Quandaries at the Quay

It took half a day for the news to reach the Lyceum, disseminating around the dinner tables at noon. Thus, in between his lessons in the Circle of Fire, Martel had time to ponder the matter. As he recalled, the Friar had promised to get a patrol of inquisitors into the catacombs, dealing with the maleficar and his enslaved jinni. Either the Friar had failed to uphold his promise, or the inquisitors had failed. Given what Martel knew of the former's insistence on oaths and the latter's incompetence, he suspected the second reason.

Martel knew this was not a problem he could solve. He had tried to face what he assumed to be the jinni in service to the maleficar, aided by two mageknights, and come up short.

But he was curious. If nothing else, assuming the Friar was true to his word, what had happened in the catacombs? Martel had not met with the old monk since he agreed to have the inquisitors investigate, so there had not been an opportunity to follow up. While Martel had no desire to venture into the sepulchre below Morcaster again, he did want to know what the inquisitors had found. Given they lacked his knowledge of magic and related sensibility, they might have missed something.

That in mind, Martel decided to take a look at the docks in person. Rumours were exactly that, rumours, and highly unreliable. While he had lost his appetite for seeing the catacombs again, there was nothing wrong with a little jaunt to the harbour.

Before that, though, he needed to arrange a meeting with the Friar. As he did not know where to find the old clergyman, Martel went for the second-best choice and decided to get hold of the Keeper. Which meant the old method of buying an oatcake from the girl selling them on the square of the Lyceum.

As Martel went to her and asked for a cake, she squinted her eyes even as she handed him one. "Is this because you're hungry or because you want to see the guy? Because he told me not to expect you anymore."

"Both, really. Tell him I'll meet him tonight, last bell." Martel took a bite of his cake and turned back, returning to the Lyceum for his second lesson of the day.

***

Late afternoon, the young fire acolyte took a stroll to the harbour. Passing through the crowds of the market was unpleasant, but Martel kept his wits about him and continued. Nobody flashed a golden weapon at him, and he made it to the docks safely.

It took some questioning to send him in the right direction; not all the local people were thrilled to discuss the return of the maleficar in their own district, especially not to someone clad as a wizard. Yet that same authority compelled others to tell Martel what they knew, and he continued on.

Reaching the area, he saw no sign of inquisitors, which he had half expected; they must have finished their investigation already. Probably not much to discover; the closer Martel came, the less people seemed willing to discuss the event, and he doubted the maleficar had left many clues behind.

He assumed the rogue sorcerer had moved through the sewers; since they discharged their contents into the sea, there would be several tunnels in the district. Striking his victim at the docks also fit the previous pattern of choosing a different area each time.

Wanting to learn everything he could, however little it might be, Martel crossed the docks until he found someone he recognised. "Mouse," he called out.

The small girl broke into a run before she stopped, turned around, and walked back towards him. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Have you heard about what happened here last night?"

"Of course, everyone has. But people die all the time." She shrugged. "If you let that keep you from putting coin in your hand, your stomach won't thank you later."

Martel exhaled, digesting the implications of such a statement from so young a child – he was not sure he would ever get used to it. "What can you tell me about it?"

"Dead fellow was a Sindhian sailor. They found him in an alley, pretty close to the pier. Inquisitors carried his body away."

So a victim unfamiliar with the city; that made sense. "Anybody say anything about who did it?"

Mouse shook her head. "What I heard, some drunk fellow practically fell over the corpse when stumbling home. Someone said he was already cold by then, so he must have been dead a while."

"Thanks." That was probably all Martel would learn. He took out a few pennies and handed them over.

Mouse gave him a broad smile and took off.

***

Walking to his meeting with the Keeper, a question rumbled around Martel's mind. Attacking a victim in an alley was bold; different from previous attempts taking place indoors, out of sight. But more than that, it seemed the maleficar had been able to do his misdeed in peace. Yet the body had been left in the open to be discovered.

It was not a long distance from the alley to the closest pier. Dumping the corpse in the water would have gone a long way towards concealing the crime, assuming this could be done without anyone seeing. Alternatively, although Martel did not know where the sewer entrances lay in the harbour, that could provide another opportunity to dispose of the body.

Circumstances might have prevented the maleficar from doing this, but another explanation fit with Martel's previous instinct; if the maleficar lacked the magic to prevent Sparrow from fleeing, he might also lack the magic to hoist a heavy body and drag it around. Though it clashed with the idea of a dangerous sorcerer conjuring jinn for their own defence. As much as Martel felt he was on to something, he could not actually make sense of it.

Entering the tavern, Martel quickly looked around; although their business was concluded, the Keeper had felt intrigued enough to show. Martel knew that feeling.

"My fire-clad friend," the rogue declared as Martel approached. "I confess my curiosity as to the reason for this get-together."

The wizard sat down. "You've heard about the maleficar."

"Just the rumours flying around. I cannot provide you with more information than what any man knows if that's your intention."

"No. I want to meet the Friar to discuss it."

The Keeper raised an eyebrow. "Unexpected. You understand he is not a glovemaker you may call upon at your leisure? He owes you much, but those debts are repaid in the favours he promised. He's not at your beck and call."

"I don't presume that either," Martel declared impatiently. "And he did make a promise in regard to this. Seeing as the maleficar is still active, I can only assume it went poorly. I should like to hear from the man himself what happened."

The Keeper blew out his breath. "Very well. I'll let him know. But it's up to him whether he'll meet you. Don't contact me again about this – I won't be able to sway him one way or the other."

"Fine." Martel got up and left again.

"Wizards – always in a rush." The jester took a deep draught from his mug.