After my brief episode in the inn even Harper was now telling me to rest, but my insistence to still go won out in the end. The captain was now leading me through the barracks once again. Climbing back up to the third floor, which houses the offices and waiting rooms.

Before coming here, Harper had still shown me the meditations as promised. Honestly, I do not see the practical use in fancy sitting and breathing, but I should not unnecessarily question the training. The guard captain knows more about these things than me. At least he should. He did cancel the sparring training for no reason after my slight spat in the inn.

Harper walks me to a door just like the others in this hallway. Simple, unadorned wood but on the other side lies one of my greatest hurdles. An investigator in any world will have some nose for the truth. No scratch that, perhaps truth is too strong a word. More like annoyingly finicky, and obsessively pedantic on overly minor details. If he catches whiff of anything this may become troublesome.

Harper raises his hand to the door. He looks back at me quickly to check my condition before delivering a quick knock. A moment passes and I finally notice that I am more nervous than I thought I would be. If I am ousted here my future would only be that of a villian. I may even face execution. I should have asked about juvenile law before this. Would probably be good to know if special laws even exists, but I could not make any inquires without arousing suspicion.

“You’re here. Oh, where does the time go. I’m just wrapping up another meeting. Come on in.” The man who opened the door waves us inside. He is a younger man in his late twenties, with a gentle smile and face. His clothing is well cleaned and pressed but messily thrown on his form in a way that indicates lack of care by the actual wearer.

Harper and I enter the rather large office room. The walls, desks, and bits of the floors are covered in books, boxes, and miscellaneous papers. The messy gentleman who opened the door takes a seat at the large desk, and begins riffling through various papers. However, someone else in the room immediately drew my attention.

Standing in front of the desk was something not human. His body was long and gangly, but draped in fine robes that hid the odder parts of his form. The head though, was on full display. And it was an eye catching display. His jaw ended in a point that looked like it could be used to open cans. His earlobes drooped down stiffly, also ending in a sharp point. Leather had been sewed onto his shoulders to protect his clothes from any resultant scrapping. The hair on his head looked as stiff as a horse’s and tied back with metal bands as if the strands would escape. He looked at me and I noticed his eyes were too upturned, almost to the level of a caricature.

“My Lord, please forgive our intrusion… and the boy’s indiscretion.” Harper took a sharp bow, while putting a hand on my back and giving a light push to indicate I should do the same. I realized I had been staring at the creature in front of me, so I followed Harper’s advice.

“Please rise good captain, and you too, young man.” The non-human’s voice was smooth, relaxing, and charming in a strange way. Not natural, but a practiced tone that oxymoronically projected hints of humility and strength. I looked up to find him smiling slightly at me.

“In truth Captain Harper, I do not mind the staring. Perhaps if I properly showed myself to the people, instead of sequestering in the manor all day, this would not happen as frequently as this does.” The creature gestured with his arms as he spoke, revealing a strange series of pointy lumps under his sleeves.

“Lord Iora, you do not need to prove anything. You are always working for the good of the territory. Weylin only prospers because we have such a good count.” Harper is really laying it on thick.

“Captain, please such wild flattery will corrupt my modesty.” The Lord’s face lost his mirth in his next sentence, “I would suggest you stop.” The words were a stern warning, devoid of his earlier merth.

“Now then.” His calm, practiced voice returned. “Young man, I believe introductions are in order.” Lord Iora looked at me with a calm patient smile. A few moments passed until I realized I was meant to introduce myself first. This was probably some noble etiquette I did not know about. Probably something like the lower ranked introduces himself first.

“Uh… I am Keir.” *Thump* Harper stomped his foot next to me to indicate I had done something wrong. Luckily for me he avoided the cliche of actually stepping on my foot, but this is unfair. How am I supposed to know how to treat a noble. There are too many rules and minutiae in the backwards noble system.

“Uh- I mean, I am Melvin Keir… sir.” He will pay for making me utter that name.

“Hahaha. Children are always so refreshing. I am Count Nicolas Walton Iora, Head of House Iora. Young Keir, I suggest you study the rules of etiquette. Not all nobles will be forgiving for a blunder. Even with children. Perhaps Captain Harper can assist. Afterall, he becomes so nervous in my presence, all he can do is supply me empty compliments.”

“My lord, they are not-”

“Harper! I must be taking my leave. My business with Inspector Barden is finished. Would you care to escort me back to the manor. You can give me the details on the city guardsmen as we walk.” The statement was more command than question. Harper seemed to slightly panic at the order.

“Lord. What about K-”

“Young Keir will be fine. Corliss! We are leaving.” A young woman who had had been going over a stack of papers in the far corner stood up. She deftly maneuvered the mess of processed trees to arrive at Count Iora’s side as he grabbed Harper and prepared to leave.

“Young Keir, I hope we meet again under more pleasant circumstances.” The lord gave me a small smile, and a gust of wind seemed to blow past me. A gentle, comforting touch of air that I would have thought to be a trick of the mind if several papers had not moved slightly at the same time.

“My lord, perhaps Sergeant-”

“Come on Harper.” The count physically pulled the captain out of the room, and the woman named Corliss softly pulled the door closed behind them.

With the count gone, I surveyed the room again. Admittedly my first inspection had been derailed by the nonhuman nobleman. There are now three other people in the room with me. The man at the big desk, still sifting through papers, that had let us in seems to be the most important. He is probably this Inspector Barden that everyone has been talking about around me.

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The man sitting to the side with a stack of blank paper and three inkpots is most likely a recorder for the following proceedings. He will probably stay quiet as a rule, unless he needs us to repeat ourselves or something.

The last person is an old man with greying hair, dark skin, and pristine white robes emblazoned with the symbol of the Goddess of Order, a perfect circle bisected by twin vertical lines. I simplistic symbol, but I assume that they want it perfect every time so the simplicity is probably by design. The priest was simply reading a relatively thick book. Seemingly ignorant of the happenings around him.

“Okay. Got all of them together.” Inspector Barden stood up and approached me, who had yet to leave the vicinity of the front door.

“Hello there. I am Inspector Barden.” He held out his hand in greeting. I have yet to see the gentle smile he has waver. Barden’s mood could be most likely summed up as the eternally pleasant type. I shook his hand limply, but Barden did not take offense at my appendage’s imitation of a dead fish.

“I’m going to be asking you some questions, so let’s go sit on the couch next to Father Dingbat.”

“DINGBA! You insufferable child! Will I have to put you over my knee, like elders are meant to do with misbehaving youngers!” The priest closed his book as he yelled at the inspector, swiftly swinging it around in the manner of a paddle.

“No! No! That won’t be necessary Father Dingus.” Barden had a slight smirk on his face, and Father Dingba’s face went still. The priest stood up and leveled his arm and book at Barden.

“Alright! Alright! I’ll stop. Please forgive me, oh honorable clergy.

“...” Dingba lowered his arm and walked to the nearest bookcase. He began taking books down from the selves.

“Um? What are you doing?” Barden was visibly confused.

“Alphabetizing. It calms me down.” The priest somehow gave an answer that was even more confusing.

“Okay?” Barden seemed to shrug off the obsessive behavior. He took a seat in the second armchair, the first already claimed by Dingba. This left the central couch for me, unless I wanted to fight the priest over his seat when he came back from his self imposed shelf work.

“Would you like something to drink. I’d offer you some liquor but unfortunately I’m on duty now.” This earned him a smack on the back of the head by the passing Father Dingba on his way to his vacated chair.

“Just water, please.” I say in a noncommittal monotone.

“Make that a double, Father!”

“Humph. Ordering around a servant of the divine. Where do you get off.” Despite Dingba’s protests he did prepare three cups of water from one of the pitchers in the corner. As Barden took his cup he placed his papers down, giving me a chance to peek at the contents.

Ugg! No use. This world’s writing is the equivalent of trying to read Russian written in cursive. Things look similar to English and I can recognize a new symbol or two. But just when I think I can recognize a word, the rest blends together into a squiggle across the page. I have failed to find someone who can teach me, and every attempt to teach myself resulted in subpar, scattered knowledge. If only this could be as easy as the new spoken language. I do not even remember learning the tongue. It just sort of happened. Guess I could credit the achievement to the baby brain.

After my quiet internal rumination on my own failings, I took a sip of the water and discovered the drink was refreshingly cold. Interesting, the priest must have done something. Magic, or do priests cast with faith, either, or, perhaps I should actually pay attention to some of these religious kooks I have seen wandering around on occasion.

“ARG! Why’s it so hot!” Inspector Barden shouted as he tried to drink.

“Order is balance. To make our drinks cold I took away the heat. This heat needed a place to go.” Father Digma calmly said, while taking drinks of his chilled water.

“Then why not put the heat in a fourth cup none of use will use!?”

“And waste the time and effort the workers put in to bring you that water.” Digma seemed as if he was holding back a smile. Barden was also slightly grinning. He had probably expected this sort of action, and was just playing up his announce for fun.

“Wait a minute. Do you necessarily have to use water for the heat? You can’t just put it in the wall or something?” Barden narrowed his eyes at the old man, who just smirked in response. Barden got the meaning and jokingly turned to me for help.

“Keir! Dingle Mingle is bullying m-” At that very moment a now empty cup flew at the Inspector. Both moved faster than I could really see, but Barden’s resultant position seemed to imply he dodged the flying vessel and caught the cup after it had passed. The action demonstrated a level of skill and reflexes that betrayed his overly goofy personality.

“Hey! Careful, you almost broke my gun cabinet!”

Wait?! His ‘what’ cabinet?

Looking behind the inspector did indeed reveal a display cabinet with a glass front lined with gun shaped objects. I must have missed the display on my initial inspection of the room because it was on the same wall as the door by which I had been standing. The bodies of the weapons seemed to be carved out of a single piece of wood each, with metallic inlays snaking along their lengths. They appeared to be front loading, both the rifles and pistols, as the all wood body did not seem to have any breaks in the form.

Shit! This is a major thematic break. When Tolkien set the rules for medieval fantasies, firearms and gun-like objects should have been banned from these worlds! And these are shaped exactly like old muskets and flintlock. How is this the middle ages?!

Perhaps they can only be operated with magic, or ‘something’. The various inlaid metals, as I have been led to believe, mean the item is enchanted, or as they call it, ‘magically enforced’. But only a magic user can freely use enchantments. So this must be some type of mage weapon. Yes. When I look closer, the guns do not even have triggers on them. And I have not seen any in eight years until now. Definitely not a common weapon.

Still, this is not good for the theming.

“-mind you not to th… Keir are you alright” I had let the other two continue their comedy routine, while I examined the gun case, and been caught staring. The two adults were now staring at me. Not worried, per se, more of a quizzical type look.

“I’m fine.” I kept my eyes down, and spoke in lowered volume.

“Have you ever seen a gun before?”

“...” I kept quiet, as there is little someone can do with silence. And the inspector is in no position to make me speak. He let the matter drop for now.

“Alright, so let’s get down to business, shall we.” Inspector Barden reached behind his chair and grabbed a small box. While pulling out a pair of gloves, he set the container on the floor in front of him. Peeking into the box everything inside seemed to be wrapped in black, slightly waxy, looking fabric. I would probably guess some sort of animal hide. No idea what animal. There are some strange creatures in this world. One I ran into frequently in the forest is a rabbit with four jumping legs instead of two, and travels by front flip because of that.

The gloves he was laying to the side seemed to be made of the same waxy, black hide. What’s the purpose of this. The box is most likely the evidence box, even if I cannot read the bold letters on the sides and everything inside is wrapped. But for what would he use the gloves?

Wait! The guns show that I cannot make assumptions about the technologies available to this world’s denizens. Which means the strange material is most likely for preserving the… oh fuck.

“So then! Let’s get started.” Barden clasped his hands together with a smile.