The Songstress Murders

by J. B. Garner

To be at your side, though half-a-heart I be.

  My final wish is to be there for you to hear

  This song for you that I am singing.

  From the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 19 Octavian 736 PC:

  I have heard, from multiple sources, that to defy a geasa is akin to ripping your heart out of your chest and feeling every horrific sensation during the process. As I finished salving and bandaging my wounds, I couldn't shake the phantom pains as I applied that knowledge to the words of the song I had just read. I avoided even thinking her name for fear that it might tighten those chains one more bit.

  This past day began as one of sorrow and not only because of that sheet. Memorials for my lost brothers and sisters were to be held over the next few days at a variety of churches and boneyards across the City. Cline, still clinging to life, was languishing under the care of the clerics of Nym. Our murderess, though her existence was now revealed and confirmed to be something aside the Silver Bard, was as free as before. There were many reasons to have grim thoughts as I rifled through my closet for my dress uniform.

  Still, as easy as it would have been to wallow in sadness, to find my way to the Scale and disappear inside a bottle of spirits, there was still a chance to bring this to an end without sacrificing more lives in the process. Though not every piece of the puzzle was there, I had enough to create a broad sense of the picture. Perhaps, with the knowledge I had and the connection I felt I had, I could force Milady to listen to me.

  As I finished getting dressed, I carefully rolled the song and tucked it into a leather scroll case. Tying it to my belt, it seemed to lighten the burden on my heart to have it near. If someone so close to the gods above had such faith in me, how could I not believe in myself?

  My first stop, as the Celestial Stone's daylight pierced the gloom outside the tenement my loft was housed in, was the Cathedral. I needed to know how Cline was doing and hopefully I could gain another audience with the High Purifier. If anyone could expound on the Bard's cryptic words on how to save Milady and stop the Ragnard, it was Wyst Gale.

  Perhaps I had only known Abby a few days now, but that driver's insight came through again as we rounded the Great Stair. “Oi, Inspector, I'm right sorry about your mates,” she called back. “Awful tragedy, innit?”

  I responded with a distracted grunt, still gathering the wooly strands of thought together into a solid weave.

  “I recognize that sort o' grunt.” She clicked her tongue, which made an odd echo through her gills. “I take it you haven't had to bury too many folks, have you?”

  I considered the question a moment and decided there was no reason to lie. “I suppose not. Growing up in the Second Ward may not have been easy, but it wasn't a constant rush of tragedy either. We've lost Watchers before, but never so many at once. Not those I was directly responsible for in such a way.”

  “Heavy is the brow that wears the crown, or chest that wears the badge in this case.” She snapped the reins as traffic picked up onto the third layer. “Still, don't club yourself bloody about it, Ms. Vela. You don't do yourself much good if you get hung up on it all. You'll either mope all day in the corner or you'll get so right bloody angry for revenge that it'll eat you up.”

  I nodded slowly. It wasn't new advice to my ears. It's what anyone would say, but it didn't mean that it didn't help. Often, all it takes is to know that someone else can see your pain and empathize with it, regardless of the actual words. “You're right, of course.”

  “Of course I am! Inspector, you just remember to listen to old Abby Snow and you won't go wrong, eh?” She flashed a quick smile into the carriage before letting out a sharp-tongued barrage at a rival carriage trying to cut us off.

  “I'll keep that in mind, Ms. Snow.” With a heart-felt tone, I added, “Thank you, Abby, truly.”

  Abby snapped a quick salute. “Anything to make for a happy customer!”

  With that, we continued on our way. What stuck in my mind, beyond the encouragement, was Abby's mention of revenge and anger. It was that venom I had seen in Milady's heart and I had to consider it the motivation behind her actions. Her feelings and desire for me was a new variable in her life, and it perhaps was the only way I could appeal for her to cease whatever crazed plans she was embroiled in. At the same time, I had to consider the extent of the actions I now suspected Milady had done and what she was capable of.

  Still, regardless of the risk, I had to make the attempt. After my time under the Pure One's roof, I would see Milady or try my best to do so. She was worth the attempt. If she would not see me or would not be swayed, I would have to then plan for the worst.

  That dark notion was dispelled as the spires of the Cathedral once again rose up ahead as we climbed from the third to the fourth layer. Abby pulled the carriage neatly up to the polished stair and turned in her seat.

  “Want me to wait for you, Inspector?” she said. “For an honorable Watcher such as yourself, I'd be right settled with a silver pin for a bell's time.”

  I tossed her two pins and my best smile. “A hard-working and fetching maiden such as yourself deserves twice that, so that is what you shall have.” It eased my mind to act natural, to be myself, so I let myself be.

  Abby caught the coins out of the air and smirked. “Thank ye kindly for both the coin and the lovely words. If lasses were my cuppa, I’d be doubly thankful.” She snapped the reins and the horse began to trudge towards a waiting space off to one side of the Stair's landing, its steel hooves clattering on the cobblestones. “Good deal, Ms. Vela! I'll be waiting!”

  I tipped my hat and made my way up the steps. It only took a few words with the acolyte in the nave to be led off once more into the maze-like corridors and stairs of the cathedral. Despite what I was certain were Nym's intentions, my mind turned to guilty thoughts once more. My Moral Compass turned maddeningly hot as I considered whether I should have been more suspicious of Milady sooner, if perhaps I could have ferreted out the truth, still incomplete, and saved lives, saved Cline's arm. Hindsight is both perfectly clear and a fool's errand, something I was quick to remind myself of.

  It was somewhat of a surprise to find my destination to be the High Purifier's chambers. Wynn and Verdigan, his arm in a sling, stood on the far end of the room by the bookcase. Their tones were hushed but severe. While I likely could have eavesdropped, it seemed rude and foolish. Christabelle, to continue my surprise, was still a Nymian acolyte, pressing a cold, wet cloth to Cline's brow.

  What had the day before been an older but vital Aard man was a shadow of his former self. I could see the clean cut of an amputation; no doubt an effort to keep not only spiritual but corporeal corruption from spreading through Cline's body; but black seemed to fill his veins, bulging and visible through his fur. A holy symbol of Nym had been placed around his neck and the silver seemed to smoke where it contacted his flesh and a strange corrosion seemed to be creeping up the side of the disk. Though Cline's head shifted back and forth, his eyes were shut tight and his lips would occasionally pull back in a grimace of pain.

  I didn't bother to ask about his condition as I drifted up beside Christa. She looked up at my approach, a forlorn look on her face, whiskers drooping. All she could say was, “There is still hope.”

  “If any place can give him relief, it is this one,” I said softly.

  Christa touched her brow and nodded. “I'm glad you're here, Vela. Mr. Cline was asking for you earlier.” She turned back to his fevered motions. “Perhaps it would unburden his spirit to speak with him.”

  “I'll try.” I took a step closer and knelt down beside the bed. “Cline, you old dog, it's me. It's Vela.”

  The thrashing slowed and Cline's face turned towards me. Between panting gasps, he began to speak in halting words. “Inspector, I knew you'd make it out fine. Sorry I wasn't much help out there.”

  It took all my will not to break down then and there. Cline needed to see strength right now, not wallowing. “You did great, Watcher. I wouldn't be here if
you and the Chief hadn't made it through.”

  “Yer too kind.” Through the pain, he managed a brief smile. “The Foi, they're gone, ain't they?”

  I nodded slowly, taking a cigarillo out of my case. “They are but the people behind this, the real criminals, are still free.” I didn't care where we were. Cline needed this, deserved a little bit of comfort right now. I lit the cigarillo and gave it a puff to get it going. Placing it in his lips, I continued, “I'm going to get them, though. I'll bring them to justice, put them behind bars.”

  Cline took a long drag, puffing smoke out of his nose. There was a brief calm that came over his features before his body was wracked by a hard spasm. It was a testament to his stubbornness that Cline didn't let the cigarillo drop out of his lips. “You ain't gonna bring anybody like that in with your peashooter.” He motioned with his one arm towards Christa. “The lassie here has my weapon. You take it, Vela. That way, you've got my bow, aye?”

  I took his hand and squeezed. His grip was loose, the meat cold as ice. “Aye, I know I can count on you.” My smile was forced, but it was a necessary lie. “Now get some rest. You won't get back on the streets unless you get some rest.”

  Cline nodded listlessly before he collapsed back into the bed, head being swallowed in the fluffy pillow. I laid his hand on his chest and stepped back. Christabelle's whiskers drooped as she hurried to the foot of the bed, where Cline's crossbow was resting. The tears were starting to drop regardless of my best efforts.

  “It's not over yet, Redmane.” Feathers' voice was rough from smoke and pain, but it was still strong. “Cline's a fighter and Her Radiance still has some more godly tricks up her sleeve.” Gale had a disapproving look as I turned towards them, prompting Verdigan to add a quick, “No offense, Purifier.”

  “Thankfully, the love of Nym does not discriminate based on depth of faith.” Gone was the joyful sparkle in Wyst's eyes, replaced by the stern look of a soldier.

  “It has nothing to do with faith in particular.” Feathers shrugged slightly and the twist of his beak made it obvious he regretted the gesture. “I just prefer to rely on myself and my own abilities than an outside power.”

  “Chief, Radiance, perhaps we can save philosophical arguments for later?” I shoved down the tears, promising to give them their proper time soon enough. “We should concentrate on what can be done for Cline and what can be done to deal with the Ragnard.”

  “We've already been discussing those things, sister.” Gale nodded sagely, settling her feathered fingers in front of her. “As Verdigan has said, we have certain 'tricks' yet to employ for your friend. The darkness is strong, but the light of Nym is stronger. Knowing what it is we face today gives us the needed insight that we did not have a decade ago.”

  Verdigan nodded. “While there had been some hope that the monster might have been banished or dispelled with the Foi dead, we think it's likely that it has not. After all, the Foi weren't even a presence in the City when we suspect the Ragnard first appeared,” - he glanced at Gale a moment, before turning his gaze towards me - “which brings us to the Hsu.”

  “I have my own theories about that, Chief, and I intend to pursue them aggressively.” I hoped Feathers read the conviction in my voice as I looked to Wyst. “Her Radiance, I was told that the Ragnard would be at its weakest at the end of a decade. There was something about a mortal heart, but it wasn't told to me in the most precise fashion.”

  Wyst's beak turned into something that was probably a smile. “The Bard's truths are rarely simple to interpret.” She stroked that same beak thoughtfully. “The Ragnard is no simple Pit beast. It is of an order of power just beneath the Pit Lords, which themselves are just beneath that unspeakable thing. Such power cannot come into our dimension easily, as it is so alien to this world. It would need some kind of tether, something that does belong to this world, something with a soul, a mortal being.

  “As for the time, it could be a reference to a pact made, an agreement between Folk and demon. Much as the divinities make covenants with mortals to grant them divine aid, the Pit fiends make similar deals, though they are most often twisted to the detriment of those who make them. If we infer there is such a pact, perhaps the Ragnard must fulfill some condition that will use much of its magic, hence leaving it weakened and vulnerable.”

  Feathers shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately, this is mostly conjecture.” He put his good hand on my shoulder. “Junior Inspector, I need you to find out the truth. Hors is leading the search through the Foi homestead, but so much was damaged by the flames that there may not be much evidence that will lead us forward.” His look was stern. “You've been with this case from the start. You have more insight than any of us. The murders and this monster have to be intimately connected.”

  I nodded. “I agree, and I will do my Duty, Chief Inspector.”

  Christabelle came up beside me, barely able to manage Cline's heavy crossbow, his bolt case over her shoulder. “Here, Vela, you need these, yes?”

  I took up Cline's weapon, slinging it over my shoulder. “Thank you, Christa.”

  Feathers gave me a final nod before leaving the Purifier's presence and Wynn, after a nod to him, turned to me. “I have my own ideas of what is the source of this evil, Vela Redmane, but I also respect the path of mortal justice. Know this, though, that Nym's faithful stand ready to heed your call and, if you fail, we will ensure that the beast will be purified though I do not know at what cost.” She took the bolt case from Christabelle and passed her hand over it. “The Pure One whispered to me of brother Cline's wishes, so I took the liberty of blessing these quarrels. May they serve you well in what you must do.”

  I bowed low before taking the offered case. “I pray that I can find a path that sheds the least innocent blood, Wyst.”

  “Don't worry, Ms. Vela, we'll do everything we can for Mr. Cline.” Christa gave me a brief hug, which I readily returned, before a more formal nod and a prayerful gesture.

  Leaving Cline to their capable hands, I made my way out of the Cathedral. Before the afternoon funerals, I had time to make my last play for a peaceful end to this.

  From The Song of Myrien, Myrienite holy text:

  True beauty lies in love and in truth. Still, even in the shade of the Garden, not all truth is good. Not all love is good. Wisdom lies in being able to discern the good of both, to piece out what is true beauty, and to embrace it once it is divined. That is the greatest lesson Love's Warden has to teach and the one that is easiest to misunderstand.

  From the notes of Lady Alysa Hsu, 19 Octavian 726 PC:

  All five rubies are charged and prepared. The shielded coffer was ready for the ceremony, sufficient to escape Father's prying eyes. Not that it mattered much, in retrospect.

  Consider the bastard's natural suspicion and cunning, plus his necessity in regards me. If the proposition holds that the original fire equals sacrifice, my personal survival leaves said sacrifice incomplete. Likewise, he could not be blind to my impending treachery. Our family pursuit was death. Poetic. I need to remember that for after.

  Reawakened feelings remain a baffle. Should be impossible with the sundering ritual, yet field evidence now seems to contradict the experimental. Contending with love and passion had been acceptable. Guilt and fear were not and threatened success, yet both were prevalent at the moment.

  Guilt's source was obvious. Fear came from doubts of success. That could be crippling. Perhaps, if time allowed, could obtain a sufficient quantity of calming elixir to suppress said emotions until the conclusion of the ritual. Already they had provided complications and injury. I could not afford these things when facing Father and the Ragnard.

  It would take most of the day to make repairs to my armor. The Bard, at least, was responding properly to the geasas, remaining in the far upper reaches of the City. It would be where it needed to be when it needed to be there, that was now certain.

  Aftermath of the Foi incident should occupy Vela until this ended. I had few dive
rsions left to misdirect her and keep her safe. She was dangerously close to finding evidence of too much, enough to either make Father paranoid or to keep me away for the ritual. Neither was acceptable or would end well.

  Retrospect should have shown me that the concept was wrong. Underestimating Redmane was a mistake, one too easy to repeat, and I had in fact repeated it again. Xian came to the sanctum during smelt of fresh silver-steel. Vela was at the door, demanding to speak with me.

  First impulse was avoidance, to tell the golem to turn her away. It would be simple enough, but hardly effective. She was determined, full of naive but powerful conviction. She would not stop.

  It was best to have this confrontation now and be done with it. Hoped to make her see the rightness of what was happening. Better, if I could not keep her away, to have her at my side.

  Dress uniform fit her like a glove, but stern eyes looking at me were uncomfortable. “Good morn, Milady.”

  “Good morning, Vela.” Put on a smile for her benefit. “I read about what happened last night. I'm happy to see that you are well.”

  Her jaw went tight. “I will survive.” Her eyes glanced at my hip. “Are you well yourself?”

  I tried to stand straight, despite the wound. “I am very busy. Time is short and I have much work to do.”

  “I know you will not speak fairly with me, for reasons you deem to be good ones.” Made to interrupt but she barreled through. “Let me finish and listen to me. You may believe you are right, but you're wrong. Look at how many people have died, deserving or not. If you had brought what you know to me, to the Watch, this could have been done without this loss of life.”

  “You will excuse me for not sharing your utter devotion to such a staid and rigid-minded institution. You are different from them, Vela, but you are not the Watch. You are just one person.” Wise to slide in some flattery. “One remarkable person, yes, but you cannot change them, make them see. In such a situation, how can you fault me for doing what must be done?”