“I...." started Harlan with a pensive look "I’ve never seen this man in my life. So he’s not from Blackwater,” he continued, thinking out loud and ignoring the man's desperate condition.
“P...ple...p...please...he...help.”
Harlan continued to pull the webs off the man, searching his pockets for clues. “Tell me who you’re working for, and I’ll make sure you’re fine,” Harlan said distractedly, not expecting a useful response.
The man managed to wheeze out, “Th...th...thug,” before finally succumbing to blood loss, starvation, dehydration, and the infestation of spider-turtle eggs.
Harlan clicked his tongue before muttering to himself “Youths these days, you just can’t count on em'. What was that supposed to mean? I know countless thugs, not to mention goons, delinquents, and ne’er-do-wells. That’s not much of a clue”
Disappointed but unsurprised, he resumed rifling through the man’s pockets. At first, he found nothing notable—some cash, a tobacco pouch, a hoof pick. Then he came across a small card.
----------------------------------------
Esteemed Sir,
You are warmly invited to an evening of refined leisure and exquisite entertainment. Join us after dusk at 15 Whispering Lane for an experience beyond compare.
Discretion and elegance assured.
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“Looks like our boy here had an appointment with Madam Seins,” Harlan remarked out loud before something else caught his attention. Grabbing the man’s wrist, he examined his hands, in particular a reddish-brown dust that gave off a metallic scent and seems to be worked into every wrinkle, crack, and cut.
“Iron oxide—rust. He must’ve been dealing with a lot of iron to have this much on him, though” Harlan observed. As he cut the webs open further, he noticed more of the dust on the man’s pants and boots, but not much else stood out. He searched the body again, but didn't find anything else of note. Standing up, he glanced around the cave for any more clues, after a minute he concluded he wasn’t likely to find anything more useful.
“Alright, Iggy, I reckon it’s time to get back to that pup of yours. I’ve got a few leads to go on and the insides of that spider-turtle are starting to make me gag.”
By the time they left the cave, the sun was almost behind the horizon, and the shadows had grown long. As they made their way along the riverbank, through the brush, and the twists and turns of the shallow canyon, Harlan mentally listed the people he’d need to visit when he got back to town. Which, with any luck, would be soon depending on how Cindy was doing.
When they reached the dead-end where they were camping, Harlan saw Frank sitting with the most unimpressed expression his insectoid features could muster as Cindy attacked the ends of his wings—leaping, batting, biting, and occasionally catching them with her claws, causing Frank to jerk his wing away reflexively.
“Well, looks like she’s getting her strength back, and it looks like you need relief from your babysitting duties, Frank,” Harlan chuckled. “Mind catching us some dinner? We've got some leads to chase down tomorrow, but for now, I’m starving. You hungry too, Cindy?”
The tiny flaming fox yipped in agreement before stumbling slightly, overcome with exhaustion.
“Don’t overexert yourself, you’re still not at full strength,” Harlan cautioned. As he prepared and heated up another bottle of milk by the fire, Cindy crawled into his lap for feeding. Not long after, Frank returned with two fat fish, which satisfied the hunger of both Harlan and Ignivora. A full stomach and an eventful day helped ease Harlan off too sleep until Frank woke him for his turn on watch which lasted until the sun peeked over the horizon, rousing the others from their sleep.
By the time Harlan packed his saddlebags on Pudding and extinguished the fire, the sun was high enough to begin their journey back to town. Still mindful of Cindy’s fragility, he placed her in one of saddlebags, with the milk can strapped to the other side.
The peculiar party made their way through the canyon, forest, and hills until they came upon Maggie’s farm. As Harlan dismounted and unhitched the milk can, Frank vanished into the shadows, and Ignivora remained on alert, unmoving from near the saddlebag where Cindy was snuggled away.
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As he approached the house, Harlan looked back to see he was walking alone “Yeah alright, you lot, I’ll deal with her myself,” he muttered. The door swung open before he could knock, and he was greeted by the twin barrels of a shotgun. “Well, good morning to you too, Maggie. Just thought I’d drop this off,” he said, gesturing to the expensive, self-cooling milk tank.
“bout time. I figured you'd gotten got by something out there. I was gonna be fuming if I’d have to fetch it myself. Just set it over there,” Maggie said, pointing to a spot near her back door.
As Harlan entered the house he felt a chill roll down his spine as citrus and floral notes filled his heightened olfactory receptors. The same smell he had caught traces of back at the cave. He schooled his face so as to not alert Maggie that something was wrong and as he placed the milk can down, he tried to casually pry for information. “Something smells pretty good in here, Maggie. A bit of lemon and something floral?—are you cooking something?”
“Eh? Nah, that’s Tommy boy’s cologne. He’s gotten all fancy now, wearing that expensive stuff. I’m real proud of him.”
“Uh, right. Is..is he here? I’d like to ask where he got it.”
“Lemme check. Tommy! You here?! Thomas! THOMAS HUMPHREY ULYSSES GARDNER! ARE YOU HERE?!”
Harlan had to cover his ears as the sheer volume of the gnarled woman’s yell hurt his improved hearing.
“Nah, looks like he took off. Said he’d be in and out for a while, so you’re out of luck.”
“That’s fine. No problem,” Harlan replied, forcing a smile. “For now, could I grab some more milk?”
They exchanged coin for milk, and Harlan hurried out, heart racing, as he mounted Pudding to leave. He took a second to compose his thoughts and try to confirm that the smells were the same before saying to Ignivora “The evidence is pretty flimsy, given that it's just smells, but I think Tommy is a prime suspect in your lady’s disappearance. I'll be damned if I could think of his motive though. Let’s stop by the apothecary and see if anyone’s bought chloroform recently. If we chase some leads maybe we can get something more concrete. Frank, would you mind keeping an eye on Maggie’s place to see if Tommy shows up?”
“Grgrgrgg,” came the reply from the shadows where Frank stalked.
“I know, they’re all creepy, but I’m sure he at least knows something.” The mothman nodded and darted off toward the farmhouse, disappearing into the trees.
Harlan, Pudding, and the foxes headed toward the apothecary, stopping briefly at the general store to pick up some supplies. The apothecary, a small green building wedged between the mail warehouse and the leather worker’s shop, spent most of its time in the shade—a fitting location for such a questionable business. After tying up Pudding, Harlan slung the saddlebag with Cindy over his shoulder, before turning to Ignivora.
“I think you two foxes should come inside with me. You might attract too much attention out here”
Upon stepping through the door, Harlan was nearly overwhelmed by a whirlwind of smells—many unfamiliar, and many he hoped to never encounter again. The cramped shop was packed with dusty shelves full of "medicine", crates, and intricate glassware. The dark green paint from outside continued inside, making the space feel even smaller. The ornate counter was unattended, but a faint glow came from the doorway behind it. Stepping through, they found the apothecary reclined on an enormous cushion, smoking an opium pipe. He did not seem to register that he had guests.
Harlan cleared his throat. “Norville, I’ve got some questions for you.”
The man took a deep inhale, glanced at his guests, and coughed. “Like, zoinks, man! Did you know your dog’s on fire? Is it, like, safe for him to be in here? I'm sure some of this stuff is explosive”
Harlan glanced at the flaming fox and back at Norville. “He's not a dog and never mind that. Have you sold any chloroform recently?”
Norville shrugged, taking a long drag from his pipe. After exhaling an exaggerated cloud of smoke, he said, “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s, like, a breach of confidentiality.”
“Will you tell me for a Blackwater snack?”
Clarity returned to Norville’s eyes. “Like, you know I will.”
Harlan chuckled as he pulled out the bag of Blackwater snacks from the general store and tossed one to Norville. Though they were little more than hardtack with brown sugar and a local herb called buttersnip, people in town were oddly obsessed with them. Harlan watched as bliss spread across the apothecary’s face after eating the snack. He knew that he could have gotten the information out of the man just by badgering him for a bit, but Harlan had learned that this was always easier.
“Like, alright. I sold a whole bottle to some guy in a fancy suit. Didn’t say much, just paid more than it was worth and left.”
“That sounds an awful lot like Tommy,” Harlan said to the foxes. "Did he say what he wanted it for?"
"Like, I asked, man. But he didn't say"
"And you sold it to him anyway. Thanks, Norville. We’ll see ourselves out.”
“Like, no problem.”
Stepping back out into the street Harlan again took a second to think over the information and plan his next move. “Well, that’s more evidence that Tommy’s involved. I think we go have a chat with Madam Seins and see if she can tell us anything about this card and see if she can link our spiderbait to Tommy or if he let anything slip with the ladies.”