their faces were tight with stress as they contemplated the enormity of the task before them.

“So,” Johanna took a long swig from her mug. “The guildmaster’s fucked, huh? Which one of us are shelling out for his funeral?”

“What!?” Chiara yelped, slamming her hands on the table. “You’re giving up already? We haven’t even done anything yet!”

“And what do you want us to do?” the elven landsknecht rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t exactly the smartest bunch around. Heck, the newbies staff probably has more intelligence in that empty skull of his than the rest of us put together.”

“She has a point,” Morte agreed smugly.

“She does not,” Teresa scowled, glaring at the both of them. “Don’t worry Chiara, the rest of us aren’t planning on giving up. We’ll get to the bottom of this and save your brother, just you wait.”

“Really? How? Because I don’t have the slightest idea of what to do.”

“So you’ve decided to do nothing!?”

“Eh, he’s a human,” Johanna shrugged. “He’ll be dead within the century regardless. And if we’re gonna fail anyways, why not start planning ahead? I figure that old orc’ll either take over as guildmaster, or we’ll all need to start job hunting pretty soon.”

“Gods be good,” Anima mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “You really aren’t helping.”

Palmira grimaced at the byplay, not liking the fact that despite how much they were telling her off they weren’t coming up with any ideas themselves. Looking down at her staff, she asked her mentor, “Do you know how we can clear the guildmaster’s name?”

“Hah! No. Even if I knew the first thing about, eugh, laws, I’m a good couple decades out of date. Heck, last time I was in a court was that time I was put on trial for necromancy, deicide, and tax evasion.”

“Well, how did you clear your name?”

“Clear my name?”

“None of this is helping,” Teresa sighed, dropping her face in her hands. Anima rubbed her back consolingly, some amusement forcing its way past the tightness in her eyes. With one final groan, she stood up from the table, dragging Anima with her. “Look, we clearly aren’t getting anywhere sitting around here,” she told them. “So the two of us are going to go and do… something. The rest of you can figure out what to do on your own. We’ll meet back up here tonight, and you’d all better have accomplished something by then, understood?”

“Nein ma’am,” Johanna gave her a sloppy salute, which caused the crusader to simply throw her hands up in disgust and storm off, Anima trailing behind her.

Once they were gone, Johanna stood up as well, cracking her back with a groan. “Well, I’m off to get drunk. Maybe hit up some old friends, see if they have any jobs for me. Ah, if you kids need any help after this is all over, just let me know, ja? I’m sure I can find something for you to do. Tschüss!”

With that the elf was gone, and the ever-present chill she carried around gone with her. That just left Chiara, Lorenzo, and Palmira sitting at the table.

“I’m getting her fired,” Chiara scowled at the door the elf had left through, the promise of murder written across her face. “Once we get back to the guild, I’m having my brother kick her out so fast.”

“Good luck with that,” Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his face. “She’s an elf. She’s got like three hundred years of experience under her belt and another three hundred in the future. She’s probably got more job security in this guild than you.”

“Ugh.”

Lorenzo patted her back only somewhat sarcastically, before frowning. “That said, at this point she’s not entirely wrong. Where do we even start with this?”

Chiara scowled, deep in thought. “We could try and search the scene of the crime for clues, maybe?”

“You really think they’d let a bunch of foreigners dig around in the Duke’s personal study?”

“Well, maybe we could interview the servants!”

“Great idea! But do you know who they are?”

“Goddess, Lorenzo,” she groaned, glaring at him. “I’m just coming up with ideas. I don’t see you doing anything!”

“That’s because I’ve got nothing,” he shrugged unrepentantly, before turning to look at the other girl at the table. “What about you Palmira? Do you have any thoughts?”

Palmira grimaced, before slowly nodding. “I… have an idea. Maybe. But, uh, it’s, you see…”

--

Lenna scowled down at her newest work, dipping her brush in the bowl and mixing just a bit harder than necessary. The painting beneath her was nearly thrice her height in length and half as high, covering most of the floor of her studio. And it was just one of nine pieces, which when matched together would act as a new, more modern mural for the l’Insieme. Depicting the Fall of Babel, it was the biggest commission of her career.

And yet, she couldn’t focus on it at all.

It was all Palmira’s fault! She’d been doing fine before her old friend had come in and punched her in the face!

Guilt and longing and anger mixed in her mind, messing up her tempo and causing her to fumble, making stupid, stupid mistakes she hadn’t made in years.

There had always been a part of her that had wanted to see her friend again. And now that she had, she wished it had never happened.

Restlessness had overtaken her, and she threw herself into her work to take her mind off of her problems as she always did, and yet for some reason it wasn’t working!

A banging noise suddenly came from her door, and she frowned. Had Isma forgotten her keys again?

Grumbling, she placed her brush off to the side, glaring down at all the nothing she’d accomplished today. Then, with a long and drawn-out sigh, she got up and moved toward the banging.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Lenna di Vittoria opened her door, and then froze.

Because once again, her once childhood friend stood on the other side. This time with a crystalline half-elf and a dark-skinned druid looming over her shoulders.

“Hey, uh, Lenna,” Palmira shuffled on the spot awkwardly. “I need your help.”

Lenna blinked slowly. Then, with a mounting combination of horror and awe, she remembered the news she’d gotten this morning, and realized the only reason her old friend would be coming to her like this.

“Palmira,” she groaned. “Did you kill the Duke of Iscrimo again!?”