Blackout (Book 1)

by Adam Drake

  I knew first hand that this statement was not entirely true. “Yes, but couldn't a descendant use them? There have been instances of relics passed down for generations.”

  Aubert waved a dismissive hand. “To a limited extent that is correct. A direct descendant might bring forth the magical element of the item. But unless you knew first hand who that descendant was, it would be almost impossible to find out. And even then, the item may do nothing at all. Which is why they are relegated to mere curiosities.”

  “Why is that?”

  The curator raised his hands at the items around us. “These are so old and the cataloguing of them so poor that finding even the original owner's identity is difficult. So how is it possible to track the descendants of a person when that person is unknown to begin with?”

  I looked at the list. “The names of these items denote their magical properties?”

  “Yes, as far as research can figure out. No one can know what their true properties are anymore. We use historical records to learn more about them. Many may not even be what they are listed as because so little information is available. So, to answer your original question, they are, for all intents and purposes, worthless.”

  “So why would someone steal them and leave these valuable items alone?”

  Aubert shrugged. “That is your job to find out, detective.”

  True, I thought. Then I looked at the trunk's item list again. One stood out.

  “Curator Othmar, I see a 'Gunther's Kaggik Talon?' listed.”

  “Yes, so?”

  “What does Kaggik mean?” I had my suspicions.

  “Well, Kaggik derives from the ancient language of Sennia. Its general meaning is rock or stone.”

  “Gunther's Stone Talon,” I said, with a sense of dread growing in my gut. “And what did this Stone Talon do?”

  “Well, detective, according to myth,” Aubert said, “it turned people to stone.”

  I looked to Fairfax who arched a brow. Then to Aubert I asked, “Turned people to stone? Are you certain?”

  Aubert nodded. “It is one of the few myths for which we have multiple sources. Gunther the Ungrateful had created it from the talon of a gorgon. Then he ran around turning the legions of the Gods to stone. Even turned some of the Ancient Ones to stone, too, if that is to be believed.”

  Fairfax asked, “But only Gunther's descendants can use the magic in the talon, correct?”

  “Well, yes, but the talon can never be used ever again. It's inert as the others.”

  “But Gunther's descendants -”, Fairfax said but Aubert held up a hand.

  “Gunther was a eunuch from a very young age. It was a necessary requirement to create magical artifacts. So, no. No descendants of Gunther's could ever exist. And, as a result, the Talon has never been used since his death, thousands of years ago.”

  Until this morning, I wanted to say but didn't. With this revelation I needed time to think.

  We took our leave and told the curator we'd return later. He did not look convinced but said nothing more as he closed the Museum's front door behind us.

  For a few moments, Fairfax and I just stood on the top step, taking in the view below of the gardens.

  “Gunther's Stone Talon,” Fairfax said. “You were right and that cat was right. This case is directly connected to Oswall's death.”

  “But how can the Talon be used now after all this time?” I said.

  “Perhaps the myths were wrong. The ones regarding Gunther being a eunuch. Or he's been resurrected by some arcane means?”

  I sighed. “Well, we now know what the potential murder weapon is. And regardless of whether the person using it has anything to do with Gunther, the fact remains they are out there now and they might use it again.”

  Fairfax asked, “So where to next?”

  “I'm curious as to why Oswall had an interest in Elicia Ipthorn,” I said.

  “Maybe he took a liking to her. Wanted to court her,” Fairfax said with a wry grin.

  I grinned back. “Then let us go ask her.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Hearts District, one of the poorest areas of town, was filled with dilapidated buildings which stood as a testament to its poverty.

  The address Rousset had given took us to its eastern most edge. Any more further and we'd end up in the town dump.

  Fairfax parked the buggy in front of the end unit of a cramped row of townhouses. All the curtains were drawn, and windows closed. It may have been my suspicious mind, but that seemed unusual on such a warm day.

  “Maybe she's out?” Fairfax said.

  “Only one way to be sure, Constable,” I said and got out of the buggy.

  A large woman leaned out of a window of the townhouse next to Elicia's. Her long blonde hair wrapped in a bun and with arms like giant hams, pink and sweaty as she stirred a huge bowl of dough.

  As we climbed the stairs to the little alcove, which protected the front door from rain, Fairfax tipped his cap to the large woman. “Good afternoon,” he said.

  “Afternoon,” she said and watched us intently.

  I exchanged a glance with Fairfax who kept his expression neutral. Once we had stepped into the alcove Fairfax knocked on the door. After several minutes, he did so again. I tried peering through the nearest window but the curtains blocked my view.

  Still no answer. Fairfax tried the doorknob, but found it locked.

  “We should try back later,” I suggested and Fairfax nodded.

  As we descended the stairs the large woman in the window said, “Looking for Elicia?”

  “Yes, do you know if she is home?” I said.

  “I don't think so,” she said. Her stirring never stopped. “Might want to try at her work. It's a bookstore.”

  “We did. The owner said Elicia had sent word yesterday morning she had taken ill.”

  “Oh, well then, she probably went to be with her sister up in Creekside. She's always going there.”

  “When was the last time you saw here?”

  The woman screwed her face up. “About two days ago. Didn't look sick to me but what do I know? I'm no doctor.”

  I thanked her, and we returned to stand next to the buggy. To Fairfax I said, “I'd like to get a peek inside.”

  Fairfax shrugged. “Afraid kicking the door in might upset the neighbor, and she'd chase us around with a rolling pin. Besides, we can't go in without justification. Calling in sick doesn't cover that, I'm afraid.”

  “You're no fun, Fairfax,” I teased. I had a hunch and glanced in my satchel. The clasp was brass.

  “Well, now. It appears something is amiss.”

  “One of them wants to pop out?” Fairfax said. He looked a little eager.

  I glanced up at the building. The woman had gone from her window. “Let's try the door again,” I said and climbed back up the stairs before Fairfax could protest.

  Under the alcove I placed the satchel on the welcome mat at the door. I opened it wide and touched the clasp. The knitting bag wiggled around and a cat's head popped up from it. This one was a light brown color. Its eyes the same as the others, a rainbow spectrum.

  I asked the cat, “Where is Elicia Ipthorn?”

  It jumped from the bag and landed on the floor. It stared at the door a moment then placed a single paw on it. I heard the lock come undone. The knob turned, and the door eased open a few inches. The brown cat then leapt into the bag and was gone.

  Fairfax looked alarmed. “I believe we just committed breaking and entering.”

  I shook my head, “Something is not right. She wouldn't have opened the door, otherwise.”

  Fairfax nodded once and withdrew his pistol. He stepped up to the door as I took up the satchel again and reached in to put a hand on my pistol.

  Fairfax knocked and shouted with a loud, commanding voice. “Police! Is anyone here? Please announce your presence!”

  No one answered, and Fairfax pushed the door wider. There was a short hallway and a set of stairs leading to the se
cond level with a sitting room to the right. The place was quiet.

  As we entered Fairfax motioned for me to stay. It was standard procedure, but it still bothered me. I wanted to be the one going in first.

  As I watched the stairs Fairfax moved down the hall, pistol at the ready. At the end on the right was another room and Fairfax stepped before the doorway. Then he gasped.

  “What? What is it?” I said, my body tensing.

  Fairfax stepped out of sight and returned a moment later. He hurried through the hall. “Another one.”

  “Statue?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Let me check the upstairs first.”

  I tried to not let my frustration show as I waited for Fairfax to sweep the second floor. When he appeared on the stairs again he said, “Nothing up there. Better go take a look.”

  I walked to the end of the hall, my heart thumping in my chest.

  It was a kitchen, and engraved on one of its walls was the Mark of Quantiqtl. Sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, teacup to her mouth, was a woman completely made of stone.

  xxxx

  As Fairfax went to use the closest police call-box I searched the house. The downstairs turned up nothing. No signs of struggle or forced entry, and the back door was locked. Since the front door had been locked as well I could only assume the perpetrator had used Elicia's own keys when he left. The kitchen table had been set for tea with one cup, now stone, at Elicia's pursed lips ready to sip it. The other teacup was empty.

  I checked the upstairs. Only a simple bedroom and water closet. But in the bedroom, spread out on the bed, were a pair of open suitcases full of clothes and sundries. I checked the drawers and closet and found little of note. It appeared that everything Elicia held dear were in these suitcases.

  Then I noticed a small glass bottle wedged between the clothing in one of the suitcases. I recognized the medical symbols on its hand written label. 'Dream Berries of Ogden'. Perhaps she had trouble sleeping?

  Fairfax rejoined me at the front door. “Boys are coming now. Did you check out the back?”

  Starting from the back door we searched the yard. The cobblestone ground showed no footprints. A line of Elicia's laundry blew in the wind. She would never take them down now.

  I wanted to speak with the neighbor again so leaving Fairfax to watch the townhouse I went next door. After an initial shock and fluttering of hands the neighbor woman, named Farrah, let me in and sat me on a tiny couch. She sat across from me, tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “You are sure she is dead?” Farrah asked, eyes wide in bewilderment.

  “I'm afraid so,” I said. I gave her a few more moments, and asked. “You said you saw her a couple days ago? Could you be more specific?”

  Farrah sniffled and snorted into a handkerchief. “Yes. It must have been two evenings past that I saw her coming back from the store with a bag of groceries. We exchanged pleasantries, and she went in.”

  I considered the packed suitcases on Elicia's bed. “Do you know if Elicia was planning a trip? Or intended to go somewhere for a visit?”

  This question befuddled Farrah even more but just when I worried she was going to breakdown again she said, “Well, she told me she was going to sell a book.”

  “A book?”

  “Yeah. Not sure what she was going on about. Kind of a simple girl, homely like. But she was positive she could get a lot of money for it and she'd leave for the South Islands and never return.”

  “Did she mention to whom she was going to sell it?”

  Farrah shook her head and cried again.

  I told her a constable would be by to take a formal statement and I went back to Elicia's townhouse. The constables had arrived by then and Fairfax sent most out to canvass the neighborhood.

  As I entered the kitchen with Fairfax I found Constable Webster looking at Elicia sitting in her stone chair. He scratched at the hair under his cap and said, “Now how are we going to move this one?”

  To Fairfax I said, “Look at the teacup. It's empty and unstained. I believe Elicia was waiting for someone to arrive and was drinking. Then she let the person in, probably through the back door and they both sat down here. All this indicates she was familiar with that person.”

  “But who?” Fairfax said.

  “A buyer for a book she was selling,” I said. “And she thought she'd be paid handsomely for it. The bags upstairs show she was ready to leave after the sale. The buyer, once he received his book, then turned her to stone and left that Mark. He exited out the back and used her keys to lock it behind him.”

  “But what book?” Fairfax said.

  “That is what I intend to find out. Come Fairfax, we must go talk to Misael Rousset, again, at once.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Misael Rousset was closing the store for the day when we pulled up out front. He stood in the open doorway and looked at us with worry.

  “Oh, dear,” Misael said as we exited the buggy. “I take it things are not well and fine?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said. “I'm sorry to inform you that Miss Ipthorn is dead.”

  Misael gasped in shock and clutched at his chest. “By the Gods! No!”

  Fairfax and I shuffled him into the store and made him sit before he dropped of a heart attack. Misael slumped in the chair, a look of horror on his face. “Oh, that sweet girl. This is terrible. How did it happen? Do you know who did it?”

  I shook my head. “We are working on the who, but as to the how, I was hoping maybe your knowledge of the histories may be of assistance.”

  Regaining his composure, Misael straightened in his chair and wiped a handkerchief over his face. “Yes. Yes, of course. How may I help?”

  I looked at Fairfax who shrugged. I then explained to Misael how both Elicia and Oswall had been turned to stone. With further explanation about what Curator Othmar had told us of Gunther's Stone Talon Misael's expression morphed to one of sheer amazement.

  “Gunther's Stone Talon? Been used again? Impossible!” The bookshop owner said.

  “And yet there are two victims of its power and we fear there may be more.”

  “But there's now way for the Talon to be used other than by Gunther the Ungrateful who is thankfully long dead. And everyone knows he lacked the... er... ability to father children.”

  I nodded. “True enough but there might be something which may account for the Talon's reuse.”

  “And that is?”

  “Elicia was trying to sell a book. A very expensive book which may contain the missing link.”

  “Which book is that?” Misael asked.

  “I was hoping you might be able tell use, Mr. Rousset. I believe Elicia stole it from your store with the intent to sell it to her killer.”

  Misael gaped like a landed fish as he tried to absorb this revelation. “No! Not Elicia. She wouldn't do anything like that to me. Not after all I've done for her.”

  “That may be so, but she was having a difficult time financially, as you already told us. It would not be too much of a stretch to allow that she may have decided that selling one of your books would save her from that difficulty.”

  Now Misael looked confused, still not willing to accept what Elicia had done.

  Fairfax asked, “Are you missing any books?”

  Misael blinked at the question. “I don't know. Well, not that I would have noticed. There are quite a bit here.” He looked around at his store and the tens of thousands of volumes. “I'd have to do an inventory. Even my expensive ones number in the thousands.” He motioned to the dozens of large enclosed cabinets. “It would take days, weeks even to go through them and check against my inventory list.”

  Fairfax said, “I can get the boys to come in, start to sift through this lot with Mr. Rousset's list.”

  For the first time in my life I regretted the sight of so many wonderful books in one place. The undertaking would be horrendous and in the meantime there could be other victims of the Stone Talon.

  Hopeful for so
me guidance I looked at the knitting bag. To my grand relief the clasp was brass.

  Fairfax noticed my expression. “What? They want to come out again so soon? Is that a record for one day?”

  “No, not a record, thankfully.” I put the satchel on the ground.

  Misael looked at our exchange, befuddled. “Might I ask what you two are going on about?”