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THEY COULD DO NOTHING as they carted away Jaxarna with the Guard. Wolflock’s mind flared as he took in the scene. It seared itself into his brain. He knew it was wrong. It was so wrong. Jaxarna was innocent. This letter was a complete lie, and, yet, here it was. Mothy moved to Girid and touched her arm, trying to comfort the shocked girl along with the mayor. Dr Qwan peered over Wolflock’s shoulder at the note with a stern face.
“Jaxa wrote this?”
“Supposedly.” Wolflock dug in his pockets for the letters he’d taken from Lord Therym’s office.
“Something looks off about it. She has sent me letters before. Notes, packages, requests for pain herbs. This looks... not like her.” Dr Qwan put his finger to his nose as he pondered the note.
Wolflock compared Jaxarna’s letter to the recent note. The first thing he noticed was that the handwriting was very similar, but not the same. Jaxarna’s older letter was rough and heavy, sloping right. The ink on both pages was smudged in only the way a left-handed person caused. Wolflock had plenty of experience with his writing hand being blackened and perfect handwriting being unceremoniously splodged as he learned to write faster.
“Jaxarna is left-handed?” he asked the doctor.
“When it isn’t injured, she is. Yes.”
The other note also sloped right, but it was far lighter. It could have been her mood when writing it, but it was more likely that a softer hand had written this second note. Next was the paper and ink. Jaxarna’s old note was thoroughly speckled in dried clay and dirt. This recent note was pristine. Jaxarna had been very dusty as the Guard escorted her away. There was no way she could have written this note and kept the paper so clean. But who had written it? Who had framed her, and why had Girid been the deliverer of such damning work?
“This is my fault,” Dr Qwan whispered, his dark eyebrows pinching in a frown. “If I hadn’t told her to go home, she would have been able to hide in the mines. She wouldn’t be blamed for this letter.”
“My good doctor,” Wolflock interjected, “she may be far worse off continuing to work in her condition than being locked up for a few hours. Neither of us believe Jaxarna wrote this letter, but the culprit has given us more than one clue to find out who they are.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I believe that this letter not only shows us who tried to drive Jaxarna out of her mine, but also who poisoned the bay.”
“Poisoned the bay? But wasn’t it an accident? Caused by the poor brewing techniques of the...” Dr Qwan lowered his voice as he spied Mothy, “...slavers?”
“That’s what I thought too, but this paper has an odd dust on it, wouldn’t you say?”
Wolflock held it up to the doctor’s face, and he sneezed loudly, blowing tiny purple particles off it.
“Mmm... Oh my... Yes...” Dr Qwan’s eyes dilated, and a dopey grin crossed his face.
“Are you well, doctor?” Wolflock frowned.
“Mmm... Yes... I think I may need a little sit for a moment.”
Wolflock took his arm and led him to Mothy and Girid, who looked similarly dopey with her pupils wide.
“She’s not well, Lockie.” Mothy bit his lip in concern.
“Neither is the doctor. Let’s go inside and get something for them to drink. Maybe that will help.”
The front door to the little house flapped in the breeze, banging against the perfect brickwork. Directly down the main hallway, they found the kitchen and sat the two dizzy people down on sweetly carved little stools. Tears leaked down Girid’s cheeks as her pupils pulsed, slowly shrinking back to normal in waves.
Wolflock scrutinised her face and then turned to Dr Qwan. He had a theory. A purple glowing thread in his web of clues.
“Doctor, stand up.”
Dr Qwan didn’t hesitate. He shot up to his feet.
“Doctor, sit down.”
He sat down again.,
“Doctor, withdraw a pen and paper from your pockets.”
Without question, he drew out a notebook, wooden pen, and square ink bottle.
“Write exactly what I say.”
“What are you doing?” Mothy asked, wiping Girid’s tears from her face.
Wolflock gave Mothy a look that said he was being very serious. “I, Dr Qwan Loong hereby announce that I am a chicken and shall only treat poultry in my practise. I also renounce my eternal match to Mr Wolflock F. Felen as he is a far more superior mind to myself.”
“Yes, Mr... Wolflock... F... Felen...” Dr Qwan slurred, scratching the message down.
Before he could sign, Wolflock snatched the notebook away, letting the doctor finish his scratching on the smooth wood.
“Doctor? Are you aware of what you’ve written?”
Dr Qwan hummed with a blank smile on his face but seemed pleasantly oblivious.
“Mothy, get them some water.”
Mothy hesitated as if he was waiting for Wolflock to use his manners, but let it slide as the situation was more dire than the necessary proper conduct. He clattered in the kitchen until he found a pair of wooden goblets. With a few pumps from the long handle at the stone sink, they filled with clean, clear water. As Mothy helped Girid take a few sips, Wolflock threw the cup of water into Dr Qwan’s face.
“Ah!” the doctor spluttered. “A shower? Lovely. I thought I was getting a bit pongy too.”
Mothy couldn’t help but chuckle, but Wolflock’s face remained frozen.
“Doctor. Are you aware of what you just did?”
Dr Qwan wrung out his long ponytail as he thought. Wolflock noted that the water beaded off his coat in a most peculiar fashion.
“I did something just now? I recall... Now, correct me if this is wrong, but sniffing a letter?”
“So you don’t remember writing this?” Wolflock thrust the newly written note in front of him.
Dr Qwan stared at the note and began laughing. “I suppose I need to brush up on my chicken speak! No, my good lad. I didn’t write this. You really like that match, don’t you? Wonderful penmanship. It looks just like my handwriting and everything.”
Wolflock caught Mothy’s eye with a knowing stare. “Doctor... Could that purple powder-”
“The Dominia Mendis Impertio particles?”
“Yes. You called it Lady Mind Master earlier. Could that induce amnesia as well as the suggestibility you mentioned?”
“Well, yes, but it would have to be in a highly concentrated dose. Not the stuff we found at the destroyed shed.”
Wolflock placed the fake letter from Jaxarna on the table and moved to Girid, drawing out his magnifying glass as he analysed her face. It was clean. Too clean.
“This will be a little... unsavoury. Doctor, do you have any pepper in those pockets?” Wolflock drew out his handkerchief and tipped Girid’s head back. Mothy held her shoulders for support, looking weary of Wolflock’s actions.
“Let me see... Ah! There we have it. Pepper? What for?”
Wolflock took the little jar of fine grey powder, took a pinch in his fingers, and while holding the cloth in front of Girid’s face, flicked the pepper right up her nose. She coughed and sneezed into the handkerchief three times before her eyes watered and her eyes returned to their normal size.
“What happened?” She sniffed. Wolflock took the cloth from her and put it in front of the doctor.
“Ah. Snot. Just what I needed to help Jaxa.” Dr Qwan rolled his eyes.
“Use your scope to see if there are particles in her mucus,” Wolflock urged.
“Why does ma need help?”
“Where were you before you came home?” Wolflock pushed.
“I went...”
Before she could answer, a hulking figure threw open the back door and rushed to her. It was Vanmoinen’s son. “Girid? Girid! What’s going on?”
The handsome blond man stood taller than anyone in the room, with strands of straight hair coming free from his small, high ponytail. Girid blushed and tried to push his hands below the table, but he took hers, shaking. “What are they doing here?”
“Hase, shh... These are my friends.”
“They tried to dig up dirt around the lumber mill,” the young man protested, staying tight to Girid’s side.
“They can’t find secrets where there are none, Hase. They’re here to help.”
“How?”
“Enough of this. Girid, where were you before you gave the authorities the letter that has sent your mother to the Guard tower!” Wolflock snapped.
“I... what?” Her hazel eyes brimmed with tears.
“That’s why I came here. As soon as I heard, I knew something was wrong. You’d never do something like that,” the carpenter’s son said firmly.
“I don’t expect you to remember having written the letter, but it’s not in your mother’s handwriting. It’s in yours. You’re very similar, but you’re not left-handed. This paper is also clean. Nothing your mother touches stays this clean. There were particles of a powder I believe to have influenced your behaviour, but I need you to tell me where you have been, so I know where this came from. That will tell us who is responsible for framing your mother.”
Girid flushed scarlet. “I... I went to Najord’s house.”
Hase paled and let go of her hands. “I thought we were done with that.”
“I went to return his music to him. I didn’t think it was right for me to use his songs since we’re not... well... I wanted to do the right thing. All I remember is returning them and then waking up in my kitchen.”
Wolflock saw Hase’s huge shoulders relax. “So you were at Lord Therym’s house. That’s it, then. Now, I need to figure out how to reveal him.”
“What?” Mothy gasped, “You know who has done all this?”
“I have a fairly clear idea. There are a few missing pieces, but, to reveal them, we have to get the perpetrator to come out of their web of lies. I need them to write something to us without thinking, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“The key to finding out who used the Lady Mind Master powder on Girid to send her mother to the guard tower used a specific type of paper. I need them to use it again. We need something to rush them, but also not alert them to what they’re doing.”
“Well, they can’t write it to you. They’d have to write it to Girid, wouldn’t they? Maybe something about her needing help.”
“Hmm... needing help, you say? What if it was giving her help in return for the thing they’re after?”
“And what’s that?” Hase and Mothy asked in unison.
Girid sighed. “The mine.”
Everyone turned to watch her reaction, but Wolflock nodded. “Yes. That’s what all this has been about, hasn’t it? Vanmoinen was jealous of your mother’s good fortune. It gave you both the freedom to cut off your ties to Therym and Najord.” As he spoke, Wolflock noticed Hase clench his fists on the table at the mention of Najord. “And, with the proximity so close to the bay, it was easy to blame any infection on the activity that went on in there.”
“So we use the mine as bait?”
“Exactly. I need you to write a letter we will send to Therym and Vanmoinen.”
“Why my father?”
“Because we need to make it believable that Girid is desperate.” Wolflock rolled his eyes. “We’ll tell them you think the mine is cursed and that you want to be rid of it. You’re going to ask them for the better offer written as quickly as you can.”
“But any sale will leave us destitute. They’ll see through it. Especially Therym. He may have terrible mining practises, but he’s an astute businessman. He’ll know it’s a lie.”
Wolflock pinched his chin between his thumb and index knuckle, pacing in the small kitchen. “Ahah! Tell them they also need to write you a poem for you to sing this evening. A noble family in Mystentine has requested you to make your debut as a professional singer at their next ball and it will begin your dream career. Tell them to meet us at the entrance of the mine.”
Girid blushed with a bittersweet smile. Wolflock’s words evidently made her excited that one day they could be real, but also sad that she had to lie about them now. Hase beamed at her before standing up to find paper for her to pen her note on. After a few minutes, they had a fully formulated lie, requesting both men to meet at the mine with the mayor to officiate the transaction.
“Now we head over?” Hase asked.
“We have to get Jaxarna, first.” Wolflock nodded.
“And you have to write your poem, too. Otherwise it’s really not believable.” Mothy grinned and pushed the paper and pen to the blushing Hase.