“You're not going to like this,” Bell warned as they sat outside the Express. The fold-out camp setup had been deployed, and Bert was frying up some Bison Steaks for their dinner over the small campfire.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Bert agreed. “That meeting was fucking insane.”

“I might be wrong, but I think it’s Fae,” Bell sighed, “There are signs.”

“The Fae?” Bert asked,

“Yeah, the bird was the key.” She laughed bitterly. “I doubt there have been many actual murders. They did something to piss off a passing Fae or something. So the Fae hung around and started to mess with the town.”

“By doing something to make them see dead birds as dead bodies?” Bert clarified.

“If it was just that, then it could be anyone,” Bell clarified, “But people acted like they knew the woman. So false memories are being implanted, and that’s mind magic… which is a Fae thing.”

“It’s possible,” Bert admitted, “but how can we be sure?”

“It gets worse,” Bell admitted. “If this is a Fae thing, they won’t stop doing it until they are bored or dead.”

“So they have to still be here?” Bert asked. “They can’t just drop a curse or something and move on?”

“No, they have to make those memory spells on the spot. They are here, in the village. And have been all along.” Bell said as he handed her a plate of sizzling steak.

“No one other than a Fae could do this?” Bert asked.

“Sure, they could… but they would have to be powerful and more to the point… think like a Fae.” Bell swallowed nervously, “The person doing this hasn’t killed anyone; at least, I don’t think they have.”

Bert thought for a moment and then gave her a look. Bell nodded.

“They are faking the murders and then sitting back and watching the villagers kill each other,” Bert said quietly.

“And that is Fae thinking if I ever saw any,” Bell said.

“Thirteen deaths so far…” Bert muttered to himself, “How did no one notice the murders don’t seem to reduce the number of people in the village?”

“Fuck knows,” Bell laughed. “They are all really stupid?”

“So, what do we do?” Bert asked.

“What?” Bell asked, surprised.

“I mean, stay and sort it out, or move on?” Bert said.

“Could we move on?” Bell asked. “I mean, really?”

“If you want,” Bert said sadly. “I have to stop getting involved in every little thing; it’s not fair to the rest of you.” He looked at Bell, “What do you want to do?”

“I, uh,” Bell flushed, once again finding herself shocked at how much he cared about what she wanted. “Let’s stay!” She said at last. “Capture or kill the nefarious Fae and then…” She shrugged. “I dunno, not stick around and fix the village?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bert said. “So, first off, we have to find the Fae, and second we have to figure out if we can even do anything to them.” Bert looked thoughtful. “If they are really strong, we might not be able to.”

“You can,” Bell noted. “Lord of the Fae is more than a title.” She grinned. “It grants you authority over all lower Fae; they have to listen to you.”

“What if they decide not to?” Bert asked.

“Oh, their own Lord or Lady would kill them or, worse, make them powerless.” She shivered. “They would have to live as a normal… whatever shape they have.”

“So we have a plan of sorts.” Bert yawned. “Want to call it a night?”

“We should take turns on watch,” Bell yawned.

“My pretties will do it!” Wendy’s voice came out tiny from the small speaker on the side of the Express. “Night, guys!”

“Night!” Bert and Bell called back and headed into the tent as the dark shapes of the Pretties moved out of the cab.

Bert was dozing off in his bunk, trying to ignore Bell's frustrated tossing and turning when she called to him.

“How the hell do you sleep at this size? I’m freezing!” She growled.

“Huh?” Bert asked muzzily.

“It’s so cold, and the blanket is barely bigger than me!” She huffed.

Bert groaned, tired, and wished they had more blankets.

“Come sleep with me then,” Bert grumped. “Two blankets that way, and we’ll both be warmer.

There were a few minutes of silence, and he was almost back asleep when Bell came over and climbed into his bunk.

“Stop breathing in my face!” She said a few minutes later.

“Roll the other way then,” Bert groaned.

“Fine!” She grumped.

Their combined warmth and the two blankets finally warmed Bell enough to fall asleep.

As the night wore on, their sleeping forms moved closer on the small bunk, and by morning, when Bell woke, she was curled up in his arms.

Meanwhile, a distance away, Wendy smiled as she lay against Scruff’s chest. She knew Bell would never notice that chill rune.

==========

Bert and Bell shared a decent breakfast before they headed back into the village; Bell refused to eat anything in the village. Bert asked if the Fae might have done something to it, but she was just worried the stinking villagers would touch it.

They headed straight to the village hall and back into what passed for its records room. Bert slipped the town register into his bracer, and they headed off to try and find the local lawman and their records.

The morning was filled with hung-over, groaning locals. Several times they saw people stop and throw things at the slowly swinging corpse of the man they hanged last night.

The local guard had a building on the village's far side, next to what seemed to be a town dump.

“Which one is the guard house?” Bell laughed at the tumbledown building, half hidden in the shadow of the reeking dump.

“Guess they didn’t need much of a guard until recently,” Bert said as they headed inside.

The guardsman on duty was asleep, his feet on the desk and helmet over his eyes. He snored loudly.

“Hello?” Bert called, and the man snuffled and went on snoring.

Bell kicked the chair out from underneath him and laughed as he crashed to the floor.

“What the?” The guard scrambled to his feet, clutched his mouth, and rushed outside to throw up.

“A good start,” Bert sighed and moved to start examining the records, such as they were. Given what he had seen so far, he wasn’t expecting much.

“Who are you?” The guardsman came back in, straightening his clothes. “And what are you doing here?” He tried to scowl, but the effort was wasted on his young face.

“Bert and Bell Hudson,” Bell said. “Travelling investigators!”

“You’re officers of the law?” The guard asked hopefully.

“We are able to act in that capacity,” Bert said. He was not exactly lying. If it was Fae causing this, as a Fae Lord, he was allowed to investigate, and he had also been treated as a commander by the Houses.

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“Thank the Gods!” The young man said. “I’ve been swamped.”

“And drunk!” Bell accused.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

“Tell me everything,” Bell snapped and sat in the chair, sweeping it off pointedly before she sat down.

“Yes, Ma’am!” The guard gulped nervously, “I’m Corporal Ten’son, the official Town Guard. About a month ago, there was a murder, ma’am. The town Mayor ignored it, despite my urging. Ever since everything has gone wrong.” He looked stricken, “They are hanging people almost every night now! No proper investigation, no trial, nothing!”

“Where are your records?” Bert demanded, copying Bell’s officious tone.

“Second draw down, Sir!” Ten’son answered. He went to speak again, but Bell held up a hand to stop him and joined Bert in examining the records.

Ten’son coughed nervously when they pulled out the town records, but they ignored him.

They compared notes, names, and dates in the records.

Bell grinned and sat back down.

“Who made these notes?” Bert asked.

“I did, Sir!” Ten’son said. “I endeavor to be thorough in my duties!”

“They are excellent,” Bert admitted. “The most detailed I have seen so far; well done.”

Ten’son beamed.

“Tell us about that first murder in your own words,” Bell instructed.

The first murder had been a sordid affair, as Ten’son called it. A refugee was found to be stealing from a local shop. Thefts happened, but typically food or expensive items.

This was the first time anyone had stolen a stall from the market. As Ten’son explained it, a refugee had attempted to set up in the stall the day before, selling charms, only for the owner to kick them out. The owner was the man hung the night before. He was famously miserly and nasty of nature. He didn’t use the stall himself but refused to allow others to do so without paying an exorbitant rent.

As such, it sat empty almost every day.

He had raged at the refugee, saying that spot in the market was his.

The following day the stall was gone, the empty land clearly marked out with small white stones.

The stall itself had been relocated… to the owner’s roof.

A prank, in short.

The owner did not see it that way and attacked the refugee. Ten’son had been called. He had explained to the owner that it was, at best, moving his property... Onto his property. Ten’son gave the refugee a warning and told the owner that any further affray would be cause for sanctions.

The next morning, the refugee was found murdered in the exact spot the stall used to stand. The white stones had been forced into their mouth until they choked.

As far as Ten’son saw it, the culprit was obvious. He had investigated anyway, with enough people having seen the owner in the area at the time to clinch the matter for him. Being as the owner was the Mayor’s cousin and held much power in the town, Ten’son went to the Mayor to report.

The Mayor said it wasn’t worth the hassle for a single refugee.

The town healer declared it an animal attack, and the village moved on.

Or tried too.

More attacks occurred, and as the deaths mounted, Ten’son tried repeatedly to arrest the stall owner. It all came to a head as he openly confronted the stall owner and attempted to arrest him. The owner fought him, eventually beating him unconscious… and nothing was done about it.

“So all these deaths are my fault.” Ten’son hung his head. “I failed in my duty.”

“Seems like you did the best you could,” Bert said comfortingly.

“How many people have been murdered, Corporal?” Bell asked.

“Forty or so, Ma’am,” Ten’son said.

“Show me their names,” Bert said, holding out the town register.

Ten’son frowned and tried to, finding none of them there. He checked his notes, going back and forth.

“This is impossible!” He wailed eventually. “I saw the bodies; I knew these people!”

“Did you?” Bell asked archly.

“Yes, I remember thinking how awful the death was…” The young man frowned, “Wait, that’s all I remember.” He leaned heavily on the desk. “What is going on?”

“Spell’s broken,” Bell giggled. “Look at his face!”

“Bell,” Bert chuckled, “Give him a minute, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay.” Ten’son visibly pulled himself together. “Please, tell me what is going on?”

“A spell,” Bell said. “There have been no murders.”

“Except maybe the first one,” Bert clarified. “Everything since then has been an illusion.”

“Thank the Gods!” Ten’son laughed and wiped his brows. “All those hangings! I was worried this town was doomed.” He saw their faces, “What?”

“The hangings were real,” Bert said stiffly.

“No!” Ten’son said. “If there were no murders, then… “ He winced.

“Say it,” Bell said gently, “It will help.”

“We’ve been killing each other.” He paled and dashed out the door to throw up again.

“Nice kid,” Bell said happily.

“Yup,” Bert agreed.

“What do we do?” Ten’son asked.

“Well, to start with… tell the Mayor and a few others,” Bert said.

“Of course, Sir.” Ten’son straightened. “When do you plan to tell them?”

“We aren’t,” Bell said. “You are.”

“They won’t listen,” Ten’son said. “The Mayor’s guards took over with that mage once I failed to arrest the stall owner.” He flushed.

“Tell me about the mage,” Bell said, sitting forward. “How well do you remember him?”

“Ma’am, with respect, VanPeters did not do this,” Ten’son said. “I have known him since I was a kid.”

“Good,” Bert nodded. “Then let’s tell him first.”

“You show him the ledgers, tell him what we told you, but you figured it out… on your own. Got it?” Bell said, smiling.

“Why?” Ten’son asked.

“That way, the person doing this is avoiding you, not us,” Bert said.

Ten’son swallowed heavily and, eventually, nodded.

“As you say.”

“Good lad!” Bell said. “Now would be good; we are coming along to keep things moving if we need to.”

“But we would rather not be anything other than Traders, for now,” Bert added.

“Understood.” Ten’son took a few deep breaths and then took the two books from Bert, and they headed out.

It was pretty fun to watch from the sidelines for a change, Bert thought as Ten’son went through the details with VanPeters. Bell stifled a giggle in his shoulder when the mage nearly collapsed as the spell broke.

It took the mage significantly longer to recover than the guardsman.

“What are they doing here?” VanPeters asked once he had pulled himself together.

“Independent witnesses,” Ten’son said quickly. “We can’t trust our own senses.”

“Good thinking,” VanPeters nodded to them. “What is your plan?”

“My plan?” Ten’son asked.

“You discovered this, son,” VanPeters said. “You should take the lead.”

Ten’son thought.

“We can’t tell everybody all at once,” He thought out loud, “But we need to tell everyone in charge.” He straightened, his face darkening. “We need to tell the Mayor, of course.”

“Yes, we do,” VanPeters said. “And we make him listen.”

“We do, yes,” Ten’son growled.

“And didn’t you say you needed to dig up the graves, and confirm if they are actually corpses rather than dead animals?” Bert offered.

“I did,” Ten’son got the hint. “But people will ask questions.”

“Let them,” VanPeters growled. “First, we tell my guards.”

That went about as well as expected. Three of them puked, and one tried to kill himself on the spot. Bert healed the man as he wept like a child. All of these guards had allowed the hangings to go on.

One by one, they turned to Corporal Ten’son.

“We’ve all fucked up on this one,” Ten’son said. “We let people down. That ends now!” His eyes raked the line of pale guards. “This is our town, and we will enforce the law.”

“Here, here!” Bell cheered.

Bert gave her a look as the other guards cheered.

“What?” She asked. “I love a good speech!”

The guards, led by Ten’son and VanPeters, strode through the streets to the Mayor’s house in strict formation. It was practically a parade. The guards waited while the Mayor was ‘informed.’

“He collapsed,” Ten’son said as he came out. “His wife has been sent for; she is at market apparently. We are moving on.”

The troops made their way to the Market and cleared the entire area.

“Go home!” Ten’son called to the gawkers. “This area is closed for guard training!”

“Good idea,” Bert nodded as the stalls were moved to cut off sight into the square.

“He’s smarter than he looks,” Bell grinned.

“He just needed a kick in the pants to get moving,” Bert agreed.

“And I like kicking things,” Bell laughed.

“I noticed,” Bert chuckled.

The damp earth muted the sound of the shovels. Sodden clumps not yet packed down from the burial yesterday moved easily.

They opened that first coffin, finding nothing inside by a dead bird. A couple of the guards swore, and more than one averted their eyes from the corpses swinging from the tree above them.

They moved on, the shovels more urgent now.

Another bird corpse.

They were almost feverish as they dug their way back through the list of murders. Two of the guards broke down entirely in tears, decrying the Gods for abandoning them. That wasn’t the worst of it. One of the guards dug into the twentieth or so coffin, finding another dead animal, and simply shut down. He walked calmly to the side, sat down, and stopped moving.

“Catatonic,” Bert confirmed to Bell. “There’s no one home in there.”

Watching the guardsmen and women work their way through the graves was like watching someone aging in a timelapse video. By the time they reached that final coffin, no one was left to dig.

Bert did the honors with Bell while the guards watched with dead eyes. He was beginning to worry about if this was a good idea. He had seen more animation in the eyes of the zombies in Fortress City than was left in these guards.

They cracked open the coffin, and gasps came from the guards. There was an actual body this time. It was small, child-sized, and sprouted wings, but it was a body.

“It was a half-pixie,” Bell sniffled. “They are not full Fae, but they are powerful.”

Bert swept the body into his bracer.

“That is evidence!” Ten’son said hesitantly.

“You lost the right to that comment,” Bell said flatly.

“She is coming with us for a proper burial,” Bert said. His eyes were burning with a fierce light; even Bell was shocked at the fury there.

“Bert?” She asked.

“Half Pixie,” Bert said flatly, “Wendy.”

“Oh, Bert.” Bell wiped her eyes… “No, not like Wendy.”

“Close enough,” Bert said.

“He’s right,” VanPeters said. “She deserved better than we could give.” The mage walked a short distance away and began to weep silently as he stared at the tree of corpses.

Bell put her arm around Bert’s shoulders as he walked stiffly out of the village.

“We’ll take her with us,” Bert said when they got back to the Express. “Until we find somewhere suitable.”

“Yes, Bert,” Bell said.