When the freelancers approached the house at Rosk Way, they found a small, dank, two-storey tenement-building with no lock on the outside door. Aran pushed it open.

A short, dark hallway stretched before them, leading to a wooden staircase to the upstairs. Next to the stairs was a rather narrow corridor and they could just see a door hidden in the recessed corner.

Aran pointed to the floor at the base of the stairs, “Who wants to bet this is where he was found?” he asked, stepping aside to prop the door open and let in as much light as possible. Before the stairs was an area where someone had scrubbed the floorboards and left a visible clean-spot, looking rather out of place in the ramshackle building.

There was a stuffy, sharp smell to the air in the hallway, as if something was rotting away under the floorboards.

“We should talk to the tenants here,” Ailmon commented and approached the clean spot on the floor, casting a glance up the stairs where they could just make out a door leading into an upstairs flat in the gloom. He turned to look at the others after giving the clean spot a long stare.

Naia was staring fixedly at it on the floor, unmoving, and Shale was standing transfixed, staring blankly into the middle distance as if thoroughly lost in thought. Ailmon looked questioningly back and forth between the women and then at Aran, who just shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t think it was something you said, though…” Aran commented.

Ailmon cleared his throat pointedly.

Naia shook her head and blinked. “Something is really, seriously odd. Did one of you knobbers slip a shick in my pocket or something?” She patted her clothes frantically. “If you did, I will make you wish you had a giant, mangy badger stuck in your godsdamned underwear rather than ever having met me!”

Shale turned around abruptly and stalked past Aran, out of the house. She stopped in the street, turned to look back, and then walked back inside, looking around with a deep frown-line running between her brows. Even Naia stopped her search for an imaginary shick to stare doubtfully at her.

“Shale?” Aran said.

She let out a sigh as if she’d been holding her breath.

“Sorry, ehm…” she stopped herself halfway. “I don’t think I’ve been here before.”

“Why would you have?” Ailmon asked, puzzled.

“Well, just… This place feels strangely familiar. I think maybe it was in the vision, but I never saw Nester, so it doesn’t make sense. I’m…”

“Could I be picking up the weirdness from you?” Naia asked, eyebrow raised. “Maybe some of the corpse vomit stuck on you and now you’re sharing it? I mean, without wanting to, obviously!” she added.

Shale looked a bit lost and shrugged.

“Aha!” Aran snapped his fingers. “This is your chance to be more specific, Naia. I’m pretty sure Shale didn’t slip you the shicks, so what is going on?”

“There’s just…” Naia glared at him, clearly not happy. “I have a feeling like it itches in my mind. Like when you smell something so horrible it physically hurts!”

“So, you are in pain?” Aran lifted an eyebrow sceptically.

“Sort of…” She looked around the small, dank entrance hall. Then she crouched down and put her hand on the floor that had been scrubbed. “Not really getting anything from here specifically…” she mumbled, cast a glance up the stairs, and then walked halfway up, the others just looking on. She halted and looked over the bannister to the narrow corridor where the door to the downstairs flat was.

With a frown, she skipped down the stairs and approached the door. The others filed after her as she stood still, listening at the door.

“Could you perhaps further enlighten us as to your impressions?” Ailmon requested.

“It’s still itchy and strange like it’s sort of pulling at me. I don’t get how you aren’t feeling it.” Naia pressed her ear to the door and then stepped back and knocked hard. The sound seemed to fill the small entrance hall.

All four of them stood still for a second, listening for any sign of movement on the other side. Then Aran pushed Naia aside and knocked again. “Hello,” he called out. “We’re here to look into the death of the beggar that was found here. Can you open the door, please?”

“Oh, how revealing! Excellent! I’m evidently having a good effect on you!” Naia commented and crossed her arms.

“Are you sure whatever it is you are feeling is coming from here?” Shale asked.

“Sort of. Maybe. Yes,” Naia said and gave a little shiver.

“We could perhaps take a look… Considering the confusion of information and impressions we have concerning the stones, it would make sense that someone could conceivably be hurt or dead in there,” Ailmon suggested calmly in a low tone of voice and turned his gaze to Aran.

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“Are you seriously suggesting we break in?” Naia said.

“I’m seriously suggesting we take a look inside to see if what you are feeling pertains to our investigation, yes.” He nodded calmly.

“I didn’t know you had it in you!” Naia said and punched his shoulder playfully.

“Are we doing this?” Aran asked.

“Let’s just be sure nobody is home,” Shale said and leaned over Aran’s shoulder to knock thunderously at the door, so the wooden boards shook.

They all waited with bated breath for any sounds from the other side. When nothing happened, Aran reached for one of the pockets in his jacket and drew forth a set of lockpicks. “If it’s barred with a bolt from the inside, we will have to go around,” he said. “But one of you should watch the stairs, and the other two, go around to watch the window.”

“Dibs on stairs!” Naia said.

Shale and Ailmon looked quickly at each other and then Shale nodded. “We’ll see if we can catch a glance inside through the window. Give us a moment; if there’s anything to report, we’ll come back.”

Aran nodded and the two of them left.

Naia had just positioned herself at the foot of the stairs, when the sound of a door opening and closing was heard from upstairs, followed by footsteps on creaky floorboards. Aran quickly put the lockpicks back in his pocket and hurried to the stairs.

The man who came down was tall, lean, and broad-shouldered with a kind of sinewy strength hiding in his movements. He had sharp, suntanned features and his black hair was drawn back in a ponytail. He was dressed in baggy trousers, a shirt and vest, and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of a dagger hanging from his belt.

He stood still for a moment, halfway down the stairs, dark eyes calm but alert as he studied them. “Who are you?” he demanded sharply.

“We are freelancers,” Aran said, taking a step forward. “We are here to inquire into the death of the beggar, Nester. Who are you?”

“Freelancers? Who’s paying you?” the man asked with a suspicious frown.

“The guild,” Aran responded. “I take it you live here?”

The man nodded curtly, then he walked down the stairs, stopping in front of Aran, who was blocking his way. They were roughly at eye height with each other, and the man pinned him with a stern stare, crossing his arms. “Why would the Freelancers’ Guild throw money at a beggar? I didn’t know it was a charity,” he said sharply.

Aran nodded sideways to the clean spot on the floor. “He wasn’t the only one to die,” he said. “Now, would you mind answering a few questions?”

“Make it quick,” the man said brusquely.

“What’s your name and how long have you lived here?”

“Nataniel Bargess. A few years. I’m rarely here,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“I’m a sailor on the Herradine.” Nataniel’s gaze flickered to Naia who stood next to Aran, her arms crossed, and stared directly at him.

“Were you here when the beggar was killed?” Aran asked.

“I was, but asleep. I found him in the morning.”

“You didn’t hear anything during the night? Anything at all?” Naia interjected.

Nataniel’s gaze flickered to the clean spot at the foot of the stairs and then back to Naia. “I’m really not sure,” he said.

“Is that remorse in your voice?” Naia asked suspiciously.

Aran’s shoulders dropped at her blunt approach. But then Nataniel’s stern demeanour softened a little as he looked at her. “Perhaps it is…” he said. “He wasn’t a bad sort, the old boy. I think I woke up during the night. Not fully, though. I think I heard someone crying, but I dismissed it and slept on.” He shook his head. “Maybe it was a dream. I’m not sure.”

“So, it was you who found him?” Aran asked.

Nataniel just gave a nod.

“What had happened? We only had a cursory description. We don’t even know what the murder weapon was.”

“A stone, it was left here,” Nataniel said, nodding to the floor. “His head was …If I hadn’t known he was kipping here, I wouldn’t have known it was him.”

“What did you do after you found him?” Naia asked, eyes narrow. “Give him a decent funeral?”

“Yes,” Nataniel responded with taut anger in his voice. “I did! Most of us don’t get much honour in life, but at least I could give him honour in death.”

“Honour in death, huh?” Naia said speculatively.

“Did you know him well?” Aran hastily asked.

“He slept here on occasion. If I was home, I gave him a meal when he did. He’d trade me a tall tale. There, anything else? I have to go,” he said brusquely.

“Do you know who else lives here? We’d like to talk to the other tenants.”

“There are only four flats here,” Nataniel nodded to the door on the ground floor. “That one and three upstairs, mine and two empty ones.”

“Who lives in there, then? They may have heard something more.” Aran gestured to the door they had been knocking at.

Nataniel snorted. “You won’t get her to open up.”

“Why? Who is she?”

“I think her name is Nebbeth, but I’m not sure,” Nataniel said. “She’s a recluse. I’ve only seen her a few times and only when she was spying out the door. I don’t even know how she gets her food, I’m not sure she ever goes outside. Anything else?” he demanded.

“Did you go through Nester’s belongings?” Aran asked, keeping his voice level.

“They did at the Bacon House. Asked if I wanted it. They assumed I was next of kin.”

“Did he happen to have–” Aran began.

“A flat stone, about this size,” Naia interrupted, drawing a circle with her finger on the palm of her hand. “With a greenish-purple colour?”

Nataniel looked at them pointedly for a moment. “He did. Why? What was it?”

“Where do you keep it now?” Naia asked, ignoring the question.

“I didn’t rob a dead man!” he snapped. “It went on the pyre with him. I assume it was an heirloom of some kind.”

“So it was burned with him?” Naia asked. “He didn’t have any family?”

“People with a family who care about them rarely end up as beggars, girl! I have to leave now.” He pushed past Aran and walked outside, past Shale and Ailmon who had been standing near the door. He gave them a quick glance, but then set off down the street.

Naia looked at Aran. “Was I the only one who thought he was as fishy as one can be without gills?”

Aran shrugged. “I’m not so sure. We were planning on breaking into a flat and he might have sussed that out. So his abrupt manner–“

“Are you seriously making excuses for the guy who matches the size description we have from the Spire and who lives in Murder House One? When this whole place gives me the creepies? Oh, and not just me - Shale too!”

Shale and Ailmon came into the hall.

“How much did you hear?” Aran asked.

“Most of it, I believe,” Ailmon said. “I agree with Naia. And if it turns out he has nothing to hide, at least we can cross him off the list.”

Shale nodded, still frowning. “Better hurry,” she said. “I saw him turn the corner and go left at the shrine to Vela.” She nodded down the street in the direction Nataniel had gone.

“I’ll meet you at the Shindig later,” Aran said and quickly left the house.