1

There had been a fire in a house of an old residential area. Since most of the dwellings were made of stone, the fire had been quickly contained by the Guard soldiers and the city’s volunteer firefighters. This happened occasionally and would not have caused much of a stir, if the firefighters had not discovered something surprising in the rubble of the house.

Four objects surrounding a small torn bag. A compass, a knife, a quill and an oil lamp. The affair having been leaked to the press and being very fresh in people’s memories, those who had discovered these objects were even able to tell us that the compass pointed to the quill, this time, which was planted in a large piece of lodestone.

We went to the scene anyway. And by “we”, I mean the Guard agents, Moïra and the four future victims.

The arrangement of the objects was as indicated. For the sake of my conscience, I searched the rubble, listening to the story of the soldier guarding the place. He told me that everything suggested that it was arson, which caused a lot of smoke and alarm, but without much danger, certainly with the aim of making us discover the clues. In short, he didn't tell me anything new.

This time, the killer had not found a way to personally enter the victim's home to sign his crime. The number of servants had probably limited this possibility. Access to the mine was possible, despite the absence of any trace of a break-in: one could always find a more subtle way to open a lock as simple as that of the door leading to this place. The garden was easily accessible and Mr. Stultus' house opened to anyone who rang the bell...

I heard a small exclamation of stifled surprise and I turned to Moïra. She had obviously just hidden something in a pocket of her dress and her gaze avoided meeting mine, easily letting me assume that she had a reason to feel guilty.

“Miss Marble,” I said with a sigh, “what did you find?”

“Huh? Found something? Me?”

A child would probably have looked less suspicious trying to excuse itself from a foolishness. I held out my hand and looked at her sternly:

“Marble, give me what you found!”

I saw her thinking pass through her eyes, as if I could know her thoughts like the powers of the Chaotiuns. But no need for telepathy or genius to read her like an open book. With an annoyed sigh, she took a small circular object out of her pocket and placed it in my hand.

“There you go,” she sighed, “but I think it would have been better if you hadn’t found that: you always get all worked up whenever this person is involved…”

She wasn’t entirely wrong: as I stared at the small embroidered badge, resting in the palm of my hand, I felt my heartbeat quicken. Anger? Fear? Other feelings? I always had trouble knowing what I felt when I confronted this terror from my past, this elusive criminal who haunted my present.

In a black circle, slightly frayed this time and covered in ash, a red flame divided into three sparks framed a similar light blue flame with a gold border. The symbol of Nemesis, Bruma’s most wanted criminal!

Gritting my teeth, I unfolded a small piece of paper hidden in the lining of the small sewing: Nemesis's latest mockery to me. I didn't read it out loud.

“Ut quisque suum debitum”

“To each his due”, or “To each his debt”: the motto that began each of her messages.

Death strikes and once again, Goldeneye sees nothing.

It seems that a dead man is not dead and that he gives death.

The inspector will not find the answer,

before the tale of the dead man is revealed.

I know the song; everyone dies on the chest.

I would take the chest.

Nemesis

What did she mean? Had this thousand times cursed criminal already found the answer to the riddle? No: most likely she wanted me to spread her message and that, driven by fear, the victims would go to this famous chest, allowing her to discover the access to it…

Yes, what was that chest? It couldn’t be the gold mine… But how could I guess, if these powerful men refused to talk?

My thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Malevolum’s shouts:

“And I tell you that it’s me who’s been designated! The quill? It’s certainly not Ignis or Alba, but one of us two. But, it’s more likely to be me, huh? The compass, that’s you. You were always the one who took care of it when we were at the mine, and you have a degree in mechanical science.”

“Come on,” Mr. Magister protested, “you’re overreacting…”

“I’m overreacting? They’re all dead! Securis, Pala S., Pala T., Pera and… They’re all dead, and I’m next. No one knows about all this, except the four of us! He was dead, so it can’t be him! This is not the Zyxhanar here: the dead do not rise again...”

But he was very pale as he said this, as if he was no longer sure. Sweeping his gaze over his comrades, he pointed an accusing finger at Mr. Magister.

“And then, why is it that the compass is pointing to the next victims? Huh? Maybe you're the murderer!”

Mr. Magister's gaze filled with anger, but a glance in my direction indicated that he was more bothered by the fact that these revelations were made in my presence than by the accusation itself.

“You're crazy Pluma! None of us would do such a thing...”

“Really? We did it, once!”

“Silence! Idiot!”

“You're the idiot... Oh...”

He saw the not very discreet sign that the scholar made to indicate my presence and the notary bit his lip. Not giving them a break to organize their pretexts, I approached and questioned them sharply:

“You have just confessed to having already committed a murder.”

“Not exactly,” replied Mr. Magister who was very quick-witted, “we have already killed someone... It was... self-defense... You see, the enemy soldiers that I mentioned to you the other day, the reason for our departure. My friend, Pluma, implied that since we had already killed people, quite legitimately, we could more easily have done it again... but, we would never kill our own friends...”

“But,” interrupted Mr. Malevolum, “even if we had done it, the statute of limitations has now expired!”

I caught the hostile look that the first sent to the second, who returned it with his usual spite. In my mind, the outline of a story was beginning to form, mixing the revelations of the supposed dead man and the slips of the tongue that I had just heard. A story that was not really to the glory of this small group.

“Yes,” I said, “the statute of limitations has expired... if I understood what you were talking about correctly. You're going to have to tell me all this, if you want the police to be able to protect you...”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Okay,” the scholar replied, “we'll talk to you about it... but not here.”

He made a discreet gesture indicating the onlookers who were crowding outside and other unwanted witnesses. Even if he seemed to want to confess to crimes that would no longer be punished, he feared the public outcry and certainly did not want to see them published in the newspapers.

“So where?”

“In my manor. By... Let's say, at afternoon snack time...”

“Oh yeah?” protested the notary. “And who says I wouldn’t already be dead by that time?”

“I can provide you,” I suggested, “with a Watch agent for your protection…”

“What? No way: I’m doing just fine on my own! You’ll see, I’ll be there… I won’t let myself be killed!”

With these words, he strode away, scolding the curious onlookers who were blocking his way as he left. The others took their leave and left less noisily. The crowd also ended up dispersing for lack of anything to watch.

I found myself in a more peaceful environment, except for the presence of Moïra, Captain Obsidian, and a few Watch agents. The Guard soldier had also taken his leave.

Sitting against a wall, in a place free of soot, I murmured the words of Nemesis’s riddle. Although her sole purpose was to humiliate me and snatch the loot, she also gave me an advantage: clues different from those of the assassin, clues intended for me. It was possible that she thought she would use me against the killer, in order to reap the benefits of the crime in its place, but she could also have simply made fun of me.

“The chest…” I murmured. “Where is this chest and what does it contain? And the song? What song?”

“It’s true,” said Captain Obsidian, “that it sounds a bit like a drinking song. A pirate thing… Even if I don’t know if there were really pirates, one day, to sing that… More likely that it was miners or drunks who invented it…”

The pieces of the puzzle were coming together… The rhythm of these bad poems must have been modeled on some drinking song… I wasn’t surprised that the captain had guessed it. If everyone died at the end… What could that mean? That Nemesis would arrange to eliminate the murderer and take the loot?

“You shouldn’t sit here,” Moïra advised me, “you risk getting yourselves dirty…”

“Get out… Get out, everyone!”

Finally, alone, I concentrated more intensely than ever, during this week.

2

I was beginning to understand what had happened half a century ago in the mountains of Iceteeth. But it still didn’t tell me the motive or the murderer…

This period of calm had also allowed me to remember that I hadn’t read the message from the little chest of Mr. Somnum’s murder. It said:

Dear Somnum, when someone reads these lines, you will be with us in Hell.

I have been saving the place for you for a long time,

Murderers being worse than thieves, I had feared that we would be separated.

You will agree that it does not change much, given the place.

This mainly confirmed that the killer knew the deceased's reading habits and knew that he would not open these letters before taking the poison. The mention of “thieves” was also an interesting clue that could help me understand everything once I did some research.

Leaving the room after a good hour of intense reflection, I headed towards the town hall. I needed more precise information to support my hypotheses and the archives could provide it to me, on the condition that I could access it.

I could prevent the new murders, if only these rich people would accept the protection of my agents. This possibility remaining theoretical, I had to concentrate on what I could actually do, in order to finally untangle the skein of this mystery.

There was, working in the municipal archives, a most shady, but most useful character. Luvu Sugilite was a thin man, a little taller than average. Being about my age, his beard was still quite short and he cut it into a goatee of the most undesirable effect. His eyes, damaged by reading too intensely multiple documents, were continually surmounted by a too-narrow pair of glasses behind which he squinted.

When I arrived, he hurriedly hid the papers he was working on, adding other documents on top, and smiled at me, in that honest way that the worst scoundrels have when they see a police officer coming to meet them.

“In… Inspector Goldeneye, what a pleasure to see you here… I thought you were busy with your investigation.”

I gave an icy look to the tall official, who bent a little more in his chair, his hands firmly placed on the desk, for fear that I would lift the documents covering it.

“Sugilite,” I said, “I imagine you know what I am investigating at the moment.”

Of course: he did. This weasel always knew everything and often even beyond the rumors.

“Ah, yes… On that subject, I must tell you that your request concerning ‘the increase in the remuneration of the police forces who valiantly ensure our security’ has been refused. I suppose you had assumed that the recent deaths of all those rich people had been extremely positive for our city… I suppose that once the remaining ones are gone, there will be something, but most of the deceased were in debt…”

“They were in debt,” I said in surprise, “how much?”

“Well… For Mr. Somnum, let’s say that he had invested and borrowed a lot… For the owners of the mine, it would seem that their activities had not been very profitable in recent years… Especially Mr. Sternutatio, who had taken out large loans… As for Mr. Stultus… you know how he was… Well, overall, the balance of all these deaths, once the burials and debts are paid, remains positive for the city. It is far from enough, however, for an increase in the budget…”

“And their shares in the gold mine? What will happen to them if... let's say, if they all die?”

“Well... since none of them have an heir, they would return to the city, according to the special statutes concerning its location in the Iceteeth Mountains... but it would still have to be found, so that it would be worth something to someone... I didn't find a map, just coordinates corresponding to an inaccessible point: I suppose there must be a secret miners' path...”

He briefly looked away from my scrutinizing gaze, then pulled himself together so as not to let anything show. So, he had already thought about stealing the mine in the event that the last owners disappeared. Not having the soul of an adventurer, he would never have dared to venture so far from Bruma to find it and this project would have remained a dead letter, even if he had found the information... which also meant that he would not have hidden it from me if he had had more precise data.

“In any case,” he continued, “the city gets nothing for the moment, the shares are redistributed among the members of the company. They just pay the tax on mining companies, which is a fixed value, not very high for mines so far away.”

“Can you get me the statutes of their association?”

“No, no: this type of statute is only available for consultation a hundred years after the initial oath... You'll have to wait half a century.”

I glared at the official and decided to increase the pressure. Following the rules would not lead me to the resolution of the investigation and it was sometimes necessary to push the limits of the laws a little so that justice could triumph... Because, of course, I was doing this for justice and not, as my detractors often claimed, for a question of personal pride.

“It seems to me,” I said, “that your sister receives twice the widows' pension. Which surprises me, since she was never married. The handwriting on the official documents looks a lot like yours, by the way.”

The crook's smile grew wider, but it had to be said that he hid his confusion remarkably well, which was mainly expressed by a greater hesitation in his choice of words.

“Ah... I see... But I really can't get you these statutes: I don't have access to them myself. They are sealed archives... But... But... I can perhaps do some research and get you... a little more information on their customs... For example, I have the day they meet... I can find the place for you without too much trouble...”

A smile of triumph lit up my face. I suspected that Sugilite would have already done some research on the subject. Whether it was in order to acquire something or out of simple curiosity, a case that had attracted the attention of the newspapers could not fail to put him on the trail of more refined information.

I demanded some additional information and asked him to bring it to me before the time of my appointment at the Magister manor. Before leaving, I still slipped in a warning:

“Ah, remember to double-check your sister's file, to avoid such payments remaining. I suppose that we can forget to ask for the reimbursement of the sums already received, but it would be in your interest that this... error, does not repeat itself.”

He approved, his devious brain probably already imagining a new scheme that I should detect for the next time I would have demands.

3

When the hours defined as afternoon came, in our undergrounds living to the rhythms of the intensity of their lamps, I was ready. Advancing at a brisk pace towards the mansion owned by the Magisters, in a posh neighborhood close to the surface, I mentally reviewed the details I had just acquired, preparing my big reveal scene. If they didn’t speak for themselves, I now had enough cards in my hand to change the situation.

I heard the trotting of boots echoing on the stony ground of the city’s corridors, getting closer to me. Without turning around, I spoke:

“Miss Marble?”

A surprised exclamation answered me as she finally reached my height.

“How did you guess?”

I didn’t answer, contenting myself with an amused smile as I glanced at her sideways. She was a little out of breath from her short run. I saw that she had braided her hair into four plaits that fell on either side of her shoulders and were adorned with intricate brooches. Her hat, which she had taken off as she ran to catch up with me, was a very large model that was fashionable, stuffed inside with a few rags to keep it from swallowing her head: fashions were strange. She also wore an elegant and rather large dress, which gave a strange impression: she was still elegant, was probably more so than usual, but I had never seen her wear this one before… not that I cared.

“You dressed well,” I remarked.

She blushed for no reason, probably excited at the idea that I was paying her some attention.

“Ah... Yes... Well, they are very important people... Even more so than my uncle, so I thought I should make a good impression when they invited us...”

I didn't like the embarrassed look she then gave my threadbare coat and I was probably a little harsh in my way of reminding her of the situation, when I answered her in a sardonic tone:

“You would have done better to adopt mourning clothes: we are not going to a social party but to a deadly rendezvous... Because, I fear that it will take a few more corpses for this affair to reveal its last secrets.”

As she shivered while contemplating the monumental gates of the manor, I did not know to what extent what I had told her would be true.