Simon collected his things and put on his coat. He found Luthor waiting in the hall. The diminutive man had already retrieved his cane from among his belongings and now used it as they walked along. Though the cane didn’t serve any medical purpose, Luthor used it in the past with some success as a defensive weapon.
“Do you think Misters Tambor and Orrick will provide some contrary evidence to the werewolf you just examined?” Luthor asked as they reached the top of the staircase.
Simon brushed off a piece of lint from his top hat. “On the contrary, I expect they’ll provide me little I could not discern with my own two eyes.”
“Then why visit them at all? If you’re convinced that the creature we examined is not an elaborate jest, then wouldn’t our time be better spent figuring out ways to destroy their… pack? It’s the right word for a group of wolves, but does the same terminology extend to werewolves?”
Simon smiled. “I believe we’re in new territory, Luthor. You have the distinct privilege of defining the vernacular.”
Luthor grinned broadly. “Pack will suffice, unless I decide to invent a term more fitting. You still didn’t answer my question, though. If you believe that what we saw could be a werewolf and you don’t think the Union and Guild representatives will convince you otherwise, why are we paying them a visit?”
Simon glanced around as they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the foyer. He couldn’t see anyone around, but he still remained silent until they walked outside.
“Something about this isn’t sitting well with me,” he said when he was sure they were out of earshot. “I should have already notified the crown and sent in a preliminary report. If I thought there was a chance that an entire pack—to borrow your term—of werewolves existed in the region, I should be sending for a company of royal guardsmen. Yet, I find myself hesitating. I keep asking myself how so many creatures could have arrived on our shore without anyone noticing. If they did somehow circumvent our defenses, then what purpose are they serving? The oil production from Mr. Dosett’s refineries can’t be of such great impact outside our borders to warrant its destruction. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about this situation seems slightly off kilter. Sorry my response is so vague, but I have little to go on other than my intuition.”
“Your intuition hasn’t yet served you wrong,” Luthor replied as he used his free hand to pull his collar closed against the midday chill. “Let’s hope that these gentlemen will be able to shine further light on the mystery.”
They walked through the wrought-iron gates of the gubernatorial estate and into the city proper. Simon took a deep breath and enjoyed the cool air on his face. His concerns about the werewolves—potential werewolves, he corrected himself—weighed heavily on his mind. It was an exhausting business without being coupled with the politics of the mansion. He was glad to be away from the aristocracy and walking along the rough cobblestone streets.
Despite the temperature remaining well below freezing, it was relatively warm for the area. People were out on the regular streets as opposed to traveling through the shored tunnels underground. Simon wore no badges that marked him as a Royal Inquisitor, but people bowed respectfully as they passed. It seemed that rumors spread rapidly, especially in a small city like Haversham.
Luthor’s cane clicked on the stone with every other step, sounding a cadence for their silent walk. Though Simon enjoyed the apothecary’s company, he was only able to review the facts of the investigation when left to his own devices.
He wanted to believe the facts lay out before him but struggled to accept that werewolves were roaming the countryside. For the past twelve years, the king had done a remarkable job of keeping the spreading magic at bay, going so far as hiring the enigmatic Order of Kinder Pel to found the original Inquisitors.
Though the Order existed before the forming of the Rift, they had focused all their energies toward destroying the denizens of the world of magic, wherever they appeared. They seemed a perfect fit for what the king was proposing, though their fanaticism alienated many of the early supporters of the Inquisitors. Ten years later, few of the current Royal Inquisitors were still a part of the Order. Simon had been offered an apprentice position following his training, but he didn’t care for the fact that everything they did was so cloaked in secrecy. Even the initiation ritual was an intensely guarded secret. In the end, Simon had passed on their offer, choosing instead to go directly into his partnership with Luthor.
With the Order operating throughout the kingdom, albeit behind the scenes in many cases, Simon had trouble believing that Rift creatures could have established such a foothold on the northern continent.
Simon and Luthor walked through an open square. A dry fountain sat in the middle of the area. A carved marble horse decorated the top of the fountain with its mouth open to spew water high into the air. He wondered if it ever got warm enough to enjoy a running fountain or if it had merely been installed for the sense of opulence.
The square was equally deserted of anything of note, other than a few couples walking through as a shortcut to their final destinations. Simon assumed this was normally a marketplace, though, again, he wondered if it was ever warm enough to justify standing at a booth for hours at a time.
“There’s the tavern,” Luthor said, pointing with his cane toward a painted, wooden sign dangling from an awning.
As they opened the door, a bell jingled into the mostly empty tavern. A few patrons looked up from their pints. Their glasses hung halfway to their mouth when they recognized the strangers.
“Our reputation precedes us,” Luthor said.
“Apparently, they don’t get many visitors in Haversham,” Simon replied, “not that I necessary blame people. This wouldn’t be my first choice of a place in which to build a summer home.”
Luthor laughed softly but stopped when he saw two gentlemen stand from one of the back tables. The pair of strangers smiled broadly at the Inquisitor as they approached, and Simon quickly surmised they were the two men they had come to meet.
“Inquisitor Whitlock, I presume,” said the stockier of the two men from beneath his bushy moustache. “I feel honored that you’ve taken time out of your busy investigation to speak with us.”
Simon shook the man’s hand, admiring the calluses and his firm grip. “Think nothing of it. You would be Mr. Tambor, I presume.”
Tambor’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know?”
“The placement of the calluses on your hand, being more toward the palm at the base of the fingers, lends itself more to a man familiar with the swing of a pick axe and, therefore, the head of the Miner’s Guild. Had your calluses been more along the fingertips, I would have placed your profession as one of artistry, including a skill set that involved a more refined work. Had that been the case, I would have immediately known that I was speaking instead to Mr. Orrick.”
He turned toward the other man, who rubbed his handlebar moustache with delight. “Mr. Orrick, to whom I now have the pleasure of addressing.”
Tambor laughed heartily, his belly shaking with delight. “Remarkable. Simply remarkable. The reputation of the Royal Inquisitors is well earned, I’ll grant you that. Please, come join us for a meal or, at the very least, a drink.”
“We’d be delighted to join you.”
Orrick tugged at his lapel as he fell in step beside Luthor. “Am I to understand that you are not an Inquisitor?”
Luthor looked up at the tall, thin man and shook his head. “I’m a pharmacist by trade. It is by pure happenstance that I have come to accompany Simon.”
They took seats around the table. The waitress brought over a round of pints, the tops of which held a thick layer of foam. Simon watched a few bubbles rise slowly through the thick, dark stout before picking up his glass and taking a drink. The beer was bitter but quickly warmed his insides as it settled on his stomach.
Simon licked the flecks of foam that clung to his lip and smiled appreciatively to t
he two suited gentlemen. “This certainly hits the spot on a cold day like this.”
Tambor chuckled. “They’re all cold days around here. A good stout or a hot toddy is always on the menu.”
Simon sat his hat down on the table in front of him and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back away from his forehead. “If I may, I’d like to discuss what brings my associate and me here today.”
Orrick frowned and grasped his glass a little tighter between his long boney fingers. “The werewolves, you mean?”
“Yes,” Simon replied. “In the report the crown received, you were both listed as the biggest opponents to the idea that there were werewolves beyond the city walls.”
Orrick and Tambor exchanged knowing glances, but it was the heavyset man who spoke. “I fear the intent of our objection wasn’t made clear in the report. We believe there are werewolves.”
“Yes,” Orrick agreed. “Of that, there’s little doubt.”
Simon sat back surprised. He drummed his fingers on the table as he collected his thoughts. “Perhaps I do not understand. The report said that you two opposed the idea that the city was under siege by these supernatural creatures.”
“Exactly,” Tambor said, nodding enthusiastically.
“Precisely,” Orrick added.
Simon looked over at Luthor perplexed. “I’m not sure I fully understand.”
Tambor leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I assume the governor let you see the body of the werewolf, did he? There are more where that one came from, of that I’m sure. The difference is that I don’t think they pose a threat to the city. We’re not ‘under siege’ as you put it, which was why we objected to the exaggerated report submitted by the governor.”
“By Mr. Dosett, you mean,” Orrick corrected, nearly spitting the name like venom.
“But there have been numerous attacks,” Luthor said.
“On oil refineries and drilling stations out near the lake,” Tambor said.
“Owned by Mr. Dosett,” Orrick added.
Simon raised a finger, silencing the group. He turned the index finger to his mouth and tapped his lips thoughtfully. “So your issue isn’t with the werewolves, who you believe exist? Your issue rests solely with—”
“Mr. Dosett,” they said in unison.
“Interesting,” Simon said, as he motioned toward Luthor.
His assistant reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a notebook and pencil. Luthor began furiously taking notes as the conversation continued.
“Please explain,” Simon said.
Tambor cleared his throat. “Every attack so far has been confined to property owned by Mr. Dosett. If the werewolves exist, and we have no reason to assume they don’t, they have never bothered any of my mining operations.”
“Nor have they bothered any of my artisans,” Orrick said. “Leatherworking, cobbling, tailoring, and architecture all continue unabated and unhindered. Whatever the complaints of the werewolves, they reserve their bile solely for Gideon Dosett.”
Simon felt mildly exacerbated. The two men at the table seemed oblivious to the issue at hand and the sole reason for Simon and Luthor’s presence in town, which was the investigation of magical outbreaks. He was faced with one of the largest infestations identified to date, yet these two gentlemen treated it like it was nothing more than a general inconvenience, and one reserved for someone else.
“These are magical creatures beyond the walls of your city,” Simon began, trying to keep his frustration in check. “As Luthor is keen to point out, these monsters seem to be based on the legends we all heard as school children. If they are to be believed, then these creatures are carriers of lycanthropy, which is highly contagious and transmittable through their saliva. You may not see them as an issue, but your entire town is teetering on the brink of destruction, especially if this infection spreads.”
“Then we’re correct in placing our trust in you, Inquisitor,” Tambor said with a smile mostly concealed by his bushy moustache.
Simon sighed. “What is your issue with Gideon Dosett?”
“Where to begin?” Orrick said with a huff. “He came to town only six months ago and started buying property both within and outside of the city. It wasn’t his purchases so much as the way the transactions occurred. He bought businesses that had been in families for generations and paid a few coppers for every gold piece the land was actually worth. I don’t know how he did it, but he swindled good men out of their livelihood.”
“Did he strong arm them?” Luthor asked, looking up from the notebook. “Did he threaten them with physical harm or extort them? How come no one reported his behavior to the governor?”
“Because the governor is in his pocket?” Tambor said. When he noticed everyone’s surprised expressions, he lowered his eyes. “It’s the truth. Everyone’s thinking it; they just don’t have the fortitude to admit it to strangers, much less an Inquisitor.”
“Making allegations of corruption against one of the king’s cousins is serious business,” Simon warned. “I’m assuming you have proof?”
Tambor refused to look up and meet Simon’s stern gaze. “No, other than the man lives in the governor’s own home. It’s indecent, especially considering Dosett is clearly more than capable of purchasing his own home here in town.”
Simon stood and retrieved his top hat from the table. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your time. Sadly, my associate and I must attend to other matters pertaining to our investigation. Please excuse us.”
Luthor tucked his notebook and pencil into his coat and stood, nodding politely to both men before hurrying to catch up to Simon.
When the door jingled shut behind them, they stepped onto the street and started walking back toward the estate. Simon was visibly upset with the two businessmen, though he remained silent as they walked.
“They were merely speaking their mind,” Luthor offered, breaking the silence. “We should be encouraging behavior like that.”
“They weren’t speaking their mind,” Simon said. “They were expressing their petty jealousy and wasting our time. We have supernatural occurrences to investigate. We hardly have the time to listen to complaints about shrewd or even unethical business practices conducted by Mr. Dosett. If they think something immoral or illegal is happening, call a constable, not an Inquisitor.”
Luthor nodded and let the issue drop as they walked. They passed back through the open marketplace and passed the dry fountain. As they intersected another major street, Luthor noticed a building on the corner that he had overlooked on their way to the tavern. He tapped Simon on the arm and pointed.
“It’s a telegraph office. Do you need to send a report to the crown yet?”
Simon considered it. He was required to send regular updates to the Inquisitor head office as his investigation progressed, but he found it difficult to formulate a decent message just yet. Aside from the corpse, which he still wasn’t entirely convinced was authentic, there was nothing worthwhile to tell.
“No, not yet,” he said. “Though it’s good to know where the telegraph station is located. I believe we’ll be putting it to good use before all this is said and done.”
“Then where shall we go from here?” Luthor asked.
“We try our best to get our investigation back on track. We came to investigate werewolves and by God, that’s what we’re going to do.”
“What other evidence is there? We’ve seen all there is to see in the city.”
“Exactly,” Simon said. “If the city has failed to definitively prove the existence of werewolves, we’ll go find evidence elsewhere.”
Luthor frowned. “Would this ‘elsewhere’ be beyond the wall, in the territory of the werewolves?”
Simon smiled at his friend’s discomfort. “Indeed it would be.”
“I’m going to need a thicker jacket,” Luthor sighed.