Arcanum - Of Steamwork and Magic Ch. 15

"His name is Jormund," I said, frowning. "And you think it is wise to allow him to slave under such a mentor?"

The female elf looked yet more confused. "He accepted the apprenticship. If he truly suffered, he would leave?"

I chuckled. "I take it you have never heard of a dwarf's Stone, eh?" I asked.

"His testicles?" she looked completely baffled now. "Do you think he and Wrath engage in sexual activities? That seems unlikely, and very tangential."

I sighed. "Nevermind." So, it was true what King Longhaire had said: Elves and dwarves really didn't understand one another. It was clear as day to me that Jormund -- like most dwarves -- would shave his own beard before going back on his given word. Without his honor, he wouldn't be a dwarf. So, he would suffer for centuries under that blighter, Wrath. I shook my head and made a note. If there was anything I could to help Jormund, I'd have to find it.

***

The evening came and, with it, a meeting with yet another elf that seemed to not be willing to divulge exactly where their leader was, nor who they were. However, by now, a realization had crept into my mind and settled there. Mryth had tested me -- and now these elves were testing me as well. For all I knew, their leader was hidden among the scattering of elves that filled Quintarra and was watching me, judging me and my companions. And so, I had decided to not be annoyed. If elves expected to see anything but a civilized gentleman, they would be sorely mistaken.

"Oh, I'm a kind of a scientist," Whysper, the elf I was speaking to, said. She leaned forward, grinning. "But don't tell anyone else that, Doctor Cog."

I blinked, somewhat taken aback. "You study the scientific arts? Here?"

"Well, not in the way of machines and gears and coal burning," she said, her nose wrinkling. It was a rather adorable nose on a rather adorable face. Whysper was nearly as black as an elf could get, and her hair curled into a great poof, making her look like she was the world's most sensual smokestack sweeper. Her white teeth flashed brilliantly in the gathering twilight. "Rather, I'm undertaking a cataloging and taxidermic sorting of the magick creatures in this forest. We may not use technology for what magick can do, but we can use the arts of understanding to broaden our own, yes?"

"Quite forward thinking, Miss Whysper!" I said -- provoking a giggle and a playful cursty from her. "What animal are you currently studying?"

"Half-orc, maybe," Virginia murmured as Whysper leaned in close. Her breath teased my ear.

"Your friend is getting fair jealous, Dr. Cog," she said.

Virginia started like someone had smacked her across her shapely rump. But before she could leap to her own denials, Whysper continued: "And no, not an animal. A magick essence given it's own form of ad vitam aeternam." She shrugged. "Mortals call them Willow-The-Wisps. Most are entirely harmless and were easy to study, kill, dissect."

"Dissect?" I asked. "What's in a ball of light?"

"Motonic essence," Whysper said, cheerfully. "Liquified, concentrated magick. However, there is one wisp that I've never caught. The Vol'ars Wisp. It's unique."

"In what way?" I asked.

"It's lethal. Sucks the brains out of most humanoids through their nostril," Whysper said, without fluttering an eye, nor having a hitch in her words that might indicate she was having us on. I blinked at her. Then, smiling, I responded the only way I could.

"If I find one-"

"That would be grand!" Whysper said, patting my cheek, starting to walk off. As she slipped away, I turned to keep track of her before she vanished into the darkness. I called to her.

"Where might we stay? Do you have an inn or..."

She laughed, and vanished into the darkness. But her voice carried to us, sounding like music carried by nightengales. "Oh, Dr. Cog. Simply take any home that is empty and sleep there. But don't leave too great a mess, sir."

And she was gone.

Finding a place to sleep felt rather like banditry. Once we had all found places to lay down and I somehow ended up with Virginia in my arms -- surely purely for my protection -- I closed my eyes and tried to find sleep. But the gentle swaying of the trees, so easily ignored during the day, intruded in my thoughts. I turned over everything that had happened in the day and...part of me silently fumed at the elves here. It was one thing to take some time for frivolity -- hells, I was more than prone to doing that while traveling. We could have made it here on the 19^th if it were not for certain...activities. But it felt like every elf had dedicated their lives to playing 'make the half-orc dance for our amusement.'

Even as I thought it, I knew it was somewhat unfair. The elves weren't just being amused. They were doing more than simply playing with me as a cat would play with a mouse. They were testing me.

Testing. Endless, endless tests, from every single person I had ever met in my life. Other half-orcs, testing to see if I was strong enough or tough enough or cruel enough. Humans, testing to see if I was no more than a mindless savage. Gnomes and halflings, testing to see if I was a danger. I ground my teeth -- but then felt Virginia's head shifting upon my chest, a quiet, happy sound escaping from her as she cuddled against me in her sleep. It seemed she was able to adapt to the swaying. And then...it struck me.

Virginia had never tested me.

She had accepted me on faith. Faith that might have been entirely misplaced -- but still. Faith. I caressed her head. "I love you," I said, into the quiet darkness of the abandoned room, my voice almost lost in the thunderous sound of Sally's snoring (a sound we had all grown so used to as to make it nearly unnoticed.)

I remained that way for sometime, simply caressing Virginia until, at last, I too fell asleep.

And in the morning, I was roused by two guards on suspicion of murder.

***

The two guards escorted me through the city without my hands in cuffs or bondage. This might have been the only thing to keep my companions from reacting quite violently. Instead, they merely glared sullenly about us as we were brought to a pair of structures that looked fairly similar to the home that we had borrowed to sleep in. There, I saw Jormund, sequestered off in the smaller of the two houses. He was pacing back and forth in the simple room, easily visible because someone had removed the door. Two guards stood before the new opening, standing perfectly still.

The other house had a door -- but that door yawned open, showing the interior was a wizard's laboratory. Bubbling beakers, phial and flagons, books and tomes, scrolls and staves. And, sprawled ini the center of the laboratory, his face a shrunken mask of pure agony, was Wrath.

Dead.

"Ah," I said.

The guard frowned. "Where were you last night?" he asked. "Roughly when evening started?"

I blinked. "I was speaking to Whysper," I said, immediately. "Then I found the home you found me in and slept there with my companions."

The guard nodded, then turned to one of his companions. Within a remarkably short time, the guard was shaking my hand. "Apologies for the inconvenience," he said. "Whysper confirms that you weren't in the area. It seems the dwarf killed his master."

"Why do you assume that it must be him!?" I asked. "Or I?"

"Elves do not slay other elves," the guard said, his voice flat, as if he was quoting a law of nature.

I frowned, processing that. I looked at the guard. "I'm a renowned investigator of crimes in my homeland," I said, adjusting the collar of my shirt. Which was true, from a certain perspective that ignored all past facts. "If I didn't murder the wizard, might I investigate to ensure that your assumptions aren't faulty."

The elf shrugged. "You may do whatever you wish," he said. "The dwarf will be exiled in five days, unless a better suspect is offered."

I opened my mouth, then closed it. "I can speak to the dwarf?" I asked. The elf nodded. "I can...investigate the corpse?" I asked. The elf nodded. "I...can question suspects other than Jormund?" The elf nodded. "And none of you will stop me?" The elf held up his hand.

"We'll stop you if you seek to free him," he said, solemnly.

Right, I thought. Elves.

I suppose I could have saved the time in the fabrication. I stepped over to Jormund's now missing door, and the two guards inclined their heads. Jormund saw me and started. "You?" he asked.

"Rayburn Cog," I said, holding my hand out to him. "It seems you're in a bit of a sticky wicket."

Jormund nodded, looking miserable. "I have no idea what happened. Wrath set me to bed without teaching me a single thing for the day, closed his door, and then...nothing. No flare of magic, no sound, not a thing." He looked miserable -- but not the miserable that one might expect to see from someone who had lost a beloved mentor. Which only reinforced my idea that he was innocent: Acting as if he had would have completely belied everything I had seen.

I nodded. "Let me investigate the murder scene."

"They're...letting you do that?" Jormund asked.

I shrugged. "Elves take the writings of Mr. Jean-Baptiste to heart and have made 'hands off' the policy on even the work of the constabulary." I chuckled. "I would complain, but it works to our advantage today, no?"

The interior of Wrath's home bore my scrutiny well. First, I observed the body. Collapsed near the center of the room. No blood, no sign of magicks. I knelt down and noticed that his right arm was outflung and the hand was open -- but there was bruising on the palm. I narrowed my eyes, then looked up. The house was on an ever so slight incline -- and in the shadows under the bookshelf, I found a goblet. It was made of wood, and it of almonds. I frowned, then looked at my companions.

"Poison," Gillian said, slowly.

"It seems we need to find the local apothecary," I said.

***

The door to the apothecary opened and I found myself face to face with a familiar elf. As many elves did share a general appearance, this was not unusual. But after a few moments, the color of her hair tipped me off and I realized I recognized her as the target of Wrath's wrathful gaze on the day that he was murdered. I mentally filed that away -even as the elven lass reached out to begin to close the door in my face.

"Ah, ma'am!" I said, quickly, putting one foot forward to try and halt the door's inward progress. "Please, before you shut me out, I have to ask some questions about Wrath's murder."

The door stopped before it slammed on my foot. It swung inwards and the elf looked at me, her eyes sad. "Wrath is dead," she said, quietly. "I heard the dwarf slew him."

"That's what I'm here to investigate," I said. "Why do you think Jormund killed Wrath?"

"Elves don't kill elves," she said, which made me want to grit my teeth and clench my fists. Instead, I nodded.

"Well, we'll see," I said, then held up the goblet I had taken from Wrath's house. "You are the apothecary, right?"

"No, I am Ivory," she said, shaking her head. "Sharpe is my...husband." There was a faint catch in her words -- and normally, I would have felt a flare of interest. That kind of catch normally meant that a woman was interested in dallying elsewhere. But a dwarf's livelihood was on the line -- and what was more? I didn't see any dissatisfaction with her husband in her eyes. Rather, there was a kind of defiance in her eyes. As if she was challenging the whole world to best her.

"Your husband?" I asked, curious.

Ivory's cheeks darkened slightly. "Well, uh...I know it is unusual. But Sharpe and I, we live together. We love one another. I know that many people call us deviants, but..."

"Elves don't have husbands?" Virginia asked.

Ivory shook her head. "No? We're a community, not isolated groups. To pair off like this, it is seen as...improper. But Sharpe and I love one another more than we love Quintarra. Is that so wrong?" She scowled slightly. "I don't think so. How could love be wrong?"

I held up my hand, chuckling. "Ivory, never fear. I agree with you. It's...nice." I nodded. "But did Wrath disagree?"

Ivory looked taken aback. "Did you speak to him about it?"

I shrugged slightly, lifting my eyebrows. Ivory let out a slow sigh, then nodded. "Yes..." She looked out to the broad canopy that swept out beyond the small hut she and her husband used as their home. "Wrath, Sharpe and I were all friends, a century before. But when I started to fall for Sharpe, Wrath grew...distant." She shook her head. "He grew more and more filled with anger and darkness. Then when I took...when I moved in with Sharpe fifty years ago, he grew yet more bitter."

I rubbed my mustache, my finger tracing the line all the way to my finely pointed tip. "Did he now? Though, who gave you the idea of moving in with Sharpe? Did you visit a human city?" Seeing her minute shake of the head, I nodded. "So, it was a fellow elf?"

"Wrath," she said, quietly. "H-He suggested that I move in with him. But I didn't feel that way about him. I..." She made an abortive gesture, then drew her hand back to her chest. Her head hung forward. Quietly, she whispered. "Even back then, I felt something was off. And refusing him? I saw my feelings had been justified."

I nodded, then held out the goblet that I held. "One last question, Ivory," I said.

She looked up at me, then at the goblet. She leaned forward, sniffing at it curiously as I asked: "Do you recognize that scent?"

"Of course," she said. "It's one of my husband's poisons. He just left to make more -- he won't be back for a week."

I nodded...and then smiled.

"Ivory, I have determined who killed the wizard Wrath. Might I ask you to come with me to his home?" I asked. Ivory blinked at me -- then nodded.

Together, we walked through the city -- heading towards Wrath's home.

Less than a half hour later, I felt like the star of an A. G. Christopherson mystery play -- standing in the parlor (such as it was) of a murdered elven wizard, with all the suspects and the local constabulary arrayed about me, waiting for me to reveal my verdict. At the very least, I looked the part, even if Hermes Pirouette would never have been published if he had had green skin. I reached up to stroke my mustache as the elven constable, whose name was Spitfire, crossed his arms across his chainmail clad chest and said: "Well, then. Out with it."

I inclined my head. "Let us first ascertain the facts of the case, Mr. Spitfire." I gestured about the room. "This is the home of the wizard Wrath -- once friends with the alchemist Sharpe and his wife-" I noticed the faint flinch of distaste on Spitfire's face upon hearing the word 'wife' "-before their falling out a hundred and fifty years before. Was Wrath always so ill tempered as his namesake before that point?"

Spitfire shrugged one shoulder. "He was somewhat irritable, but...no. Not as such."

I nodded. "Next comes the first clue." I hefted up the goblet I had found in the crime scene. "This goblet smells strongly of almonds. Normally, not unusual, but when paired with Wrath's untimely death, it leads to the conclusion that this goblet was laced with cyanide. A deadly chemical, discovered by humans only one century before by the chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele. I believe he was trying to find a new dye." I shook my head. "But, Miss Ivory, how long have elves known of its make?"

Ivory, looking somewhat uncertain, stammered. "Several millennia, I believe. It's not a complex recipe if one has access to magickal processes. Uh, nature spells are able to draw it forth and concentrate it quite easily. There, ah, um..." She blushed as I held up my hand to silence her before she gave us all a rather long lecture. I set the goblet down on the table. I admit that I had had some trepidation -- I was operating on some guesses about how things had gone. But fortunately, Virginia's eagle sharp eyes had spotted what was needed while we waited for the constabulary to decide to bring Jormund out of his makeshift cell and to this room.

"And now, the next clue..." I said, striding over to the bookshelf in the room. Virginia had spied the one book that had looked out of place -- it was the only one without elven lettering upon the spine. I tugged it free, and opened it, and revealed that it was no book at all. It was a handily disguised container. Opening it at an angle caused the vial of pale glass within to fall into my hand. I tossed it to Ivory, who caught it with customary elven grace. "Tell me, Ivory, do you recognize that vial?"

"I-It's one of ours..." she said.

"And what does it smell of?" I asked, frowning.

"...almond..." she whispered.

Spitfire stepped away from the wall. "Are you really trying to intimate that Sharpe killed Wrath, then fled the city?" His hand dropped to his sword. "Elves do not kill elves, eve degenerates like Sharpe."

I held up my hand. "Hold for but one more moment, Spitfire!" I turned my back from them, walking away. "That vial of poison was filled with concentrated cyanide. But if cyanide was diffused with, say, wine, or water, or a mana potion...would the scent be as strong as that vial?"

"No," Ivory said.

"Exactly!" I said, turning on my heel, my finger thrust into the air. "I checked the cabinets, the potion closet, everywhere in this home. There is not a droplet out of place in the wine casks. Ale barrels are untapped, save for one that has dust around the cork that has not been disturbed in weeks, and there is not a single empty vial waiting to be refilled with magickal concoctions. There is no spigot, no water cistern, no pail fresh from the well of this city. Ergo, this goblet was filled entirely with poison -- obviously and completely. More, the goblet left bruises upon the palm of Wrath...Wrath, the elf who himself suggested that Ivory marry him a hundred and fifty years before. Wrath, who was so jealous of Ivory preferring Sharpe to him that he would do anything to strike back at her. Wrath, bitter over a century and a half of self imposed celibacy, striking back in the most vicious way that he could while still preserving the most sacred law of your people."

I thrust my finger at Jormund. "Jormund is no murderer. Wrath slew himself, and this petty tragedy must come to an end before it ruins yet another life."

Spitfire looked stunned. "By the gods! To think he was such a...a...a degenerate..."

Ivory glared at Spitfire -- after all. She clearly enjoyed being married, even if it was against elven custom. Spitfire, as seemed customary across intolerance of all races and all times, did not notice. Spitfire and the constables took their leave, while Ivory took my hand and clasped it tight, bending her head forward to kiss my knuckles. "Thank you for clearing up this terrible affair," she said, then sighed. "I only hope that in a few centuries, maybe a millennia, people will see that...Sharpe and I aren't that strange."

I chuckled. "I can but hope for less time than that."

As she left, Jormund let out a slow sigh. He stood, rubbing his hand along his beard. "Elves," he said, as if that single word summarized the whole of the situation -- and while it was tempting to give in to the impulse, I cautioned myself against it. Quintarra was built high above the trees, sequestered away from the world. But even so, ideas were creeping in from outside. Maybe some day, other elves would see Sharpe and Ivory and decide to follow their impulse. Would they find more happiness? Would it spawn more people like Wrath? I did not know -- but...change was coming. Even if the lifespan of these people made it glacially slow compared to the world.