"You're an unusual man, Mr Lowe."

Right now, Lowe didn't feel especially unusual. He was hesitant to open his eyes and check out his tormentor - he was fairly sure this was the guy who kicked his arse in the Tower of Law - because every time he had done so thus far, someone had punched him in the face.

Of course, they'd been punching and kicking him for the last few bells, anyway, but by the seventh - or was it the eighth? - time he'd returned to consciousness, he was open to experimentation. Maybe if he couldn't see his tormentors, they weren't really there?

He felt it was worth a shot.

A fist crashed into his stomach, stealing his air - well, so much for that idea. Shame, he'd been pinning a lot on that - and toppling him out of the chair he's been positioned on. Which was actually good news. The fact he'd fallen out of it meant they'd untied the leather straps that had been holding him in place.

Lowe was all about the upside right now.

Two sets of hands picked him up and unceremoniously dropped him back on the chair.

"It's rude not to look at someone who is speaking to you, Mr Lowe."

He cracked open one eye - the other wasn't too keen on responding right now. Roll with the Punches was being quite the little Skill that could, but 20/20 eyesight was so far down the pecking order where his injuries were concerned that he wasn't too surprised. The beating he'd received had been so thorough that his mana stores were utterly depleted - even with all his extra points - and his Skill simply couldn't keep up.

For the first bell or so, they hadn't even asked him any questions.

The man who sat opposite Lowe was almost offensively nondescript. There was no name, Level or Class above his head, which suggested he was in the presence of someone with serious juice. However, to look at him, you would never have guessed it. He was small and dark and had the sort of face that could be studied for half a bell but still would defy an accurate description.

The man was sat cross-legged in the chair opposite Lowe in a spotless cream suit. So, whoever had been slapping him around, it hadn't been this guy in his Sunday best. Although, as soon as he saw Lowe looking at him, the man stood, removed his jacket, popped his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves. Lowe assumed the hands-free approach was about to change.

"Thank you, Mr Lowe. Politeness costs nothing."

Four or five quips crossed Lowe's mind, and he considered it a sign of personal growth that he kept them all inside. That or he didn't think his jaw was quite solid enough to move yet.

"As I was saying, you are an unusual man. It may surprise you to know that you are not the first person my employer has required me to question in this manner."

It was an effort, but Lowe controlled his shock and amazement.

After waiting a few moments to see if a reply would be forthcoming, Mr Law pressed on. "However, you are certainly the first who, at no stage, had asked 'why?' It is almost like you were expecting us to come for you."

Lowe wrinkled his nose in an experimental way to indicate, he hoped, disinterested unconcern. All things being considered, though, that was quite a complex emotion to demonstrate with just a nose wiggle.

Mr Law looked at him briefly, then glanced over Lowe's shoulder. He had just enough time to realise what was about to happen and brace himself - not that it helped - before a fist crashed into his ear and sent him back to the floor.

He was back in the chair in moments, with Mr Law's bland, disappointed face watching him.

"This really is all very pointless, Mr Lowe. I have no interest in causing you unnecessary harm. In fact, it would appear that there is very little permanent damage we can actually do to you - other than kill you, of course." Mr Law let that hover in the air, regarding Lowe as if he were a fascinating insect sample. "So, how about it? Shall we converse like normal human beings, or do we continue with this unpleasantness?"

He sounded so reasonable, as if they were discussing how best to split the cream and scones in a tea shop. Lowe risked moving his jaw and was pleasantly surprised to see the bigger cracks had fused together. "What do you want to know?"

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Lowe would have liked to think that his voice might have carried defiance and courage. He was, therefore, disappointed to hear it bleat out like an especially irritated sheep.

"There we go. I knew we would reach an accord. Now, I do not want us to get off on the wrong foot here. I will not mislead you and pretend there is any prospect of you leaving this room alive. All that remains is for you to decide how unpleasant your final moments will be. I would encourage you to take the path of least resistance. It would be unfortunate if, for example, we needed to collect a certain to join you here."

Lowe took a deep breath, feeling his broken ribs protest. "Ask your questions."

"Excellent. I told my employer earlier that you were a reasonable and sensible man who would not wish to involve anyone else in this business. Why don't we start with something straightforward? Who killed Gianna d'Avec?"

It was such an unexpected question that it took Lowe a moment to appreciate what he had heard. He tilted his head, feeling his neck creak in protest. "You did."

Mr Law sat back, making an odd little tutting noise. He glanced above Lowe's shoulder again, and there was the expected moment of 'unpleasantness'. A helpful hand wiped the blood from his face so that he could be all presentable for his interrogator. "I will ask again, who killed Gianna d'Avec?"

That last beating seemed to have loosened Lowe's tongue somewhat. "Mate, far be it from me to tell you how to hoodlum, but it was only a few days ago you were kicking my arse and telling me to let the whole thing drop. Pick a lane, dude. Pick a fucking lane."

"To be fair, Mr Lowe, what we know about you made it very unlikely you would follow that advice. Indeed, here you sit, five Levels of progress made and having ruffled all sorts of feathers with your actions. So, I ask you again, who killed Gianna d'Avec?"

Lowe's brain was racing. He had assumed that whoever was holding Mr Law's leash had been—even tangentially—involved with the death of the High Priestess.

"Why warn me off if you hadn't been involved?"

The nondescript man waggled his finger back and forth. "Now, now, Mr Lowe. That is not how this works. There is no quid pro quo here. I ask, you answer. Or you will be hurt. Who killed Gianna d'Avec?"

"At the moment, I'm leaning towards Markian Ulton."

"Why?"

"The two were in a relationship. I think the High Priestess interfered with the trial against Trellen Ulton. There are other things I need to explore there, but it wouldn't surprise me to hear that the two had a falling out, and Markian thought it wise to have her silenced before she revealed his guilt in the death of Lord Falyn."

There was a pause. "And for this reason, you put him under a Red Notice?"

Lowe shrugged, pleased to feel that his shoulders seemed to be functioning again. "I was getting nowhere, so figured doing so would cause a reaction." He licked blood away from his split lips. "And I was right on the money. However, if you are not connected to Ulton . . . " Lowe left the question unasked, and Mr Law did not race to answer it.

Instead, he pressed onward in his polite, even tone. "And you resisted significant pressure to rescind that notice from the Council: accepting being fired and losing your protection detail rather than bow to their demands?"

"What can I say? I react poorly to authority."

"Indeed. Pardon me for pressing the issue, but for clarity, can I report to my employer that Markian Ulton is still under a Red Notice and that his logs are being analysed at Cuckoo House whilst we speak?"

"Sure. Whilst I breathe, I'm not cancelling it. At the very least, that guy needs his finances looking into."

"Interesting." Mr Law sat back and pressed a finger to his lips as if considering. Then he leant forward again, his eyes almost eager. "I'm going to throw a few names at you. It would be useful if you were to indicate if you have had cause to consider them as suspects in the murder of d'Avec."

Mr Law proceeded to share a list of the great and the good of Soar, most of whose names hadn't been mentioned by anyone Lowe had spoken to over the case. With every shake of the head, it was like his questioner was becoming more and more frustrated. Lowe sensed this probably did not bode well for his long-term well-being.

"And the priest, Setort. Do you have any ideas about what led to his demise? As you can imagine, operatives able to circumvent Dead Zones are not exactly many and plentiful. I would like to make the acquaintance of whoever killed him. Briefly, at least."

"Best I've got is someone from the Temple. From what I heard, a welcome wagon followed me home from the crime scene. Fits with someone there being responsible."

"Hmm. Well, you certainly do seem to have irritated the Chosen of Oh. You believe that was a follow-up to killing Setort?" Mr Law's eyes flicked above Lowe again, and the inspector braced himself for another blow. Instead, the bland man gave the hidden presence behind him an instruction. "Can we locate Chosen Khalid, please? I will need to speak to him. As a word of advice, he has a substantially irritating pre-cog Skill that may make collecting him . . . challenging. Carrot rather than stick, perhaps."

Mr Law's attention returned to Lowe, and with a bead of panic, the inspector recognised that the interrogation was coming to an end. "I have to say, Mr Lowe, I am regretting pulling you in. It appears you are no further through your investigation than we have been able to get. I had thought, with your actions against Markian Ulton, that you may have uncovered something tangible. Instead, it is rather disappointing to learn that this was just another example of your signature 'spray and pray' approach to detective work. I would caution you to, in the future, be more circumspect in your style, but we both know how this is going to end."

Mr Law stood and dusted himself down, rolling his sleeves back down and replacing his jacket. He was no longer interested in Lowe and spoke to whoever lurked behind him. "Give it another few bells for the Red Notice to collect everything useful and then dispose of him. I don't want to hear that his body is found."

With that, the dapper man with the unremarkable face left the room, leaving Lowe with a bottomless pain - one that Roll with the Punches could do nothing about - settling in the pit of his stomach.