Previously:  In a world where mundane humans coexist with magical beings, Gildar, something of a detective-in-training,is 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.

At the funeral he meets Kareece, Ballin’s widow, and her cousin by marriage, Vervale.  Mordrad is also in attendance, and threatens to end Gildar’s career as a quester.  Gildar then speaks to Plaiton, Ballin’s nine-year-old son, and learns that Vervale had spoken to the boy about pistols the night before.

*****

Plaiton shrugged.  “He told me how humans have come up with a new gun, that they’re always looking for more effective ways to destroy.”

Gildar frowned as he glanced back at Vervale standing beside the widow Kareece.  Beings didn’t pay much attention to human inventions.  Gildar was familiar with those weapons for a variety of reasons, principally because such knowledge was useful in his role of justice quester.  But why would a manufacturer of tasty treats educate himself about such contraptions?

“What details did he tell you about pistols?”  His attention shifted back to the boy.

“A little about how they work.”  Plaiton looked down again.  “Maybe that’s why I wanted to see the gun, because Uncle Vervale told me about them last night.”

Gildar slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and fingered the unspent percussion cap.  Earlier this morning when he and Mordrad questioned the boy and the trader, Plaiton never mentioned Vervale’s visit last night.  Of course not.  The lad had been too rattled and riddled with grief to mention such a … seemingly unrelated … detail.

The next question Gildar wanted to ask was a bit awkward, not typically part of casual conversation, but sometimes such information was necessary.

“What is Vervale’s enchantment?”

The boy’s brow furrowed, but he looked more quizzical than concerned.  “He’s a pyrotant.”

Great leaping grasshoppers – his fingers tightened on the cap.

Vervale’s ability to manipulate fire might explain how the pistol managed to shoot without the hammer striking the cap to set off the spark.  But why would Vervale set the percussion cap and pull the hammer back only halfway?

“What exactly did he tell you about how pistols work?”

Plaiton managed to slouch even more.  “That you pour powder into the barrel, and use a rod to ram a ball wrapped in fabric into it.”

He was silent for a few seconds before Gildar gently asked, “And?”

The boy, eyes red, looked up at him.  His voice wavered when he replied.

“You can tell if it’s loaded or not by looking into the barrel.”  Plaiton’s gaze returned to the floor, and his voice cracked on the next comment.  “Maybe that’s why I did it.”

Gildar stared at the traumatized child, his chest tightening even as his mind raced.  How did this information add up?  Yes, children were very suggestible, but as Mordrad had pointed out, relying on the boy to shoot himself so that his empath father would take on the mortal wound and die instead was too convoluted a plan to be rational.

He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Did Vervale tell you anything else?”

Plaiton drew a couple of shaky breaths before replying.  “Not really.  He wasn’t around that much, just asked about Pa meeting with Jed the next morning.  And then he gave us raspberry whips he said to eat after breakfast.  Then he left.”

After breakfast?  Maybe it meant nothing.  If Vervale gave the boy and his sisters a treat at night, it would be typical to tell children they should wait until the following day to consume it.  But … after breakfast was a more precise time than tomorrow.

Gildar lightly squeezed Plaiton’s shoulder.  “And did you eat the whip after breakfast?”

The boy nodded.

“And then you and your father went out to meet Jed?”

Plaiton’s lip quivered as he nodded again.

Pseudo-old-man Jed, whom Gildar had almost forgotten was standing nearby, tapped his arm.  Gildar glanced down and saw the trader was handing him a handkerchief.  He accepted the cloth, and handed it to Plaiton as his other hand moved from the boy’s shoulder to his back.

“I’m sorry.”  Gildar couldn’t enumerate everything he was apologetic for, but his imagination veered in a direction that unsettled him.

One didn’t consume potions.  At least not that he’d ever heard of.  But if there was anything both humans and beings were always trying to innovate, it was potions.  Humans always concocted toxic versions to keep hostile beings at bay.  And beings tried to compensate for the enchantments they couldn’t generate themselves.

Was there something in that whip besides raspberry pulp and sugar?  Nobody could make anybody act against his will, but … could an impressionable child be coerced into an action that adults who knew better would never do?

Even a potion with only that little power of persuasion could be very dangerous.

Both Ballin and Jed had shouted at Plaiton not to point the pistol at his face, even though they believed it to be unloaded.  And Vervale would have good reason to believe Ballin would give up his own life to save his son.

But where did Vervale go after leaving Ballin’s?  And why would he even want to murder the empath?

Gildar rubbed the boy’s back as his gaze swept across the room to where Vervale still lingered near Ballin’s widow.  She’d claimed her cousin by marriage had been very helpful since the morning’s tragic event.

Something knotted in Gildar’s stomach.  What else did Vervale cook up besides confectionary treats?  It was time to give Plaiton some reprieve and ask the pyrotant what he’d been up to in the last day.

His hand returned to Plaiton’s shoulder.  “Can I get you anything?”

The boy shook his head as he wiped at his nose with the handkerchief.  Gildar’s gaze locked on Jed, and he jerked his chin toward Vervale and Kareece.

“Let’s resume our conversation.”

The trader hesitated, studying the boy as though trying to decide if he should linger.  But then perhaps remembering he needed to stay within nine paces of Gildar to keep his altered appearance, Jed gave Plaiton a pat on the shoulder before falling in step with Gildar.  As they crossed the room, another movement from beside the food-laden table caught Gildar’s eye.

Mordrad was also heading toward the widow and her cousin.  It seemed doubtful the transmigrator just happened to decide at the same time to speak with Vervale.  That knot in Gildar’s stomach turned again.  Exactly why was Mordrad here?

The unwelcomed notion that Gildar’s mentor was in on this scheme somehow returned.  He didn’t like to think about it, but it wouldn’t be the first time a justice quester turned sour.  Vervale had referred to Mordrad as one of his best customers.

“Begging your pardon.”  Gildar bowed slightly as they halted before Vervale and Kareece.  “I heard you were familiar with pistols, and wondered if you could tell me about them.”

Vervale arched an eyebrow.  Mordrad approached Gildar’s other side and squinted at him.

“What makes you so interested in pistols?” the transmigrator asked.

Was his mentor purposefully trying to interfere with the investigation?  Mordrad knew why Gildar was here.  Asking questions like that could only compromise his attempt to discover the truth.

Gildar cast a smile more confident than he felt at Mordrad.  “Isn’t that obvious?”

The truth … a facet of reality every being had to contend with.  Determining truth could sometimes be tricky, because if somebody repeated a lie he believed, then his enchantment wouldn’t be neutralized like it was if he told a lie.  Heretics claimed this meant truth wasn’t actually a single standard.  But more philosophical thinkers pointed out this was an act of mercy.  Innocents deceived into believing a lie were not culpable like those who promulgated the lie.

Had Vervale actually believed it was a good idea to look into the barrel of a gun?  Or last night had he been willing to forfeit his enchantment until sunrise in order to plant an erroneous suggestion in Plaiton’s mind?

Mordrad frowned.  “You’re asking an awful lot of questions.”

Kareece cast that quizzical glance between them again.  Gildar didn’t like the possibility of causing the same upset for her he brought upon her son, but with Mordrad accosting him, he was running out of options to discover the truth.

He would have preferred not to use a tactic as crude as the direct question that occurred to him, but Mordrad’s participation left him few options.  Gildar returned his attention to Vervale.

“Were you involved with the murder of Ballin the empath?”

Everybody in their immediate group, including Mordrad, gaped or gasped.  Vervale stared at Gildar for a nervous few seconds and sputtered a bit before replying.

“Why would you ask me that?”

That was not a no, which meant his answer could only mean one thing.  Tan mist swirled around Gildar as he returned to his actual appearance.  Since he was about to act in official capacity, he should look like the quester he was.

“Fellow Vervale, you’ll need to come along with me.”

Vervale’s hand sprang up, and Gildar expected the sparks that popped from his fingers.  With only an instant to dodge the fireball that hurtled toward him, Gildar sprang to one side and pushed Jed aside as well.

Mordrad popped out of sight and didn’t reappear anywhere else in the room.  Gildar had no clue to where the elder quester transmigrated.

Shouts and screams echoed through the chambers as Vervale lunged toward the entrance, but the visitors’ consternation was caused by the fiery blast exploding against the far wall.  Smoke and ash billowed from a ragged char stain on the granite.  The pyrotant flung open the door and sprinted out.

Gildar charged after Vervale.  But when he reached the doorway, more gasps and outcries urged him to halt.  As he straddled the threshold, he glanced back.

Jed, who hadn’t chased after Gildar, looked like himself again.  The fact his appearance changed wouldn’t have startled the beings in the home.  Most likely, more than a few recognized him – and knew he was human.

Many considered it a desecration for a human to intrude upon the funeral of a being.  The attendants seemed to vacillate between expressing more outrage at Vervale’s blast or Jed’s presence.

Kareece, with jaw set and lips pressed together, strode toward Jed.

Gildar had a human in possible danger inside, and a killer on the loose outside.  He could only hope Kareece’s concerned comments about Jed earlier that night reflected true compassion for the trader’s dilemma.

“Sorry, Jed.”  Gildar dashed out the doorway.

###

Here is my contribution to this month’s #BlogBattle, and the word this round is Nervous.  Don’t be shy about checking out the other submissions as well!

This is also Part Four, so if you missed Part One or Part Two or Part Three, just follow the links.