The staff at the hotel was accommodating, though sadly unable to help. No one seemed to know where Jack Arnett was.
“He’s been gone for over twenty-four hours,” remarked a lady at the front desk. “The police have been asking questions.”
Ed quirked a brow. “Do they suspect foul play?”
“All I know is that they questioned the entire staff.”
“You as well?”
She nodded, looking embarrassed.
“What types of questions did they ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know if I should...”
He tapped on the badge he had shown her a few minutes ago, reminding her of his status as an imperial representative. That untied her tongue.
“Well, all the usual stuff, you know... where was I, with who, did I know the man well... they wanted to know if I’d been in his room, too.” She blushed and lowered her eyes. “As if I would... I would never!”
“Of course not,” said Ed reassuringly. “Do you know if they found anything in the room?”
“I overheard some of the officers,” intervened another employee. “They said they couldn’t find anything. They sounded frustrated.”
He could relate to that.
“Alright. Thank you.”
He was about to leave, but turned to face them again. He pulled out a card and handed it to the woman.
“Would you mind giving me a call when and if he comes back?”
“Oh, okay. I can do that.”
“Don’t tell him about me, though. Or anyone else, for that matter. Imperial business requires discretion.”
“Of course,” they both agreed.
He thanked them again and headed out.
As he wandered through the streets of Joqqal, he wondered what had happened to the historian. Had he been a victim of the city’s unrest? Or had he run?
Why would he have run, though?
Had he done something to the mask?
No, Ed would have noticed that.
Was he going to do something to the mask?
If so, what?
But then, why would he run if he hadn’t done it yet?
It made little sense to him.
The only thing that would make sense, he decided, was that he’d run into some trouble and had been captured.
If there were no clues, though, it could take a long time to find him—assuming he ever was.
He could be dead, too.
He wondered if that would be a good or a bad thing.
Maybe it’d solve his problem.
Or not.
***
His cough was getting worse. And every time he coughed, he felt the pain in his chest grow.
He needed to get out of here.
Soon.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead and wondered if he was getting a fever on top of everything else. The cold made it a real risk.
Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the window.
While he managed to stand, it produced new pains in his legs that made him grimace.
Still, he went to the window and saw Victor staring at him.
“Are you okay, wassab?”
“No, not really...” he said with a cough. “I need to get out of here, kid.”
The boy slid his hand between the bars. He held a blanket.
“Here. I brought you this. To keep you warm.”
Jack grabbed it with gratitude.
“Oh bless your heart, Victor! You wonderful boy!”
He unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders.
It didn’t completely stop the cold, but it helped.
“I gotta get out, though,” he repeated. “I’ll die if I don’t!”
“I’ll bring you some food,” offered the boy.
Jack was torn between feelings of frustration—that Victor was not understanding the urgency of the matter—and gratefulness. He was tempted to chide his benefactor, to try and pressure him... but at the same time, he feared of antagonizing him and losing that one little sliver of hope he still had.
“Do you know what they are planning to do with me?” he asked in a small voice.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“I don’t know...”
“Could you find out?”
The boy hesitated.
“I’ll try,” he said finally. “And I’ll bring you some food.”
He added the last bit with a smile, then rushed off.
Jack swore.
How was he going to get out of this mess?
Another coughing bout forced him to sit down.
His back was aching now.
He lay down and curled up, trying to fit his entire body under the blanket.
Where were his friends now, he wondered?
What were they doing?
Were they looking for him?
Was anyone looking for him?
Did anyone care?
He sniffed.
He felt so miserable.
He had lost track of time, too.
How long had he been here?
How much longer would they keep him?
Were they going to kill him?
At first, that thought frightened him.
But then he wondered if it wouldn’t be for the best.
At least, then, I wouldn’t feel all these pains anymore...
He closed his eyes, hoping he could sleep... and maybe never wake up.
But even sleep was denied to him.
***
Though they could tell the winds were still roaring outside from how the trees would bend and dust would fly by the window, they could not hear it.
They sat and ate in silence, with only soft background music to lull them.
Susan still had her question to ask. She was hesitant to do so, though, because of her uncle’s reaction when she had tried to broach the topic earlier.
And yet, that was the sole reason she had returned to this cursed planet... How could she not ask?
When she finished the food on her plate, she set down her fork and stared at Duncan.
He glanced at her and sighed.
“Go ahead. I know you won’t be at peace until you let it out. So let’s hear it.”
She smiled. “Well, it’s just something that has been bugging me for years. I was too young back then for it to trouble me, but now I wonder. My parents weren’t rich. Dad was a mechanic who made minimum wage. Mom was a stay-at-home mom with no income. So... how could they afford a trip off Vuulthur?”
“They came here, didn’t they?”
“They were part of the first wave of settlers. As such, they didn’t have to pay for anything. In fact, my understanding is that this was part of the attraction. Start over from scratch, on a new world, with no more debts, no fees, rent-free for the first five years, and so on and so forth... But you already knew all that. You were there, too.”
Duncan nodded as he finished his own plate. “I was.”
“So... where did they get the money to leave? It would have been super expensive. Especially for settlers who were supposed to stay. I even suspect you all had to sign a contract with specific terms about when you’d be allowed to leave...”
Her uncle made a face. “I know you don’t like this world, Susan, but it never was a prison.”
“So there were no terms?”
“I did not say that.”
“Well?”
He stood, grabbed the plates, and took them away into the kitchen.
Why is he so reluctant to answer such a simple question? she wondered.
When he returned, he was carrying a cake.
“What is this?” she blinked.
“For all the birthdays I missed,” he said with a chuckle.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s silly.”
“Then how about to celebrate your return? Or rather,” he lifted a hand to cut off her protest, “to our reunion.”
“That I can go with.”
He cut two pieces and placed one in front of his niece.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she remarked as she tasted the dessert.
He shrugged. “There is not much I can say. We never talked about money, nor did I ask. It would not have been proper.”
“What about their lifestyle?”
He quirked a brow. “What about it?”
“That house... it’s not exactly low income. Not to mention they never sold it. I’m not even sure that’d have been enough to cover the price of a ticket—let alone three—but you’d think someone with minimum wage would try to sell everything they could to buy their way off the planet... especially something like a house that they weren’t likely to need again.”
“Maybe they expected to come back someday...”
“No. They didn’t.”
“Maybe they kept it for you.”
She was feeling more and more frustrated with the conversation. The more she put her concerns into words, the more questions popped up in her mind. This wasn’t helping at all. In fact, it was making things worse.
Could Duncan have been right?
Was she just looking for excuses, and driving herself deeper down a rabbit hole? Was this going to be her life now? Looking for answers and only finding more questions atop of more questions?
“It still doesn’t explain how they afforded the tickets,” she said stubbornly.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he said thoughtfully.
“Even my inheritance doesn’t make sense. I mean, I’d never questioned it until now. But considering their background, where does it all come from?”
“Like I said, we never discussed such matters.”
“So you don’t know how they got the money?”
“I’m afraid not. Sorry, hon. They left a lot of stuff in the house, though. Maybe there are records there that could shed some light on the matter?
She sighed and nodded.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to dig through all that stuff... Looks like I’ll be staying a little longer than I would have liked.”
She took another bite of the cake.
***
In the forty-three years of his life, Brian Ward had only been on two worlds. Giccurri, where he was born and lived most of his childhood; then Exudia, where his parents immigrated when he was fifteen.
There had been talks of spending a vacation on Iriaki, but that had never materialized. He only understood why many years later, when contemplating that prospect again for himself and realized how expensive it would be.
The trip to Qojja was not as costly, but he still wouldn’t have been able to afford it on his cop’s salary. However, because he was going there for an investigation, rather than pleasure, the police department had agreed to cover his expenses.
It was not something they did lightly, but there were government sponsorships in place with Qojja, which allowed detectives to benefit from significant discounts when on official business.
Ward had to insist, pointing out all the ways the Department could reduce costs—not to mention profit from the success of what was bound to become a high-profile case, as all cross-world investigations tended to. Only then had they finally relented.
After dropping off his luggage at the Royal House, he took a hovercab to the offices of the Moonrise Conglomerate in Joqqal. The appointment had been set up ahead of time, before he’d even left Exudia.
The man who received him was the CEO of the corporation. His name was Simon Goodrich and he was a smiling, pleasant, bald little man with a mustache.
They shook hands and sat.
“How can I be of help, detective?”
“I am investigating the murder of a journalist named John Rosenkrantz. And while he was killed on Exudia, I have reasons to believe it had something to do with your company.”
The man looked surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“He was killed by a professional assassin who was receiving large sums of money from your company.”
“That is most distressing,” said Goodrich. “What was the man’s name?”
“Herman Hobbs.”
The CEO turned to his TriVid screen and started typing on the 3D keyboard that floated in front of him.
“Let’s see... Ah, yes. He was on retainer as a private contractor.”
Ward quirked a brow.
“Do you have many assassins on retainer?” he asked.
Goodrich grimaced. “We obviously knew nothing of his extraneous activities. While we have branches on all major worlds of the Weld, it is also useful to have private citizens on the ground who can help spread the word about our work. They are also very useful as lookouts...”
“Lookouts?”
“Qojja is well known for the many alien artifacts that have been found here, buried beneath our feet, but we do not have the monopoly on these discoveries. There are more to be made out there. The lookouts help us gather intel and collect items on other worlds, when such are found.” He tapped on his screen. “And that was what Hobbs was paid to do.”
Ward wasn’t sure whether or not Goodrich believed that story, but he didn’t. It just sounded way too convenient, and too much like a cover.
“There is still the matter of the victim’s relationship with Moonrise. Rosenkrantz was investigating your business and interviewed many people who work in your headquarters. I will need to talk with all of them.”
“Of course. Though I will have to get clearance from my bosses.”
Ward frowned. “I thought you owned the company?”
“Oh no! Not at all. I’m the CEO, not the owner.”
“Who is?”
“The Zendaar, obviously.”
“Who are the Zendaar?”
The man gave Ward a smile he did not like one bit. It was the sort of smile you give to a child, or to someone who should be forgiven for his ignorance because he does not have the mental capacity to comprehend the topic at hand.
“They are the gods of Qojja, of course.”