Infernal Investigations

I didn’t even bother taking the parcel out at first.

Instead, I simply walked home, feeling inside my pocket as I made the best time that I could to my home. Whatever was inside the cloth wasn’t samples. Didn’t feel like corpse pieces. Three hard objects, cylindrical, with a plunger mechanism I didn’t dare press.

I rather doubted I’d been handed explosives. But I wasn’t going to risk it. I wanted to keep the number of times I’d blown myself up below ten.

Besides, I was not having a repeat of the last time I’d tried to access my hidden skin pocket in a public place. Thankfully that had been in another guise.

Mind you, I thought as I carefully peeked out of an alleyway, I was hardly in what you could call public places.

I was sticking entirely to back alleys now. The snow would help contain the spread of news, but if the death of those children had been as horrific as Voltar implied? It would not be good to be on the street as an Infernal.

Infuriating, since the relatively empty nature of the streets compared to normal Avernon traffic was actually quite nice. Made getting around on a coach much easier. However the last coach I’d approached had swiftly started driving away the moment I’d approached it.

I took that as a sign to not try a second time.

I was heading out of an alley, ten streets from when I paused, hearing the sound of horses and carriage coming from the right. Fast, possibly just someone in a rush but far too close.

I had my pistol out as the horses rushed by, urged to a halt by the driver. It came to a halt perfectly in place for the person inside to swing open the door, aiming a crossbow at me.

I already had my pistol aimed at him, but neither of us fired yet as someone inside called out to wait.

It was quiet for a second, long enough for me to give the carriage a quick look. Very well-appointed, but clearly a rental. It had the symbol of Brenson’s, one of the more popular places for that, as well as the clear sign of wear painted over. The driver wasn’t part of the rental agreement, to be so calm in the middle of a stand-off.

“Get in,” the one in the doorway growled, crossbow leveled at my chest.

Well, this would teach me to stop wishing for anything.

“Don’t keep us waiting,” the voice snarled again.

It belonged to a human in his late thirties who looked quite serious about the subject. The crossbow was further proof-quieter than a gun.

“Amazingly, I don’t feel inclined to board,” I said, finger pulling on the trigger so an errant twitch would fire.

I needed to get my other hand free and pointed in their general direction. Hellfire, try to dodge, maybe eat a bolt in return for roasting them? A viable option if they didn’t reveal who they worked for.

Inside the carriage, hidden inside the darkness, a familiar voice sighed. “Miss Harrow. Please. Inside the carriage before things get even less favorable to you.”

I mulled on that even as the tension on the face of the crossbow-wielder grew. This could be a trap. Was likely a trap. However, the person inside could have killed me the moment the carriage pulled up. Still could, even, and I gave it even odds I’d be able to survive.

I had to concede that the non-mutually destructive option was probably the best one.

“Well, I’ll admit a measure of surprise that you were able to find me so quickly,” I said as I clambered into the carriage. “I don’t have a tracker on me, do I?”

The crossbow wielder forced me to sit between him and another human who immediately produced a knife. The blade went through my coat, my shirt, paused with the tip just tickling my skin.

Impressive skill. Also fucking rude. I’d have to stitch this. Just press it against my throat damnit, that would be better for dealing a lethal blow than my spine. Gut wounds took too long, higher up and and you had to make sure you got past the ribs!

Outwardly I ignored it. “Did you track me?”

The other person in the carriage coughed then chuckled. “Matthew told me you left when I got to the latest murder site. From there we just started covering the streets on the way back to your home. I figured you would take back alleys.”

Hmm. Plausible. I was still going over everything I currently had on with a fine-toothed comb the first chance I had. This had been a little too precise. And considering who was involved…

“Slayer Derrick,” I said to the person across from me. “You look terrible. Did you get attacked again?”

The prematurely aging cleric of Zaviel snorted, then winced and clutched her side. Her limbs were thinner from the last time I saw her, her eyes sunken further into her face, lines deepened. Her skin stretched across her face, to the point I thought her cheekbones might actually poke through the skin.

“Part of the curse,” she told me. “Even magical healing will cause my body to draw on what little time it has left. I held it together for the first day after that attack, but after it seems the payment has come do.”

“Ah,” I said. “Nothing can be done?”

“If something could have been, I would have found out when I scoured this kingdom looking for it two years ago,” Derrick said irritably. “That’s not why we are here.”

The crossbow wielder slammed his door shut, and the carriage started rolling on through the streets. Curtains were drawn across to block anyone looking inside, but even with them muffling the noise I could hear it wouldn’t matter. No one was close by.

“Malvia Harrow,” Derrick said, sitting up straighter. “The church of Zaviel has issue with you over the death of one of our clerics.”

Oh. Some of the tension left me. Not all of it, since they clearly weren’t friendly, and this could just be a ruse, but that was a much less dangerous prospect than I expected.

I didn’t even bother trying to argue that my goal had been to save Kelson-we both knew it would have been easier to do that then use him as bait.

“He was aware of every step of the plan,” I told her. “That he died is my failing, but I did not mislead him on any of it.”

Derrick coughed, and the dagger against my side tightened just a little, digging at the skin.

“Your honesty in the matter doesn’t matter as much as you risking the life of one of our clerics,” Derrick said. “Especially when he is dead, Harrow. He is dead because of you.”

I stared her in the face, then laughed.

I stopped almost immediately, the point of the dagger digging into flesh, but I didn’t let my eyes leave hers.

“Don’t try to pass the blame for what happened,” I told her. “The only reason he got killed was the incompetence of people more directly responsible for his safety.”

That got the point of the crossbow bolt aimed directly at the side of my head. I ignored it. I wasn’t going to be Derrick’s scapegoat, and if the Church of Zaviel truly wanted me dead over this? They’d either arrange elaborate theatre, or kill me in the street, not this crappy half-assed attempt not committed to either direction.

There were multiple options for why I was in this carriage. Derrick feeling guilty and wanting to take that out on me was probably the best of those options.

“If Kelson trusted me with his safety,” I said carefully. “I’d think on what that meant about how much he trusted the people who were supposed to protect him. He could have just told me no. I had nothing to coerce him with, Slayer.”

Silence followed. The lines on Derrick’s face seemed to grow deeper as the seconds went by, knife-point and bolt-tip pressed against my skin, and my free hands quietly glowed just a little, ready for what might happen.

If I miscalculated, at least all three of them would be dragged down to the Hells with me. Metaphorically.

Derrick finally sighed, some of the tension leaving those lines. “There’s no getting around that, is there? Albert was never the type for rash action before now. The fact he was willing to do it, and with a diabolist and former rebel, is quite the indictment of how safe he felt under my protection.”

The crossbow-tip stopped pressing against the underside of my chin. The knife-point remained.

“Carson, you can stop,” Derrick told him.

The knife pressed against my side pulled back, albeit reluctantly.

“You’re too easy to trust Slayer,” the owner said gruffly, glaring at me. “There’s no know what ones like this would say to get out of trouble. Or to get others in their claws.”

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I gave him a grin full of pointy teeth. ‘Ones like this’? Criminal or Infernal, whichever he meant, I didn’t care.

Derrick shook her head. “Even if she is lying, the fact she could weave a lie good enough to make Kelson trust her more than me? Also my fault. But I don’t think you are. You just want this killer caught, Miss Harrow?”

“I’m a good servant of Her Majesty,” I said drily, to the scoffs of everyone else around us. “And if that isn’t enough, I prefer to spend my life not being harassed on the street because of the actions of a few.”

Derrick stared at me, then nodded slightly.

“Timmel,” she said. “He’s the third member. And the one who suggested the program initially.”

The senior priest of Baltaren I’d met. A nice piece of confirmation to existing theories. The one who’d pushed for the creation of the diabolism program in the first place. His involvement helped fill in some holes to my understanding of this entire mess.

Focusing on that also kept my mind off the sudden shock I’d gotten from Derrick revealing that casually. The Hells?

“Interesting,” I finally said. “Pardon me for saying this, Slayer, but this could have been very useful long before now.”

Derrick sighed. “You think I haven’t wrestled with that ever since the first murder happened, Harrow. I thought it would focus the investigation in a direction I didn’t think was the right one.”

Yet did not have an alternative she had offered up yet for where we could have focused on.

“And in the end, I believed Matthew’s concerns even if he is too worried about them.”

That the crown was intruding on the church affairs, they still didn’t like they’d been found out, and still wanted to try to handle it amongst themselves.

“With how far things have gone, action must be taken, and with what you did…you understand don’t you?”

Meaning that with only three left until the ritual was complete, we were running out of time. And I was so low on the totem pole of intelligence if they had a negative reaction to me reporting it, Derrick could turn it into a game of reputation between me and her over who was to be believed.

“Of course I do,” I agreed. “So, what do you propose we do about it?”

“I do not know,” Derrick said. “I lack your resources for this one.”

Which meant it was my job getting Intelligence and anyone else aimed that way because she and the Church of Zaviel didn’t want to handle it. And so any backlash would splash back on me if I was wrong.

“I will of course need your writing about his nature as the third member of the leading group to convince certain people?” I said.

“Matthew,” Derrick replied bluntly. “He will not appreciate it. And any effort by me to affirm Timmel’s position would be taken poorly and countered.”

Weak. Very weak. I drummed my fingers on my leg. This was so blatantly weak I could press further, and it also stood out. Honestly, most of this did. I breathed in.

Don’t be fooled by the aged performance. Derrick was not much older than me in truth, in a high-up position entirely for killing a large monster. Before that, she had been an adventurer, and from the brief spat with Alberta Vesper, not one known for tact.

Was I reading too much into the actions of a woman pretending to be much more mature and experienced than someone who thought going and playing monster slayer in the northern marshes sounded like a wonderful time?

And in the end, did I doubt Baltaren was involved? Was I staking myself on what I really considered a risk?

“I’ll arrange it then,” I said. “Hopefully soon.”

Her shoulders relaxed fractionally.

“I didn’t want to think ill of him,” Derrick admitted. “He was always so polite despite what he opined. Or the deity he followed. He claimed it was all in an effort to change. People have always worshipped Baltaren as a protector during times of night. Well, to be more accurate, they prayed that he wouldn’t inflict anything on them during the night.”

I nodded, but restrained myself from commenting. I didn’t know him outside our brief meeting, and didn’t particularly want to add anything that might provoke the woman across from me.

“You’re certain he is involved?”

“There’s no such thing as certain without actual proof,” I replied. “There’s what we do know, which is that someone high up in the program must be involved. That gives up three options, and of them I think Baltaren makes the most logical sense.”

And of course, it didn’t involve accusing the powerful cleric right across from me.

Derrick nodded once, briefly. “Yes. Matthew, despite our disagreements, this seems beyond him. He is a firm man on his morals.”

Everyone was, until you found the right thing to offer or to press on until something snapped, but I wouldn’t disagree. If Derrick wasn’t actually involved, it sounded like she wanted to heap the blame for everything on Timmel.

“Where exactly are we heading?” I asked, deciding to change the subject before she asked me what I thought of Gallapsie’s chances of being involved. “Because if you’re not going to kill me-“

“That was not planned,” Derrick assured me. “Merely just an expression of the church’s displeasure.”

I didn’t believe that, even without a knife pressed against my side, but I wouldn’t say that out loud.

“Well, I would appreciate being dropped off at my house,” I said. “If it isn’t too far out of your way. The streets aren’t the safest for people like me at the moment.”

‘For good reason’ one of the two next to me muttered. I resisted the urge to try driving the fact the Priestkiller was a cleric like them through their skulls. Waste of effort.

“Of course,” Slayer Derrick said. “Carson, go tell Laura to take us to Harrow’s address in the quarter.”

I noted she didn’t need to say what my address was as a grumbling Carson leaned out of the carriage window. I decided to press on some questions while she seemed talkative. Even lies could be telling, depending on what was said.

“When we talked at your manor, you said four of Zaviel’s priests joined the program,” I said. “Both Kelson and our initial source indicate he was the only one?”

He better be. I didn’t want everything to fall through because Metrill had gotten things wrong.

Derrick smiled. “Oh, how we should have known involving the Thieves Guild would cause buts and pieces of this to fall out. Especially once Metrill took an interest. Kelson was the only one of Zaviel’s clerics to practice diabolism. I lied. We spread it as a rumour inside the program once the first murder happened. We even had three volunteers to pretend, hoping to trick someone into killing the wrong one.”

“Ah,” I said. “Didn’t work?”

“Started too late,” Derrick replied. “Anyone who’d been involved knew it was false. It only worked on those who didn’t know about the program.”

In short, Intelligence, the one group least likely to be involved in the murders. I could check on that with Metrill when she came by my home to deliver the crossbow bolt. Assuming the Lareran cleric could be trusted.

Derrick coughed. “Is there any news on the progression of your own investigation?”

I was tempted to give her nothing at all because her silence had cost so much. But it was easier to be charitable when a pair of her acolytes were nearby, armed.

“Forcreek,” I replied. “We think he’s the Priestkiller.”

Derrick stared at me as if I’d gone mad, but there was a brief flicker of something else there. The two subordinates on either side of me were just as disbelieving.

“I’m sorry,” Derrick said, trying to find her voice. “You think Michael Forcreek is the Priestkiller? Very pleasant young man, polite, would never hurt a fly?”

“Well, I’ll admit I haven’t gotten the chance to experience that side of him recently,” I said. “It’s mostly circumstantial at the moment. Personal observation. His recent signs of heavy purification or healing magic.”

“He did get injured,” Derrick replied, lost in thought. “It’s just hard to contemplate. He’s so nice.”

That was quite possibly one of the least effective ways to defend him. Especially knowing what the average Halspusian was like.

“He was a nice man who never killed anyone once,” I replied. “In retrospect, it makes the progression of the crime scenes fit together. Remorseful, reluctant, trying to fit it into a pattern of justification with the sins only to fall apart as those all wear thin.”

“There were..suspicions,” Derrick admitted. “Not around Gallaspie of course, or Timmel, but others brought it up because of how much of the organization side Michael handled. But well, that was the only reason anyone brought them up is because of that. And after the assassination attempt on me, I couldn’t think it was him.”

“That’s the part that doesn’t fit,” I admitted. “Not the happening to be in the carriage when the assassination attempt happened-that could have either been poor coordination or being in on it and helping them once it started. But he didn’t, and helped defeat the mercenaries even when he could have easily just finished you and me off.”

That was the sticking point for both his and Derrick’s involvement, the attempted murder of them by the mercenaries. Oh, there were ways to make him fit, if he was as much of a patsy as I expected. As the remorse in his early killings might suggest. Not fed the entire story, or an altered one.

There was even a way Derrick still stayed involved. If one part of the scheme wanted the other dead. Or if the mercenaries had never been intended to actually kill her. Then again, she would have died if I hadn’t been there. Probably.

The mercenaries were another lead I was hoping would go somewhere, but I had the sinking sensation that it would lead to the same place the arcane shield had. Ended at a cleric killed for no longer being useful except as a sacrifice.

“I slew a Lich,” Derrick said despondently. “Yet I can’t even touch this lesser threat. Nor can your family, I heard.”

“Killer of two liches is what I was told,” I mentioned.

Surprise and confusion were on Derrick’s heavily lined face for a few moments. “Oh, that one. She was in the process, but not actually a lich yet. Still dangerous, but nowhere near as bad as Gressen was. How did you hear about that?”

“Samuel Voltar,” I answered. “He seemed irritated that he was robbed of a recruit, I think.”

“He would be, the bastard,” Derrick said without much rancor. “We ended up paying for that, in various ways. For a man so dedicated to duty, I would have expected better understanding. But he does seem very convinced he can just leash monsters. Foolish idea.”

“I can only agree so far,” I said. “I myself am a beneficiary of that ideology.”

Derrick laughed, a dry rasping thing that sounded like it was leading the charge into her early grave.

“Miss Harrow, you are what many people would consider a monster for what you’ve done,” she said. “But you’re hardly a monster on the level of what I’m talking about.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered. Perhaps both.”

The rest of the trip passed in tense silence. I had the distinct impression my use for everyone in this carriage was done, and everyone was either too tired or too unfriendly to even pretend to chat about any casual topics.

It continued to pass, even to the point Carson and his fellow started fidgeting. Weaklings. I’d been fully prepared to spend hours crossing this on foot. And this was with empty streets as well. Break out a book if you were that deprived of anything to do.

We were in the Quarter now. I could smell it, that familiar scent of sulfur growing stronger the further we moved inside it. The carriage driver barked an order to stay away, and I heard a snarled response.

Someone was hungry, and not too picky about making a run for horse flesh.

Eventually, we came to a halt, I looked outside, and forced Carson to move so I could get out.

“Until later, Slayer,” I said, getting a tense smile in reply before they were driving off, leaving me behind on a deserted street.

I was alive. Interesting. The question was, had that been because the Slayer wasn’t actually involved in this? Or had she figured trying to kill me would be too risky?

Stupid question. She could have just sent her subordinates to hit me with the crossbow, no risk to herself, and a good chance I could have been perforated with crossbow bolts before fighting back.

No, she had chosen not to kill me. And had even given us the third member of the group leading the diabolism program. Even if we’d already heavily suspected the clergy of Baltaren, that wasn’t nothing.

The only question was she trying to help with that, or was she trying to cover up her own involvement? Was this some elaborate pageantry tossing aside her involvement in the plot before she left it? Or a tricked young woman, stuck out of her element and drowning?

Two more experienced clerics pressuring her to follow along with what they wanted, her trusting them…it could be what had happened.

Forcreek, I would have confirmed soon enough. I’d to trust the crossbow bolt to Metrill to hide, I hadn’t had much choice. Some things couldn’t be avoided.

More snow was falling now. Definitely for the better I’d gotten the ride, as tense as it was. I wasn’t even shivering yet, the changes I’d undergone continuing to insulate me better, but best to get off the street.

I could hear a voice inside my shop as I neared, muttering to themselves. As I reached the door, I recognized it. Gregory.

Oh. Bugger. Maybe Alice wasn’t here as well?

Was I ready for this?

Was it too late to go be held hostage in Slayer Derrick’s carriage for another hour?

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