Vainglory 1.29 - Murder (Patreon)

Most Foul! Enjoy :)

29 – Murder

When Ward, with Fay close behind, approached the gated community where Haley lived, he noticed the cluster of city guards standing around, turning people away, disbursing any crowds that started to form. They all wore the same uniform and gear—polished steel helmets that covered the tops of their heads, gray and blue tabards over steel-studded leather coats, and long, hardwood cudgels looped around their wrists.

As Ward continued toward them, ignoring their frowns and discouraging glares, a short, very stocky one waved his cudgel in front of him, pointing up the street. “Move along!”

“I need to go in.” Ward leaned on his spear, wishing he had his new clothes because, in his opinion, he looked something like a vagrant in the hand-me-downs Fan had gathered for him. At least he wasn’t still wearing his backpack; they’d dropped it at the inn on the way across town.

“Nobody getting in, friend. Now shove off.” He gestured again with his baton.

“The hell did you just say?” Ward growled, glaring.

“Hey!” one of the other guards barked, a tall, dark-skinned fellow with uncanny, pale-green eyes. “He said move on!”

Ward looked the guards over. There were five of them, and they all looked fit and wore peeved scowls as though someone had come along and pissed in their coffee cups. He wanted to see Haley—wanted to help her, comfort her—but he didn’t think trying to fight five guards was the right move. He held up his hands, shifting his spear to the crook of his arm. “Look, fellas, I’m not trying to cause trouble. I’m just worried about Haley—she’s lost a lot of family recently; you know her brother just died in the catacombs, yeah? Can you tell me if she’s got someone with her? Is she alone? How hurt is she?”

He felt Fay move to stand beside him, gripping his elbow—whether to show support or to restrain him, Ward couldn’t tell. The first guard, the one who told Ward to shove off, backed up a step as the other green-eyed fellow stepped closer. “I understand. We’re all on edge, and the hysterical crowds aren’t helping. You know Efrud’s daughter, huh?”

“They were in the catacombs together!” Fay said, shifting to lean closer, her voice carrying a note of exasperation.

The guard’s eyes snapped wide, and he looked closer at Ward’s face, nodding. “Ah, you’re that one who came out with her, huh? Yeah, I didn’t notice your eyes in the lamplight. The captain wanted to speak to you anyway.” He turned to the guards blocking the road. “Let ‘em through.”

“But, Sarge—” the stocky bully started to whine, but the sergeant held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Lavin, you walk ‘em up. Make sure the captain sees ‘em.”

A different man stepped forward, slamming a fist to his chest, “Sarge!” Then, he turned to Ward and Fay. “Follow me, civilians!” He was tall and young, and his Adam’s apple bobbed prominently while he spoke. Ward shrugged and started after him. As soon as they’d passed by the gate, he hurried his step to walk beside the young man.

“Lavin, is it? How’s Haley? Is she conscious?”

“I don’t know, civilian! You’ll have to ask the captain!” Lavin spoke loudly, staring straight ahead while he marched, and Ward began to think he might have something wrong with him.

He slowed, falling back beside Fay. “Do you know any of these guys?”

“I’ve seen ‘em around town, I’m sure, but no, not personally. Don’t take their behavior to heart; we don’t see many murders in Tarnish, at least not in people’s homes, and I’m sure they’re feeling the stress.”

Ward looked around, wondering where Grace was. Still “resting?” He’d been surprised to hear from her that she’d been staying up listening for attackers, but it made him wonder if Haley was a victim of what she’d feared—an assassin sent by Nevkin. He felt a little peeved at himself for not realizing this might happen. No, it was more that he’d brushed off Grace’s concern. He still pictured Nevkin as an awkward, strangely competent young man. His experience of him as a double-crossing thief was too brief. “Double-crosser, yeah, but a murderer?”

“What?” Lavin asked, briefly glaring at Ward.

“Nothing.” He saw the cobbled path leading up to Haley’s house and, up on the porch, two men standing and talking, one of them wearing colors similar to the town guards. “That the captain?”

“Yes!” Lavin double-timed it, moving ahead of Ward. “Captain! I’ve got the man you wanted to question! The one from the catacombs!” Ward slowed and approached the sidewalk, for the first time wondering if this could spell trouble. What if these clowns thought he’d done the killing? What kind of laws were enforced in this town? What kinds of rights did citizens have? What about strangers? All of his experience as a detective, all the laws and statutes he’d had to memorize—none of it would help the fact that he didn’t know squat about the legal system in this place.

“Guess I can learn,” he muttered as the two men walked down the path, brushing past the stiffly saluting Lavin. The captain was a fit man who looked to be in his fifties. He wore a neat, short gray beard, held his chest out like a bit of a rooster, and clearly took pains to polish his leather belt and boots. The other man was smaller, wore a neat two-toned green suit, and carried a heavy-looking black leather case. Ward leaned on his spear, putting himself in front of Fay, and watched them approach.

“You’re Ward?” the captain asked, stopping a few feet away.

“That’s right.”

“Surname?”

“Dyer.”

“Ward Dyer? Your father was a dye master?”

“Uh . . .” Ward shrugged. What did it matter? “Sure. Is Haley all right?”

“She’ll recover with some rest,” the green-suited man replied. He had a rather high voice and spoke from the back of his throat. When he looked briefly into Ward’s eyes, Ward saw that he wore a monocle that looked almost like it was permanent; its gem-studded golden base seemed molded to his flesh.

“I’ll ask the questions if you gentlemen don’t mind.” The captain shifted slightly, placing part of his body between Ward and the man in green. “Ward, would you care to tell me what you did upon returning to town? When was that? This morning?”

“He got back last night! Why are you asking him these questions?” Fay stepped forward, folding her arms. “Shouldn’t you all be finding the killer instead of harassing people who care about the victim?”

“That’s enough, miss . . .?”

“Fayella Gildenhearth!”

“Gildenhearth? Are you from out of town as well?”

“No! My aunt owns the Hen’s Nest! I’ve seen you in there a dozen times, Captain Figran!”

“Ah, yes. Yes, yes, yes.” He nodded, stroking his chin. “Yes, I remember you now, Fayella.” He smiled. Like a switch being flipped, Ward could see him dismiss Fay from his mind as he refocused on him. “So, can you answer the question?”

Ward was honestly relieved to have the man asking. It meant he was still at least considering the idea that Ward hadn’t had anything to do with the murder. It sounded almost like he meant to carry out just the type of investigation Ward had spent half his life conducting. “Sure. I went back to the inn, got cleaned up, ate and drank, then slept. When I woke, I ate some more at the inn, and then Fay and I spent the morning shopping. We were having lunch when I heard about what happened here.”

“Is that so? Are you forgetting something?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve heard from two witnesses that you visited the victims in their home.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating the house behind him.

“Oh, shit. Yeah, of course. I thought you meant after that because that’s the first thing we did when we got into town—I walked Haley here, met her folks, then went to the inn.”

“Interesting.” He nodded, still stroking his chin, then, after glancing again at Fay, asked, “You’re still at the Hen’s Nest? Planning to stay there?”

“Yeah, for now.”

“If you intend to leave town, please clear it with my office.” Without waiting for a response, he turned to the green-clad man. “Doctor Broghious, have a good evening.” Then he turned to Fay, tipped his black high-topped hat, and walked away. Ward was glad he’d left without securing a promise; he wasn’t sure he’d have given it.

“Pleasure,” the doctor said and started to walk away.

“Hold up!” Ward grabbed his shoulder, and the man flinched but turned to him, smiling sheepishly.

“Yes?”

“What happened?” Ward jerked his head toward the house.

“Oh. Quite a mess, I’m afraid. Someone attacked the family in the early morning hours. The parents were killed in their bedroom, but it looked like the father put up enough of a struggle to wake the daughter. She came into the room and fought the attacker. The guards didn’t find a body, so they’re assuming the attacker got away. The young woman was badly wounded, near death, in fact.”

“Jesus.”

“Pardon?”

“What happened to her?” Fay cried, apparently more frustrated by the suspense than even Ward.

“Oh, she was stabbed several times.” The doctor shuddered. “Gods! What a mess! I’d hate to have to clean that house.”

“She’s in there?”

“Yes. She’s awake. Or, well, she was five minutes ago.”

Ward turned to the house, ready to dismiss the doctor, but Fay pressed him with another question, “She’ll be all right?”

“Well, physically, yes. I administered a healing tonic and treated her wounds with cut-burn salve.”

Fay’s outraged cry caught Ward off guard, “Cut-burn? Gods! Why not a mending or restorative salve?”

“Well, there’s the expense, but—”

“Seriously?” Fay leaned forward and grabbed the diminutive man’s green lapels. “You penny-pinching, dirty—” The doctor jerked himself free of her grip and stumbled down the cobbles, utterly fleeing ahead of her wrath.

When he was several steps away, he cried, “She insisted!” Then he turned and briskly walked away.

“That little creep!”

“Wanna explain cut-burn?” Ward frowned; he didn’t think he was going to like the answer.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. A paste they put on cuts to burn the wound closed. It’s really, really painful and leaves bad scars!” Fay started up the steps, and Ward followed her, a simmering rage beginning to burn in his gut. When they reached the door, Fay calmed enough to remember she didn’t know the family and backed up, watching Ward to see what he’d do. He leaned his spear in the corner of the porch, then walked up to the door and hesitated, wondering if he should knock. He still wasn’t sure if Haley was alone.

He lifted his hand to the door but paused and glanced at Fay. “I kind of wish you didn’t chase that doctor away. Is she alone in there?”

“How would I know?”

After another few seconds of deliberation, Ward gently rapped on the door with his knuckles. A moment later, he heard the tap of shoes on the wooden floor, and then the latch turned, and the door was pulled open.

“Hello?” The woman standing inside was older and very small, with long gray hair held up under a white kerchief. She wore a simple gray dress and held a large chopping knife in one hand, not unlike the one he’d recently purchased for Fan. “Are you with the marshal’s office? That good-for-nothing guard captain said you’d be days getting out this way.”

“Uh,” Ward frowned, confused by the question and sudden insight into the law enforcement situation. “I’m Ward, a friend of Haley’s.”

“Oh, my. Yes, the man from the catacombs.” She backed up a step, frowning, holding the door where it was, about a quarter of the way open. “She’s not well, you know. She’ll need her rest. Still, she’s mentioned you several times. I wager she’d be glad to see you.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see her. Are you related?”

“Oh no! I’m a neighbor. The captain asked me to look over her while she’s under the influence of the doctor’s tonic. I decided to make some soup.” She held up the knife and shrugged. “Just chopped up the carrots.”

“Well, do you mind if we come in?”

“No! Of course not. Pardon me!” She backed up a step and waved them in. She gestured to the stairs off to the left-hand side of the foyer. “Her room’s the second door on the left in the hallway upstairs. The door should be open; I wanted to be able to hear if she called out. Please keep it that way.”

Ward grunted in acknowledgment and started up the steps. Fay walked behind him, and, for some reason, he was glad she was there. Again, he looked for Grace, hardly believing she was missing out on everything, but saw no sign of her. When he stepped into the hallway, he saw the first blood spatters. Further on, toward the end of the hallway, blood was pooled a centimeter deep and coagulated into a sticky maroon-brown sludge with half a dozen sets of footprints in it. The smell was all too familiar to Ward. “Gods,” Fay breathed.

“Yeah.” He looked into Haley’s room, noted the spartan furnishings, and stepped over to the narrow bed next to the closed window. The foot of her bed was draped with a fluffy pink comforter, but Haley lay uncovered on the sheets, her head propped up on two pillows. She wore loose, comfortable-looking red pajamas, and when her wan face with its sunken, dark eyes turned toward him, he thought she might have tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t respond. Instead, her lips trembled, and fresh tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, joining the others on her damp, shiny cheeks. “Haley.” His voice was quiet, hoarse with emotion, and he hurried to stand beside her, grabbing her pale, slender hand.

“Ward.” Her lips twisted down at one corner as an involuntary sob joined his name. “They . . . they’re . . .”

“I know. I know. Hush.” Ward glanced toward Fay, aware the scene was probably awkward for her, but she’d stepped out. Perhaps the gravity of the situation had finally hit home—the blood, the smell of murder, Haley lying traumatized in a dim room. He couldn’t blame her for backing away.

“I hurt him, Ward. I hurt him badly. I broke some bones.” She squeezed his fingers with her hot, wiry ones.

“What did he look like?”

“Big. Your size. He had a thick, dark beard. I remember that. I think he thought I was dead.” More moisture had begun to flow from her eyes, and she sniffed, letting go of his hand to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Ward looked at her other arm and saw it was splinted and wrapped with gauze.

“Hurt your arm?”

“Broke my wrist. That’s nothing, though. The tonic will help the bone mend. I’m going to have some new scars.” She lifted the hem of her pajama top, showing Ward her pale, flat stomach and the three long, bright red scars left behind by the knife and the cauterizing ointment the “doctor” had used. Ward had imagined something worse—he knew cauterizing a wound often left terrible scars and didn’t do much to mend the internal damage. It looked like the “cut-burn” was at least a little magical; she had bright red scars, but they weren’t huge, and the burns, if that’s what they were, looked well-healed already.

“I’ve seen worse.” He winked at her, twitching half his mouth into a smile.

“Exactly what I expected you to say.” She sniffed, then added, “I have another, but it’s up higher.

“Well, I’m glad you lived, kid. Goddamn, I wanna catch that sonofabitch. Anything else to go on? See more of his face than his beard?”

Haley closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, visibly quelling several shuddering sobs. “Dark eyes. Hooded head. Black stains on his hands, his fingers.”

“That’s a lot. I’ll find him. What do you think you broke?”

“Ribs. Maybe an arm. He’ll have marks for sure; I hit him with a wolf fist. He’ll either have to pay a lot, or any healing he gets will leave behind five puncture scars.” She held her uninjured hand out like a claw and poked her fingers against Ward’s lower left side. “Here.”

“All right. You focus on getting better, and I’ll find him. Then we’ll figure out why he was here. I have a bad suspicion—”

“Nevkin.”

Ward nodded. “Yeah. Little bastard didn’t want us thinking about coming after him.” Haley didn’t respond but closed her eyes, and her breathing grew increasingly slow and steady. Ward wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep, so he said softly, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait. Promise me you won’t kill him unless you know why he came here.”

“Oh, that’s a promise. Believe it.” Ward started to turn, and then a thought occurred to him. “Hey, you need money? Why’d you cheap out on the healing?”

“The cut-burn? I could’ve paid for better. I didn’t want to. I want to remember these wounds. I want to remember this pain. I won’t forget the day my parents—” A choking sob interrupted her, and she scowled, shaking her head. Firmly, vehemently, she growled, “The day my parents died.”

“You were conscious?” When she nodded, that defiant expression still burning in her eyes, Ward reached up and rubbed the back of his head, also nodding. “Okay. I get it. I’ll come see you tomorrow. Let you know what I find out.” He did know what she meant. He’d had plenty of buddies personify scars they’d picked up on duty. They gave them names and associated them with dead friends, atrocities witnessed, and trauma endured. Ward had a couple of his own on his left leg and shoulder—two bullets that could’ve done a lot more than poke holes in him. A few other bullets fired from the same gun had killed two of his patrol buddies.

“Thank you, Ward.”

He smiled at her grimly and turned, finding Fay waiting for him in the hallway. She took hold of his arm as they walked out, and as they descended the steps, she said, “I feel so awful for her. Ward, I’m going to pick up some supplies from the inn and bring Willard with me to clean this place up for her.”

“That’s really sweet, Fay. Give me a few minutes before we leave. I’m going to look over the scene to see if I can spot anything that might help lead me to her killer.”

While he spoke, the neighbor lady stepped around the corner and gestured to the door. “Thank you for not lingering.”

“Just a minute. I need to look over the murder scene. I’m going to help the, uh, marshal find the killer.”

“Oh? Well, that’s helpful, I suppose. I hate knowing the man who killed poor Efrud and Vinera is still out there!” She looked Ward up and down, then stepped forward, proffering her hand. “I’m Minerra, by the way.”

Ward inhaled through his nose, looked around the room, then shrugged and took her hand. “I’m Ward.” He looked at the stairs, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, as I said, I need to examine the scene. We have a killer to find.”