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 with a caplock pistol.  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 on a percussion cap that didn’t spark.

Gildar tracks Jed to the trader’s home in town, and learns the pistol in question has been delivered to a customer who claimed he never ordered nor paid for it – but kept it anyway.  Unable to examine the pistol further, Gildar convinces Jed to accompany him to Ballin’s funeral that night.  Because Gildar is a realigner who can also change the appearance of nearby surroundings, he plans to disguise them and question the participants.

***

The home of the late Ballin was chiseled into a cliff side, the entrance concealed by a grove of cedar trees.  A few hobbled horses, their shadows long from the low sun, grazed on the meadow tucked amidst the cliff and surrounding forest.  As Gildar and Jed approached on a couple of the trader’s steeds, the small herd watched.

“It’s around here?” Jed asked.

Since Gildar was here earlier today, he knew the home’s exact location.  But for that, he might have also needed to search out the entrance.

He tugged the reins to halt his bay mount.  “On the other side of those cedars.”

Jed frowned as he also stopped his roan horse.  “I wouldn’t have thought….  Ballin was always well-dressed, and bartered for some pretty fine fabrics.  I always imagined he’d be in, well, more of a proper house.”

Gildar couldn’t resist smirking as he dismounted.  “Despite the claims my people live in nests or dens?”

“Of course those claims are rubbish.”  Jed also swung off his horse.  “But it does account for how you beings are very good at hiding.”

Gildar pulled the leather hobbles free that had been tucked behind the saddle’s cantle.  “I should go ahead and realign you before anybody else shows up.”

“That sounds disturbing.”  The trader’s brow furrowed.  “But might as well get it over with – will I feel anything?”

“Maybe some tickling.”  Gildar, still looking like a middle-aged blond but his clothing was more presentable, raised a hand and pinched the fingertips together.  “Remember, I’m just altering your outward appearance.”

A brown mist swirled around Jed.  But during the couple of seconds it took for him to look instead like an elderly, bearded fellow, he wriggled and stamped and squawked like a lamb with its mouth still full while being yanked away from the teat.  Gildar squinted at him as the mist evaporated.

“What was that?”  The trader scratched at the front of his shirt.  “I felt like there were bugs crawling all over me!”

That was a problem?  Well, adults sometimes weren’t as adventurous as children.  “Yeah, I said it might tickle.”

He pointed at Gildar.  “Will that happen again when you change me back?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re used to it now.”

“No, I’m not!”

They fastened the leather straps to the front fetlocks of their mounts, and then Jed followed him around the cedars.  The door, fashioned from the same stone, blended in with the rest of the rock face.

Gildar reached into a crevice beside it and pulled a hidden cord.  Most abodes of this construction were outfitted with that particular feature.  They didn’t hear the bong it would have caused inside, but within several seconds an elderly woman in a dark green dress shoved the door open.  A matching shawl draped over her head.

As per their arrangement, Jed introduced themselves as a couple of associates come to pay their respects.  He stammered a little while speaking in a higher pitch, but Gildar figured the old man persona would help keep others from noticing that too much.  And Gildar couldn’t spout a wholesale fabrication without losing the potency of his enchantment.

The matron, who introduced herself as the mother of Ballin’s widow, Kareece, invited them inside.

Jed’s jaw dropped slightly and he glanced about as they entered the home.  Carved into solid rock and inhabited over centuries, the arched ceilings were supported by ornate columns, and a few woolen rugs lay arranged on the smooth floor.  Around twenty people, adults and youths, were scattered around the adjoining chambers.

Gildar muttered at him out of the corner of his mouth, “Don’t look so impressed.”

But his own heart fluttered when he glanced toward Ballin’s coffin.  The pine box sat atop a catafalque of interwoven vines that provided a sturdy platform.  And standing nearby, sipping a cup of tea, Mordrad studied them.

What was his mentor doing here?  Yes, Mordrad was a member of this community, while Gildar was the rookie outsider, but there was no other reason for the transmigrator to attend the funerary service….

Or was there?

Mordrad wouldn’t recognize them in their realigned appearances, but by the way he observed them, it was good bet he suspected any stranger might be Gildar in an alternative persona.

Their escort led them to a hearth where Kareece stood with a fellow in a tailored, gray suit on her left, and an elderly couple on her right.  Her mother made introductions.  As Gildar suspected, the couple were Ballin’s parents, but the gentleman was referred to only as her cousin Vervale.

After Jed explained without too much stammering how they’d bartered with Ballin, Gildar remarked “I understand there was some kind of tragic accident involving his son.”

The elders, perhaps emotionally weary of hearing about the account, excused themselves to check up on their grandchildren.  As they strolled toward two girls and a boy sitting on a bench against the opposite wall, there was no mistaking Plaiton and his somber expression.

Vervale shook his head as he replied, “It was murder, plain and simple.  His son Plaiton shot himself with a pistol some itinerate merchant had in his wares, and Ballin used his empath enchantment to save the boy.”

“Oh, Vervale.”  Kareece turned her attention to him.  “When did Jed even say so much as an unkind word?”

“That’s exactly the sort you have to be careful about.”

The left corner of Jed’s mouth twitched.  Gildar shuffled slightly in front of him and asked, “What about an investigation?”

Kareece sighed.  “A couple of questers have looked into what happened, and the one in charge – he’s over there, actually – seemed convinced Jed was involved, but … we’ve traded with him for even longer than Vervale has.  I find that conclusion hard to believe.”

Vervale placed a hand on her shoulder.  “It’s hard enough to lose a spouse, Kareece, don’t fret over the trader.”

An unmistakable, gruff voice behind Gildar made his heart skip a beat.  “How long have you two known Ballin?”

The question confirmed Mordrad likely suspected his real identity.  Jed muttered, “A few years,” but Gildar smiled at the transmigrater.

“Not that long.”  He could get away with being vague and skirting the truth, but now that was for everybody else’s benefit since the jig was probably up concerning Mordrad.

His mentor’s brow furrowed, a sure sign he recognized Gildar’s voice.  “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else?”

He steadied his gaze on Mordrad’s face.  “No, I’m not finished yet.”

From the corner of his eye he noticed Kareece glance back and forth between them before asking, “Do you know each other?”

Gildar smiled at her.  “Not as well as I thought.”

Mordrad could have suspected Gildar would come here tonight, which might be one reason the transmigrator was also present.  But that detail was too minor to pull Mordrad away from the comfort of his own table.  There had to be another reason his mentor was here, but what?

Jed asked a question Gildar much appreciated.  “How long have you known Ballin?”

Mordrad squinted at him before replying.  “I was more acquainted with him by name.”

“Oh?”  Gildar’s gaze locked on him, and Mordrad scowled back.

Vervale bowed slightly.  “Mordrad here is a friend of mine.  One of my most loyal customers.”

His mentor’s affinity for treats immediately came to mind.  “You’re a confectioner?”

Vervale nodded as Kareece said, “He and his late wife, my blood cousin, worked together like Ballin and I did.”  She drew a deep breath and shrugged.  “He’s been as much help as the parents in preparing for the funeral and … what’s ahead.”

Mordrad made a small bow to her.  “Pardon me, but I have a few questions for these gentlemen that I don’t wish to concern you with.”  He frowned at Gildar.  “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Begging your pardon.”  Gildar nodded to her before he and Jed followed Mordrad to a vacant corner of the room.

The transmigrator’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the trader.  “That had better not be who I think it is.”

Gildar shrugged.  “A funny thing happened on my way over here –”

Mordrad’s face reddened as he hissed, “Are you really stupid enough to bring a human to one of our rites?”

“Of course not.”  Gildar grinned.  “The idea is quite inspired.”

Mordrad sputtered before he pointed at Gildar.  “You can just forget about ever becoming a quester!  I’ll dress you down in front of the committee, and after they’re done with you, you’ll never pursue justice again.”

His mentor’s bluster had caused some amusement in the past, but not this time.  Gildar’s heart thumped a little harder.  Mordrad was one to make promises instead of threats.

The transmigrator glared at him.  “Now get that cully out of here before you really get into trouble.”

Cully?  Wait a minute … why was Mordrad so eager to condemn Jed?  He’d dismissed the human as prejudiced against beings, but just used a disparaging term common among beings who had low regard for humans.

Mordrad had been a quester for many years, but sometimes experience was used to confirm assumptions.  Could he really not care about discovering how Ballin actually died because all that mattered was blaming a human?  Or was something more going on?

Gildar squinted at him.  “How close a friend are you with Vervale that you attend the funeral of a kin so distant they’re not actually kin?”

Mordrad glared at him.  “Are you insinuating something?”

“Should I?”

“Get this through your thick skull:  Get him out of here, and you’re through with justice questing.”

Gildar returned a calmer version of the transmigrator’s gaze even though his heart pounded.  “No.”

There was no mistaking the rumble in Mordrad’s voice.  “What did you say?”

“You heard me correctly.  We aren’t leaving.  And you can’t do a thing about it.”

Jed fidgeted.  “Uh … magic.”

“He won’t cause a scene at a funeral.”  Gildar glanced toward the trader.  “And I’m a quester at least long enough to crack this case.”

“You just made things a lot harder for yourself.”  Mordrad grumbled before he stepped away, notably toward the table laden with food and drink brought by relatives and friends.

Jed murmured, “Maybe we should leave.”

“You’re fine as long as you stay close to me.”  Gildar spied Plaiton rise from the bench and approach his father’s coffin.

The threat of being barred from questing paled somewhat in comparison to what the boy had to be going through.  Gildar, with Jed following, strolled to the lad’s side and stood beside him to contemplate the coffin.

Actually, the vine platform holding it up drew his attention.  The intricate weaving was symbolic, representing the undulations of life itself.  Make this decision, go that way.  Make a different decision, go the other way.  It all intertwined and became the story of who that person was.

Gildar pressed his lips together.  The end of Ballin’s life represented the most intricate twisting yet, and it needed to be unraveled to insure justice was carried out.

“I’m so sorry about your father,” he murmured.

Plaiton’s voice trembled.  “It’s all my fault.”

The statement made Gildar’s chest feel tight, and he shook his head.  “You can’t blame yourself.  There were many factors at play, some of which were beyond your control.”

“I don’t even know why I grabbed that pistol.”  Plaiton bowed his head.  “Maybe it was because Uncle Vervale was telling me all about them last night.  But I shouldn’t have done it.”

A different tremor pulsed through Gildar, and his attention locked on the boy.

“What all did Vervale tell you?”

###

Here’s my contribution to #BlogBattle and the word this month is Catafalque.  That’s right, Catafalque.  Yeah, I thought the same thing….

Be sure to see what stories other writers came up with!

Part One and Part Two are available if you haven’t read them yet.