The Senate Secretary had placed an impossible task upon Bilain's shoulders. The Ward Watch didn't have an abundance of thinkers and had more than its fair share of bruisers, more likely to start fights than to investigate anything. The only one that came close to having the skills required to investigate the Senator's murder, other than herself, was the Kannai woman, Ilivno. She doubted any of the others could read more than a few words of the common tongue between them.
Ghusz had brought Little Mim to her and the girl had told Bilain everything she knew, but sorting through the truth and the embellishments of her young mind had started a headache to bloom in Bilain's head. The nonsense about the shadows coming to life Bilain mostly discounted. For certain, there were those that could control shadows, like the Mad Mage, Rürazar, but Shadow Mages were rare. Very rare. Rürazar was the only one to have that power within living memory.
Now, here at the Pyre Building, where the dead came for cremation, Bilain had to sort through the wheat and the chaff of Mim's words while she examined the bodies of the dead before the flames took them. The body of the Senator, of course, would become collected later to return to his family in the High Ward, where all Senators lived, the privilege of station.
"Runners, Chief. Coming in from all over the Ward." Trenna, the stocky, short man of Eass heritage waited at the door to the room, hesitant to set a further step inside. "Tales of folk being beaten to death all over. Last count, fifteen dead. All in one night."
"Let me guess, if anyone witnessed anything they said the shadows came to life?" She hadn't touched any of the dead, yet, and felt a little glad of the interruption. She turned to the Eass man. "Have Ilivno write all the reports, locations especially. I'll have it in my office by mid-day. And it's 'Captain', Trenna, not 'Chief'."
"Yes, Chief ... er ... Captain." The man took one more look at the bodies laid in a line on the floor, shaking his shaggy, black hair. "It's not another Barathan Day of Contrition, is it, Ch ... Captain?"
She shook her head and waved a hand, giving Trenna leave. The Barathan Day of Contrition usually ended with large numbers of brawls, due to the nature of the festival day. A day when those of Barathan heritage sought forgiveness from those they have wronged throughout the year. Few died on that day. For certain, not as many as fifteen and not from all across the Ward. Usually, those brawls kept themselves in the surrounding areas of Cutters Lane, where most Barathan's lived.
Trenna's unease was another product of differing heritages, too. In Eass, the dead were near treated as though they had become gods. Revered. Only the priests of the Patrons, and their acolytes would dare to touch the dead. A consequence of the nature of Adrasusk was the sheer number of different cultures that ended up making their home here, each bringing their own customs and traditions, their folk tales, their superstitions and their inbred cultural hatreds.
The Sprawl was that, but multiplied and condensed into an area not much larger than a small town, but with a population six, seven, ten times greater. No-one had managed to take a census of the number of people that lived among the streets so thin that even carts struggled to make their way through. Alleys even smaller, that hid filth and those people that couldn't afford to even share a room. And, above, the houses rose ever higher, building atop each other in a desperate effort to find space, and casting dark shadows upon the streets far below. Some of those streets hadn't seen sunlight in decades.
It meant that this investigation, however far it went, would have to deal with those differing cultures, mouths remaining tight closed if they thought it would help their kinsfolk. Here, among the bodies, she could see three different cultures without much of an examination. The thick furs and dark skin of a Hagragng man. The pale skin and brown hair of a fellow Hathbadi. The olive coloured skin and lace-fringed clothing of a Larissan.
Bilain couldn't put it off any longer. The pyreman awaited her, the furnaces beginning to belch out their burning heat, ready for the bodies to become consumed. They didn't bury the dead, here in Adrasusk. At least, not the regular folk. What the high and mighty did, in the southern Wards, with their wide streets and parks, Bilain didn't know, or want to know. There wasn't enough space anywhere else for cemeteries, barrows or catacombs. The dead burned, the ashes given back to families, or tossed into one or the other of the two rivers, there to wash out to the Akaean Sea.
She began to rummage through the clothing of the first man, stifling a grimace. Not one to care much about the dead, not suffering from the delusions of superstition, nevertheless, it was not a task she relished. Apart from the coin purse, filled with a fair few copper Bones, silver Claws and more golden Talons than Bilain had seen in some time, the man had only the bloodied knife found beside him. Nothing else. Not a single thing to identify who he was, where he lived, anything.
Likewise, as she rolled up the man's sleeves, unbuttoned jacket and shirt, she found no markings. No scars. No tattoos. It was as though these men had arrived fully formed upon the cobbles and dirt of that courtyard with enough money to buy a good few houses between them. She rubbed beneath her nose with a finger before moving on to the next body.
All along the line, she found the same thing. Money, lots of it, knife, nothing to mark them out from any other. All except the last. The Larissan. In life, she supposed the man could have had more than a few admirers. Smooth, tan skinned, pleasing features with prominent cheekbones, full lips. But for the broken neck, it didn't appear as though the man had ever had anything damage him in his life. His long, straight nose without the slightest kink from a boyhood break.
This man had something that the others did not, apart from his looks. After rummaging through his clothing, putting aside the coin purse and knife, she found two hidden pockets. In one, she found a key. Not a particularly decorative key, but not a simple one, either. No building within The Sprawl would have a door opened by a key like this, if the door had a lock at all. In the other pocket, she found something far more odd.
It looked like a coin, but made of brass, not copper, silver or gold. She turned it around in her fingers and read the legend upon one face. "Free and fearless", written in the old Orususk tongue from before the Patron of Words, Guid Kha, had given the world the Common Tongue. This, it appeared was the seal of the Senate, proof of their station and only allowed in the hands of others if they performed duties for the Senate itself.
With the seal clasped in her hand, she abandoned the Larissan, moving across the room to where Senator Yiladry lay upon a table, apart from those that had taken his life, ready to return to his family. She hesitated. Searching the bodies of ruffians was one thing, but laying hands upon a Senator was another matter entirely. Nevertheless, Asnarrus had tasked her with finding the reason behind the Senator's death. It was her duty, after all.
Examining Yiladry proved far more repulsive, however. He had suffered a great many wounds, dried blood caked almost every part of his clothing, but she needed only to find one thing, if it were there. She ignored his coin purse, and all the other objects that she inspected and put aside were not relevant. Heirlooms and keepsakes. Then, tucked into a pocket upon a shirt that was once a bright white, now black with dried blood, she found it, holding it up to the lantern light beside the other.
Another seal. The one she had taken from the Larissan was not the Senator's. At least, not this Senator. That made little sense. The Senate was well-known for its argumentative nature, but nothing more than that. In the Old Empire of Orususk, that had founded the city of Adrasusk as a twin of that old, corrupt city, Senators killed each other all the time. Here, in Adrasusk, they had moved past that kind of uncivilised behaviour. Seceding from the Old Empire, decrying Emperors or Kings to have a true government of the people. A republic, where grievances were always aired, not stewed upon until violence erupted. At least, that was how it was ever supposed to be. How the Senate wanted it to appear to be.
She turned both seals around in her fingers and saw no differences between them, save for the Senator's having the embossed writing and symbols flattened by touches over time. The one from the Larissan was as new. Bilain didn't know what to make of this find. Returning the Senator's seal back to its pocket, she turned back to the bodies of the ruffians, tossing the seal by a flick of her thumb, sending it spinning into the air, catching it and flicking it again.
This was above her. Should she return to Asnarrus with word if the possibility of another Senator ordering Yiladry's death, she would find herself laughed from the Municipal Ward, fired from her post or taken prisoner for her accusation. She couldn't say anything to the Secretary. Not yet. First, she had to find out who these men were, where they lived and what door that key fitted.
"Sergeant!" She knew she only had to call and the gruff, Steppes man would not stray too far. "Put word out to the Watch. I want everyone to consult their most trusted squealers. These men did not come from nowhere. I want to know who they are and where they've been staying."
"Yes, Captain." She caught his arm before he left and he raised a bushy eyebrow. "Anything else, Captain."
"The money these louts had in their coin purses. Have it halved and give half divided equally among the Watch, half distributed to the poor houses." At a second thought, she tugged him back again. "And give Little Mim a handful of Bones. She's not been eating again. Oh, and the Pyremen are not to cremate these bodies unless I say so. I want their clothing and belongings delivered to the Watch House."
Ghusz gave her a nod, blowing the strands of his moustache and beard away from his mouth. She knew the reason for it, too. Steppes folk, or as their latest ruler called them, citizens of the Kingdom of Turszdava didn't take kindly to corruption. They lived for order and law and despised thieves, but they also had a strong vein of compassion.
Taking the money from the dead did not sit right with him, but he could see the right of distributing it as Bilain ordered. Giving to the poor and the woefully underpaid Watch. He would grumble and murmur, but he would follow orders. Bilain, of course, would take nothing. She had more than enough in her life, already. If not in money, then in the more important things.
-+-
The diverse peoples that called The Sprawl home gave it its most unfortunate problems, but also its most wonderful riches. With so many differing cultures within the confines of the Ward, it often fell into violence, which the Ward Watch were obliged to bring to order, with their own violence, if needs required, but it also brought with it an array of cultures, sounds, smells and beauties. Bilain could not say that she adored The Sprawl, but it was her home.
Living her entire life, service in the army notwithstanding, within this small section of the city, cut off from the rest by the rivers on either side and Ganshorn's Field bordering it to the north, it had made Bilain the woman she was today. Many knew her, those that did not know her knew of her, and she made it a personal challenge to know as many of these folk as she could.
That made passing through the streets much of a trial when she needed to be elsewhere. Hawkers would catch at her arms, peddling their wares to her, beggars would expect a shaving of a coin or two. Shopkeepers and tavern owners would call to her to frequent their establishments more often. If she could split herself into a thousand forms, still she would need more to satisfy the appetite for her company.
Right now, she needed to reach the Watch House, along Weft Tide Street, across from the Timid Fox pub, a place she knew all too well. She should. She lived there, but she couldn't pass through those doors. Not yet. Not while she still had work to do. Instead, she slammed the door of the Watch House behind her and almost ran into her office, closing the door, bolting it, before sitting behind her desk.
A key, taken from beneath a candlestick, unlocked the drawer upon her desk and another, hidden in a gouged cubby hole in her chair, opened a little coffer at the back of the draw. In the coffer, she placed the Senate seal taken from the body of the ruffian, locked the coffer, then the drawer and sat back in her chair, fingers steepled before her mouth as she considered what she would need to do next.
A light knock came to the door and Bilain thought to ignore it while she mulled her thoughts. If she did, however, that would only serve to start whispers passing among the Watch members and she couldn't have that. Unbolting the door, she allowed Ilivno to enter and said nothing until she returned to her seat. The Kannai stood to the other side of the desk, holding a clutch of papers to her chest. If she still had her tail, it would no doubt twitch in doubt and worry.
To look at the girl, none would suspect she had ever suffered a life as a slave. Tall, strong, with a deep black, shining coat of fur and a muzzle built for rending with her sharp teeth. The dog-like Kannai had an imposing visage quite at odds with her reserved nature, though she had a mind as keen as any scholar that Bilain had ever met. And the girl had a deep seated trust and respect for Bilain. To the point where the grey haired Hathbadi woman was the only one that had ever seen the scars upon the girl's back.
"Those reports, Captain." The soft-spoken girl folded the papers onto the desk before Bilain, straightened them and then stood upright. "Would you like to review them in private, or should I stay, Sir?"
She had to ask. Bilain, herself, never knew from one moment to the next what she needed from those under her command. She had no set expectations other than they do their jobs to the best of their abilities. That they preserve the peace with equity and diligence and that they were, above all, honest. Other than that, she had no plans or schedules for them to adhere to. Which was one of the reasons why it felt odd to have an investigation forced upon her. It was not within her usual skillset.
"First impressions." She began to shift through the reports, detailed and dense with text, as Ilivno was ever want to do. She talked little, but put a pen in the girl's hand and she rarely knew when to stop. "Don't think about it, just say, off the top of your head."
"Well, Captain, Sir, it's ... that is, it appears we either have a vengeful ghost abroad, or we have a vigilante." Ilivno raised her muzzle, standing to attention, gazing at nothing, her hands clasped behind her back. "Or, possibly, a gang of them. They use the shadows, can reach the rooftops in a single bound and, if one report is to be believed, have the strength of ten in the body of one. Or several ones, if you get my meaning."
"Why do you think there may be more than one?" She could see why, but she wanted to hear the Kannai's thoughts. Each of the reports had near-enough times and locations at the top. "And dead is dead, Watchman, everyone knows that, so forget ghost stories. Tell me the facts."
"The facts are that it's either a gang ranging across the Ward, or one person with powers. A mage, Sir, or an acolyte of a Patron given gifts for their faith." The girl was good. Bilain had thought much the same and Ilivno all but confirmed her own thoughts. "But, if it is a mage, Captain, it would be one with multiple disciplines and I've never heard of a mage that can jump as high as our roofs. Also, Patrons are want to only offer one gift, Sir, not a multitude, as this shadowy killer must have."
Mages with multiple disciplines were a terrifying prospect to consider. Even with one discipline, mages could cause untold mayhem and disaster. With two disciplines, or more, it could lead to madness, the mind, usually, unable to handle the differing powers. The Lord of Shadows, Rürazar, had gone mad. Some said he had taken on as many as ten magical disciplines before the Three Kingdoms had brought him to ruin over a year ago.
Even now, people looked with wary eyes upon those who wielded magic, with the Three Kingdoms even turning to war against their neighbours that harboured mages of multiple disciplines. Though recent reports spoke of that war going badly, with even the sleeping giant of the Orususk Empire, fresh with a new warrior Emperor at their helm, cutting into Larissan territory. The wars of far off nations were not Bilain's concern, however. She left that to the politicians.
Continuing to shift through the reports, the Kannai becoming more and more restless, Bilain failed to see the connection. The attacks of this vigilante, or gang, appeared to have no pattern to speak of. Incidents occurred streets from one another, in no order and with no discernible reason. A sneak thief, caught in the act of burgling a home. A pimp beating upon one of his prostitutes. A gang of bully boys rampaging along Knife Alley. All killed, no-one else touched. In fact, the vigilante had seemed to go out of their way to ensure the victims of the dead were safe.
"No Senators involved in any of these attacks? None of their staff? Their servants?" She held up a hand to stop Ilivno before she answered. If there were, she would have mentioned them in the reports. "Never mind. Good work, Watchman. Have a couple of the Watch visit all of these people who witnessed this vigilante. Have them questioned about them. I want a description beyond anything involving shadows. This is a man or a woman, or men and women, and people leave traces of themselves."
"Yes, Captain." Ilivno stiffened, turned and began to leave the room before pausing, the nub of her docked tail moving. "Captain, may I ask, what was a Senator doing alone in The Sprawl at that time of night?"
Bilain wished she knew, but had no answer. With a wave of the hand, she dismissed the Kannai and returned to the reports. None of it made sense. Not the Senator's presence in The Sprawl, not his death at the hands of those thugs, nor the contributions of this vigilante. Even thinking about it made her head burn. If the Senate Secretary wanted the truth of the matter, he was better off sending a scholar from the Municipal Ward, someone better suited to picking at threads that others would not see.
She was only a simple Watch Captain, better served keeping The Sprawl from devolving into a war zone. Keeping drunkards from smashing up taverns. Ensuring that the multitudes of people that lived here did so with at least a modicum of peace and safety. Before today, the most she had ever needed her mind for was to decide which houses to set to controlled fire to stop the spread of impending infernos. Or as to who had the right of it in arguments over coin, gambling debts, over a man, or a woman. She had not the mind for this.
With a sigh, she rubbed her finger beneath her nose, lost in thought as she tried to make head or tail of the reports before her. Upon hearing the bells calling mid-day, however, she set aside the reports, adjusted her jacket and made her way to the door. Some things were more important than papers and mysteries.
No-one stopped her as she left the Watch House, to cross the mud-packed street to the Timid Fox. They knew better than to disturb her daily routine and she always managed to find her way back to the Watch House for mid-day, whether she had to run or walk. Some things required that little bit of attention she could only give in fleeting moments.
The rush of chatter and smoke escaped through the door of the pub as she entered and never failed to bring a smile to her face, especially as she caught sight of the man behind the bar. For his part, in the middle of pouring a mug of ale for a customer, he saw her as soon as she entered, mirroring her smile before taking a coin for the ale.
"So, husband, what slop are you selling today?" She leaned across the bar, grabbing her husband by the scruff of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. She ignored the roars and cheers. It happened every day. "And how's the little one?"
"As well as expected, my love." He moved to the cot, inside the door to the corridor leading to their rooms above and the cellar below, tickling the child's cheek. "Looks more like her mother every day. And the 'slop' is lamb stew. Fresh lamb, mind, not that rancid muck you got last time."
"Then I'll have the stew and my granddaughter on my lap, thank you very much." Yaff, a regular, vacated his seat at the bar for her and she sat down. "You wouldn't believe the morning I've had."