The Wielder of Death Magic

‘What an interesting fellow,’ thought Igna, memories of the proceedings couldn’t be clearer, ‘-their kind really exist,’ he pulled through the astounded shuffles of a listless crowd, lighting a cigar in the process. Yonder to the sky, a somber veil flipped. An ominous gust brought in mild flutters to the concrete ground, the lightness dulled to match against the overhanging veil.

‘Run through the events,’ the platform altered, the signs displayed Rosespire. A hefty gathering waited for the train impatiently. Signs of the coming shower had many take refuge, no heed to the weather, he sat and puffed. Mothers viciously growled to which an understanding nod, sarcastic in nature, returned their way. The guards on duty didn’t see much of a problem. ‘-A humble train ride heralded a matter of great interest. Where to start,’ the eyes shut in reflection, ‘-encounter with the eloped couple was one very amorous. Her melancholic gaze before the man’s arrival, the image’s stuck, her humble clothes(what the wealthy considered humble) served to fool the normal masses. However, the lavishness in the dull-colored couldn’t have fooled me. Thus, I met her, the lady whomst remains a mystery. The cabin door slid by the efforts of a man, they locked into a profound kiss, efficiently rendering the atmosphere awkward. We didn’t speak much, first-class cabins aren’t often booked, there, we exchanged goodbyes. At that moment, I thought privacy to be of utmost importance for the duo. Faint smiles on their faces, the doors slid one last time. Briefcase in hand, I made my way to the restaurant, yes, for transit of Dorchester and Riverwood, luxury was granted to those of deep pockets.’

“Greeting my lord,” said a chipper bartender, “-what might I fix for you?” he asked, tapping the dark-brown counter.

“Is tea available?” inquired a gentleman from the side, promptly nodding his head as our introduction. I thought nothing of the matter and pulled my tablet from the case, éclair kept pestering, a fact which remained unchanged throughout.

“Tea, my lord?” fired the keeper, rising his nervous gaze, previously hidden under a cap.

“Yes, tea,” said the gentleman nonchalantly, “-my dear,” a shimmer washed through his face, “-are you nervous?”

.....

“Yes,” returned the keeper, “-it shouldn’t be an issue,” he smiled.

“Truly it is something to be worried about,” returned the gentleman, “-the fingers are chipped, your body’s trying to fight out the shirt and the cap, my friend, are you perhaps not a bartender?”

“And?” the nervousness dwindled, “-I’ll take it from here,” said another similarly dressed keeper, “-I apologize for my colleague’s blunder. We do have tea, what kind?”

“Earl tea,” he replied gravely, “-about the man’s demeanor, for one who works one-on-one with customers, the effort’s admirable, alas, the result fails. I say this sincerely, the man, a handyman, should really stick to the profession of choice.”

“Change is never a bad thing,” retorted the new barkeeper, his brazen face locked onto mine, the brows, slightly lifted, inquired to my purpose.

“A whiskey,” I replied.

“Whiskey at this ungodly hour?” commented my unusual drinking partner, “-forgive my asking, why?”

“Preference,” I replied, “-tea, milk, water, every man has his drink to spring energy in his step. Mine, albeit of the tipsy family, is a great companion to drown out the world’s trouble.”

“Elaborate response,” the drinks arrived in tandem, “-quite an intriguing fellow. Good day sire,” he tipped his head and shuffled to the back, I sat, uninterested by the encounter and sipped. Reports flooded my device – time must have skipped forward for the next memory is of a loud scream. At said time, most guests were at the restaurant, fancying their pallets with delectables. The train guards, ready for action, ran past, ignorant to the patrons. Dismayed snickers echoed; annoyance rattled the calm air.

“Murder,” said a shaky tone, “-there’s been a murder,” rampaged from the cabin area. A perimeter suddenly rose, two muscular figures stepped into the direct path to the cabin. Chatter skipped from table to table – a singular piece of information unleashed morbid curiosity. My rather strange partner rose from his seat, knowing full-well the guards blocked the doorway, “-excuse me,” he skipped forward, “-here’s my badge, I’m a detective.”

“Detective or not, the appropriate official will take command of the situation,” said one.

“Silence,” elbowed the other, “-that’s Count Avian Stark, from the documentary, remember?”

“OH,” escaped the roundish man’s mouth, “-I didn’t recognize you. Please, step on in,” the pathway cleared, knowing or not, he shot a presumptuous wink at my seat and moved along. The wink was one inviting, advantage to being a noble,’ I displayed the family crest, ‘-is, I can do whatever I want.’

“Highness,” said the guards, “-please step on in, we only ask for thee not to interject against the investigating officers.”

“I’m but an observer today,” I replied.

The once-tight hallway closed even greatly, stuffy men bore the ‘dream dad’s body,’ of which was facial hair paired to an exceedingly hefty belly. At times, slithering past the pillars of meat felt arduous, the scenery outside past hastily. The trek halted at last, “-has anyone touched the bodies or scene before I arrived?”

“No, why does it matter?” fired an audibly important personage.

“Is it not obvious?” the focus briefly lifted to the questioner; “-an oaf brain can only comprehend so much. I’ve seen the state of the guards in employment, the company should be ashamed of such a show. No matter,” he refocused below, “-we’re in quite the predicament,” until said point, voices projected a short mental image, nothing major. My crest sufficed till I veered my head into a literal representation of hell.

Blood splattered across the walls, two bodies, the lovers, died arm in arm. The man knelt with head to her lady’s legs, a knife cleanly dug in his back through skin and bone, as for the lady, she bore the same melancholic expression, a clean-cut went along her throat, her left hand-dipped in a crimson color, laid face up in a cupping gesture atop the seat. A deeper scan revealed naught save the imprints of soles.

“Whiskey man,” hailed the curious gentleman.

“Rather crude,” I return unconcern at the familiar tone, “-would befit a noble to respect another.”

“My o’ my,” he rose from the painful crouch, “-where are my manners, Count Avian Stark, Vian for short.”

“Viscount Igna Haggard, son to the Queen of Arda.”

“Ah,” he scurried as if a child faced by a toy, “-the devil of Glenda, I’ve heard much through my sources. You wouldn’t have knowledge about the duo, would you?”

“Fondly enough, I was in their company just before the train departed. They seemed to have eloped, is that sufficient?”

“Yes, and no,” the posture laid back, uniquely long-fingers reached for a notebook, “-highness, might you be interested in solving the case?”

“No,” I returned nonchalantly, “-it wouldn’t bring much joy. I’m content in watching a famed detective go to work, please, guide me through the process.”

“-AHA!” he exclaimed, “-just the type of response I expected.”

“Count Stark, please, two of our guests have been murdered, now isn’t the time to make friends.”

“Fine,” he spun, “-before we arrived, this officer,” a brief nod, “-was first to the scene. Apparently, an old woman of dubious habits snuck a peek inside. Please, if you would.”

The man, who stood in the hall, came closer to the entrance, “-the cabin was locked when I arrived. The windows are barred and closed. I can’t see any other way of escape.”

“Remember what he said well,” commented Stark, “-doors work rather strangely, once locked the latter can only be opened using a key which is given after the train departs. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, tis standard for any working door, however, there’s the matter of it working without a key. It can be locked from either side, with or without, and only, I repeat, only, unlocked without a key from the inside. To solve the mystery, we ought to know how the duo died. From the looks of the bodies, the gentleman suffered a mortal strike through the heart – notice the clean slash across the lady’s throat. He must have shielded the lady, died, afterward, the murderer took away at her.” Whoever it was must have left the cabin, lock the doors, and leave. Am I correct?” he turned to the prior thunderous voice, “-is it not what thee hypothesized.”

“Yes, the scene speaks much of the violence, why, you think my analysis is faulty?”

“Not necessarily,” he skipped outside and pointed to another guard, “-you,” he gestured, “-you watch the walkway to the restaurant, right?”

“What’s the report to this case!” argued the hot-headed man.

“It does, the couple didn’t leave their cabin. I’m sure lord Igna can attest. There are only two paths, the left heads further towards the washroom and cabins, whilst the right heads to the restaurant.”

“Yes, I didn’t see them,” confirmed the guard.

“See, there’s the proof. Your theory is held by the narrative that someone else entered the room, killed the couple, and left. Thing is, the couple locked the door, elopement brings paranoia.”

“How? They could have forgotten to lock the door, could happen.”

“Wrong again,” said Stark, “-Sir Henso, the answer lays in the windows, they’re closed. What sort of people only shut the window and not the door, the premise is ruined.”

“Windows could have been closed when they arrived.”

“No, the windows were clearly open,” I replied.

“See,” he winked, “-Lord Igna served as my witness. The state of the bodies isn’t very much natural. The possibility of a third party isn’t completely out of the picture. Look again, the lady, she died painlessly, I wonder,” he moved closer, “-the murder weapon, look at the handle. Lord Igna,” a glance over his shoulder, “-please, come see this.”

I leaned over, “-Yes, what about it?”

“A standard issued knife used by the workers from the import-export department, highly taxing work on the body,” a glee washed his eye, “-the mystery’s solved.”

“Excuse me?” gritted Henso.

“Worry not old friend, you were on the correct track. Closed window and door and biggest giveaway is the lady’s finger. Lord Igna, confirm this for me, was the lady right or left-handed?”

“Left-handed, she sat opposite me and held her book with the left hand.”

“Look at the blood on her fingers, the melancholic expression on her face. The door was very much locked. Could you bring the barkeeper over?” a helper ran to carry the errand.

“What are you plotting?”

“Can we lift the man’s body?”

“Sure,” they shrugged, it felt wrong to part the couple. Part of me understood where he wanted to take the theory, he needed confirmation, as soon as the body dragged to the opposite seat, the theory turned reality, “-blood on the sleeve,” he remarked, “-splatters on the shoulder and chest,” he smirked, “-I firmly say, the mystery has been solved.”

Loud clashes sprinted to the hallway, “-nowhere to be found,” panted the helper.

“Search for the man!” he ordered; the guard mobilized. I watched the folly unfold, curiously enough, Henso wasn’t very impressed. Twenty minutes remained before us and Riverwood.

“Tell us what happened already?” sighed Henso. Notes scribbled brazenly, Stark paid no heed, the deep grey pupils wandered from spot to spot, searching and thinking of potential outcomes. The pencil halted abruptly, “-here’s what happened.”