Pilara - Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The deposition received from Sendil Ramas shone light on nothing but the guard's own inability to properly patrol a museum. A pair of gauntlets stemming from one of Faralon Masser's first expeditions had been taken, the placard below the now-empty case reading 'The Gloves of Oro'volun'. This was of little significance to De'lauclan; a report of the gauntlets from years past had been uncovered, describing a battery of magical tests that had been run. Ultimately, the artifact was deemed nothing more than a piece of useless history, merely ornate handguards from a long-dead Ra'kulan warrior.

This suited the head of Letennia's Inspector's Society just fine, seeing as how a double homicide committed by what could prove to be a dangerous beast roaming the city streets was of infinitely more importance. He tapped his chin as he went over the little evidence he had, nothing more than two butchered prostitutes and an alley soaked in blood.

Examinations of the alley turned up a pair of jagged rips along the stone walls, similar to those on the victims. The grooves were impossibly deep within the granite, which worried Ramn further.

Pushing himself up from his seat, he paced the office, hands behind his back as he thought. Inspector De'lauclan's base of operations was in the Society's mansion, at the top floor; this didn't speak for much, as it was a mid-sized three story building in the middle of Market District, overshadowed by the headquarters for various trading companies, law firms, and well-to-do homes of the owners of them.

Letennia's Inspector's Society had been founded by De'lauclan's great-grandfather, Tagert De'lauclan, in AR 997. Started by himself and four others, the Society garnered a reputation for undertaking more 'supernatural' cases in the city, from deaths via magical means to the theft of mystical artifacts. The Society's leadership, a position known as the Chief Inspector, had managed to stay in the De'lauclan name ever since, passing from father to son, or brother to brother, and in one case brother to sister. Ramn De'lauclan was the newest of the family to have attained the title, taking it from his uncle four years prior.

The Chief Inspector's office was essentially caked in relics of his past accomplishments, some being picture framings of himself at the scenes of arrests of the city's worst criminals. On his desk, a simple affair made of a brown oak, sat a large fang from a wyvern that had gotten itself into the sewer system and ravaged storehouses by night, currently being used a paperweight. Parts of the small office almost seemed like a hunter's lodge, with a pair of horns from a black elk mounted above the door and an ornate arquebus used to killed the beast on a rack opposite of it.

De'lauclan's quiet contemplation was broken as Meck barrelled through the door, stumbling over the frame and nearly crashing headfirst into a wall.

"I'm so glad I hired you, Meck. A mercenary with finesse and grace is integral to our system here," murmured De'lauclan with a bemused face. The mercenary ran a deeply tanned hand through greasy black hair, grinning sheepishly. "Y'keep me 'round fer' my stunnin' good looks'n'charismer."

Fighting off the need to comment on the Maharran's pronounciation of the word charisma, De'lauclan reached to his belt and tugged a small gray-wrapped smokestick out, pressing the end of it into the corner of his mouth. The man brought his fingers to the end of it and snapped them. A small spark of flame popped as he did so, and he began puffing on the Telgradian tobacco. "Got anything for me?" De'lauclan's use of magic was an every day thing for an Inspector; every member of the Society was expected to have basic experience with the various schools of magic, and most came from magical backgrounds.

"Oh, yeah, course I do. 'ere," the mercenary said, shoving a paper into his employer's hands. After a moment, the red-haired detective frowned.

"This is for the museum case. I told the Council I found the murder to be infinitely more important."

"Well, seein' as how yer' the only Inspector around right now seein' how the rest o' the Society's off for the Harvest Festival, they want'cha to focus on what," Meck straightened, almost gaining five inches in height as he rose out of the slouch and adopted an extremely noble sounding voice, dripping with sarcasm, "... is deemeed best for the city of Letennia."

De'lauclan cursed and crumpled up the paper, tossing it into a wastebin and grabbing for his trenchcoat. The old leather affair had seen its fair share of days, sporting a few burn marks from a rogue pyromancer the Winterslight before last on the breast and a patched-up claw mark from a Ra'kulan drug runner adorning the left sleeve.

"Let's go, we're visiting the Menagerie."

---

The vacation week of Harvest Festival resulted in the Grand Menagerie being rather populated, children and their parents bouncing back and forth from cage to cage. One little boy 'ooo'ed and 'ahh'ed at the large felines, a shrieking tiger letting out its high-pitched namesake to the child's content. Further away, a group of youngsters pushed and shoved in line to be able to sit on the back of a domesticated ursinopterix, a cow-sized mammal/avian hybrid that resembled a bear spliced with an eagle.

All around, the general populace seemed to be enjoying the caged beasts, little ones giggling with glee while the parents either enjoyed their childrens' reactions, or the wealth of information about each rare species of animal set on pedastal in front of each cage.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying their day except for a short, snobbish little man dressed in a dull gray attire, patting a nearly bald forehead free of nervous sweat as he crept about the zoo. He seemed to be looking for somebody as he chewed at his nails, and nearly fainted when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Didn't mean to startle you, Mr. Leroune," De'lauclan said as the head of the Menagerie spun around, gasping for breath. A nearby set of chit-monkeys roared with excitement as they watched Leroune, which seemed to injuriate him; the mongrels had a habit of point and laughing every time he walked by. 'Precious creatures to be preserved... my rear,' the little man thought.

"It's q-q-quite alright, Inspector. Right t-this way," Leroune stammered, adjusting a set of small glasses that rested on the edge of his nose, causing him to look upwards no matter who he seemed to be talking to. The Head of Operations at the Menagerie lead De'lauclan, followed by a short, somewhat clumsy mercenary, further towards a main building, housing the offices of staff and a Welcome center of sorts for the exhibits and creatures.

---

Leroune swung the door to the cold-room open, wisps of sublimating ice trickling out into the hallway. De'lauclan gave a look to Meck and walked inside, the mercenary taking post outside the door. Leroune shut the door behind them and followed the inspector, stepping up to a table.

The Menagerie's facilities for dissection and the examination of deceased bodies were the only sort in the city. The cold-room they entered was kept frigid by a layer of magically summoned ice, replenished every month by mages specializing in elemental spells. Storage vaults for deceased creatures to be readied through taxidermy or cleaned for skeletal displays at the Museum were kept here as well, enchanted in the same manner. The Inspector's Society frequently made use of the cold-storage in homicide cases, before the bodies were given to families for burial or simply incinerated.

On a two tables in the middle of the room lay a pair of covered forms, and De'lauclan unceremoniously tugged one sheet free. The battered corpse of one of the prostitutes was revealed, and Leroune gasped in a high-pitched tone.

"Now now Mr. Leroune, you've seen bodies before," the detective murmured, biting back an amused smile at the frail man's fear.

"It's not that, it's just... so..."

"Vicious? Yes, I know," De'lauclan paced across to the other table, unveiling the more butchered of the two, the decapitated head and arm of the poor blonde resting where they should have been while attached. "I'd like to ask you, Mr. Leroune, if there's a chance you have something you'd like to confess, right now."

The squirrelly man blinked, pulling off his fog-covered glasses and wiping them on his shirt, replacing them clumsily. "I-I-I don't understand what you m-mean, Inspector."

"Surely you see the way these women have died, sir. Obviously the work of some sort of beast. I've already contacted the watch, and there have been no creatures delivered here for display, nor have any monster incursions to the city been reported for weeks." He grimaced, thinking about a group of wemika, a dog-like species with crocodillian heads and tails, that had hunted the streets of Letennia a month ago.

"No! All of our animals are accounted for, I did a s-s-sweep of the grounds this morning!" Leroune stammered, walking up quickly to begin inspecting a body.

De'lauclan rubbed at his stubbly chin, thinking for a moment. "Are you aware of any blood-drinking creatures that might be in this region?" Further examinations of the scene of the crime showed that while there was an enormous of blood splashed through the alleyway, there simply wasn't enough of it, as the bodies had been nearly drained of all fluids

The smaller man shook his head quickly as he examined the corpse, seeming to calm down a bit. "No, Inspector, nothing that would have left bodies."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean, the fact t-that both of these bodies, save the ways that they were killed, are perfectly intact," Leroune had retrieved a scalpal from a tray next to the table, pushing, prodding, and inspecting the woman's form. "Internal organs were torn up a bit, but there's nothing distinctly missing."

"Go on." De'lauclan leaned against the wall, watching the man as he hypothesized.

"Well, if we were dealing with something vampiric, there would be bite marks, and the creature would have refrained from killing the victims as it did. V-very messy and there is too much blood loss to effectively feed." He motioned towards the decapitated prostitute, "If it were a carnivorous beast, it would have most likely torn the girl's arm off and then eaten it. If not that, SOME part of either of their bodies."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Inspector Delauclan, I have no reason to believe these women were killed by a beast of some manner. The wounds are bizarre and uncharacteristic of a wild animal, with no evidence of hairs, fur, scales, etcetera that might have been loosed during the struggle."

De'lauclan pushed off of the wall, his face twisted in thought, his brain going a thousand miles a minute. "No way whatsoever this was a beast?"

"Impossible, I'd have to s-s-say." Leroune looked up as he set the scalpal to the side, to find the tail of the detective's trenchcoat disappearing out the door, his mercenary companion shuffling after him.