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WITHOUT ANOTHER WORD, Wolflock turned back through the dark caves and followed the path that Dr Qwan and Jaxarna had disappeared into. Girid and Mothy chased behind him, the torchlight dimming as the wind weakened it. They emerged outside on the grassy hill, seeing the doctor and brick maker sitting on a circle of grey stones.
“Are you feeling better?” Mothy asked, walking up to sit beside Dr Qwan.
“Yes. Fine, thanks for asking,” the doctor answered.
Jaxarna laughed through her nose. “I’m fine, lad. Thank you for the concern. Just a coughing fit is all. A bit of fresh air makes it pass easily.”
“Would that green water have anything to do with your current condition?” Wolflock queried. It was an odd enough phenomenon that it had to be relevant.
“The magic water? Gods, no. I don’t know why it’s green, but it’s perfectly safe. I’ve been swimming in it for years. Even drink it when I don’t want to come outside while I’m working.”
“Mmm... Maybe stop that until we test it, na?” Dr Qwan said with a Xiayahn lilt.
“How about that kit you spoke about in front of the mayor?” Wolflock suggested, irritated that the doctor hadn’t already done it. He thought that was why he had been gone for so long.
“Oh yes. Let me get my bits.” The doctor started fishing through his pockets until he drew out the vial of powder and a flat box. He opened the small wooden box, and it popped up with six vials, two of which were filled with brown water. “Here.” He passed four empty ones to Mothy. “Fetch two vials from the central pool and two from the place where the bay water creeps in.”
Mothy dashed away, but Dr Qwan only had the chance to say, “So... How has that weather been? Surprising, right?” before Mothy had returned.
The doctor set the small vials in the case again and tapped a pinch of the white powder into each of the six bottles and recorked them. Wolflock waited with bated breath for the result.
“Well, that’s it for now!” Qwan laughed and snapped the case shut. “I’ll let you know the results in a few hours.”
“Hours?” Wolflock frowned. “We can’t wait that long.”
“You’re going to have to, Mr Wolflock Felen. Science takes time. This isn’t a litmus test. There are no instant results when it comes to these types of things. Not unless you want a false reading. Now, Jaxa, I want you to stay home today. Get more rest. No more work. If I come back and see you working, I will be very upset and have to tell Charma-mama.”
“You know, I worry more about upsetting your wife than you. I’ll be good and rest today. Besides, I want to see the festival tonight.”
“Very good. Charma will be happy.”
Redirecting his impatience, Wolflock stood up straight. “Dr Qwan, I’ve finished my inquiry in the mines thus far. If you’re prepared to go, I would like directions to the Lord Therym’s house and the Mermaid’s Paddle Inn.” Wolflock’s stern voice surprised Girid so much she fumbled with the torch as she tried to put it into the sconce.
“Certainly, Mr Wolflock Felen. I have pledged my services to you.” Dr Qwan bowed deeply, swirling his hands.
Jaxarna and Mothy both snorted.
Wolflock rolled his eyes. If the doctor refused to stop joking around, he would have to do what he did with Mothy. Concede.
“Very good. Let’s away, then!”
Mothy bid goodbye to Girid and Jaxarna as Wolflock walked back down the hill. Dr Qwan caught up with them, wrapping his gangly arms around their shoulders. “Mermaid’s Paddle, you said? I didn’t pick you both for big burly sailors.”
“It was recommended by our captain. I believe he had our bags taken there,” Mothy grinned.
“Well, if we wanted a lunch, they do the best lobster stew in all of Creast.”
“I don’t think we’ll have time for lunch. I have a suspicion Lord Therym may take up more time than he deserves,” Wolflock said darkly.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’ve taken an instant dislike for the good Lord,” Dr Qwan smirked as they made their way through the decorated streets.
“I don’t like local nobility having such a powerful voice in the ear of powerful politicians. There’s an element of self-serving deception I could never abide by.”
“But you are nobility yourself, aren’t you?”
Wolflock made a distasteful face. “I suppose. I never enjoyed the unearned privilege, though. Part of the reason they sent me... I mean, part of the reason I left was because of making a few disgruntled local council folk admit their misdealings. My father raised me to know my position was one of power, but that was only to be used to better the community as a whole, not for any nefarious or selfish gains. I may ask for supplies and solitude, but I would assume it is nothing others couldn’t also ask for.”
Mothy beamed at him as they came up upon a broad inn with a sign that looked like the front of a ship with a mermaid holding an oar.
“Pretty sentiment, Mr Wolflock Felen, but I wonder if you’ve seen everything about the situation or you’re projecting your own ills onto another you see your reflection in?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, nothing. Just an old Xiayahn proverb. Chosin is the proprietor of the Mermaid’s Paddle. There are five inns in Creast, but this is definitely the sailor’s favourite.”
Dr Qwan opened the stained-glass doors depicting a squid and crab in battle, and a raucous noise erupted into the street. The three of them squeezed into the tavern part of the inn amongst what looked like a hundred sailors. Mostly without shoes, several were arm wrestling, while others gorged on large portions stacked on their tables. A pair of older ladies raced each other to peel large prawns and a buxom woman stood on a table kicking up a gig as she played a hip drum and sang across the room. The crowd jostled the boys all the way to the bar where an old balding man covered in splotchy spots filled tankards with a bitter smelling liquid.
“Ginger beers is all we has on tap for youngin’s like yeh.”
“Chosin, my good man! How have you been? How’s the tooth?”
Chosin chortled and tucked his bottom lip behind a single canine. “Hard as steel, doc. Hard as steel. How’s the missus?
“Hard as steel, barman, hard as steel.”
“Who’re yeh friends?”
“This is Mothy and Mr-”
“Captain Blutro recommended us come stay here. From the Silver Ice Hair?” Wolflock cut in, not wanting another formal introduction. “It may be under the name Felen or Enitnelav?”
“Ah, yeah. Yeah, I gots yeh room. Cap’in asked me to make sure the bottle o’ ink was all yeh wanted ta pay for it.”
“Bottle of ink?”
“Mmm hmm. This ’un.” Chosin drew out a delicately curved bottle of onyx ink with a beautiful black label and gold borders. The words “Volfschaf Inte” printed neatly next to an embossed sheep that seemed to be howling at the moon.
“Ah! Yes. Of course. I mean, if that’s all you’d like for the rooms, then be my guest.”
“Nah, I reckon you’re mine. This is fine ink. You’ve written with it?”
“It’s really all we use in Plugh. It’s the processed lanolin of the wolf-sheep. Carnivorous sheep. Some people believe they’re vampiric sheep, but I just think they were sick of being hunted.” Wolflock shrugged as Chosin began writing him a receipt, enamoured by how smoothly it slipped off the quill.
“Nothing like that blubber stuff. And I can write near a whole half page a’fore it runs out. From one dip! From one dip!”
“Just make sure you keep it away from any white linen. It’s used to dye fabrics, and it never comes out,” Wolflock smiled as Chosin pushed his sleeves further past his elbows before putting his newly treasured ink away.
“So, will you boys be partaking in the festivities this evening?”
“Absolutely,” Mothy chimed in, eyeing off the food through the opening to the kitchen. “Tomorrow we’re off to Mystentine. We got to join someone in the last carriage.”
“Yes. We’ll have to be off first thing in the morning, which is why we need to finish looking into the murky bay as soon as possible. May I have our key, Mr Chosin?”
The old barman scratched his chin, leaving a black smudge on it as he looked through the keys on a large ring hanging from his belt.
“There it is. Upstairs, the door on the landing. S’got a shark head mounted above it.”
Wolflock led the way to a set of stairs and quickly found their room on the landing between staircases. Seashells and blue glass intricately decorated the pale wood door. The room itself had a small bathroom area with a stone tub and two pristine white beds on either side of a window overlooking the street outside. It relieved him to see their belongings placed at the foot of their beds. Mothy’s large rucksack leaned against the white wooden bed frame, and Wolflock’s trunk sat neatly and locked at the foot of the other bed. He drew a tiny key from his satchel bag and unlocked the case with a snap. The latches flicked back, and he lifted the hard topped trunk to dig through his neatly stored belongings.
All his clothes lay folded on one side and his wet weather coat divided his toiletries, oils, and balms from them. Amongst the less decorative items were his rosewood handled magnifying glass, a jar of kitchen ash from the Silver Ice Hair, and his leather roll of sketching pencils. But not his journal.
After someone had tried to steal his journal, he made sure he kept it on his person at all times. It was over halfway full of all types of stories and clues he had been collecting. Shoe prints, scratch marks, handprints, key items, and parts of people of interest, like their hands or hair. His notebook also journaled everything he said, saw, or thought. Not knowing who had possibly poisoned the stew on the ship, who saw Parihaan at the bottom of the stairs and said nothing, who tried to stab her with a curvy knife, and who had cut his safety line free during the storm that almost drowned him, made him concerned enough to keep these notes in case something happened, and he needed them.
“Very good. Let’s go to Lord Therym’s house.”
Dr Qwan put down the complimentary soap from the bathroom. “This is good soap. Lavender. You’ll smell delightful for the festival.”
Mothy smelled the soap and nodded approvingly, but Wolflock rolled his eyes and dragged his friend from the room before something could delay them any further.
“Thanks, Chosin! The room is amazing,” Mothy called back as Wolflock hauled him through the sea creature engraved doorway.
“Supper is at sundown!” Chosin called after them, but Wolflock had whipped them both out of the door and around the corner, narrowly dodging two men carrying a large carved archway adorned with shining blue glass shaped like waves.
Dr Qwan caught up to them, placing his hands on both their heads and turning them South. After that point, Wolflock let him lead the way to a building that looked as large as the municipal chambers next to Sheckle’s Speckled Shackled Hen. Two great wings of the building extended out to the street, lined with wooden railings carved with images of agricultural life. The ridges of the fish scale tiled roof extended far over the awnings, each one shaped into a different farm animal. The three-storied mansion converged horizontally across and, at its middle peak, had two large white horns curling up to the sky. Wolflock wondered if it represented a bull and if the original family had earned their wealth through farming, as the iconography would suggest. All the decorative wood had large cracks throughout it from ageing in temperatures that varied significantly. Dr Qwan led them up the semicircular stone stairs to the grand doors adorned with images of fruit trees and crops.
“What is this shape? I’ve always loved this shape,” Mothy smiled, admiring the half-leaf shaped frame.
“I believe it’s called a half or semi vesica piscis. It’s a term referencing the shape created by two perfect circles overlapping. There are several mathematical principles that...” Wolflock stopped when he saw Mothy trying to make the shape by crossing the circles made by his middle fingers and thumbs.
“Ah yes, it is a common part of the symbols applied to many forms of religion and spirituality. Mm... Is very pleasing to the eye and is often calming for children and anxious folk. Good to know these things, though, because circles are hard to navigate.” Dr Qwan’s face grew into a smirk. “Whenever my wife wants to do anything new with the house, I have to do the math for her, otherwise she throws the whole energy off just to be practical.”
Wolflock stopped outside the door, blinking in disbelief at the doctor. “You’re a mathematician? You?”
“Why do you look so surprised, Mr Wolflock Felen? Geometry and mathematics are the constants Xiayah is built on. Don’t you find equations relaxing? It’s like poetry for the logical.”
“I mean...” he mumbled as they slipped into the front door, “I find it enjoyable. I just didn’t expect you to.”
Dr Qwan shrugged and looked around to be greeted. Wolflock could only describe the entrance hall as mighty. An expansive empty floor stretched around them with lit fireplaces on either side. The floor wasn’t decorated with images and scenes like outside, but just different types of wood, colouring the intended pathways to staircases on either side of the hall. In front of them stood an archway that could have fitted two more of the grand entrance doors, leading through to a dining hall with two storied glass windows looking out over the bay. On either side of the staircases, Wolflock could see doors leading into different hallways and rooms. To the front left door, he could smell something roasting.
Kitchens, pantry, larder. He thought. Upstairs will be the sleeping quarters and private rooms, possibly his private office too.
Dr Qwan cupped his hands around his mouth to shout and announce himself, but Wolflock quickly clapped his hands around the doctor’s.
“I said I wanted to come to the Lord Therym’s house,” he whispered pointedly. “I didn’t say I wanted to speak to him.” He saw Dr Qwan’s eyes lift with a grin and Wolflock released him. “Where would the master of the house keep his office?”
“As your guide through Creast, I cannot encourage any law-breaking activities with a good conscience. What I can say is that the décor of the bedrooms and sleeping quarters to the left is the best in all of Shiriling. I’ve treated several family members of Lord Therym’s there before.”
Wolflock nodded slowly and made his way to the opposite set of stairs. “Where are all the staff?”
“Oh, I suppose they’re helping with the festival. Lord Therym is quite generous like that. Always lending his people away from his household. I think it’s so his son doesn’t have people waiting on him hand and foot. The boy would never leave otherwise.”
“That’s Najord, aye?” Mothy asked as he trailed up behind them.
“Yeah la,” Dr Qwan chuckled, adding a Xiayahn speech note, as they emerged into a wide hallway. One side opened onto a long balcony that overlooked a hibernating courtyard, while the two ends of the hallway led into closed doors. They could hear voices coming from the polished red doors to their left.
Wolflock took a step towards the voices, but Mothy grabbed his shoulders, causing him to lose balance and wobble in place.
“What-?”
“The floors are all board. Walk on the carpet. That way it’s less likely to creak.”
Mothy walked ahead of him, testing the floorboard as he went, and Wolflock followed behind, holding his breath. His cleverness with sneaking around always impressed Wolflock, and he felt grateful for his friend’s practical wit. Without a noise, the boys made it to the far door. Dr Qwan copied them, albeit in a more exaggerated fashion.
Wolflock knelt to peek through the large keyhole in the door while Mothy listened through the crack above him. He had the view of a large desk and Lord Therym sitting behind it on a horned chair covered in cowhide. The nobleman spoke in a low tone to a person sitting in a high-backed chair to the side. He couldn’t see more than the stranger’s long, thin crossed legs and shiny black shoes marked with street dust. Wolflock held his breath with anticipation as he strained to make out what they were saying.
“...Well, of course I had them sent on earlier. With the cold weather the way it’s been, we can’t afford to have such delicate materials damaged by being stuck in the snow. No, no, Astraxis. I am sure this was the best course of action. I mean, most of the cargo would have died if they’d been left any sooner. There were barely any goats alive when they arrived here.”
“You seem to forget you would be responsible for it either way,” came a deep, silky voice, that was barely above a whisper. Something about it triggered his memory, but he couldn’t tell what.
“Well, what else can I say? You didn’t give me special access to any of the goods.”
The other voice stayed silent. Wolflock could feel the tension growing between them as Lord Therym shuffled papers from his desk. He had seen other people do that exact same motion when his father wouldn’t let them weasel out of their promises. Seeing Therym squirm brought a grin to his face.
“If you had given me a bit more trust, I’m sure I would have been able to-”
“You had your orders. If I find out, you have been poking around-” Wolflock couldn’t place where he knew that voice from. It seemed so familiar. If only they’d speak more clearly.
“I was up at Vanmoinen’s, but only this morning. Everything looked fine. Nothing to worry about.” He heard Therym swallow. Wolflock could tell he was lying from the nervous tone in his voice..
“We have to stick to the plan. There has been enough deviation. I’m sure anyone else would have been pleased with your thoughtfulness.”
“Yes... well... What else was I supposed to do? We couldn’t have anything injured.” Lord Therym spoke as he moved around his desk. Wolflock twisted his neck to change his viewpoint and saw him stroke the dark leaves of a lush plant on his desk.
The stark contrast of the wooden and tanned room around the bright white and blue pot made it seem very out of place.
“I have half a mind to take that with me. I don’t appreciate a plan being manipulated without my approval.”
“You can’t take her! She’s so lovely on my desk. I’ve worked so hard to sprout those seeds. I even memorised your instructions since I can’t read Shellinden script. As instructed, I was the only one to handle her at all. See? I still have your blue bag ready for the flowers-”
“Purple. The purple bag is for the flowers. The blue bag is for the seeds.”
Therym stammered, “Can’t you see how she loves it here? If you took her now, the Winter would kill her. Sure you have plenty of others in the cargo moving ahead of you?”
The man named Astraxis stayed silent again, making Lord Therym tidy his desk anxiously again. They could hear by the loud shuffling of the papers. “I’m sure you’ll catch up to them if you leave tonight.”
After a long pause, the man in the chair whispered, “Trying to get rid of me?”
Wolflock and Mothy made a face at each other, feeling the tension grow.
“No! No, nothing like that. You just seemed urgent is all I was meaning. Just trying to keep a healthy business relationship between friends.”
The man in the chair turned the chair to his left and stood up out of view of the keyhole. Wolflock had no other clues to his identity besides his thin legs, voice, and shoes.
“Well, you can do that by showing me the registrar of what else they’ve sent through you. I’ll need to make sure everything is ready to have the cell activated.”
“Of course. It’s all a bit vague, though. Boxes with numbers. It’s all very mysterious to me. I’m so used to knowing the business about everyone and everything. Perhaps if you tell me more, I’ll be able to invest in the right direction?”
The other man chuckled. “The proprietor prefers to have the monopoly on the market until they’ve seen how things will turn out. Even their most trusted circle can’t touch it until it’s finalised. Delicate work and all.”
“Hversu vonbrigdi,” Therym sighed, disappointed. Wolflock didn’t understand the words Therym said, but he could tell they were a curse by his tone.
They opened another door and departed through it, leaving Mothy and Wolflock to look between themselves with confused and suspicious glances. Dr Qwan stood back, picking at his nails and pretending to not see their eavesdropping.
“I need to see what is in his office. If he has anything to do with the murk in the bay, it’s because of a business interest. I can read between the receipts, so to speak. I’ll need a distraction though.” Wolflock whispered.
“On it. I’ll yell out ‘blubber’ when you need to get out.” Mothy nodded with a wide grin on his face.
“Blubber?”
“It’s a funny word I don’t s’pose I’ll use in many conversations.”
“Ah!” Dr Qwan said loudly, making them both jump. “Najord! My fine fellow, how are you on this fine day?”
A boy not much older than Wolflock and Mothy emerged from a door down the hallway and approached them with a bored look as he pocketed a silver pen knife and a leather roll of freshly cut pens. His mousy brown hair pressed in a thin sheet across his forehead under a blue cap rimmed with ginger fox fur. His clothes hung loosely over his thin frame, and he would have looked tidy if he didn’t slump like an expended jack-in-the-box.
“Doctor.” He gave Qwan a lazy nod, eyeing them all at his father’s office door. He didn’t speak further, he just gestured to the strangers in his home. He made the motion with his right hand as his left held with a stack of sheet music. Wolflock could see the fine paper, even at a distance, with elegant dark borders soaking through to the underside.
“Huh? Oh! Who are you two?” Dr Qwan gasped in mock surprise.
Wolflock was about to bite back when Mothy started laughing.
“I’m playing. Fear not my young guest.” Dr Qwan smirked at Wolflock before turning to Najord. “These are new guests I’m showing around town. Sir Wothy Urglesprite and his good friend, Doctor Mitzy Blu.”
It amazed Wolflock at how stupid, yet confident, the doctor’s lie was.
“Doctor?” Najord said sceptically as he eyed Mothy over, but didn’t extend his hand in any formality. “Bit young to be a doctor, aren’t you?”
“I’m in training,” Mothy smiled, running his fingers through his soft blond hair.
“Oh.” Najord’s bored square face was a similar shape to his father’s, but he held none of the charm or confidence of Therym. They stood in an awkward silence for a long moment.
“So... umm... sorry to hear about your engagement,” Mothy shrugged.
“Hmm? What?” Najord yawned.
“To Girid?”
The blank look on the nobleman’s son’s face gave no indication of comprehension.
“The brick maker’s daughter?”
“Oh. Yes. That. She’ll get along fine, I suppose.” His voice had a slow, drawling quality to it. Najord put his hands in his oversized jacket pockets and stared out of the balcony window.
“Will you watch her sing at the festival?” Dr Qwan shrugged, looking bored as well.
“Of course.”
Wolflock frowned. “Why ‘of course’? Shouldn’t you be upset about her breaking the engagement? Don’t boys like you normally feel stung to see their previous beloved thriving? I mean, she’s a fabulous vocalist. Wouldn’t you be seething that she’s the star of the show?”
Najord’s brown eyes finally flared up to meet Wolflock’s, and his jaw stiffened.
“Hardly. I’m only going to make sure she sings them right. I wrote them. They’re my songs. I couldn’t care less who sings it, as long as it’s done the way I intended. I’ve written six songs in Shell and four in Corlesian. She isn’t a native speaker in anything but bumpkin, and I won’t have her butcher my poetry.”
“And how does your father feel about all that?” Wolflock probed as he wondered how many languages Najord spoke with that tired drawl.
“Oh, he’s never cared about music or art. He’s too busy making sure he has everyone wrapped around his pinkie. If there’s ten pies, he’s got a finger and a knuckle in each of them. No doubt he sent all the staff away to make sure his favourite benefactors would have the best decorations... I still haven’t had breakfast.”
“Najord? Najord, who are you talking to?”
Lord Therym opened the door to his office, obscuring Wolflock from his view. The old man stepped out into the broad hallway and eyed Mothy to his right.
“Doctor Qwan and his...” Wolflock caught Najord’s eye and pressed his finger to his lips. He knew this kind of boy. He hoped that the tense relations with his father would spark that rebellious desire to cause some harmless mischief. Najord stared right at him with no change in expression. “...friend. Dr Mitzy Blu, father. When is breakfast going to be ready?” the young noble whined.
Wolflock’s shoulders slumped in relief.
“Doctor who? Oh. You weren’t introduced as a doctor before.”
“I’m in training,” Mothy laughed nervously, scratching his earlobe.
“Oh,” Lord Therym’s tone dropped. “Not a doctor. Najord, I’m very busy. I need to help Miss Girid’s mother get more efficient mining practises in place. She’s not well, you see.”
“Who?” Najord yawned, stretching up his arms. Wolflock noticed he had a leather vest under his baggy shirt. The young nobleman had been going somewhere in disguise. He couldn’t help but smile about having done the same once or twice himself.
Lord Therym’s smile faltered. “I thought we would go out for lunch. It’s going to be such a great-”
“No. I don’t think so,” Najord drawled, slumping back so far Wolflock thought he might topple over. “Who’s available to make us something?”
“I mean... I can ask one of the-”
“Fine. Come have food. The servants work faster when you’re there. Doctors, do you want food too?”
“Absolutely!” Mothy broke into a broad smile and led the way to the stairs.
“Let me just make sure Mr-” Wolflock’s gut dropped as Lord Therym turned back into his office, but a loud door slammed, and the old man sighed. “Merry part to you too,” he grumbled and followed the others back downstairs, trying to engage his son about how he could speed up mining practises with absolutely no detriment.
Once they were out of sight, Wolflock slipped into the office, looking for the man Lord Therym had been talking to. There was no sign of him. Not a stray hair, nor handprints on the arms of the leather chair. Had he been deliberately careful or just reserved?
The office was decorated much the same as the rest of the house. Taxidermied hunting trophies hung high on the walls, their glass eyes staring nobly forward across the room as if everything that went on in there was beneath them. They looked so old and worn that Wolflock could tell Lord Therym and his son had hunted none of them.
He slid along the wall and tested the door handle on the side of the room he’d seen Therym and his companion leave through. It was locked. He could see the key sitting in the keyhole, blocking his vision. He pressed his ear firmly to the door, but heard no movement. No page turning, no pen scratching. He snatched up a piece of paper from the desk and slid it under the door, then carefully poked a fountain pen through the hole, making the heavy key fall onto the paper. There was just enough of a gap to slide the key back through.
Wolflock’s face split into a triumphant grin and he unlocked the door. His proud ingenuity faded away when he suddenly faced a boxy hallway lined from floor to ceiling with ledgers. His eyes slid along the shelves until they took in the door at the other end of the storage hallway. The door at the end of the hallway was ajar. Lord Therym’s friend had vanished. He had locked the door between the hallway and the office, but left his escape route open.
Wolflock turned to the shelves to see why the stranger had come into the hallway. What business could they have had here? And why did they lock the door between the offices after Therym went back through. The folders and ledgers lining the walls went back decades and he tapped along them to see if any stood out in the last few years. All were neatly filed away. He could make out the dates they referenced, but as he scanned over them he saw the one for the last year was missing. He ran his long fingers along the spines and took one out, opening it to a random page. Boring business notations. Sales registers. Mining stock. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Wolflock knew the ledger could be in one of two places, being actively written in on the Lord’s desk, or taken by Mr Astraxis. No one started doing any tax records until after the Ostara festival because the King would never tax people before Winter or before they planned their year’s business. He put the key back into the hallway side of the door and paused. Why had Astraxis locked the door after Therym had returned to see who was outside? Had he wanted to stop Therym from finding him as he took the ledger? Had he wanted to slow down anyone who may see him at the house?
Wolflock scowled. Something much bigger was going on here and he itched to pursue it, but he had to think of Himi. Finding the source of the murk in the bay and how to cure it was more pressing. He had to close the door on the questions regarding Astraxis and Lord Therym’s nefarious business dealings for now. Unless it related to helping cleanse the bay, he was just going to have to write down the information for later.
He made his way back into the Lord’s office and wondered where he would hide any documents he didn’t want people to see. Wolflock analysed the elegant furniture in the office and saw an expensive cordial and nectar cabinet, a few dusty bookcases, and decorative tables with odd items strewn across them. Wolflock made his way over and ran his hands over the trinkets. They must be little tokens and gifts from people, as the style was unlike the rest of the house; stone carved statuettes, decorated wooden beads, shells and geodes, all laid neatly across the decorative side table.
Wolflock opened the drawers in the table and found bags of dried herbs, jars of powders and a bottle of amber alcohol. He picked it up and checked the base, but the maker’s seal wasn’t the eye with the cross through it like on the bottom of the smuggled alcohol on the Silver Ice Hair. It was a stag, and a forest silhouetted in a circle. The label looked more professional, too. Elegant, trimmed gold paper with the same stag and trees in a circle.
Elderwood Wines & Liquors.
He shook his head. He didn’t recognise the manufacturer, but they looked legitimate. Their label held all their credentials, addresses, and all the notes that needed to go onto a liquor bottle. Nothing from the side table pointed to sinister operations. Just exorbitant tastes. He carried on to the desk in the centre of the room. Unlike the rest of the room, this was dishevelled. Papers and notebooks were strewn across the entire desk and hung over the edges. Some were rolled up in the white and blue pot, nurturing a lush, dark leafed plant with large purple flower buds on it.
The writing around the rim of the pot was in the native script of Shellinmerth, the country to the South with the finest Arts and History University in all of Puinteyle. There was an abundance of sun and great rolling green hills through Shellinmerth, as well as the castle the royal imperial family had inhabited for over a thousand years. Wolflock couldn’t speak Shellinmerth’s language, but he knew how to read it. He expected some fancy poem about growth and bounty, or something similar, around the pot. It surprised him to read instructions instead.
Pinch flowers at base. Do not touch eyes before washing with soap. Dry powder and blow only a palmful. Will be instantaneous.
What would be instantaneous? And why would instructions about a flower be around a pot in a language no one in this country would typically be able to read? His web of clues stretched as far as it could, but he couldn’t find the connections. There had to be something though. His gut churned in frustration. Therym had stroked the plant and spoken about it. The mysterious Astraxis had given it to him. Given instructions about it to him. Therym didn’t strike Wolflock as the leisurely gardening type, so what was so special about this plant and the instructions wrapped around it?
He pinched the bridge of his nose and strained to think about it. After a few minutes he huffed and looked away. Perhaps looking for other clues would help refresh his perspective. He turned his attention to the papers on the desk. Wolflock recognised the many letters of business and trade, but the one in the middle of his workspace seemed out of place. Wolflock expected a fresh note, an unfinished letter, or something dated closer to the current date. Not an invitation to last Mabon’s feast. Wolflock lifted the invitation and smirked. Underneath sat a response Lord Therym had been penning before he’d been interrupted by Astraxis. The ink was completely dry, so he hadn’t been writing it while he was talking to his visitor, but he had covered it quickly to hide it. The invitation he’d placed over it had smudges and inky imprints on the back. Wolflock read over it to see why Therym tried to hide it from his visitor.
My dear Borso,
I am terribly concerned with the collapse, and I will send funds to help aid the doctors so the miners can be ready to work as soon as they are mended. Please don’t leave. I will organise everything to address your worries as soon as I am able. As for your concerns about the new mapping, I assure you that a grid-like structure is still the most efficient method of mining, and we are more likely to find every bit of ore. If we’re lucky, we won’t miss the gemstones like we did...
It cut off without saying where he had missed gemstones. Who was Borso? Was he the manager for one of Therym’s mines? Perhaps a foreman or a lead builder for his extraction projects? Wolflock dug through the dishevelled papers for more information on the man and quickly spied three grubby notes from the man in question, all complaining about collapses because of the unnatural mining methods Lord Therym was insisting on utilising. Others mentioned the cheaper woods breaking under the strain they were holding up, causing cave-ins. One letter complained of several miners being injured from a poisonous gas that would have been discovered if Therym had sent through the necessary chemistry sets or even a small bird.
Wolflock’s mouth twisted in distaste. Why were they mining so deeply the air wasn’t fresh? Normal mines throughout Puinteyle were mostly open unless they originated in a cave structure. Was Therym cutting corners and digging too greedily? No wonder Jaxarna didn’t want to sell her mine to him. She had followed the natural flow of the caves. Yes, it may lead to less yield, but it wouldn’t cost lives or habitat destruction.
He opened the draw and found hundreds of scattered red tickets, all with the same logo. Two pine trees and an axe, all with two hole punches. One hole punch must have been for when the cargo was stored, and a second for when it was removed as a way to prove purchase. The scattered tickets dated back for years as far as Wolflock could see, progressively increasing in frequency until they became every few days. He couldn’t find anything within the last two weeks, though. Lord Therym had been moving many wares, but what? If the mining shipments were sent here first and then moved on, that would make sense. As he became more successful, that would have explained the increase in frequency. Then nothing.
The sudden stop left Wolflock feeling suspicious. If he’d seen that Therym had moved all his business elsewhere, there would still be a paper trail for that. But to just completely cease all business, told Wolflock something dramatic had forced Therym to cease his operations. He could feel it in his gut. He was close to the answers. Wolflock’s heart beat in his throat. He didn’t know how much time he had left to search.
In the draw filled with tickets, Wolflock also found a few pieces of crumpled paper. One was a letter in a furious scrawl that read:
To Therym Culimpus 26th of Eolas Revari
Year 8th King Rayin,
We are leaving. I don’t even want to write your name, it disgusts me so. You’ve ignored all our wishes and the mines are no longer safe. We won’t work under such conditions. There is always other work to be had. I expect you to send the miner’s final pay by next week with damages, or I will take this to the ombudsman.
Borso
The letter’s date came from three weeks ago. That explained the drop in needing storage. If the miners weren’t working, the ores and gemstones weren’t coming in. He then saw one letter from Jaxarna, one from Vanmoinen, and what looked like a reply to Vanmoinen that was cut off.
Dear Therym, Lucimpus 1st of Nibit’ling Ickst
Year 8th King Rayin,
We have been friends for many years, and you have helped me thrive, so I don’t ask this lightly. Please remove what your friend is storing in my shed. I know I said I’d house it for two months, but I can’t. There is a terrible stench coming from it that is attracting predators and scavengers. My boy nearly got mauled by a hungry lion skulking about. If it’s poorly stored goat meat, that’s bad enough, but I think I heard movement. Whoever you’re dealing with isn’t telling you the full story, my friend. We didn’t agree to house animals, especially ones that weren’t being looked after. I know they’ve paid a lot, but, in good conscience, I can’t proceed. I can’t condone cruelty. They can have the money back if they need it.
Vanmoinen
The letter was sealed with the two pines and axe symbol and dated for two weeks ago. Wolflock’s piercing blue eyes scanned Lord Therym’s response.
My good friend Van,
Lucimpus 2nd of Nibit’ling Ickst
Year 8th King Rayin,
I can assure you I have seen the cargo and there are no animals there. They have some odd plants that may give off the unpleasant smell, and perhaps they didn’t salt the goat meat correctly. They’re not from around here, you know? I’ll check in with them and see if I can get them cleaned up and moved today. Don’t you fret about the money. These people are very wealthy, and I’ll let them know their plans have changed...
Caught in the excitement of finding such obvious pieces to the puzzle, Wolflock read the note from Jaxarna, dated just last week.
Therym, Quintampus 10th Nibit’ling Ickst, 15, Rayin
You must do something. I know Herfed won’t help. He wouldn’t put his neck out for me after I had a go at him for letting the inns get overbooked last Yule. Vanmoinen’s boy has been spying on my mine for his father! I just know he’s up to no good. Girid is scared. Make sure he stops coming around. I put the fear of a beating into him, but he keeps coming back. I wouldn’t have thought about it at all until Vanmoinen sold me rotten wood. That’s what caused the cave in, not poor mining practises. Herfed checked it out and just told me to build better braces. You remember all those rocks falling on my chest? It’s still hard to breathe now. It only happened after Vanmoinen started getting jealous of the mine. I know he hates my success, but what am I to do? You have to help me. I know Girid and Najord didn’t work out, but we have been friends much longer than that. Please tell me what can be done.
Jax.
So, Jaxarna thinks Vanmoinen was sabotaging her mine and sending his son to spy on her operation. Would he have gone so far as to leech a poison into the bay in order to frame her? Wolflock pocketed the letters. The bay was first infected when the river stopped running two weeks ago. There had been no signs of chemicals or disease leaching into the bay from the mine.
He also couldn’t find any evidence that the nobleman Therym had had any direct hand in the diseased bay. He had shady dealings, mysterious meetings and was everyone’s ‘good friend’, but there was nothing concrete. Which meant that Wolflock had to check the lumber mill.
“You can’t tell me that wasn’t lamb blubber!” Mothy gasped from down the hallway.
Wolflock’s eyes shot up to the door. He was out of time.
“No, Mr... uh... Blu,” Lord Therym replied, clearly exasperated. “Lambs do not have blubber.”
“I mean technically blubber is just better-quality fat. Kind of. My wife would hate to hear me call blubber fat. I believe what my associate is trying to say is that the lamb was so delicious that it could have been mistaken for blubber. Translation error, I’m sure.” Dr Qwan prattled with a deliberate volume that Wolflock understood as a warning.
“I thought it was dry and wiry,” Najord droned.
“Well, I must get back to work. Merry part, gentleman. Najord, see them out, please.” sighed Therym.
“Merry part,” Najord answered. Wolflock could visualise him lazily turning to their guests and flicking his hand in farewell to them.
He had no time to think too long about it, though. Mothy had said the code word. He closed the draw and took three long strides to the side door, yanking it open and whipping into the hallway. He heard the main door of the office open just as he closed the hallway door.
He didn’t exhale until he was out of the hallway and back into the familiar entrance hall. Mothy and Dr Qwan waved to him as he ran down to them, and they set off at a light jog to get out of Lord Therym’s house.
“Any luck?”
Wolflock smirked, pulling out the letters. “Everything points to the lumber mill, no matter how much people want us looking at the mine.”