Early Monday morning, Alton and Cook head into the district attorney’s office in the Two Rivers City Courthouse, right smack in the center of the city.
The courthouse is a stately building, with dark granite columns standing in solemn rows across the porch, and a long stairway to the main door. The roof and decorative carvings are made of lighter cement, but it is stained to match the granite and from the distance granted by the height of the building, only elves like Alton can see the difference. Gargoyles crouch at the entrance and on the front corners of the building. The back of the building vanishes into the side of the cliff, with offices continuing inside.
Cook carries a crate of documents up the stairs, leaving Alton to grip the handrail. They meet the district attorney herself, Romorith, and the prosecutor Vonner in Romorith’s office upstairs. Doomweaver is waiting for them in the office as well.
“How’re you holding up, Imryll?” Vonner asks, with an offered friendly handshake.
“As well as I could hope,” Alton answers, returning the handshake. “Are we ready to do this?”
“Ready as we could hope,” Romorith answers, grimly.
Cook places the crate on the floor and withdraws stacks of envelopes from it to place on Romorith’s desk. He lays them out in careful piles, one for reports, one for primary evidence, and one for officer reports and his own notes. In the primary evidence pile are the documents relating to Marion Durandal’s consent to vampire turning and her heretical letters to her cleric friend from Bandon.
“So let’s go through the timeline once more.” Vonner cleans their large portable chalkboard with brisk swipes of a fat little brush. “Where to begin?”
“Let’s start with these letters.” Cook pats the stack of primary evidence. “While living in Bandon, Marion Durandal wrote these letters to her friend here in Two Rivers, Septimia Auila.”
Vonner reads through one of the letters, and hands it over to Romorith.
“These are strong words.” Romorith raises both eyebrows, not quite the right trick, but it’ll do.
“Indeed,” Alton agrees, “especially for a girl studying to be a cleric. It’s not just heretical, it’s anathema to her studies.”
“So we can easily argue to defend her entry to the country,” Vonner suggests, “if she outstayed her visa before being accepted as a student, she’d have cause to apply for religious asylum. We’ve filed those papers many times before.”
“True.” Doomweaver nods. “If she was willing to admit it publicly she would have been granted it easily.”
“That would be a hard thing to admit in the open,” Alton suggests. “Family pressure can be very hard to resist.”
“Not all families are Families,” Cook warns, the capitalization obvious from his annunciation.
“Right,” Alton rubs her nose, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t have heavy influence, especially when you’re so young.”
Vonner starts a timeline list on the chalkboard. She writes in red chalk.
“Point to you both,” Romorith interrupts. “After sending the letters from Bandon, what do we know of how Marion Durandal immigrated to the capital of the United Non-Evil Necromantic State?”
“Her visa was stamped at the border crossing at North Watch just over three months before her cessation.” Cook recounts the evidence. “A notarized scribal copy of the log book from that date arrived by Zombie Post this morning. She claimed honestly only that she was entering the country to visit a friend and apply for Two Rivers City College, and gave Auila’s name.” He points out the next document in the stack of primary evidence.
“She did nothing wrong in doing that,” Doomweaver shrugs. “Clearly she either did not know of her eligibility or did not choose to expose herself as an atheist and accept asylum immediately.”
“Not a complaint,” Cook responds with a sarcastic smile. “I’m happy she did.”
“She, however, didn’t have the cash to catch a ride from North Watch.” Alton points to another letter, one that had only been handed over during the weekend. “She sent this from Woodville a few days after passing through North Watch.”
The letter is a plea for assistance in getting the rest of the way to Two Rivers.
“A testimony from Auila’s and Durandal’s mutual friend Ladislav Povondra states that a contact of his helped her to catch a ride on a barge from Woodville to Two Rivers.” Vonner adds another event to the list. “We’ve contacted him and he is prepared to testify as to how he got her onto the barge if needed. It may not be necessary, but it’s better safe than sorry.”
“Good to know.” Cook smiles. Over preparing is better than underpreparing.
“At about this same time, Sir Roland Durandal leaves Bandon to search for his daughter.” Vonner picks up blue chalk and adds a different entry to the line.
“We have several days worth of attempts to enter through North Watch and several days worth of denials. Apparently the authorities in the Strabthine thought that providing more documentation of his paladin title were all that the guards at North Watch should need to allow him over the border.” Cook chuckles grimly. “Little could they comprehend the idea that this was exactly the opposite of helpful.”
“So we have Sir Durandal stalled at our own border for a period of time.” Alton thumbs through the notarized copy of these log documents from the border town. “We’ll pick his timeline up again later after he takes the long way around, up around the glaciers and through the Allied Lycan Tribes, around rather than through Mt. Dun, and then entering the Primarchy.”
“At some point during these months, Helen Emerald stopped showing up at her job as a salesperson at a weaver’s shop.” Vonner adds information from an investigation performed by a different district’s investigators. “She was reported missing by her employer, but was found by detectives and just told them that she quit. Their reports claim that she seemed drunk, but there was not even a hint of vampire activity. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a person to fall into alcoholism.”
“Lazy,” Alton grumbles, “but I can’t say I’ve seen thralls when presented with wineos.”
Vonner picks a different color for Emerald, green seems obvious. She creates a third timeline.
“Meanwhile, Marion Durandal settles into life in Two Rivers with her friends. She attends several different events at St. Errigal’s Shrine, including blood drives and control tests for vampires who are candidates for Redemption.” Cook points to his notes. “We know that this is where she first encounters vampires, and maybe learns to see them as less dangerous than she ought.”
“Possibly.” Doomweaver offers a different suggestion. “Or it just rearranged her sleep schedule enough to make her available at the right times of day.”
“That is a thought.” Cook folds his arms. “I only hope our streets aren’t quite so unsafe at night as that. Traffic doesn’t change much.”
“They might be if you can’t see in the dark.” Doomweaver gestures placatingly.
“Right.” Alton steers the conversation back toward the timeline. “Just over a week before her death, Marion Durandal encounters Adrien Bellemare. He takes control and creates these doubly forged consent documents. Astyocheia the Traociot gave them her seal of approval, and that implies that she personally witnessed the signing.”
“This strongly implies corruption in the Vampire Ethics Council.” Cook starts winding up for a rant. “Following this trail to the Traociot means that the Council was either aware of Bellemare’s Spawn creation schemes or deliberately ignored the possibility that it could have happened. I propo-”
“Nope.” Alton cuts him off. “Let’s try the case against Bellemare before going after a politically powerful vampire. Without Bellemare’s charges we have nothing against the Traociot in the first place.”
“If you must.” Cook slumps backward into his chair.
“Where were we?” Vonner asks, trying to pick which color she’ll need next.
“Marion Durandal is a vampire as of the Monday before her destruction.” Alton states the next point. “On Tuesday, Sir Durandal arrives in Two Rivers with his new passports from the Primarchy. He stays at Lenny’s Comfy Motel, and contacts the cleric at St. Errigal’s Shrine to start to look for Marion.”
Vonner adds a new point to Sir Durandal’s timeline.
“Where does Wymark fall into this?” Romorith asks, curious.
“He’s been hanging around the Thirsty Pilgrim for months before Marion Durandal even arrived. He lives out of a tavern and continually applies for different adventuring companies.” Cook points out another document in the pile. “We have his application paperwork from Blackfeather, who are cooperating completely with the investigation.”
“That might be because of their dead strix. The only thing they won’t do to drag Bellemare into a jail cell is tell a lie.” Romorith rolls her eyes. “But I wouldn’t be too surprised if they did even that. If we don’t convict him, they’ll likely execute him themselves.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Are there good reasons for us to just let them?” Doomweaver poses a dangerous question.
“The Traociot is one.” Cook has an even more dangerous answer.
“And we can’t allow executions of our citizens when we’re capable of trying them in our legal system.” Romorith gives a more legal choice.
Vonner picks a yellow chalk for Wymark. Seeing her add another timeline to the board gets the rest back on topic.
“Somehow, Hendry Wymark acquired a vorpal sword.” Alton’s voice drips with condescension.
“So that’s how he did it.” Vonner draws a teeny yellow sword next to Wymark’s name.
“Anyway,” Alton continues, “we next see evidence of Marion at the Permanent Savings Bank, where she takes out two loans. During the week, she makes regular withdrawals daily, except on Friday, when Helen Emerald makes a transaction in her name.”
“This links Emerald to Durandal explicitly.” Vonner adds the timeline entry and connects it to both victims. “That’s a helpful connection.”
“Sunday night, we have three things happening at the same time.” Cook picks up his notes again. “First, Sir Durandal’s alibi of spending the night working as healer at St. Errigal’s Shrine is rock solid. He was definitely there the whole night.”
“Second,” Alton takes over, “Wymark and Marion Durandal are seen together at the Thirsty Pilgrim.”
“How good is that sighting? Cross verified?” Romorith asks, demanding an answer.
“Jans snagged the witness’s memory of Wymark’s face,” Vonner gives a workable answer, “And other Thirsty Pilgrim patrons confirmed it in a lineup. It’s good enough.”
“Next we have Wymark’s confession, in which he admits beheading the victim.” Alton points out the scribed recording of the confession. It’s written in blocky text with short pen strokes. Their dedicated recorder is a very skilled scribe. “The running water in the ditch combined with the beheading to permanently destroy the vampire, Marion Durandal, but either one alone would have done it. Rain isn’t enough, but the water level in the ditch that it could have done the trick.”
Vonner creates another timeline entry that connects to multiple individuals.
“After that, the next event is when Elias Crane finds the body.” Romorith brings the recounting to a close. “We all know what happened next.”
“I do have a few questions,” Alton admits. “How did Trageser end up involved all over the place?”
“Someone told the rookie to make a name for himself.” Cook grumbles swear words to accompany this statement under his breath. “He sure succeeded at that.”
“No shit.” Alton glares. “And who might have done that?”
Cook coughs.
“Oh.” Alton isn’t the only one who glares at Cook for this.
“Anyway,” Vonner picks up the line of questioning, “how did he and Sir Durandal find out about the raid on the Bellemare crypt?”
“Trageser ran into a Special Weapons and Tactics officer right before they headed out. And then Trageser invited Durandal to come with.” Cook knows this story.
“He invited the Strabthine paladin? On a raid?” Romorith fumes. “A Strab. Witnessing that.”
“Yep.” Cook runs an idle thumb across the edge of the stack of papers.
“Well, that decides the first charge to bring.” Romorith takes a form from her desk. “Rodd Trageser must be tried for treason.”
“We’ll need to prove the rest of the case against Bellemare to prove why that was a terrible idea.” Vonner cautions against moving too fast. “Treason is a high charge.”
“And doesn’t treason require intent?” Alton is concerned.
“Point.” Romorith grunts. “Then I’ll just demote him to gate duty permanently. Maybe he’ll resign.”
“That’s a much easier way to handle him.” Cook agrees. “So who’s our second charge?”
“We’ll start with the easiest to try.” Romorith gives away her strategy. “They’ll build on our case for the harder one.
“That means we’re going to try Hendry Wymark first.”
“That should be easy.” Vonner writes his name on the board beside the timelines. “Failure to report destruction of uncontrolled living impaired automaton?”
“You got it,” Romorith agrees, “but add a misuse of magical artefact charge as well.”
“Throwing the book at him?” Alton asks, curious.
“Don’t want any adventurers getting ideas about leaving corpses in our streets without telling us about them, now do we?” Romorith is only a little sarcastic.
“Right.” Vonner transcribes the two charges beneath Wymark’s name on the board. She draws a line underneath the group and then adds Sir Durandal’s name next.
“Durandal?” Cook pulls off the eyebrow trick.
“Interference with an ongoing investigation.” Romorith is quick to respond. “Battery maybe, if Wymark wants to press charges.”
“That’ll keep him here longer,” Alton muses. “Do you think we could just have him deported?”
“If we keep him in jail, we can keep him available to testify against Bellemare.” Romorith gives an answer while Vonner nods. “More importantly, it’ll delay any word of this getting to the Strabs uncontrolled. We’re going to have an abyssal time of forcing his trap shut if he’s not held in jail.”
“We can’t do the same for the ambassador though.” Vonner sighs. “How should we control that angle?”
“Easy.” Romorith is completely confident. “We keep her busy with paperwork, and convince her that any press would damage our case. She’ll have to cooperate.”
“Easy to say,” Cook argues, “but she’ll be under obligation to say something if she suspects our charter is broken.”
“We’ll have to avoid bringing up the Vampire Ethics Council connection in her presence.” Vonner cautions, “But if we can do that, then we will likely be well into a trial against whoever in the Council’s involved when she sniffs us out.”
“And to do any of that we have to be successful when we bring our charges against Bellemare.” Alton crosses her arms.
“That makes him our next case.” Cook taps the stacks of evidence. “We have what looks like a lot of evidence, but some of it is quite circumstantial.”
“We have the forgeries,” Alton argues. “They’re solid evidence.”
“Solid evidence,” Vonner agrees, “but George is right, it’s circumstantial. We can prove that it’s a forgery but not who was the forger.”
“Why do you say that?” Doomweaver speaks up, having spent much of her time just observing and patting her fat little pig. “His own signature on the form’s not a forgery too is it?”
“Sad thing is,” Romorith answers, “that only tells us that he was there when the forgery was made, not that he was the one forcing her hand. The actual forger might be someone else entirely.”
“And his confession?” Doomweaver is still curious.
“The little bit we have is gold.” Cook grins. “He admitted to turning her, and we know that it wasn’t consensual, so either he lied about turning her to protect a different vampire or he’s as well as admitted to turning her as Spawn.”
“Have we gotten anything more from him while in confinement?” Alton looks for information she doesn’t have access to.
“He doesn’t have much opportunity to talk, since he’s been dropped in a magic suppressing cell and the guards only interact with him to deliver cartons of blood.” Romorith describes a bleak existence. “He’ll wear the antimagic cuffs to appear at trial, but for now he’s given a wide berth, and while he’s been chatty he’s not given up anything useful.”
“Chatty?” Doomweaver stops petting Bacon absentmindedly. “What impressions do you get of his personality?”
“If I had to guess,” Alton suggests, “he’s fueled by a desire for popularity. I’d also guess that something happened to leave him thinking he couldn’t get it through anything legitimate.”
“That fits with how the crypt’s designed,” Cook agrees, “even the bedroom is more of a party hookup spot that wouldn’t be entirely out of place at any party house anywhere in Two Rivers. The only thing out of place is that bloodletting chamber.”
“But even that fits if you remember his age. He’s downright ancient.” Alton offers a counterpoint. “While he’s got a history of being relatively progressive, his progressive ideas are superficial. On the surface he’s acting in very modern ways, enjoying his modern existence arrangements in a city that tolerates and even champions this way of being. But it’s all on the surface. In the background there’s that ancient idea that he’s a vampire lord and is owed respect and honors just for existing.”
Alton leans forward in her seat, resting on her elbows. Everyone else relaxes back into their seats.
“What evidence can we submit to prove this?” Romorith rubs her forehead in worry.
“If we can rescue the Spawn and rehabilitate the thralls in time.” Doomweaver starts to put into words the perfect solution to all of their problems. “Then there’s so many witnesses to the meat of the problem that you’ll have an overwhelming amount of evidence.”
“That’s a very large if you’ve placed on our plate, witch.” Romorith sounds furious, but keeps her voice tightly controlled to avoid shouting.
“It’s what I have to offer,” Doomweaver argues back, her voice low.
“When you’re questioned by the judge, keep your offering limited to just facts relevant to Marion Durandal’s post-life statements.” The District Attorney’s eyes narrow.
“I know how to conduct myself.” Doomweaver stands, and heads out of the room. “I don’t question your ethics, Kelnora, you don’t need to question mine.”
With the elderly witch gone, the room’s mood declines. The gathered city employees grimly contemplate their immediate future.
“You know,” Alton says, slowly, carefully, with a slight quiver of fear in her voice, “if Cook’s right and the Vampire Ethics Council is corrupt at its core, and we fail to prove this case then the whole Charter has failed.”
“We’re standing on the border of our own wholesale destruction as a nation and an ideal, and all we really have in our defense is not our army, not our gods, not even our Patron, but the words of a washed out wannabe adventurer, the hope that we’ll be able to undo some of the strongest spells in the arcane lexicon, and some overly uniform ink lines. Our best bet for our own safety for the next few weeks is to keep a cripple out of the courthouse until the judge has made a decision.”
Romorith’s words sink deep into the uncomfortable silence. She stares darkly at the stack of evidence on the table, as though looking at it is all that’s needed to get the proof they need is a good hard look.
Alton stands slowly, her posture stiffly controlled, but her motions graceful.
“Then I’ll thank the gods and holy ancestors both that this place was built with so very many stairs.”