Once they’ve deposited the corpse with Blackfeather, Alton finally reads the note. She curses wildly and flails for Aupti and Elm to follow. She explains what’s happened on her way, having borrowed a ride on a carpet from an air patrol officer to keep up with the werebear.

They arrive in a rush at the wharf on the lakeward river. The river on this side of the hill that’s central to the city runs toward the lake filled mostly with glacial runoff. Traffic on the river is usually heavy, and there is little difference based on time of day. Much of this traffic is destined for either Woodville or the Primarchy. Much of the staff are elves and forged.

It isn’t terribly hard to find the address the mages have provided. The wharf floats on the river, protected by a jetty that directs the current and helps keep the channel clear and navigable. A cold storage warehouse is set into face of the hill is the most likely point of entry to the undertunnels.

But their intelligence gathered through spellcraft does not point toward the warehouse. It points instead to the wharf itself, where two long ships are in the process of loading. The ships themselves are almost twins, with long rows of oars and a sail. They sit shallow in the water, designed for river travel rather than crossing the ocean.

Alton isn’t certain which of the vessels the vampire plans to take, but she is reasonably certain that it hasn’t left yet. This dock belongs to a shipping company affiliated with the Primarchy, which is made obvious by their departures and arrivals board and the busy little workforged bustling about through the night. She’s sure that their code enforcers would not allow a ship to leave the dock without proper inspection documents.

A metallic flash in the light of oil lamps hanging aboard both ships catches the posse’s attention. Detective Trageser is wandering between shipping crates, rapier in hand. Something about the way he moves is not quite right. He picks his nose and eats it.

“That’s nasty.” Aupti sticks out her tongue in disgust.

“That’s... not like Rodd.” Alton squints. “Can either of you tell whether or not someone is being kept as a thrall by looking at them?”

Elm nods. It and Aupti creep on board the vessel, or attempt to creep at least. There isn’t much sneaking that can be done by a massive werebear and a not precisely tiny woodforged. The weight of their footfalls causes the boat to rock and boards to creak.

Trageser turns on his heel and points the rapier at them. He gives a wordless shout and charges forward at the werebear. Aupti, for her part, is merciful.

With an open palm, she catches Trageser’s charge and redirects him over the waist high railing. Alton plans a note to the Occupational Health and Safety Administration about what the correct recommended height for shipboard railings out to be when they’re finished, but stays well back of the action. It’s hard to imagine that a ship out of the Primarchy would fail to meet them, but there it is.

Trageser splashes down into the black water. Worried, Alton peers over the wooden boardwalk, and is relieved to see him splashing about in the water below. A pair of forged dockworkers get started on the task of fishing him out safely.

“Don’t forget,” Alton reminds the contractors, “we need to take him without destroying him. He’s no good to us if he can’t be put on trial.”

“We know the contract,” Aupti growls.

Elm holds its hammer at the ready and slowly pushes past the loaded crates, searching for one particular shape. Aupti stands still and sniffs slowly. They find the target at the same time, and creep toward it. The long narrow box can only conceal a coffin.

Aupti uses a claw to wedge the crate open, prying it loose with the leverage she can manage. Indeed a coffin lies inside. Aupti and Elm nod agreement, and heft the coffin between them, aiming to carry it to the station together.

The vampire inside disagrees.

With their hands full of the heavy coffin, the two Blackfeather agents are knocked off balance when it opens with a slam. The vampire erupts from within, slashing with hideous claws on both sides. The fight begins in earnest.

The coffin drops with a loud bang.

Elm swings its hammer down, but contacts only empty space as the vampire dodges out of the way. Aupti’s teeth snap on empty air.

Alton wonders where the rest of the Special Weapons and Tactics team are. She assumes that they would have been there before now, but there is no sign of them.

The adventurers tangle with the vampire, fighting with great ferocity. Alton watches with a growing sense of dread. The fight goes badly for all of them. The vampire bleeds slowly from many deep wounds, but the cuts seem to close as they’re opened. The vampire’s claws tangle in Aupti’s fur and most often fail to penetrate through to her flesh. Elm suffers damage, but none serious, as Bellemare focuses on the werebear.

They battle furiously as Alton watches from nearby. She witnesses the fight from a slight distance, and is placed perfectly to notice when the missing police force show themselves.

There hasn’t been enough time for Bellemare to have created full Spawn. A half dozen thralls emerge from around the docks, and Alton stands alone against them. She draws her baton and takes a guarded stance against attack. And attack they do, using their personal lethal weapons against the single detective.

The thralls get in several blows against her, but Alton fares well enough to drop most to the stunning baton. She’s unable to see the outcome of the fight with Bellemare as it continues at her back. Instead she falls unconscious from blood loss from the many minor wounds she’s received.