Demons were everywhere on the east side of Border City. It as the last stop before crossing into Holy Order territory, so the city was typically used for all-purpose trading and the largest marketplace in all of Salem Kingdom. At least, for the Demon Domination anyway. Most of Salem was under Holy Order control, except for the eastern side of the continent.

Strolling around the city was the most common demon—Trydolens: by 669’s definition, they were tall, walking fish on two legs with a spiky ridge back. Their scaly skin were red-green in color and sometimes steaming. Their magic base was a fire-water compound, so they could cause things to both heat up and go frigid quickly. These demons liked others to think for them, so they made excellent dogsbodies as their Majestic Will had deemed them to be.

“Unlike us humans who can’t help but stir up trouble.” 669 chuckled with lofty airs as he strutted through the crowded marketplace where many walks of life were perusing or haggling over wares from stalls. He whipped out a silk-paper white hand fan with a pretty watercolor of wild violets spread on the surface. And began fanning his face with elegant gestures like he was some young lord. Indeed, some heads turned his way to consider him as one. No one said he couldn’t have his own way of being a henchman. At least he could be a tad stylish.

He side-stepped past a line of the lizard humanoid demons, who were carrying crate goods marked for the Peony Soap House with sluggish strides; ambled up a wide set of stone steps that lead to a wood porch crowded with dolled up escort workers hugging arms of richly dressed patrons who were going with the flow of merriment. The sweet aroma of spent wine and perfume teased his senses. But he he shook off the euphoric effects as his visit was for work.

“If it isn’t my favorite henchman.” Detective Morse chuckled as he stepped out of the shadows to greet him.

He was dressed in a smart navy suit with crisp white shirt and red paisley cravat scarf. Gold rings and chains were loaded on his fingers and neck to show off his fake wealth. Indeed, the detective could be mistaken for an elder merchant.

“Of course. I’m a pure flower drifting in a cup of fine wine. Who wouldn’t want to behold me,” 669 demurely said behind his spread hand fan.

“Pfft.” One of the faceless door guards chuckled. He was dressed in all black soft leather armor, bearing the Demon Domination dragon emblems on the pauldrons. A uniform 669 had worn in a recent past life.

669 snapped his fan closed and tapped the guard's shoulder. “Keep working hard.”

The henchman nodded and let the two men pass them for the house’s main area. Peony Soap House was far from small and modest. It was an eight level hexagon building where each area held talisman sigils for protection and happiness, but they also prevented unwanted attention. Especially, from the Holy Order espionage kind. Bright red, gold and silver were the prevalent colors of the lavish adornments that ensured the simplicity of fixtures and furniture were living up to the standards of royalty. The central floor was a dance stage for elegantly made-up flower girls and boys in silk robes and dresses to lure in the loving attention from high paying lords. To call the dancers prostitutes was an insult as their Majestic Will gave them the gifts to give love at the sacrifice of their own.

“You want to talk to Maud, I’ll lead you to him,” 669 said as he assumed a seat at one of the small viewing tables surrounding the dancing stage.

He whispered words and handed a slip of paper to the waiter that approached their table. “Also a bottle of Vintage Merlot 23.”

This order had the modest waiter gasping and looking excited as he scurried away to make good on his request.

Detective Morse nodded as he sat at the choicer seat and position at the table.

“You know there is a budget.”

“Surely a bit of extravagance is worth it for progress.” 669 loftily dismissed the man’s concerns with a wave of his outstretched fan. “But, if you need value, then I’ll also be your sentry.”

669 frowned when he sensed the same mysterious presence from the border tavern. Like that time, they were being watching. He wondered if they were the ones that fired the arrows at them. Who were they? Whoever was watching them was either not aware of his core magic abilities or purposely letting him know that they were there. He had a sinking feeling this case was turning out to be more than simple serial murders.

The young waiter returned with a fancy bottle of wine and two glasses, which they placed on the table before them. He slipped a white envelope before 669 then moved on to another guest. As he turned his head, he spotted a drably dressed man staring at them from the kitchen entry at an inconspicuous back corner of the room.

“Do you see the attention we have attracted?” He casually fanned himself with his comment.

“Indeed. I sometimes wonder what our high magistrates were thinking in making you a henchman.” Morse chuckled as he sloshed wine about his glass.

“Can’t drink it?”

“Not while I’m on duty.”

“Then I’ll send this bottle back to the CF4H headquarters. You can enjoy it there.”

Another waiter approached their table with a cordial bow and relayed a summons from the building's owner.

“Please cork this bottle and ensure it reaches the Cannon Fodders 4Hire headquarters.” 669 slipped a credit note into the waiter’s pocket that made his eyes light with with gold dollar signs.

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He eagerly reassured him with rapid bows that it would be done.

669 chuckled at the credit amount 777 would have to fork over to a lowly worker. That would teach the man to rope him into this troublesome work.

He and Detective Morse casual maneuvered through the rowdy and merry crowd, taking the winding side stair way up to the next floor where the atmosphere was more sober and heavier. Faint cries, moaning and whispered words of fake love were heard from the closed rooms they passed, as they strolled down a narrow hall to the door at the end.

Two faceless henchmen opened the door to allow them entry.

“If isn’t my favorite henchman.”

669 warmly greeted the lone businessman seated at a large round table. The man was being served tea and mochi treats by a Trydolen and Pixie servants. He nodded when he spied Sangria placing a plate of white jelly mochi on the table with little effort and expression.

“Maud, greetings.” 669 cordially bowed before the man and gestured to Morse. “My, er, customer.”

“Customer?” Maud leaned back in his chair to size-up the stranger next to 669.

As he was doing so, Morse was doing his own first impressions of the man. Maud was a man in his late twenties, with a dark short crop of hair slicked back in a style to show off his squarish jawline and angled cheekbones that highlighted narrow green eyes. A thin mustache framed his upper thin lip. Green jade earrings dangled off his lobes. Same stone was set on his silver rings bearing the Demon Domination dragon insignia. The man’s lean body was simply dressed in a dark gray business suit with a maroon tie against a white shirt.

“Yeah.” 669 swiftly changed the subject to the nature of their visit.

“Lord Ashton, Zallayl bless his soul into the Shadow Realm.”

“Aah yes, sad news about Ashton. I heard it was an accidental fall out of a window.”

“Is that all you heard?”

Maud chuckled with understanding. “Rumors were fleeting as the wind on a summer breeze.”

669 sighed. “It would be better to sail the breeze on a boat lined with gold credits, right?”

He looked to Detective Morse who groaned getting the hint and placed a chunky pouch containing gold credits on the table.

“Yes, the breeze is making it all clear.”

Maud invited the men to take a seat before him and give them information about Ashton’s last visit.

“The man was enjoying the house’s hospitality as usually does, but my guards did notice that he had a short argument with a commoner while he was stepping into his litter.”

669 frowned as he pictured the argument that happened between the men before the house’s stables. It seemed that Ashton was being accused of some gambling debt.

“And this was the last time Lord Ashton was seen?”

Maud nodded.

“Do you know the man he was arguing with?”

“Some common rat from the streets. I don’t keep track of everyone that comes and goes.”

“Did Ashton know Marcus Poirot?” Detective Morse lazily tossed at the man like he was playing a card at a game of poker.

“Why would you want to know?”

Maud’s eyes lit up at another credit pouch dumped on the table.

“Ah, yes, I see. Well, he and that Poirot bad boy were something of childhood friends. Or more like rivals. They were always competing for attention with the workers here.”

“I see. And on the night Lord Ashton was seen, was Lord Marcus with him?”

Maud sighed, feeling the conversation becoming boring.

“No, but one of my guards did hear about some water seller wanting to make our late lord suffer for something.”

“What litter did Lord Ashton take?”

“The Black Rose, which is dedicated to the Sommerville family.”

669 rose. He knew the man enough to know that this information was the most they were going to get out of him, as Morse had given too many credits to distract him and Maud was bored by now of their visit.

“Thank you, Maud.”

“Wait, you’re not here to sample fun?” Maud looked up to 669 with pleasant surprise.

“I’m on the clock.” 669 pouted that made Maud laugh with understanding.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

669 grumbled the whole time they stepped out of the Peony Soap House, especially when he passed flirtation glances from visiting lords that took his fancy. But work was work.

“Follow me.” Detective Morse led the way to the stables where harses and litters were at rest. He approached a simple wood litter that was painted with a black rose emblem on the door. A black panther harse was lazily eating steak chunks at one of the feeders nearby.

“Excuse me good harse. Is this the litter you pull?”

The harse lifted his head from his meal and eyed the strangers carefully before replying that the litter was unavailable to anyone who wasn’t a Sommerville.

“What day did you last take a Sommerville?”

The harse grunted that he last pulled the litter a week a go, and when he was pressed for more questions he answered with little care to keep the facts to himself. They learned that the argument with the water seller was just before Ashton was last seen.

“We need to find that water seller.”

A crash and bang drew their attention to the far side of the stables. They saw a worker run away from them.

“Chase!” Detective Morse ordered.

They sprinted after the man’s trail.