The smell hit Hepelthwaite first. The coppery odor of an abattoir. Blood. Blood was everywhere. Spattered on the walls. Soaking the rug. Dripping from the ceiling. Too much blood. This scene had been staged, Hep thought.
The centerpiece was a large bed. On it lay a man and a woman. They were naked and exposed, a heavy blanket crumpled at their feet. Their faces were incongruously free of gore. They appeared to be sleeping peacefully, belying the harm done to their bodies. A dagger hilt still protruded from the man’s chest. His wound was prosaic compared to the macabre mutilation suffered by the woman. Her heart, sternum, and the ends of several ribs were missing, replaced by a ragged-edged hole.
The only other obvious item of interest was a symbol painted on the headboard above the bodies. A blacksmith’s hammer wielded by a skeletal hand glowed red under a smear of blood. Hep recognized the sigil. The Major would as well.
The room had revealed all it could at the moment. Hep stepped back. The Major pulled the door closed.
“I wish I could let the evidence team in there. The blood would be easier to identify if we collect it while it is still wet,” she said. “With that….thing on the headboard, I can’t risk it. There may be a dozen curses floating around in there. We’ve called for Dandywood, but who knows how long it will take him to get here.”
“He does enjoy his Lordsday evenings,” said Hep. “He has probably barely gone to bed. He will not be happy about being woken up. It might even take a while for your messenger to find him, if he is staying over at one of his women’s places.”
Lord Ethamiel Dandywood was one of the most senior wizards in the city. He was an expert on witches, hags, cults, and other arcane threats that would give any Guard nightmares. He was also somewhat of a libertine. Hep had heard that he had once been a sober, almost monkish ascetic until he had been cursed by a witch he was hunting. If so, he had never managed to remove that curse, even if he had sought to do so.
Hep glanced at the assemblage in the hall.
“Is there somewhere downstairs we can talk?” he said quietly to the Major.
“Yes, there looks to be a formal parlor or reception room.”
The Major led Hep and her investigators down the stairs. She let them into a room modest in size but opulent in furnishings. A pair of elegant wingback chairs and a small, ornate table sat in the middle of the room. Several lesser chairs were pushed against the far wall. The rug on the floor and tapestries on the walls were exquisite. A wet bar in one of the corners looked well-stocked, most of the bottles full. Hep and the Major settled in the wingback chairs. De Clare pulled up one of the other chairs. Lepen stood by the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“You did not rush me here just to share the responsibility,” Hep stated. “You needed my opinion. You needed to know what I could smell.”
“Of course,” said the Major. “And?”
Hep glanced at the investigators. The Major was one of the few who knew about his peculiar ability, along with the Duke and the Lord Steward. Hep was not pleased to add de Clare and Lepen to that select group. It did not look like he had an option.
“It was hard to smell anything over the blood,” he said. “You know that scene was orchestrated. They would have to bring gallons of blood with them. Perhaps they just wanted to add to the ghastliness. Perhaps they were trying to stymie me. If they were, they are incredibly well informed for a foreign cult. That would make this crime even more ominous than it appears to be.
“I think it more likely they were doing a poor job of trying to misdirect us. Even with all that blood, I would have been able to smell the energies released by a sacrifice. I would wager that the only magic in that room is causing that hammer to glow.”
“I’ll collect on that bet if you are wrong,” said the Major. She nodded at the door. “You two get the evidence team started.”
De Clare and Lepen left the room, the former dutifully, the latter reluctantly. The Major turned back to Hep.
“It wasn’t the Iron Shadows,” she said.
Both of them knew that the hammer was the sign of the dwarfish cult. The group worshiped the necromantic energy infusing the dwarves of Peroka as a god - or perhaps as a demon. Their professed goal was to empower that dark energy through ritual sacrifice. Hep knew that they also served as deniable assassins for the Perokan king, Tramar Stout Anvil.
“Someone wants us to think so. It does not hold together, though. As I said, there is no residue of the energy that a sacrifice would create. And all that blood. It is shocking but unnecessary. It would be difficult to get that much fresh blood - you will need to follow up on that - and all it does is draw attention to itself. Sacrifices can be gruesome, but not that gruesome. The whole scene was set up to make the murder sensational. You will not be able to keep it quiet.”
“Aye. I’ve been keeping the Guard presence here as quiet as I can. The fog’s helped mask our comings and goings. Won’t last past the servants showing up for work.”
“Any signs of how the malefactors entered?” asked Hep.
“Everything was secure, except the front door. A skilled burglar, maybe some magic, I figure. Too many answers to that question. I’m concerned about the prognosticators. The burst they felt was as overblown as the blood upstairs. But I don’t know how anyone could release that much demon-tainted energy without leaving a trace.
“Maybe Dandywood will have an idea, if he ever gets here.” Hep sighed and stood up. “I have to report to the Lord Steward. He will forgive me the early hour. What are you going to do now?”
“Babysit the evidence team until Dandywood shows up. I’ll get de Clare and Lepen to look into the source of the blood. They’ll bitch about pulling a double shift, but we need to keep this quiet as long as we can. The fewer involved the better.”
“You called me in,” Hep said. “You will keep me informed of what you discover.”
The Major nodded. “And you likewise. Come to my office if you find out anything useful. Otherwise, meet me at the Mermaid’s Daughter this evening.”
“I’ll want a closer look at that dagger,” said Hep. “I have a few ideas about it that I will want to pursue.”
“I’ll leave word with Amila,” said the zlobra, also rising. “She’ll be handling it, if Fridich can spare her from analyzing all that blood.”
The pair parted in the hall, one to try to slip out the front door unnoticed, the other to the scene of a double murder that would be the talk of the town by midday.
Den of the Red Wolf 