The rowdy sounds from the tavern spilled out into the air.
But the ruckus outside the door wasn't just drunken banter.
Pfft—
George: Curse you! How much water did you sneak into this drink?!
Tavern Owner: Get lost, you babbling broke fool!
The drunkard, licking his lips as he slyly pulled out the cork, was more than pleased.
Tavern Owner: Quit causing a scene.
Tavern Owner: I can feel those pitiful coins tumbling in your pocket; though they don't amount to much.
George: Gi... Give me another... I can pay!
Leaning casually against the dirty wall in her pristine robes, someone chimed in.
Dikke: Two glasses of your best white.
The innkeeper slyly masked his surprise and briskly swung the tavern door open, inviting the magistrate in.
Tavern Owner: Need anything else? It's snug, sure, but we've got everything you could want!
Tavern Owner: And, of course, we offer services off the menu!
His suggestive wink went unnoticed; the speaker had no plans to step inside.
Dikke: I'm looking for someone.
Dikke: Someone who knows their way around here.
A scruffy man stepped forward with swaggering confidence.
George: Me name's George, I'm the man you're after!
George: Want the juicy details about noble affairs, or are you after some excitement?
George: Trust me, my rates are fair...
He thumped his chest with genuine conviction.
Dikke: Here, these are for you.
George: Oh Lord, praise be to your name!
George: To be trusted by a person of your stature; I vow you have made a wise choice!
Taking a deep breath of the lingering scent of wine, he turned his head away from the innkeeper.
George: Care for it well! And remember, not a drop of water — I'm won't be so easily fooled!
Tavern Owner: Tsk.
The figures moved through the streets and alleys.
Dikke: Is this the market?
George: Yes, Your Honor.
George: Merchants from other towns come here to buy and sell their wares. If you're willing to spend a bit, you can find all sorts of treasures.
George: As for that tall structure there... well, before it was abandoned, it was our tower.
He lowered his voice and leaned in.
George: Since the great plague, no one has taken care of it... Everyone says there are ghouls inside...
George: My Lady, I advise you to stay away from there.
Dikke looked around. The few people that passed by avoided eye contact, their faces marked by strange expressions.
She traced the path of their gaze over to a mound nestled in an alley beneath the tower and a solitary cross peeking out from the shadows.
Dikke: Hmm...?
Dikke: It seems this is not a market but a graveyard.
Without waiting for a response, Dikke walked towards the alley.
As she entered under the tower's shadow, the mound became fully visible
Withered wildflowers and tangled hay lie around it, the decaying wooden cross sticking out from above. Ants were crawling in lines over it.
Dikke: Is this grave one of the market's specialties?
George: This... it must be new... I haven't seen it here before...
George: Oh... Recently, there have been rumors about these ghouls. Perhaps...
Suddenly, an approaching man pushed George aside, glaring harshly at him.
Malachi: Step back, filth! Do you dare taint the robes of our honorable magistrate!
The man wheeled around on his heels, bowing in a respectful gesture.
Malachi: Ah! Honorable Magistrate, I am Malachi.
Malachi: You've graced us with your presence, at last. Even now, we are patiently awaiting you at the monastery.
Malachi: But, why are you out here all alone?
Dikke: It's a habit of mine.
He nodded, then feigning realization adopted a fearful expression.
Malachi: This drunkard is a madman. If he said anything foolish to you, I beg you forgive him.
Malachi: ...
He gave the other man a stern look, and his nose twitched.
Malachi: Huh? You smell of Languedoc? Where did you steal such good wine?—You've committed a crime, boy!
George: Pah, I stole nothing!... This was my hard-earned reward.
Malachi: We'll deal with this later!—Magistrate!
He put on a new smile to accompany his changed face.
Dikke: I believe you have another matter to discuss.
Dikke: Unreported deaths, is that right?
Malachi: No, no, no, My Lady, you misunderstand.
Malachi: Of course, we were planning to report this to you, but... we needed first to organize the complete records.
The man spoke haltingly.
Dikke: No matter, I had no intention of combing through your tedious records.
Dikke: You may state your case in person.
Malachi: He ...
The sound of an impatient rapping of fingers rose and fell along Lady Dikke's sword, echoing into Malachi's ears.
Dikke: You have nothing to fear. Please ... continue.
Malachi: ...The deceased was a monk... Brother Chester.
George: Ah! It's him...
Malachi shot him another glance.
Dikke: Go on.
George: I've heard some rumors; people say he's the one you've hidden away, the one that had turned into a ghoul...
Malachi: Shut your mouth, or would you like to forfeit your rations?
George: ...
The man pulled back his neck.
Malachi: According to our initial investigation, Chester appears to have died due to a drunken misstep...
He nervously scanned the surroundings.
Dikke: Father Malachi, is there something you'd rather not discuss openly?
Malachi: Several residents reported witnessing odd behavior from Brother Chester, that he had a peculiar offensive odor about him... some even claim to have seen him sneaking into the tower...
Malachi: And others say they saw him carrying a corpse through the town at night. Convinced that he was a ghoul.
Dikke: And is there any truth to these claims?
Malachi's voice dropped.
Malachi: Of course not, My Lady! Ghouls are nothing more than superstition... Yet, heaven only knows... Perhaps he was a wizard.
Dikke: Huh...
Malachi: ...The elders think so too.
Dikke: So, then you assume his death came from a spell that backfired?
He leaned in, whispering in a voice only the two could hear.
Malachi: My Lady, it doesn't really matter what the truth is.
Malachi: Should it be revealed that the monastery concealed a wizard, it wouldn't sit well with the townspeople.
His breath ran thin as he advised the young woman in front of him.
Malachi: Though the Great Plague is over, the people's trust in us has not yet been restored.
Malachi: "Can the monastery really protect us? Can they?"—You must have heard such doubts.
Malachi: Whether a wizard or a ghoul, either one would profane the monastery by their presence.
Malachi: It leaves us in a precarious position, I'm sure I need not say more.
He nodded in approval, as if he were satisfied by his own words.
Dikke: You have your reasons.
Malachi: Hmm...
Dikke: But I don't accept them.
Malachi: What...?!
He stared in astonishment at the young magistrate.
Dikke: As of now, I'm unsure where the truth lies. What I do know is that it won't be discovered in empty words or false advice.
Malachi: You should know... the affairs of wizards are most elusive, it will be difficult for us to gather substantial evidence.
Dikke: That, Father ... is precisely my work.
Malachi tried to suppress his anger.
Malachi: Perhaps you don't quite understand what I'm saying...
Malachi: The people need the comfort of reassurance, not harsh realities, my Lady.
Malachi: Please, you should—
Dikke: What you should do, Father, is provide me useful information.
Dikke: Not stand in my way and presume to dictate my mission.
"Woosh—!"
Malachi: Of course, of course...
He nodded fervently.
Dikke: I thank you for your assistance.
The cold metal blade dropped, as if finally satisfied.
