"Can you think of any reason why someone would want to harm your husband or son?" Marcus asked, standing with his helmet in hand. Gladys sat on one of three wooden stools by a small table. A small fire crackled in the hearth, lit by Alexander shortly after arriving. The rain had stopped just before dawn but the thick clouds kept the sun from alleviating the chill and damp in the air.

"No, my husband got along with everybody in this town, he never gave anyone any reason to hurt him." Gladys replied in a quiet voice. Her eyes stared into nothing as she spoke, dry now but red with dark circles under them.

"It wouldn't have to be a legitimate reason, sometimes people can perceive an offense where none was intended."

Gladys stared, unblinking, at a wall for a moment before locking eyes with Marcus. "My husband was a good man, hardworking and kind. No one can say he deserved what happened to him."

"What about your son? Can you think of any reason someone would want to hurt him?"

Tears welled up in Gladys eyes. She covered her mouth and her body shook as she began to sob, fighting to keep her weeping silent. Alexander shifted on his feet, uncomfortable at the display of emotion but unsure of what to say or do. Marcus placed his hand on Gladys' shoulder. The widow looked up at him in surprise, her eyes searched his face for any sign of disapproval but found only sympathy. She turned her head and wept in silence for a moment before composing herself.

"Bernard was a good boy, he had a zeal for Virtue that would put an Inquisitor to shame. He didn't do anything to deserve this."

"Do you know why he would have been on the road by himself at night?"

Gladys shook her head.

"Did he have any close friends we could talk to?"

Again, Gladys shook her head. "Bernard was a good boy," she said, looking up at Marcus with tears in her eyes, "but he wasn't a popular one. The other boys would let him play their games, mostly because they had to. Bernard's zeal for the Ethics, he fancied himself a tutor, I think. He didn't shy from correcting his own parents when he thought we were indulging ourselves too much."

"Do you know why he would have been on the road? Could he have been running off with a lover?"

"Lover? Bernard?" Gladys said with a bitter laugh. "The way that boy held on to the Ethics would make the Philosopher blush. If he ever got married he'd have lain with the poor woman just enough to plant however many children he wanted in her belly and then she'd never be touched again. No, Bernard would not have been running off to enjoy some passionate affair."

"Now, I'm sorry to ask you about this, but I assume it was you who dressed your husband and son for burial?"

"It was. Some of the women helped but it was me."

"Your son, what sort of wounds did he have?"

"Just one, here," Gladys said, pointing just below her breastbone.

"Nothing else? No cuts on his hands or arms?"

Gladys shook her head.

"What about your husband?"

"He was cut across his throat," Gladys said, bringing her hand up to her neck and rubbing it before putting her hand back on her lap.

"No other injuries?"

Again, Gladys shook her head.

"What happened the night your husband died?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know." Gladys replied. "We went to bed the night before, I woke up in the morning and he was gone."

"You didn't notice him leaving?" Alexander asked.

"No. I know you Inquisitors don't share beds with anyone but it doesn't take long being married before you learn to ignore each other's snoring and getting up to relieve yourselves in the night."

"Thank you for your time, Gladys. If you think of anything else, please come find us."

Alexander and Marcus stepped out of the house and onto the muddy road. Based on the thick clouds overhead blotting out the sun the ground would be wet for a long time to come. Hattie approached carrying a bowl covered with a towel.

"Inquisitors," she said as she stopped next to the men, "how is Gladys this morning?"

"Upset, but that goes without saying." Marcus replied.

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"I can imagine, well, I can't imagine. Losing your only child and then your husband just days later. I'm surprised the poor woman hasn't gone completely insane. I know if that were me you'd have to put me down like a rabid dog."

"She's grieving but I think she'll be ok, in time."

"I doubt she'll ever truly be ok again, Inquisitor, but we'll all do what we can to help her." Hattie said before bidding the two Inquisitors a good day and entering Gladys' home.

"What now?" Alexander asked when the two of them were alone of the street again.

"I'm going to find the hunter Orville mentioned, Gilbert I believe his name was. Ask him about the night he and the elder Bernard found the younger one. Then I'll speak to some of the men of the town, see if Bernard had any problems he kept hidden from his wife."

"What should I do?"

"I want you to speak to the boys of the town, see if any of them were closer to the son than his mother knew. It's not unusual for a child to appear well-behaved to his parents while being more wild with his friends."

The two Inquisitors split up. Alexander went door to door, asking at each house in the small village if there were any boys who would have associated with the younger Bernard. Amdell was small and it only took a few hours to reach every house within the walls before Alexander was forced to trudge through the muddy roads to the surrounding fields and orchards to speak to the other boys at work with their fathers and the slaves owned by those who could be considered wealthy by Amdell standards.

Each boy Alexander spoke to told him the same thing. Bernard was included mostly out of obligation and the boys preferred to gather without him present. He would act as though he were an ethics tutor, questioning if the boys were having too much fun and if they shouldn't spend less time at games and jokes and more time thinking about serious matters. The boys were always eager to clarify that they weren't really spending too much time having fun, just that Bernard thought himself too mature for his age.

Evening was approaching by the time Alexander had spoken to as many of the youth in the town as he could find. He returned to the Amdell inn and found Marcus already seated at a table in the common room. More men were gathered than the night before, a few sat at tables next to Marcus.

"Alexander!" Marcus called out when he saw his apprentice enter. "Come here, I was just telling the lads here about your trip down to the capital but I think you would be better at that than me."

The young Inquisitor walked over to his mentor and sat on a chair that Marcus pulled out for him.

"Shouldn't we talk about what we learned?" Alexander whispered.

"When we're alone," Marcus whispered back. "Start from the beginning, Alexander," Marcus said in a loud voice.

Alexander felt awkward but began telling the men the story of his trip to the Capital. The trip on horseback down to Orenmoth, the train, the great network of rails that spread out from the city, the airships floating through the air and the fleet of trade ships in the harbor, the steam wagons hauling cargo between the docks and the trainyard.

More people began to enter the inn, gathering around Alexander to listen to his story of the world beyond Amdell. The crowd, silent at first, began to warm up to the Inquisitors and began asking questions about the wondrous machines he saw and the great variety of people he saw on his journey. Hours passed in the blink of an eye. The crowd began to disperse as the sun set and Alexander was finally able to eat the meal brought to him by Hattie.

"What was that about?" Alexander asked Marcus when the two were finally in their room.

"I thought it might help the people of Amdell trust us more." Marcus replied. "Not just about the case but in general. I can't tell you how many times I've visited this town since I first took up my post as Inquisitor for the area, but I realize today how little I actually know about the people. There's not a single person here whose name I could actually remember."

"And telling them stories will help with that?"

"It might. Thirty years I've been Inquisitor, I've always tried to take a gentle approach to the people under my watch, yet people still fear us. I worry that I've been too focused on not giving people a reason to fear me that I haven't been giving them any reasons to trust me."

"It's a lot worse down south." Alexander replied, "Everyone I met more than a day's ride from Croton looked like they half expected me to have them arrested and flogged if they made too much eye contact with me."

"Yes, that's what they taught us when I was at the academy. 'Fear of the lash and sword will keep people from vice' my teachers would say. Never sat well with me, any father can tell the difference between a child who obeys out of fear of discipline and one who obeys because he genuinely wants to please him. A boy who only behaves because he's afraid of punishment will simply find ways to misbehave in secret. People need to be taught to love virtue for its own sake, not just to fear punishment for vice."

"Speaking of misbehaving in secret, did you learn anything about the younger Bernard?" Marcus asked after a moment of staring at the wall.

"No, every boy I spoke to said the same thing. Bernard was included because their parents made them. No one seemed to dislike him, much, but he was known for being very keen on obeying the rules at all time, seemed like he wanted his friends to see him as the tutor wise beyond his years. Did you learn anything from Gilbert or the men of the town?"

"Gilbert just repeated what we already knew. The elder Bernard discovered his son missing in the night, fetched Gilbert to track the boy using his hound, the two raced down the road in the night and found the boy dead with a single stab wound. Bernard carried his son's body all the way back home himself, wouldn't let Gilbert help carry at all. All the men said the same thing about Bernard, no one had a word to speak against him."

"Seems odd, I don't think anyone is so well-liked that there isn't a single man who knew him who had nothing against him."

"People are afraid to speak ill of the dead, particularly on matters they think are trivial. People might be afraid to mention a small feud or disagreement they had, or that they know someone else had, in case it makes us think they might be responsible. No one wants to spread some minor thing that ends with a friend being crucified for a murder they may not have committed. Again, it's that fear of us that makes doing our actual duty of ensuring the people in our care can attain the good life that much harder."

"So what do we do now?" Alexander said as he finished removing his armor and settling on to the chair, knowing that Marcus would assign him first watch.

"Tomorrow we'll speak to Gladys again. If the killer responsible for her family's death is someone from the town, she must know something about who could have done it even if she doesn't realize it. Perhaps her mind will be clearer after more rest."