Ilysveil: The Hidden Vengeance
by J. H. Zech
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
The townsfolk stood agape at the ghastly sight in the middle of the town square. A skeleton covered in dirt sat leaning against the old well, its head angled upward so anyone in the vicinity would meet its hollow eyes. Around its neck hung a wooden sign with words written in blood:
I have not forgotten. — Maria Crossham
* * *
Joseph sprang from the carriage and landed on his feet with a muffled thud. The ground here was still dirt, so it made for a softer landing than on the paved streets of the capital. He stretched his neck and shoulders. Of course, if Harrenville had a railway station, he wouldn’t have had to ride a ground dragon carriage all day to get here, and his back would thank him for it. But these were all minor complaints. He had waited a long time for this day; a bit of soreness was nothing.
Stacia climbed out from the carriage behind him but stopped before her heels reached the ground. “Joseph,” she grumbled, “you just jumped out on your own. Aren’t you supposed to help a lady out of the carriage?”
“Since when have you ever needed assistance with that?”
“I’m not accustomed to wearing heels, so make an exception this time, all right?” She brushed her curly brunette bangs behind her ear. Her sharp, narrow face was pretty, though slightly marred at the moment with her expression of discomfort.
Joseph offered his hand, and she placed her small pale hand in his. He helped her out of the carriage and supported her, so that she didn’t trip on her heels. The carriage driver whipped his reins, and the greyish bipedal dragons veered to the side; the carriage turned around and left, disappearing into the fog.
“Your hands are so soft, maybe even more than mine.” Stacia giggled.
“Was that comment really necessary? Especially after I helped you out of the carriage.”
“This is probably the only opportunity I’ll have to tease you, so can you at least let me have that?”
“Right. From here on out, you’re an inspector’s assistant. People will get suspicious if you behave as you are usually do, so do things in moderation. If headquarters discovers what we’re doing, it’ll be the end of the line.” If Stacia didn’t open her mouth, she at least looked the part of a police assistant with her black trench coat.
Joseph straightened out his dark blue police uniform’s collar and cuffs and put on his black-billed cap.
“I can’t get enough of you in uniform,” Stacia said, with an unsettling smile.
“I know I look good in this, but don’t mention your deviant preferences in front of the townsfolk. I’m walking a fine line here as it is.”
Joseph picked up their luggage bags. They walked through the dirt road and into the dark fog, where Harrenville waited.
When they arrived at the town gate, a tall, mustachioed, middle-aged constable in blue uniform was waiting for them. Rural villages tended to resist Ilysveilan central authority, but the fact that the constable wore Ilysveilan uniform was comforting. He would be the type to cooperate with someone he believed was sent by headquarters.
“Good evening, Inspector Wrenheit,” the constable said. “I’ve been expecting you. I’m Constable Gorton.”
“Good evening, Constable,” Joseph said. “I’ll do a more thorough investigation in the morning, but for now, I’d like to take a cursory look at the skeleton.”
“Of course. We’ve left it untouched as per your request. Right this way.” Gorton led the way into town. Joseph and Stacia followed, though the latter’s footsteps were unsteady enough such that she had to hold on to Joseph’s arm.
“Only when people aren’t looking,” Joseph whispered. “Normally, an assistant wouldn’t be allowed to hold onto their superior’s arm like that.”
“When we get home, I want you to cook me some of your fondue to make up for this,” Stacia whispered back.
“Yes, yes. I’ll do that. So, try your best to walk so you don’t give away your identity.”
Who could be trusted in this village? The bony hands they called trees surrounded Harrenville and, between the dark fog at night and the lack of any streetlamps, this town didn’t feel very welcoming to outsiders. Joseph made sure not to lose track of the silhouette in front of him. Otherwise, they would be swallowed up by the emptiness around them.
They arrived at the town square, where an officer was on patrol, and Gorton held his lantern above the skeleton leaning against the well. Joseph set their bags down. Stacia took out a notebook and pen.
“Has the coroner examined the skeleton yet?” Joseph asked.
“Yes. We told everyone not to touch it, and only the coroner was allowed to inspect it. According to him, the person this skeleton belonged to died a long time ago. It’s very possible this is Maria Crossham.”
“Yes, the sign seems to indicate so,” Joseph said.
“But the way it’s phrased, it sounds as though Maria herself is talking. It couldn’t be a ghost, could it?” Stacia suggested.
Joseph sniffed. “Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Most likely, someone connected to Maria Crossham wants vengeance. Who exactly was she?”
Gorton explained, “She went missing ten years ago. Mrs. Crossham was a magitech scientist who advocated in favor of the then-royal government’s modernization plan in 1880, specifically to build a railway station in Harrenville.”
Joseph gazed at the skeleton and stroked the harsh white skull. A bit of dirt fell off. Maria Crossham had never forgotten. And neither had Joseph. He decided a little fib would be necessary for this investigation. “The body appears to have been dug up recently. Perhaps someone discovered Maria’s body and is now plotting revenge. But not to worry. I’m on the case. The truth can’t hide from me.”
“That’s comforting to hear, Inspector. I’ll show you to your lodgings.” Gorton motioned for them to follow, and he walked off into the fog. Joseph picked up their bags and followed him with Stacia in tow.
Their lodgings were a simple wooden cabin, though at least it looked well-maintained.
“Well then. I’ll see you in the morning, Inspector.” Gorton saluted and left them.
They stepped into the cabin and set down their luggage. Joseph pulled out a magitech lantern and switched it on, the crystal inside the glass illuminating the small interior. This was much more convenient than candlelight. He hadn’t seen any brightly lit houses on his way here. Everything had either been dark or had had a dim glow. The imperial government’s modernization efforts had been thoroughly rejected here.
The cabin was as barren as could be. A glass window on each side of the door and the back wall. A single couch and a coffee table in front of it. Two rooms attached each with a bed, a clothing rack, and a nightstand.
Stacia kicked off her heels. “Whew. My feet are aching!” She picked up her luggage bag and went into one of the rooms. “I’m going to change, so don’t come in yet.”
“Yet? We’re sleeping in different rooms.”
“Do I have to play your assistant even in private? We haven’t had any intimate time lately because of your job. You shouldn’t let your wife get too lonely. Besides, aren’t you a bit lonely too?”
Joseph blushed and averted his eyes. “Make sure the curtains are closed. The local police think headquarters ordered me to take charge of this investigation. It’d be trouble if they found out headquarters doesn’t even know I’m here.”
Stacia changed behind closed doors and let Joseph in afterwards. Tomorrow was going to be the beginning of the investigation, and hopefully, the end of it all.
* * *
The next morning, Joseph awoke to the sound of a thunderous knocking.
“Inspector! Inspector!”
Joseph bolted out of bed and hastily put on his uniform. He rushed to the door and combed his flowing black hair back with his hand. He opened the door and gave a confident smile. “What’s the matter so early in the morning?”
Gorton raised an eyebrow. The combination of disheveled hair, a police uniform, and a face sorely in need of its morning wash was strange, even Joseph knew, but his vanity had gotten the better of him. The constable cleared his throat and looked at him seriously. “There’s been a murder.”
Soon after, Stacia also got dressed, and they arrived at a larger wooden cabin next to the bony woods, where a police officer was standing guard in the vague haze. The officer saluted Joseph and let them in.
“Where is the body?” Joseph asked.
“Up on the second floor.” Gorton walked up the stairs and led them to a closed room. “Right here.” He opened the door to a horrifying sight.
A man lay face down on the floorboards, his head pointed towards the window across from the door. Blood soaked his white shirt, and numerous wounds covered his back. Something had felt strange about Harrenville from the start, and perhaps its hidden ugliness had shown its face at last.
Gorton explained, “The victim is Winston Cranvel, age thirty-six.”
“What was the cause and time of death?” Joseph asked.
“The coroner would like to do a full autopsy, but based on his initial examination, he died from exsanguination due to his stab wounds between midnight and four in the morning today.”
“This is gruesome,” Stacia said, examining the body with gloves. “Some of these wounds are relatively shallow. This looks like he was repeatedly stabbed without being killed immediately. Whoever did this must have wanted him to suffer. Perhaps this is revenge?”
“Did Winston Cranvel have any enemies?” Joseph asked.
“It’s a stretch,” Gorton said. “When he was younger, he had a very abrasive personality and was disliked by many. He became a lot calmer as he aged, and his reputation improved. Some might still hold a grudge, though; I can’t completely rule out the possibility.”
“Hm? What’s this?” Stacia showed Joseph Winston’s right hand. There was some blood on it, but the blood at the fingertips was smudged.
“Were there any smudges of blood around here?” Joseph asked.
“None at all,” Gorton said.
“Any objects it could’ve been smudged onto?”
“The only things in this room are his notepad on the nightstand and some money he brought for gambling.”
“Notepad?” Joseph opened it and flipped through. There was nothing inside, but one of the pages was torn. He examined the next page to see if any impressions had been left but had no luck. The page must have been torn out first before writing on it. “Can you search for the missing page in this notepad?”
Constable Gorton called over two officers and said, “Search the cabin for the page from the notepad.”
The officers said, “Understood.” They left to start their search.
If someone took the page, why? What was written on that note that was so important? “Hmm... Who was the first to discover the body?” Joseph asked.
“That would be me,” a thin middle-aged man wearing a knit vest said.
“And you are?” Stacia asked.
“I asked them to come up here,” Gorton said. “They’re friends of Winston and were staying in the same cabin last night.”
“I’m William Black,” the thin man wearing a vest said, his hands behind his back as if trying to do some impression of a gentleman from the cities.
“I’m Theodore Lutzwain,” a bespectacled middle-aged man with a high nose said, pushing up his glasses. He wore a ring on his fourth finger, so he was married. Joseph wasn’t sure about the other two, though.
“And I’m Charles Fensburg,” a broad-shouldered middle-aged man in a leather coat barked. “I already told the officers I’m innocent, so get this over with quickly!”
Somehow, Joseph got the sense that Fensburg made a hobby of starting and losing fights at the pub.
“Are you supposed to be a police assistant?” William asked, looking over Stacia skeptically.
Joseph did his best to keep a poker face. He prayed that Stacia could keep up her act.
“Is there an issue, Mr. Black?” Stacia asked, menace in her voice.
“Ah, no.” William visibly shrank back. “It’s just unusual to see a woman as a police assistant. I haven’t seen you around before, so you must be an outsider. Things are probably different in the cities.”
Joseph smiled. For some reason, in addition to being relieved that Stacia wasn’t exposed, he felt a certain satisfaction at William’s reaction.
“Does anyone have any ideas as to who murdered Mr. Cranvel?” Stacia asked.
“I bet this was the work of the ghost of Maria Crossham, or someone related to her,” Theodore said.
“Why do you say this was related to Maria Crossham?” Joseph asked.
“Winston was acting strangely since yesterday morning when that nasty skeleton showed up,” Charles said.
“Last night too. He wanted to turn in early and looked very afraid. If I had to guess, he killed Maria Crossham, and whoever was out for revenge got to him,” William said. “No, excuse me. I don’t have any evidence for that last part. I retract that statement.”
“You can never just believe in anything, can you? Always hung up on evidence. That’s why you could never trust a woman enough to get married,” Charles said.
William bristled. “Better than getting swindled by a woman like a certain someone.”
“Care to be a little more specific?” Charles got in William’s face.
Theodore patted them down in the air. “Now, now. We’re in front of the police. Let’s just calm down.”
Charles clicked his tongue. “Figures the one with a happy marriage says that.”
“Well, I wasn’t the only one...” Theodore trailed off.
“Was Winston married?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Gorton answered. “His wife has an alibi though. She’s been out of town since two nights ago visiting relatives in her hometown, and she won’t return until tonight.”
Joseph turned to the three friends of the victim. “Then that just leaves you three. What were you all doing here last night?”
Copyright © 2021 by J. H. Zech
