----------------------------------------
Blackjack,
The other Béraud brother is getting too close, sticking his nose in. I am of the understanding that he will be arriving in Helpart over the next couple of days. Have one of your underlings dispose of him; I have enclosed some poison that shouldn’t cause any suspicion. Do not implicate us, although I shouldn’t have to tell you this directly. After last time, your competency is under question, so just to be clear:
This envelope has the target’s name on it; it is not addressed to him.
The poison is very deadly, do not confuse it with any of that backwater hooch you are so fond of.
Do not allow one of your underlings to run off with the letter and store it somewhere easily found - dispose of it once read, as per protocol.
If you still somehow make a mess of this, I will personally come and end your career.
I expect word of your success shortly.
Lord X
----------------------------------------
“Lord X is a silly name,” Grugg decided, once the wizard had finished reading out the scribbled note.
[I am slightly more dismayed that there has been a conspiracy to have me killed off so that I could not investigate my brother’s murder. But that is a terrible name, I agree.]
“Suppose it’s to keep secrecy.” The Detective dangled his feet in the hole as he sat on the edge, having agreed it would be better to read the hidden message back out of the pit where there was more light. “Doesn’t seem like big boss likes the bosses here.”
[It does sound like he has a fair degree of contempt for this ‘Blackjack’. I am assuming that is the area boss in charge of the five we have heard about.]
“Blackjack also silly,” the cyclops rubbed his itchy arm injury in contemplation. “Is Detective Grugg a silly name?”
[No, not at all. It’s a title and your actual name. Lord X could be a title and hint at a first name, or it could just be someone with a huge ego trying to sound dark and sinister. As a mob boss, I guess the latter is more likely than the former.]
“So, Nightshade killed brother?” The question hung in the air heavier than the smell of decade-old manure baked into the surrounding wood did.
[It… certainly looks like they were involved. Not by the Helpart group, but maybe we can get some information to lead us to which group did.]
Grugg stood up and stretched, scowling at the tears in his clothes once more. He would have to go and get changed into his new suit now, but at least the rest of the day should be less… destructive. Even as this thought ran through his head, he figured he would most likely be wrong. As much as he wanted to pester Claudia for more outfits, she was busy enough with her usual work and learning to use her magic needle without becoming his personal tailor.
[Do you know what this means though, Grugg?]
“Huh, whassat, Bart?”
[We now have our first lead.]
The cyclops brimmed with excitement; a lead sounded like the best way to find more crime. His arrest record was off to a modest start, but they hadn’t solved much so far. Now the bigger picture was beginning to make sense, although there were still many questions lingering. Like, why was the tavern called the Wise Goat? The Detective hadn’t seen any goats in the town thus far, much to his disappointment.
Stepping out of the warehouse, the fresher air of the outdoors was a welcome change. The clouds were still dark and foreboding but still had not released their payload. Despite the gloom, the sun had tried to creep through, and there was a weird glow as the weather sat between moods. Similarly, Grugg stood between two Guards. He nodded to Jonath as he exited.
“All good, Detective? We will board the place up for now. I filled in some of the paperwork for Frank, but there are a couple of details you’ll have to add when you go to headquarters.”
Grugg bit his tongue to prevent the groan from emerging a the mention of paper. “Frank ready for questions?”
“Not yet; he will still be going through processing. Give it about an hour? I’m sure the Captain is just as eager as you are.”
An hour! Grugg wasn’t sure what processing meant, but imagined it used one of those sausage-making machines with the turning handle. He supposed there were other things he could get done in the time he had to wait. “Grugg will get food and change clothes first,” he announced, mainly to the wizard.
“Understood, Detective.”
[Good plan. We can check on Gregor too.]
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
They stepped away as the two guards started to cover the open doorway. The streets were a bit busier now, and the pair caught a few glances. Not for being a cyclops wearing a wizard’s hat but more for the blood stains soaked through his clothing. It hadn’t taken the townspeople long to get over the novelty of Grugg, and indeed as stories about his exploits had spread, he was starting to get more curious looks rather than those of fear.
After a brief detour to drop some coin for some pastries, they set off to the tavern. It would have been a mostly uneventful journey, but Grugg couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. But every time he turned or glanced down an alley as they passed, there was nothing. No Shadow looming to attack, no cloaked figures watching his every move, and definitely no elusive goats. Or maybe, they were really elusive goats.
[The best I can tell, if there is someone hiding, it is either by non-magical means or magic more powerful than I can detect.]
“Is not easier to detect more powerful?”
[I suppose powerful is not the right word; some higher-level spells are just more technical and refined—especially those dealing with subterfuge.]
“Could a wizard detect you?”
[Most likely, yes. As much as it bruises my ego, I would probably count as a magic item at this stage. Anyone with a Detect Magic spell of high experience should be able to see this is more than a fashion statement. I believe that is why our tall Lady friend wanted me.]
“Already has own hat,” he huffed. The role of the three-sword investigators was still unknown as well. If they weren’t on the side of the Nightshade group, then it aligned them with Grugg et al. Even if as competitors. He was sure they would run into each other again soon; he would have to ask them some actual questions next time.
Let’s check in with the tavern-keeper first. Just in case there are any messages, plus Jacob did look a bit on edge earlier with the whole attack by the two-sword guys that he has some connection to.
----------------------------------------
The familiar scream of the tortured door belonging to the Wise Goat tavern pierced the ears of everyone inside as the duo entered. Thankfully, this was only a handful of ears, as only three patrons sat inside. And one of them only had one ear. Jacob stood behind the counter with a glazed-over stare, only breaking it to jump back slightly upon noticing the Detective wander over. The bloodstains probably didn’t help.
“Ah, Detective, and… hat? What can I do for you?” Despite the smile on his face, his eyes screamed for this to be a brief encounter.
“Any messages? Or food?”
“No Sir, no messages. I can make some food for you, but it may take a while. We have been a bit behind since Gregor was injured.”
Grugg grunted, drumming his fingers atop the counter. He wasn’t particularly hungry. However, he also thought that any food was good food when you could get it so readily. He had found that he could live on very little through his life up on the mountain, but it had not been by choice.
[We can eat along the way if you really need to.]
The cyclops shrugged and moved away from the counter. “No food, Jacob, thanks.” Turning to leave, he stopped as the tavern-keeper found the courage to deviate from the pleasantries.
“Oh, Detective. If you were still after twilight view tonight, it would be ill-advised… as there is a storm brewing.”
“Grugg knows.” The cyclops tipped the brim of his hat towards the man. “Grugg is the storm.” The cry of anguish from the tavern door punctuated the sentence on his exit, leaving the tavern-keeper dumb-struck.
[That was a pretty good one-liner. You are getting better at this. Just hopefully, none of the other patrons there were clued into the exchange.]
“Much like Thud, Grugg good at leaving impressions.” The Detective grinned at his own wordplay; he had come up with that one months ago and had been impatiently awaiting the day he could use it.
[Oh, that reminds me - we will need to return the Moonchaser Orb to the Forge on our way back to the Captain so they can finish on your club.]
The speed at which the wizard had glanced past the long-savored wordplay without so much as an acknowledgement did dampen the joy that Grugg had unveiling it. Perhaps with poetic coincidence, it was at this point the darkened clouds decided to unleash the first lashings of Autumn rain onto the town. Heavy droplets drummed against the wooden structures in celebration of their long-awaited release.
The Detective trudged through the alley to the back of the tavern, across the moistened mud of the small garden, finally swinging open the barn house door with a sigh. As much disdain he had for the inclement weather, running from it would be a sign of weakness. The last thing he would want to do is encourage it. As his single eye adjusted to the low light of a dim lantern across the room, one stark absence from the already sparse accommodation was the lack of a Gregor on the bed.
[Perhaps he went out after feeling better? Check around and see if he left a note.]
Being that the Deputy was in charge of the writing side of things, it stood to reason that he might have employed that facet of his skillset to leave some kind of clue to his unexpected whereabouts. But alas, the bed was empty - save for a couple of empty potion bottles.
[Huh, grab one of those, Grugg. Let me have a look.]
In grabbing the two slim glass containers, he turned as he lifted them, the lantern light behind them warping to the curvature of their rounded tube design. Both had been drunk dry, and any cork or stopper otherwise had been discarded, probably somewhere nearby. The Detective placed them down on the closed crate, the gentle clink of them colliding as they rolled to a spot they would stop at.
[I can’t really tell their purpose or origin, I’m afraid. These are pretty common, both in size and design. The stoppers may have had a seal or designation on them if you can find them.]
Grugg ran his fingers over the lumpy, straw-filled mattress covering the bed. It was still warm on one side. “Gregor went not so long ago.” Other than the expected grooves and bumps, there was nothing on the bed. What passed as pillows equally were no different than expected, even giving them a slight shake to ensure nothing was hidden within them. Shrugging, the Detective walked around the bed to the other side of the floor.
The low light of the lantern illuminated this side of the better, and the floorboards were bathed in a soft amber glow. In a small heaped pile, just next to the wooden frame of the heavy bed, were a mixture of bloodied bandages and the dark clothing that the ratman had been wearing earlier that day.
Grugg gasped, pointing at the discarded laundry with a shaking finger.
“Gregor has melted!”