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  They reached Fal’s backyard again and Errolas climbed the wooden stairs. ‘We need to check inside, see if there are clues.’

  Sav grabbed Errolas by the arm. ‘You think you’ve seen him before?’ Sav stared directly into the elf’s eyes.

  ‘I said I’ve seen the way he moved before. Perhaps him, I can’t be sure.’ Errolas pulled himself free of Sav’s grip and went to move off again, stopping only for Sav’s next words.

  ‘At the Dockside Infirmary?’ he said. ‘The man who killed the sick men?’

  Errolas paused before turning back to face Sav. ‘You heard us?’

  ‘Every word, aye.’

  Errolas closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘He only wants to protect you by not telling you, scout; as do I.’ Errolas’ eyes showed nothing but the truth.

  ‘I know. I had a long hard night to think it through and I know, but I don’t need protecting. It’s my city as much as it is Fal’s.’

  ‘That it is, scout… that it is. Come then let us search the place, I will show you how the intruder entered. He was very skilled, and this was no burglary.’ Errolas turned again, reached the top of the stairs, pulled himself onto the roof and pulled Sav up behind him.

  ‘It wasn’t through that window then?’ Sav asked, pointing to the smashed window to the right of the stairs.

  ‘No, that was his exit. Follow me and keep your eyes peeled on the roof for a small throwing knife. If we are lucky we may find it.’ Sav’s eyes widened as he started to put together what had happened.

  ‘So you think it could’ve been him then? The man at the infirmary?

  ‘Wow!’ Sav added, seeing the hole in the roof.

  ‘Yes I do.’ Errolas nodded once whilst scanning the rooftop. ‘The throwing knives, the way he moved and dressed. It was him or an accomplice. This is all linked, scout, and this his entry.’ Errolas pointed to the hole surrounded by loose tiles. ‘He must have spent a long time moving them last night, carefully, so as not to make any noise.

  Both men dropped down into the room. The place was not sacked as they'd expected. Nothing seemed out of place to them, although they couldn’t be too sure since they'd never been there before.

  ‘We will search around here, then outside for the knife, and then we need to inform the City Guard of the break-in.’ Sav agreed and they both set about searching the rooms for clues as to what the intruder could have been looking for.

  After an hour or so of fruitless searching for a knife, Errolas sent Sav off to the nearest barracks to report the break-in while he stayed at Fal’s to await his return. The confrontation with the man in black, as well as his previous witnessing of the infirmary murders played through in his head. If it wasn’t the same man, then they were of the same organisation, of that he was sure. It was clear there was a third party involved, and Errolas needed to know who they were before he could act on Severun and Orix. He needed to hear what Fal had found out at the guild, and hoped the sergeant would return soon with some much needed information.

  ***

  The tall trees of Park District swayed gently in the cool morning breeze. The usual birdsong was punctuated occasionally by jackdaws squabbling in the treetops, and a large pond rippled as another small stone landed near its centre.

  ‘I’m lost for what we do now,’ Biviano said, as he picked up another handful of small stones from the path in front of Sears.

  ‘Aye, that makes two of us.’

  ‘No one on the street had owt useful to tell us,’ Biviano continued, ‘and the clerics don’t know shit about how Peneur Ineson died.’ I almost feel like someone’s purposefully hindering us on this one…

  Sears shook his head as Biviano cast another stone out into the pond.

  ‘Ye don’t skim ’em like that ye know?’

  ‘That’s ‘cause I ain’t skimming, ye nugget.’

  Sears crouched down and picked up a fairly flat stone, before successfully launching it low, achieving seven bounces across the surface of the pond and almost clearing the other side.

  Biviano threw the handful of stones he had into the pond and walked off, whilst Sears smiled broadly to himself. ‘Course ye weren’t.

  ‘Come on, fatty,’ Biviano said, as he walked towards the park gate.

  ‘Where to then? The infirmary again, see if they know owt new?’

  ‘I dunno, Sears, but something’ll come up won’t it? Always does.’

  Aye, pal, it does. We’re lucky like that. Usually anyway… this investigation’s taking its time however, and something about that doesn’t sit well with me. Sears slowly followed his partner.

  On the opposite side of the pond, shadows seemed to move, eventually revealing a black-clad man with a wide brimmed hat held in one pale hand, whilst his other rested on the hilt of a rapier.

  Now now, gentlemen, you’d do best to let this one slide. Can’t have you learning any more now, can we? Especially when you already know more than we’d like as it is.

  Chapter 12: Outbreak

  The fourth floor of Tyndurris split between a great library, the guild archives vault and the clerics’ research chamber. The library took up most of the floor with huge wooden bookshelves reaching from floor to ceiling and rows upon rows of immense stacks divided the library into narrow passageways. Tall wooden ladders creaked as members of the guild stretched out from the top of them to reach for books long since read.

  Orix thanked the magician who passed down a book he'd requested, whilst Fal stood by the library door, impatiently waiting as the gnome returned carrying a large, well-worn tome to accompany the other books he'd already collected. Fal’s arms were laden with old, dust covered books, his impatience growing.

  ‘Master Orix, we need to hurry. I don’t see why all these are necessary for an autopsy?’

  ‘Be patient, Falchion, we need to be thorough and I am no longer…’ Orix looked around and dropped his voice ‘…looking for my potion’s effects, or thinking of it as such. I am going to investigate this illness as I would any other. Therefore, I need references to various diseases and their symptoms. Now, this is the last book, so we can proceed to the clerics’ chamber behind the archives vault.’

  ‘Very well, do you want me to carry—’ Fal took an unwilling step backwards as Orix reached up with the large book and threw it atop the ones Fal was already carrying.

  ‘Thank you, Falchion, that one was quite heavy.’ Orix trotted off through the library door and down a passageway past a heavily reinforced door, which was guarded by one of Fal’s men. The old gnome stopped at another door, which was shrouded in shadow at the end of the passageway. He turned to wait for Fal, who staggered along behind him, barely managing an awkward nod to his guard, who tried to hide his amusement as he returned the gesture.

  Fal knew the post on the archive door had not been a popular one amongst his men lately, and now he understood why. As Orix opened the door, the smell of death assaulted Fal’s senses. He choked back a cough and followed Orix into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, which creaked eerily before closing with a loud mechanical clunk. Fal crossed over to the nearest desk and placed the books down, stifling a dust-triggered sneeze before turning to take in the room. Orix was moving around the room lighting more oil lamps.

  ‘Come then, Falchion. Help me with the next victim. They are kept in this cold-room.’ Orix trotted over to a large, stone door and pulled it open with great ease. ‘Well-greased hinges, Falchion, as well as a little magic. Sometimes you have to use it on smaller things, or large in this case, especially when you’re physically smaller than most.’

  Fal smiled and followed the gnome into a cold, stone lined room. Icicles hung from the ceiling, and upon closer inspection – after almost slipping over – Fal realised the whole room was covered in a thin layer of ice. ‘Magically maintained?’ Fal asked, his breath clouding before him.

  ‘Of course,’ Orix replied, walking over to a sack in the ominous shape of an adult body. ‘This one pl
ease, Falchion, if you could lift her onto the bench outside.’ Orix tapped the body-bag and Fal crossed the room carefully, so as not to slip on the ice underfoot, before lifting the body up into his arms.

  ‘Is this the woman we brought in yesterday?’ Fal liked the idea of what was coming even less now.

  ‘Yes. Not the latest body to be brought in, but I want to check them in chronological order of their deaths and I haven’t opened this one up yet.’ Orix left the cold-room and walked over to the desk where Fal had placed the books. Fal carried the cold, stiff body to a large bench in the middle of the chamber and lay it face up. He then turned and closed the stone door. He was shocked when he had to put his back into it.

  ‘Alright then,’ Orix said, without lifting his head from the book he'd opened. ‘Remove the body bag and fetch my instruments from the cabinet over there.’ Orix pointed, again without looking up from his book, to a simple, oak cabinet near the cold-room door. Fal removed the body-bag, his nose twitching in protest at the smell. He was thankful for the numerous oil lamps adding their mild smoke to the air and at least taking the edge off.

  ‘Shall I open the window, Master Orix?’

  ‘Yes if you wish,’ Orix said, his head buried in the book whilst flicking pages over rapidly.

  Fal walked over to the window and opened the shutter. A fresh breeze blew in immediately, followed by the sound of gulls. Fal took a deep breath, glad to smell the fresh air over the stale, death-ridden smog in the chamber. After taking his fill, he retrieved Orix’s instruments from the cabinet and placed them on the bench next to the body, silently relieved at the faint sound of the busy city below as it stole away the near silence of the room.

  ‘Thank you, Falchion. Now, you may take a seat and I will inform you of what I am doing.’ Orix looked up from the book and across to Fal, who nodded and took the nearest seat to the window.

  Stepping up onto a small podium on the far side of the bench, Orix looked over the body, took a scalpel and opened up the cadaver’s chest. Fal sat in the chair watching Orix move from corpse to books, scratching his head and pulling on his beard.

  Orix explained everything and Fal thought the gnome’s knowledge of the human anatomy quite extraordinary. More than half of what Orix said was utterly wasted on Fal, but he didn’t dare interrupt.

  Then, after about two hours or so, Orix suddenly stopped talking; he stopped his running commentary and just stared through a strange contraption he called a microscope. He'd taken cells from the body and placed them on a petri dish, all unfamiliar terms to Fal, although he didn’t dare admit it. Orix looked up then, his face suddenly pale. He ran across to the books and pulled out the third one down, ignoring the top two which clattered to the floor, shaking the dust from their covers. Orix muttered something about cleaning them before they came into the chamber, before falling silent again, his head buried in the book he'd taken. Fal got to his feet, eager and scared in equal measures to hear what Orix had clearly found.

  ‘By the gods,’ Orix said, finally stopping on a page a quarter of the way into the book.

  ‘What is it?’ Fal was now more scared than eager to hear the answer.

  ‘It can’t be, but… the symptoms now developing. All the warning signs though, hidden. Hidden from me by my own… my own stupid, stupid potion.’ Orix was shaking his head, more colour draining from his already pale face.

  ‘Master Orix, please?’ Fal took a couple of steps towards the gnome.

  ‘How could I have missed this? The buboes under the arms, on the neck, around the groin; I took them as being part of my potion’s false symptoms. Oh Falchion, this is terrible.’ Orix looked into Fal’s eyes and pointed to the corpse. ‘This woman had… I mean, the cause of death was a zoonotic disease.’

  Fal felt sick when he heard the words and had to draw on his courage to ask the next question.

  ‘Master Orix, what’s a zoonotic disease?’

  Orix swallowed hard. ‘In this case, gods below… the King, he must be informed there’s a plague in the city.’

  Fal rubbed his hands through his hair and had to take a seat. He looked to the old gnome, who looked back, fear plain across his face.

  ‘Falchion… it’s the bubonic plague.’

  ***

  The alley was quiet and dark. Large buildings either side stole the midday light and cast shadows over almost every inch of the narrow space. A tall figure stood with his back to one of the buildings, able to see from one end of the alley to the other; he was sure he was safe and free of his pursuers.

  A sudden voice startled him. He thought he’d covered every possible approach to his shadow covered position and he was rarely caught off-guard. To this date there had only ever been a handful that had managed it, and only two – one being the elf who’d just discovered him, the other the one who now spoke to him – had lived to tell the tale, and the latter took great pleasure in telling it.

  ‘You were almost captured just then, Master Clewarth, how unlike you.’ The voice came from Exley Clewarth’s left. He’d just looked left, then right and heard the voice. He didn’t give the owner of the voice the pleasure of turning to face him.

  ‘You never cease to amaze me, General. Sir Samorl must look upon you in great favour. I take it you had me followed?’ Exley strained to hear the General’s breathing, but heard nothing except the slight sound of a distant coach rumbling up the main street further down the alley to his left. After a short pause that felt like a lifetime, Horler Comlay replied.

  ‘Yes, of course I did, as I am sure you would were you in my position. After the failure of your, so called finest witchunter, Master Dundaven, how could I not?’ The General’s voice was closer now, right by Exley’s head. He could just about hear the slow, calm breathing; feel the slow, calm breathing on the back of his neck. Exley turned at last to face the General by his side.

  ‘I would indeed. I am the Witchunter General of the South, after all… Master Comlay.’ Exley stared directly into his peer's eyes. Horler Comlay was the same rank as Exley. He was also right-hand man to the Grand Inquisitor, which Horler believed granted him a certain level of authority over his southern counterpart.

  ‘Indeed you are, General Clewarth. Now, please, enlightened me where my witchunter could not. He watched from afar, my man, watched you enter a house at night via the roof. I like to see you haven’t forgotten everything we were taught.’

  Exley clenched his teeth and bit back a retort, allowing Horler to continue.

  ‘But then,’ Horler said, ‘hours later, he saw you crash through the rear window of the first floor on your way out, pursued by two of the residents in broad daylight. Not, I would say, something I was taught.’ Horler’s mocking grin pulled at Exley’s nerves, egging him to hurl a fist rather than a retort.

  ‘Your witchunter saw much,’ Exley managed through gritted teeth. ‘He is a skilled man indeed. I did think he needed a lesson in concealment though, since I saw him watching me whilst I created the entry through the roof… at night… in the dark.’

  Horler’s smile slipped and Exley’s replaced it. ‘I only let him live because he is one of yours, not mine. However…’ Exley raised his voice slightly with the last word; let his smile fade and moved straight to what Horler wanted to know before the banter turned sour. ‘I was seen, yes, your man speaks true, although I disagree with his wording, for I most certainly was not almost captured. My pursuers… or rather the one who saw me anyway, was an elf, General Comlay, and a skilled one at that. Ranger, I believe I heard. Whilst in the house that is, listening in to Sergeant Falchion’s cosy little conversation with his friends.’

  Horler’s eyes widened briefly then returned to his normal squinted glare, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly at revealing his surprise to his counterpart’s words.

  ‘You managed to listen in to Sergeant Falchion’s conversation, a conversation about the guild’s plans?’ Horler’s enthusiasm was barely concealed.

  ‘Yes indeed. Plenty of worthy informa
tion for the Grand Inquisitor. Let’s take it to him now shall we?’

  ‘Of course, General Clewarth, exactly what I had in mind. We shall go and see him now, you and I.’ Horler held his arm out as an offer for Exley to move on down the alley.

  ‘Most kind of you General, but after you, I insist.’ Exley held his arm out in the same way and Horler reluctantly strode away, his black cloak billowing out behind him.

  Prick! Look at you, an exhibitionist to say the least, Exley thought, before following Horler Comlay down the alley to report his findings to his true master.

  Chapter 13: Let them burn

  Errolas paced Fal’s living room. He hadn’t wanted to leave in case Fal returned with news from Tyndurris, but now the elf felt useless. Sav had left a while ago to inform the City Guard of the break-in upstairs and seemed to be taking far longer than he should, and Fal could be hours if he worked his full shift at the guild. Surely Fal would return to inform Errolas should he have found anything? Errolas started to worry whether trusting the two humans had been the right thing to do. Elves rarely trusted other races with such matters. Yes, they shared an alliance and worked together to defend both of their realms, but regarding such dangers as arcane magic, the elves preferred to keep other races out of the loop, especially the humans of Altoln, due to its fanatical Samorlian Church.

  Errolas stopped pacing.

  The Samorlian Church!

  He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. The man I chased, he must have been a witchunter. It all makes sense. They would want information about who was enacting arcane magic so they could hunt them down and execute them regardless of costs.

  Errolas began to pace once more, his mind going over all the details. The murders around Wesson, and the three murders at the infirmary Errolas had witnessed – it was a witchunter who'd carried out the attack, he was now sure of that. They knew about Severun and Orix’s experiment and decided it was up to them to wipe out the infected and find out who'd enacted the arcane magic, hence the reason for the witchunter in the room above Fal’s. He wasn’t stealing anything, but using the place to spy on Fal and listen in to their conversation.