"Are we all sitting comfortably?"

Arebella did her best not to roll her eyes at Lowe's question. Sure, she recognised he probably deserved a little melodrama after what he had been through over the last few days, but perhaps now was not quite the time or place . . .

Neither were any of the people who had been - with various degrees of bad grace - gathered in Gianna d'Avec's receiving chamber sitting especially comfortably.

For some of them - namely Latham, Hel, Tenia and Charl - that was because they had just had seven shades kicked out of them, and there was no amount of healing nor tasty HP-restoring snacks that made you forget how it felt to be somewhat powerless in the face of overwhelming strength. Included in their little worse-for-wear group was Ortel Maybourne, but his cause of woe was self-inflicted rather than by nefarious, physical means: the smell of alcohol wafting off him was almost overwhelming to those sat next to him.

Then there were those who clearly believed that taking part in this sort of charade was significantly beneath their position in life, namely Mdamic, Khaled and the spidery figure of Cadi Velehim, the

On the other side of the chamber, Aintra and Hiwalk were sitting, arms folded, peeved that so many non-believers had been allowed access to the inner sanctum of their High Priestess. They were making their displeasure at Gravalk's space being used for 'some sort of parlour game' abundantly clear. Little flame birds of prey kept appearing and disappearing above the head of the .

To be fair, even without their personal reservations, it was understandable that everyone sat in the hastily arranged chairs was pretty unhappy to be in a room which, despite the best efforts of the Temple , still bore all the hallmarks of an abattoir.

"Can we get on with this, please?" Mdamic said, storm clouds forming above his head. "Some of us have things to do."

"I'm sure," Lowe said, eyeing the flash of thunderbolts a touch nervously. "We just have a last few people to arrive, and then we can—"

Through the chamber's open door, the Portal Stone shimmer opened and closed twice in quick succession. " - ah, here are our last few guests."

The first person through the door was a wiry older man with a haggard expression. He looked around the chamber, nodded at Hel, and then turned back to beckon two heavily bundled-up figures into the room. Such was the volume of cloth covering them that it was impossible to tell if they were male, female, human or horse. The three of them moved to sit behind Hel's contingent, and - despite the strangeness of their appearance and the general mood of anxiety in the room - their arrival, or at least the man's, seemed to make everyone feel less tense.

Following close behind them came Lowe's boss, Cenorth, the Penarth Lant, and two uniformed escorting a very sorry-looking for himself, Markian Ulton. Seeing that arrogant man in chains - literally and metaphorically - put an extra spring in Lowe's step, and he felt a smile spread across his face.

"Excellent. I am so glad we were all able to find time in all our busy schedules to join this little soiree."

"Jana, cut the crap." Cenorth's voice was harsh. "The Council are pissing vinegar about this. By my reckoning, you have half a bell before I start receiving messages I can't ignore any longer. Get the fuck on with it."

Lowe nodded. "Fair enough. Now, before we begin, I just want to set a few ground rules. You will notice my glamorous assistant here?" Lowe pointed at Arebella, who gave an embarrassed little wave. "Well, for those of you who do not know her, Ms Telut is one of Soar's finest ."

"And the possessor of a spectacular bosom," Lant added, slightly louder than was truly necessary. He met Cenorth's glare with a shrug. "It's not like I'm lying, is it? And that is the point you are making, Mr Lowe, is it not? You have brought your own personal lie detector to proceedings?"

Lowe ignored the pot-bellied man and opened his arms wide. "I would also note that we have quite the collection of fell powers present here today. Thus, for the sake of all our survival, can I please ask that we think first, smite later should tempers run a little high?"

Cenorth looked around at the gathering and felt a little bead of sweat break out on his forehead. Lowe wasn't exaggerating. There was enough firepower in the room to sink a small continent - and that was just the people he recognised. He wasn't wholly sure what he would be able to do if things cut up rough. As a , he had several Skills that had an Area of Effect mitigation to damage, but he'd never had to launch them against an angry fucking Avatar before. What in the name of Soar had Lowe talked him into here . . .

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"I think," Khaled said, his entirely reasonable tone belying the blazing fury in his eyes, "it might be best if we were to get on with things. I am happy to confirm that I understand the delightful Ms Tolut will be able to identify lies and that it would be best if any retribution for the discourtesy shown here were saved for later." His reptilian eyes met Arebella's. "I can promise your Mr Lowe that I will see him soon to discuss how the Chosen of Oh was dragooned into attending this . . . meeting."

Lowe didn't need to check with her if this was the truth or not.

"Okay. So, moving right along. We all know why you have been gathered here today."

After a few moments of no one answering and Lowe clearly pausing for effect, Verahalim coughed to clear his throat and supplied the response in his wheezy voice. "The murder of Gianna d'Avec. Oh, and for the sake of transparency, I should note that I will be billing the Mayor for every contribution I am required to make to proceedings. On top of my per-bell rate, this delightful little distraction has cost the city 500 gold thus far."

Cenorth ground his teeth. He could already hear the Council making clear whose budget this was all coming out of. "For pity's sake, Jana, can you move this the fuck along!"

"Pity?" Lowe said, rolling the word around his mouth. "Pity. Yes, I think that's probably a good place to start. Because there's not anyone in this room who feels pity - any at all - for the death of the High Priestess. I am not wrong in saying that, am I?"

There were a few downcast eyes at that but also several shrugs and defiant glares. "No, Gianna d'Avec is not much mourned." Lowe started to pace around the room. "I don't think I have ever heard the word 'bitch' uttered so often about the recently deceased as I did in connection with the High Priestess. People were not quite lining up to shake the hand of whoever killed her, but neither was there much dismay. As I look around this room, I see person after person that danced a veritable jig at her passing."

Looking at each member of the group in turn, Lowe started to pace the chamber the opposite way around. "Maybe she was an upcoming rival, an uncaring employer, a murderer, a corrupt official, an uncorrupt official. A lover. Whatever. But a bitch. Pretty much everyone in the room was united on that score. Gianna d'Avec was a Level 67 and a Level 100 Bitch. And whoever killed her did Soar a favour. Am I right?"

Mindful of Arebella's presence, no one seemed interested in saying anything out loud, but Lowe saw few who disagreed with his assessment.

"But, and this is where things start to become interesting, as my investigation moved on, it became clear there was another side to d'Avec. One that does not seem compatible with the general, accepted view. For example, most of you will be aware that she chose not to live in the Celestial Temple, as would be her right. No. Instead, she would retire each evening to her modest childhood home. That strikes me as hardly the behaviour of someone so widely understood to be 'power-hungry.' A little thing, for sure, but I found that instructive. There are few more luxurious residences in Soar than the Celestial Temple, yet she chose home comforts."

Lowe's words made little impression on his audience. If any of them thought he had scored a point in d'Avec's favour there, they hid it well. Undeterred at the lack of reaction, the detective pressed on.

"And then there is the matter of her financial arrangements." Lowe spun to face the . "To whom did she leave all her wealth, Mr Verahalim?"

"As we discussed, Mr Lowe, Gianna d'Avec dispersed the majority of her income in support of a large number of charities. They will each benefit significantly now that she has . . . died."

"When we spoke before, you mentioned that the charities she supported were all connected to," Lowe's eyes flashed as he pulled the words from his memory, Orphans. War Veterans. Young Carers. Is my memory of that accurate?"

Verahalim shrugged his agreement, adding, "760 gold if anyone is keeping count."

"So the bitch had a social conscience? Whoopdedoo. Tell you what, I'll have a few bullocks slaughtered in her name, and my Vestal Virgins can have an hour of debauchery. How does that sound? We done yet?" The storm clouds above Mdamic's head were increasingly growing dark.

Lowe opened his palms to the Speaker of Yolgorth. "But don't you find it odd? Someone who, even in the event of her brutal murder, no one had a good word to say, being so keen to help others?"

"Not especially. No. People can be complex. Especially avatars."

"Ah. Maybe it's just me, then. How about you, Hel? Does hearing about d'Avec's philanthropy make you feel differently about her?"

All heads turned to the , who lifted her chin defiantly. "Not in the least. Why do you think it should?"

"I was just wondering. Because, as far as I understand it, your hatred for the High Priestess comes from her involvement in the murder of your families. Orphans. War Veterans. Young Carers. I could be wrong, but it sounds to me that most of that could apply to your little group."

Tenia snarled at that and made to stand, sickly-green Skills activating in the air around her. Hel hissed an order, gripped her wrist tightly and dragged her back to her seat. "Blood money, Lowe. She could throw as much cash around as she wanted, but that wouldn't wipe the slate clean."

"Interestingly liquid metaphor, there. The High Priestess herself said something similar to you, didn't she, Mr Verahalim? 'When you have so much blood on your hands, every bit of mercy helps.' Weren't those her words?"

The nodded. "Indeed."

"To wash away the guilt, I assume. Again with the water imagery, you will notice. Strange for the avatar of the Fire Demon. And instructive when we consider the manner of her death. Tell me," Lowe said, "turning in a wide circle to face the people on the other side of the chamber, "what element are you most familiar with?"

All eyes were suddenly fixed on Khaled, the Chosen of Oh.