The lush green valleys stretched out for miles, far into the horizon under the approving amber flashes of the sun. It felt good to be away from the city. Away from the overcrowded streets, the manic noises of a thousand voices, and the various unwelcoming smells of sewage and horseshit. This slice of New Jade land was peaceful. Only the squawking of birds could be heard. Athena took the serene surroundings as an opportunity to enjoy a swig, or perhaps maybe seven, from the wineskin she had holstered to the side of her mare. Despite the tranquillity, the sun was unwelcome and violating. Her head pounded and her heart raced, her forehead teeming with sweat. She kept her alcohol levels satiated, but she hadn’t consumed any Purestar since leaving the city. She was beginning to see the cracks unveil, mentally and physically.
When she reached the reclusive village of Credence, she found the locals to be remarkably welcoming. Two elderly commoners smiled and nodded at her as her buckskin passed them. One villager even greeted her good morning. She was so thrown off by all the etiquette that all she could do was raise her hand in a half-hearted wave, feeling incredibly awkward. People had strange customs out here. They were friendly to strangers, even outsiders.
Deputy Athena Marion dismounted her buckskin mare and entered the local tavern. Inside, every local patron stared at her, which she expected. They all glanced up from their tankards and wine goblets and whispered into the ears of their companion, whether it was their wife or husband, friend, or another traveller. She ignored the unsubtle murmurings as she approached the Barmaid. She was a pudgy woman that Athena estimated to be in her fifth decade with a mole on the side of her chin. “What’s with that fancy armour of yours?” she asked in wonder.
She probably thinks I stole it. “I’m the New Jade City Deputy.”
The Barmaid gave the Deputy an incredulous look. She scratched the mole on her chin and studied the strange woman, a non-white woman, in fact, who claimed to be a City Watch official. “I haven’t heard the tale of this.”
“It was in the Jade Herald,” she informed her, knowing full well that she did not have time for this. “I’m a recent addition.”
“Oh, the tidings in the Jade Herald today were most terrible,” she exclaimed with a wave of a stained cloth. “I know the bird’s eyes looked sombre when she landed. The poor Viscount was a good man, taken too soon. Oh, how I weep for his children.”
Shit. “I haven’t been made aware of this. What became of Reynard Forrest?”
“Murdered, he was,” the Barmaid said with bulging eyes, “by some madman wearing a ghastly skull mask. They found his body outside the very library that he helped to build.”
Shit. These assassins successfully made a major move on the Royalists and Athena wasn’t even present in the city to do anything about it. This lead better bloody-well pay off. “I’m looking for the former High-Scholar Eustice Morrigan,” the Deputy said, swiftly changing the subject in her preferred direction. “I read that he now resides in Credence. Where might I find him?”
The Barmaid jammed the used and stained cloth deep into a tankard. Athena made a note not to purchase any drinks here, no matter how fierce her cravings became. “He resides just outside the village. Follow the road north and you won’t miss it. A mighty lavish home he’s got. This will be a treat for him. He receives so few visitors out here.”
Perhaps there is a reason for his secrecy. Athena tipped the Barmaid for her information and returned to her buckskin, the morning light making her wince as she left the tavern. She did as she was directed, keeping her horse’s stride northbound. She felt a pleasant buzz as the wine dimmed her reservations. When she found the former High-Scholar’s home, it became clear that the Barmaid was not exaggerating.
Duke Hugo’s manor paled in comparison with the retired High Scholar’s abode standing at three times the width and twice the height. The window frames were a rich purple, the exterior walls a soft cream colour, but not to the point of being gaudy. A bronze gate denied her access to the lush hill where violets and buttercups were growing from both sides of the pathway. It was certainly opulent, yet there was no actual guard at the gate to greet her. There was a reclusive silence around this part of the village. Athena wondered if the old coot was even alive in there. Alive or dead regardless, she travelled too far and at the expense of one snobby royalist to return to New Jade City without even the thinnest of clues.
Athena threw her satchel over the gate and stuck her boot between the bronze bars. It was a bastard to climb in her armour and her landing on the other side was anything but graceful, hitting the ground with the side of her shoulder and a loud curse. The manor remained silent. It was a beautiful sunny day, yet she now felt as if she were at the top of a desolate mountain, alone amongst the silent snows. She cursed again when she realised that she had left her wineskin with her mare. She would have to deal with the High-Scholar whilst sobering up, a most unappreciated development. She felt her head pound as she reached the looming door of the manor. It was strong and oaken with a ghastly door knocker that took the shape of a snarling gargoyle. It reminded her of Adrian Thorne. She winced at the memory of the burnt and crispy body she found in that cell.
The Deputy hammered the oak with her fist. She was just visiting some old man. Then why am I shivering slightly? She heard cranks and rattles from the other side and the door howled as it creaked ajar. It opened no further than a few inches and when Athena peered in; she saw the iron chain on the inside preventing her from opening it further. Two quizzical eyes with bushy grey eyebrows appeared through the darkness and scowled. “Who are you?” Eustice Morrigan barked in a frail and raspy voice.
“Good morning, High Scholar,” Athena greeted, trying her damned hardest to appear somewhat professional. “I am Deputy Athena Marion of the New Jade City Watch. Would you mind if I came in?”
“You?” he asked, more incredulous than the Barmaid.
“Appointed by Sheriff Redtower himself,” she said with a mask of a smiling face. “Please High Scholar, there is a matter I must discuss with you.”
The bushy eyebrows narrowed on her from the dark. “What matter? Am I under arrest?”
Let’s see where this dance takes us before I decide on that, old man. “I was hoping that you could tell me about the Order of Violet Light. It’s doing with a case I am investigating that could potentially be connected to the recent assassinations made on the Royalists.”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Go away!” he snapped with a hiss. He spat at the Deputy from behind the ajar door before slamming it shut.
Athena wiped the spittle from her nose and eyes, her professional courtesy running profoundly dry. If you want me to become suspicious of you, then you’re doing an excellent job, Eustice. She hammered on the door again. It creaked ajar, the chain behind rattling violently. The bushy eyebrows and beaming eyes peeked out again. “I told you to leave.”
Athena made one last arduous attempt at a smile. “High Scholar, I tried being couth. I am afraid I was not asking. Kindly open the door for me, please. I have questions for you.”
“Do you have a warrant from the Sheriff?” he barked. “I will report you to King Sigismund if you continue to harass me. Do you know who I am? Good spirits, is that alcohol I can smell on your breath?”
Shit on this. She kicked the oaken door, and the chain snapped with a sharp squeal. As the rush of wind helped slam the door aside, she found the former High Scholar crawling away from her on his back. “Get away!” he yelled. “This is an egregious misuse of authority.”
“What do you know about Violet Light, High Scholar?” she asked rationally.
“How do you know of it?” he asked, his face paling. There was disbelief and guilt in the old man’s voice that Athena found most intriguing.
“I want to know what you know of it, Eustice Morrigan.”
He grabbed a book from a nearby table and threw it at her. It pinged off her steel breastplate. His behaviour was pathetically erratic. Unusually so. What are you afraid of, old man? The Deputy grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up. He shook and protested as she gently placed him into an armchair. “I’m going to have a look around,” she told him sternly.
The interior of Eustice’s manor was a much different picture than the exterior. The manor was decrepit and uncared for. Grey and dying dust coated the tabletops and shelves around the grand hall. Cobwebs were hanging from the corners of the domed ceiling, and the glass that curved over them was sprawled with shattered cracks and fissures.
Athena explored the room next to the cavernous hall. It appeared to be a small library. Dusty, unopened, leather-bound books were stacked across rows of shoddy shelves. There was a painting of King Sigismund watching her from one of the walls. His eyes appeared disapproving. She browsed the selections. All books on an uncountable number of faiths, Arkovian deities, Crimsonarion gods, and esoteric cults that emerged throughout the Midlands and the south. Every creed except for the bloody Violet Light. She glanced back at the painting. King Sigismund’s eyes seemed to follow her to the other side of the small library. “He was a follower.” Athena felt her heart try to break out of her breastplate as she jumped back. The former High Scholar was blocking her way out of the confined room, holding a butter knife in his hand. The brittle fingers were trembling around the silver and his grey hair was wild, his eyes untamed. “He believed in the light until his cowardly change of heart.”
The Deputy raised her hands and took a careful step forward. “Eustice, would you kindly put down the knife?” She made the request as politely as possible.
“I showed him the way to New Jade’s salvation,” he said as he raised the butter knife higher. Athena stepped closer. He waved it against her like a flaming torch. “And in return, he ostracised me. Now I am an outcast in this forsaken pigsty of a village!” He thrust the butter knife, and the Deputy caught his twiggy wrist with a firm grasp. She threw him to the ground and planted him there with her armoured knee.
“Duke Hugo Barlet followed Violet Light,” the Deputy stated as Eustice struggled under her.
“He did,” croaked the High Scholar from under her knee.
“What of his first deceased wife, Cynthia Barlet?” She noticed how the High Scholar’s neck resembled a turkey’s, his thin Adam’s apple flapping up and down as he nervously swallowed. “Talk!” Her shouts echoed around the empty manor. When he remained obstinate, she pulled him up by the collar and slammed him back onto the wooden floor. The old turkey howled.
“The basement,” he finally whimpered after several more slams to the ground. “Her name is documented in the basement. Spirits help me!”
She released her knee from his turkey neck and took the butter knife with her. She discarded it down the back of a moulding shelf and explored the decrepit halls in search of a downstairs. Nothing good was ever found in a recluse’s basement. She found a narrow door on the other side of the main hall. It rattled as she attempted to pry it open. Athena had not the patience to kindly request the High Scholar for a key, especially so soon after crushing his neck. She kicked the door, and it slid down the descending dusty stairs. She grabbed a hanging torch and lit it in a nearby furnace. Then she cautiously advanced into the darkness below.
The basement, like the rest of the manor, had clearly not been visited by a guest in a long time. The walls were made of stone and emanated frost into the air, not dissimilar to a dungeon.
To her relief, she found no bodies, only dust and abandoned furniture. A lone desk stood in the corner, coated in mould and webs. The Deputy swiped through a line of dust with the tip of her finger. She wrested open a jammed shelf below and felt around in the dark for anything substantial. She caught a bite and pulled out a leather ledger and slammed it on the dusty surface.
Within the pages were names, a cross etched next to every one of them. Most were female, some were men. There did not seem to be any pattern or structure to the list. The names did not descend alphabetically, nor were they grouped in any noticeable way. She found Cynthia Barlet’s name etched into the thirtieth page, a cross marked next to her like all the others. She kept turning as if she were expecting something more. She found another interesting name on the ninetieth page. Gilda Fitzpatrick. Like the others, a cross was all they gave her. No mention of the daughters she left behind or the struggles she held.
With her connection verified, she charged back upstairs into the dimming torchlights of the manor and towards Eustice. The former High Scholar was coughing out of his turkey neck and holding onto the side of his armchair for balance. The Deputy raised the ledger over his grey eyes. “What is this?” she asked firmly.
The High Scholar only snarled at her.
“Who were they?” she asked again. When the High Scholar remained silent, she pinned him against the wall with her forearm. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down and sweat beamed across his wrinkled skin. She raised the ledger and started to read the names. “Cynthia Barlet, Gilda Fitzpatrick. Why are they in this ledger?”
The High Scholar began to blubber. His face sagged like a crushed burlap sack, and cloudy tears dribbled down his crusty cheeks. “Everything I did, I did for the good of New Jade-”
“What did you do to them?” she hissed.
“Hundreds were dying from the plague!”
“Where are they, Eustice?”
“Greenville Valley!” he cried out as he fell into a sobbing fit. “They’re in Greenville Valley!”
The Deputy released her vice-like grip on the High Scholar. He slumped down against the wall, continuing his blubbering. She did not ask if they were alive or dead. A part of her did not wish to know. The dutiful part of her would find out soon enough.
As she approached the crashed door back into Credence, she heard a deep gargling sound. When she turned, she saw the High Scholar’s body sprawled across the floor of the main hall, the bloody butter knife clutched in his hand. There was a seeping red gash across his turkey throat and blood was seeping through his frail fingers as he struggled to breathe. When she knelt down to try to cover the wound, the High Scholar’s eyes were already motionless. Athena should have remained and reported it to the watchmen department in Credence.
Instead, she climbed back over the bronze gate and mounted her buckskin, kicking the stirrups. Greenville Valley was far from Credence. She was in for another long journey, yet for the first time, she felt hopeful about having answers for Tilly Fitzpatrick and her mute sister. But I do not think she will like what I find.