"I do not wish to cast aspersions here, Jana, but it is kind of the point to speak to the witnesses before they are murdered."

"Really, sir? My mistake. I thought it might take the challenge out of things too much if people had the chance to share vital information with me. I'm like a mushroom, you see. I simply thrive being in the dark and having shit thrown at me."

"And this is the man you suspected of stalking Arebella?"

"Yeah, no doubt on that one. I have him in the damned image."

Cenorth cleared his throat tactfully. "Quite. Quite. And, in those very limited circumstances, if you had chosen to express your dissatisfaction in forceful terms, then that is the sort of thing we are entirely capable of overlooking. If you get my meaning?"

Lowe did. It was one of the features of life in Soar's Security Service that had never sat well with him. He understood that when you were responsible for keeping order in a city where even the boy who shined your shoes in the morning was capable of significant carnage, a certain latitude was given as to how you managed that.

Indeed, the Mayor was fond of saying he didn't much mind the various organised gangs that preyed on the Lower City. Not when he had the biggest, most violent gang on his side.

Lowe's unwillingness to quietly ignore the more brutal excesses of his co-workers had not stood him in good stead during his fall from grace. Surprisingly, when people did not feel you had their back, they were highly motivated to put a knife in yours when the time came.

To be fair, since his elevation to Commander, Cenorth had done his best to curb the more arbitrarily psychotic members of the force, but his question demonstrated how little had actually changed.

Lowe looked at the shredded corpse of Setort. The man had not died easily: he doubted there was a drop of blood left, or a bone unbroken, in that corpse. And his boss would let it slide if it turned out Lowe had extracted a little vigilante justice for taking pictures of his girlfriend?

Sometimes, Lowe found life in Soar rather grim.

"I didn't touch him, Commander. The door opened, the body was there, and his killer was leaping through the window."

Cenorth raised his eyebrows. "It doesn't need to be a case of 'the big boy did it and ran away'. Say the word and . . . "

Lowe gestured to his bare arm, where his suit and shirt had been lopped off at the elbow, and blood splattered all over his front. "They cut off my fucking arm, sir, as they escaped. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I didn't kill this guy."

"Fair enough. Shame, though. The paperwork on a second murder, on the same floor of the Celestial Temple . . . The are not coming out of this looking especially good. I even heard a rumour the Mayor wants the to take over. Arkola is reportedly hopping mad."

Both of them surreptitiously glanced upwards towards the First Floor—the idea of that supreme being hopping brought a quick smile to Lowe's face.

"I'm glad you find my pain amusing, Jana. Arebella's okay, by the way?"

Lowe nodded. "As good as ever she was."

"Good. Good. I always liked that girl. Far too good for you, I can tell you that now."

"Goes without saying, sir. Was there anything else you wanted? I'd like to pop home and change." Lowe indicated the severed remains of his jacket. "I worry someone's going to think this is the latest fashion trend, and I'll never get anything done once I go viral."

"Quite. Before you go, I assume you have a theory as to what has happened here?"

Lowe shrugged. "Someone didn't want me speaking to Setort and resorted to playing silly buggers. Did you see they raised the cap to be able to enter the Temple?"

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Cenorth nodded. "To a point suggestively higher than your level. Or," he glanced upwards," at least it was this morning."

"I ate my greens. Well, no sooner had I overcome that barrier and was on my way here, but the man I needed to speak to was cut into tiny pieces."

"And you think the two things are related?"

"Sir, someone knew I'd be speaking to Setort about the package Arebella has received, and they shut him up before he could talk. That's obvious. The problem is, I'm not sure whether that and the death of the High Priestess are connected."

"Two priests killed on the same floor within two days of each other. Surely whoever attacked you - and presumably killed Setort - is also responsible for the death of d'Avec?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't formed an opinion on that yet. Been a bit busy, regrowing my arm and all. I'd just say, in my experience, if you have a felon with a talent for one element, it would be pretty odd for them to use another. Whoever attacked me was handy with Air. The High Priestess was taken down by Water."

"Indeed. Well, I hope it goes without saying if you could try to get to the bottom of this before we run out of Priests of Gravalk, that would be wonderful. Council meetings are getting a touch . . . fiery is my understanding."

"I'll do my best, sir. Now, if you could excuse me, I'm going to go and get appropriately dressed again." Lowe moved towards the portal stone. "Oh, and if Lant comes up with anything more interesting than 'he was tortured to death', can you let me know?"

"Surely, Jana."

Cenorth watched until Lowe's blood-soaked figure vanished into the portal's swirling mists. Then, he took a sending stone out of his pocket. He shook it to clear any residue mana and channelled a considerable amount in as a replacement. It took several heartbeats, but - with a snap - it connected to a paired stone he never enjoyed reaching.

As always, there was no sound from the person at the other end, so Cenorth spoke into the void. "It is as you suspected. We may need to consider moving to Plan B."

*

"He's busy."

Lowe squinted up at the with a clipboard who appeared to be in charge of what was developing in the reception area of the Temple. Everywhere Lowe looked, he could see massive, lumbering Warders suiting up for what he assumed was about to be a pretty intensive search operation in the Celestial Temple.

"Can you let him know I'm going home now?"

"Absolutely. I have nothing better to do right now than be your personal social secretary. Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Gricken looked down at Lowe and snorted air out of his nostrils. The effect was not unlike a very angry bull preparing to charge. "Look, Inspector, if I see Latham, I'll tell him you were here. But I can tell you, there's no way he'll be allowed out of the Temple tonight. It's all hands on deck here until we determine what's going on with the security protocols."

Lowe was somewhat disconcerted that Latham was not able to accompany him back to his apartment. Of course, he understood that the Temple was in chaos after the second murder in the week, but he still felt oddly vulnerable without the thought of the big man at his side.

Sensing that was the best he would get from the Warder, Lowe slunk away. Even reminding himself that he had, just that afternoon, been able to solo a Heroic Dungeon didn't make his journey home any less stressful. It was hard to forget the feeling of helplessness in the Tower of Law when that hidden presence had battered him down.

But, in the still evening air of Soar, it was impossible to be too worried about such things, and in no time, he was pushing through the door of his home with a smile on his face.

Certainly, since Mylaf arrived at his door, returning to his apartment had become a more attractive option. Where he had become used to his rooms having a gloomy atmosphere, with a sad, musty smell in the air, now there was a cheerful brightness spilling outwards into the corridor outside, undercut by the constant scent of baking.

In fact, the place pretty much gleamed under the attention of the , which made the muddy footprints on the doormat even more noticeable.

"Mylaf?" Lowe called, pushing as much fake unconcern into his voice as possible whilst simultaneously filling both hands with Slugger. "I'm just grabbing some fresh clothes, and then I'll head straight back out. I'm afraid my second-best suit has taken another significant downgrade."

Lowe shrugged off his jacket so that it puddled on the floor and paused, listening for any sign of life. "Oh, and I'm afraid I may well be needing a new shirt. Blood again. Not my fault this time."

The still didn't answer, and Lowe crept around towards the back wall, eyes roving the doors that ran off the hall to try to sense from which direction the danger might come.

"Mylaf? Are you still up?"

"Mr Lowe," the voice was a study in neutrality. "I am afraid I may need your assistance in here."

Lowe followed the sound and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Mylaf was sitting perfectly still behind the table, a knife floating at her throat.

Lowe winked at her and looked around, spotting, in the far corner of the room, a hooded figure he'd last seen diving through a window, having chopped off his arm.

"Inspector Lowe. Please drop whatever the hell overpowered Skill you're currently channelling. I'd like to talk to you about the death of a certain High Priestess."