Shale stifled a yawn as they made their way through the evening-crowded streets, towards the brothel called the Spire in the south-eastern end of Wallsen, Naia leading the way.

Most muggers were civilised enough to ply their profession without witnesses, so the streets were considerably safer - meaning not at all safe - this time in the evening when the sun had just set and all the people of Wallsen woke up. The streets were crowded, the shady bars were open, and prostitutes and street vendors were out and about.

“After this, I’m going to bed,” Shale said. “Alone. In case anyone was wondering.”

“Ooh.” Naia raised her hand. “I wasn’t!” She laughed.

Shale gave a snort that could be either disdain or laughter.

“So, just for the record,” Aran said, “how many here actually believe we are dealing with a monster?”

“Well…” Shale began. “It seems farfetched. Especially if it’s supposed to be our size, more or less. I’ve heard no rumours of strange creatures roaming the streets.”

“And why would an alleged monster, who can attack from afar with its mind, run up and stab someone?” Ailmon added. “There are plenty of monsters in Sonderport, but I doubt a walking collection of seeds is to blame.”

“Will you change your mind when we find a shick at the brothel?” Naia asked. “Because we will. I just know it.”

“Let’s consider if Naia is the murderer…” Shale said.

“Wouldn’t that just make everything much more interesting!” Naia exclaimed happily. “Especially since I don’t even know it. But someone could have given me brainworms who are controlling my mind and actions.”

“That would explain a whole lot,” Aran commented.

“Did you know the brainworms’ ancient enemy is alcohol?” Naia asked nobody in particular. “We’d best get a drink when we get there.”

“We’re not sitting down for a drink on-site during an investigation!” Aran stated.

“Spoilsport!” Naia said. “Of course we should have a drink, we’re in Sonderport. It’s rude not to!”

“Perhaps we should prepare so we are in alignment about what we need to know and how much we are prepared to give away this time.” Ailmon dryly interrupted.

Shale found the note from Sef in her belt pouch and read aloud, “Shandra, employed at the Spire, a brothel on Luck Lane. Supplied us with drawings and descriptions of people on occasion. Found stabbed in her room the morning of four days ago. If you go to the brothel, tell Madam Clara it’s on guild business and that I’ll pay her back in seashells; she knows what it means. Then she’ll trust you. Well, trust-ish. You know how it is…” Shale put the note back in her pouch. “So, I suppose we talk to Madam Clara first?”

“That might be difficult; she’s rarely out when the Spire is open for business. I guess she doesn’t like people getting handsy or something,” Naia said.

“But she’s there, right? She’s the owner. Can’t we just ask for her? Besides, we’ll be there about two hours and some before they open, unless you lied.” Shale said.

“I would never lie to colleagues!” Naia stated vehemently. “And I guess we can just ask for an audience. We should probably lead with the ‘investigating the murder on behalf of the guild’-thing, so we sound more serious?”

“Sound? We are serious,” Ailmon amended evenly.

Naia rolled her eyes. “Anyway, front door or green door?” She nodded down the street where a large building was in sight. It had obviously been a stable at some point but had been added to over the years, so it now featured an additional storey on top of the two-winged building with a small courtyard in the middle.

The Spire was a lot less run-down than the rest of the city ward and seemed out of place, what with the small trees in clay pots flanking the large double doors to the main building and a sprawling trellis on poles above the entrance, overgrown with wine leaves that snaked through the latticework. The building itself was nicely whitewashed and had only gone a bit grey with Wallsen-grime. A narrow, grubbier alleyway ran along the side of the building, where two rather brutish-looking fellows stood at a peeling green door, just visible from the angle the freelancers stood at.

“I guess the green door is more fitting. I don’t imagine the owner wants it known broadly that one of her staff was murdered, so we’re on a more clandestine errand,” Shale said thoughtfully. “We need the Spire to stay in Wallsen. And to stay open. Though most people think of it as putting on airs, it does bring a lot of business to the area and helps get young people off the street.”

“Working at a brothel is not likely to be anyone’s dream occupation, however,” Aran pointed out.

“In this part of town? Three meals a day with a safe place to kip, and making money on top of that? It’s as good as anyone here who’s not a sailor or a freelancer can hope for,” Shale said.

“Sadly, that’s a good point,” Ailmon interjected. “But social philosophy later. I assume those gentlemen are guards?” He nodded down the alleyway.

“Let’s go ask,” Naia said and walked down the narrow, piss-stinking alley.

“We want to be honest with this Madam Clara person, we all agree on that, right?” Aran asked.

“Agreed, it seems she and the guild handler have an understanding,” Ailmon confirmed as they drew near the two large guards in the alley.

Both men straightened up and looked at them as they approached.

“We’re closed. We don’t open until later,” one of them said when the freelancers were near the narrow green door.

“We know,” Aran said. “We are no-qualifiers on guild business. We’ve been asked to look into the murder of Shandra, the girl who was employed here.”

The two guards looked quickly at each other.

“We’ve been told to speak to Madam Clara for permission,” Shale said. “Could one of you perhaps go and let her know we’re here?”

Again, the two guards shared a look and then one fished a key out from under his shirt, unlocked the door, and let the group file inside.

The room they entered was small but comfortable, decorated with colourful fabric draped across the walls, a couple of soft-looking sofas, and a cupboard with elaborate liquor bottles. A door opposite to the one they entered through presumably led into the brothel.

“Wait here, I’ll go talk to the Madam and see what she has to say,” one of the guards said and left through the other door into the premises, locking it behind him. The other guard just nodded at them and left through the green door, locking that as well.

“Quite careful,” Ailmon just commented, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I suppose that’s natural. I can imagine the people working here are uncomfortable knowing one of their colleagues was murdered in the house,” Aran said.

“So, we should ask for permission to see her room, right?” Naia said, draping herself on a sofa. “Everyone who works here lives here too, so she probably had the shick here somewhere.”

“You are very sure of that,” Ailmon said.

“Yep. You might not believe in the monster, but I do. The shicks are definitely monstery and that whole thing with Sargon’s corpse? Death-vomiting and visions? As madly monstery as it gets!”

“When did ‘monstery’ become a word?” Aran asked.

“Since I used it,” Naia stated casually with a small shrug.

“We should definitely ask permission to see Shandra’s room in that case,” Shale said, frowning. She looked down for a moment, turning her head as if listening to something. “But we should ask her colleagues too if she was involved in something. Corwin had no friends as far as we know, but here we have a good opportunity to learn more of the victim.” She turned to look at Aran, who just nodded imperceptibly.

“It makes sense that they’d be very careful where they can be. As soon as the brothel opens for business, there’s a limit to the possible vigilance,” he just said softly.

“Huh?” Naia looked up at them, puzzled.

“Well, we should be tactful while we are here,” Aran just said. “The guild handler apparently knows this Madam Clara enough to send her rather personal-sounding messages to make her allow us entry. I really don’t want my standing with the guild tarnished b–“

Outside the door, footsteps were heard. Shale, Ailmon, and Aran turned towards the door when a key was inserted in the lock. Naia sighed when Aran sent her a sour look and then got off the sofa just as the door swung open.

“Madam Clara will come down to see you.” The large guard stepped aside, holding open the door to the inner room. “Please go in and take a seat. She’ll be here in a moment.” The large man gestured to the tables in the middle of the room.

The main hall of the Spire was spacious, lit by several lanterns shaded by different colours of glass hanging from the ceiling. A large staircase occupied most of the wall on one side of the room, and next to it were the double doors leading out into the courtyard. A long bar of polished wood ran the length of another wall, bottles and glasses gleaming in the light from the lanterns. There was a row of more private booths, separated with decorative curtains, along the other walls. In the middle of the room, several drinking and gambling tables stood. Naia went and sat down at one of them. The others followed her example, Shale and Aran looking around, Ailmon making a few notes in his notebook.

A young man was stocking the bar, and two additional guards stood at the double doors near the stairs, talking quietly together as they studied the freelancers.

“So, nice place. A lot nicer than I imagined when the terms ‘brothel’ and ‘Wallsen’ were mentioned…” Aran mused.

“Yeah, isn’t it? You’ve seriously never been here before? That’s so weird. Who do you bonk, then?” Naia asked conversationally.

“That is extremely private information,” Aran stated.

“Sure, but I’m serious! Maybe you’d be less intolerable if you got yourself some naked time.”

Shale gave a deep laugh. “Look what it’s doing to you, though,” she said, grinning.

“Ooh, a strict regimen of regular saucy sex and alcohol is keeping me sharp and happy, you should try it!” Naia responded.

“Name me one man who could actually handle me and not die when I sat on him and I’ll be all over it…” the half-orc said casually.

“Hmmm, alright, I do agree. Size really does matter! You could go orc, you know.”

“I could, but most don’t stay here and most of them are not exactly overjoyed about mixed species.”

“Oh,” Naia said dejectedly. “The orcs are speciesist? Seriously? I sort of thought they just bumbled around mating with whatever was in sight.”

“Are you kidding? The orcs have more social laws than Sonderport has laws about money. They trade and make war just fine, even form friendships with other species on occasion, but they keep their gonads in their trousers while doing it. You wouldn’t believe the kind of abuse my mother had to endure from her own clan when she met my father. They ended up throwing her out.”

“What a bunch of bungholes! You’re better off without them!” Naia stated with an angry frown.

“Thank you,” Shale said, a small smile hiding behind her tusks. “It’s hard to miss something you’ve never had, though.”

“Pardon the interruption,” Ailmon interjected, still looking into his notebook. “We need to take a look at the young lady’s room - yes, searching for a stone and whatever else might turn up,” he acknowledged, looking pointedly at Naia before she could interrupt. “Then we need to interview her colleagues to see if the young lady was involved in anything. A religious movement, some sort of crime, anything really. We need as thorough a list of her contacts as possible. We might want to have some of those gost handy for that; I’m sure it will make the questioning easier if we make it worth people’s time.”

“Agreed,” Aran said and looked at the stairs leading to the upper floors. “I think that must be Madam Clara,” he said, nodding in the direction of the stairs and standing up. The others looked too and got to their feet to greet the woman.

The lithe and willowy blonde woman was dressed in a dark grey, severe suit of trousers and a knee-length tunic that was tailored elegantly, a collar buttoned with small pearls all the way up her slender neck. The only golden-brown skin showing were her hands and face. Even her hair was as far from frivolous as it was possible to be, braided and rolled into a tight bun at the top of her head. Not a single hair was out of control. Her ears tapered to a point, marking her elven heritage, which was a rare sight in Sonderport since the War of Ocean’s Rage over two centuries ago, in the chaotic aftermath of the Upheaval, after which elven-kind retreated to their mystery-shrouded islands somewhere in the Life Sea.

She stood still for a moment, regarding them with calm green eyes, hands clasped before her. Then she nodded and approached.

“I understand you are freelancers?” she asked, her voice surprisingly deep and soft.

“Correct. We have been sent to look into the murder of your employee.” Ailmon held out a hand to her and when she shook it, he introduced the group.

All five of them took a seat at the table again. “I’m gratified the guild has noticed. I’m quite certain they are not investigating this out of kindness, however,” Madam Clara stated. “What is the real reason you find yourself here?”

Aran, Shale, and Ailmon shared a quick look. Before Naia could open her mouth, Aran quickly said, “The guild has lost a handful of contacts in the last week and a half. Enough to take notice. Your employee, Shandra - and this establishment by extension - was counted among them.”

“I see. Well, it looks like we’ve all had a rather bad week, then.” Madam Clara nodded to herself.

“Also, Sef says that if you help us, he’ll pay you back in seashells!” Naia added, staring straight at the elven woman.

A very slight rose-tint blossomed in Madam Clara’s golden-brown cheeks. “Very well,” she said, “What do you need for this investigation? I cannot let you disturb business, naturally, so whatever you need must be done in the off-hours. You understand, of course.”

“Of course,” Ailmon said impassively. “We should like to look at the victim’s room, if possible. We should also like to talk to some of her friends and co-workers who might have seen or heard something.”

“I can let that happen,” Madam Clara said. “We have cleaned Shandra’s room, naturally, but it isn’t in use tonight, so you won’t be in the way. As for friends, Shandra was known as Shandra the Silent; she was quite a shy girl. She was well-liked here, but to my knowledge, she didn’t have any really close friends. She spent most of her free time with her drawings as far as I know. I believe the one she was closest to was Minna, one of the girls here, though I’m not sure they were close enough to share any secrets.”

“In any case, we would like to speak to her,” Ailmon said.

“Of course, I will send for her as soon as we are done here,” Madam Clara nodded.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Our briefing-notes said Shandra used to draw people for the guild?” Aran asked.

“She did. On rare occasions when the need arose. I permitted it for the sake of the friendship between our professional establishments, but Shandra was under strict orders never to draw her clients unless told otherwise, and I cannot imagine she ever broke those orders. If you are hoping for a quick solution to your search through those means, I’m afraid you will find yourself disappointed.”

Aran almost smiled. “It’s never that easy.”

“I’m happy we understand each other,” Madam Clara said calmly. “Do you have other questions I can answer?”

“How long had she worked here?” Ailmon asked.

“Two years as a girl, but about five before that, working as a kitchen aid and seamstress.”

“So, in seven years, she didn’t make any close friends here?” Shale asked. “That seems a little odd. I imagine the employees here are a fairly close-knit group?”

“We are, certainly, and Shandra never had any conflicts with anyone as far as I’m aware. She was kind and gentle, and we all miss her.” Madam Clara’s otherwise emotionless expression softened just a little. “We especially lament the awful way she left this world. She had friends, yes, but as I said, none that she was particularly close with. At least to my knowledge. To be truthful, she could be so quiet on occasion that she became quite unassuming. She was never far from her sketchbook when she was on her own time, whenever I would see her around the house.”

“May we have access to her drawings?” Ailmon asked.

“Of course. They are in her room. You may take them with you if that will be helpful. My own people have already looked through them.”

“…So, you have people out to search for the murderer yourself?” Shale asked.

“Naturally. I’m not in the habit of sitting on my hands until the guild or anyone else come and save me,” Madam Clara answered with a tiny shadow of a smile on her lips.

“Would those people perhaps have any information we have missed?” Aran asked. “Perhaps we could compare notes?”

“Possibly. It depends on what you know, however. My people haven’t reported any success yet, and I cannot say how willing they would be to discuss an ongoing investigation. I will ask them and get in touch with you via the guild if they agree.” Madam Clara gestured to one of the guards at the main door, and when the man approached, she said, “Please go and find Minna for me and ask her to come down here.”

The guard nodded and turned to go upstairs, when a small, girlish voice was heard, “I’m here, Madam.” A slender, young, human woman with long chestnut hair falling around her shoulders stepped out from behind one of the curtains closing off the private booth, near the door they had entered the main hall through. She wore a long, white dress with laces running along the low neckline, girlish but revealing at the same time. She clasped her hands in front of her anxiously and lowered her gaze to the floor where she stood. “I’m sorry, Madam,” she said.

“We will certainly talk about this later, Minna,” Madam Clara said calmly. “For now, I’d like you to show the freelancers to Shandra’s room and assist them as needed in their investigation, provided it won’t interfere with business.”

“Of course, Madam,” Minna said and gazed at the group at the table. Her large blue eyes were a bit red-rimmed, as if she had been crying recently, and the smile she sent them was rather on the pale side.

“I hope you find the one who did this,” Madam Clara said as she rose from her chair. “I do request, however, that you keep me informed of your progress. When you find the one who murdered my girl, I should like to have a say in determining his fate.”

“Oh, we’d love to!” Naia said, grinning, as the group got to their feet.

“Circumstances permitting, that is,” Ailmon quickly amended.

Madam Clara looked them both over, her face unreadable, before she nodded silently. Then she gestured at the young woman. “I leave you in Minna’s hands. Let me know if I can be of further assistance.” With a small, gracious nod, she took her leave and went upstairs as the group turned to look at Minna.

“I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have spied on you, but…” Her voice faltered.

“You were listening in when we arrived as well, weren’t you?” Aran asked.

Minna nodded guiltily and a pretty blush coloured her cheeks.

“Why?” he asked.

“I was curious, and… well, I really hope you can help,” Minna said, fingers twisting the skirt of her dress.

“Were you and Shandra friends?” Shale asked. “Like Madam Clara said?”

“Well, yes, we were friends. We were.” The young woman nodded, but her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip. “I did care a lot about Shandra, but what will you do about Ginnifer? It wasn’t natural, I don’t believe it!”

“Ginnifer?” Aran asked and looked sideways at the others. Naia shrugged.

“You don’t even know about it?” Minna asked, as if her regard for the group had just taken a dive. “She’s my best frie– Well, was my best friend. But she died too, and nobody cares because she killed herself, but it wasn’t natural, I beg you to believe me, please!”

“Your friend, Ginnifer, she committed suicide? I’m really sorry, but I don’t know how we would go about investigating that,” Shale said sympathetically. When the young woman craned her neck to look up at the half-orc nervously, long lashes wet with tears, Shale hastily added, “Why don’t you show us to Shandra’s room and you can tell us about what happened to your friend? To Ginnifer.”

“Alright, I suppose,” Minna said, obviously caught between dejection and hope. “Please, follow me.” She started up the stairs, and led the group down a long corridor running the length of one wing of the building. There were many doors on either side, and occasionally there would be sounds behind a few of them - talking, laughing, rummaging around - but mostly the floor was silent.

“Where is everyone? You open shortly, don’t you?” Aran asked.

Minna nodded. “Most are downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast,” she said, and then she stopped. “It’s here.” She pointed to a door and slowly went to open it. As if reluctant to enter, she stood aside, letting the group in as she hovered in the doorway.

The room was small, with a single window looking out over the narrow alley where they had entered the brothel. A large bed and a narrow bedtable took up most of the space, but a row of shelves was set into the walls, covered by a curtain, and a small table with two chairs stood in a corner. The bedclothes and blankets had been removed from the bed, along with the mattress. On the floor, scuff marks and a lack thereof made it clear that there had been a rug by the bed which had now been removed. The floor underneath had clearly been scrubbed and even planed.

“There was a lot of blood,” Minna said, almost in a whisper.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, but can you tell us what the people of the house are saying about Shandra’s death?” Shale asked in a gentle tone, while the other three began looking around as they listened in.

“She… she was stabbed. Twice. In the neck,” Minna said slowly, tears pooling again in her eyes. “It must have been her client who did it. He hired her for the entire night, so nobody was surprised that she didn’t come down the rest of the evening. …That’s the worst of it. She was lying here, dead, and we didn’t even know. Nobody but him knew.”

“Did anyone see him, the client?” Shale asked.

“Well… I…” Minna faltered. “We… all of us who were working the bar, saw him. He took the main doors and, well… he found Shandra.”

“So, what did he look like?”

Minna shrugged her delicate shoulder. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know. He was hiding under a hood and a scarf. Like this.” She held up her hand to hide the lower half of her face.

“But you saw him move. Saw his eyes?” Shale inquired.

“He… I’m sorry.” Minna gestured with her hands in frustration before her arms fell to her sides dejectedly. “I had just lost Ginnifer, everything is so awful, and I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”

“I understand. It’s terrible.” Shale’s large hand reached out and gave Minna’s slender arm a little squeeze in sympathy. “But I think you may remember more than you give yourself credit for. How tall was he?”

“He was… tall.”

“Like me? Or like Aran?” Shale pointed to Aran, who had opened the window to look out.

“A little shorter, not much.” Minna nodded at Aran. “A little broader over the shoulders maybe? But…”

“But?” Shale prodded.

“He was a little hunched.”

“As if he was trying to hide himself?”

“Maybe. But I saw him rub the side of his head. Almost like he was hurting.” Minna made a gesture like trying to rub a headache away.

“What about his hands?” Shale asked. “You must have seen them, then?”

“He had …gloves on. Leather gloves, like the sailors and dockworkers have. They weren’t of fine quality. His clothing was the same. Just shirt and trousers. Not shabby, not fine.” Minna looked at Shale with surprise in her eyes. “You were right, I did see a lot more than I thought I did.”

Shale gave the small, controlled smile she used so as to not unnerve people with her sharp teeth. “So how long was he here? Before he hired Shandra.”

Minna thoughtfully put a finger on her lips. “For about the time it takes to drink a Roar while playing dice,” she said, clearly warming up to her memories. “I was working the downstairs and the gambler I was servicing ordered a Roar, the most common of the drinks at the bar, and I got it for him. I saw Shandra’s client come in when I was bringing the drink, and he went up the stairs with her when I was bringing the next one!”

“Did you see what he was doing before he found Shandra? Did he have a drink or…”

“No, he sort of just stood near one of the walls and then a seat became available and he sat in a corner looking at everything, rubbing his temples. As if he was studying the workers. Making up his mind.”

“Did nobody wonder about a man who was so intent on hiding his identity?”

Minna shrugged. “Not everyone wants to admit what they do here. Sometimes people even wear masks. Though that always means it’s someone from Old Town, of course.”

“Ah, right… So how did he choose Shandra, did you see?”

“Not really,” Minna said after a thoughtful pause. “But I saw her walk up the stairs with him and I talked to the downstairs Lady when I logged my client and she said Shandra had a whole-night booking.”

“Could we talk to her, too?”

“Tia? I suppose. She’s working as Lady tonight downstairs. If you stay until opening, I guess you could ask her.”

“Alright, we will. Did anyone see him leave?”

Minna shook her head. “No. None of us. We all suppose he climbed out the window.” She gestured vaguely to the other end of the room. “Shandra was still dressed when she was found. Right there.” She pointed to the floor by the bed, her lips trembling.

“What about Shandra?” Shale asked. “Did she seem like herself in the days up until her death?”

Minna took a deep breath and looked down, an adorable little wrinkle between her brows. “I’m not sure. I’m sorry. She was maybe a little bit quieter, and I think she said something about feeling a little ill, but… after everything that happened with Ginnifer…”

“Oh…” came Ailmon’s impassive voice from inside the room. “How relatively unsettling.”

The others gathered around him where he stood by the table in the corner, a large stack of sketchbooks taken from the shelves piled in front of him. One book lay open. And between the pages was a small, unassuming disk-like rock, shining in hues of faded green and purple.

“Yes!” Naia exclaimed. “Told you so!”

Aran gave her a sidelong glance.

“I mean, booo, shicks suck!” she amended.

The page in the sketchbook was filled out with a portrait that drew the eye in a disquieting fashion. At first casual glance, it was just a portrait of an elderly woman, but on closer inspection, everything about her was …off. It almost seemed as if the artist had been told what a human face looked like but had never actually seen a human in real life. Something about the dimensions of the face just didn’t fit together and the expression was a strange mix of blankness and need, giving the impression that the intelligence behind the eyes was utterly foreign.

Minna gave a small gasp. “Why did she have a stone, too? And… That drawing… it can’t be right, it’s ugly. Shandra was really, really good at drawing. That doesn’t make sense. Look.” She turned the pages so they could see samples of the dead girl’s other drawings. They were of everyday things and situations, people shopping at stalls at the market, drunk revellers at the recent Festival of Rosk celebrated in Wallsen, the other men and women at the brothel. All of them were made with a sure hand, movement and expressions clearly marked with a few precise strokes of the stylus. She flipped the page back to the one with the shick.

Ailmon tore his gaze away from the portrait of the elderly woman with some difficulty. He pointed to the flat stone and looked at Minna. “You have seen something like this before, I take it?”

The young woman nodded. “I have. Ginnifer had one. I don’t know what it is, but she had it in her hand when…” Minna bit her lip and looked fearfully up at Shale. “I didn’t know what it was, so I put it in her hand…-” She drew a shuddering breath. “-at the funeral. It went on the pyre with her. I’m so sorry. Was it important?”

“It’s alright,” Aran said. “You couldn’t have known. And we still aren’t sure what their significance is.”

“Thank you,” Minna said in a small voice. “Can I please tell you about Ginnifer now? I don’t know how to do what you freelancers do. I don’t know how to give my best friend peace on my own and there is no way she would kill herself. I know her!”

The freelancers shared a quick look.

“We very much want to hear what happened to your friend,” Shale said kindly, “but can you just give us a moment to finish up in here?” She quickly looked to the door.

Minna looked down, bit her lip, and nodded. “I’ll wait outside,” she said and closed the door quietly behind herself.

“Heh, look at this! If I wasn’t with you sorry lot, I’d nick this, call it a string of prayer beads, and have a priest bless it!” Naia held up a sturdy, silk string with six large, polished wooden beads placed at intervals along it, which she’d fished from the drawer of the bedside table.

“Naia, seriously…” Aran wrapped his hand in his sleeve, took the ‘prayer beads’ from her, and put them back in the drawer.

“See, you need horizontal refreshments! You should stay here tonight! Way too high-strung!” Naia rolled her eyes.

“Can a man safely climb out the window?” Ailmon interrupted.

“Yes. I would be able to do it quite easily,” Aran said. “There aren’t many windows in this direction on the other building, but there might still have been someone who saw him leave.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, nodding towards the door, “…Provided we believe the young lady.”

“We will confirm her information with the others in the house,” Ailmon said softly.

“The murderer must have been used to this, though. Climbing, I mean,” Aran continued in a normal voice volume. “So we now have a human male, seems to suffer from some sort of pain to the head, athletic enough to plan on climbing down from the first floor, and aware that he should protect his identity, but still bold enough, or driven enough, to enter a brothel teeming with staff and guests to commit his murder.”

“We also have a shick and a drawing of a messed-up old lady-thing, and another shick that a woman who killed herself had,” Naia added. “Did we miss anything? Except for a wealth of sex toys?”

“I think that wraps it up nicely,” Aran said.

“Really good Ailmon-ing, by the way,” Naia said, giving Shale an appreciative punch to the arm.

“Thank you, that was sort of what I was aiming for.” Shale grinned. “Did I miss anything?”

“You fell way out of character when you were nice to her, but other than that, no!” Naia confirmed.

“I’m… never unkind to people, I believe,” Ailmon said.

“Sure, didn’t say you were,” Naia put a hand gently on Ailmon’s arm and gave it a squeeze in sympathy, as Shale had done with Minna. Ailmon didn’t flinch, but a nerve twitched in his cheek and his lips pressed slightly together.

Naia laughed. “Point proven, friend!”

“At least Ailmon isn’t looking for sex toys to rob from a dead prostitute, so…” Aran interjected.

“But that’s my secret, Aran. I’m always looking for sex toys!”

“We just aren’t capable of staying on task for very long, huh?” Shale mused. Aran and Naia sent each other a sour glance.

Ailmon cleared his throat. “Well… Let’s go hear about Ginnifer.”

o-0-o

They were all seated in Minna’s small room, very like Shandra’s. A bed and bedtable, a chest for personal belongings and clothing, and a small table with two chairs were all there was room for. Naia, Aran, and Shale sat on the bed, Ailmon and Minna at the table. The window in this room was turned towards the courtyard in front of the house, where torches in sconces along the walls were being lit in preparation for the opening hour, and an outdoor bar area was being set up to draw customers in.

“So, tell us about Ginnifer. You were friends?” Ailmon began.

“Yes, she was the one who got me the job here originally. She was really cheeky and funny, and she always made me laugh when things were rough. She is just… she was really good at enjoying the small things in life and she could always see everything from the funny side, you know?” Minna said, wiping a tear away. “I have to make this quick. Nobody wants to hire a snot-nosed whore. That’s what Ginnifer would have said to make me laugh.” She gave a tearful laugh and visibly pulled herself together.

“We, ehm…” Ailmon cast a quick glance at Shale. “We are very sorry you had to go through this.” He patted her hand awkwardly.

Minna looked up at him tearfully and smiled a little. Then she flung herself at him and gave him a hug. On the bed, Aran gave Naia an elbow in the ribs to stop her giggling at Ailmon’s panicked expression.

“So, ehm… tell us, please, what …happened?” Ailmon stammered as Minna sat back in her chair.

“I’m so grateful you have come along. Nobody believed me.” Minna drew a deep breath. “Ginnifer sort of fell ill a little, I think. You know, like you feel just before a cold hits you, so she was out of sorts.”

“When was this?” Shale asked.

“About a week ago. She said she was feeling all funny and she was much more quiet than normal. But then five days ago, in the afternoon…” She paused, then continued, “I was in my room, but I heard running feet and a sort of muffled scream. I looked out in the hall, but I didn’t see anyone. But then, after a little while, I heard screaming in the street.” She pointed weakly towards the window. “I went to look, and I saw Ginnifer…”

“What was she doing in the street?” Ailmon asked quietly.

“She looked… wild. Crazy. Her hair and dress were in disarray and her feet were bare. She was waving her fist at people in the street, and just… screaming all this strange madness out at them.”

“What happened then?” Ailmon asked.

“I ran down there, so did a few others. All this was before that awful thing with Shandra, so we didn’t have as many guards. But when I came out… she was shrieking at people, saying all sorts of mad things that didn’t make any sense. Like, ‘She wants her babies. She’s crawling with gerbils. She’s screaming at me’. It was terrifying. And she’d grab at people passing by, screaming into their faces like she’d gone mad.”

“What happened then? When you came out and saw her?”

“She was shouting at some man in the street, grabbing at him, and he pushed her. She grabbed at the knife in his belt and sort of stumbled backwards. Then she screamed ‘I won’t let you, evil strumpet’, and… I tried to run to her, I did. I ran all I could but she just... It all happened so fast. There was so much blood. I tried to stop it, but she just… she fluttered away before I could do anything. There was so much blood.”

Minna finally seemed to have run out of tears, and she sat quietly, staring at nothing, her hands twisted tightly into the fabric of her skirt.

“What could Ginnifer have meant by what she said? Who was this ‘she’ that she kept talking about?” Ailmon asked carefully, exchanging a look with the rest of the group.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. It didn’t make any sense. But she had that stone in her hand. It fell out when we carried her into the house. I didn’t think it was odder than what had happened. I don’t understand. She screamed all those things, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“Do you have any idea if Ginnifer was perhaps involved with anyone? Were there any new people or interests in her life that she told you about?” Ailmon asked.

Minna looked at him for a while, her gaze empty. “Do you mean like a lover?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe a new friend, a new group she had encountered, a new interest that caught her fancy?”

“No,” Minna said, shaking her head slowly. “No, there weren’t anything like that happening. Not that she told me, and we shared all our news.”

Ailmon nodded. “And Ginnifer was never given to any sort of… irrational behaviour in the past? Could she perhaps have been ill from some natural cause?”

“No, no, she was not mad. She was the least mad person here. Please, don’t say that. And apart from feeling a bit ill, there was nothing wrong with her. A cold doesn’t make people kill themselves.”

Ailmon nodded.

Minna straightened up in her seat and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to get ready to work,” she said.

“Thank you for helping us,” Shale said and got to her feet.

“If you find out– when you find out what happened to Ginnifer, you will tell me, right? Please, promise me,” Minna pleaded.

“Of course, we promise,” Shale stated before the freelancers left the room.

o-0-o

The night was getting rather old when every possible witness available to them had been talked to and the streets of Wallsen were largely deserted, not counting the last opportunistic thugs hiding in the shadows.

Shale shook herself awake in the cold air as they walked towards the Guildhouse and their various lodgings. The others were silent next to her, Naia stifling a yawn.

“We did an impressive amount of work today,” Shale remarked to nobody in particular.

“I’m rather pleased as well,” Ailmon said. “Tomorrow, we should focus on thoroughly discussing everything we have so far. There is a certain uniformity to some of the information we’ve obtained, which we need to address.”

“When we’re awake,” Shale added.

Aran nodded. “So, eight o’clock, bright a–“

“Don’t you dare!” Naia interrupted. “Eight is in a few minut–“

“Hours!”

“Minutes! I’m not getting up before they serve lunch!” Naia stated.