The Cyneweard

2

"Not enviable, stomping around out in that. Was bad enough walking here in it."

Greer looked up at his boss and let out a soft sigh. "I guess I can get to it after I finish up the living quarters."

"Don't bother. I'll do it."

As Wilcox crossed to the garden door, he turned and slapped the top of his balding head. "Knew I shoulda worn a hat."

Greer laughed.

Outside, the wind darted to and fro like a prize fighter with wet gloves, sending stinging rain into the Watcher's face. He put up an arm over his eyes in an effort to keep the elements at bay.

The garden was impeccable, likely the priest's sole hobby besides priesting. Nothing looked out of place, but Wilcox walked the radius of the fence anyway, eyes darting up and down, left and right, trying to find something that looked amiss.

After a few laps in the weather, he dropped his arm and let the rain slap him a few times.

"Who would want to kill a priest?" he asked the wind.

It howled a retort and kissed him with even larger rain drops.

This was the core of this mystery, he decided. Who would kill a priest? Why Dumdhall? Why today? What had the man done to have deserved such a grisly end? Wilcox had heard for years that priests of most of the faiths were corrupt in some way, giving holy favors out for money, operating whorehouses or contraband channels when the tithes were low. He had even heard of a priest smuggling illegal, amateur-made slugthrowers and crossbows to the Unionizers. But Dumdhall didn't seem to be that connected, nor that brash. He was a quiet and old servant of Humbolt. Nothing more, nothing less.

The Watcher wiped at his wet face and gazed ahead of him. He saw a hedge undulating in the wind, gesturing a come-hither.

"What'd you see?" he asked. "Who did this?"

As if in answer, the hedge was parted wide by a heavy gust. He caught glimpse of a small, burnt stone. Wilcox blinked and wiped at his eyes and walked over to part the hedge himself. The stone was set atop disturbed grass. Water was pooling around its edges, threatening to created a hole in which the stone could sink.

Wilcox knelt down and lifted the stone to the side. Just as the rain started to hit the dirt that had just been underneath rock, the Watcher heard someone step behind him. He lept up, rock in his hands, and growled.

"Woah!" shouted Greer holding up his hands. "Easy there."

"You nearly got a rock for dinner," the Watcher said, chest heaving. He dropped the stone to the side.

"You ok?"

"I found something. Help me move this dirt out of the way," Wilcox replied, pointing to the dirt pile that was beginning to become mud.

"By help you, you really mean for me to dig it up by myself."

Wilcox nodded.

Greer sighed, shook his head, and knelt down. He pulled at the dirt in large clumps, tossing them to the side.

Wilcox watched on, curious and elated, anxious to see what was beneath his little find.

"Ow," yelled Greer. He hopped up sucking at his index finger.

"What happened?" Wilcox shouted, hands raising to calm the Protector.

"Something cut me," the feline replied, shaking his hand.

Wilcox looked back at the hole and saw something shining back at him. He bent down and picked it up. It was a medium-sized blade with a distinct curve to its tang.

"Thistle shear," he said, holding it up to Greer.

Greer nodded, his finger once again in his mouth, and moved closer.

"I think we may have found what killed the priest."

"But not who," Greer replied after removing his finger with an audible smack.

"Only farmers and merchants use a thistle shear."

Greer nodded and looked back down at the hole. Water was beginning to wash away the rest of the dirt.

"Odd," he said, watching the water do its duty. "Why would a farmer or storeman kill a priest?"

Wilcox shrugged and turned his attention back to the hole. "I really don't-" he began but stopped. "What the-"

"Bones?"

Wilcox handed the knife to his Protector. "Hold this."

Greer obliged and watched as his boss began a digging frenzy, tossing mud all over the once pristine hedge and fence. When the Watcher had dug enough, he stood back up and whistled.

"What is it?" inquired Greer.

"Shit."

"What?" the feline repeated.

"This is something...something else entirely."

"What is?"

Wilcox pointed to the hole. Greer saw two mud covered skulls staring back at him, their eyeless sockets caught in a never-ending surprise. One of the skulls' necks had been snapped. Around the collar bone of the other was a necklace, silver, with a purple and gold pendant. A red heart was in the center, a pearl E etched into it and a golden fist clutching it.

"The imperial seal? Here?"

"I think this just got a lot more complicated," replied Wilcox.

"I want overtime," said Greer.

"Over their dead bodies."

"Exactly."

Wilcox placed his face into his palms and grunted "Shit."