Act 1
A Messy Little Murder
The slow lapping of the Prion River mingled with the
creaking wood symphony of the water wheel beside the dock. Moonlight tinted the
heavy fog as the last hours of night became the first hours of morning. The
heavy mist lay upon the woman’s corpse, fat drops of dew sitting on the blood
and making it shine.
Alys bent over the body, her hands on her hips as she
studied the dead woman’s face. Young. Roughed up. She may have been pretty
once, but it was impossible to tell now. Old bruises and new mixed with dried
blood to create a mask over the girl’s features.
Alys turned to the man standing against the wooden wall of
the pier and shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
The man finished speaking to a pair of city guards and
waited until the two men clanked away in their armored breastplates and shiny
helms. His light hair, always cropped close and crisply perfect, shone briefly
in the glow from the torches the guards carried. Alys caught just a glimpse of
those familiar blue eyes before the light from the torches faded away.
He pulled his long coat closer about him against the chill
of the morning. The black fabric and gray striping of a royal magistrate made
him stand out.
She corrected her thoughts. Stand out even more.
“I want you to tell me what happened,” he said.
She laughed, adjusting the large-bladed scythe that she
carried across her back. “What happened? Someone killed her, Magistrate
Inspector Daxton Ellis,” Alys said, punctuating every syllable of the man’s
title with a clipped enunciation.
He gave her a long, hard stare. “Nothing is ever easy with
you, is it, Alys?”
“It’s part of my charm,” she said, moving over to the wall
beside him. As she drew closer, she studied his face – the subtle play of
muscles around his eyes, the set of his mouth. He was always easy to read. “You
know who she is.” It was not a question.
He hesitated at first, then said, “She’s Lydia Ashdown.”
“Old name,” she said.
“Old everything.”
Alys shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much down here in Lowside.
You’re sure it’s her?”
The inspector gave her a slow nod. “She’s been missing for
three months now. The parents held out hope that she had just had a rebellious
jaunt out to the marches to visit friends or relatives.” He shook his head.
“Still, the magistrates were given her description. We knew there was a chance we’d
find her like this, but there was always hope. At least until tonight.”
Alys flicked her tongue against her teeth in silent
annoyance. “That doesn’t answer my question, Dax. How do you know this is her?”
“When she was younger, she was playing and fell into the
hearth,” he said. “It left her with a burn scar between her…” He cleared his
throat. “Over her heart area.”
Alys laughed. “So you tore open this poor girl’s bodice for
your salacious gaze? Why Dax, you cad!”
“The mark is distinctive. It looks like a sparrow.”
“A sparrow?” Alys said in disbelief, kneeling down and
opening up the corpse’s shirt. Underneath the clothing, on the stiff, waxy
flesh was a brownish red mark. It sat between her breasts, just over her heart.
To Alys’s surprise, it actually did look quite a bit like a sparrow in flight.
“Amazing. Highside even has prettier scars than we do.”
“This is hardly a laughing matter, Alys. The Ashdowns are
true blooded. They have a direct line to the First Ascended. And their daughter
is dead. In Lowside.”
“Ah,” Alys said. “And there it is. I was wondering what had
prompted the chief magistrate to assign you here, dear Dax. Now, I know. You
true bloods stick together, right? They brought you in to tidy things up and
make sure the Ashdown family is confident that a person of the correct breeding
and background is investigating the death of their poor child.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t making this
personal?” he remarked, an edge in his voice.
A Messy Little Murder
The slow lapping of the Prion River mingled with the
creaking wood symphony of the water wheel beside the dock. Moonlight tinted the
heavy fog as the last hours of night became the first hours of morning. The
heavy mist lay upon the woman’s corpse, fat drops of dew sitting on the blood
and making it shine.
Alys bent over the body, her hands on her hips as she
studied the dead woman’s face. Young. Roughed up. She may have been pretty
once, but it was impossible to tell now. Old bruises and new mixed with dried
blood to create a mask over the girl’s features.
Alys turned to the man standing against the wooden wall of
the pier and shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
The man finished speaking to a pair of city guards and
waited until the two men clanked away in their armored breastplates and shiny
helms. His light hair, always cropped close and crisply perfect, shone briefly
in the glow from the torches the guards carried. Alys caught just a glimpse of
those familiar blue eyes before the light from the torches faded away.
He pulled his long coat closer about him against the chill
of the morning. The black fabric and gray striping of a royal magistrate made
him stand out.
She corrected her thoughts. Stand out even more.
“I want you to tell me what happened,” he said.
She laughed, adjusting the large-bladed scythe that she
carried across her back. “What happened? Someone killed her, Magistrate
Inspector Daxton Ellis,” Alys said, punctuating every syllable of the man’s
title with a clipped enunciation.
He gave her a long, hard stare. “Nothing is ever easy with
you, is it, Alys?”
“It’s part of my charm,” she said, moving over to the wall
beside him. As she drew closer, she studied his face – the subtle play of
muscles around his eyes, the set of his mouth. He was always easy to read. “You
know who she is.” It was not a question.
He hesitated at first, then said, “She’s Lydia Ashdown.”
“Old name,” she said.
“Old everything.”
Alys shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much down here in Lowside.
You’re sure it’s her?”
The inspector gave her a slow nod. “She’s been missing for
three months now. The parents held out hope that she had just had a rebellious
jaunt out to the marches to visit friends or relatives.” He shook his head.
“Still, the magistrates were given her description. We knew there was a chance we’d
find her like this, but there was always hope. At least until tonight.”
Alys flicked her tongue against her teeth in silent
annoyance. “That doesn’t answer my question, Dax. How do you know this is her?”
“When she was younger, she was playing and fell into the
hearth,” he said. “It left her with a burn scar between her…” He cleared his
throat. “Over her heart area.”
Alys laughed. “So you tore open this poor girl’s bodice for
your salacious gaze? Why Dax, you cad!”
“The mark is distinctive. It looks like a sparrow.”
“A sparrow?” Alys said in disbelief, kneeling down and
opening up the corpse’s shirt. Underneath the clothing, on the stiff, waxy
flesh was a brownish red mark. It sat between her breasts, just over her heart.
To Alys’s surprise, it actually did look quite a bit like a sparrow in flight.
“Amazing. Highside even has prettier scars than we do.”
“This is hardly a laughing matter, Alys. The Ashdowns are
true blooded. They have a direct line to the First Ascended. And their daughter
is dead. In Lowside.”
“Ah,” Alys said. “And there it is. I was wondering what had
prompted the chief magistrate to assign you here, dear Dax. Now, I know. You
true bloods stick together, right? They brought you in to tidy things up and
make sure the Ashdown family is confident that a person of the correct breeding
and background is investigating the death of their poor child.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t making this
personal?” he remarked, an edge in his voice.
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