The sun greeted me again in the morning, but this time it was gentle about it. Helped by the growing clouds. After putting the kettle on to boil, I gathered my thoughts in the shower. First stop, Strok. See if he has anything else to tell me. Then I hit the university to see Veda.

  And with any luck I may also find little Jimmy. That slippery rat always listens with those rounded ears of his. Always knows something. Always squeals for the right price. Everyone uses him for intel. The mob, the council, P.I.s, and myself. Yet he’s always short on gold.

  I decided to write down everything I know about the case and downed my coffee with a shot of whiskey. Once I had everything I needed, I left the apartment and made my way back to the bridge. I made a pit stop by a local stall owned by an elf. Says he can’t remember his name, so everyone just calls him Sawdust Pete. Makes good soups, but the cheeky old man always sneaks in some sawdust to stretch the pot. Got caught by locals and got a thrashing. Now he keeps two pots. One for the locals and the other for outsiders.

  I waited my turn in line. Stood behind a goblin with pretty big muscles. Female with bck hair and a nice voice. Not a local, but Pete liked her. “Morning Pete.”

  “Hello there, John. Usual?”

  “Of course, your sawdust soup is the only thing that keeps me full.”

  “Yeah, I use the good stuff too. Premium pine from the lumber yard.”

  I know. It’s got a lovely subtle pine fvor. “I noticed you like that goblin.”

  He looked at me over his cracked gsses and leaned in. “How in the hell did you know?”

  “Gave her a bowl of the local soup.” I gave him a wink and dropped three silver coins onto the counter. “Take it easy, Pete.”

  “You’re nosy, Detective; you’ll get yourself killed.”

  “Comes with the job.”

  I heard him ugh before coughing. “Take care, John.”

  Good man. Sneaky. But good. The soup was a welcomed meal. It always knew how to break up a fight in my belly and get everyone to py nice. I had finished my pine-fvored soup by the time I reached the bridge. It was quiet. I hopped the fence and made my way down the side and under the bridge to Strok’s shack. The smell was worse than yesterday. Amonia mixed with a sour cheese scent. Good ol’ pine soup. He was working overtime to keep the other boys in line.

  I covered my mouth and nose and crept closer. Inside the shack, Strock was busy sawing through the rib cage of one of his resurrected zombies. Looked like a troll. Too disfigured to make out any features. “Detec-tive. What brings you. Here?”

  “I hate it when you do that, Strok.”

  “My eyes are everywhere, Detec-tive.” Eyes, huh? He definitely means that literally. “Back to my. Question.”

  “I wanted to know if you’ve ever found other corpses that couldn’t be resurrected. Or ones that had brands.” I watched him finally get through the bone with a grunt. Then, the sick bastard started to spread it open, cracking a few ribs.

  “No. That orc was the first.”

  “I see. Have you ever heard about magic that could do that?”

  “Only once, detec-tive. From my master.”

  “Any idea where I could find this, master?” He stuck his head inside the open chest and looked up through the throat. Hummed and pulled out a half-eaten heart.

  “My master is in the… jar on the shelf.” I looked over at a shelf where he kept all kinds of random parts, innards, and a few full-sized bodies. Fairy.

  “Uh.”

  “Top shelf. Far left.” In a medium-sized jar filled with a green liquid was a half-eaten face, a few fingers, and what looked like a liver. I couldn’t tell the gender, only the race. Dwarf.

  “Ok, that is messed up.”

  “Really? It’s common practice for. Necromancers. My master’s master… was her favorite zombie champion.” That half-eaten dwarf was a female? I hope the pine soup gets some help with either the whiskey or the coffee.

  “Strok, you look busy. I’m going to leave you to it.”

  “Goodbye, Detec-tive.”

  I was all too happy to get out of there and wasted no time hopping the fence and getting back onto the main road. I never want to visit that man again, but I did learn something. Raktaar, for the moment, is a unique case, and the necromancers have had issues in the past with corpses that couldn’t be resurrected. I think it’s time I learned about this ancient magic.

  The university. A pce of higher learning, finding friends, and maybe getting a girlfriend. Gd I didn’t waste time there. Only learned one useful thing from there: No one likes a guy who notices. Except the w. And now I was heading back. The road to the entrance is exactly how I remembered it. White brick pathways lined with trees enchanted with evergreen spells. With the students on vacation, it was a peaceful walk as I looked at the houses lining the road. Only people I saw were the ndscapers. All gnomes.

  I ended up at the rge, matt-bck front gate with a security booth to the side. Empty. I knew they would be back, so I waited. The stench of Strok’s shack finally disappeared from my nose, and I could enjoy the flowers.

  I heard a loud step next to me. “Loitering is not allowed on university grounds.” I looked around, and to my right stood two towering trolls—fit and muscur—dressed in a bck security uniform.

  “I’m not loitering; I was waiting for you two.” They looked confused.

  “What do you want with us?”

  “I want you to let me in.”

  “And why would we do that?” The other troll was a female.

  “I’m here to see Professor Veda. I need some help with a case I’m working.”

  They both looked at me for a moment. The male looked me up and down. “Wait here.”

  I should have picked up a lesson or two on other nguages. At least then I would have understood what they said to each other. I did understand one thing. The female jumped the fence and marched into the building. The male must be the higher rank, instructing and showing a newbie the ropes.

  “Must be tough, teaching the newbie.”

  He gave me a tired look and weak smile. “Yeah, but it feels good to watch them grow.” I could tell he’d been at the job for years. Probably worked security for a different building. He nodded as he walked past me and carried on with his route.

  A loud roar thundered through the sky a moment ter. Dragon. Couldn’t see it. Only heard it. I was tempted to take a walk to see what it was doing when the female troll exited the building.

  “Ok, you can go in. Professor Veda is waiting in room 1B, first floor.”

  She unlocked and opened the rge gate. It looked very heavy. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I heard the gate smming shut as I entered the building. Still exactly the same. The dark wood floor still gave off a strong citrus scent. Books still lined the corridor walls. The university believed that knowledge should be accessible at all times. Good sentiment. They’re looking for trouble, though. Plenty of magic shouldn’t be easily accessible.

  Books didn’t fill the entire length of the wall. Between them are lockers, storage rooms, and cssrooms. A handful of dispy cabinets as well. Filled with trophies and photos. One cabinet, sealed so tight a fart couldn’t get in, contained a book on blood magic. I decided to stop for a bit and take a look at it. Always liked the design of the book.

  Dark red cover made from dragon scales. Golden runes along the border and a blood crystal in the center, glowing softly.

  I remembered my meeting and tapped the gss as I stood straight and carried on down the corridor. Looks like there are some extra lessons for a few students. From the looks of it, magical creatures. Five students being taught by an ogre. Or half-ogre. I walked past the css and gnced at a notice board on my way up the nearby stairs. Tryouts for the school py over the holidays.

  I heard a voice echoing in the first-floor corridor. Female. Sounds excited. I took my time finding room 1B while I listened to the voice. The echo made it difficult to make out all the words, but I recognized a few. “Great war,” “Goblin archers sent a volley of arrows,” “Orc hound masters,” and one mention of a human wizard. The voice got more distorted as I approached 1B. When I knocked, the voice was just a noisy echo behind me.

  “You may enter, detective.”

  I frowned as I turned the handle, clicking open the door. “You got eyes in the hallway, Prof?”

  “Just call me Veda, and no. Turga informed me of your visit, and seeing as I had no other appointments, I had no reason to suspect anyone other than you to knock on my door.” Impressive, for a teacher.

  “Turga?”

  She put down her book and looked me in the eye with her bright yellow eyes. Never knew an orc could have such eyes. “The female troll. She also let me know that you needed my help with a case?”

  “Yeah. A murder case that took a sharp turn into your neck of the woods.” She looked curious and motioned to a chair in front of her desk. I sat down.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Helga. And a symbol that she suspects is from ancient times. A symbol that made the orc cn leader in the Grotto nearly shit his pants.”

  “I see.” She got up and grabbed two gsses from a nearby stand. “Drink?”

  “Yes, please.” Never hurts to send the boys some reinforcements.

  I took the gss handed to me and took a rge swig. “This symbol, the one that made, and I quote, the orc leader nearly shit his pants. Care to describe it?”

  “Sure. A circle with a line on the top and bottom and a dragon’s eye in the center.”

  “You told this to Helga?”

  “I did.”

  “She told you some history about a simir symbol?”

  “She did.”

  She finally took a sip from her gss. About time too, I was just about to ask her for it. “She probably thinks that yours has something to do with soul torture.” I nodded and kept listening. “That’s half true. It all depends on the finer details. You see, detective. There are slight variations to that mark.”

  “What sort of variations?”

  “The two lines, top and bottom, they vary in length depending on the symbols use.” That would expin the different reactions I got. “Orcs know of a symbol very simir to what you described. However, the lines are very short. It’s used to indicate that an ancient horror has been set loose on your bloodline.”

  “What sort of horror are we dealing with, then?”

  She looked at me with a smile. Or a well-hidden ugh. “We aren’t dealing with one, detective. It’s merely a fairy tale. Superstition. Old wives’ tales. But something tells me that we’re dealing with something very different. Helga wouldn’t have sent you here otherwise.”

  Damn, I was kinda hoping it was just a horror curse. “I’ll draw it for you. Have you got a pencil?”

  “This is a university. Of course I have a pencil.” I felt her eyes on my pocket. “Detective, we wouldn’t want to accidentally inform the council of an impending duck invasion due to a shoddy drawing.” She held out her hand. “The original, please.”

  I froze for a moment and then grinned. “Very observant. I could use a partner.” I reached into the pocket and pulled out the branded skin.

  “Nothing would please me more.” She looked at the branding for a long while. Pulled out a few books and flipped through pages while studying the images and branding with a magnifying gss.

  “Well? What do you think, Veda?”

  “I can’t be certain. I’ll need to do more research and maybe get a replica made of the branding iron.”

  “Got someone you wanna torture?”

  “Hardly. No, I want to run some experiments to see what we’re working with.” Said with a big smile.

  “Not to be a wet rag, but I’m pretty sure soul torture on a living creature is against the w.”

  “Practicing this magic on a living being is against the w. But I won’t be using a living being.”

  “So what? A zombie?”

  “Exactly. Well, kind of. Not a normal one. Those require a very real soul. I’m not monstrous enough to subject a soul to this torture. Assuming it is. No, I’ll be creating a zombie with a fake soul.”

  “Uh, you lost me, Prof…” This case just keeps getting weirder.

  “Veda. It’s a simple, but old, bit of magic that uses life energy and molds it into a fake soul. I believe the construct gems have since taken over that role.” She must have seen the vacant expression on my face and sighed. “The pretty stones used to power golems.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “Anyway, the process takes a few hours to gather life force, but it can be used to reanimate a corpse, and it should give us an accurate result of what this branding does to the body or soul.”

  All this stuff about old and ancient magic gives me a headache. Way above my pay grade. “Any idea why these ancient people created this magic? Did they like torture or something?”

  For the first time today she smiled for real. It’s a nice smile. “They didn’t like torture exactly. You see, based on the relics and ancient texts, they didn’t even know they were torturing and damaging the soul. Because they believed that a dragon could see into the soul, they assumed that the magic forced the criminal to see themselves for who they really are.”

  I decided to keep quiet and listen; she seemed to be enjoying herself, so I got up, nodding to show I was still there, and grabbed the bottle of alcohol to top up our gsses.

  She continued. “The square room the criminal was pced in was meant for the dragon to execute the criminal by impaling them. The ones who made it through their judgment, as they called it, and walked out of the room a week ter were said to have been forgiven by the dragons.”

  She paused long enough to take a sip and for me to get a word in. “But that’s not what happened, right? The people would lose their minds from the torture and kill themselves to end it.”

  “Yes! But in doing so, while being tortured, you would destroy your own soul.”

  “While being tortured? Does that mean there’s a time limit on the magic?”

  She nodded while downing her drink. “Yes. Exactly one week after being branded. If one endured the torture, they’d live. The texts only mention one person enduring it. It’s really fascinating.”

  “Not the word I’d use, but sure.” I think the word “creepy” fits better. I bet Strok might even enjoy the torture. Might make him less creepy. But something didn’t add up. Why would anyone go through all the hassle? The dragon’s eye I have is not the same as that ancient one, probably. Why destroy a soul? A zombie can’t squeal, even if the soul is used for the reanimation.

  “Something on your mind, detective?” Her question killed my train of thought.

  “Just thinking about the case. I can’t imagine someone going through the hassle of using old magic just to kill someone and dump the body.” I poured another drink and swallowed it. “The body was dumped into the river and washed up under the main bridge.”

  “You think it was done on purpose?”

  “That’s all that makes sense. If you order a hit on someone, you don’t brand the body. Too loud.”

  Veda topped up the gsses and tossed hers back, then grabbed a new bottle. “Unless it’s a goose chase.”

  “Yeah, that was my thought as well. Someone is busy pying me.”

  “Why you?”

  I grabbed my gss, downed it, and filled it up again, then sent that one to join forces with the previous. I then had a thought and quickly downed a third to let the others know about the thought. “Well,” I leaned forward. “I went to the council. Standard procedure, all cases must be handed in, with evidence, before any arrests are made. Everyone there seemed really eager to pin it on the suspect. Fang. Gang member.”

  “A gang member not behind bars or hung? No evidence, I take it. So they want to pin it on him?”

  “Yeah. Pin it on him, then do an investigation into the real murderer at a ter date.” Now that I think about it. Reggie was the first one to question further investigation. I don’t remember him being surprised by the branded skin—

  “Detective? I lost you again.”

  “Uh, sorry. Mind is racing.” I’ve known Reggie for years. I must be misremembering.

  “It does make sense, though.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The case. Pinning the murder on Fang to get him behind bars. It makes sense. Unethical, yes.”

  “That’s not justice. It’s criminality wearing the skin of justice.”

  I felt her star as I knocked another one down. “True. But it seems the council is going through with it. Framing Fang, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I saw the news.”

  “Back to the question. Why do you think someone is pying you?”

  “Gut feeling. The brand, the river, and the body being found by Strok. Necromancer. Someone knew I’d find the body and keep digging.”

  “Assumptions, detective.”

  “Think about it. I’m here, with you, talking about ancient civilizations unknowingly destroying souls while the council is moving on Fang.”

  “If Fang is smart, he’ll just go into hiding. I’m sure you have time.” She was right. Fang was very skilled at evading the w. The elf had connections everywhere.

  “Maybe.”

  “Detective.” I looked up to see her waving the branded skin. “Mind if I hold on to this? I’d like the university bcksmith to replicate the branding iron.” Leaving a piece of evidence behind isn’t good practice. A drawing of it is a different story.

  “Make a copy of it. That piece of evidence has to go to the council. Eventually…”

  She seemed unimpressed and let out a sigh, but she agreed and made a copy. “Care to finish this bottle with me?” Tempting.

  I stood. A slight wobble but nothing I couldn’t handle. “I’d love to, but I have a rat to catch and squeeze for information.”

  “Pity. I shall keep it here for when you return.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll stop by for our experiment in…”

  “In a day, I think. It shouldn’t take the bcksmith long to forge the iron.”

  I nodded and stuffed the skin back into my pocket. “See you ter, Prof. Veda.”

  “Veda. See you soon, detective.”