1

We then engaged in discussion, progressing slowly towards the subject of the deaths of their two friends, Mr. Magister being my main interlocutor. Knowing the high position, or the loquacity, of some of the other guests, I found this fact strange. What could give this scholar the prerogative over his friends? I suspected some old connections and noticed a detail that had been running through my mind since they had introduced themselves:

“Tell me,” I said, “your names all have strange connotations, without wishing to offend you. They are not among the most common last name.”

“Indeed,” agreed Mr. Magister, “it is that we are originally from the city of Pumilio. We once immigrated together, nearly half a century ago, settling in Bruma and its vicinity. Although we have each taken up a different activity since then, we have kept in annual contact... Our meeting this year will unfortunately have been brought forward, due to these tragic circumstances.”

Pumilio was an allied city that was located to the west of our territory, beyond the Iceteeth Mountains. This major geographical obstacle had contributed greatly to maintaining good relations between our kingdoms, as it drastically limited any significant expansion into the other's territory. It had been quite natural for our common ancestors to ally against the other cities. The last war was about half a century ago and had not turned out to Pumilio's advantage, its territory having been raided by the enemy, which had at the time generated a wave of refugees among their allies, including Bruma. Some had obviously stayed when the situation had calmed down.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

“Not the slightest. We were told that the police suspected a murder and, given your presence here, I believe that the investigation is still ongoing.”

“Oh, so you don't know the details?”

“Well, not yet. I suppose you could enlighten us on this subject, to the extent of the elements you can divulge.”

There was no reason to hide this information: if the murderer were among them, which I suspected without certainty, he would already know the ins and outs of the case. It would always be interesting to judge the reaction of these people to the various elements, to detect some clues, perhaps even false leads which, by their existence, could reveal many things.

So, I explained the case, keeping to myself the fact that we knew that the bodies had been moved from the place of their murder: the criminal could be unaware that we had discovered this.

They listened to me, reacting with grimaces and clenched teeth to the description of the state of the deceased. The mention of the found objects seemed to intrigue them, but without any real reservation on their part. However, the content of the poem sent a chill through the room.

“Do you have any idea what that could mean?”

Mister Magister pretended to think, then shrugged.

“Not the slightest idea. I suppose the murderers were after their mining business. Some internal problem in their guild, perhaps.”

“However,” I replied, “the deceased did not own any gold mines…”

“Gold most likely refers to the currency produced by the exploitation of their mines.”

He hadn't let me finish my sentence, which increased my suspicions. Fortunately, the least smart of the group then spoke up:

“Maybe it's about our common gold mine?”

Furious looks fell on Mr. Stultus. The less hostile ones, that of Ignis Felix in particular, indicated more weariness than annoyance. Bouncing on the question, I immediately asked what mine he was talking about. Immediately, Mr. Magister walked in front of Mr. Stultus, so that he was no longer facing me, but he himself was beaten by Mr. Malevolum who stood in front of me with a threatening air.

Without flinching or backing down, I gave him an icy look in return.

“That's none of your business!” he protested. “You have no right to poke your nose into our private affairs!”

“Wait, Pluma,” said Mr. Magister, “if we don't answer a little, our friend the inspector will imagine anything...”

The notary had to bow reluctantly, but he did not admit his wrongdoing. He turned his back on me, so that he could still keep an eye on me, and crossed his arms with an angry look.

“Would you believe that," explained Mr. Magister, “we were originally a mining company. A mining association, to be exact. We had a mine, somewhere in the foothills of Iceteeth.”

“The gold mine...”

“Well no. It was...”

“A diamond mine!” interrupted Mr. Stultus excitedly. “Beautiful diamonds of all colors!”

Mr. Magister scowled without saying anything, but Mr. Malevolum took the initiative to reprimand his comrade:

“Good Lord, do you always need to talk nonsense? In any case, it doesn't concern the inspector. He has the right to ask us questions related to the investigation, but here, it touches on our personal history: he is overstepping his prerogatives!”

I instinctively brought my hand to my beard, as my suspicions grew. Indeed, Mr. Malevolum was a competent notary who knew the law... Above all, all these characters were influential enough to seriously limit my possibilities of questioning, where someone less important would be more uncertain of the limits of my right.

However, Mr. Magister calmed the situation and slightly reduced my suspicions.

“Well, Pluma,” he said, “these are not big secrets. I suppose that if the inspector suspects us of something, it is better to tell him everything...”

This seemed to encourage Mr. Stultus who began to babble a few explanations before the cantankerous Mr. Malevolum gagged him with his hand:

“Ah, then in that case, I will continue: there were lots of diamonds of all colors there. It was really magnificent. We went to work every morning and I broke the defective diamonds to make powder and... Mmm? Mmm?”

Looks of satisfaction or compassion greeted the break in these explanations and the scholar Magister continued:

“They were not really diamonds. You must excuse my friend Securis: he has always said a lot of stupid things and it doesn't get any better with age. He has a certain natural condition that makes him... naiver than average. He is often a little lost in his own world...”

“And if it wasn't diamonds or gold, what was it?”

“Glass. To be exact, it was a particular category of sandy earth that had been vitrified by particular emanations of the Gas, this famous source of the strange powers of the Greats and the Elves. The latter bought from us those of these crystals that had a certain quality...”

“And at a low price!” Mr. Malevolum growled. “I always told you that you should have negotiated more: I am sure that at home, they resold them for a thousand times more! But, no: you never listen to my advice, because Mister Magister knows better than everyone else”

“Ah, no: you are not going to start again! It was a long time ago...”

“And I was right.”

“So be it, so be it... let's say you were right.”

But, visibly rolling his eyes, the scholar clearly indicated that he didn't think a word of what he was saying. The notary saw it and with an angry “Bah!”, walked away to brood in his corner. I resumed the conversation with the leader of their little group:

“And, this ‘diamond’ powder?”

“Well... let's say it was a material sought after by... chemists... In any case, it was half a century ago: there is a prescription. And then, it wasn't even on Bruma territory.”

I could see perfectly well what kind of chemist would use this type of material. I did not have enough knowledge in the field to know its exact use, but given the confusion of my interlocutors, I easily assumed that it could be the production of some drugs or other illegal substances. However, it had indeed taken place a long time ago and in another territory: it was therefore of no importance.

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“And how did you come to the gold mine?”

“The war, of course. We had heard that there were many enemy soldiers who were combing the countryside and several mining operations had seen their members massacred by these thugs. So, we preferred to abandon everything and cross the mountains to reach the territory of Bruma...”

“And it was on the way that we found gold,” Mr. Malevolum interrupted, “end of story, goodbye.”

Mr. Magister grimaced, unhappy to have been interrupted, but nodded:

“There you go. An almost inaccessible mine, deep in the Iceteeth Mountains, on the Bruma side. So, we registered our mine locally and it brought us enough to give each of us a good start in this city, which is now our home. As you can see, there is little connection with the misfortune that befell our friends. If I were you, I would rather look towards their mine. Perhaps they had a dispute with some of their workers? They are quite rough people and some are worse than that.”

He seemed to have forgotten that he had started his career in this category of population that he was currently decrying. I found his eagerness to redirect my investigation in this direction suspicious, especially since we had already vaguely explored this idea, without the slightest success. Of course, the captain continued this lead even though I had told him that it was futile.

After a few more questions about the deceased, which told me nothing except that these men were unaware of any problems their unfortunate comrades had, I was about to leave when a detail caught my attention. Among the trinkets that adorned Mr. Magister’s jacket, there was one, worn, made of fabric, a simple embroidered circle that contrasted with the luxury of his other insignia. What caught my eye was that this same badge also appeared on Mr. Somnum’s waistcoat, on Mr. Felix’s and on a shoulder pin of Mrs. Magister. I also remembered seeing it pinned to the jacket of the second victim, a detail that had not seemed very important to me at the time but which had remained in my memory. The image of the small embroidered badge represented a pickaxe.

“Excuse me,” I said to Mr. Magister, “what does this badge you are wearing mean?”

I saw in his gaze that he briefly checked the visibility of these objects among his comrades, confirming that my question came from this observation. He was an intelligent person whose words I would have to carefully dissect, once I would have some peace, for fear that he had played me with answers that distracted me from what they were trying to hide.

“Oh, that? Well, it's simply the symbol of our mining company. Although the mine is in the process of being exhausted, it represents what binds us...”

“I see that you don't all wear it.”

“Well, I suppose that my friend Securis lost his... You should think about asking Alba for another one.”

The former head of the guards smiled sheepishly and nodded. It was amusing to see that this man, who had a certain authority during his military career, was so submissive in this circle of his friends. Alba sighed slightly, but addressed the bald man sympathetically and assured him that there was no problem. Digging through her purse, she found several copies that she was keeping for this specific case and promised that she would take a moment to sew it, if he would let her have his vest after the ceremony.

“As for Pluma,” the scholar continued, “he tends to swim a bit against the tide...”

“I do what I want!” protested the man. “And I don't have to justify it!”

2

I took my leave, this time for good. I had thought of leaving Moïra behind, but she also said her goodbyes and joined me. Having hoped for a quiet moment to review the elements of this investigation in my head, I decided to be patient and endure her chatter.

While I was questioning the victims' friends, she had apparently been talking to Mrs. Magister about unimportant feminine subjects. The old lady with a long-life experience, informing the silly young lady about points that did not concern me and that I did not want to take the trouble to imagine. Apparently, something in their discussion had bothered Moïra and, after having mentioned a few subjects that she herself did not consider to be the heart of the conversation, I felt from the oscillation in her voice that she was finally bringing up the point that interested her:

“Tell me, Goldeneye, do you think that a good wife must also be a good cook?”

I glanced at her, observing a certain worry on her face, then I made up my mind and gave her an affirmative answer.

Not having much of an opinion on the matter, I stuck to the generally accepted view. Even ladies of high quality boasted of having some cooking skills and, from time to time, produced themselves, without servants, small cakes for their friends. A way of discreetly showing off. However, I guessed that Moira’s concern was on another level and therefore considered that the affirmative answer might be the one that embarrassed her the most and that, potentially, could force her to find something to do, other than accompanying me.

“Oh,” she said with an air of disappointment, “I… maybe I should get started then… Madam Magister said she could teach me the basics, if I wanted. She is an accomplished cook herself. Besides, it was as a cook and a housekeeper that she had joined the group when they were still in Pumilio territory. While they were working at their mine, she took care of the household chores… Ah, she wasn’t a high society lady back then, but now she’s one of the most respectable in town… Still… Is cooking so complicated? My uncle taught me the basics of chemistry, so I guess I could manage… After all, cooking is another form of chemistry, isn’t it? With generally less dangerous ingredients, huh?”

The chatterbox was feverish, waiting for a word of encouragement from me. I had no doubt that she was capable of messing up even a simple dish, but it was better for me that she continues on this path, allowing me to benefit more often from the peace and quiet essential to my intellectual activity.

“Well,” I told her, “you have to try. There will inevitably be failures, lots of failures, but if you work at it long, long hours, you might be able to do more or less well in a few decades.”

I felt a little remorse at these words: thinking about it a little more, I realized that she might well decide to let me taste the results of her culinary experiments.

She remained silent for a moment, looking a little shocked at the idea of the task that now seemed essential to her. Of course, she finally spoke again:

“I… I suppose I’ll try to contact Madam Magister again, to take her up on her offer. She left me her address: I should write her a letter to tell her. She’s a very nice lady, you know? She even gave me this, for my collection.”

I stopped abruptly, to avoid my nose crushing against her small, slender-fingered hand that proudly held up a little something between its fingers. Stepping back slightly, I saw that it was the crest of the small group's mining association.

In a black circle, there was a stylized pickaxe, upright. It was embroidered in color with great attention to detail, including an excellent representation of the curves of the metal part, with a pick part and a spade part, separated by a sort of schematic diamond. The handle was crossed with nine slanted lines, which I quickly assumed to be a representation of leather straps: I had heard that some miners preferred to wrap them around the wooden handles of their tools, to avoid splinters due to rough carvings done by themselves, for reasons of economy. Under the pickaxe, the motto of the association was “AURUM CONGREGA”, in yellow letters. It meant “collecting gold” or “gold brings us together”: a fairly basic motto, but classic in small mining associations. On the rest of the edge, seven mountains were drawn, the last one surmounting the pickaxe, and I thought that this must indicate in some way the location of the mine. Observing the diamond more closely, I saw that it had eight visible facets and that it was surrounded by a golden circle.

Of course, I had already observed all these details before. Nevertheless, determined not to just waste my time with this poison that occupied my precious minutes with her imposed presence, I took advantage of this moment to engrave more carefully the smallest detail in my memories.

“For your collection, you say?”

I still sometimes found myself intrigued by the whims that could agitate this little brain that admired me so much.

“Yes,” she said, “a collection of guild insignias.”

“How many do you have, at the moment?”

“That is to say… two… I just started the collection…”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised in spite of myself. The simple little mysteries of Moïra’s life remained mysteries and, by that very fact, sometimes drew my attention away from essential things, such as my investigation.

“Well. It’s sudden…”

“But… but… I know a lot about it. I mean, guild badges.”

“Is it related to the other badge in your new collection?”

“Exactly! It’s extraordinary: how did you guess? I already have, through my uncle, a guild badge, the Chemistry one… Well, this new badge is that of a company and not a guild, but they follow the same customary rules… Ah, in fact, I even have three badges in my collection, since I also have the one from my uncle’s company. It must be in my bedside table… Or in my clothes chest… Or maybe in my wardrobe? Ah… I’ll have to find it to add it to my collection…”

I sighed: Moïra was herself and, fortunately, unique…

“So, you really know about it?”

“Of course, I know about guild customs. My uncle is a valued member of the Chemistry Guild. It's a guild that brings together all professions that handle the transformation of substances. Chemical designers, cosmetic producers, pharmacists, and a certain number of scientist professions are part of it...”

She talked a lot, like all those who have little to say and try to show off the smallest bits of knowledge they have been able to gather. Quickly running out of information to transmit, she bounced back to the new badge of her recent collection:

“And... uh... for example, by looking at these symbols, I can say... Well, there's a pickaxe, so it's a mining company.”

I waited a moment for her to speak again and couldn't help but smile at her silence that was driving her to despair. It was like a spur that forced her to find something else to say.

“And, uh… there’s a diamond… Maybe they found diamonds in their gold mine?”

“That would be quite surprising.”

It wasn’t impossible, actually. Some of the largest known gold mines had started out as diamond mines. However, in this case, I assumed it was a reference to their previous activity, having some knowledge of guild customs myself. Even though it was far from my field of expertise, I had always considered it important to take an interest in various subjects, never knowing what knowledge might be useful to my investigations.

“Then, I can also say that they found their gold in mountains, that’s… probably why there are mountains.”

I thought of an ironic remark about her deductive abilities, but I immediately abandoned the idea, for fear that she would not grasp the second degree and would now overestimate her abilities. Nevertheless, she seemed desperate to impress me and pulled out her trump card:

“And they chose the word ‘Congrega’, because it contains eight letters and there are eight of them.”

“Are you sure about that? Did Madam Magister tell you?”

“No... I mean, yes, I am sure, but no: Madam Magister did not mention this detail to me. She only translated for me the fact that the word ‘Aurum’ means ‘gold’. However, I know that the custom of associations is to inscribe on their crest some detail indicating the initial number of associates. Here, it is most certainly the eight letters of this word.”

“Or the eight faces of the diamond.”

“That is... that is also possible.”

It was even more likely than her absurd hypothesis. However, I had to admit to myself that, for once, Moïra had taught me something. It didn't really matter then, but anything that could enrich my immense knowledge was welcome.