Previously:

A murder within a magical community sends Gildar, something of a detective-in-training, on a quest to discover if a human trader named Jed actually killed Ballin.  At least that’s what Gildar’s mentor, Mordrad, claims happened.   After changing his appearance to look like a hound, Gildar discovers the scent of a sixth person who was never accounted for at the murder scene.

***

The aroma was faint, partly because it was attached to something miniscule.  Gildar tilted his head to get a better look at the ground, and a brassy pebble caught his eye.

Hold on, that was no pebble.

He shook his head, long ears flapping against his cheeks, and a tan mist swirled about him.  He returned to his original form, kneeling on one knee where his canine self had stood, and peered closely at the ground.  The mistaken pebble was cylindrical, like the crown of a beetle’s top hat.  He picked it up between thumb and index finger, and held it before his eyes.

It was the percussion cap for discharging a pistol.  Gildar examined it closer.  A gray, crystalline powder – some kind of fulminate, if he remembered correctly – was packed in the bottom.

This cap hadn’t sparked … so it couldn’t have made the pistol fire.

Gildar frowned.  When he and Mordrad examined the weapon while questioning the trader and the boy, he’d noticed – and commented upon – the spent cap was missing.  Mordrad said it likely was knocked off when the gun fell.  He also claimed finding it was less important than getting the boy and his dead father back home.

Gildar murmured to the item, “And does a pistol fire when only half-cocked?”

His memory dredged up the image of the boy, eyes red and lips trembling, struggle to say the following words:

For some reason I wanted to see inside the barrel, and … and … the gun went off.

The boy himself couldn’t explain why he was so compelled to examine the weapon.  Yes, children were curious, and contraptions like pistols and trains and mills were almost alien to them.  These were aspects of human society, while arcane beings like him relied on their enchantments to achieve their goals.

So whose scent had he picked up on the cap?  The last person to touch this important particle in the firing schematic had to be the one who loaded the gun.  But how was the pistol able to shoot when it wasn’t cocked all the way?

If dark magic was involved, this murder case had ramifications far deeper than the tragedy they were already dealing with.

He squinted at the cap.  “I’ll have to talk to Jed again and take another look at that pistol.”

He slipped the cap into a pocket of his brown twill trousers and strode back to the knapsack he’d left beside the wagon’s trail.  As Gildar shrugged it over his shoulders, he figured it would be good to hasten his journey to the village where Jed lived.  Then he could change back into a hound and track down exactly where the trader had gone.

Tan mist enveloped him and he shifted into an enormous although slightly humpbacked hawk.  With a spring upward and a powerful flap of his wings, he launched toward the town at the base of the foothills.

***

At least it was late enough in the afternoon that most of the local dogs were napping, so avoiding their tradition of butt sniffing was easily accomplished.  Beam buildings topped with cedar shake roofs lined cobblestone streets.  Jed’s cottage was located a couple of roads off the main drag, with a stable larger than most of the others behind his house.

Gildar glanced up and down the road, saw nobody else, and changed into the form of a man other than himself.  Instead of a dark-haired young fellow, he chose to be blond and middle-aged, in clothing threadbare and stained.

As soon as he began walking up the few steps to the cottage door, however, a prickling sensation coursed through his limbs, his stomach soured, and he grew light-headed.  He retreated back to the ground near the cobblestone road, and pursed his lips as the sensation evaporated.

Of course – entry to the cottage was barricaded to beings like him.  Innovative humans, lacking enchantments, had long ago managed to concoct potions that worked as anti-magic.  And judging by the swift and potent response it elicited from Gildar, Jed must have applied or reapplied the mixture soon after getting home.

That didn’t leave Gildar many options for getting the trader’s attention, but at least several small stones were scattered along the edge of the street.  He stooped and gathered a handful, and approached the low porch but stayed off the steps.

After confirming again that nobody else loitered nearby, he began pitching the rocks one by one at the wooden door.

It opened abruptly, right after he hurled the fifth and final projectile, which struck Jed in the shoulder.  Well, better than beaning him in the head….

“What’s this about?” the trader snapped.

“We met earlier today.”  Gildar leveled his gaze at the gentleman.  “I was introduced to you as Galoot.”

A moniker Mordrad had pinned on him, of course, before Gildar had been able to offer his own alias.  Arcane beings, especially justice questers, were protective of their real names around humans.

Jed’s eyebrows rose.  He wore the same linen shirt and canvas trousers, but no straw hat bedecked his sandy hair this time.

“Oh.”  His manner grew more subdued, which was a bit surprising.  “Yes.  I do recognize your voice.”  He glanced over his shoulder, into the home, and then returned his attention to Gildar.  “And to be honest … I’m glad to see you.”

Would surprises never cease?  Probably not in this line of work.

Gildar tilted his head.  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, because I have a few more questions.  I’d also like another look at that pistol.”

Jed’s lips pressed together before he replied.  “Can’t do that.  Already delivered it to the person who ordered it.  Except he didn’t, which I thought you should know.”

A pistol got delivered to somebody who didn’t order it?  Every new clue was itself an enigma.

Gildar studied him.  “That’s a wrinkle you’ll have to iron out for me, except we shouldn’t discuss this on your porch.  And I can’t come inside.”

“Oh, yes.”  He glanced into the cottage again.  “Just a moment.”

Jed took a couple of steps back inside, and announced that the farrier had come to work on Dobbs’s hoof.  Gildar couldn’t catch the words in a woman’s reply, but Jed responded that with everything else going on, he forgot to tell her about the horse throwing a shoe.

If Gildar ever told a whopper like that, the potency of his craft would nosedive and remain ineffective until sundown.  There were philosophical theories why beings would lose their enchantments when they lied, while humans could tell falsehoods all day and remain unhindered, but it was his observation that everything came with a tradeoff.

Jed stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.  “Let’s go to the stable.”

Gildar fell into step beside him as they rounded the corner of the cottage.  “You didn’t apply potion there?”

“I can only afford so much of the stuff, and my first priority is keeping my family safe.”  Jed scowled.  “It’s bad enough your kind will come after me over a false accusation, but it’s downright evil they might also harm the wife and kids.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

Apparently it was his turn to surprise Jed.  The trader’s brows rose again as he glanced at Gildar.

“Would you even bother going after any being who attacked us?”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”  Gildar didn’t want to get into the intricacies of jurisdictions.  “And what did you mean that you delivered that pistol to someone that didn’t order it?”

“I swung by his house before I even went home.  Wanted to get rid of that blasted thing.  But he said he never sent me a letter and money, requesting one of these new-fangled percussion firearms.  He took it anyway.  Not many folks would turn down a free gun.”

Gildar slipped a hand into his trouser pocket and pinched at the cap.  “How well do you know this fellow?”

Jed shrugged.  “Mere acquaintance.  Everybody knows everybody to some extent in this town.”

A pistol that shouldn’t fire delivered to a man who didn’t order it.  Sneaky smelly silverfish, losing the opportunity to examine the weapon created a disadvantage.  Gildar was going to have to compensate for that complication, but how?

They reached the front of the stable, and Jed opened the heavy, wooden door.  “It’s just another strange detail in a tragedy that’s already upside down, but if there’s any chance of clearing my name, well, I thought you should know.”

Gildar scanned the building as they stepped inside.  Jed’s business as a trader must be fairly lucrative.  There was room not only for a string of horses and their tack and feed, but also for the bulky wagon he drove back and forth between towns.

Gildar’s earlier interrogation with Jed flashed through his memory.  Two days ago, the trader picked up a box from a firearms manufacturer and placed it in that wagon.  He did confirm the box contained an unloaded pistol, percussion caps, ammunition, and powder.  He never saw it again until this morning, when he met with Ballin on a wilderness hillside to trade fabric for bundles of herbs.

Ballin’s son, Plaiton, asked about the box, and then asked to see the pistol inside it.  Jed said that would be okay, it was unloaded, but then the boy removed the gun and pointed it directly at his own face.  Both men shouted at him not to do that.

Plaiton shot himself.  And Ballin the empath absorbed the wound onto himself in order to save his son’s life.  The poor boy regained consciousness to find his father dead.

How did the pistol get loaded between those events?  The scent of an unknown person on the percussion cap might provide one clue, but Gildar was no closer to understanding why.

An idea for figuring that out sprang into his imagination.

He locked his gaze on Jed’s.  “The new information could help, but it’s not enough.  I’ll need your assistance to get all the evidence I’d need to clear your name.”

The trader squinted despite the dim light.  “In what way?”

“Come with me to Ballin’s funeral tonight.”

Jed’s brow furrowed.  “That’s crazy.  I’d never be welcome there, and what good does that do you?”

“It’s crazy, but I can change your appearance, and besides your input, your … talent with crafting alternatives to the reason we’re there can help.”

The trader stared at him.  “You mean you’re a realigner instead of a morpher?”

“Exactly.  You’ll have to stay within nine paces of me because you’ll be something of a moving target, but nobody there will know who you are.”

“Do you have to call me a target?”  Jed shook his head.  “I still don’t see how going to the funeral will help.”

“You said Ballin sometimes brought other family or friends along when he traded with you.  Odds are they’ll be at the funeral.  And odds are if somebody else killed Ballin, the murderer had to have some familiarity with you and your route to frame you this effectively.  I need your insight on who they are.”

Jed continued staring at him for many seconds.  Just as Gildar constructed another reason to encourage the trader to accompany him, the man drew a deep breath and looked down at the floor.

“Oh, alright, if you honestly think it will help.”  His attention returned to Gildar.  “Sounds like walking into a viper’s pit to me, but I figure if it can clear my name, I won’t have to worry as much about the family.  Which brings me to this question – why are you willing to help me?”

Gildar studied him for a few seconds.  The question stirred up recall of false accusations against his father years ago, an event he preferred not to think much about.  But this was no time to regale someone about that incident.

So he offered a broader answer.  “Truth should prevail.”

###

Here is my submission to #BlogBattle, and the word this month is Particle.  Writing stories with these prompt words is no small thing, so be sure to check out the other contributions!

If you missed part one, you can find it here.