Origami Narwhal
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The Puzzle Box - 2.15
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 20:31:16 +0000 UTC“A-are you upset with me? For, um, lying again.” Helena's words are soft, and in the whirlwind of activity and chatter as we turn ourselves around toward the passage, I barely hear her.
She already knows my answer, and I don’t care to explain myself. Instead, I catch up to Gelson and Tracer, leaning in. “If you're wondering, I didn't sense Helena's enchantment anywhere when I was examining the vault.”
Tracer rubs his jaw, pausing long enough to tell one of the constables to contact the Station. “And you're certain her... what was it, Ruby?”
“Trigger-alarm enchantment,” Gelson provides, copying Helena's exact intonation. Her shift back to her own flat voice is like stepping into a puddle and finding a pit. “Please refer to me as Gelson at work, Tracer.”
“It’s an old habit, old friend,” Tracer flashes another lopsided smile, then shakes his head. “Right, Dame, so you're certain this enchantment gives an accurate time of theft?”
Now this is something I know more about. “The alarm triggering tells us it discharged. Like running across a thick carpet and touching a metal knob.” My tail curls to avoid a clumsy constable. “So am I certain? No, someone might've avoided this metaphorical rug, or the enchantment could have destabilized from a different interaction.”
“So if it discharged early, there wasn't much time between the alarm and the vault being checked.” Gelson slows to a stop, and I'm not far behind. “Correct?”
“Yeah.”
Tracer nods, slowing down and pressing his hand against a section of wall. “Two in three is a good chance of being right, I'd say.”
“Um!”
Our heads turn to Helena. Her cheeks flush, but she stands tall.
“I don't think it, ah, discharged! My enchantment lasts for about twenty five hours, and I applied it the evening before.” She swallows, one hand jerking up to run through her hair. “I'm confident that the alarm triggered, um, correctly.”
“Dame?” Gelson looks back at me.
I mull it over, scattering my lessons of enchantment against the wall. Without a read on the magic she'd put in, the structures she'd implemented, and the general volatility of her magic, the actual equations for decay of active enchantments are useless. But I'd seen her work on my clothes before that Delve, and those held up well enough.
“Sure. I believe her,” I say with a shrug.
Her green eyes, wide open and glittering with warmth, are almost enough for me to change my mind. Bitterness rises from within me, waging swift war with sympathy before I quash both with common sense. Now is not the time for distractions.
“I doubt she's lying,” I conclude, tail flicking. “Tracer, we're looking at the entrance, right?”
Rather than answer, he pushes in on the wall and it clicks. A section swings in, tapestry and all, revealing a dusty and unadorned passage. He tells the constables to wait outside, then gestures for us to follow. Not sure why he’s including Helena, but sure.
“Why does the Church of Restoration's rectory building have a secret passage, by the way?” I lean over to Helena. “I can understand my Manor having a few, that's a much bigger building built by paranoid Imperials. This is just nonsense.”
I step inside while Helena ums and ahs, brow furrowed and a hand buried in her hair. The floor is bare hardwood, stained and smoothed but not protected fully from the elements. Dents and dings mar the dimly lit surface, dust collects in the corners, and if not for the massive panel door leading into the vault, I’d think it forgotten rather than secret. There is no aura of intrigue to this march-wide space between walls; that enters the space with us as a mix of curiosity, excitement, and irritation.
“And it’s probably why Helena and Alain were reluctant to tell the truth,” Tracer drawls, walking to the other end of the space. “We’re nosy blues in the pocket of the city, after all. Stay out of the doorway, by the way, otherwise we’ll be doing this in darkness.”
“Ah, I actually did research on this, back when I got here!” Helena jumps in finally, stepping to the side and bending down to inspect the floor. “Just, ah, needed a moment to think, sorry. The Church of the Restoration bought this building from a guild, and the vault was installed, um, maybe thirty something years ago?”
Gelson enters the passage last, putting herself next to the far wall. “Private or public records?”
“Ah, records from our archives. Private. They’re in the basement, actually...” Helena drops to her knees. Scrunching her nose, she runs a hand along the dusty floor. “Ah.”
“See anything interesting while we wait for Tracer to do his dramatic reveal?” I raise an eyebrow, checking to make sure my tail is pulled up and away from the floor. Dust is awful.
“Um—” She sniffs, then... squeaks? A full body shake radiating from her nose, a sneeze that jerks her shoulders and leaves her looking like a startled animal.
“Pft.” Chuckling, I shake my head and turn back to Tracer. “Heh, take care, Helena. Tracer, get on with it. I don’t want to sit around in a cramped passage all day.”
Rather than answer, Tracer taps Gelson on the shoulder. “Nothing interesting, Gelson? No hidden clues?”
Gelson tilts her head. “No.”
“On with the show, then, before our resident noble gets bored,” Tracer waves my way, then crouches down to a section of floor near the center that— ah, I see the seams now.
After a bit of fidgeting and with the aid of a metal wedge provided by a constable, Tracer swings up a section of floor about a march wide and half a march deep. The noise is awful, a grinding shriek of old bolts and irritable hinges that digs straight into my ears and Gods. My thoughts are scattered to the wind, my frustration escapes in a snarl. Helena has her hands covering her ears, too.
“I hate,” I hiss, letting the words ooze from my tongue, “this damn Church.”
Dismissing their questioning looks, I focus back on the moment. The shape is odd but clever, following the contours and seams of the boards, reinforced by brass ties and more wood beneath. As for the contents of the revealed trapdoor? Stepping closer, I peer down into the depths, expecting darkness and hoping for a box, somehow.
The depths are, in fact, quite well-lit. Flat stone floors, bookshelves on two sides; shifting around some more shows that we’re peering down into a row of them. Probably the archives Helena had mentioned before. Curiosity calls, but there’s just one problem.
“Hm. No method of descent,” Gelson observes, matching my own thoughts. “Unlikely to cause injury, but still risky. Tracer?”
“If our culprit is a Mage, Gelson, who knows. Maybe they can fly. Helena, is the basement locked?” Tracer shrugs, looking back over his shoulder.
“Um, usually?” Helena fidgets, brushing herself off and peering down the hole. “I always lock the door when I’m done. Ah, this goes straight to the archives!”
Scratching his chin, Tracer turns to the constables I’d been ignoring. “We’ll have the blues poke around down there for a passage out to the street, then. If there’s one secret passage, two doesn’t sound that absurd anymore.”
“You’ll take the lead?” Gelson glances to Tracer, and he nods back. “Establish the second passage first.”
“That’s easy, Gelson.” Tracer smirks, pointing upward. We follow his finger up to the ceiling— three marches up to the second floor might I add, to an identical trapdoor. “Any guesses on how to get up there?”
“Two.” Gelson looks at me. I look back, raising an eyebrow. “Ladder, or Dame Crawford.”
“I’m not sure I like the comparison, Gelson.”
She tilts her head. “Tracer, do we have a ladder?”
“Not on hand. Helena, mind taking us down to the archives?” Tracer stands up, weaving past us and leaving the passage entirely.
“Oh! Um, I don’t think we have a ladder either, sorry Ivy. Ah, yes! I can open the archives.” Helena hurries out, pausing just long enough to meet my eyes and nod.
I nod back, but my thoughts are elsewhere. “I’m not throwing you, Gelson.”
“Of course. Injuries would delay the investigation.” Gelson hums, tapping a boot against the floor. “Not practical.”
I could let my hands become claws, digging into the walls and climbing up. Temptingly destructive, but not productive. Heh, that rhymes. Maybe I should jump it, or use Wind to force the hatch open. I could do nothing at all, remind Gelson that I am a Dame, and get a damn ladder.
But that’s boring. That’s dull, uninteresting, and un-indulgent. I am a Delver, a Drake, a woman who punches monsters. Wind coils around me, pulled from within and answering eagerly. The feeling of scales creeping up my legs is as pleasant as it is familiar. I pull Wind further, up my arm and into my claws. Can’t push this hatch too hard, can’t put too much force in, Ivy. Maybe try once with only a little force?
I flick my fingers, releasing a rush of air that lifts the hatch... not quite enough. It swings open, then slams back down with a thud. Right. Add a little more magic to it, curl Wind into the proper shape, change the focus to the furthest edge for leverage, that should do it. I hope Gelson doesn’t mind a bit of rapid acceleration.
“Come over here, Gelson,” I say, fighting the grin as it spreads across my face. “I’ve got our way up.”
I click my fingers, and the hatch swings open. I stick my other arm out, ready to secure Gelson.
“Good.” Gelson walks up next to me, tilting her head to inspect the hatch. “Once you’re up there, search for any exits and eeeep!”
***
The passage, as it turns out, has doors on the second floor too. Jammed right between the priest's office and bedroom, with the other side spitting out into the equivalent hallway on the opposite side of the building. Another entry point, another way our mystery thief might have slipped in. As I recall, the priest had said he was resting at the time, only coming down when he heard the commotion.
It's feasible. Almost easy, with the right information. The windows up here are the sash kind, with two sections and latches to hold it open or closed. Maybe they clambered up the side, or dropped from the roof? With my palms flat against the glass, braced on the wooden bits, I can easily slide the window up. No magically enhanced strength needed, just dexterity.
Which brings me back to the beginning of my observation, leaning sidelong against the wall, watching the passage without really seeing anything.
With the right information.
The list of people isn't short enough. The days are stretching onward, and the box may well have left Craumont. The longer we go without an answer, the further the box’s secrets slip from my claws.
Boots tap their way up the hall behind me, then thump as they move from wood to carpet.
“More entrances, then?” Tracer calls out to me, his voice lower than usual, “I’ve found more leads in an empty room than in the archives, so I figured it was time to come up here.”
My tail lags behind, holding in place and uncurling only once I’ve fully turned. I jab a thumb towards the wall, pointing into it. “Gelson’s looking for more, but yes. One here, one across the way, same pattern as downstairs.”
“And why’s our enhanced-senses Mageblood waiting outside?” He crosses his arms, leaning to one side. “Seems a little backwards.”
A growl shoves its way through my teeth, but I don’t snap at the bait. “This enhanced-senses Mageblood can hear your heartbeat when you’re afraid, yes,” I say instead, baring a few teeth, “And I’m your damn Dame.”
I pause, taking a breath. Gods, I’m going to ruin the little menace I just cultivated. “She’s mad I jumped her up to the second floor. Despite listing me as an alternative to ladders, might I add.”
The word I’ve heard for this situation is ‘miffed’. I am miffed about this.
Tracer scoffs at me, eyes tracing my face, then laughs. “Ha! Don’t suppose that counts as a catfight, when it’s a tiger and a Drakeblood. Gelson! Need a hand?”
He leans into the open passage, then steps in entirely. Guess he wasn’t waiting for an invitation, but blah, catfight. I’ve never liked the term, but I'll give credit for him correctly calling me a Drake. There's hardly any similarity between me and a cat— a tail, slit pupils when I'm channeling enough magic... hm. A penchant for mischief? Knocking things off desks? I chuckle at the thought.
I’d certainly made a few attempts at the last one, even if they'd both failed. Alain's paperwork resisted my assault, and Dongbaek’s desk is enchanted.
Hm.
The thought refuses to leave. Instinct tugs, a memory surfaces, and oh. Ulrich made multiple desks for this place. Who got the other one, again? Maybe it's a leap of logic, but I'm going to guess Alain.
Hmph. No wonder I couldn't scatter Alain's paperwork— he was cheating. I'll have to try harder next time... and it also means Dongbaek has a secret compartment in his desk, too.
“I’m going to poke around. Shout for me if there's something important,” I call, making the decision more or less as it comes out of my mouth.
“Got a hunch?” Tracer calls back, then lowers his voice. “I don't think we're going to find more passages inside this, Gelson. Found anything over there?”
“No,” comes Gelson's highly predictable response.
I shrug, then clear my throat, peering in to watch two seasoned detectives touching the walls and floor. “Not really. Just curious.”
I don't wait for a response. Leaving the detectives to their work, I slip into priest Dongbaek's office.
***
It's a good thing I didn't call it a hunch. Finding a subtle bump in the wooden desk takes a few minutes at most, and pressing it opens the secret compartment with a smooth click. What is it with this church and hidden spaces, exactly?
Regardless, the compartment is... boring. A few flaky crumbs, some keys, and a jar of that bitter-smelling tea he’d tried to offer me days before. And a very clean teapot, but given the tea I’m not surprised. No boxes, no keys, no maps, and certainly no incriminating evidence.
Does this tell me something about Dongbaek? Yes.
Do I care? Not at all. He’s a priest of the Restoration, and his incompetence is part of why my time is being wasted with this investigation. Somehow, I manage to care less with every moment I stand here smelling this awful tea. Bitter and musty, a cross between medicinal herbs and a gravekeeper’s hut.
Sealing the jar and closing the desk’s compartment, I then move to poking around the walls for a secret passage. A loose panel, maybe, or a subtle breeze... I grin, tail lashing along the floor.
A breeze can be arranged for. Calling up my Wind, I pull on the air, thinning the space between me and the wall.
Not a whisper of a draft. No obvious leaks as I walk along the sides of the office, no hints or abruptly opened hatches due to pressure differences. Nothing in the floorboards, and certainly no secret passage entrances. Not even a hidden safe or compartment behind the tapestry on the priest’s back wall! Just vile tea and crumbs.
“Bleh,” I confide in the desk, tail dragging gently along the floor. “Let's see if the detectives have found something interesting.”
The desk, of course, is silent as I exit the office. Smug, even.
“Bleh?”
“Gods!” I twitch from nose to tail tip, and I barely force down the instinct to jump at the sudden presence of another person. That's twice I've missed someone getting close to me in one day, and with my enhanced senses there's no excuse for that.
Worse, it's the same woman. Helena, again, looking up at me with her brow furrowed. “Is everything alright?”
I close the door to the office behind me, taking care to pull my tail to the side. It drops to the floor with a thump, and I cross my arms. “I’m in the Church, and somehow they’ve got something important enough that I’m here fixing their damn problems. What do you think?”
She blinks, and the furrow in her brow deepens. “No, no. I meant with the, um, what you just did? I know you hate it here. Sorry.”
I thump my tail against the floor again, shrug, and make a step toward the secret passage. Though I suppose it's just a passage now, of the unsecret variety. “I was startled, Helena, because you snuck up on me somehow. You knew that, though.”
It's fun watching her eyebrows shoot straight up. With a half wave, I turn away and make my way to the secret passage. Now that I'm paying attention, I can hear Helena's boots against the floor. Guess she's following.
Pouring magic into my hand, I let scales creep up and over my knuckles. It makes knocking on the wall that much less uncomfortable, and I peer right into the open passage. Tracer is scribbling something out, and Gelson is methodically pressing sections of the wall. “Gelson? Tracer? My non-hunch was a non-lead.”
“Non-hunch?” Helena mumbles.
Tracer snorts, barely looking up from his notes. “Some days we end up straight-backed on a gut feeling, Dame. So what’s got you walking back in?”
“Please move to your left. You are blocking the light,” says Gelson, being as Gelson as ever.
“I can make my own light, you know,” I say, stepping inside and out of Gelson’s light. Tracer looks to be using the light from the opposite hallway. “The priest’s desk is the same as Alain’s, and both are made by Ulrich. Same secret compartments.”
“And you found nothing?” Tracer confirms, flipping some pages back and writing something down. “Not surprised that Blackwood made something with secret compartments. They’re a tricky sort.”
Gelson hums in agreement. Helena seems entirely unsurprised.
“Nothing important,” I confirm. “Anything here?”
Tracer shrugs. “Not really.”
“Possibly,” Gelson says at the same time. “The hinges on the hatch to this floor didn’t cause considerable harm to our ears.”
Snorting, I cross my arms. “I noticed, and I’m grateful for that. No passages into the priest’s office, either. If someone stole the key from his office, they did it via the proper door. I can force breezes through holes in the wall with Wind. Didn’t feel any. All I found was some bad tea and some crumbs.” I add the last few sentences in haste, before any of the three curious people before me can ask.
I raise a hand up, the one still scaled from earlier, and make a vaguely circular gesture. Wind stirs eagerly, as always, and the dust in the corners of the room jerks and tumbles toward my feet. A flick of my wrist has it all coming together into a proper pile. Saves me from sneezing, and lets me indulge myself a little.
“Not exactly long-range, and I’m not the kind of Mage that can do delicate work more than a few marches away.” I shrug, flattening the pile with a third, palm-down gesture. “But no, I didn’t feel any passages.”
“Tea? I didn’t know Priest Dongbaek drank tea... oh, that spellwork is fascinating!” Helena’s eyes are almost painfully bright. It reminds me distantly of the turquoise sheen they’d taken in the Delve, with subtly narrowed pupils. “I haven’t studied non-structured manipulation... hm.”
I bite back the urge to correct her. It's technically structured, barely so, like two sticks and a tarp making a tent.
Helena shuffles out of the way to let Gelson step between us. Gelson crouches down to poke at the flattened pile of dust, brow furrowed, but offers no explanation for her actions. There’s other things within it, little bits of color among the gray, and I watch on in confusion as she plucks some out and inspects them.
At least until she shoots up with a massive, unsettling grin on her face. There’s something in her palm, more brown and gold than gray and black. “Look. Tracer, over here.”
He looks at it. I look at it. He groans, and once the connections happen in my head, my tail slaps into the wall hard enough for it to creak. I do it again for good measure.
“Really. Really?” I bite back a curse, then think better of it and spout a few in old Imperial Common. “With Adamantine as my witness, this is... stupid. Idiotic.” Infuriating.
“But it makes sense. The hours line up,” Tracer sighs.
“Um?” Helena interjects, biting her lip. “I... ah...”
“It’s enough, unfortunately,” Gelson says, her voice unusually soft. “As long as we can confirm the other element. Helena, I will have to ask you to say nothing.”
“I don’t,” Helena’s hands clench and unclench, and she fidgets in place. “I can’t, because I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Thank you, Helena,” Tracer says evenly. “Just trust us. The Dame, if you’d rather not trust the law.”
"Tracer, gather the constables. Take Helena with you. Dame, please come with me." Gelson removes a tiny bag from her satchel, and pours the dust into it. "We'll bring everyone together in the sitting room."
"You've a plan?" I smirk, uncrossing my arms.
She tells me her plan.
It is a very good plan.
