99. Wild Goose Chase

The store was silent when Isaac walked inside. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, passing over the packed tables and stacks of crates piled against the wall. There were no customers around, but that wasn’t unexpected. Isaac had often felt like people looked out of place in the store to begin with; the cramped space didn’t welcome new additions, and the consistent muted shades made any intruding colors stick out like a sore thumb. The shop had always felt complete enough on its own.

Isaac’s gaze finally settled on the counter sitting in the very back, half obscured by shadow, where Mortimer was partially visible. His head was bent down, and his hands moved about in a rhythmic pattern, probably fixing another one of his contraptions. Taking a deep breath, Isaac strode forward.

Mortimer looked up just as Isaac reached the counter. He’d made it a point to keep his footsteps loud, not wanting to startle the man.

“Oh, Isaac. It’s good to see you,” Mortimer said in that deadpan way of his. Despite that, Isaac thought he could see a flicker of concern, a slight creasing of the half undead man’s brow as he studied him. Mortimer’s eyes landed on Isaac’s tablet, which was still pulled out and held in front of him like a clipboard. He frowned.

“You’re investigating the deaths?”

A part of Isaac wondered how much it could really be called “investigating,” considering how much of this felt more like a wild goose chase.

“Yeah,” he replied instead.

Mortimer was silent for a few moments, expression unreadable. Finally, after what felt like ages, he straightened his back slightly and nodded. “During the system error, I was in my store,” he began. “I was fixing one of the broken clocks and didn’t notice the system was down. By the time I was done, it was already up again. I don’t believe I had any customers come in during that timespan, though, so I have no way of verifying this claim.”

It took a second for the words to process, then another for Isaac to realize the implications.

“What? No, I’m not interrogating you,” Isaac sputtered. Mortimer just stared.

“I’m serious,” Isaac insisted. “I just wanted to ask you if you knew about the victims. I know you wouldn’t do something like this.”

“Oh.” Mortimer’s shoulders relaxed, a motion so subtle that Isaac barely caught it. Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he saw the corners of the man’s mouth tilt up slightly. “Thank you,” he said. The half undead man paused, and any faint hint at a smile that Isaac may have thought he saw smoothed back into his usual neutral expression. “Though, it may actually be better to question me regardless. It’s more fair, and—“

“Nope, we’re not doing this,” Isaac interrupted. The gnawing sensation in his stomach grew stronger the longer the conversation went on. The mere suggestion that Mortimer could have been the one responsible for the murders made his skin crawl. His former perception and image of the Underside had been broken, but that would take it a step even farther, and Isaac didn’t know how he’d deal with it. So he forced the notion down entirely; it was ludicrous to begin with.

Isaac shoved the tablet screen with the list of victims already pulled up in front of Mortimer, physically cutting off that thread of conversation. “Do you recognize any of these names?” he questioned.

Mortimer blinked owlishly. His eyes scanned the screen, and he frowned. “Some of them were in the tournament, I think.” His voice slowed and his eyes flickered over to Isaac. He probably remembered Olzu, then. Isaac was grateful Mortimer didn’t mention it out loud. His grip on the tablet tightened, but besides that, Isaac kept his focus on the matter at hand.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Mortimer eventually directed his attention back to the other names, and once he was done reading, he leaned back. Isaac lowered his arm. “I recognize the humans,” Mortimer said.

Isaac nodded. “I talked to Cedric before coming here. He…he told me they used to be part of Solonell City’s ‘old government.’”

“Yes, they were,” Mortimer confirmed. “I knew they’d moved to the Inferno after the Collapse, but I wasn’t aware they were still there.” He hummed in thought. “Do you think that’s the reason they were killed?”

Isaac let out a frustrated sigh. “Maybe? It’s either that or they got caught up in the middle of it and the killer actually had an issue with the demons.” Including Olzu. He paused, hesitating. “I know the… rebellion situation was probably a hard time, and I don’t want to pry too much, but do you know anything more about them? Like their abilities? Maybe what their stats and levels were?” he added hopefully.

Mortimer furrowed his brow. “There were no levels back then, but I think Cecily was the strongest on that list. I didn’t personally fight any of them myself, though.” He tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think many of them were especially proficient at combat, maybe excluding Cecily. They mostly held administrative roles and had abilities that complimented those duties. The ones who were more specialized in combat were killed during the coup.”

That… made a lot of sense. The generals and fighters of the old government would’ve been the ones clashing with the rebels most directly, after all. Still, a part of Isaac almost wished they had been high level. That way there’d be a smaller range of possible suspects. He’d have to wait for Fable to find the old stat sheets and double check Cecily’s stats in particular later.

“Do you know anyone with a big vendetta against them? More than normal? Someone who’d keep tabs on them and have the skill to kill them all quickly?” He didn’t mention the sheer brutality of the killings; he assumed Mortimer would already have known about that and would be able to pick up on his unspoken question.

For a few moments no one spoke. Mortimer stood there, perfectly still and busy thinking. He’d long abandoned whatever gadget he’d been fixing, which, up close, Isaac realized had been a pocket watch with eight different hands that ticked at different speeds.

“Many people in the rebellion hated them,” Mortimer finally said, voice slow and careful. His forehead creased. “I…wasn’t personally close with many members, so I don’t know much else. I’m sorry. I wish I could help you more.”

Isaac tried not to let his disappointment show. “No, it’s fine. This whole thing was just a guess anyway,” he said, and a hint of bitterness crept into his tone despite his best efforts to squash it down.

“Perhaps you could investigate the demon victims? There were more of them, correct?”

Isaac thought back to the Inferno, to Sharil’s looming shadow, the hard surface of the cavern walls as he knocked on them, refusing to budge. “Lucius hasn’t let anyone see him since the murders,” he admitted. “I tried to talk to him earlier, but there was no response. He would’ve had the most information about the victims and possible suspects.” Isaac was also fairly certain Lucius knew every demon’s unique abilities as well, which would allow him to match someone to the description of the strange wounds. If the trio of demons and Sharil’s mentions of old Inferno culture were any indication, he didn’t have high expectations that he’d find much information about the victims from the other demons.

“I see.” Mortimer nodded in understanding. “There are many who would target demons. It might be an even harder path to investigate.”

That made Isaac pause. “What do you mean?”

The half undead man frowned. “Ah, well. From what I know, these sorts of incidents weren’t uncommon in old demon society. That, and there’s the ongoing tensions between the Inferno and Paradise to account for as well. It all results in a rather large suspect pool.”

Paradise, that mysterious realm that Isaac had yet to truly explore. An image of white wings flashed in Isaac’s mind, a red tinted barrier, Olzu’s fear, cackling laughter, the rush of wind whipping past him as he was carried through the tunnels at blistering speeds. Isaac’s eyes widened. He took a step back.

“I have to go,” he said. He could feel his body practically buzzing with adrenaline, urging him forward. “Thanks for everything, Mortimer.”

The half undead man just nodded. “Good luck,” he said. But by the time his voice reached him, Isaac was already halfway out the door, feet pounding through the streets towards the subway station and the fastest train to Paradise.