669 left Spartacus next to Emelia’s litter when he had arrived to the Poirot’s mansion grounds at the heart of night.

“You can go back.” He patted the harse’s side.

“Are you sure milord?”

669 thumbed the white harse who was not shy in showing her dislike for Spartacus, even snapping at his hide to ensure he had kept his distance.

“Wise call, milord.” Spartacus nodded, turned and retraced his sprints back to headquarters.

669 unhooked his silver staff from his back, laced his magic into it so it would supplement his energies, then re-docked it to his back. He sprinted along Emelia’s trail through the shady woods. He paused when he detected virya disruption: switched on his Inner Vision and saw faded black particles that indicated dying poison strands. No doubt there had been a cloud released to cause inoculation. He crouched low to a puddle on the path, which showed the strongest concentration of the foreign magical substance. He was able to pick up something of a trail that deviated off the path and through the denser part of the area.

“Constable Rice. I fear you’re delving into a complex game of demons, angels and order.” He muttered to himself. Marcus, Ashton and Tristan were all connected by death circumstance and a silver lotus. Fairy Blossom’s death was connected due to association, and a motive he wasn’t entirely sure on.

An eerie shout and scream broke through his thoughts. He sprinted toward the noise, rushing through the thicket of brush and tree clumps with an absurd, magically fueled, speed thanks to his staff’s power. His sprints stopped at a circular clearing and the sight of Emelia slumped unconscious at the area’s center.

He checked her pulse and breath and sighed with relief when they showed signs of life. And her body seemed to be unharmed. It was likely the poison had knocked her out. There were patchy traces of black particles circling around her nostrils and mouth. Fortunately, they were dying out fast.

“It is as we were told,” said a strange, raspy voice.

669 stood before Emelia’s body to defend whatever attacks were bound for them. He glanced around the clearing, which was barely lit by the moonlight. There was nobody in sight. Yet the voice had been clear and vivid, almost as if it had slipped into his head. And as vivid as the voice was, it held no distinction.

“Voice Resonance Spell.” He hissed as he recognized the spell that had been used to say those words to him. It was clear he was dealing with an air mage of an advanced kind.

He closed his eyes to completely rely on his Inner Vision, raised his daggers and tossed them in the air. White particles from his fingers flew at the blades to coat them with his signature virya energy: the daggers swelled to a blinding white.

“Parasite Magia: Neutralize!” He bellowed out his spell.

The daggers flew around the area in circles to draw in dangerous red particles that had been sneakily hanging onto natural particles. The weapons raced in circles, speeding up to cast a brilliance of light around him: then rose into the air, dragging the red particles in a blazing trail. The daggers twirled above his head then caused an explosion of light when they clashed together. He caught the daggers with both hands when their magic had run their course, and they fell down.

“Impressive, but you are not the Royal Guard. They are too incompetent to solve this case let alone give justice. The lords had to die for their sins. The blood of innocence are on their hands. They will be on yours too if you pursue.”

669’s eyes widened when he saw a silver dagger rushing for his face. He caught it before it could stab his nose. As he examined the blade, he saw words etched onto the metal.

“You have your final warning - henchman.”

The voice sounded like it was coming for a few paces straight ahead of him. He rushed out of the clearing for it, but soon saw a space free of red or black particles. Whoever had been there was gone like they had never been in the area. Seeing no point in trying to pursue further, he raced back to Emelia who was still on the ground and showing signs of returning to her senses. He let out a bark of frustration when he saw an envelope next to her. A dagger. An envelope. Clearly someone was messing with them.

He sat down next to her and examined the items. The dagger held one line of a poem and a lotus symbol.

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“The fifth son dance with a fair maiden and made her die.” 669 groaned and stared at the envelope that was also sealed with the lotus symbol. He was not going to open that.

“Oh,” Emelia said as she stirred awake and saw a starry night sky above her head.

669 pulled out a vial containing a sample-size of strong ale and downed in one gulp.

“669? What are you doing here? Where am I?” She said as she sat up and shook her head clear. After some hard blinks and allowing her senses to fully return, she remembered.

“Indigo went to the Royal Guard and was told where to find you.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She found out that Ashton Sommerville had forced Marcus Poirot into sex.”

Emelia nodded. “It was what I was told too when I found myself here. Marcus had lost a bid to Ashton, ambushed the man in a side alley for the item they had been bidding on, and when Marcus and his hired henchmen were easily overwhelmed by Ashton. It seemed that Marcus had been raped by the man in front of the henchmen.”

669 was unable to hold back his disgust for Ashton’s actions, so much so his daggers flew out of their sheaths and slashed at nearby trees before returning to their sheaths.

She sighed with understanding. “There’s more. The men that Marcus had ordered from Maud seemed to be the henchmen he had hired to ambush Ashton with him.”

“Was he hiring them to silence them?”

“Possibly.”

669 glanced about. They were at the Poirot mansion grounds, so someone there had to be connected to this story to know the event clearly.

“And would it be possible that one of the henchmen was also a worker from this mansion?”

“Well, if they were, they were clearly violating their majestic will.”

669’s mind went back to his first meeting with Butler Morton and how he thought the man had been military. He might not have served, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have connections. He shook his head clear. This wasn’t his business.

“Here.” He handed the dagger and envelope to Emelia.

“What’s theses?”

“They were left by the perpetrator.”

“The what?!” She snapped upright and bolted to her feet.

“Don’t bother. They’re long gone.” 669 groaned and switched his vision back to normal. He got out another medicinal vial of strong ale and swallowed with one gulp. His head was beginning to swim in a delicious, mellow and warm bliss.

He staggered to his feet with a hiccup.

“Stop drinking. I need to you focused.” Emelia scolded him then added with sincerity, “Thank you. You didn’t have to come after me.”

“Come on, you don’t have to be coy. It’s okay to call me the dashing knight who came to your rescue.” he loftily joked as he whipped out his hand fan to cool his flushed cheeks.

“And there goes your credibility.” She gave him a light shove.

At the moment 777 and 789 flew into the clearing and landed next to them. They stowed their wing gadgets away.

“Are you both okay? Indigo was bumbling to us about you being attacked.” 789 said and gave Emelia a once over. She fished through her belt pouch and handed the woman a healing pill.

“Thank you.” Emelia swallowed the pill and allowed its healing properties to take effect.

“That’s a lot of healing. You didn’t give her something earlier?” 789 smacked the back of 669’s head.

“She just woke up? If you haven’t noticed, I just saved her?” He complained while rubbing his head better.

777 shook his head. “Stop drinking. Do it at the bar.”

669 screwed up his face and turned his head from them as he fanned his cheeks.

“I guess we better go before we’re spotted.”

Emelia led the way back to the litter where they ambled inside and went up the road back to the Cannon Fodder 4Hire’s headquarters.

Bosgar watched the Royal Guard’s litter recede from the mansion grounds until it was gone. He was enjoying his bird’s eye view of mansion grounds from his bedroom balcony, which had a clear sight of all who came and went, even a few miles beyond the main gates.

He eased back on the fine wrought iron chair, crossing one leg over the other: grabbed the gold wine goblet from the matching table that was laden with a sample platter of cheeses and fruits.

“Ah the night is so young, dark and intriguing.” He smirked as he gracefully sipped his wine.

He licked his lips with wicked thoughts. “Very intriguing.”