Quiet chatter ambles through the room, reaching the far corner of the large cobbled-together meeting table where Victor sits. Lanterns line the ceiling showering the room in an orange light, contrasting with the white flickering glow coming from the thin basement windows. A fine layer of smoke dances around the scratched wooden ceiling, slipping through cracks to the floor above. More detectives filter in, inserting themselves into conversations being had around the table. One by one, they fill the table’s empty spaces until eight sleep-drunk, hungover men surround the table contributing to the cloud of smoke over their heads.
Commanding footsteps overhead trigger the detectives to straighten up their notes and stub out their unfinished cigarettes. The clomping trails off from above before rising again from outside the door. Swinging the door open and ducking his horned head through, Chief Detective Falk dominates the sudden silence. Although towering over everyone in the room at 7ft, he’s average height for a Taenar, and, despite his need for side-stepping through the door, average build for one too. Falk tosses a folder onto the table and daintily leans down on both hands, stopping his horns from scrapping the ceiling.
“Good morning. Before we begin, I’m going to stop asking you not to smoke in here because based on the stench of tobacco I could smell from upstairs, you’re not listening.” Falk says softly. Half a dozen guilty eyes bounce around the room, desperately avoiding Falk. He lets the silence linger, allowing the dissent to seep into his employees. “Alright then, on to today’s agenda.”.
“Firstly, I think we can all agree how unfortunate the circumstances were with yesterday's series of events.” Falk starts but is interrupted by a chortle from an arrogant faced detective staring at the floor. The detective glances up at Falk, who is glaring down at him with a quiet fury. Falk relaxes with a heavy sigh. “Maybe we don’t all agree. So, let’s address it. What happened yesterday was unpredictable. Victor was forced into a difficult situation, and made a judgement call. A call in which I support. I challenge any one of you to tell me honestly, that you would’ve acted differently. You might have these ideals of grandeur of charging him down before he could’ve hurt anyone else, tackling him to the ground while the whole crowd began chanting your name. Forget it.
“I want our role in this city to be protectors of the people, not just puzzle solvers. I hired all of you because I trust in your ability to make the hard choices. If anyone is to blame for yesterday, it’s me. I should’ve sent you out in pairs to back each other up, so I take full, and sole, responsibility for that. Fortunately, we still have the case, although it will be on the backburner as, if this Trade Scammer has the intelligence we suspect, he’s already fled Vintermarche. Until we get another sighting of him, the case is on standby and until it is re-opened, I don’t want to hear another word spoken about it. Understood?”.
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Reserved apologetic looks flash Victors way as the words of their Chief lands. Victor stays mute, picking at a splinter jutting out of the table. The distance between him and the other detectives at the table lessens, but unfamiliarity lingers. Falk fiddles with his file, his eyes quickly scanning it to remind him of the key details.
Falk holds aloft the file triumphantly. “Moving on, we have a new case, and I have to say, this is what we’ve been waiting for. This is the case. If we do this? Legitimacy. Trust. Respectability. Acclaim. More cases, more clients. This case will get us where I promised us.” With each claim piled on top of the next, Falk acknowledges someone else at the table. Excitement starts to flood the room, washing over everyone and dragging them away in the current. For Victor, the pit in his stomach widens into a gorge, draining away the excitement faster than it can consume him. Another big case. Another chance for me to fail, he thinks.
“This case involves investigating The Wall, more importantly the people that were responsible for it. I know we all know a story, rumour or straight hearsay about what happened ten years ago, but I don’t feel right being the one to delve into the actual truth.” Falk ends with a sympathetic smile pointed at the only Lysarii detective in the room. “Daneel, would you mind?”. Daneel, in a stunned silence, ponders the request. The Lysarii man, boasting red eyes and colourful splashes of scaled skin throughout his body, accepts the task.
He rises. “Many who believe in the descendant theory truly think that Chief Falk is a descendant of the deity Tenir. They believe that I am a descendant of the deity Liorax, and that the rest of you are descendant of the deity Amara. Unfortunately, these believers think that all Lysarii are devoted to Liorax, and that they practice The Crimson Call, making them Oathbound. This is not the case. I am not Oathbound, and almost all of the Lysarii I know aren’t Oathbound either. The few who are, practice peacefully in their own ways.
“As with each group, though, you have your outliers. Zealot Oathbound who believe in the superiority of Liorax. They formed a cult of ‘True Oathbound’, determined to free Liorax by sacrificing half of the world to him. They succeeded in dividing the world with The Wall, but not in sacrificing it. When The Wall fell, the people needed someone to blame. After the truth was heard of the ‘True Oathbound’ it filtered through hundreds of ears and mouths. The weakness of truth is time and whispers, and before long everyone believed that it was all Lysarii responsible for The Wall.” As the final words flow from Daneel, his shoulders drop from the weight of the last few months. He wears fatigue like an oversized coat.
The significance reaches everyone. They’ve heard the story from Daneel before, but to be said aloud cements the hardships of the Lysarii that the room supresses. Daneel returns to his seat, met with empathetic pats on the back.
Falk adopts the room once more. “Thank you, Daneel.” He removes a sheet from the file and places it atop. He slides it to the centre of the table. Confused faces examine the sketch of a man. “This is one of those ‘True Oathbound’. He helped create The Wall. He’s here, in Vintermarche. Today.”.