Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 15 - Lead II
🕑 Added 2025-02-10 12:47:01 +0000 UTCI stared at the temple, a pensive frown growing on my face as I looked it over.
I’d never seen a temple to Savareth before, as important as the ocean was to Anglea’s trade. I couldn’t be sure how heavily the leaking Diabolism from the murder had altered this place, but I couldn’t imagine it normally looked like this.
A massive grey and red clam sat at the end of the docks, its open shell clamping down on the sides of what was probably a building. A door and windows, embedded in walls made of barnacles and sea urchin spines sticking out among them. Something about how the temple doors and circular window up above remained symmetrical in that organic mass was more disturbing than if it had been entirely sea life.
We rolled closer, nearing the line of Watch officers. A smaller picket crew than at yesterday’s crime scene, a half dozen bored Watch members, idly waving away members of the public. The only standout member was Walston, engaged in a fierce discussion with the two bishops.
“Good,” Voltar said behind me, peering out of the carriage window. “The corruption didn’t reach the building’s exteriors.”
“It’s supposed to look like that?” I murmured. The mass of sea life crawled over the docks beyond the clamshell’s. Barnacles, sea sponges, and other marine life filled the end of the dock, leaving not a speck of wood to be seen. How could it even support the weight?
“Savareth is a deity of the seas first,” Gregory said. “All of the seas.”
Well, maybe she should consider that not many people in Avernon lived in the sea. Or in the Nover, which technically was a liquid. I supposed.
The lack of a large Watch presence did mean less gawkers. A mid-size crowd, maybe forty people total, a mixture of orc and Keltish labourers for the most part with a couple of outliers. They seemed more engrossed in the ongoing yelling match between Bishops and Watch Captain. Well, one bishop.
“-you shall not defy me again, Captain! Halspus is dedicated to the thwarting of evildoers wherever they may walk!”
“Last I checked, Semiv was the patron of Watchmen, Bishop. And while I appreciate your concerns over another deity’s temple being broken into, I reiterate this is our concern.”
Walston’s gravelly voice didn’t even need to be raised to match the Bishop’s in volume, if not in intensity. I smirked at the clear irritation in her tone though. Sounded like Gallapsie making a spectacle of this while the Watch was trying to keep people from realizing a priest had died. I could understand Walston’s irritation, trying not to cause a panic over all of this. I still was going to appreciate how good Father Gallaspie was at irritating everyone around him.
The only returning priests were the two bishops, although Gallaspie had brought a new face. A reedy bespectacled acolyte wearing a robe with Halspus’ golden sunburst on the front stuck close to the bishop, writing down notes as Gallaspie argued with Walston.
The crowd watched with some interest as our carriage passed through the picket line, past a few feet. Murmured whispers only grew louder as Voltar and Dawes exited the carriage.
To my shock, they seemed almost as loud as I left. Must be spotting an Infernal outside the quarter, it was still somewhat rare.
Bishop Gallaspie’s face tightened as both I and Gregory exited the carriage.
“That is where you were?” he thundered. “I knew that those who follow Tarver think little of the consequences or realities of their actions, and I expected little, and yet you disappoint. Tempted by th-”
“I kidnapped him,” I interrupted bluntly. “And chained him up in my basement. Nothing else happened.”
The Bishop paused mid-tirade, seemingly dumbstruck by the blunt admission to the crime. The blonde acolyte by his side seemed even more incensed, sputtering out in an outraged squawk something about my immoral character.
“She did not do anything to me I haven’t agreed to before, Bishop,” Gregory said cheerfully as if I hadn’t been yelling at him less than an hour ago. “Actually, she has been quite a help to me recently. I unfortunately blundered into a dangerous situation and Miss Harrow helped pull me out of it.”
A bit of creative rewriting of me putting a bullet in Donald Tyler’s head, but I was hardly going to correct him.
“Blundered into,” the blonde said with a sneer. “Really Montague, did you end up with that appendage that controls your brain deep in some-”
“Helped me handle a diabolist, which is more than I think you could do,” I drily noted. “Where were you last night?”
My interruption derailed the blonde, who faltered but managed a decent recovery, chest puffing up. “I was assisting Bishop Gallaspie with-”
“If you didn’t kill a diabolist, you were less help than him,” I said, talking over him. “So-”
“You-” Gallaspie started, roaring to the defense of his acolyte, while Bishop Derrick looked down into the Nover, nothing but embarrassment on that weathered face.
If she wanted to drown herself, she might want to pick a river that wouldn’t melt her first.
“Bishop Gallaspie,” Voltar interrupted. “What a pleasure it is to see you today! Captain Walston, why are you barring our good friend entry to the crime scene?”
That took Gallaspie off-balance, as Walston’s eyes widened just a little. Pretty soon all three of them, and Derrick, were busy talking about that, giving me a chance to slink back out of sight, Gregory following me.
Not exactly welcome after earlier, but more welcome than the lickspittle who looked like he wanted to bite into my throat.
“Whose the blonde?” I whispered.
“Michael Forcreek,” Gregory whispered back. “Bishop Gallespie’s personal assistant. Met him once. Even more stuck up than the Bishop.”
“Impossible,” I murmured. “How did he become a bishop? I have to know.”
“He’s more personable around people of a certain type,” Gregory muttered back.
I paused. Me, I could understand. Filthy degenerate Infernal, here to steal your souls, your lives, and all your men and women, thank you. Captain Walston though? What could his-oh.
“Halspus has non-Anglean members among his clergy, does he not?” I whispered back. Maybe not subtly enough, Fourcreek was staring at me in suspicion. His boss remained engaged by debating Voltar and Walston. I gave him a little wave. He replied with a sign of his god that made my skin tingle a little.
“Yep, and both they and the bishop put a lot of effort into avoiding each other for the good of the church.”
The debate concluded pretty quickly, since Voltar wanted both Bishops inside anyway, and just needed to get Walston on board. She seemed willing, or at least willing to trust Voltar had a good reason.
Huh. The Watch had seemed somewhat sour on Voltar during the shape-changer case, what had changed since then?
Oh, wait. I glanced over at Tagashin. Hrrm. Yeah, a few weeks of dealing with her disguised as Voltar may have exhausted the Watch’s collective patience with him. Over years of good cases though? No wait, this was Tagashin.
Easily possible.
“I do apologize,” I lied insincerely when asked to make good with Forcreek. “It was a very long evening, I didn’t get much sleep and I lashed out.”
“I suppose one must account for the unstable nature associated with your kind,” he said in a tone that made that sound like some kind of solemn musing on whichever ‘kind’ I belonged to that had an unstable nature. I gave a small polite smile, and resisted the urge to see what his Adam’s apple tasted like.
The gist of the discussion up this, which I’d paid attention to but kept myself out of, was that Walston had been stalling the two bishops. They’d arrived soon after the Watch had gotten here, in a series of events that Walston was covering as we walked along the docks to the temple.
“Patrol Officer Raleigh spotted a cloaked figure leaving the temple at dawn,” she said as we closed the distance. More people were gathering now that Voltar had made an appearance. Reporters would make their way here next, I suspected. At least it being on a pier meant access would be limited.
“He entered the temple, saw the body, and immediately shut the doors,” Walston continued. “Blew his whistle, got a whole squad here, and they sent a runner. Soon after these three showed up, claiming that they’d detected a massive surge of divine power.”
“We did not come immediately,” Gallaspie growled. “It took an hour to get here, and if you talked to any temple nearby, you’d know that probably every priest in a mile felt that. Someone personally called on divine intervention to purify this place before the corruption could spread.”
“Our killer?” Dawes asked, only to get a scouring glare from Gallaspie he met without seeming impressed.
“Possibly,” Bishop Derrick said more calmly than her fellow bishop. “Although the chance of some practicing both Diabolism and Divine magic is extremely slim. Or perhaps an intervention on our behalf, and if that’s the case they may have spotted the killer.”
‘Extremely slim’? Still hoping to hide the program’s existence as long as they could. We were finally approaching the temple itself, when something caught my eye.
I looked at what lay beyond the pier the temple was situated on in disbelief.
“Is that-?”
“It is,” Voltar confirmed, looking down at it. “I can understand your disbelief but yes, it is the Nover.”
“It looks like water,” I muttered, staring at the flowing, liquid river. It wasn’t crystal clear, instead a murky brown, but it was water. “It can’t be water though. It’s the Nover.”
“Well, this is a temple to Savareth,” Gregory said. “Deities of the ocean can make even the Nover bend to their will. To an extent.”
True. More than a few dozen feet out, the Nover returned to its stagnant, squalid self. But still, it was unnerving seeing even just a patch of it move at a pace faster than sludge.
“You look like you could leave your hoof in there for a few hours and it wouldn’t have dissolved half of it,” I muttered. “Hells, it might not even be flammable anymore.”
Walston coughed, and we continued to the door itself.
“The priestess inside was Stormspeaker Leliel Starken,” Captain Walston said. “Well-respected in the community, so let’s try to keep disturbance of the corpse to a minimum.”
I could understand her desire to not rile the citizenry up but in all honesty? The diabolist who’d killed her likely would have done more than enough in that regard.
The doors opened, and the exterior put the interior to shame.
Rough, unpolished, uncarved stone formed the interior, no strange sea life or massive clamshells. Stone benches, although cushions had been planted on them as a concession to people’s comfort.
There was no one inside but us. I eyed the floor, where a massive circle in the middle had been replaced by glass. You could see through it into the Nover, and even in the murky water the occasional passing fin.
At the far end of the church, a statue of a mermaid was perched on a weathered rock, arms gesturing upwards. Watery waves carved out of coastal stone followed the direction of her arms up towards the center of the church’s ceiling.
In the center of that glass circle? Stormspeaker Starken.
As opposed to last time, the body wasn’t posed, instead lying on the ground, curled in a fetal position. Fins poked out from tears in her clothing, thick and rubbery as they fanned out all around her. A lifeless fish’s eye stared at the ceiling along her back, smaller ones dotting her skin. The ones in her face had been forced to the side of her head, swelled and almost falling out of their sockets.
Her limbs hadn’t gone unscathed. Her legs were flippers now, longer than they had any right to be. One arm a crab’s pincer, split into three of them in fact. The other a mass of tentacles.
“Did she always look like this?” I whispered to Gregory. Her face looked a little like the Savareth priestess from yesterday. However, between now rubbery skin and being half-forced into a fish’s shape, it was hard to tell for certain.
“No,” he whispered back sharply, looking down at the corpse. “She did not.”
I bent down, examining the body closer but not touching it just yet. There was a thin film on her skin, wet and oozing. It slowly traveled down to the floor, congealing into a growing puddle.
“I don’t think there’s any diabolism left,” I said, pulling out my diabolism focus. “But definitely gloves for this one. No idea what this slime is, but limited exposure seems best.”
A touch of the focus proved that. Also proved there was nothing in the air, which was a more mild concern. Entire world was lucky how much raw diabolic energy needed to be pumped out to make air corruptive.
“Now,” Voltar said. “Before we examine the body, I believe there is something else that should be discussed first. A matter of information to be shared.”
Gallaspie fixed a hateful glare on Gregory, nearly matched in intensity by his little toady. “You informed them?”
Bishop Derrick sighed, moving in between Gallaspie and the rest of us. “While it is hardly his place to decide if they should know, I am sure it was to help the investigations Matthew.”
“In actuality, we discovered it before talking with Gregory,” Voltar said.
“They discovered the training chamber,” Gregory told the bishops. “When they asked, I figured hiding it would gain nothing but ill will. And we need help that is not…suspect.”
“A diabolist, two if you count the one in the coach,” Gallaspie said. “A meddler, something disguising itself, and whatever you are.”
I was amazing how he managed to somehow make that last one the most insulting, Dawes face tightening while Voltar’s expression darkened.
“If our help is not wanted,” Voltar said coldly. “We can always leave. You can try and ferret out who this is, who in your program has decided to cull your own ranks, or we can leave this to you and the Watch?”
I quietly got back to my hooves, taking a few steps back as Voltar and Gallaspie glared at each other. The entire room had gone silent, Walston adding a glare of her own to the back of the bishop’s head, and Gallaspie’s toady, Forcock I think? He was glaring at her, to her apparent indifference.
Bishop Derrick coughed awkwardly, an awkward grin stretching the aged lines of her face.
“Mr. Voltar,” she said apologetically. “I’m sure Bishop Gallaspie did not intend that. We appreciate any help offered but you can understand why we are perhaps upset that this program’s existence is known?”
Walston looked between the two of them, then cursed.
“You could have told me about this before we entered here,” she snapped at Voltar.
“I just confirmed it recently myself,” he replied calmly. “Bishops, I’m willing to stay on this case, but we need cooperation, not stonewalling.”
Gallaspie and Derrick traded glances, and the Halpsusian bishop shook his head.
“I disagreed with this from the beginning Lillian,” he said gruffly. “Now it is come down upon all our heads.”
“I am aware Matthew,” she said tiredly. “Since you’ve tried to drill that thought in my head since the first killing last night. Mr. Voltar, what can we answer for you?”
“For now?” Voltar said. “Nothing. I’d rather we discuss this topic in a place with a warm crackling fire, away from death. I just want assurance of cooperation. For now, let us handle examining Miss-”
“Stormspeaker,” Gregory corrected gently but firmly.
“-Stormspeaker Starken’s body. Miss Harrow, Doctor Dawes?”
Sighing, I followed Voltar to the corpse.
“First, our victim has clearly been posed in a mockery of Savareth’s circles,” Voltar noted. “Between the flippers her legs have been turned into dragged into forming a circle with her back, and her arms being dragged down to meet her waist.”
Hrrm. I’d simply thought she’d collapse to the floor in the middle of the murderous ritual.
“Fish and sea life are typically associated with envy,” I said, leaning down. “Voltar, do you want me to leave the corpse in place?”
He looked over the body quickly, then shook his head. “Lividity is hard to tell with the disfiguring of the skin. Let me check for any trace elements before you move her?”
“If you think you can get anything that’s not just diabolic contaminants, be my guest,” I said, eyeing the oozing slime and mucus.
He gingerly moved the patches of hair left on her face, looking for the back of her head. He wore thick leather gloves, and I tensed as they touched her skin. No hissing, so whatever the slime was, acidic it was not.
“Discolored flesh,” he noted. “Darker coloration, potentially consistent with ruptured blood vessels. Dr. Dawes?”
Dawes joined him, keeping a cautious distance.
“Looks consistent,” he agreed. “I’d need time with the body to confirm, but just from here, I’d say a blow to the head, probably with a blunt object. Will time with the body be an issue?”
“I have tea with High Stormspeaker Galven tomorrow,” Bishop Derrick said. “I’ll talk to him about delaying her joining the sea until you have time to examine the body doctor.”
“An interesting change in our killer’s technique,” Voltar noted, putting Leliel’s head back down on the floor. “Our killer didn’t trust whatever methods got them close to Father Reginald to work for his next target. Perhaps realizing that his victims will be more cautious after the first one dies. Decided to arrange for her to be dazed and incapable of fighting back instead of relying on a prior relationship and letting them get close. Still, shouldn’t assume anything just yet. Hands show signs of defensive wounds, same with arms. Let’s just move the sleeves all the way back.”
I frowned as I looked at the abrasions and bruising on the skin as Voltar moved her sleeves. It was entirely possible this was just discoloration, or even trauma from the forced transformation, but if it wasn’t.
“She fought back but didn’t use magic?” I asked.
“Potentially,” Voltar said, carefully prying Leliel’s clenched fist open. “Well, isn’t this interesting?”
A scrap of fabric had been clutched inside her closed fist. Voltar stood up, bringing it close enough to see properly.
Crimson and silk, with a line of blue running through it. The make of the material was pretty clear to me.
“Dress piece,” I muttered. “Our diabolist is a woman then?”
“Or inclined to wear women’s clothing. Either to throw us off the scent, or because it’s now they dress. Don’t be so close-minded.”
Voltar frowned though, turning his attention back to the corpse.
“Does seem interesting that the body was clearly moved afterwards and they didn’t notice. Potential attempt to throw us off, although we should try and trace the cloth anyway.”
“Or the killer was in a hurry,” Dawes said. “Perhaps not expecting her to fight back at all. If they surprised her and the first blow was to the back of her head, they might have expected her to collapse immediately. Instead she fought back and spooked them?”
“A good point,” Voltar said. “Miss Harrow, a hand pulling her robe aside? I just need to see the stomach.”
With some difficulty, we got the clothing move on Leliel’s swollen frame.
“Signs of blunt force trauma to the stomach. So, she got hit in multiple places, did not use divine magic to fight back. Interesting.”
“Or the diabolic,” I noted. “She might not have a focus on hand, but there are tricks easy enough for even novices without it. Was Stormspeaker Starken a poor hand to hand fight?”
Bishop Derrick shook her head. “I have no idea. Not something we really tested for. She was rather athletic, tended to spend time on the docks helping worshippers, so she wasn’t in poor shape.”
“She was at the crime scene of Father Reginald,” I noted. “How many of that group were Diabolists?”
“Close to none,” Gallaspie said. “None of the church leaders in the organization are supposed to practice.”
“Leliel was both the representative and the trainee,” Bishop Derrick said, closing the corpse’s eyes. “Savareth’s following has always been small, especially compared to how important the seas are to our nation, and the amount of clergy reflects this.”
“She talked about it?” I asked, scraping a few of the scales into a vial for testing later. Likely just more diabolism to be found in there, but it paid to be thorough. The slime as well, and a small sample of the blubbery flesh.
More of the former was sliding off of flesh onto the ground, yet still her skin was covered in a heavy film of it.
“Quite often,” Gallaspie said, standing stiffly as he looked down at the body. “Not a day went by without her complaining about how her goddess deserved more followers. Perhaps if her barnacle of a deity didn’t cause storms and chaos as well as pleasant seas, more actually would worship her instead of tossing out prayers so a storm doesn’t hit their house.”
The light of the sun dimmed inside the temple. The dock underneath shuddered. A foreboding snap of a board beginning to break accompanied the sound of creaking wood growing louder. The floor tilted, just enough to feel.
Everyone stared at Gallaspie, who himself stared at the statue of the goddess with an unimpressed look. His aide, perhaps possessing more brains than the bishops, glanced towards the door out.
I got up from the corpse, bowing to the goddess’ statue.
“My pardons, Savareth, as I do not normally worship, but I would like to request one thing. If the Bishop must die for his insults, please spare the rest of us.”
Gallaspie’s gaze shifted from the statue to me, but without the fire of earlier. Apparently even he couldn’t be constantly furious. His aide’s gaze more than made up for that though, looking as if I’d pissed in both his and his master’s porridge.
I met it unwaveringly and just as unimpressed as the Bishop’s glare at Savareth’s statue. I didn’t worship deities. I never had much use for them. I did know better than to insult them inside their own temples, especially one recently desecrated.
“Bishop Derrick, it sounds like what you described is an expression of envy,” I said. “An understandable one that no one would normally begrudge someone in Leliel’s position, but perhaps something our murderer might have latched onto?”
She mulled it over, a cautious eye on Gallaspie and Forcreek, then nodded.
“Someone closely acquainted then?”
“She was not quiet about her complaints,” Gallaspie said, moving closer. He stood as straight as he could, a full head taller than me as he got within a foot.
I met his gaze evenly, vaguely aware of Forcreek moving closer as well but I focused on the bishop.
“I can’t say either way,” I said. “I never knew her, but I doubted she routinely complained to her congregation. Unless anyone believes differently?”
“She did not,” Derrick said softly. “Which does point to it being someone who knew her more personally.”
“How often did the program meet if at all?” Voltar asked.
“Once a month,” Bishop Derrick said. “At a minimum. Practice for large-scale rituals, collaborative efforts. Socialization happened as well, which would be harder to keep track of.”
Forcreek cleared his throat, and glanced at Bishop Gallaspie, who stiffly nodded. “Actually, we have detailed records of all meetings between members of the programs, both actual diabolists and everyone else involved. Including social calls, which we are quite sure we tracked all of.”
Silence for a moment after as everyone eyed the acolyte, then Bishop Derrick closed her eyes and sighed. “Matthew.”
“Don’t pretend no one suspected us of doing it,” Bishop Gallaspie replied bluntly, folding his arms across his chest. “Be glad the resource exists now that we need it. And that the Church of Halpsus is willing to share it.”
“Others probably have records,” I noted. “Semiv, and Larreran seem the most likely, but I doubt no one else tried keeping track.”
“Our records are the most comprehensive,” Forcreek said with a frown.
“I don’t doubt that,” I said. “Still, it’s possible they picked up something you might have missed.”
“They are comprehensive,” he insisted, and I held up my hands in mock surrender.
Something to look into when I had a chance.
“In terms of motivation, I think we have a clear one if the killer is part of the program,” Voltar noted. “Not a certainty, but more likely than any other possibility.”
“Attempting to destroy the program,” Bishop Derrick said soberly. “It was one of the first things we considered upon Father Reginald’s death. It has never been a popular idea-“
“For good reason,” Gallespie interjected. “I warned something would happen the moment this program began, and I have been proven right.”
“Killer sees this as a corruption,” Voltar opined. “Sins magnified by tapping into a form of magic they see personally as the greatest sin.”
“They are not necessarily wrong,” Gallaspie muttered, Fourcreeks nodding behind him.
“How would you go about the next move then?” Voltar asked him.
Gallaspie’s face reddened, and then he took a breath. “I assume you are not accusing me of being the killer?”
“Hardly, but you clearly agree with some of their mindset.”
Gallaspie breathed slowly, then mulled it over. “A mess. I would make a mess while trying to save the souls of those corrupted by their good intentions. Merely killing those involved would result in it being tried again. Even those who are in charge, such as myself and Bishop Derrick? There will always be someone along to try such a fool thing again. It would need to be ripped out root and stem.”
“A problem,” Voltar said. “Our killer decides to murder Miss Leliel, and then immediately makes efforts to limit collateral damage. This fits with the idea that they are trying to shut down the program and wish only those directly involved dead. The first murder may have been a mistake, something that slipped their mind in the moment, only to now course correct after the Diabolic corruption made a statue murder several innocent people uninvolced in this.”
“But then the issue arises,” Doctor Dawes said. “Evil, or what others consider evil? It dies slow. Takes time to die. Killing an idea? Especially one that grants power, or worse, you can convince yourself that it’s wielded for the right reasons. So our killer would want something that discredit the program. Diabolism run amuck is that.”
Bishop Derrick nodded solemnly.
“Their existence discredits it,” I pointed out. “A loose cannon who takes a deal that burns themselves out, and in the process makes it clear that the overall damage could have been much worse. Even better, they get agitation within the city against diabolism and anything related to it thanks to how public the murders were. And a high chance it gets found out the program exists.”
“A deal that burns them out?” Bishop Derrick asked.
“Power to deconsecrate a church doesn’t come cheap,” I said. “Can you say none of your Diabolists took a deal without you knowing it?”
Their silence was all the answer I needed as I continued.
“Just a theory. Power of that kind can be gotten three ways. Unless one of your trainees got very lucky or has an interesting lineage, they made another deal. Cast it into the Hells, a begging for power. If you want to accept something ruinous to you, you will get power. And now that person might be running rampant through your program. How do you think the Imperial Government is going to take it?”
“Shouldn’t you know that?” Gallaspie said darkly. “All of you work for it.”
“Contractor,” Voltar said, with Dawes echoing him.
“Over my head,” said Walston.
“Dog!” Tagashin added, and Gallaspie’s gaze turned to me.
“Woof.”
The bishop cursed, then stomped off, muttering angrily. Forcrick was not far behind.
Gregory frowned. I turned my attention back to Leliel Starken’s corpse. More slime. I frowned. While it was entirely possible that this had all slowly dripped off her body while we’d been talking, this seemed far too big a puddle.
“Voltar?” I asked. “I think I have an alternate to both of those theories.”
He frowned, probably thinking I meant the Whisper.
“Everyone away from the slime,” I ordered, and now I had everyone’s attention. Gregory and Dawes moved away, and Tagashin came closer from the door. “Not everything got purified by the killer.”
I was wondering if you would notice, The Imp cackled, the damnable thing finally making it’s presence known. I couldn’t betray a fellow of the Hells.
A low guttural laugh echoed through the temple, and the body of Leliel Starken twitched on the ground.
Comments
UnderwhelmingBird
It's fun to see her bounce off Tagashin's phrasing, there. She can be rather frustrating, but plenty of fun if you're on the right side of the mischief cannon.
