To Sir Gerald Stewart,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Your missives regarding the investigation have been invaluable, and your progress precisely what I knew I could expect from you. Please continue to keep me posted while keeping it discreet from Perimont and any of the Guardians or other officials. This remains a matter of utmost secrecy.

To help you on your quest, I’ve enclosed a gift that I think you will find helpful. When you wield it, your power and prestige will be beyond question.

However, please do not mention that you received it from me. It’s still a prototype from the Tower, not yet in wide circulation. This is probably the only one outside of Cambria, as a matter of fact. Treasure it accordingly, and use it in good health.

~ Harold Grimoire, fifth to bear the name, Prince of Pantera and heir to the throne

Wordier than the Prince usually was, but that was probably because of all the politicking in the Great Council. Nothing to worry about.

More importantly, though…

Gary had unwrapped the object within the parcel before even glancing at the letter, tearing it open like a man should. A polished wooden handle attached to a slightly rust-spotted metal tube, lightly worn from Tower testing but still near-pristine. It fit perfectly in his grip, as if it had been made for him.

A pistol.

All the power of a cannon in a package that could be held in one hand.

It’s beautiful.

Gary spun it around in a fluid motion, demonstrating his adeptness with the weapon, practically an extension of himself, then moved his hand to tuck it into his belt.

“What was that noise?” Charlotte asked, barging into his room where he was reading his secret correspondence with Prince Harold like some sort of unbearable busybody. “And what’s that thing on the floor?”

“It’s none of your business.” He reached down to grab it. “A gift from a close friend, that’s all.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, suspicious that such a lone wolf would also be gregarious enough to maintain close relationships. “Right, ok. What does it do?”

“It kills people.” Gary grinned from ear to ear. “Better than anything else in the world.”

“Really?” She jumped back slightly. “Hopefully you never have to use it, then.”

Eh? How could someone miss the point so completely? Clearly she was just being spiteful; that was the only way it made sense.

“What is wrong with you? I’m a knight; killing evil villains is what we do. With any luck, there’ll be good reason to use it today. Immediately, even.” What else was the point of a weapon? “It’ll be invaluable in my investigation.”

“Our investigation,” she insisted, desperate to ride his coattails. “Or Malin’s, really. Letting a bomber run around is dangerous for everyone.”

“Yes, I’ll be saving everyone.” Gary patted her on the head lightly as he tucked the pistol away, this time refraining from the elegant spinning. His underling was jealous enough as it was. “Keenly observed.”

Charlotte sighed, barely managing to maintain composure in the face of Gary’s well-earned favor from the Prince. “That’s not why I’m here anyway. Captain Whitbey said Governor Perimont has a message for you.”

“Whitbey? He’s a useless ponce. It’s a wonder the Guardians haven’t fallen entirely to anarchy under him.” The man had had the nerve to try to take Gary’s sword! It was an affront, it was. Although now, as long as he kept Prince Harold’s gift about him at all times, he would never truly be unarmed… “You shouldn’t let him order you around so much,” he ordered.

“I don’t think that’s really the important takeaway here. What would Perimont need from you again? I thought he already felt you out months ago.”

“He’s in urgent need of my expertise, no doubt. I’m the sworn protector of the Avalon royal family, ace investigator of that wicked criminal Clochaîne, and the Prince’s chosen agent in matters personal and political, as well as a master spymaster.”

“Spymaster?” Charlotte choked back laughter, no doubt still thinking of how incompetent her commander in the Guardians was. “I’ve been with you through this entire investigation. There is absolutely no way that you of all people have any spies you’re ‘master’-ing.”

“Not true,” he corrected. “I receive regular updates from Jethro in Guerron. He’s a spy directly under my command, so secret no one even knows about him. A secret to everyone, Charlotte. All the world, save me and literal royalty.” At least, that seemed safe to assume. Prince Harold had certainly never mentioned anyone else knowing about him.

“And me, now.”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry, but I would never tell you about something that sensitive. Nice try, though.”

“But— You just—”

“No time for that now, Charlotte. We can all laugh at Whitbey later. What’s important now is the Governor’s message. Do you have it with you?”

Charlotte nodded, pulling out an envelope sealed in red wax, the Governor’s axe-shaped seal pressed into it to ensure authenticity. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me about that prisoner girl, by the way.”

Gary ignored her babbling, tearing the letter forth in one fluid clawing motion that barely even damaged the message inside.

“If there’s really something going on in those tunnels, we’ll probably want backup with us when we investigate. And I think someone should take a look before we have her show us, to make sure it isn’t a trap. I’ve never seen an Acolyte with an entire head of blue hair; something seems off about it. And I heard they arrested another one a few days ago too, making some kind of ruckus outside the railyard…”

Her mumbled ramblings faded into the background as Gary thumbed through Perimont’s letter.

To Sir Gerald Stewart or whomever it may concern,

I continue to be surprised at the pace of your investigation. No doubt few men in your position would have made the amount of progress you have after so many months of investigation. Truly you are a unique example of knighthood. I often think about the confluence of events that led you to your position, pondering how different things might have been had Prince Harold charged another with your task.

That went on for several more paragraphs. Empty flattery, perhaps, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t earned. It was repetitive enough that Gary just skimmed it until he found something more interesting.

My Forresters have discovered an unexpected matter that may demand your attention. A number of important documents appear to be missing from the office of Overseer Celice Thorley. They suspect that robbery may be the cause, or other malfeasance.

Complicating the matter is the arrest of an acolyte days prior. For reasons that I have already belabored to you relating to Pierre Cadoudal of the Acolytes and other figures in cooperation with them who shall remain nameless, I believe that you are the best suited to look into that aspect of the incident.

Please note that this imprisoned acolyte is the only aspect I wish for you to examine. The Guardians and the Forresters will remain the primary investigators on the potential robbery. Do not interfere with their investigation.

Cordially,

Gordon Perimont

Lord of Carringdon and Governor of Malin.

“We’re going to the railyard,” Gary announced, stuffing the letter into his pocket. He would destroy it along with Prince Harold’s later. It was hard to find a fire in summer, but burning did tend to be the ideal way to dispose of secret documents. Anything less thorough had a tendency to leave them vulnerable to discovery, according to the Prince.

“You were listening!”

“What? No. There’s not a single person who could keep up with that stream of babble. It’s adorably naive that you think anyone would care what you have to say.” Tough words, perhaps, but they would help her grow. Or at least become less annoying, which would be more than enough. “We’re going to the railyard because Perimont wants me to investigate the robbery that just happened there.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “A robbery? We definitely need to try interrogating that acolyte then. It has to be connected, and Perimont won’t have his people go anywhere near Clochaîne himself. Plus, if the charges against him are light enough, they might be able to snag a solicitor to get him out of the jail, and then he’ll be in the wind.”

“Were you even listening? Someone stole documents from right under the Director’s nose. Probably because he’s a useless bureaucrat, if I had to guess. If I can catch the man who did it, I’ll be a hero among heroes. And I can probably turn them to give up Clochaîne while I’m at it.”

“The Guardians can do that. We’re the only ones who can go anywhere near the Acolytes without causing an incident. Don’t you see the opportunity?”

“Don’t you? I can finally show those stuffy science fucks how stupid they are.” The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Perimont had given him an amazing gift here, even if it couldn’t compare to Prince Harold’s. “To the railyard!”

≋

“Yes, just like the story of Sigfried and Celice.”

Would this doddering fool never stop embarrassing himself?

Director Thorley seemed like he had been born sitting behind a desk, with his weak arms and thinned-out grey hair slicked back with oil. Not even a man. It was little surprise that he had failed so horribly, just the way those haughty ‘intellectuals’ tended to.

“Of course,” Thorley continued, “my father wasn’t named Sigfried, rather Sidney, but the resemblance is still there, no? Especially now that my son Kelsey is following in my footsteps, just as the Celice of legend reclaimed his ancestral sword to avenge his father. The Tower has even taken an interest in his work at the College. The way I hear it, it sounds like the Prince may even be involved.”

Khali’s curse. As if Prince Harold would put up with this nonsense. Thorley was obviously delusional.

“Shut up!” Gary slammed his hands down against the desk. “We’re not here to hear you blather on about some old story.”

“Yeah!” added Charlotte. “Sir Gerald doesn’t waste his time with frivolities like reading.”

“Thank you, Charlotte.” Nice of her to back him up for once, instead of trying to hold him back.

The Director jumped back, his eyes growing wide. “Young man, that is no way to speak with someone. As I already explained to the Guardians, I simply—”

“You allowed hundreds of pages of documents to be stolen right out from under you. Do you have any idea how valuable they are?”

“I—”

“Actually, do you? Because I have no idea.”

Thorley lifted a finger and opened his mouth, then closed it again. “What exactly is it that you want to know, Sir Gerald?

Charlotte jumped in before Gary could reply. “Let’s start with what went missing. Captain Whitbey said it was papers from your desk?”

“All of them.” Thorley sighed. “I was drafting plans for a sleeker design for the train’s engine, with a more efficient method of combustion to aid in fitting it. More power in a smaller space, the ultimate goal of engineering.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, then,” Gary noted. “It’s not like that’s something they can sell.”

Thorley buried his face in his hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand the importance of reference material, but all the individual pieces are important. The structure of the train carriage, prior combustion engine designs, coal generators…”

Ugh, you are so dull. “So what?”

“So it could represent a great loss, if the thief realizes what they’ve taken. I dread to imagine what could happen if papers like that fell into the wrong hands.”

“He would know,” Gary noted grimly. “This is obviously the work of a master thief. In and out in the night, without a single witness left behind, nor even a trace that they were ever here.” Clochaîne was supporting this criminal, no doubt, but the man himself would have to be ferocious in his own right.

“What about the Acolyte caught outside?” Charlotte asked, stomping all over Gary’s moment discovering his arch nemesis, a criminal worthy of the enmity of a master investigator.

Thorley shrugged. “I wasn’t here for that. All I know is that on the first of the week when I returned, my desk had been ransacked.”

“I’m noticing another desk here.” Charlotte pointed to the smaller desk towards the front of the office, still full of materials and papers. “Your partner?”

“Hardly! My former assistant, that’s all. He helped manage my schedule and deal with the riff-raff when the need arose. A good man, or so I thought.”

“He was the thief!” Gary exclaimed. “Obviously he infiltrated this camp, biding his time as he plotted and rose through the ranks. Then, when the moment was right, he struck. Truly devious. As clever as it is vile.”

“The Forresters concluded otherwise, once they were finished with him.” Thorley shook his head sadly, looking to Gary for leadership in the face of this impossible threat. “I’m inclined to agree. He showed back up for work the next few days as if nothing had happened. No thief, devious or otherwise, would be so foolish. Even the lowliest wastrel would know to flee the scene of their crime.”

“Why is he a ‘former’ assistant, then?” Charlotte bent down to look through the drawers and cabinets of the smaller desk. “If he didn’t do anything wrong, I mean.”

Thorley scoffed. “I certainly wouldn’t go that far. The man allowed this theft to happen. Right under his very nose! It’s absolutely unacceptable behavior. I can’t have a man like that working for me, nor on a project this sensitive and important. The fact that he even tried to argue with me when I relieved him of duty cemented it. For all his virtues, the man had no self awareness.”

“I’m sure Prince Harold would agree.” Gary nodded. “He demands only the best of those in his employ.”

“Good help is hard to find,” Thorley noted. “And now I’ll need to send word back to Avalon for a replacement. It’s all such a terrible bother.”

“My heart goes out to you,” Charlotte spoke through grit teeth, her disgust with the incompetent assistant plain to see. “Could you give us his name? It seems like he’s the one we really need to talk to.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“But–”

Gary held a finger to her lips, silencing her. “We have the Director right here. His word is worth far more than some assistant, even if he is a useless paper pusher.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, right.” Gary turned back to the Director. “Leave.”

“This is my office!”

With a shake of his head, Gary pointed to the door. “This is the site of a crime. It’s my duty as a knight of Avalon to investigate it. You seem done saying anything useful, and your irritating blather is hardly good for the brain.” He pointed to his temple. “Need to stay sharp to catch a thief like this.”

Charlotte led the man out the door, asking him more pointless questions about the assistant in order to stymie his complaints and make him feel better about being dominated by Gary’s superior force of will. I suppose her soft approach has some benefit, at least. Frankly, it was about time.

Now that he had the room to himself, Gary took a moment to take it all in. Then he cracked his knuckles, since that was the thing to do, and followed it up with another glance around the room.

Charlotte had already searched the assistant’s desk fairly thoroughly, by the looks, so he could be fairly sure there was nothing amiss there.

Thorley’s desk was just as empty, not unlike the man’s head, and there didn’t seem to be any telltale signs of the ransack. No dirt, no contraband, no blood. Not even a calling card.

What else, then?

The floor was carpeted, but lifting it didn’t reveal any hidden trap doors or secret escape hatches, nor did any of the walls sound hollow when he knocked on them.

The only other thing in the room was a bookshelf. The bottom few shelves were slightly messed up, certain books tipped over or askew, but that tracked with how Thorley had presented himself anyway. Especially if the assistant who was supposed to be fixing things like that were bad at his job.

Nothing useful there, then.

Think, Gary.

Clochaîne was a businessman, a fixture of commerce who moved dala around by the hundreds of thousands. Perimont was afraid to touch him, but knew that Gary would be up to the task… What kind of evidence would a thief working for a man like that leave behind.

Coins? Bills of Sale? Charters?

Probably something like that. Definitely not the work of an idealogue, anyway. Whoever the thief was, they were no Robin Verrou. This would be about the money, nothing more.

But even professionals couldn’t be perfect. Not the way knights like Gary could. There would be something.

He strained, trying to reach the top shelf, but it was too high. Cursed things are designed for giants. Jumping didn’t really help either, since it only let him grab one book at a time.

None of them seemed interesting either. Not that most books were, but still. The top shelf was all boring history stuff about the Great Binder and the sealing of Khali. It was different from the sciency books on the lower shelves, but no more helpful.

Fuck.

He fell back against the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

This isn’t a defeat. Far from it. It simply meant he was dealing with a true master. A foe worthy of the great Gerald Stewart.

Wait, what’s that?

There was some kind of metal tube embedded into the ceiling, curving up past it and, presumably, onto the roof.

Gary grinned as he jumped to grab hold of it and hoist himself up like the paragon of athletic perfection he was.

Only the damned builders had built the ceiling too high too. Probably some status thing for Thorley. That was the only reason he could think of as to why he wouldn’t be able to jump to the opening.

Still, shoving Thorley’s desk under it with a loud, groaning creak solved the problem.

With no small amount of pleasure, Gary pressed his dusty boot against the surface as he stepped up on top of the desk. From there, jumping to grab ahold of the metal was easy.

He lifted himself up, poking his head through the opening.

Strange that this is just wide open like this, he thought as he crawled out onto the roof of the Director’s cabin. Probably so he can throw refuse away through it.

The position at the top would allow the person inside to practice throwing and get some amount of exercise even while working at a desk whenever they needed to dispose of something. It made too much sense.

“Ow, fuck.” He jerked his hand up as he felt a jolt of pain from it. Upon examination, a screw was digging lightly into it.

Obviously he had underestimated this master thief. The criminal had known Gary would search up here and laid a careful trap for him.

Gary shook his hand as he looked back down at the roof, careful to avoid any further traps. There were plenty more screws, but the strange thing was the metal grille lying discarded to the side. It was almost as if…

“Hey, Charlotte!” he yelled down at her, holding up the piece of metal. “I figured it out!”

She stared up at the grille, transfixed to find herself in the presence of Gary’s brilliant discovery. “Ohhh,” she murmured softly.

Gary grinned back, happy to bask in her admiration. Even if she probably wasn’t smart enough to understand what his discovery actually meant.

Clochaîne would pay, and this new nemesis with him. Gary was on them, and nothing could stop him from bringing them to justice.