A frantic man paced about his cell, his decorated silk coat trailing behind him as he practically bounced off of the featureless stone walls. He was under arrest for the murder of his wife, and no matter how vehemently he denied it, they refused to listen, which made him absolutely certain that he was being framed, although by whom, it was still unclear. In these days of prosperity, the House of Concordie had many who viewed them with distrust, although few enemies bold enough to risk committing such a heinous crime. He chewed his nails, the ends of his shoulder length golden hair reaching his knuckles as he hunched forward. How could it even have been done except by some cruel magic that mimicked his own?
“Lord Arioste,” came a loud voice from beyond a door.
He recognized it at once and his nervous energy leapt up into throat. He responded with vigor rushing to the bars of the cell, “Hans! Thank the fates you are here, my friend! I had hoped to see you again under better auspices!”
The door opened to reveal the tall figure with a student in robes trailing behind him, as well as his mother, veiled in a shimmer of youthful magic. Hans Hadler tipped his hat without reply, inspecting the man up and down. “You are in poor shape, Lord Arioste. Bruises on your hands, a swollen lip, a rash on your wrists, and your nails filed down to the pink. I don’t need magic to know you were in a physical altercation, most likely with the constabulary officers. And also you’ve been biting your nails.”
“It is quite obvious, isn’t it?” the man’s mother said condescendingly, the dulcet tone of her youthful guise almost like a songbird’s, “To think a member of our esteemed house, no less my own son would be locked away like a swine in a crate.” She held her hand to the bars of the cell.
As she did, the man in the cell shouted, “Mother, no! Those bars are enchanted with-”
Nothing happened as she placed a few fingers on the metal. “They have released you, my son. The name of Concordie holds weight with the city magistrates, but not enough to drop the charges, so upon your release you are to speak with an Inquisitor. You are still to be tried in court for the murder of your wife, and we have only until tomorrow to prove your innocence.”
“Tomorrow?!” the jailed man cried, grasping onto the bars of his cell, “Couldn’t the weight of our name be worth more time? Tomorrow?”
“Names are actually quite weightless, Lord Arioste. Consider yourself lucky to be out on bail at all.” Hadler said with a soft smirk, “And it seems there are parties interested in your downfall.”
The woman interjected, “Our downfall. I suspect House Scai-Silva will be arriving to greet you before long.”
“It must have been her brother,” Arioste growled, his wild eyes still warped by adrenaline, “Bloodthirsty, sadistic dog. To kill Bellona and cast the blame on myself.”
“That is what we’re here to figure out, my lord,” Alam said eagerly. Catching himself, he lowered the tone of his excitement, “And our condolences on your loss. You must still be in grieving.”
“Grief? My boy, do you not recognize fury?!” he bellowed, slamming the cell bars with both of his worn hands, “My Bellona asphyxiated in a pool of her own blood and vomit, paralyzed by some dark magic, and then made to look as if I had a hand in her murder!”
His mother sighed, “That girl had enemies, but she was still a member of House Scai-Silva.”
“House Scai-Silva? I have never heard of them,” Alam pointed out.
The detective answered, “They are a branch family of the larger House Silva, which controls territory to the east of the Imperial border. They splintered to form a trade relationship with the Empire and serve as a march to ease tension along the border. It is no small wonder that they have also elected to marry into the house of diplomats.” He looked back at the old woman, puzzling, “And so their olive branch was a bright, charming, young woman of political importance. To have been slain in such a way would suggest premeditation, and House Silva would gain nothing from severing ties with House Concordie, so there may be other actors at play. Pray tell, what other enemies could she have made?”
“Yes, too many to name. Ignore my foolish son,” the woman said, “He suggests her own flesh and blood to be the perpetrators, but it could never have been them. They stood too much to gain from her inquiries into intermagia. Normally, we would not discuss it with outsiders, but considering the circumstances…” she paused, “She was a member of a research group seeking a means to fuel magic without mnemos.”
Alam raised his hand, “But without it, there’s harmful feedback. Casting magic without using mnemos is like starting a fire with one’s own flesh.”
Hadler seemed deep in thought as he affirmed, “That’s right, which has given mnemos considerable value, to the point where the amount one has stockpiled will determine one’s prestige and authority. To even attempt to upend that power structure would be the equivalent to declaring war on every powerful house in the Empire.”
“That is not how she saw it,” Arioste declared, rattling the bars of his cell once more, “She wished to end the system of enslavement that produces the mnemos we so freely use. Our people’s reliance on it has made us a pariah on the world stage. This research was meant to ease the suffering of people as well as improve our diplomatic edge.”
“Say a major power was aware of her research – why kill her? Why not move instead to be the first to acquire and amass the means to produce a better conduit of magic? In the past, assassinations among noble houses may have been more commonplace, but we live in an enlightened age, with enlightened means to uncover who may have committed this crime.”
“Go on, my friend.”
“I propose we begin our investigation in two stages. We uncover the means by investigating the murder itself. I believe in your innocence, but we must prove it first to ensure you are no longer under suspicion. Afterwards, we shall immediately begin investigating the motive. This is just a hunch, but I suspect that the motive will be the deciding factor in finding the true culprit. I have just one more question. Where were you and what were you doing during the time of the incident?”
“We were asleep together in bed. When I awoke this morning, she was on the ground of our bedroom, dead.”
“What?” Hadler exclaimed in bafflement, “Murdered in an occupied room with no witnesses?”
“I don’t know what it could have been. No curses could survive the wards placed along our manor grounds. It must be poison or some other conventional means. While I may have been in the same room, I do not know when precisely she died.” The jailed man slackened his posture and fell onto the seat in his cell, “Once I speak with this Inquisitor, I shall return to your side post-haste to offer whatever aid I can.” He forced a pained smile, but the wild fury failed to leave his face. “Whoever is responsible shall die as she did,” he shook, tears welling in his frenzied eyes, “Vengeance shall be wrought on them and their kin to every generation…”
“Quiet, boy,” his mother scolded, “The heir of Concordie driven utterly mad by the death of one woman? Gather your wits about you. Foolish son of mine, enraptured by visions of love and idealism like some daydreaming schoolboy. You are a man! Behave like one!”
Hadler nodded, his eyes focused on something beyond the walls of the room as if distracted, “We expect your swift arrival, Lord Arioste. Come, Alam. We must make our way to the Concordie manor at once. There is something most unusual about the timing of all of this I must confirm when we arrive.”
“The timing, Lord Hadler?”
“His discovery of the body in the morning and Lord Arioste’s arrest nearly overlap. It could not be more obvious that he was indeed set up. We first will speak with the key witness, the chief butler of the Concordie household.”
The pair moved to the carriage that had been waiting for them on the cobblestone street. The matriarch bade them farewell with a stiff flick of her hand and left to find another, less menial vehicle. Once they climbed aboard and inside, Alam asked in hushed tones, “What was it, Lord Hadler, that she was researching exactly? How can one fuel magic without using mnemos?”
He leaned into his seat as the carriage began moving and replied, “Strictly speaking, mnemos is not fuel. It is consumed in binding the infinite to the finite, and that is how impossible feats can be performed. Such as it comes from nothing, it returns to nothing, limited only by one’s imagination and ability to draw out the infinite. Thus do I believe it to all be hidden behind a veil. We as a people have become too comfortable with the idea of digging our hands through unknown places.”
“But it’s functionally no different from being a resource that is consumed in casting magic. The Academy teaches us that it is ultimately safe to consider it as fuel.”
“The Academy has a vested interest in ensuring no one is investigating magical interfactants, which is what perhaps the late Lady Bellona was studying. I cannot imagine that they would resort to murder, but that is what we are meant to discover.”
“Interfactant? I have not had a single lesson mention this word.”
“It is short for interface active agent. Mnemos reduces the tension that exists at the interface between reality and fantasy to the point where the two can mix, but the interfaction phenomenon occurs even without the presence of mnemos under very specific circumstances, which can result in uncontrolled effects. The earliest inquiries into magic before the development of intermagia were all accidental studies of this very phenomenon, whether it was an attempt to divine the future via finding patterns in nature, beseech spirits, or discover the cure-all medicine, panacea.”
“It mixes two things that don’t naturally mix.”
“That’s right. There’s nothing natural about magic. We humans who can perform it are committing crimes against nature itself. Perhaps we mages are guilty enough to be put to death.” Although the man’s words were grim, his tone remained light enough to be considered jovial.
“Why do you say that? Magic occurs in nature, does it not?”
“I suppose this is a debate about whether the works of man can be considered natural,” he laughed, amused for reasons beyond Alam’s understanding. “The world is a wide place and the range of human beliefs are even wider. I hope to leave the Empire some day soon to travel and witness it with my own eyes. Perhaps you shall attend my travels, young Alam, and see what I mean.
Practically leaping in his seat, whether from the bumpy ride or his own excitement, Alam fervently agreed. Anything to leave the Academy.
The journey continued for an hour before they arrived at the manor of the Concordie family, where a small group of male and female butlers dressed identically in sharp livery were awaiting outside with a stiff bow. A young girl, the junior butler of the group, opened the door of the carriage for them, and as the detective took her outstretched, gloved hand to step down, he asked her, “What is your name, miss?” Her thin blonde hair was tied into a bun with a pin decorated with the banner of House Concordie like the other butlers. Even the men sported long hair tied into a bun — a mark of submission to a house.
Her training faltered for a moment as she made eye contact with the gentleman, and looking away, replied, “Pana, milord.”
“Very good, Miss Pana. Thank you for your assistance. I am Hans Hadler. I have been invited here as a consulting scholar.”
He went ahead to the other well-dressed slaves and greeted them one by one, learning their names and their rank. Alam followed suit, greeting each one after the other in the same order. With a cheerful jog, he caught up to his mentor and eagerly asked him, “Were you suspicious about the butlers? Is that why you learned all of their names?”
With a shake of his head and a pat on the back, he responded with a question of his own, “Is it so strange to introduce oneself to a person you have never met before?”
“I suppose, but typically no one goes to the trouble of being so polite to house slaves.”
“They are people first before anything else, Alam. You or I could end up in precisely the same situation if our fortunes were to turn.”
Alam grunted in affirmation, although it seemed he didn’t get the answer he had wanted. The butlers had been following them when he met the stoic gaze of the youngest named Pana. He looked away sheepishly upon realizing that he had in fact not truly seen her as a person. Perhaps as no more than furniture in fact. His own father would tell him to do as such. “Perhaps I think you’re right, Lord Hadler,” he said at last.
“How I long to hear those words,” his mentor said with a chuckle, entering past the threshold of the manor to be greeted by a tall, graying man dressed the same as the other butlers if not for a pair of white silk gloves. He appeared distinguished, as if he himself were noble-born, the rightful master of the manor.
With a slow bow, he spoke, “Welcome to the Concordie Estate, valued guests of the Mistress. I am the Head Butler Octavius. She has tasked me with guiding you to the room where you shall be performing your work. If you would follow me, Lord Hadler.”
“The interior is incredible,” Alam remarked, marveling at the high ceilings that rivaled the halls of the Academy. Down one hall were poised portraits and marble busts of old men and women, and down another an open door revealing a slice of an expansive library. A grand staircase was the centerpiece of the foyer where they noticed the elder matriarch of the Concordie family looking down from above her familiar frown yet still etched onto her face. She turned and left without so much as a word.
“She insisted that she be left alone. Do understand, but she shall be surveilling from her chambers,” the head butler requested of them as he lead them upstairs, “This situation has been taxing for her.”
“There’s nothing to explain, Mr. Octavius. We are all here to fulfill our role, and hers is the protection of her family. I can imagine this situation has her more than a little distraught.”
“Indeed,” he muttered, “She alone does not feel the blame in failing to fulfill her role. We have all had a great affection for Lady Bellona. She was a warm ray of sunshine in this old manor.”
“Where are the other members of the Concordie house?”
“This manor is for the head and her direct family. Branch members have taken residence in smaller individual homes across the estate. The unique nature of the family’s work leaves us to care for the land while the members of the house are abroad.”
“I see, then the only other people here besides Arioste, his mother, and the victim were the house staff.”
“And their daughter, Isybelle.”
“I was unaware they had a child at all,” he said with some surprise. “How precious. A daughter.”
“She is confined to her room due to a long illness,” the butler explained, his hand pointed towards a closed door at the far end of the hall way. He moved in the opposite direction down another hall as they rounded a corner.
Alam could feel the air stagnate with tension. “The ground is very plush,” he couldn’t help but remark, practically marching along the carpeted corridor, “You all have done impeccable work maintaining this manor.”
Octavius smiled for the first time since they had arrived. “We serve good masters. Many of the staff who come under their care are released from service with compensation within five years. There are very few others who offer such generosity. I myself have stayed with the Concordie house for eight of such terms. We take pride in our work.”
“It sounds like you’re employed, not enslaved then.”
“According to Imperial legislators, we are legally possessions of the Concordie family. They are allowed to do with us as they will.”
“Fascinating.”
“It was not always so benevolent. The master has changed much in the past eight years since he wed Bellona and she was brought into the household. I have been at his side since the day he was born in this very manor. He was the sort of boy to do as he pleased with his belongings.”
“Yes, I recall. Arioste was renown as a troublemaker among the instructors at the Academy,” Hadler mused, thinking back to a time he did not care to be reminded of, “And quite a scourge among his fellows.”
“Did he bully you as well, Lord Hadler?” Alam asked in disbelief.
“A story for another time, perhaps,” he concluded, opening a door to the bedroom of the lord and lady of the manor. As the door swung open, they saw a sight neither could have ever expected. A large iridescent dome of what seemed like glass shimmered on the ground, as if a film of oil danced in the air. Hadler entered without hesitation, crouching to inspect the strange bubble affixed to the floor. “It’s interfaction. There can be no doubt.”
Alam held position at the door, hesitant to even breathe the musty air emanating from the room, “What does that mean? This is the interfaction phenomenon?”
“Yes, but it’s not like any I’ve ever seen. Interfaction is invisible such that it is infinitesimally small. To see it at such a scale should be impossible. I cannot explain what happened, and it is still not clear what the cause of death was, but this is a supernatural occurrence, indeed. This is where the body was, yes?”
“That is where the lady was last,” the butler confirmed.
Hadler reached his hand past the boundary of the half-sphere as if feeling something on the ground. “And it still remains, shrouded by this bizarre aura. This is like witnessing a fraction of a second stretched out across hours. I shall see if it can be dispelled through conventional means first,” he said, opening the curtained window to the room. Nothing seemed to shift save for a ray of sunlight causing light to refract into a kaleidoscope of colors throughout the room as it hit the bubble. “It appears to be becoming more transparent. Let us give it some time.”
“It should not have been possible for such a powerful curse to have been placed on Lady Bellona without our wards having detected them… The other butlers and I have gone to great lengths to ensure the perimeter of the manor itself is well monitored.”
“It may not be a curse, Mr. Octavius, and I still suspect this was not what killed her, but it may be a vital clue as to what happened. Alam, I must take some time to look into this, and thus it falls on you to conduct a thorough series of interviews of all of the members of this household. You know what to ask, yes?”
“I do, Lord Hadler. Names, alibis, connections.”
“Good, and be quick. I must know if young Isybelle heard anything last night. Take extra care to jot down what she says.”
The butler intervened, blocking the boy from moving. “You mustn’t disturb Lady Isybelle. She is barred from your investigation. I can assure you that she knows nothing of what has happened here.”
“They are permitted to speak with Isybelle,” came the words of the old matriarch, echoing through the room as if four different people spoke at once from each corner.
He stumbled over his next words, sputtering for a moment before regaining his previous composure. “Yes, madame.” With a bow, he stepped aside to allow Alam to leave.
“So something transpired that escaped even your ever-present gaze,” Hadler noted, “And went unnoticed by the wardens of the manor and the man who should have been witness to it in this very room. A true mystery, indeed. If we are left with no other options, I may have to employ a rather undesirable means to gather the information we are missing.”
“And what would that be?”
“In a manner of speaking, the resurrection of the dead,” he paused, watching the head butler for his reaction. Upon spying not even the faintest glimmer of emotion, he continued, “Not exactly. We’ll be reading her now deceased mind. It is an expensive spell, one that would normally cost multiple lifetimes of mnemos to perform, especially for one with little knowledge of the deceased like myself. However, utilizing someone close as a channel can lower the cost to manageable levels. We await Lord Arioste to perform this ritual, but until then, I shall attempt to remove this barrier from her body or otherwise extract her brain intact.”
“We cannot allow you to desecrate her body in such a fashion,” the butler grimaced.
“Very well, then let us continue to examine this strange barrier that’s formed around her.”
The butler leaned forward as if he had heard a grave secret and said, “Lord Hadler, though I am unversed in the esoteric, are you truly capable of reading the minds of the dead?”
The scholar knelt, then stopped, as if to think. “House Hadler has the most interesting origins, and few know of it, not that it is some great secret. Your mistress already knows this story well. We were originally known as Hadellieres, or men of Hell, for my family took an interest in opening some rather forbidden gates. So the story goes, our ancient founder was said to have been able to access some form of true magic involving the raising of the dead long before the invention of intermagia, now lost to time. My esteemed grandfather was obsessed with replicating it, his life’s work resulting in what was ultimately a lie, but the promise of it brought the Hadlers into the graces of Emperor Nepheleger — may he rest in peace. In a cruel twist of irony, my father worked himself to death in order to find the means to conquer death. The task fell on me. The great work of all mankind fell on me alone, you see. I had no wish to join him, and so I sought to abandon the work. No others in my family were better suited for the magic than I, and none more noble, it seems. I was but a child, denied the opportunity to reject this call and forced to toil alone as they feared the work would be stolen and so too the glory of our house. After many long years, this is the culmination of that effort. This little, neat trick of mine.”
“So it is possible?”
“Only if you believe. This is a failed magic that requires the suspension of disbelief, which is why I am loathe to use it unless absolutely necessary. In fact, I fear it is a waste for myself to have ever learned the practice in the first place for I have no talent in acting.”
“You speak as if this is theater. Are you suggesting then that you are performing a play?”
“This method of reading the minds of the dead with intermagia leaves room for some doubt, especially as it will be knowledge that only the channel and I will have access to. But even then, what glimpses Lord Arioste and I may see could differ. To make matters significantly worse, to a third observer, there’s no telling whether he and I will have colluded to falsify this information beforehand. It very well may be seen as theater.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Not on a case, but given the lack of time and the strangeness of this particular death, I fear this may be our only recourse. A rather expensive one at that.”
“Good, this is why I have called you after all,” came the voice again, resonating in thin air. “My son is arriving shortly. It seems his interrogation is complete.”
“I hope you’re prepared to pay the price then, milady. I estimate that this will take nearly a kilogram of mnemos to conduct.”
“We can spare 800 grams and no more.”
“I can make do with that,” he answered without looking up.
Octavius did his best to hide his astonishment, for never could he have imagined that a necromancer would be in his midst, dressed and behaving so normally. Those who studied the magic of the dead were said to be deranged, long addled by overuse of intermagia paid for by darker levies than mnemos. They were without the kind of moral scruples that would prevent an ordinary person from disturbing the bodies of the dead. How utterly plain this man seemed, unadorned by a necklace of human skulls or hides of human skin. A man of Hades masquerading as a man of letters.
“Before the lord of the manor arrives, I must ask you a few questions, Mr. Octavius.”
“I am at your service.”
“Who alerted the high authorities of Lady Bellona’s death and why? It is a scandalous thing for a nobleman to murder his own wife, and yet would it not have been obvious that he would be the first to fall under suspicion?”
“The first witness was Pana. She was a favorite of Lady Bellona’s and thus served them in the mornings. She found her body on the floor there before Lord Arioste awoke at approximately half past six, and so she made the report under my orders. You could say that I am responsible.”
“The interfaction had not happened by then, and Lady Bellona was found covered in blood according to the man himself,” Hadler muttered.
“I believed in his innocence, which is why the report was made as soon as possible. Any delay would have cast suspicion on himself and this entire household. If you must speak of haste, however, I did find it unusual how quickly they were able to respond. Not half an hour after the call was made, they arrived ready to arrest Lord Arioste.”
“If I have the order of events right, they arrived within the hour, arrested him on the spot after a cursory look, and then the Lady Concordie sped to my doorstep and sought my consultation. These events took place within two hours this morning. The high authorities did not bother to investigate either. It seems there’s naught much else to learn from this line of inquiry, save for the confirmation that someone knew Lady Bellona would die last night. At least we have confirmed that this is a murder, but to be quite honest, it would have been more intriguing had this been anything but.”
“Intriguing?” the butler interjected, leaning forward, “Is casual curiosity how you intend to approach this situation, necromancer?”
“You serve your house. I study death. Our interests coincide as if directed by fate. There is a romance to this, is there not?”
“I fail to see it. Try to see the gravity of the subject, sir.”
Hadler looked at the man through shaded eyes, his gaze moving past him as if speaking to someone else entirely, “Grave, indeed. We can move quickly to assure all interested parties of Lord Arioste’s innocence. Worry not. There is not even a need to expend any mnemos and perform the rites in order to do so. However, I have a hunch that this is a mystery that will not be so easily resolved.”
Heavy thumps resounded from the hall as a haggard man drenched in his own sweat, hair matted to his forehead appeared ascending the stairs. “Expend all you require!” he called out, “I have been listening in on the journey here!” The lord of the manor returned, casting off his coat as another attendant caught it in his wake.
“Ah, you have been surveilling your room. But of course.”
“We must know!” he wheezed, panting between words, “The killer! Who killed her?! How was it done?!”
“Silence!” his mother’s voice echoed, “If Hadler can assure them of your innocence without use of his talents, then so be it. We need not waste resources in confirming anything else.”
“No! Bellona lies dead! The mystery must be resolved! Isn’t that right, Hadler?!”
“Foolish!” she retorted, appearing from another room in person, stomping towards the group, “You continue to prove that you are unfit to be the heir of our house! There are plenty of eligible, young brides you can take to do as you will, and you would be so selfish as to insist upon losing your wits over one that has already perished?”
“Have you no heart, you miserly hag? Have you no shame? The mother of my child and the love of my life cannot be discarded and replaced,” the man plead, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks, “I shall deliver myself back to the authorities should you refuse me. I go to the gallows to rejoin my beloved if that is what it will take.”
“Not a gram shall go to this senselessness, Arioste. I know you better than you know yourself. A warm body in your embrace will make you forget all about Bellona. Gorge yourself on whatever desires your willful heart needs to heal and move past it. Your duty to the house comes before all else.”
“Then I gorge myself on ashes and earth!”
With a swing of her wand, Arioste’s legs buckled, his body crumpling to the ground as if a marionette had his strings cut. She stepped past him with scorn, an icy glare trailing behind her, her blue eyes leaping from her head, “You waste my time and magic with your stupidity, my son. Fill yourself with dust, if you insist, but the investigation is over.”
Hadler rose to his feet slowly. Head hanging, he sighed, “Ah, it does leave a bitter aftertaste.”
“The matter of your compensation will be settled upon my son’s acquittal.”
“My professional opinion is that the matter is far from settled. I must look into the murderous interfaction of Lady Bellona and the full circumstances of her death. How certain can you be that others in your family are not the next target?”
“That’s right!” Arioste groaned, his voice like grinding gears. He lay pinned to the floor, struggling and resisting with all of his might, “We are not yet in the clear, mother. The investigation must go on.”
“Then continue the investigation without the use of the family cache.”
“That is what I am good at,” Hadler said with a crooked smile, “Specialist of the mundane, indeed.”
Suzugos 