The Patron

The Man in Question

                  "Oh, he's beautiful!"

                  "Excuse me?"

                  "I mean look at him! That blue complexion is to die for! If I didn't know better, I'd say it was King Henry, he's so handsome."

                  Lannion looked up from the fallen tray he was examining and glared at her. "Talia. Don't joke about the dead. This is serious."

                  "Fine. Sorry for lightening the mood. And Adrien, don't act like you're so grown up. I can see you snickering."

                  She bent down to examine Mr. Tometieu. "It's poison, alright. But I'm not sure what kind...." Talia took the glass bottle from Tometieu's hand, sniffing it carefully. "I've honestly never seen this before. I could ask Father, is that okay?"

                  Commander Hershe nodded. "That's fine. Just get it back to us."

                  "I will. And should I take the body as well?"

                  "If you'd be so kind."

                  "Okay." Talia Mors stood up, dusting her hands off on the skirt of her dress. She pocketed the glass bottle. "Someone ought to distract that woman though. I doubt she'll like the sight of her asphyxiated neighbor being dragged down the stairs."

-=-=-

                  By the time Talia had gone off with Monsieur Tometieu, the sun had sunk below the roofs of the highest apartments. The guardsmen trudged back to headquarters, wanting nothing more than a good night's sleep. Wesley practically collapsed into the bench in the courtyard.

                  "Was is just me, or did this day seem to go on forever?"

                  "Tell me about it. I'm exhausted," sighed Adrien.

                  "It's not over yet," Lannion warned. "Adrien, Wesley, we still have to discuss the identity of the murderer."

                  Wesley groaned. "Can't it wait until morning?"

                  "Actually, it can't. If it really is who Adrien believes it is, we cannot tarry a moment. Come, we'll discuss it in my office." Hershe led the exhausted guardsmen inside.

                  Once the guardsmen had pulled up chairs, he began to speak.

                  "How much do you all know about the Patron?"

                  "The who?"

                  "Enough."

                  "More than I'd like to," said Adrien darkly.

                  "Tell me," begged Wesley.

                  Commander pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. He sat down at his desk.

                  "About ten years ago, there was a string of murders in the North Quadrant. All respected men and women, though no one high profile enough to raise much suspicion. But then the murders spread to other quadrants. There seemed to be no connection between all of them. We had no leads. It was infuriating, especially to the king. He was so young at the time, and he was afraid for his safety.