Seraphine noted that Lady Geller had lately a lot of names who’d killed her son but banished the thought. The mistress was always right. Mentally resuming her place as majordomo the reports Lady Geller requested were smoothly moving into her hands before she’d stopped speaking.

  “The information brokers are in agreement,” summarised Daniau. “But on what, I cannot say and must leave to your superior judgement.”

  Seraphine watched her mistress take in the entire sheet at a glance. She knew them all, in order. That one was the young commoner’s visit to Villars, a small village outside Oullins.

  “It just says, ‘hunt down a pack of mischievous foxes terrorising the livestock of Villars’,” quoted Dave from his UI.

  Sam beamed one of her best smiles at the unremarkable landscape below. Johan, standing behind her and peering over her head, noticed several flocks of rather un-terrorised looking sheep.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to pop in and ask around, eh?” said Hugh good-naturedly, sending his whiskery smile at Dave.

  “Expected as much, hoped against,” said Dave, lifting his head and snapping Tome closed. He raised his voice to call over his shoulder. “Captain, over the town proper, if you please?”

  Johan smiled. Dave was hoping for a time efficient quest but Johan liked meeting people. His mum always told him that the world is full of friends you haven’t met yet. The entire team leapt off the airship as it passed over the town and as they floated down, the kids of the town ran out to meet them in the single, cobblestone mainstreet.

  “Mister, mister!” chirped a child. “Are you an adventurer?”

  The rest of the kids caught up and swarmed around Johan, their excited chatter overlapped and I was reminded of nothing so much as seagulls. He grinned and crouched to their level, resting his hands on his knees.

  “Yes, I am!” Johan declared, his presence radiating assuredness. “Sir Johan of Team Executive Services, at your service.”

  The kids gasped and nudged each other.

  “You have a title?” a little girl asked, forgetting for a moment the wooden, toy sword held in her hand.

  “Given to me by my friends, fine warriors to a one, good children,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. “But here now, brave souls, have you seen any foxes about?”

  A few of the children nodded, while another boy scoffed. “Not just any foxes! Mischievous foxes! Grandpa says they trick the dogs and laugh when they run away.”

  Johan stroked his chin, eyes twinkling. “Laughing foxes, eh? Sounds like a worthy foe. Do you know where their lair abides?”

  The children launched into a chaotic mix of stories — one swearing they lived in the old mill, another insisting they turned invisible at night, while another whispered solemnly, “I think they might be witches.”

  Johan gasped in mock horror. “Witch foxes? My word! This is graver than I thought.”

  The kids giggled, but before Johan could continue, Hugh called over, “Johan! Dave’s found the mayor.”

  Johan gave a dramatic sigh. “Duty calls, my young squires. But fear not, for Executive Services shall take this fox menace to the aether!”

  The children cheered as he stood, ruffling a few heads and striding onwards to his team.

  “What is this nonsense?” insisted Lady Geller, scoffing at the report. “Mischievous foxes? Even a villager with a club can deal with mischievous foxes. Why were they really there?”

  “I can’t begin to imagine, milady,” said Seraphine politely, knowing that Lady Geller wasn’t listening.

  "Too neat, too tidy,” muttered Lady Geller, beginning to pace. “And, all five informants? The same story from every villager? Bah! The brokers were had! It’s obvious that the villagers don’t know. The murder brought the foxes with him, as like as not."

  “What really happened, Mistress?” asked Seraphine, giving Lady Geller the outlet she needed.

  “The foxes were a cover but what for…” Lady Geller trailed off as she speed-read her way through the reports. “Ha! I see. I see what you’re up to you silly, little, murderous iron.”

  Seraphine stood by patiently waiting for her mistress to reveal her mind or not.

  “See here, Daniau?” said Lady Geller triumphantly, pointing at a map that Seraphine had made which showed each location. “They went to Cerdon Forest next. The other side of Oullins! How many quests did they fly past to do that? I’ll tell you, they weren’t questing.”

  “The raised back extension of the town store was built over an old rabbit warren that a whole leash of those monster-foxes got into by tunnelling under the wall from the bushes at the back but the way into the bushes was via that drystone wall that keeps the sheep out.”

  Avril and Sam just stared at Dave in astonishment at his response to their inquiry about how the quest had gone. They’d not come along, choosing to test out some falling bomb designs in the Second Wind that Dave had mocked up earlier.

  “Yeah, it was more complicated than what I’d have bet on too,” remarked Dave dryly.

  Johan just stood behind Dave nodding in solemn support. He’d watched Dave and Hugh with stoic bafflement as they strode from clue-to-clue with a will. Forty minutes later, the case was solved, the mischievous foxes taken care of and Dave had signalled the Second Wind for pickup.

  “Where to next?” asked Hugh, too flabbergasted to ask anything else.

  Dave shrugged and called to Captain Dimot who was thunking across the deck.

  “Captain, which of my quests is next?”

  “We’ll be headin’ to yeh point in Cerdon Forest next, Detective,” rasped Captain Dimont, slowing his measured trek towards the stern to reply. “There’s a good south-westerly wind once yeh get above about five thousand feet so it’ll be faster to use that and go clockwise around the city to pick up young James where we left him than fight the wind going the other way. Once we’ve done that, we can make way for Forel, which yeh said Johan here was from and with that south-westerly it’s a good time to head that way.”

  The team, Johan especially, thanked the captain and left his crew to it after that, making themselves scarce so as not to get in the way of the deckhands. Johan went below to double check the quest in Cerdon Forest. Dave had a noticeboard pinned up below decks where he’d leave copies of the quests that he was keeping current and Johan soon found the one he was looking for.

  Johan nodded to himself. It was a worthy quest. He busied himself writing a letter home during the flight, letting his mum and dad know he’d be coming home to celebrate his admission to the prestigious Adventure Society soon. He settled in to wait.

  Less than an hour later, Johan jumped from the Second Wind with the rest of Executive Services into Cerdon Forest. Sam had spotted some smoke rising from a spot and she said it looked like a good place to camp. Johan agreed with her that if there was someone camping out in the forest, they’d probably be good to ask about what happened to Mister Bureau.

  His feet touched down gently mere strides from the abandoned campsite and Johan looked about, hoping that his armour hadn’t scared anybody off. His teammates said he looked imposing in it sometimes, which made him self conscious.

  “Ho, the camp!” called Johan in a voice that echoed across the forest. “I mean no harm, just looking for a missing person.”

  “He’s behind that tree,” said Dave, pointing ahead as he touched down to Johan’s left. Dave’s astral lantern familiar made hiding from him difficult.

  “Just looking for a missing person,” called Hugh's affable voice as he went from air form back to flesh. He held aloft his Knowledge pendant. “No need to be afraid. See my holy symbol and have knowledge I speak true, child of the gods.”

  "Go away!" called a voice from behind the tree Dave had indicated, attempting annoyance but the tremor of fear was easy to hear in it.

  Johan exchanged a glance with Dave and Hugh.

  "Perhaps a gentler approach is needed," he murmured, stepping forward slowly, shining gauntlets raised in a placating gesture. "We mean you no harm, friend. We're adventurers looking to help someone."

  "Help?" The voice was thick with skepticism. "Stuff your help. Leave me alone!"

  "We understand you may feel that way," Hugh said, his voice soothing. "But we're searching for Robert Bureau, a quintessence scout. His wife is worried sick. Have you seen him?"

  There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of leaves. Then, a figure emerged from behind the tree. It was a man, disheveled and weary, with a hunted look in his eyes. He was dressed in the practical clothing of a scout, but his posture lacked the confidence of a seasoned adventurer.

  "I'm Robert Bureau," he admitted awkwardly. "But… uhh… I'm not missing."

  As one, the group raised their eyebrows.

  "Do go on," urged Hugh in a fatherly manner.

  “I don’t know, I just…” Bureau sighed, turning away and running a hand through his tangled hair. "My wife... the old ball and chain, she's... she’s a bit much. Always yapping about this and that. Never a moment of peace. A man can’t live like that!” He shifted awkwardly under their gazes but Johan’s good-natured presence worked upon him and he continued. “It’s been a few months since a job that took me away for more than a few days and, well… you know, I couldn't take it anymore. I needed some peace, some time to myself."

  "But your wife is worried," Johan said gently. "She doesn't understand."

  “That might be the problem,” remarked Dave cryptically. Johan sent him a puzzled look.

  "She wouldn't listen even if I tried to explain," Bureau said, his voice tinged with regret. "She's always having friends over and chatting with the neighbors. Always, always yapping. If I complain she just tells me I'm being a wet blanket so I take the longest jobs to get a break."

  Johan made to say something about a husband’s responsibilities but Dave stepped forward first.

  "Yeah, that can be a bit much to tolerate, can’t it?” said Dave, nodding thoughtfully. “But running away without a word doesn’t seem to have worked either since all that’s done is bring us looking for you.”

  Bureau’s shoulders slumped.

  “Tell you what’s going to happen, mate,” said Dave decisively. “You’re going to pack up and leave here on an airship with us and on the way to a good spot to drop you off, we’ll come up with a better plan for some future peace and quiet. How’s about that?”

  Robert hesitated, his gaze shifting between the members of Executive Services. He could see the sincerity in their eyes and he felt that the big, shiny one was trustworthy and that one had beamed positively at what the normal-sized, sharp one had just said.

  "I suppose so," he said finally, a flicker of hope in his voice. "Maybe you can do that."

  “Cerdon was used two decades ago by quintessence smugglers. It’s the only thing there, Daniau,” continued Lady Geller. “He must be using the old tunnels for something - they never found them all in the raids - and I’m always hearing about criminal activity in Villars from the Pierce family, they have a heidel pasture there.”

  Seraphine thought that heidel rustling - or peasant children taking an unauthorised joyride - would be by far the only criminal activity happening in a place as small as Villars, a small village south-east of Oullins, but she wasn’t well versed on the subject. Still, the mistress was always right.

  “Two criminal connections in a row, milady?” ventured Seraphine.

  “And who knows how many other contacts the villain made on his way around the city,” muttered Lady Geller darkly. “Look at the reports of their flight! Skirting around the city. What are they avoiding!?”

  Seraphine couldn’t imagine and so stood there, straight backed and ready to serve.

  “But look here, Daniau,” said Lady Geller, tapping the next report in the timeline that Seraphine had carefully arranged. “See what he’s not avoiding. The ship flew low over - every - single - caravan - on the roads to Champel and then Sauvabelin. Spying on our trade. For certain! Yes, I bet he thought nobody would see it, disguised as a visit home for one of his criminal accomplices.” Lady Geller glanced triumphantly at Seraphine. “But, he didn’t fool me.”

  “You know, Captain,” said Dimont’s insufferable dandy-boss. “It sure was nice of you to think to tell all of the caravans we passed about the condition of the road. I wouldn’t have thought of it so, thank you.”

  He passed over a mixed concoction of something called a ‘mocktail’ in the fanciest glass that Serge had. Yet. He’d agreed with the damned popinjay that if he was going to drink non-alcoholic — yeuch — he may as well do it in style. This one he’d called a ‘raspberry sangria’. Too nice and sweet, yes, but Serge had found that a thick slice of lemon added a hateful kick that elevated the drink.

  “It is just the way of things, Detective,” said Serge, leaning back in the newly cushioned chair of his cabin.

  Not the fanciest cushions but the paperboard, crinkled-paper additions the lad had made and insisted he try were a source of comfort that Serge was conflicted about enjoying. He took a sip of his raspberry sangria feeling the sickly sweetness followed by a sharp tang that lingered on the tongue. For the moment, he settled on cursing the gods that he couldn’t drink a proper drink in comfort. He shook himself from his reverie and returned talking with the hated brat.

  “We do the same at sea,” rumbled Serge, sipping again. “It’s just polite to give another sailor a fighting chance at what Ocean is throwing at him.”

  The thin bastard only nodded thoughtfully and took a sip from his own drink. Some girly thing with pomegranate juice. Bah!

  “We didn’t get many pickup quests on the way here,” remarked Booker, taking off his gloves and spinning his right index finger in the air to summon his floating book. Tome! That was its name. “Is that because it’s the dead of winter?” finished the landlubber, tossing Serge an eyebrow.

  “It is,” responded Serge. He grit his teeth but then relented on his anger. This anger wasn’t fair, the boy wasn’t local. “I’m told that a few monsters die of the cold but most just can’t travel far through the snow so never get reported until the thaw. Also, a good few of you adventurers have cold-type abilities and clean up well at this time.”

  The detective cocked his head to the side for a moment but then nodded and continued. He was a good listener. Serge hated it.

  “Well, it worked for us,” said Booker, going over some notes in his Tome. “We dropped off James James with the folks that are rebuilding Chamois, I don’t know what’s happening there but Hugh recons that Knowledge has a plan and…” the little man shrugged as you do before the will of the gods. “Well, we’ll drop in there later. Anyway, we made good time to Forel. Any notes from you, Captain?”

  Serge grunted in the negative. “Ahh, just wish Johan and his people well from me,” growled Serge, pulling in a big sip and savouring the lemon especially. “I’ve got a ship to look after. That’s enough for me.”

  “I will pass that on for tonight’s celebration party, Captain,” said the little weed. “But tomorrow once the merriment is done you will descend to the ground and meet Johan’s parents.” Serge glared up in objection but the rat continued. “They’re fine people who deserve to know who’s keeping their boy in the air, Captain. And it will do you some good to take some rest from your responsibilities up here. I’ll not have you overworking yourself and crashing us.”

  Serge winced and deflated. Yes. Overwork. Crashing a bright, young kid. The parents with distorted faces, crying. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Never again.

  “As you say, Booker,” grumbled Serge, draining his drink and then staring at the empty, fancy glass. “Ugh, I need something stronger.”

  “There’s no going back, Captain,” said Booker, his voice hardening.

  Serge sighed, realising the truth of those words. In all of life.

  “I suppose not, lad,” whispered Serge. “I suppose not.”

  “And then after securing smuggling routes into Oullins he goes to Champel and Sauvabelin - the biggest trading cities in the north-east - and from there, he went to Crotenay,” continued Lady Geller.

  Father Eugene Thomas lifted his ever-burning candle and stood up. There had been a knock at the door, he was sure he’d heard it over the wind and snow. As he walked from the study, down the stairs, past the pews and to the main doors of the nave he was more and more certain of a presence outside doors. A wholesome presence. He swung one of the large double doors open.

  “Can I help you?” croaked Father Thomas through the sore throat that had been bothering him for the last few days. “If it’s shelter you’re looking for - well, I don’t expect your type is looking for shelter. Come in anyway, please. The chill might stay off your bones but I fear it’s settling into mine.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Somehow, five adventurers had gotten it into their heads to visit his humble church in the middle of a light snowstorm. One-by-one they slipped sideways through the door muttering thanks as they did so; a big, blonde one who was clearly the leader, a wide stocky one with the habit of a Knowledge friar, one with calculating eyes that didn’t miss a thing, a smiling runic who offered a slight bow with her hands pressed beneath her chin as she passed and lastly, a stately young woman who bore a noble’s disaffected ease even though she was trying to hide it.

  “Our apologies for coming at such a time, Father,” said Johan Schmidt, the blonde one in full plate harness that was polished to a mirror finish over which he’d draped a very large, thick, homespun woolen cloak dyed vibrant yellow. “But duty calls, and we are bound to answer.”

  A small gust of wind somehow blew the giant, young man’s hair around his face. Father Thomas didn’t miss a moment that could have been a glance between Johan and the one who’d called himself Booker.

  “And, umm -” coughed Father Thomas. “It… ugh!”

  “Please accept healing, Father,” said Booker in a light, stern voice. “We have Healer’s blessing.”

  Still coughing, Father Thomas mentally consulted his god. Soldier answered in the affirmative. It would be no blasphemy for this group to heal upon these sanctified grounds.

  “Oh, ugh, please do, mister,” rasped Father Thomas haltingly.

  The stocky one, Friar Hugh Abberton, incanted a cleansing spell and Father Thomas felt a warm static move through his body as the winter cold was driven out.

  “Ahh!” gasped Father Thomas, standing up to his full height and taking a deep breath through his nose of wonderfully crisp air. “Oh, that’s better. Thank you so much. As I was saying, or trying to say, what exactly is that duty you have here?”

  Booker made as though to speak but Brother Abberton beat him to it.

  “Questing for Brother Abel’s mace, Father,” said Abberton, smiling. “We are called.”

  “Oh, that old nugget,” grumbled Father Thomas. “Why don’t I show you to the study? Come now, come! I expect you’re all in a hurry, going through a snowstorm and all to get here.”

  The adventuring team followed him with a surprising lack of fanfare for adventurers and allowed themselves to be led to the study where, after being given permission to read whatever they liked on that decade-old mystery, Father Thomas left them to it. A mere hour later and they were done.

  “Yeah, I think I’ve got an idea of where to start,” said Booker to his teammates. Then he turned to Father Thomas. “Also, Father, I cleaned all of your books. See you soon!”

  The sharply dressed young man left the room with an air of busyness about him. Avril Garnier rolled her eyes excessively.

  “He always does that,” she scoffed. “Sorry, Father, he’s the rudest person I know but he’ll probably find something.” She affected the proper bow of a noble to a clergyman, giving away her noble rank. “May we beg our leave, Father?”

  “Go with Soldier’s blessing of logistics, child,” said Father Thomas with a kind smile. “And, don’t you worry about me. If that young man can give me anything about Abel. Anything at all, I’ll accept every rudeness he can dream. But, it’s been nine years since he fell.” Father Thomas nodded sadly to himself. “It’s unlikely there’s anything to find.”

  “Take heart, Father Thomas,” said Johan, coming into the conversation like the rising sun onto a morning field. “Detective Booker is the best there is. He has the personal recommendation of Lord Diego Noguera, son of the Praetor Esteban Noguera of Iberia and he will show you the same quality of service.”

  Father Thomas didn’t know exactly who those people were but he felt warmer for hearing Johan speak it. And, with such conviction that it seemed just a matter of time until the search was concluded but he knew they couldn’t bring back what he wanted. He’d made peace with that and with Soldier years ago. He gave the eager, young adventurers leave and bid them well.

  He didn’t expect to see them again, despite their energy. Only an hour in study and back out the doors into the falling snow? Eugene rolled his eyes. People with those kinds of abilities didn’t come out here and not in bad weather. They worked for noble houses or mercantile guilds, taking monster cores and staying safe behind big walls. He put them out of his mind and returned to his holy logistics. The real work of Soldier and a cornerstone of the community. Making sure everyone had enough to last through winter.

  Eugene was tidying up after his evening meal of bread and pottage when he heard yet another knocking at the doors.

  “It can’t be,” he muttered to himself. “They’d be at it for a day even without snow. How would they even find their way there?”

  The same way we found our way there, thought Eugene before he could stop himself. He shook his head. Seven years of mourning Abel every snowstorm was enough. Hed managed some restraint the last two. He presented himself as Father Thomas once more and pushed open the door.

  “Found it!” shouted Booker brightly over the wind, brandishing Abel’s mace.

  Father Thomas faltered and his knees went weak, seeing the mace. Nine years and he still recognised it instantly. How he remembered the boy he’d raised from a foundling to powerful young man had wielded it that night, tirelessly beating back the monsters that surged ever forward. How Abel had used it to point the way when he’d calmly explained that someone had to draw the monsters off from the refugees and that someone, was him. The last Father Thomas had seen of the boy who’d been a son to him was him disappearing into the snow, towards the snarling monsters.

  A hand shot out to Eugene’s arm, strong and gentle.

  “Steady, Father,” came the rich voice of the blond man. Schmidt. That was his name. “Let’s sit you down and get you a nice cup of tea.”

  Eugene - any sense of priestly decorum had fled him - allowed these kindly adventurers to steer him to a pew. With practiced motions the one called Sam went through a variety of dimensional bags and pulled out a cup of steaming tea which she proffered into his hands.

  “Is bishop gold flavour, ka,” she said with an accent. “Drink, drink.”

  His body acting on automatic, Father Thomas sipped at his hot tea, feeling its warmth spread throughout his body. It was good tea.

  “It was actually Sam here who found it,” said Garnier. “It happened on a snowy night so Sam stood there where it all happened and she noticed that the snow hid an embankment that the monsters would flounder in and figured that Abel, knowing the area, would follow.”

  “He did know the area,” croaked Eugene, lowering the teacup to the saucer with shaking hands. “Every fence, every burrow. Lived here his whole life. Went adventuring. Came home to protect us in the surge.”

  A small, foldable table appeared in Schmidt’s hands and was placed down right where it was needed to be to receive Eugene’s suddenly heavy cup and saucer.

  “Well, he used that knowledge well enough,” said Booker with an impressed look.

  “I’ll say,” continued Avril, her face showing the same look. “Three miles of embankment and at the end we find a skeleton at the back of a hidden cave. He must have fought the whole way there.”

  The others trailed off and became sombre as Brother Abberton brought out a box of thick, stiff paper.

  “This was - I mean. It was all that was… there,” mumbled the frier into his beard. “For you to bury.”

  “There were still claw marks on the walls,” said Booker in a low tone. “Real stuff for the bards, if it’s any consolation.”

  Eugene sipped his tea as silent tears rolled down his face. He internalised that this was as good as he could have hoped. Abel was dead and had been for nine years but, at least, now he could have the priests of Death consecrate his bones and see them laid to rest on sanctified ground. He’d given up hope he’d get even that.

  “There’s already songs about him,” said Eugene, his voice breaking. “The ballad of brave Abel.”

  They sat in respectful silence for some time before Eugene began to recover and thanked the adventurers profusely. With his permission they placed the mace and the box on the altar and said their goodbyes but the sharp eyed one hung back.

  “Here,” he said quietly, taking a wine bottle from a magic pocket near his waist and handing it to Eugene. “This is a sixty-year-old bottle of Chamois red for you and your mates at the funeral. Drink and celebrate what he did. Folks in the pub said he saved a lot of lives.” The adventurer then pressed a single bronze coin into Eugene’s hand. “And, that’s for commissioning a statue. I bet by now there’s a whole bunch of kids around here who’d like to see the face of the man their parents still tell stories about. Mourn the death but celebrate the life, okay?”

  The lump in Eugene’s throat prevented him from speaking so he just nodded. The adventurer gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder and walked out into the snow. Gone from Eugene's life as quickly as he’d changed it.

  Eugene shut the door and walked back to the altar. He looked at the objects before him. It was a good time, he decided, for some prayers.

  Lady Geller’s momentum wouldn’t be stopped.

  “To Crotenay, in the middle of a winter snow, mind you? What could be so important for an adventurer to go to Crotenay in the middle of a snow? He’s meeting someone there. Someone who won’t wait. Mark my words, Daniau.”

  “I do, milady,” said Seraphine, internally suppressing a mental list of insane things that adventurers did on the regular. “Is it the same story in their next stop at Buxy? Meeting someone?”

  “Meeting? Oh, he’s meeting people but isn’t why he’s meeting them obvious, Daniau?” sighed Lady Geller. “Them finding a lost mace? Then finding a lost treasure map? Can’t you see? It’s money laundering.”

  Daniau cocked her head in curiosity.

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Wait, let me get this straight,” said Dave, interrupting the marchioness of the house.

  Avril groaned internally but understood. Marchioness Marielle Lecuyer had rather skipped over the backstory to her predicament. Dave continued like a heidel in a cafe.

  “There’s a map to the treasure… but the treasure is lost? Somehow? But even so, your now estranged brother used it to pay off gambling debts to a Miss Lucienne Le Corbeau who… also can’t find the treasure?”

  Lecuyer drew herself up primly but restrained herself under the open, baffled, unsure smiles of Johan and Hugh. But, not Dave’s. Dave’s face was punchable.

  “Our apologies, Marchioness Lecuyer,” simpered Avril. “We are not familiar with the knowledge you seem to be crediting us with. My colleague, Mister Booker, means no disrespect.”

  “Of course, of course,” muttered Booker, catching on and following her lead. “No disrespect, only the enlightenment of Knowledge.”

  Mollified, Lecuyer returned to her story. “The fault is mine. Mister Booker here is clearly some kind of academic.” To Avril’s delight she said it like she was talking about heidel breeds. “I’ve met his type before. All business then, Mister Booker? Then that non-disclosure agreement is a serious document to you. Good. The map will indeed lead one to treasure but only once inside a reality pocket whose entrance, I fear, has been lost.”

  She collected herself after admitting what was no doubt such an embarrassing family secret. Avril had to control herself from vicarious embarrassment. Losing the family heirlooms because nobody could remember where the entrance was? It didn’t bear thinking about. A sideways look told her that she was the only one who felt this way. Dave, Hugh and Johan were all learning forward in rapt attention now. Sam just was smiling happily and nodding with encouragement. Avril groaned. How could such a lack of courtly knowledge be such an advantage?

  “Although lost, we know that the entrance remains on the estate but…” Lecuyer gestured at the large, arched windows displaying the overly expansive grounds. “Obviously, we could pay a specialist from the magic society to go over the grounds but then word would get out about our lapse and that would be unthinkable.”

  “Unthinkable, yes,” said Avril before Dave could point out how thinkable he thought it was.

  There was a moment of serene silence in the sitting room before Dave opened his damned mouth.

  “Well, why don’t you pay your brother’s - étienne, you said?” The Marchioness nodded primly. “Yes, pay étienne’s debt and get your map back?”

  Avril couldn’t believe he’d embarrass their host like this. She wanted to say something placating but couldn’t think fast enough. Lecuyer spoke first.

  “Our petty cash isn’t -”

  “Ah, okay,” said Dave, finally figuring it out. “How about if I spot you and you pay me back when we get the treasure?”

  “What?” said Lecuyer and Avril at the same time.

  “I’ve a looting ability and a lot of cash on hand right now,” said Dave, shrugging like it was no big thing. “My team has the ability to find astral spaces so: Coins go from me to you, you to Le Corbeau, map goes to you, you go to treasure, coins go back to me. We’re all square, right?”

  “He means; we’re all even with each other,” interjected Avril before Lecuyer could be confused by Dave’s foreign slang.

  “Umm, yes,” stammered Lecuyer. “Sorry, your team can find astral spaces?”

  “Ahh, dimensional sensing ability,” murmured Hugh shyly, raising his hand. “If I could just have a tour of the grounds then I could…”

  Hugh trailed off under Lecuyer’s gaze, the words becoming lost in his beard.

  “You’d better not be… but no. Knowledge clergy. You can’t be lying.” Lecuyer turned to Dave. “This is all covered under that not-to-be-disclosed agreement?”

  “Absolutely, Marchioness Lecuyer,” murmured Dave in reply. He was already presenting a handful of coins.

  Avril and the team were soon given a full tour of the grounds by the groundskeeper. They told the practical-looking elf that they were just going over the defences for the next monster surge and he showed them around while Hugh got a sense of the dimensional boundaries around him. It wasn’t long before he found the entrance. The estate had a hedge formation that had been shaped into the Lecuyer family crest, visible from some of the hills around. In the middle of the sculpted hedges, currently stark and skeletal under winter’s grip, was a large, stone bench underneath which was the entrance.

  “No wonder they lost it,” said Hugh, once they’d thanked, tipped and sent to the groundskeeper on her way with instructions to ensure the lady of the house was informed where the adventurers were. “The entrance isn’t properly open anymore. You wouldn’t know it was there by the naked eye. In a few more decades it’ll completely separate from reality and decay into the astral.”

  Marchioness Lecuyer returned a couple of hours later giving no hint of her annoyance at dealing with someone as low as an illegal gambling hustler.

  “My groundskeeper says you’re all looking at some security concern here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “We have found the entrance,” gushed Avril, beating Dave who was definitely going to make some witticism.

  Her eyes flicked to where Johan was beautifully lifting a side of the entire stone bench, his biceps tensing just right and gesturing underneath.

  “Sorry,” rumbled Hugh, coming forwards. “This is me. Avril, if you wouldn’t mind moving the whole… assembly aside for us?”

  Avril used Mastery of Arms to boost her strength and shifted the stone bench aside with Johan. He didn’t even strain. He just moved in concert with her like it came naturally to him. He was so…

  Hugh mumbled to himself for a few seconds and then, with a grunt of triumph, opened the dimensional aperture revealing a hole which looked down into a rock-carved hallway.

  “I will go alone,” announced Marchioness Lecuyer, taking the map out of a space at her belt and standing before the aperture, preparing to leap in. “There are only so many family secrets I am willing to depart with today.”

  “But your safety, Marchioness Lecuyer!” protested Johan with his whole heart. “It is unconscionable we abandon you to whatever lurks -”

  “I will be fine, Mister Schmidt,” interrupted Lecuyer. She actually smiled at Johan’s impertinent but heartfelt concern. “The map has precise instructions ensuring my safety. I insist you wait for me here and make my excuses while I’m gone. Thank you very much.”

  “As you say, Marchioness,” said Johan, exuding loyalty. “We will wait upon your return.”

  Avril just wanted to hug him when he was like this. She restrained herself, though. Lecuyer, however, did accept Johan holding a rope ladder over the dimensional hole which she climbed down with as much grace as one could do. Executive services bid her a safe return and settled in to wait.

  Hours later, in the early evening, Lecuyer returned.

  “Are you all still there?” called her voice.

  “Waiting upon your return, Marchioness Lecuyer,” called Johan back, who had been tirelessly doing such a thing. “Only we cannot see you yet.”

  Johan was already lowering the rope ladder, ready for Lecuyer who took several stops more forwards, stood on the bottom rung and waited for Johan to lift her, hand-over-hand out of the aperture. No sooner had her foot hit the ground than she was handing over a stack of coins to Dave.

  “Repaid in full,” confirmed Dave. He gave a barely acceptable bow. “Map returned, treasure found. That concludes our business then?”

  “Indeed it does, Detective Booker,” said Lecuyer. “And you have the thanks of my family for returning our wealth to us.”

  “Okay! If that’s true,” said Dave with a smirk. He handed over a business card. An innovation similar to a calling card but for a business instead of personages. “Consider investing. My businesses are doing pretty well but a new backer would be appreciated. I’m not expecting anything, just consideration from your family financial advisor after an honest appraisal.”

  She took the card, looking down her nose at it.

  “Then I shall have that considered, Detective. Thank you.”

  “He goes to Crotenay and the Blaise family there just ‘happens’ to insist on funding a sculpture in the town square? Of a peasant? That’s got to be a front. He goes to Buxy and the Lecuyer’s there just ‘happen’ to start spending their wealth for the first time in over two decades, investing heavily in unknown venture capitals here in Oullins? Seraphine, how could it not be money laundering? See, on the map, how his path draws a line across every land trade route between Oullins and Lutetia? Coincidence? I think not. See? He went all the way to Houlbec.”

  Seraphine briefly wondered if it’d slipped Lady Geller’s mind that Lutitia had been destroyed and thus, every trade route there with it. But, of course it hadn’t. She must have misspoke in her eagerness to communicate. Lady Geller was silver rank after all.

  “Dave,” asked Avril while they waited at the back of the Second Wind to jump. “I realise that I don’t actually know why we’re delivering a potion of prosperity to a midwife in Houlbec.”

  Johan didn’t know either but since the topic had been raised, he listened with interest. Dave didn’t seem to mind eavesdropping so long as you were interested.

  “Yeah, I don’t know either,” said Dave, shrugging as he extended the mystery. “I got the quest and a nice, little elf at the fertility church comes out and hands me the potion. So, here I am delivering it. It’s a perfect example of me getting that free money Sam likes so much.”

  Sam, who wasn’t jumping with them, smiled more brilliantly than before at Dave.

  “You’re not curious at all?” pressed Avril.

  Once more, Dave shrugged. “None of my business,” he said with his Gods-may-care attitude that Johan so admired on display. “Probably some couple wanting to conceive but not wanting to go to the local Fertility church for their own reasons. Probably something to do with keeping up appearances that I don’t care for.”

  He really didn’t. Johan knew by now it was true. But it wasn’t in a rude way. Dave could somehow not care about what other people thought of him in ways that were downright polite and caring. As crazy as that was. He was the kind of neighbor who’d see that you’d let the garden go a bit wild and instead of awkwardly inviting you over and asking if everything was alright, Dave would… Johan had to think. What would he do? Probably shrug and say that his neighbor probably had their own reasons for letting the ivy grow so high. What of it? It was comforting to know that his lack of concern would defend folk’s honour.

  The team minus Sam landed gently outside the church. Surprisingly, Dave handed the potion to Johan.

  “Wha-”

  “Two reasons,” said Dave. “Firstly, everyone who asks you will believe your answer when you say you were in there for business, not for pleasure.” Johan felt his face redden at the mention of pleasure. “And secondly, because you need to see that they’re people who live in that church. Not a bunch of hussies like your small town upbringing, listening to the bards taught you.”

  His face burning, Johan mentally bit down on the retort his mouth was making. It was true that he’d had more than a few examples in the last couple of months to teach him how provincial his knowledge of the world was. Today, a learning experience it was to be, then.

  Stepping through the holy doors of fornication, Johan hoped idly that shopping for cheap cargo in the market afterwards wouldn’t be as confronting as this.

  Seraphine could see the logic in her mistress’s words but could also see something else in them that wasn’t quite right. It was like how the stories described talking to someone overcome with illusion magic.

  “Yes, he and his team went all the way to Houlbec, according to the information brokers,” Seraphine stuck to the facts. “They believe he called upon several merchants and minor nobility before leaving in his stealthed airship with a hold full of cargo.”

  “I can read what it says, Daniau,” snapped Lady Geller. “But isn’t it obvious? Wherever he goes, he visits people he’s never met and money changes hands. All along the trade routes to Lutetia! He’s up to something.”

  Trading, by the looks of it, thought Seraphine before clamping down on the unworthy thought. The mistress was always right. Seraphine changed the subject.

  “Then perhaps the mistress can take comfort in his next stop? While the previous stops have indeed, as you say, drawn a line to the north, Confolens is south-west of both Oullins and Lutetia.”

  “You said this is a normal rank quest,” complained Avril. “Why are we bothering with it?”

  “Eh, I’m a bit of a completionist,” said Dave. “Merchant gave it to me a while ago and I’d love to just tick it off my list, you know?”

  Avril did know. Still…

  “It’s just that it might take a while. That’s a lot of stolen goods.” She gestured down at the crates and hessian bags of goods covered with sheets of waxed canvas. “I don’t know if we can recover them all.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good point,” conceded Dave. “What do you recon if instead of jumping in with our swords out, Hugh and Johan visit the local pub first and see if it’s all a big mix up? All those stolen goods just neatly packed up next to the wagoneers shop? Nah, it doesn't make sense does it?”

  “No,” agreed Avril. “Why did you only say Hugh and Johan? I want to-”

  “I know,” interrupted Dave, “but despite your best efforts to blend in, a lot of people will figure out that you’re a noble and then they’ll stop talking.”

  “No they-”

  Dave just looked at her. She knew that look. That was his ‘I’m right and I’m prepared to prove it’ look. She backed down and he relented.

  “Every commoner knows to shut up when nobles are in the room,” said Dave resentfully.

  Her education had said it was because of a natural respect between the commoners and their betters. Dave had shown her on more than one occasion that it was often just fear.

  “But I can see you’re disappointed,” continued Dave. “How about after this quest I come up with a reason to have you and Johan end up alone in the markets at midwinter festival? That’s due next week isn’t it?”

  Avril felt her cheeks burn even against the biting wind that was a constant on the deck of the Second Wind. Dave just grinned at her. So embarrassing.

  “Just nod if you can’t speak,” he said. “Johan’s a handsome lad and I’m happy to be your wingman if you want to shoot your shot with him.”

  Avril didn’t understand the slag but felt she understood the meaning anyway. Dave was on her side. She nodded.

  “Cool,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “You plan the festival date, I’ll chat with the captain, get the boys and jump, eh?”

  Avril nodded again.

  Soon after, Dave, Hugh and Johan dived from the ship about a mile from town. Avril dreamed about how she could have the perfect midwinter festival with Johan adoring her every moment. It was a dream, she knew but it was an intoxicating one. One she fell asleep to on the ship while those three were getting information in the town overnight.

  Captain Dimont picked them up from a field the next morning. As their feet transferred from thrown ropes to the wooden deck, Dave grinned at Avril.

  “It was a mixup!”

  “Oh?” she replied belatedly, dragging her eyes from Johan’s forearms.

  Dave’s grin became sly.

  “Actually, I need to talk to the captain,” he lied. “Johan, you tell her!”

  Pulling himself onto the deck with a muscular ease, Johan turned his sky-blue eyes on Avril. His hair blew perfectly in the wind and he smiled that easy smile that made you want to smile with him.

  “Sure thing, Dave,” said Johan in a voice like rich, dark honey.

  For the next hour, Avril listened to Johan’s voice and watched his hair blow perfectly around his head while he talked about how he found out that the cargo was never stolen. Just stuck in Confolens because a bridge was out. Avril couldn’t care less.

  “They obviously visited Confolens to preemptively stop me from going around via a sea-route, no doubt!” growled Lady Geller. “The devil. He kills my son - my son! And, now he plots to begger me? What did I do to deserve this? How did I curse the gods that such a cold chill entered my life?”

  “I believe the Remore estate has -”

  “Yes, yes!” snapped Lady Geller. “The Remores are backing him. You don’t need to remind me!”

  Seraphine shut her mouth. The… conditions that the Remore representative had required from Lady Geller for her… lapse regarding Booker had been expensive and the final insult from the Baron himself, that she knew was arranged by the Remore representative, still brought Lady Geller into an irreconcilable rage if it was mentioned. Seraphine should have known better.

  A silent minute passed as Lady Geller fumed and composed herself before her face settled once more into a thinking expression.

  “Find out which players amongst the merchant guilds have heard of this Booker or his Second Wind, Daniau,” commanded Lady Geller quietly. “That will tell us the kind of war the Remores are using him to start with us.”

  “Yes, mistress,” said Seraphine, glad to have an excuse to leave.

  The mistress was always right.