“What? What is it?” I asked, tugging at Aerion’s sleeve.
“It’s… I’ll read it aloud,” Aerion said, visibly shaken.
And when she did, I had the same reaction.
I’d been expecting another manifest—I had a hunch that taken together, our manifest would slot in with that one, painting a picture of embezzlement or something equally damning. Falsified evidence to smear the Guildmaster’s name.
Turned out it was a list—just not of the sort we’d been expecting. Buildings and addresses, mostly, which the list called out as temples of Dominion.
That was a bit weird, but nothing damning, per se. It was the words that followed after that completed the picture.
Times and headcounts, and instructions for how to break into each one. That would’ve been bad enough, if it weren’t for the stashes of oil, hay, and other highly combustible material.
“They’re going to set fire to his temples,” I muttered. “That’s…”
“Ludicrous,” the Blacksmith official said. “It’ll be mayhem!”
“It’ll be worse than that,” the local guard captain said. He was a large-statured man whose face was in a permanent scowl. “It won’t be just the Guildmaster’s head on the chopping block—if the Baron lets this happen, he’ll face punishment as well. And Dominion only knows who else will suffer his wrath.”
“Well, we don’t know for certain that this will happen, yes?” one of the guards said. “It could be a lie.”
“True. We are probably overreacting,” the Blacksmith guildmember said, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. Or, more accurately, like he’d dodged a bullet. “No one would dare commit such blasphemy.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “This plan is genius because either way, Tarquin, their mastermind, wins. All he needs is to have this combustible material stashed in the places listed here. It’d have spelled doom for the guildmaster if we hadn’t intercepted his Boonworthy. The paper would have been found by investigators searching his home.”
“This is true.”
“Thing is, we can’t afford to call Tarquin’s bluff. Maybe this is a hoax. Maybe it’s not. Either way, the city has to respond, just in case. This is slated to happen tomorrow,” I said. “We need to act now.”
The scowling guard captain nodded. “Grug is correct. The city cannot afford to stand idly by.”
“What can we even do? The first of these strikes is to occur in just a few hours, and the city is asleep!”
“Well then,” the captain said, cracking his neck. “You two,” he pointed at Aerion and me, “you’ll come with me.”
“And where are we going, exactly?” I asked.
“The Castle Keep, of course. It’s time we woke the Baron.”
----------------------------------------
It turned out one did not simply wake Baron Alric Sinclair in the middle of the night. Which made sense—normies generally couldn’t just go and speak to the mayor. I just hadn’t realized how many hoops one had to jump through to make this happen.
They decided on a two-pronged approach, in the end. The Blacksmith guild’s cipher translator went and woke his superior, and I went with him to explain the situation. That guy then went and roused a higher up and so on, until I was appraising the Blacksmith Guild’s second-in-command.
Meanwhile, the precinct guard captain did the same, bringing Aerion along to explain everything to, eventually, the commander of the Basecrest guard.
Together, we all marched to the Keep and asked to be admitted. The permission came in a few minutes, and we were escorted across the drawbridge that bridged the moat separating the castle from the rest of the city. Two hours after catching Tarquin’s Boonworthy, Aerion and I stood in the audience chamber of nobility.
Our group consisted of the guard commander, the Vice Guildmaster of the Basecrest Blacksmith branch, myself, Aerion, and several other guards.
Conspicuously absent was the Guildmaster himself, who, I assumed, was behind bars somewhere while the investigation was underway.
If someone had told me yesterday that I’d be in the middle of a castle, presenting matters of national security to the highest official in the whole city… I’d have called them crazy. Now? It still hadn’t really sunk in. The Baron was like the king of this city.
He sat on an elevated platform, on a throne that had several stairs leading up to it.
The room was similarly magnificent. Amply lit by an array of gilded braziers that hung from the tall ceiling, it illuminated the beautiful space with warm light. The castle staff scrambled to get the wall sconces lit, providing even more light. They must have lit the braziers just minutes before we’d arrived.
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I’d always thought of medieval castles as dark and bland, and while without artificial light, it would be dark, the absurd number of murals and brightly colored walls painted a very different picture.
It felt like every surface was dyed in reds or golds or bright greens. I didn’t see a single piece of gray stone anywhere. The floor was covered in lavish carpets, and even the wooden furniture had been painted. It was like they hated the idea of the place looking bleak so much that they overcompensated, throwing color everywhere they could.
Even so, it was all done in a really pretty way, making the whole space come off as elegant and refined.
Just like the Baron who sat atop his throne. By his grumpy expression and messy hair, it was obvious he’d gotten out of bed just minutes before, but his clothing was immaculate, and he gave off a regal vibe just by the way he sat. Not stiff or relaxed, but in a way that made everyone in the room know he was the head honcho around here.
“Anyone care to elaborate why we are all awake at this ungodly hour?”
“We have a potential crime of unprecedented scale on our hands, milord,” the guard captain said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back in a military parade rest. Notably, people didn’t kneel to nobility in this world. While he might have been above them, he was just a representative of Dominion, and it seemed people only kneeled to those they worshiped.
“Explain.”
“We believe a criminal by the name of Tarquin may have orchestrated the event at Champion Eskil Magnusson’s parade.”
That got the Baron’s attention. He sat up ramrod straight, all traces of fatigue gone. “You have proof he was framed?”
I noticed how the Baron jumped straight to asking for proof, rather than questioning that the Guildmaster was being set up. I’d guessed they’d already suspected as much and were just looking for evidence to support that theory. That was good. It’d make our case easier.
“Yes, milord. These two caught an agent of his breaking into the Guildmaster’s manor earlier tonight. On his person was a note in the Blacksmith Guild’s cipher detailing the specifics. I have the translated copy here, if you’d like to see.”
Baron Sinclair motioned for him to hand it over, and by the time he’d finished scanning it over, his expression was grim.
“This is to occur in just a few hours…” he said, running his fingers through his shiny blonde hair.
“Yes, milord. Which is why I took the liberty of mobilizing the guard to the locations in question. They found oil, rags, and hay bales, just as the note calls for. I’ve just received a report that the materials have been removed and are now in our custody. There will be no attack on this day.”
“Well, some good news, at least.” The Baron’s posture slackened slightly. “But that does not mean we are in the clear. Do we have any more evidence? Anything at all we can use to prove this Tarquin was behind the blasphemous act committed in front of our god?”
“Milord, is this not enough?” the Blacksmith Guild’s second-in-command asked. “We have testimony from an agent of the guilty himself! And with the note…”
The baron shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We must tread cautiously when dealing with these criminals. Take one down, and we leave behind an empty seat. Ripe for another to take their place. Tarth? What is your opinion of this?”
The guard commander stepped forward. “Tarquin has been quite a thorn in my side for some time. A small thorn, perhaps, but injurious nevertheless. I admit, this would be a good opportunity to depose him, and to that end, I am amassing a force of five hundred as we speak. We are ready to carry out an attack at the break of dawn. Should you approve, of course.”
“Five hundred?” the Baron said in surprise. “Quite the number for a minor slumlord.”
“Yes, milord. We must show how seriously the city of Basecrest takes this act of blasphemy.”
“Efficient as always, Tarth,” the Baron said. “But what of after? Are we certain the city will benefit from this?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say for certain, milord. However, with a swift, forceful response, we show the extent of our authority. It ought to make the others cautious, at least for a time. Everyone is spooked right now.”
He turned his attention back to the Blacksmith guild rep. “So you see, Tarquin may fall, but are we certain he was behind the act? Or was this the work of another group? Do we have anything linking him—personally—to the crime against the Champion?”
The room fell silent. While putting down the perpetrator of attempted blasphemy was important, the Baron needed to prove to the Temple of Dominion who was behind the shit on Eskil’s ax. If he couldn’t, his own life was at risk. He was understandably worried.
I cleared my throat. “If I may… Milord,” I hastily added.
“You are the one who apprehended the perpetrator, yes? Excellent work. The city is in your debt. Please, speak.”
“Thank you. I just feel like we’ll have more answers after the raid. There may be incriminating evidence at Tarquin’s place, and even if there isn’t, he’ll be in your custody. You could interrogate him for answers at your leisure. The point is, we have enough due cause to go after him, so I feel like that’s the only reasonable course of action here.”
Minimized System Messages appeared on my HUD.
“True enough, I suppose. Come what may in Tarquin’s absence, we’ll at least show the world—and our deity—that we are taking every measure possible to find the culprit,” the Baron replied. “With what is to come, I fear we must hurry,” he said in a lower voice, and I wasn’t quite sure if we were meant to hear. “Tarth, I hereby approve this operation, on the condition that Tarquin is brought back alive. I want his premises and henchmen thoroughly searched.”
“Your will be done, milord,” Tarth replied.
I snuck a peek at the messages, and barely suppressed a grin.
Congratulations! Passion has increased from 14 to 16.
“Then our matter here is concluded. Are there any further remarks?”
I sheepishly raised my hand.
“Yes?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind if my friend and I took part in the raid, as well?”
The Baron paused, staring at me inquisitively. “And why should you wish to put yourself in almost-certain danger?”
“Apart from the satisfaction of seeing a known criminal put to justice?” I grinned, holding up a finger. “For one, because my friend over here is a Blessed who just recently cleared Basecrest’s Emergence Grade Trial. And Two,” I held up another finger, “We were hoping you’d allow us to keep any loot we found along the way.”