Mei knelt next to the body.

Orlaith’s right cheek rested against the slate gray brick wall, like he was sleeping off too much drink. His hands lay in his lap, fingertips pointing upwards at the dark clouded sky. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes were clouded and stiff. Inside his mouth, his tongue was covered in bite marks from tiny, tenacious teeth. He wore a thick woolen cloak, a rough spun sweater, heavy trousers, and a well-kept and thick pair of leather boots, the attire one wore for the coming season. All of his clothes had been soaked in blood, now dried, that had originated from a deep, clean cut across the left side of his neck.

Other than that, the windsong looked much as he had when Mei had saw him last, leaving the Cartographic Repository.

“Anything?” Charlie asked.

Mei stood up. “He wasn’t working.” Windsong wore leather when working. “How did you find him?”

“A couple of people were… looking to do some business here.” Zelda coughed. “They reported him.”

“Anyone see? Anyone hear?”

Charlie shook his head. “No witnesses. We were lucky to get the report.”

“He didn’t know.” The alley was full of trash but lacked any signs of wind magic. “The attacker struck from behind.”

“How do you know that?” Zelda asked.

Mei pointed at the back of Orlaith’s neck. “The cut starts here and stops,” she pointed just shy of his throat, “here. A front attack would start here,” she pointed at the throat, “and go back.”

“So this wasn’t who we fought in the Gray Tower?” Charlie peered at the wound. “This doesn’t look like a stiletto.”

“No, this was a sword.” Specifically, one with a slight curve, a single edge, and lightning patterns along the blade.

“Did he suffer?” Dwayne had stayed at the mouth of the alley. When, Mei shook her head, he said, “That’s a relief.”

Zelda gave him a look. “Is it really?”

“Better than being tortured then killed.”

“So,” Charlie cut in, “this was ambush.”

That was the beast’s style, but Mei shook her head. “We don’t know. Why was he here?”

“We don’t know.” Charlie winced. “He came to the Chamber, but…”

“There was a paperwork mishap,” Zelda looked pained, “and he was pushed back out into the cold.”

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Dwayne’s jaw set. “Is that normal?”

“Hey,” Zelda rounded on him, “at least we know what happened. Your office can’t even keep track of its-”

“Wagner, that’s enough.” Charlie turned to Mei. “Anything else?”

“He did this.”

“Who did?”

Mei gave him a look.

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Your brother?”

“How long Mr. Jung been dead?” Zelda asked. “Best guess.”

Mei glanced at the corpse. “Around two days.”

“We released him three days ago.” Zelda groaned. “This poor lad left us and went straight to his death. You sure it was your brother?”

Mei nodded.

“Definitely sure?”

“Yes.”

Zelda sighed and turned to Charlie. “That’s that then.”

Charlie took a long shuddering breath. “Unfortunately.”

“What’s that then?” asked Dwayne.

“We’re withdrawing.” Charlie’s eyes slid away from Mei. “This case, along with any others related to the Harvest Ball incident, is to be put on hold, pending further review by the High Judge.”

Dwayne’s head jerked back. “By Koenig? Why?”

“We don’t ask questions.” Zelda turned away. “We just follow orders.”

“Mei, I’m so sorry.”

Charlie tried to approach Mei, but she pulled back. “You won’t help.”

“We can’t help,” corrected Zelda. “We’re both under specific orders not to help your office in any way and to route all communication through the High Judge.”

“In other words,” Dwayne put himself between Mei and the scrytives, “Koenig is who decides when we get help from the Chamber?” Both scrytives stiffened. “Tell us who ordered this.”

“We’ve been ordered-” started Zelda

Dwayne rose to full height. “Tell us.”

“We cannot, young Kalan. However,” Charlie handed him a sheaf of paper, “this was on her desk.”

Dwayne stared at it. “A pamphlet?”

“One of many distributed the day after you and Miss Mei arrived in Bradford.”

Irrelevant. Useless. Focus on the body.

Mei knelt back down and reconsidered the fatal wound. It was clean, precise, and more final than anything she associated with the beast, which preferred its prey to struggle. This execution had been on “Granite’s” order.

“ ‘Burn out the blight eating at the soul of the Queendom.’” Dwayne flipped over the pamphlet. “I see. Thank you, Scrytive Vogt, Scrytive Wagner. That’ll be all.”

Mei felt Charlie’s eyes on her, but she didn’t turn around.

“Very well, milord, Miss Ma,” said Charlie. “Good luck.”

When the scrytives were gone, Dwayne knelt next to Mei. “What a mess.”

“This changes nothing.”

“Mei, he-”

“I still have to save him.”

“And if you manage that somehow, what then?”

“I’ll make him talk.”

“Is that realistic?”

Irrelevant. “I’ll do it.”

Dwayne said nothing for a long moment then sighed. “Okay, I guess we’ll figure it out then. Can you stay here with the body? Without the Chamber, I’ll have to find someone to take it. Unless,” he held in a shudder, “you need to keep it?”

Mei shook her head. What she actually wanted to know - where her brother was, who his benefactor was, why he’d done this, why he’d lied about the mask - couldn’t be gleaned from Orlaith’s corpse.

“Right.” Dwayne stood up. “I’ll head back to Sanford and see if Rodion’s back. I won’t be long.”

Mei kept her eyes on the corpse as he left, her thoughts drifting to another time when she’d been alone with the dead. Her brother had tried to keep their parents’ death from her in an act of kindness that didn’t match this display of blood and blades. It had to be the others and that Mask making him do this. Once she freed him, Huan would become her kind brother again.

She had to believe that.