Vhalar 46 718
Nearly Noon
Nearly Noon
Continued from here
Douglas was dead.
Half an hour walk through the streets of Andaris, through winding alleys and wide cobbled roads, and some tight shortcuts between buildings, only to arrive at what both Knights had hoped not to find.
To be fair, what they found was not a body, but a crimson stain on the fine wood floor of the entrance hall, and a widow.
Douglas was dead.
The maniac from Scalvoris had pounced upon another unsuspecting victim.
However, the two Knights hadn’t known any of that when they rang the doorbell, waiting patiently for the hurried footfalls and cluttering of keys to unlock the door barring entry inside. Neither of them had expected Douglas to answer the door; distinguished men like him had slaves to execute such menial tasks, and according to the spice merchant, Douglas did indeed own a slave.
Pretty, young, blonde.
The woman who opened the door was neither of those.
Not to say she was ugly per se, but none of her features could be described as classical features gushed about in plays and fiction. If she’d been thinner, she’d have been fairly average. Not a classic beauty by any means, but not an ugly hag either. Her garb was a simple and black. Black blouse, long black skirt. Even the jewelry she wore, the stones of her rings and the beads of her necklace were all black. The area around her eyes was more puffy and pink than the rest of her face, and the same could be said about her nostrils.
Combined with the large stain in the wooden floor, the original spill having seeped in for hours and unable to be removed completely when it had finally been cleaned up, immediately clued Yana in of what had happened here.
“My condolences, ma’am,” the Captain spoke, neither her tone of voice nor her expression changing even a little when the words left her mouth. Her subordinate, however, muttered something similar in a convincingly sincere manner.
“We had a couple questions we wanted to ask you, if you would not mind.”
The widow slumped a little.
“We will not be long,” Yana said, “may we come in?”
She nodded, stepping aside so they could enter, and led them to the salon, taking a moment to close and lock the door behind them. Yana seized the opportunity to examine the red-stained floor briefly and inconspicuously.
They were offered a seat on a comfortable-looking leather sofa, and the widow sat down opposite of them, taking the left of a pair of armchairs.
“What did you want to know?” the woman began, looking far smaller and less in control than she had when answering the door. The effort was still made since she had company, but it seemed that sitting face to face with a pair of Knights by her lonesome hammered in the reality of her situation. “I’ve told you lot everything I knew yesterday.”
Yana noticed Ser Tayne’s brow furrow slightly, his mouth opening to interrupt as the words were voiced by the older woman. The false Eídisi made a quick gesture to stop him before he began. Maybe he did not grasp the situation fully yet –or maybe he simply wanted to confirm his suspicions—but Yana’s mind had already put one and one together. Of course, she had some questions on that matter as well, but the widow was not the person to ask.
“Do you have news already? A clue?” the black-clad woman almost begged, her stare hopeful.
“Indeed,” Yana responded, producing the picture out of a pocket. “We have a lead. In fact, we are certain that this person—” she handed the parchment over to the widow “—is responsible for the murder of your husband.” There was a pause as she waited for the woman to study the drawing, and continued: “Have you seen her before?”
A shake of the head.
“No, I don’t—I don’t think I have.”
Yana frowned.
“Does the name Francis Higglebottom mean anything to you?”
Another non-verbal negative response. Yane leaned back in her seat, tapping her thumb to her chin. A brief sideways glance at Ser Tayne’s left hand told her the widow seemed to be sincere. So, she knew neither of the Scalvorian maniac, nor of the man she hunted. Perhaps her husband had known—but would he have been killed if he had? If he’d cooperated with the Scalvorian, told her what she wanted to know, surely she wouldn’t have killed him? Or was she one of those “I never said I would spare you if you did tell me” kind of people? The kind that enjoyed the power they had, and loved to toy with their victims?
Or—
This was going nowhere. This made no sense at all. How would she have figured some upper middle-class citizen was in any way related to her quarry? What leaps in logic would she have had to make to come to that conclusion? Perhaps this was not related to that at all? Maybe this was a separate issue. And there was something else that bugged her—
“Your slave, was she killed as well?”
“Mina?” There was a moment where the widow studied both Knights intensely, a semblance of surprise and disbelief on her face. “I told your colleagues yesterday, didn’t I? She’s nowhere to be found.”
“Ah, my apologies. We work in separate teams, and I have not had the opportunity to read all the reports just yet. Tell me, did my colleagues ask for everything you know about the slave as well?”
“They did, yes.”
“Perfect, then I will not bother you with such questions before I have read the reports.”
“By the by, miss…” the widow spoke up, handing the paper poster back to the false Eídisi, “do you have any suspicions as to what the relation between this woman and my husband is?”
“Except for the possibility of Higglebottom, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately, at this point we do not. All I can share with you is that this woman was seen following your husband home yesterday, but we do not yet know why. So, if anything should pop into your mind, make sure to contact us. It would be most helpful.”
She looked a little disappointed, but nodded slowly.
“Of course. I will do whatever I can.”
The false Eídisi gave a nod to her companion, and both Knights rose almost simultaneously.
“Excellent. Now, thank you for your time. If I have any more questions later, I will come back.”