Heppelthwaite Alething trudged down the Avenue. He had been awakened after very little sleep to be called to a horrific crime scene. He had ridden, without any sort of saddle, a hunting dragon. He had missed breakfast. He was not at his best. At least the castle kitchen had fixed him an early lunch, a corned beef sandwich and a glass of milk.
He really needed a nap. He could not afford one. The longer an investigation took, the longer the criminals had to cover their tracks. So, he headed to Central Station, the headquarters for the Carenburh City Guard.
Shortly after receiving the regency of Gwenddon, Duke Kronberg suppressed the perennial conflict between factions of the nobility. Several noble titles had passed to cadet branches of the family when a noble house decided to defy the Duke’s edict. The fortified tower house that was now Central Station was only one such property seized by the new ruler. They had not, fortunately, had to damage this one in the process of appropriating it.
As the Duke’s own investigator, Hep was known to the Guard. He was not challenged as he made his way up to the floor where the Guard processed evidence. Hep recognized the young man behind the desk that barred the way into the secured storage room.
“Hello, Harv,” Hep said as he walked up to the desk.
“Oh, Mr. Alething. I’d heard you’d been called in to the…incident this morning. Sounded right nasty, it did.” The Guard leaned forward on the desk, looking expectantly at Hep.
As the evidence clerk on duty, Harv d’Amer would have logged in the knife, the blood samples, and any other evidence Fridich Garton’s team would have collected, Hep knew. He also knew that they would not have shared any details. What Harv knew, half the station knew.
“Yes, yes, I was Harv. I need to follow up on that. There was a knife at the crime scene. Has that been processed? I would like to see it,” Hep said.
“Yes, sir. That’s all done. They’re still working on the blood, of course. Blood’s tricky stuff. Takes time. Lot of it, weren’t there?” Harv asked.
“The knife?” Hep prompted, when Harv remained where he was standing.
“Right. Right. Just a moment.”
The Guard looked disappointed that his curiosity had not prompted Hep to produce a detailed description of the blood found at the scene of the crime. He unlocked a door behind him and disappeared through it. He quickly returned carrying a small, rectangular box. He handed the box down to Hep.
“Here you go, sir. I’m obliged to remind you that you are only allowed to examine the evidence in my presence. I had to sign it out,” Harv said.
“Mmhm,” Hep murmured. He was already reading through the report attached to the top of the box. Ethamiel Dandywood had not found any magic residue on the knife, necrotic or otherwise. The evidence team reported they found very little blood - only trace amounts on the blade and none at all on the handle. As if Lord Naram had been dead for a while, his blood congealed, when the knife went into his heart, thought Hep.
Hep opened the box. The knife rested on a bed of gauze. Hep examined it as closely as he could without touching it. The whole thing was not much more than half a foot long. The hilt looked like it was wood, wrapped in a medium-grade leather, dyed black. There was no crosspiece where the hilt joined the triangular blade. It was the blade that most interested Hep. At the scene, he thought he had recognized the style of the hilt. The blade confirmed his suspicions.
The blade was black. It was currently a fashion in Carenburh for young nobles to suggest involvement with the occult by carrying knives with black blades. Their blades were only painted black. Sharpen them, and the steel below the paint would be revealed. This blade was sharp and black to the edge. It was made of a steel alloy that blackened the metal. Things made of the alloy were rare, as it was expensive to produce and made a metal much softer than regular steel. It definitely would not hold an edge. Hep knew of only one smith in Carenburh who made weapons out of black steel.
Paradise Adair’s shop and forge were just outside the city walls. The smith was not in the shop when Hep arrived. He was not surprised. Adair only did work on commission and did not display any wares for the casual shopper. Plus, he could hear the rhythmic pounding of a smith’s hammer coming from the smithy behind the shop. Hep stepped out behind the shop to the lean-to that sheltered the forge.
Hep was rarely intimidated by bigger or stronger beings. If he were to be, then Paradise Adair would be towards the top of his daunting humans list. Tall and brawny, she was as massive as any that Hep had ever seen who pounded steel for a living. She was also surly as a badger.
The smith was hammering the blade of a short sword or a long knife. Hep waited patiently, far enough from the forge to keep from roasting in his heavy coat. He then started to wait impatiently, for Adair was pointedly ignoring him. It had already been a really long day.
Finally, Adair apparently decided that he was not going to go away. Quenching the blade, she looked over at him.
“What?” she asked gruffly.
“I am here on the Duke’s business,” said Hep.
“Figured that. Ya just send a note when ya want a new blade.”
“This time, I am asking about a knife you might have made for someone else. Triangular blade, black steel? Made anything like that recently?” Hep asked.
The smith walked over to tower menacingly over Hep. Hep topped out at her upper thigh.
“Maybe, maybe not. What of it?” asked Adair.
Hep knew he had to be careful here. Even a recluse like Paradise Adair would hear about the murders before long. He could not have her connecting the knife to them.
“The Guards seized a cache of weapons that looked like they were bound for Krondak,” he lied. “The Duke got involved because of the foreign involvement. So, I am here trying to find out who assembled the cache.”
“Ya don’t know I made it. One knife? In a whole batch of others? Blade like that not much good in a fight, anyway. Too soft, too wide to go through any armor. Pretty much just for show.” The smith waved a hand dismissively.
“You have seen the knife, then? Did you make it?” asked Hep.
“Huh? Whatcha mean? I ain’t seen nothin’.” Adair’s expression slipped from irritated to worried.
“It sounded to me as if you knew enough about it to critique its efficacy. Besides, I know you are the only smith in town with sufficient skills to forge a blade from black steel.”
The smith’s expression changed again, this time to a sullen frown. Hep thought that she would be trying both to figure out how to refute his assertion and whether his calling her skills “sufficient” was a complement or an insult.
“Maybe supposing I did make it. My clients are my business, ain’t they? I don’t go telling nobody about all those knives I make for you, do I? You ain’t the Guard, anyhow. Strongthighs shows up, maybe I answer her questions. Not a pipsqueak like you.” Rather than sounding tough, Adair only came across as nervous.
“I would not think you would want the Guard to come here. People would certainly notice. They might come to know that you had been supplying weapons to a foreign insurgency. Your neighbors might think that the Lord Steward would want to pay you a visit. Certainly, it would bring you much attention. A large number of people would probably want to come talk to you about it or just to see what you are about. Perhaps dozens a day, coming back here, wanting to chat….” Hep trailed off.
“Alright, alright.” Adair’s ruddy complexion had paled to a bright pink. “It were these mercenaries, see? The Black Sisterhood. All women, and they only buys stuff from other women. That’s why they come to me. Been making blades for them for a coupla years, now. Normal stuff, not black steel.”
“When did they order the black steel knife?”
Adair ran a hand across her chin. “Coupla weeks ago. Said it was a rush job. Paid extra to get it in a coupla days. Set them back a buncha coin, with the cost of the black steel and the extra for the rush. Lucky for them, I had a couple of bars of black steel left over from a job a coupla years ago. Yeah, that sound right, two weeks ago.”
“How do they contact you? How do they pay you?” asked Hep.
“Not like you. One of them comes herself to with a job and to pick up the blades. Cute girl, name of Scorpion. Leastwise, that’s what she says to call her. Knows her knives. Almost as good as you.”
“Can you describe this Scorpion?”
“Like I said, pretty cute. Dark hair, kinda pale. A little skinny. ‘Bout this high.” Adair put out a hand about a foot and a half above Hep’s head, raised it a few inches, lowered it a few more. “Somewhere in there. Leather armor. Kept in pretty good shape. Dyed black, of course.”
“How about the rest of this Sisterhood? Do you know anything about them?” asked Hep.
“Not much to say. Can’t be a big group. Haven’t made or repaired that many blades for them. Maybe they got other smiths they go to, though. Spread it around some. You won’t tell ‘em I told you about them?”
“I do not think that there will be any need for that,” said Hep. He decided that he had gotten all of the information out of the smith that he would get. “The Duke appreciates your cooperation.”
Hep turned to leave. On his way out, Adair called after him.
“Ask his Lordship if he needs any new blades. Would be nice to have some custom from Star’s Grace!”
Den of the Red Wolf 