by Will Bly
Irulen knew better than to pry. “Very well, care to come along?”
Max hopped down onto Irulen’s shoulder. The mage smiled at the familiar feeling that he seemed to experience with less and less frequency.
Irulen made his way through town. He arrived just in time to see the three men from the riverbed bringing Oliver’s body into the town square. The three of them pulled a wooden cart just large enough for moving a corpse or two. Mirtha waited for them with her arms folded. The mass of people following her around was much smaller. Irulen always found it funny how grief seemed to end for most people around bed time.
Still, there were a few people, including Marisa and Helga standing apart from each other. That they were sisters bound by blood seemed inconceivable. He had yet to see them trade words, let alone looks. They seemed to navigate wholly separate worlds within a small, rustic township.
Of all the things before him, he focused on what he found the oddest: Marisa’s hair looked wet. Her locks looked mopped and thick even against the lights of the moon torches. It had been a few weeks since he’d felt the frosts of the North, but the season was far from warm. It seemed odder still to take a bath in the middle of a developing scandal. An oddity, perhaps, but I have to get a look at that corpse.
The cart came to a stop before the crowd.
Mirtha stood over Oliver’s body. “That’s two bodies tonight.” She spit on the corpse.
An older man and woman sobbed. The man put his arm around the woman and guided her away.
Irulen figured them to be Good Ol’ Olly’s parents. In that case, they truly were in a desperate spot. Their son was responsible for murder, but he was their son, after all, and he’s now dead. To grieve in front of the wrong party, the powerful Mirtha, would likely finish them in this town. So they tolerated the degradation of their son’s corpse and walked off into the night to mourn on their own.
Meanwhile, Oliver’s body remained at Mirtha’s mercy. “I want this disgusting thing stripped and sent down the river he ruined. He doesn’t deserve to be planted in our orchards. He deserves no tree like my Bertrand.” She walked to the head of the corpse, punched it, and spit on the deceased’s face.
Irulen turned away with disgust while the sounds of fists pounding dead flesh echoed across the silence.
The people looked at each other with widened eyes. Helga seemed like she might say something but chose not to. Her mouth closed as she fell back in line. Apparently Irulen had witnessed a big occurrence—possibly a game changer against the local customs here.
“You heard me,” she said to the men who had brought the body to her. “See it done. Throw this bag of pig semen from my lands into that tainted river.” She shook her hand and looked at it.
“Damn splinter!” She put her hand to mouth and sucked at it.
Irulen looked to Max on his shoulder. The raven already stared at him with knowledge in the eyes. Here comes the tough part of the job. He sighed. “Lady, a million apologies…”
The fire of her eyes flashed at him. “Oh, are you here to collect your coin so soon? Couldn’t even wait the night?”
“No—no, beg your pardon. Beg your pardon. Here, let me help you.” He stepped boldly and took her hand in his. “I’m somewhat good with healing.”
“Fine,” she relented.
He pressed the skin together around the splinter and massaged from deep down with his thumbs. The point poked through. He brought his mouth down to her hand and pinched the tip between his teeth. He pulled lightly but consistently and it removed.
She breathed better and smiled. Her temper seemed to ease.
Now is the time to strike, Irulen decided. “Could we hold the body a while longer?”
“Why would we do such a thing?”
“Mmm. Could I have a word in private?”
“You shall have no such thing.”
“I see. My investigation, though. It’s not complete.”
“What could you possibly mean?”
“Oliver here had a hand in Bertrand’s death. But I think he had another accomplice apart from the one we chased off or killed. Or, at least, I’d like to rule out the possibility.”
The crowd murmured with hushed outrage.
Mirtha opened her mouth and brought a hand to it. “You—are you sure?”
“Not completely, if you would allow me that. But we have good reason to think so.”
“What good reason?”
“I’d prefer not to say at this point. Look, it’s up to you whether you stick this thing on Olly and call it a night.”
Mirtha gasped.
Shit, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words. “I’ll take the coin now or later, at your leisure. But if you’d allow it, I’d just like to make sure.”
“Fine,” she said.
Irulen had to admit his surprise that she relinquished.
◆◆◆
Being alone with corpses always proved to be, for better or worse, an intimate experience. Irulen stood over Oliver as if in judgment of the young man. Judgment… Who am I to judge, really? He laughed before catching himself and looking around to see if anyone witnessed his lack of professionalism. The room seemed shut up tight enough, though Mirtha and some of the others lingered outside. He always made a habit of assuming someone eavesdropped behind every door, but in this case his laugh wouldn’t have been loud enough to be heard.
First things first. He fished through Oliver’s pockets. He found some coin though not much. Some salted meat and a knife. It seemed clear the young man didn’t plan on fleeing. The decision to leave had been hasty as if he’d been tipped off somehow. Poor bastard hardly had time to grab the clothes on his back. What’s this?
Irulen pulled a piece of parchment from a pocket inside Oliver’s shirt. A note?
Dear Oliver,
I just wanted to say that you’ve made me unquestionably happy in a time where happiness is hard to come by.
All my love,
The name was torn off the letter. Irulen smiled at the foresight someone had shown, but he would be able to analyze the writing and identify the author.
Finding nothing else on Oliver’s person, Irulen looked to the far end of the room. Another corpse lay enshrouded with fancy linens. That would be Bertrand. He searched Bertrand for a similar piece of parchment. His pockets were largely empty, outside of some river grit. A locket was around his neck, the type of locket that river workers often wore to safeguard items from water damage. Irulen took it off the man and cracked it open. Another letter revealed itself.
Helga,
I’m writing you from my place at the dam. The sun is going down and I can only think of life’s brevity. I hope that we can in time find a way to be together as a pair in love should be.
Bertrand
“Two letters,” Irulen said aloud. “What are the chances?”
“What is that?” A voice came from the doorway.
Irulen turned to find Helga entering the room. “I’m sorry, Helga, but I’m in the middle of something.”
“Did you find something? Anything interesting?” She walked closer to him. “Anything that might point you in a direction?”
Her intensity caused him to raise his hands in a protective, calming manner. “I can’t say. I’m still collecting things.”
“I bet you found something. Leading to her.”
“To whom?”
“My sister, Marisa. I know it. I just know it. She’s touched by the demon. She is always in the middle of things.”
“I can’t say one way or the other right now. Honest.”
“You know she was seeing Oliver?”
“No, I didn’t. Can’t say it surprises me.”
“She got you, didn’t she?”
Irulen found himself short of words.
Helga laughed. “And you’d think she might be a little distraught over losing poor Oliver, right? But she’s over pulling the poison out of your bearded friend you came back with tonight. Did you know that?�
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“I … No, I didn’t.”
“I wonder if she washed herself or just sat on him with all of your mess still on her.”
“That’s… That’s a disgusting image.”
Helga shrugged. “She has no shame.”
“Who has no shame?” Mirtha now stood in the doorway.
Irulen fought the urge to palm his forehead or melt away into the walls.
Helga shrugged. “I said, ‘It’s a shame.’ True shame losing Bertrand. A good man.” She slid by Mirtha. “One of our best. Too bad some people didn’t realize that.”
Mirtha’s gaze escorted Helga out of the room with murderous intent. She joined Irulen by her deceased husband’s side. “I don’t know why they are both in the same room.”
Irulen remained silent though his thoughts ran wild.
“You should know that he was humping Helga.”
Irulen fidgeted. “Uh… Is that that so? But you knew?”
“I’ve known for some time. We have many workers in the orchard. I know about my husband’s coming and goings. That cow slut coaxed him adrift—just like she did to Gerald those many years ago. She’s some kind of sex demon. I don’t see it. Never have.”
Must run in the family. “She had some interesting things to say about her sister.”
“She would. It isn’t that they’ve been estranged or the like, but their relationship has been fickle as a twig since Gerald chose Helga. Fake, those two. Smiles thinner than leaves. Always hugging and laughing. At least recently they grew cold, and in that coldness the first honesty to cross their miserable lives.”
◆◆◆
Quinn strutted through a square likely to be the town marketplace. Signs abounded of a party interrupted by a wicked turn of events. Old foodstuffs and other debris littered the ground. Some goods were even left on their carts. Quinn passed one such cart with a basket of fruit. He paused a moment in thought. He shrugged and snatched up an apple. It may have been a little bruised, though it was hard to tell at night. The closest torch flickered some twenty strides away. He took a bite. Juicy, sweet. He pocketed another and turned to walk on.
“Tch, tch, tch, tch,” said a shadowed man as he approached. “Those your apples, friend?”
“Well, uh, not exactly… I thought they might be—”
“Then you won’t mind if I snag one myself?” The wiry figure bounded around Quinn to the basket. A flash of closely-kept facial hair adorned the fellow.
Quinn never understood why people shaped, cropped, and in other ways tamed their beards. He raised a hand to his own beard. It’s the only thing of mine left full. He stretched his back until the stiffness subsided. What a woman, that Marisa. Looks like my luck is changing in the best of ways.
“Are you feeling fit, friend?” asked the clean-cut stranger. “You look a little sore.”
“Decent enough, I s’pose. It has been a trying handful of weeks.”
“You’re telling me. I fell into a new crowd, and they find more trouble than I do.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Fell in with them some time back. A strange band of folk. I’ve actually been considering leaving ‘em behind tonight, with all the commotion going on.”
Quinn laughed. “That’s funny.”
“Why’s that?”
“You are leaving your friends, and I just found some of mine.”
“Ironic indeed.”
“Say, do you know where I can drown my stomach in alcohol?”
“Indeed I do… What do I call you?”
“Quinn. The name is Quinn.”
“Leofrick. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Leofrick bowed the slightest of bows.
Quinn thought the bow might’ve concealed a look of confusion. He decided to poke at it. “Are you feeling well?” he asked.
Leofrick chuckled. “Of course. I just… It’s just your name. My friends knew someone named Quinn.”
“Oh?”
“But he’s been missing for some time. They are on some journey to find him, but I think it’s all for naught. He’s long dead.”
“Why such glum foresight?”
“He was taken by someone... less than savory.” An etch of shadow traced across Leofrick’s face. “Someone you just don’t get people back from.”
“Sounds like someone who could use an axe to the arm and a few crossbow bolts to the body.”
Leofrick chuckled but rose a brow. “Or a few other things I could think of, certainly. Maybe having his balls torn asunder by goblins and fed to forest trolls.”
“Ha!” Quinn slapped Leofrick on the back. “I’m sure we can brainstorm all sorts of unfortunate fates for this evil fool. Shall we talk over an ale?”
Quinn looked on as Leofrick thought it over a moment and responded, “That sounds nice. Why not? This way.”
Quinn indicated for Leofrick to lead on. He decided not to tell Leofrick that he was the Quinn and that Leofrick tagged along with his friends. A surprise is always worth a laugh.
◆◆◆
Of all the magic he could do, Irulen could not split himself into three. He needed help. Farah watching over Kay left him little in the way of help. Merek could draw, but it wasn’t drawing that Irulen needed help with. He might have even made use of Leofrick, but that scoundrel likely skipped town once the chaos hit.
Irulen had one place to turn. His shame reminded him that he had no right to ask Quinn for anything, let alone to help in a job. But there had to be a reason Quinn came to them and that he didn’t keep going once he found them. Maybe he cared about Kay’s condition. Maybe something more, but Irulen couldn’t let things go on without talking to his old friend. Perhaps he could unload the weight of explaining himself that hung so heavy around his shoulders. He knew an apology wasn’t enough. How could it be?
The baths were now empty. To Irulen that meant one thing: If Quinn was done bathing his body, he’d surely be bathing his mouth. He’d likely find Quinn at a tavern. As to what type of ale Quinn consumed, whether it be angry ale or an ale tinged with contentment, Irulen didn’t know. Whether there were punches or hugs, laughs or screams awaiting him, Irulen would face it.
He thought he knew the general direction of the tavern, but the shadows and darkness disguised the distinguishing elements of the village. Every area began to look the same. He threw his hands up in frustration, then he noticed a familiar figure coming his way. “Marisa?”
“That’s me, last I checked.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Might I ask you the same question?”
“I’m working.”
“Oh, all work and no play is it?”
“Better than all play and no work.”
“Oh, you seem a little passive-aggressive, don’t you think?”
“How am I supposed to be? What you did—”
Her laughter cut him off. “Please, what about what I did hurt you? Didn’t you feel nice after? More relaxed? Your friend did.”
“What? Did you really?”
“Who I did is up to me to tell.”
“At least you found someone willing this time, eh? You should know that people think you had something to do with the dam breakage, with Bertrand’s murder.”
Marisa half scoffed, half laughed. “You mean my sister, or Mirtha, or both?”
“I can’t say.”
“Oh, are you one of those boys who plays by the book? Didn’t strike me as such.”
“I’m not the one being questioned here.” Irulen’s stomach tightened. The blackness was asking to be let out.
“Is it a control issue? Are you afraid of people getting to know you?”
“This isn’t about me. If you had nothing to do with the murder, just tell—”
“Who knows you better, do you think? Farah or Kay?”
He leaned his head to the side until his neck cracked. Who does this bitch think she is? His anger grew, but something was still off. She played too hard into the malicious persona. Like trying to be
someone else, a feeling he knew well enough.
But there, the other voice interceded. Who is she to speak to me like that? This person wedging herself into my personal life when I never invited her. The thought scared and angered him further.
If she wanted to engage him in battle, then he would match her blow for blow. “Why aren’t you good enough?” he asked.
Her mouth fell open from a smile. “Excuse me?”
“Why aren’t you good enough for anyone here? Why don’t you have anyone who cares about you? Maybe you should find a mirror before you have a look behind my curtains. Which, by the way, what lies behind those curtains would burn your little eyes. You are just a simple, discarded creature from a small town. Gerard wouldn’t have you, and no one would have you now. You use sex for—for what? A hole you are filling? A role you are missing? How pathetic are you?”
The blackness surrounded his vision. The last time his vision dimmed this low he fell into a trance and hacked off someone’s arm. He wanted to cut off her head. He wanted her to challenge him further so he could drop her from taller heights. He wanted to bring her low.
Instead, she shrunk before him and cried. “I’m barren. That’s why Gerald left me, and that’s why no one will have me.”
His rage imploded inward, his guts twisted. He snapped out of the darkness and heeded witness to the harm he had done. He might not have cut off an arm, but he had daggered someone’s heart. He reached out a hand in an attempt to apologize. “I’m… I’m sor—”
“No, no. You don’t get to do that—wash yourself clean and feel better about it. You live with it. The tavern is that way, asshole.” Marisa pointed as she walked from him, sobbing.
Feeling unfinished and pretty shitty overall, Irulen opened his mouth to call after her. Thinking better of it, he again sealed his lips. He doubted his ability to make anyone feel better about anything. He remained a bane to happiness, a loose-lipped asshole with savage wit.
Taking a deep breath at his own hopelessness, Irulen walked in the direction she pointed, mulling the irony that he was a professional problem-solver. I guess making problems is a hobby, a way to spend my spare time.
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