Heading back down the stairs, Mabel led Alistair into the lounge.

Bjorn stood in the corner, leaning against the bar, a glass of whiskey all but swallowed up by his enormous paw of a hand. He raised it to the Detective as he entered, then took a sip. A man in elegant clothes sat primly in a high-backed chair, one clasped atop his crossed legs, perusing a book in the other. Standing near the wall, her back to the room, a woman with long, pointed ears and skin the color of dark ash stared out into the daylight, gazing out over the hill and down into the town.

Over by the pool table, in the room’s back, a young man with more than a passing resemblance to Harold leaned over Millie, guiding her on the use of a pool cue.

Mabel stomped her foot, steaming. “That girl! She should be—”

Alistair put a hand on her shoulder. Quietly, he said, “Peace, Mabel. Give them a moment.”

In his vision, a reticle appeared over the man. Tristan Knightly. Suspect. A second one settled over the maid. Close Relation? Millie.

“Just like that. Now, you want to ease in… that’s right. Relax your shoulders,” Tristan murmured into the maid’s ears. His hands ran down her arms, gently guiding her to hold the cue.

Millie blushed, her face and ears burning red. “I—I’m trying! It’s hard when you’re so close—”

“Hmm?” Tristan asked, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“—that you’re leaning on me,” Millie finished, blushing even harder.

Tristan backed off, lifting his hands, his smirk as broad as ever. “Go ahead, then. Remember, you strike the white ball. Anything else is a—”

Millie made a clumsy strike. Her cue lurched off-target and bumped one of the colored balls.

Clicking his tongue, Tristan moved in. A surreptitious hand pinched Millie’s butt through her skirt. “That’s a foul. And foul ladies must be punished—”

Close Relation confirmed, Alistair’s system reported.

Alistair snorted. “Quite so.”

“Tristan Knightly! Get your hands off my maid this instant. And Mille, weren’t you cleaning the latrines?” Mabel snapped, unable to hold back any longer.

Millie jumped. She whirled, a caught expression on her face, then ducked her head and ran off, fleeing the room entirely.

Mabel brushed down her skirt and took a deep breath, forcibly returning to her usual businesslike self. “Everyone! I’ve brought the detective. Please welcome Alistair Norwich.”

The man in the chair went to rise. Alistair raised his hand. “No need, no need. Please stay seated, Lord Feitan.”

Turning, Tristan rested his butt on the pool table. “So, this is the so-called [Detective].” He ran his eyes over Alistair appraisingly, then scoffed. “Some ‘detective.’ I bet he couldn’t last ten seconds in a footrace.”

By the window, the dark elf turned. She inclined her head slightly to Alistair, and Alistair nodded back. Her yellow eyes swept over him, taking him in head to toe. At the scarred hands, her eyes paused. She widened her eyes slightly, then met Alistair’s gaze, pity in hers.

Casually, Alistair tucked his hands behind him. He nodded at the room’s occupants. “I would like to interview you one at a time. Lord Feitan, would you please come with me?”

The man in the chair rose. Forty-five or so years old, his dark hair had a distinguished swoop of gray at the temples. He adjusted his suit. “Of course. This whole business is nasty, truly nasty. How tragic that the former Hero met such an ignoble end. I hope I can assist your investigation as best I can. The faster we get to the bottom of this, the better.”

“Naturally,” Alistair said, gesturing for Lord Feitan to follow him. He nodded to the rest of the room. “Please remain here. I’ll be back to interview each of you in turn.”

“Yes,” Lady Aiden said softly. Yellow eyes glowed faintly in the room’s low light, kissing her cheeks with gold.

“Bor-ing,” Tristan complained, leaning further back against the pool table.

Bjorn raised his glass. “I’ll be right here all day.”

Alistair turned to Mabel. “Is there a room nearby?”

“Yes, yes. The small conservatory is just around the corner,” Mabel said, gesturing them on.

Lord Feitan walked alongside Alistair. Nearly as tall as the lanky detective, he carried himself with the easy grace of born nobility. He nodded at Alistair. “Who do you think it is?”

“I have my suspicions,” Alistair said, smiling slightly.

“Ah, of course. A detective doesn’t speak until the case is solved, right?” Lord Feitan glanced around, then leaned in. “Between you and me… I think there’s an obvious suspect.”

“Is that so?”

Lord Feitan gave him a look. “Naturally. Harold was the [Hero]. He slayed many a monster. Yesterday, on the day of his death, a monster stayed in his home. Is it not a simple equation?”

“Are you suggesting that Lady Aiden killed Harold?” Alistair asked evenly.

Lord Feitan spread his hands. “Of all of us, is she not the one who holds the most animosity toward the former Hero? How many of her fellow dark elves did he slay?”

Ahead of them, Mabel unlocked a room and held the door open, gesturing for them to enter.

“They were under the thrall of the Demon King. From what I understand, they have asked for forgiveness for their actions, and neither do they consider us as owing them for the mass slaughter of their race.” Alistair ducked into the conservatory.

“Words are one thing. Actions… well,” Lord Feitan said, shaking his head. “Pity about Harold, truly a pity. The country will miss him.”

A plush room awaited him. Strange and exotic plants stood in all directions, balancing on the coffee table and side tables, standing in tall pots, basking in the light from the many tall windows. As if to match the plants, green walls stood around the huge windows.

Moving past Alistair, Lord Feitan took the largest seat in the room. He sat on the edge, back ramrod straight, legs crossed, hands clasped atop his knee. He nodded at Alistair. “So? What would you like to know?”

Remaining on his feet, Alistair put his hands behind him. “Last night, you left the table during dinner. When did you leave? What did you do during that time?”

Lord Feitan spread his hands. “I am a busy man. I had no time to stay at the table and listen to Bjorn jaw the night away. I left around seven p.m., and went back to my room to work on the latest contracts.”

Alistair nodded. “Contracts for the teleportation network?”

“Why—yes. Of course the detective already knows! Yes, I’ve been spreading the teleportation technology across the countryside. My dream is to see every town and city on the island linked via teleportation pads before I die, allowing instantaneous travel between every piece of our great country.”

“A noble goal, indeed.” Alistair tapped the side of his head.

[Timeline]

Lord Feitan: Remained at dinner until 7 p.m.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Returned to his room afterward.

“And afterward, what did you do? Did you leave your room? Did anyone see you in your room?”

Lord Feitan furrowed his brows. “Hmm? Ah… Mabel came by with tea around eight. I refused it, went to the bathroom, and went to sleep, probably around nine. I remember I was only just asleep when Mabel woke me with a scream.”

“Ah—that’s true. I remember I stopped by your room before Harold’s, since the guest rooms are closer than the tower,” Mabel said, nodding.

“What did you do then?” Alistair asked, tapping the side of his head.

[Timeline]

8pm: In his room (Alibi: Mabel)

9pm: Asleep, woken shortly thereafter by Mabel’s scream.

“I ran out to see what was the problem, as anyone would. And—Harold, he was…” Lord Feitan shook his head.

Alistair nodded. “Indeed. A tragedy for certain.”

“Mabel was beside herself, naturally. I took her down to the kitchen and had Millie get her some warm tea. Mille went out to fetch fresh water, and I spent some time with Mabel, calming her, until Millie came back. Bjorn came in to see what was the trouble—it’s a miracle he woke at all, with how drunk he was.” He scoffed, tone full of distaste.

“What about Lady Aiden or Tristan?” Alistair asked.

Lord Feitan spread his hands. “I saw neither hide nor hair until the morning. I’ve heard Tristan is a sound sleeper, but the dark elf…?” He gave Alistair a knowing look.

Meeting his eyes, Alistair quirked a brow. “How long were you in the kitchen before you returned to your room?”

“I—I was hardly checking my watch!” Lord Feitan complained.

“It was about 9:45 before Millie returned with the fresh water. I remember it took some time, and the grandfather clock stuck ten not long after,” Mabel interjected.

Alistair tapped the side of his head again.

[Timeline]

9:10-10:00(?): Tending to Mabel in the kitchen (Alibi: Mabel)

10:00 onwards: Asleep.

Millie:

9:10-9:45: Fetching water for Mabel.

“Anything else?” Lord Feitan asked.

Alistair shook his head. “Mabel, Please call Tristan to the conservatory, thank you.”

Mabel nodded and hurried away.

Lord Feitan stood. He dusted off his shoulders and fixed Alistair with a steely gaze. “I think you should take a close look at that Lady Aidan. She’s the one with the clearest motive of the four of us.”

“All in due time,” Alistair replied patiently.

Smiling gently, Lord Feitan exited the conservatory.

A few minutes later, Tristan wandered in, hands in his pockets. Mabel shoed him in, then stood to the side, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Tristan flopped down in a big, plush chair, slinging his legs over the arm. “So? What do you want?”

Alistair smiled. “I believe you left the dinner table early last night?”

Tristan snorted. “Yeah? Oh, right. Dad died. Whatever.”

“Is that all you have to say? He was your father!” Mabel snapped, frustrated.

“All but wrote me out of the will years ago. All I get is a shitty old shack in the countryside—oh right, that’s this piece of junk,” Tristan said, rolling his eyes. He reached into a pocket and tossed a small sugar cube into his mouth.

“Piece of junk? Tristan Knightly—”

“And my first act, once I own the estate, will be to fire the old biddy who treats it like her house, and hire a full staff of fresh young maids like Millie,” Tristan said, speaking over Mabel.

Mabel huffed. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. “See if this house survives without me here to run it!”

Alistair cleared his throat. “Last night?” he prompted.

“Oh, right, right. Bjorn was going on and on about his old adventures with Dad, as usual. Giving me the old “the great things you could accomplish” spiel, like I’m still nine. Ugh. As if anyone who isn’t an adventurer is trash. You know, adventurers add very little to society. They’re a detriment to the world, like lawyers and entertainers, except unlike entertainers, they won’t dance if you pay them. It was super annoying, so I ate quick and hoofed it before dessert, think it was around six.”

“And then?” Alistair asked.

“Went for a ride to clear my head. Down to the old tavern downtown. Came back around ten… ish? Didn’t know anything was wrong, so I went to sleep. Woke up to Mabel shrieking this morning, and that was the first time I knew anything was wrong.” Tristan shrugged. He tossed another sugar cube in his mouth and shifted slightly on the chair.

Alistair tapped the side of his head.

[Timeline]

Tristan Knightly: 6pm: left dinner, went for a ride

Estimated, 7pm: arrived at tavern.

10pm: Returned home, went to sleep.

“If I went to the tavern, would I be able to find someone who could vouch that you were there?” Alistair asked.

Tristan shrugged. “Sure. Ask the bartender, ask anyone. I was there. I’m not worried. Only thing I’m worried about is getting this lump of termites shoved down my throat. Maybe I’ll just knock this pile of sticks over.”

Mabel took a deep breath. Her lips pressed together so hard they turned white.

Alistair nodded. “Thank you. Mabel, if you could fetch Lady Aiden?”

Mabel hesitated, then nodded. She hurried off again.

Tristan laughed aloud. He heaved himself out of the chair and shook his head at Alistair. “All these stuck-up old men and women, acting like they’re all holier-than-thou, but they won’t talk to a dark elf. What’s she going to do? Touch them? Infect them with blight? Use magic? Gods forbid, speak to them?

“That’s the one thing I respect the old man for. He really didn’t give a damn what you were. Human, dark elf, his own damn son, whatever. He’d shit on you all the same.”

With that, Tristan shoved his way past Alistair and vanished.

Alistair tapped the side of his head.

[Notes]

Tristan Knightly: Daddy issues.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice whispered behind him.

Alistair startled. He whipped around.

Lady Aiden stood behind him at a distance, her hands clasped together in front of her. She nodded at him. “My apologies. Dark elves get [Stealth] as a passive skill. I try not to startle humans, but sometimes I accidentally sneak up on people.”

“No apology necessary. Please take a seat.”

Lady Aiden entered the room. She stood by the window, rather than sitting. “My apologies. I find this entire house… discomfiting. I’m sure you understand?”

Alistair nodded. “The blightwood in the walls?”

“Yes, the miasma… ah! You know the dark elf word for it? Then indeed, you are—”

Alistair dipped his head, looking her in the eye.

Lady Aiden closed her mouth. She shook her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to strike a sore spot. What my people did during that era, I… I can only—”

“Lady Aiden, we are not here to discuss the Long Dark. I am here to solve a murder. So, I believe you left the table last night?” Alistair said, interrupting her.

Lady Aiden nodded. “Yes—yes. I left several times, to use the restroom or catch a breath of air. I did not leave the dinner table until Bjorn and Harold were done, at eight thirty p.m.”

Alistair nodded. “So Harold left the table at eight thirty. What did he do afterward?”

“Retired to his study in the garret. Bjorn headed to the lounge for a nightcap. I went to my room, to rest. Since I planned to teleport back to the dark elves’ territory tomorrow, I had to ensure I had a full rest.”

“Oh? Lord Feitan has connected a teleportation pad to the dark elves’ territory?” Alistair queried, giving Lady Aiden a surprised look.

Lady Aiden shook her head. “No, it’s simply… dark elves are more highly attuned to magic than humans are, and shadows are suited to quick, unseen motion. We find teleportation spells easy, compared to humans, especially to or from the blighted lands we call home.” She glanced around, then took a deep breath. “I think… I think Lord Feitan feels pressured by we dark elves. Humans would never trust us to build a long-range network the way Lord Feitan has, but nonetheless, as undeserved as it may be, I think he considers us his primary competition. I beg you… please set aside whatever you may think of dark elves, and consider me as little more than a strange human.”

“I am a detective first. I seek the truth, beyond prejudice. Whatever I think of you and your dark elves, it is my job to discover what occurred last night,” Alistair returned. He tapped the side of his head.

[Timeline]

Lady Aiden: Remained at the table until Harold left, with a few short breaks earlier.

8:45pm: retired to bed.

He nodded. “Thank you, Lady Aiden. Mabel, could you call Bjorn?”

Mabel nodded back and bustled away.

Lady Aiden strode across the room, her footsteps so soft as to be silent. She glanced at Alistair’s hands as she passed him. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need for apologies,” Alistair returned, still gazing dead ahead.

Lady Aiden’s eyes flickered over his face. After a moment, she nodded and retreated.

Bjorn filled the doorframe moments later. Putting a hand on the frame, he leaned in. “So? What did you want?”

“Last night. You stayed with Harold until he retired?” Alistair requested.

Bjorn snorted. “Oh, sure. We were up late trading stories and drinking the night away, like the old days. It was well dark by the time I left, and wandered off to the lounge to have a nightcap. Millie poured my whiskey and listened to my old stories for a bit, only to rush away suddenly when she heard Mabel scream. I thought she’d spooked herself on a mouse again, or some rubbish, but when I saw the kitchen lights on, I headed over to see what had happened. And that was when I learned—well. Horribly sad. Miss him already.” He sniffed, rubbing his nose.

“And you remained in the kitchen until…?” Alistair prompted.

“Until about ten seconds. I rushed off to check on Harold, but what could I do? Went back to the kitchen, and stayed until Millie returned with the water and made Mabel tea—wanted to make sure everyone felt safe, and you know, I was an adventurer, after all. I went and sat by the door, playing guard. Wanted to make sure no one got in or out. Didn’t see a soul all night.”

Alistair tapped the side of his head.

[Timeline]

Bjorn: Stayed with Harold until he left the table.

9pm onward: In the lounge, drinking (Alibi: Millie, unconfirmed)

9:10-ish: Checked on the garret.

9:30?: In the kitchen with Mabel.

10pm-onward: Sitting guard by the door

“Excellent. That will be all.”

“Well, alright, then,” Bjorn said, pushing off the frame.

You’ve missed a clue.

Alistair thought for a moment. His eyes widened, and he turned. “Wait, just a moment.”

“Hmm?” Bjorn asked.

“When you checked on the lounge, what time was it?”

Bjorn put a hand on his chin. “Can’t be sure. Probably around… 9:05?”

[Timeline] Updated!

9:05: Checked on the garret.

Alistair nodded. “And when you checked on it, was there blood on the mirror?”

“Huh? You think I remember that? Much as I was drinking last night…” Bjorn scratched his head. “Damn. Uh…”

“It would be a great help,” Alistair said.

Bjorn slapped his fist into his palm. “That’s right. It had blood on it! It did. The lightning… it made the whole room look bloody.”

Alistair nodded. “Thank you, Bjorn. Mabel, if you would gather everyone up in the lounge once more?”

“Do you know who did it?” Mabel asked, startled. “Already?”

“Indeed. I—”

A sharp scream rang through the house, abruptly cut off.