Back at the station, while shadows lengthen and the imperative for finding their vampire grows stronger, Alton reunites with Cook and gives her report of what happened in the tunnel to Captain Waesmaer.[Might want to go with "reports to Captain Waesmaer", because I got the impression that something happened to the Captain when I first read that. Not a big deal, however.more words = better?] Waesmaer is not impressed with their having separated from Tetzin in the rush. Somewhere out there is a dangerous vampire. And now there’s a very dangerous adventurer on his tail, with great potential to be turned to his use.

After their report, Cook, Elm, and Alton head downstairs to the jail. Due to overcrowding with the large influx of prisoners, all of the cells are full. Vampire Spawn sit in the front cells, carefully placed in full view of the guard on duty, their hands kept in magic restraints.

Alton notes that the guard on duty wears the epaulette of an officer cleric, but the uniform of the regular watch. She is technically not a chaplain, but could serve that duty when needed. The nametag on her uniform reads Aiste Kazuriene. She watches the cells filled with Spawn with stern intent.

“Have any of them talked?” Cook asks, barely hopeful.

“None of the Spawn, Detective Cook,” Kazuriene answers. “The thralls may be a better source, if you do not mind my suggestion.”

“Thralls shouldn’t be under direct magical control this far removed,” Elm confirms, “but their control is more subtle than direct manipulation. We should tread carefully.”

“Of course.” Alton and Cook head toward the cells at the further end. A thief files his fingernails alone in the last one, appearing barely concerned in the least by his current accommodations.

Cook takes the file from him while Alton approaches the neighboring cell. Immediately, Alton recognizes a specific ratkin. Helen Emerald wrings her tail nervously, seated on the bench between a man who appears more than half ogre staring at the ceiling nigh comatose and a human woman dressed all in red who is determinedly picking her nose. Thralls are not widely known for their manners.

Alton gives Cook a nudge with her elbow and points out their friend. Cook nods, and hands the keys to the cell over to Elm. Elm unlocks the door, and swings it just wide enough for the detectives to enter.

They snag Emerald under her armpits, pull her to her feet, and march her out of the room. Elm locks the door behind them.

“What, oh, what are you doing?” the prisoner asks, lurching from side to side as she walks unevenly between the detectives of widely different heights.

“We’re just taking you upstairs for a little chat,” Cook answers. “You can see the chaplain here when you’re finished.”

“Huh what?” The ratkin is quite astute.

Alton rolls her eyes as they carry Emerald off to the interrogation room upstairs. She barely protests, bouncing along in an almost dreamlike state.

Inside the interrogation room, they deposit the ratkin roughly in the sturdy little chair. Alton steps outside to take a moment to chat with their expert.

“Are there any particular tactics that you think will work?” Alton’s ears twitch as the devious idea passes between them.

“Like I said,” the woodforged answers, “the control is subtle.” It taps on the wall as if to make a point. “If you bend a tree that’s dead, the wood will snap and stay in place, broken for good. If you bend a tree alive, it grows into the shape you demand. The longer you keep it there, the better it stays. If you let go, it can always grow in a different way later.

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“Your thralls will be similar. The vampire has been holding them in a bent shape, but that doesn’t mean that with him gone they’ll bounce back immediately. They’ll need encouragement to bend back the way they were before, and they may never return all the way.”

“Thank you, curate.” Alton grins. “This is definitely helpful information, and will probably go a ways toward their recovery.”

“Always a pleasure,” Elm responds. “You might want to aim for civility. I imagine the vampire was lacking in empathy.”

Alton nods, giving their Blackfeather agent a mild salute as she heads into the room. Two thuds on the far wall let their scribe know to listen in.

The elf flashes her necropolitan partner a subtle gesture behind the ratkin’s back. This is a tactic they’ve practiced many times before. Cook nods his acknowledgement.

“Are you Helen Emerald?” Cook asks, settling into a chair next to the prisoner.

“Oh, uh, yes?” Emerald’s response is almost a question itself.

“Fabulous!” Alton plops into the chair across from both of them. She leans on the table, granting the impression that she hangs on Emerald’s every word. “We heard that you were one of Adrien Bellemare’s trusted assistants. Is there anything we can do for you Miss Emerald?”

“Um, where is Master Adrien?” For her part, the ratkin does not yet relax, suspicious, and afraid.

“That’s what we’re hoping you’ll be able to tell us.” Cook places his notebook and pencil on the table, in easy reach of the thrall. “We understand he trusted you greatly. Surely he let you know where you might find him in an emergency.”

“My emergency contact is Adrien Bellemare, 118 Destiny Street, Two Rivers, Necropolis district. Please direct me there if I am lost.” The statement pours out by rote, but is sadly unhelpful, as that is the address of Bellemare Crypt.

“Miss Emerald,” Alton says urgently, “it is mister Bellemare who is in danger. What is his emergency contact?”

“Master Adrien’s emergency contact?” Emerald looks completely confused. “There’s nothing that could touch him.”

“Are you sure?” Cook asks, scooting the notebook a little closer. “There’s nowhere he might have told you would be safe?”

“I don’t think I should tell you.” Emerald looks even more confused. “Can I tell you?”

“Of course you can.” Alton’s voice drops low with seriousness. “It is your choice.”

“I, uh.” Emerald stutters. “Oh, I, um, can?”

Both detectives nod.

“Should I?”

Their heads are on hinges.

“Wait, what?”

“If there’s anything you want to tell us,” Cook insists, “anything at all, we’re happy to listen. We need to find mister Bellemare, and need to know where he might have gone if the Destiny Street location is unsafe.”

“Oh. Why is Destiny Street unsafe?” The ratkin’s tail twitches furiously.

“There was a fight.” Alton is not going to lie, but she might not explain everything.

“Oh.” Emerald really likes that word. “Was master Adrien hurt?”

“Not badly,” Cook responds, “so we need to find him quickly. You know he will be angry, and that would be bad for people.”

“Master Adrien, he.” Emerald’s beady black eyes blur with tears. “No, uh. Master Adrien would not. He just needs to eat. Would he?”

The nodding party gets going again. If they changed out of their suits, the detectives would fit in at a lycan music festival.

“Yes, uh, you’re right.” Emerald’s thin little claws scratch at her long nose in frustration. “Um. Well. I guess.”

“Go on,” Alton encourages.

“Wait. Why should I tell you anything?” Emerald squints.

“We’re trying to look out for people,” Alton answers, “we don’t want anyone else to feel like they don’t have any choice.” Her voice takes on a very serious tone.

“Choice.” Emerald blinks. “I have a choice.”

Cook scoots the paper an inch closer.

The thrall makes a choice.