A horse-drawn carriage sped down the cobblestone road that led towards the West Pier in the slums. Inside sat two people, a male and a female, both neatly dressed in uniform standard consisting of blue slacks and blazers bearing the insignia of the royal family, a four-winged dragon.
“Sir, I can’t help think there’s a deeper connection between Maladar Febbuci’s murder and the crown princess’ death,” commented the female, taking her eyes off the case files. She wanted to talk or do anything to break the awkward silence in the carriage.
Kavoch, who previously had his eyes closed in some sort of meditation, assessed the brunette rookie.
“Macy Valdaz, was it?” grunted Kavoch.
“It’s Marcy, sir,” she corrected.
“Now why would you think that, kid?”
Valdaz took the man’s willingness to engage in conversation as a good sign. Ever since she joined the enforcement academy, it was her dream to work and study under the legendary, yet eccentric, Inspector Kavoch of the First Rank. You could imagine her excitement when the Chief paired her with Kavoch of all people.
Knowing this was a rare opportunity to make a good impression, Valdaz straightened her back and responded, “Based on the evidence we’ve gathered, Dimitraus is suspected as an accomplice in the attack on the crown princess. However, not four days after the crown princess’ death, Dimitraus’ boss, Febbuci, is murdered in a brothel. Moreover, all of the brothel workers and Febbuci’s men have gone missing. The timing is too much of a coincidence, sir. I believe there’s a third party orchestrating these events.”
“Suppose you’re right. What’s their motive for killing Febbuci?” questioned Kavoch, clearly entertaining the young brunette’s hypothesis.
“I don’t know. It’s possible Febbuci knew too much about crown princess’ death and was deemed a liability. As the way things stand, I don’t think he ordered the hit on the princess, or at the very least he wasn’t the primary mastermind,” Valdaz conjectured.
“Everything you said is plausible, but your theory is completely based on circumstantial evidence. Maladar Febbuci had a lot of enemies, for example, other Maladars and people who wanted a slice of his brothel business. For all we know, his death may be completely unrelated to the crown princess incident. We have yet to determine Dimitraus’ exact involvement in both cases, so don’t be too eager to jump to conclusions, kid.”
Hearing Kavoch’s assessment caused Valdaz to rethink her analysis. Fortunately, the conversation came to a pause at the right time. Not a moment later, the carriage made a complete stop.
“Inspectors, we’ve arrived at the destination,” announced the driver.
“Keep your eyes peeled. Analyzing crime scenes is the foundation of detective work,” said Kavoch, adjusting his collar and stepping out. Valdaz enthusiastically followed suit.
A greasy-haired, middle-aged man wearing the same uniform as Kavoch and Valdaz saluted them.
“Good morning, inspectors. My name is Varus, a third rank enforcer, at your service. I’m the one in charge of quarantining the warehouse,” introduced the man. “Early this morning, some dock workers alerted the authorities after they thought someone had broken into the warehouse. We found a massive hole in the south wall, which corroborates with their report. Would you like a tour?”
Kavoch and Valdaz nodded and followed the man into the warehouse interior.
“So you’re saying there are four different sets of footprints in this warehouse but no bodies?” Valdaz summarized after listening to the enforcer’s brief. Based on the toppled shelves, damaged walls, and spots of dried blood on the ground, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that some sort of conflict had occurred.
“That’s right,” Varus answered. “Normally, a simple break-in wouldn’t have warranted your attention, but one of our men found this on the premises.” The enforcer handed Valdaz a needle dart.
“This is similar to the dart that killed Febbuci,” remarked Valdaz, hoping to see a reaction from Kavoch, but the inspector remained as stoic as ever. “It’s possible Febbuci’s killer made his way here from the brothel. The evidence at the other crime scene suggests at least one person had escaped out the window that night. What do you think, sir?”
Kavoch looked somewhat thoughtful.
“Did we get official statements from the dock workers?” Kavoch asked the enforcer.
“Umm, no we didn’t. The first responders were two new recruits, so there was a bit of oversight,” admitted Varus, shifting his feet in discomfort.
Expecting as much, Kavoch continued, “What happened over there?” He pointed to a half-decimated wall across the room.
“Oh, that. That’s where it gets really weird,” said Varus. He scratched his head and answered, “It looks like someone was smashed through the whole row of interior walls, all the way to the outside. Poor bloke, hate to be him.”
Kavoch didn’t look convinced. “Someone or something...did you find anything outside the south wall?”
“Nope, and unfortunately it rained yesterday, so any signs of evidence tampering was washed away, sir.”
Kavoch briefly closed his eyes and internalized all the details of the crime scene. Aside from the shoddy enforcement work, parts of the puzzle didn’t quite fit.
“We’ll be keeping the dart if you don’t mind,” said Kavoch, his tone not leaving any room for discussion.
“Yes, of course. Feel free to have it, inspector,” Varus quickly conceded. Although it was against protocol, Varus wasn’t stupid enough to disobey a superior’s direct request, especially considering the man’s reputation.
“One last question, enforcer. Judging by the thickness of the dust, this warehouse hasn’t seen use for quite some time. Who owns this place?”
“Uhh, I’m not sure, but I’ll look into that and let you know as soon as possible. Anything else I can help you two with?” Varus shifted his feet again.
“That’s all, enforcer, you may go,” dismissed Kavoch. The greasy-haired man looked somewhat relieved at his response and scurried away.
Once they were alone outside of the warehouse, Valdaz allowed her curiosity to get the best of her, asking, “Sir, is there something you can share with me? I feel like you know more than you’re letting on.”
She had been observing Kavoch the whole morning. Behind the dense beard and impassive disposition hid a powerful intellect. Whenever she looked into his deep grey eyes, she felt like she was always two steps behind.
“Perhaps. Tell me, kid, what did you make of those footprints?”
“Well, there were indeed four unique sets of prints. One seemed smaller than the others, so I think it likely belonged to a female and the other three to males,” concluded Valdaz.
“One was female,” Kavoch repeated, though not for his own benefit. “And how do we use that information in conjunction with the evidence at the brothel?”
Valdaz’s eyes sparkled in sudden understanding.
“Febbuci and his bodyguard were both killed by needle darts, and there were no signs of blunt trauma on their bodies. If we assume Febbuci had a fetish for bondage then...so was Febbuci’s killer a female assassin masquerading as a prostitute?” she asked.
“Possibly. It would explain how someone was able to kill Febbuci despite him being heavily guarded at all times. She simply assumed the guise of a brothel girl to get close to him,” confirmed Kavoch. “Not bad, kid.”
The inspector’s praise caused Valdaz to gush inside.
“Now since you’ve proven that you’re not one of those brainless dolts, I’m going to assign you a new task. Go investigate who the dock workers are and anyone they associate with. Report back anything that seems suspicious.”
“Do you think Febbuci’s death has something to do with them?”
“Let’s just say there are some irregularities in the enforcer’s report that we have better resolve,” Kavoch replied mystically.
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir?” A look of confusion showed on Valdaz’s face.
“You’ll figure it out, kid.” Taking the needle dart from her hand, Kavoch walked away and disappeared back into the warehouse. The man was definitely an eccentric, but no less suave than Valdaz had imagined.
“Better not mess things up, Marcy,” she told herself. For some unknown reason, Valdaz couldn’t shake the feeling that they were about to tread into deep waters.
_____
Two men strutted down an opulent hall in the royal palace. The palace was widely considered to be the crowning landmark in Jandar, boasting of idyllic fountains, exotic paintings and statues, beautiful murals engraved in the stone flooring, and hundreds of rooms for its guests and permanent residents.
As they passed by, guards bowed and servants swiftly retreated to make way. One of the two men appeared grim, barely concealing grief behind his travel-worn face. He was Third Prince Darian, safely back from a harrowing experience on the open road, and accompanying him was South Lord Gherbal, an imposing man who possessed political clout surpassed by few others.
Earlier in the day, the duke had revealed the devastating news of the crown princess’ death to Darian. She was Darian’s full-blood sister and had been murdered while returning from a diplomatic trip to the Vahrillian capital. Apparently the king and the Council of Lords thought best to keep the assassination a secret in order to prevent destabilizing the already precarious political situation in Jandar. Of course, such a significant event would hardly go unnoticed, thus rumors of her death had begun seeping through the city grapevine.
The mood in the palace reflected the tension in the capital. Darian’s sister was well beloved by the people. She was one of the main reasons why the growing rebellion, calling themselves the ‘Rising Phoenix’, hadn’t achieved critical support from the population. With her death, the crown had lost its poster child.
As the men approached the chamber at the end of the corridor, the hysterical cries of a grieving female grew louder. Two royal mage-warriors and an elderly man in a red tunic stood guard at the door. Upon seeing Darian and Andaleus arrive, the elderly man’s visage considerably brightened.
“Your Highness and Lord Gherbal. Thank Lady Fate for your safe journey home!” The man rushed over to embrace Darian.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, Alaster. How’s my mother doing?” said Darian, smiling and returning the embrace.
“I’m afraid the Queen is barely hanging in there. She didn’t take the crown princess’ death very well, and when we received news that you might also be in danger, I think it was too much for her,” Alaster sadly explained.
“Thank you for taking care of my mother in my absence.” Darian gripped both of Alaster’s shoulders in appreciation.
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There would be a time to grieve, but it was not now. Following his sister’s death, Jandarian politics was bound to become more turbulent. Ambitions among princes, princesses, and upper echelon nobles rang high, and if he and his mother were to survive this imminent storm, Darian needed to be prepared.
“I’m but a lowly servant, Your Highness. It is an honor to serve the Queen. Would you like to see her now?”
“Your Highness, perhaps it’s better that I also wait outside,” recommended Andaleus.
Darian brushed off the suggestion with a wave of the hand.
“Nonsense, Lord Gherbal. Seeing that you saved my life, you’re practically as close as family. I’m sure my mother would wish to express her gratitude,” the Third Prince responded.
Praise aside, Darian intentionally wanted Lord Gherbal to accompany him into his mother’s chambers. Half of his mother’s retainers were spies sent by other nobles to keep tabs on them, so he could bet they would report today’s events. He wanted people to know that the duke was in his camp. Regardless whether that was true or not, it was the perception of it that mattered.
Andaleus acquiesced. When the double doors swung open, Darian’s chest pained at the sight of a woman crying on a beige recamier. In her younger days, Darian’s mother was a jewel of the kingdom, having stolen the hearts of many eligible bachelors with her large eyes and curvaceous lips. At the moment, she was anything but elegant. Her face was a hot mess of smeared make-up and tears.
“Darling, is that you?” the woman stuttered, wiping her tears as she sat up. For a commoner, it would have been surprising to see the Queen regain composure in such a short amount of time, but those born in privilege and power, such as Darian, understood how crucial it was to manage one’s image.
“Mother…” Darian knelt beside the frail woman and held her hand.
She weakly palmed Darian’s cheek and whispered, “Lady Fate has heard my prayers. I thought I would lose you too.”
“I’m not going anywhere, mother. Besides, I have you to thank for sending Lord Gherbal to save me.”
The Queen rested her puffy eyes on Andaleus, who seemed to be staring absentmindedly in the direction of the fireplace mantle.
“Ivan, is there something that catches your eye?” she asked, wiping the last remnants of her tears with a handkerchief.
“Oh, it is nothing, Your Majesty. I was merely entranced by the beautiful flower you have there. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a color,” noted Andaleus.
“The Vahrillians call the flower, Indigis, a native plant in the northern Archean Mountains,” she explained. “Now, I’ve said it many times, Ivan, you may call me Catherine. You need not be so formal around me.”
“I dare not presume, Your Majesty. The walls have eyes and ears, and gossip travels much too fast for my liking. It is perhaps not in our best interest to break with formalities while in the royal palace.”
The Queen nodded in understanding.
“What would I ever do without you, Lord Gherbal? For saving my son’s life, you may ask anything of me,” the Queen offered.
“As a subject of Jandar, it is naturally my duty to protect the Third Prince. I would not claim a reward for that which is my responsibility,” Andaleus replied.
Outwardly, it appeared as if Andaleus was just trying to be polite, but in reality, there was nothing Catherine could offer that would entice him. Even if she handed him the entire kingdom on a silver plate, it would pale in comparison to the glories of his past. His only pleasure now was faithfully serving his master, Ren.
“I will not take ‘no’ for an answer, though I understand there are few things a man of your position cannot obtain. Why not let me show you the full extent of the royal family’s generosity then. Darian, go take Lord Gherbal to see Alaster, and have him transfer our ten-percent stake in the Royal Bank.”
“Uhh...yes, mother,” Darian complied, hardly believing what he had just heard. Shares of the Royal Bank were notoriously hard to come by. Aside from the king, his mother had the second largest stakehold in the bank, and now she was giving it all away. Darian led Andaleus towards the door, not before giving his mother one last look.
“Lord Gherbal?” the Queen called.
“Is there anything else, Your Majesty?” Andaleus turned around.
“Dine with us tonight, will you?”
Andaleus held the Queen’s inscrutable gaze before finally making a decision. “As you wish.”
When the door had closed behind the two men, the Queen laid back down on the recamier. The air near the fireplace mantle shimmered. A man appeared, dressed in dark grey garbs and covered entirely in devilish tattoos.
“Did he see you?” the Queen asked with her back turned to him.
“No, Your Majesty. My bloodline ability has never failed. Even if he’s a S-ranked magician, he would not have seen me through my invisibility,” the man growled confidently.
“Good. You remembered my instructions?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will find them.”
Content with his answer, the Queen closed her eyes and murmured quietly to herself.
_____
The sounds of shuffling cards and rolling dice could be heard throughout the gambling den known as the Golden Lair. Hired musicians, perched on a hanging loft, played soothing music on wooden zithers. Below, beautiful young women and men in promiscuous wear served the wealthy patrons who graced the establishment.
At one particular gambling table sat a fair-looking man with hazel eyes, leisurely sipping on his pipe and playing a popular card game called Aces. The group of individuals sitting at his table were some of the biggest hotshots in the underground world.
To Ren’s left sat Boss Fatty, a putrid man who scored big after buying up brothels and whorehouses following the death of Maladar Febbuci. To Ren’s right was Eva Lampier, an aging woman who made her claim to fame by manufacturing poison for sophisticated clientele. In the back stood Manager Lu, a black-haired woman who personally oversaw their VIP table. And last but not least, the man sitting directly across from Ren was Mister Martello, an informations dealer with deep connections to high society.
Mister Martello carried himself differently from the others. From the way his groomed moustache curled and his shirt sleeves rolled, Ren could tell he was a man of finesse and precision. To excel in intelligence gathering, one needed to be detailed oriented, and for that very reason, Ren hoped to make a new acquaintance before the end of the card game.
“So what are yah doin’ in these parts o’ town, Mister...uhhh?” Boss Fatty casually asked, throwing a few additional bank notes into the pot.
“Kain,” replied Ren. He briefly glanced at Martello only to see the man looking completely disinterested in the conversation at the table.
“Kain, as in Goddess Nyx’s angel of death?” Lampier inserted.
“That’s correct.”
Boss Fatty chuckled, which turned into a coughing fit. The fat on his body rolled and morphed with every jerk. “Well, I’ll be damned. Pussyiest angel o’ death I’ve ever seen. Scrawny boys like yah better let real men do death’s work.”
“Don’t listen to this fat fool, Mister Kain. I’ve known him for a long time. He’s just jealous. I like the way you are,” said Lampier. The woman winked seductively at Ren despite being almost three times the age of his current avatar. Ren shuddered, feeling like a youthful bunny caught in the crosshairs of an old feline. Had Lampier been privy to Ren’s thoughts and his true identity, she would have coughed blood in indignation. Who was Ren to call someone old?
“Who are yah callin’ fat, yah old hag. Desperate for dem young boys I reckon cuz’ yah ain’t gettin’ any,” Boss Fatty rolled his eyes in disgust.
Purple with rage, Lampier slammed her palm on the table, shifting the money and cards. “Fuck you, you fatass fatty fatlord. You want to die?” She pointed a gnarly finger at Boss Fatty.
“Oh yeah? Yah think I’m scared shit o’ yah?” Boss Fatty also slammed his palm on the table. The contents of the game were now in danger of being displaced onto the floor.
Seeing her most profitable clients get into fight was Manager Lu’s worst nightmare. Given her customers identities, she had no choice but to silently tap Mister Martello’s shoulder for help. The man sighed and raised his voice, “My fellow friends, do I have to remind you of the rules in this fine establishment? I don’t care what grief you have with each other, but it’s probably unwise to incur the owner’s wrath.”
Although their wounded pride was no less hurt, Boss Fatty and Lampier stopped their banter, realizing that they had almost broken the cardinal rule of the Golden Lair. Neither wanted to mess with Maladar Proust, the crimelord who owned the majority of gambling dens in the city. In all Proust’s establishments, there was a strict policy of ‘no ruckus, no fighting, and no killing’ on premises. Those brazen enough to break his rules were often found disembodied on the streets the next morning.
“Ahem, of course, Mister Martello. Thank you for your timely reminder,” Lampier responded.
“Hmph!” Boss Fatty grunted in displeasure, but he also stopped provoking the woman.
“Now, care to explain the nature of your visit, Mister Kain. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in the Hapensburg District before,” Martello addressed Ren.
“You haven’t, Mister Martello. And since you asked, I won’t beat around the bush. I’m here to acquire information regarding something rather sensitive. You’ve heard of the break-in at the royal treasury two days ago?” questioned Ren.
Boss Fatty, Lampier, and Manager Lu all reacted in great interest to Ren’s statement. Meanwhile Martello cooly smoked his pipe, seemingly unaffected by the news.
“If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you were subverting my business. I wonder how many would have paid a fine sum for that piece of information,” said Martello. “But to answer your question, yes, I am aware of the incident. I presume you would like to purchase information from me?”
“Forgive me, Mister Martello. That was not my intention. I would simply like to ascertain the nature of the contents that were removed from the treasury. I’ve been told you’re the one who might know.”
Martello inhaled an extremely long puff. “Say that I might. What can you offer that would make me divulge such a valuable piece of information? I hope you didn’t come empty handed.”
“That I did not. I’ve heard that money isn’t your preferred mode of exchange, so I brought something I thought you might appreciate,” said Ren. From his pocket, he took out a small bronze dial with strange symbols.
“An ancient Mavelian seal breaker!” recognized Martello.
Even for a veteran businessman like him, he had to try hard not to betray his surprise. The others looked puzzled about what the object was. Martello didn’t blame them since the knowledge of seal breakers was monopolized by a few hardcore enthusiasts. He didn’t even think one still existed.
“Does it work?” asked Martello, attempting to feign apathy.
“Hard to tell, but we both know that’s not where its true value lies.” Ren slid the dial across the table. “You may have it as a token of my goodwill.”
Martello promptly pocketed the object. The less others knew about it, the better.
“Just wait till those old geezers find out what I got my hands on,” Martello imagined excitedly.
“I must say, Mister Kain, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by your gift. Though I cannot offer you something of equal value, I have with me a sapphire medallion. You’ll find it has many uses, including VIP access to the Red Clover Auction House where the items that you’re seeking may or may not be auctioned. I hear there’s a big event in a week’s time.”
Martello handed the medallion to Ren under the envious gaze of the others. Sapphire medallions were priceless and could not be bought on a whim. To have ownership of a sapphire medallion meant one’s business opportunities were limitless. Just what in the world was that object, the others pondered.
“Well, many thanks, Mister Martello.” It was much easier than Ren had thought. With his purpose accomplished, Ren saw no more need to dillydally with crooks. He stood up, grabbed the medallion, and dropped a bank note on the table. “I understand there are penalties for leaving a game early. I hope ten crystal coins would suffice as compensation for my inconvenience. It was nice to meet you, gentlemen and Lady Lampier. I hope to make a more intimate acquaintance next time.” Not waiting to hear a response, Ren walked briskly to the door where he was handed his coat and cane and stepped out into the night.
Though no one showed it, Boss Fatty, Lampier, and Manager Lu were shocked at how casually Ren had given away that much money. An average citizen would be hard pressed to make a crystal coin in one lifetime. Even for Boss Fatty and Lampier, who were quite wealthy themselves, Ren’s behavior seemed simply absurd. Boss Fatty sneakily signaled to two of his goons who immediately departed the gambling den.
“Well, shall we continue our game, friends?” Martello cheerfully suggested. He was suddenly in a good mood tonight.
After Ren had left the establishment, he decided to take a walk and enjoy the fresh air. Despite having lived in Jandar for many years, he had never visited the Hapensburg District in the southern part of the city. Unlike the upscale Ka’Mai District up north, Hapensburg was much more toned down and bourgeois. Many factories were located here, providing essential jobs to countless Jandarians.
Since it was late, the streets were fairly empty, though there was the occasional straggler and enforcement patrol. Ren knew he was being followed - from the moment he had left the Golden Lair, two men had been tailing him - but proceeded without care.
“I’ll just make them walk a bit more. Exercise is a good thing,” thought Ren.
When a quarter of an hour had passed and Ren began to sense impatience from his pursuers, he purposefully entered a secluded alleyway, luring the unsuspecting souls into a trap.
“Is there anything I can do for you chaps?” confronted Ren, having instantly turned around before the two hulkish men could retreat into the shadows.
Once they were found out, the two giants decided to end the charade.
“Hand all o’ yah stuff over if yah wanna live,” declared one of the men. The one who spoke, Igor, pulled out a nasty dagger that glinted dangerously in the night.
If Igor and his brother, Egor, had cornered any normal man that night, they would’ve been able to successfully retrieve the coveted sapphire medallion. However, woe to them, for they had unintentionally tried to rob the one entity who governed a level of reality beyond all comprehension.
“Mmm, I’d rather not, gentlemen. Allow me to suggest an alternative scenario. If you handsome chumps scramble now, you may still have a chance to live,” Ren advised. In the dark, Igor and Egor failed to see Ren’s face turn sinister.
“Yah hear that bro? He called us ‘chumps’. I recall Ma used to call us that ‘fore we fed her to dem fishes,” smirked Egor.
While the brothers laughed at their cruelty, Ren began to giggle uncontrollably, louder and louder, until even the brothers were somewhat confused by the insanity of Ren’s behavior.
With one hand covering his darkening face, Ren spoke a single word, “Judgment.”
Under the weight of omnipotence, the plane of reality obeyed, subjecting Igor and Egor to an indescribable horror. The two suddenly found themselves void of all senses - sight, taste, smell, hearing, and touch. Then, they began reliving every cruel deed they had done in their past, though not as themselves but from the perspectives of their victims. All the pain and humiliation they inflicted on others became the source of their own anguish.
While the brothers writhed in terror, their bodies slowly disintegrated. Ren kept them alive throughout the whole process, even as vital organs disappeared, ensuring that the brothers experienced every murder and torture they had committed. Their screams reverberated through the neighborhood, stopping only when Igor and Egor had entirely vanished. Upon completion of his judgement, Ren whisked their souls into the afterlife, allowing them to repent before the next reincarnation cycle.
“Maybe I delved too deep into the avatar’s personality?” reflected Ren. Kain was a sadistic and manipulative avatar, befitting of Goddess Nyx’s servant.
In mere minutes, two less people occupied the alleyway. Since the deed was already done, Ren twirled his cane and skipped down the road, whistling a common nursery rhyme. In years to come, parents would tell kids of the angel of death that stalked the streets of Hapensburg at night. If you tried to listen closely, you might just hear a familiar tune.