Origami Narwhal
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The Puzzle Box - 2.16
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 16:20:40 +0000 UTC“...and you're certain it'll work?”
“Enhanced senses.” I tap my nose, confirming Gelson's question. “And enhanced reflexes. It'll work.”
It's odd to be on the other side of this conversation— I feel like I should be the one listening as a gruff detective lays out their master plan. But Gelson isn’t gruff, and she's already laid out her plan, so now I'm here explaining how we'll nail the last bit of evidence.
“And if we're wrong?”
Gelson frowns, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Among other things, I've borrowed a table from somewhere else in the building for her to put her paperwork on, and she leaves me to wonder for a few minutes as she shuffles her notes around.
“Hm. We improvise,” Gelson says evenly, shoulders rising and falling. “Even without a clear or rational motive, nothing else fits. If the thievery is unrelated, then we join Llewyns and Chief Flint in the broader search.”
I grunt in response, leaning further into the chair. The way it squishes my chest is a little annoying, but the pressure combined with running my tail along the ground is enough to keep me focused.
“Good luck with that. If we can't get that box back...”
The frustration inside of me aches, pressing ever outward. It demands release, begs to be let out as a roar or scream. Do something, it says, anything. Everything.
My father put something important in that damned thing, something not meant for me. I need to know what it is. I need to know why it's been stolen. “This is idiotic.”
“Yes,” Gelson agrees, drumming her fingers along the table. “rOpen the jar.”
“Ordering a Dame around?” I snort, though the humor barely pierces the veil of irritation. “Brave.”
It seems Gelson has conceded the point, because she walks around and cracks the lid herself. I watch with a wrinkled nose as she moves it under her chair.
“I just don't get it,” I sigh, tail drooping. My arms cross over the top of the chair, and Gelson watches quietly as I think. “The motive, I mean. Why?”
Gelson hums, shuffling her paperwork around again. “Ideally, we will find out once everyone arrives.”
***
The door clicks open, and constables spill through. Twelve in all, more than were present earlier, shepherding people in. Dongbaek, Alain, Helena, a man whose face I recalled but whose name escapes me, several guards, and many people I don't recognize at all.
I can taste the fear and nerves that lurch in with them, hanging heavy in still air. Alain holds his chin high, Helena's eyes are fixed on the floor; only Dongbaek seems utterly unaffected. The vault guards, some looking groggy and rumpled in plainclothes, claim a corner for themselves— the one furthest from me.
“Dame Crawford is here in her capacity as a specialist, and exists outside of my authority as an investigator,” Gelson says loudly, driving her voice like a hammer onto the leaden silence. “The constables are here for their involvement in the case. It is standard procedure. Be seated.”
One last constable slips into the room, hurrying in and whispering into Gelson's ear. Her expression twitches, lips flicking downward. “Tracer will handle it,” she says, dismissing the constable with a nod.
In that moment, Gelson's small stature and quiet presence means nothing. No, Detective Ruby Gelson stands proud at the head of the room, hands on the table, looming over the suspects like a judge over a trial.
Helena's taken a seat closer to me, looks like. Alain sits next to her, and Dongbaek puts himself a little further forward. The chairs fill, and I glare back at anyone that looks my way.
It is Alain that speaks first, of course. “Is there a purpose to having us all here? I won't stand for theatrics.”
“To inform you of our results,” Gelson says evenly. She clears her throat. “Because the investigation has concluded. I will relay what information I can before clearing you all of suspicion.”
The room exhales as one. Shoulders droop, and soft chatter replaces heavy silence. I can hear a few people thanking the Restoration in low tones.
Gelson is an incredible liar, isn't she? And I'm still holding my breath, in a way. Still tensed, every move a lie to show relaxation when I am anything but. With that bitter, musty tea-stench slowly creeping through the room, it's even harder to keep my expression calm.
“The Restoration has blessed us with good fortune and wisdom this day. Thank you for your tireless work, detective,” Dongbaek says, his voice coarse but rich. The tongue of a practiced orator is a powerful thing, and I can see the pull of attention away from Gelson and toward Dongbaek. His head is bowed, his hands are clasped in prayer.
The tack tick of my claws against the wooden frame of my chair, though, draw the attention past him and to me. “And may Adamantine bear witness,” I drawl, hopefully sounding more relaxed than I feel.
“Indeed,” Gelson agrees, drumming her fingers on the table. Her shoulders rise, tensed and squared. “Let us begin.
“Four days ago, between morning and afternoon, a puzzle box was taken from the Church of the Restoration's vault. The alarms did not trigger, and the theft was discovered by Helena Harkness and Alain Hendrick. It was then reported to us.”
“By me,” Alain interjects.
“Yes.” She slides a parchment across the table. “The box contains something valuable that was intended to be passed on to the Church. However, we have reason to believe that the box is unsolvable without a certain tool. The thief may have access to it.”
“What sort of puzzle box needs an extra tool?” That's one of the vault guards speaking up, brow furrowed. “That's awful strange.”
“Agreed,” Gelson says blandly. She taps her boot against the floor. “And yet, Ulrich Blackwood, the artificer who created the box, confirmed as much.”
“They made some of our desks, didn't they?” Now it's Dongbaek's turn, evidently. He sniffs, nose wrinkling, but shakes his head. “An incredible craftsperson, through and through.”
“Yes. I will continue,” Gelson declares, earning a smirk from me. She's getting impatient. “Dongbaek witnessed the box being present before departing for a meeting. The guards later attested to having seen the box”— she sends a hard glance toward the guards— “some thirty to forty minutes later.”
Helena shifts in place. I can feel her surprise, and it's plain in her eyes when she turns her head to look at me. I'd sniff or smirk, but the former would involve inhaling that awful tea and the latter would give up the game.
It's still very tempting to smirk.
“A conveniently narrowed timeline,” Alain mutters.
Gelson nods. “Indeed. Then, at the eleventh hour of morning, several things happen all at once. Priest Dongbaek returned from his meeting ten minutes prior, and is now upstairs— reporting no alarm from the wards. A delivery of pastries is entering via a side door, nearly twenty minutes late. Helena Harkness has asked for the guards to open the vault... revealing that the box has been taken.”
The room takes a breath and holds it. I exhale, because I already know where this is going. I'll need it.
“The wards weren't triggered at all. The box is gone, the wards show little evidence of damage,” Gelson nods at me, “And there is a secret passage we know could be used to access the vault without the guards knowing.”
“A— a secret passage?” Dongbaek stumbles over his words, leaping to his feet. He speaks for the room, I suppose, and low chatter fills the wake of his words. “You're saying that someone could have slipped in at any time to take the box? By the Restoration, I... I should have known about such a thing. First, a key to the box, now a secret passage. If this box is lost to us, I will take responsibility for these failures.”
He shakes his head and wrings his hands, slowly dropping back into his seat. Alain rests a hand on his shoulder, and Helena murmurs apologetic words. There's quite a bit of that coming from the purple robed folk. More reassurances and faith than I can bear to listen to.
“Such a theft implies skill. A Mage was involved, we are certain. How else could the wards be bypassed?” Gelson cuts through the noise, taking her hands off the table and resting them on her hips. Her tiny frame is wound taut like a spring, ready to launch into action. “Fortunately, thanks to the work of Helena Harkness, we have an exact time of theft. The eleventh hour, like most everything else in this investigation.”
“I’m sure we've all noticed that Celine isn't here— the woman from the bakery.” Alain sighs. His voice heats, growing rough as he continues. “The one person present at that hour, that isn't present now. I didn't take her for a skilled Mage... let alone a thief.”
Helena says nothing. I can see her knuckles go white as she grips the frame of her chair, and the way her jaw sets is unmistakable.
“Such a shame. She's such a sweet girl,” Dongbaek tsks, voice soft and mournful. He sniffs again, nose twitching. “To think, when I got that pastry she was preparing to steal— ah, nevermind. I'll ask for a light punishment for her, if she truly is the culprit.”
“Your concern is noted,” Gelson inclines her head. “A constable has been dispatched to locate her, rest assured.”
“She isn't.” Now it's my turn to speak. I rise from my chair, uncoiling and stretching aching muscles. I pace along the side of the room, crossing in front of the best exit. “But it was a Mageblood of some variety, we know that.”
I pause, and Gelson’s lips twitch in the corner of my eye. “And I have to ask, priest, how’d you meet Celine? She arrived after you went to rest in your office. Nobody saw you downstairs, either.”
Dongbaek remains silent. He won’t meet my eyes.
“Excuse me,” Alain slithers in, acting before my words can settle. “It's quite a leap from mistiming to theft, let alone accusing Priest Dongbaek of it!”
“Theft? Oh, no, no implications, Alain,” I bite out a laugh, looking back at Gelson. She nods. “Not yet. I'd like to know how your priest hid being a Mage for years.”
Now that has the room bursting into noise. Far too much noise, enough that it blurs into painful needles in my ears.
Helena, though, remains silent. She's staring at the ground, breathing deeply, eyes open but seeing nothing.
“I'd be quite the hypocrite if—” he starts.
I snap my fingers, and the foul Wind slams into him once more.
“Enhanced senses,” Gelson says, loud enough for everyone to hear. Alain is shouting at me, the Church is shouting, but she cuts right through. “A common signifier of Magebloods. Highly fragrant tea would clear all suspicion.”
“And someone's maintaining the wards,” I add, fingers still raised. “It’s a shame that teapot’s never been used. Too clean, and nobody even drinks tea around here.”
Gelson takes a deep breath, puts two fingers in her mouth, and whistles so shrilly I have to snarl in response. Dongbaek's hands jerk to his ears. Once all eyes are on Gelson, she nods.
“Ahem. Someone left pastry crumbs in the second floor of the secret passage. The hatch hinges to the first floor are oiled and quiet, unlike the hatch to the basement. Signs of maintenance, signs of use.” Gelson’s eyes glitter. “And of course, it was almost certainly how the box was stolen. This was planned.”
The constables move, shuffling in the agonizing silence to cover the doors.
“And why disable the alarm, when you can ignore it? Bitgarm Dongbaek, would you like to offer evidence counter to our claims?”
He opens his mouth—
A sob. A choked, throaty sob fills the room before Dongbaek can speak.
Helena. Seems like she's figured out the rest.
She rises, stumbling from her chair, sniffling and tears streaming. “You— you’re a— I believed y-you. That...”
Dongbaek's expression shifts. It melts, his eyes darkening, his shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, dear child.”
Sobbing becomes a wail, and Helena storms out of the room, pushing through constables that don't put up a fight. My heart aches, tugged along but yanked back.
I open my mouth, but words fail me.
“How many times have you argued against Mages?” Alain hisses, like a snake in the dark and rising up like one, too. He stalks toward Dongbaek, jabbing a finger directly into his chest. “Church property is entrusted to you, but it is not yours to take. I knew there was a traitorous voice, but you?”
Dongbaek backs halfway to the wall, pushed by Alain's prodding finger on his chest. “I’m afraid I can’t return it, Alain.”
And like that, the shouting is back. One of the Church members sprints after Helena, the guards are talking, people are shouting again. It's too much to hear; all meaningless blended noise. My eyes are pinned on the thief.
Dongbaek is looking at the door. I recognize that look— cornered prey, a rabbit ready to bolt. He raises a hand toward the wall of constables, Wind stirring around his fingertips. A structure forms and fires before I can leap in, a rippling cone that scatters the chairs and shreds the carpet.
I'm already moving as it crashes into the constables guarding the door, an invisible shove that pushes them into the wall and keeps going. I can hear bones creaking, I can see the beginnings of alarm and agony on their faces. How dare he.
I don't care about the plan anymore— about convincing this man to go quietly and return the box. That could've killed someone. Every estimation of his character is tossed aside, leaving confusion and fury in its wake.
A moment later, I’ve closed the gap. No Wind, no Lighting, just the stretching of eager muscles. Just his eyes, widening far too fast for a regular human, with greenish light gathering around his hands.
He stumbles away from my advance, and the Wind on his fingertips fades. Whatever his second trick was, it escapes half-formed as a weak wave of force. It barely manages to push me back, the dregs curling around me. The space is enough, though, for him to duck around, bolting out the door while I’m still turning.
The hunt has begun.
