The next place to look was the palace. Obviously. The priest mentioned a foreign noble being the one to request the bounty, and since Johnny Jigsup most likely tried to swindle this noble, and because nobles like to hang out in palaces, we decided to head there next.

With any luck, we could find the noble who set the bounty and get more information, or we could at least find out what exactly happened.

I tried to tell Vil that the guy was probably already dead or gone. He worked with the mob, got tossed into the ocean. Or maybe he got the money and ran, leaving the poor girl behind. It stung thinking about that.

Vil, of course, was patient and skeptical. He said it was "too early to assume anything."

When we made it to the palace gates--really just the castle wall to the inner keep--and we found musketeer guards here, too. The gate guard challenged us, demanded to see our paperwork, and to know why we were here. Vil showed him the bounty and the sketch.

The guard squinted his eyes at the bounty paper, flipped it, looked at its back, flipped it around again, then his eyes widened. He told us to hurry in.

We did.

Inside, the gardens and greenery filled the palace courtyard. We passed bubbling fountains adorned with statues, over the perfectly chiseled stone path, up the stair--passing other aristocrats and nobles--until we waltzed right into the front doors.

It was busy here. There were diplomats from other nations milling about, members of foreign royal families, all wearing the usual upper-class fashions. Needless to say, a trash can knight with a dirty tabard and cloak stood out.

Inside the palace, the place was the definition of soft luxury. The carpets seemed to melt beneath our feet with every step, the walls glittered with gold picture frames and trophies and all sorts of historical relics. It was a wide, long hall, but Vil took a sharp left into what looked like an administrator's office.

"Good morning," Vil said as he pulled off his hood. "Are you by chance the photomancer?"

The man who sat on the desk looked like a typical bureaucrat. Combed-over hair. Thin mustache. Thick glasses. He didn't look up from whatever he was reading. "That would be me, yes."

Vil shuffled into one of the leather seats facing him. There was another seat, but I was--what my people would call--fucking huge, so I chose to stand instead.

Vil waited for the man to stop reading, but after a minute, he continued. "We're working for the church on a bounty. We have reason to believe our target passed through here."

"Is that so?" said the bureaucrat photomancer. He sounded none too interested.

Vil waited again. The photomancer flipped the page and continued reading. "I would like to view yesterday's images to see if we can't find what we're looking for."

I had to hand it to him. Vil seemed like an excellent bounty hunter. He was methodical, clever, patient. I, on the other hand, just wanted to burst through to wherever the guy was, tearing up anything in my path. You know. The manly way.

The photomancer let out a long sigh, and without even looking up from his paper, he pulled open a nearby cabinet, rustled around in it, and drew out a fat folder. He plopped it on the desk in front of him. "There," he said. "Be quick."

Vil slid the book of photographs into his lap and started to flip through, and I looked over his shoulder. Not because I wanted to help, but because I had only heard of photomancers in passing. I knew the gist of what they did, I mean, it's why they were called photomancers in the first place, but I had never actually seen their work.

In Vil's lap were stacks of hyper-realistic images. Black and white. Pictures of well-dressed nobles going about their business in the blinding sunlight, or in the dark rooms of the palace, sitting at tables, shaking hands, smiling at each other like politicians do. I looked closer. They were sketches. All of them. All done by hand with incredible precision.

Maybe that was the magic of it. That this photomancer was really just an expert artist who could glance at a moment, then draw it out. Was it really magic? Or was his skill so incredible that it could be mistaken for such?

"This one," Vil whispered.

I looked. Sure enough, Johnny was there, resting his arm over a pretty young lady, laughing with the rest of the people at some well-timed joke. I looked closer. That woman. Flowing blond hair. White dress. Glass of... probably champagne held daintily in her slender fingers. Her boobs were half popping out, and--

Wait a second.

I'd recognize that cleavage anywhere! It was the same woman from the cathedral! "Vil," I said.

"I know." Vil looked back at the photomancer. "Who is this woman here?" He held up the image and pointed at her.

The photomancer didn't look up. He held up his finger and did a sort of circular gesture. "Turn it over."

There was a list of names on the other side.

From left to right:

Sir John Lackey.

Honorable Barbara Hess.

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

Dr. Dingo.

Prince Yuri Messer.

"The name is redacted," Vil said.

"If that is the case," said the photomancer, "then it is out of my hands."

Vil stared. The photomancer continued reading. Vil packed up the photos and set them back on the desk. "Thank you for your time."

With that, we left again. Out of the photomancer's office, through the hall, and out the palace doors.

Vil showed me the photograph again. "This woman must be the foreign noble."

I considered it. "Maybe Johnny swindled her, stole her money, and left."

"We don't know enough to say," he said.

"Well, I say we're wasting our time."

"You say a lot of things, Redrim."

"We're better off looking for work elsewhere instead of this wild chase that might not even pay out. What if he left, and we never find him? Then what? We should've just joined the arena instead."

"Then we rob the church. They tried to scam you, so they deserve it."

I chuckled at that. A metallic, manly chuckle. "Alright. Deal."