“Ready?” Rachel asked. She mostly hid her impatience well.
Wrigley settled on the leather harness protecting Gage’s left shoulder. The right side was cleaned up and bandaged. “What’s the plan?” Gage asked her.
“I want to start in the laundry. A habit, probably stained with blood, would need to be washed.”
“Or incinerated,” Wrigley suggested.
“We’ll have a chance to find more clues at the laundry. We start there.” She gave Wrigley a waiting look.
“Oh,” Wrigley said. “This way.” He cocked his head.
“Pal,” Gage said, “I can’t see what you’re doing and I can’t read your mind. Use words.”
“We’ll be here forever,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “He’s basically your horse. Can’t you just nudge him or something? Maybe we could get some reins and a bit?”
While Gage scowled daggers at Rachel, Wrigley shifted his weight and gently pushed with his left talons.
“Are you kidding me?” Gage snorted. Exasperated, he blew air from his mouth.
“Pretty good whinny.” Rachel headed toward the direction of Wrigley’s nod.
A hen was in charge of the laundry. Rachel was unable to formulate a question.
“Uh, Genevieve,” said Wrigley, to the rescue, “how are you today?”
“Busy. Very busy.” She pecked and scratched at a garment floating in a shallow basin of sudsy water.
Gage came closer. “Ingenious. Is this method your own invention?” The hen stopped and cocked her head, giving him the full attention from one of her eyes.
“Why, yes,” said Genevieve. “The bottom of the tub is ribbed and the farrier keeps my nails trimmed so that I can agitate the clothes without ripping them.”
“Wonderful!” Gage gave Rachel a look. She stared back. “Uh, my friend here is the Constable of Saddleback and would like to ask some questions about a monk’s habit that may be a clue to a murder. Do you have time available now for this?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“We’ve come to the right person — ah, expert, then.” Rachel, snapping out of it, stepped forward. “A potential murderer was seen leaving town wearing a monk’s habit. The clothing would have had blood on it, and other signs of violence. Have you seen any such garment?”
Genevieve cocked her head toward one wall holding several bays. “The most soiled are in the furthest stall. Help yourself.” Each bay was open at the front so that the hen could walk in and sort the clothes. Most of the bays were empty, the laundry handled. In the last, soaking tubs held the dirtiest outfits. Grease and garden dirt were the most common stains.
Taking one look at the wet work ahead, Gage ducked and turned away. He preferred to inspect the heating apparatus for managing the water. Rachel gave him a dirty look and, removing her gauntlets, began to poke through the soaking tubs. Wrigley, on his shoulder, turned and watched Gage.
“You like to fix things,” Wrigley observed.
“I like to know how things work. And if it’s possible to make them work better.”
“I do, too.”
“You’re a mechanic?” Gage was surprised.
“No, I’m a philosopher.”
“So you like to know how people work. And then — what? — you go in and make their brains work better?”
“Not people. And not animals. The systems in which we live.”
“I don’t see us liking the same thing, pal. I can actually touch what I want to fix.”
“True.” Wrigley looked away and blinked.
Stopping his inspection, Gage said, “Do we have to be alike? Is that what Companion bonding means?”
“No, you’re right. We can all be different. I just . . . had an idea. An ideal. It was silly.”
“You’re a romantic.”
Wrigley clacked his beak, his version of a chuckle. Shaking his head and ruffling his feathers, he dropped the topic. “What fascinates you about this heating apparatus?”
That was all the encouragement Gage needed. “It’s a fairly run-of-the-mill boiler. That’s not what interests me. Look at all of these beakers holding different soaps and the way they’re added to the water. I’ve never seen such beautifully blown glass. It’s so even and smooth.”
“Yes, they do a nice job at our glass factory.”
“You have a glass factory?” Wrigley leaned away from the happy intensity coming off of Gage.
“Yes, at the north end of the monastery.”
“Rachel! A glass factory! Can we go look?” Lifting heavy, wet clothes, Rachel just glared at him.
“A little busy right now. If you wanted to help . . .”
Gage walked over and leaned in to the nearest tub. “But you’re a highly trained constable. What help could I possibly offer?” Rachel snorted. He started sorting through the pile of unwashed habits. One had a smear of blood on the sleeve, as if someone had wiped a small cut. Nothing stood out.
Suddenly Wrigley jumped down from Gage’s shoulder and pulled at a habit. He stuck his beak underneath and came back out with a feather. Rachel immediately looked over.
“What’s that?” She took it out of his beak before he could even think. The feather was blue.
“That’s . . . that’s the bird I chased.” Wrigley put it all together, his ears swiveling and his brow dipping into a frown.
“The one you said you’d never seen before?” Rachel asked.
“Yes. Was it here, in the laundry?”
Rachel waved the feather. “Yes, but why? We’ve found no habit. Was it carrying one?”
“No. If it had carried something that cumbersome I surely would have caught it.”
“It didn’t remove the habit. Wrigley would have seen that. And it didn’t leave the habit. There’s nothing here.” Rachel was baffled. “Why come in the laundry?”
“When you chased it,” Gage asked, “was it near this building?”
“No. We are now at the south end of the monastery, and I spotted the strange bird as it flew away to the north.”
“It can’t be a coincidence that your bird was in the laundry, but I can’t figure out what it means,” Rachel sighed. “Let’s continue the investigation, and perhaps another clue will come to light.”
“I think it’s time to investigate the kitchen,” Gage added.
“What do you think the bird was doing in the kitchen?” Rachel asked.
“Nothing. I’m just hungry.”
They stepped from the kitchen, Gage chewing on a sandwich. Rachel, looking about, frowned. This case was going nowhere.
Across the way was a gleaming building of brick and steam. Gage stopped eating. “Is that the glass factory?”
“Yes,” Wrigley said. And they were off, Gage striding toward the building and Wrigley giving a little flap to keep his balance on the shoulder rig.
“Well, I have nothing better to do,” Rachel sighed, following.
You’re going to want to give the glass factory a good looking-over. Of course your main clue is here. The game will railroad you toward its location if you need the help. Also, though, you can get a lot of role-playing atmosphere if you take the time.
This world is a hybrid of a medieval sword-and-board build mashed with steampunk. Building construction is very mortar and tenon, with large beams and whitewashed plaster walls. The machinery is glass tube, steam, and metal piping, with brass fittings a-twinkle.
The clothing is Renaissance and the accessories are Art Deco.
Glass-blowing has a tutorial, if you want to take the time. You can open up a skill line that isn’t necessary but is useful. You never know — hint, hint, wink, wink — when you might want Gage to craft something from glass. You can always pay a merchant for an item, but it will be vanilla.
And next to the broken glass bin, pressed into the sand reservoir beside the boiler, is a footprint. Rachel won’t notice it; she’s chasing the more obvious clue. You, though, can be the sleuth who discovers it. It’s only a small cheat, a little shortcut that bypasses the upcoming radiant quest, but it’s worth the trouble.
“What’s this?” Rachel said.
While Gage examined the glassworks, Rachel let her eyes wander. In a dark corner, underneath a shelving unit, was an edge of something cloth. Rachel pounced.
She held a dirty habit. As she shook it out, the bloodstained front became obvious.
Wrigley turned aside his head. He knew and understood the brutality of life and nature, but this had a cruelty that saddened him.
The Companion bond had begun, so Gage felt Wrigley’s pain. He gave him a contemplative look, then reached for the habit.
“Pretty damning evidence,” Gage said.
“Wait,” Rachel said, checking the seams, “this is inside-out.”
“What? Why?”
“The blood is on the inside of the garment. Was Tom wearing this?”
“He did like to dress in it and dream,” said Wrigley softly.
“Are you saying,” asked Gage, “that the killer undressed Tom and put on the bloody habit in order to escape town?” Wrigley only shook his head.
“What do you remember from the crime scene?” Rachel asked Gage.
“The kid was broken. Tossed aside. Blood on his clothes. Blood everywhere.”
“He wasn’t wearing this, though, right? The scene would’ve looked different if a garment had been removed from him.”
“But if he wasn’t wearing it,” Wrigley asked, “who did?”
“Is this a child-sized habit, Wrigley?”
“Youth, Constable. It’s not a common size.”
“Yet, we saw this person — “
“The Drunk Monk,” Gage interjected. Rachel gave him a look.
“ — we saw this person leaving town. Walking. The habit completely covered him.”
“Someone small, then.” Wrigley said.
“Who do you have on the grounds who might fit this description?”
“We don’t have children but we do have a few people who are smaller in stature. Mistress Bronwen would fall into this category.”
“Mistress Bronwen?” Gage suggested reluctantly. He’d liked her.
“No,” Wrigley stated. “She and I have been working the raptors for three days. I am her alibi and she is not the killer.” He noticed how Gage was relieved to hear this. Was this feeling solely Gage’s, or had the Companion Bond and Wrigley’s attachment to Bronwen influenced Gage’s mind? Now was not the time to pursue that question.
“I’ll need to interview anyone who may have fit into this habit,” Rachel said.
“We’ll go to Father Anselm. He is the authority. He should be informed, and he’ll reassure everyone who must be questioned.”
“Wrigley,” Rachel said, “it’s quite possible someone here, someone you know, killed Tom. Can you face this, or do you need to wait until I’m done?”
Wrigley swallowed, his eyes involuntarily blinking. “Thank you, Constable, I’ll be fine.”
With one last look at the glass factory, Gage turned to leave. He stopped and sidetracked, something catching his eye. Wrigley flapped his wings at the sudden shift. Next to the boiler was a reservoir of sand and a bin of broken glass, the raw materials used by the artists.
“Hop off, buddy,” Gage said. With Wrigley off of his shoulder he could bend down and look closely at the sand pit. “Rachel.”
Hurrying over, she also crouched low. There in the sand was a firm and distinct footprint. “I need some plaster to cast this.”
Wrigley hopped over to look. “Oh, dear.” The print was an animal’s.
“That’s a cat,” said Gage. “A very big cat.”
You may wander the monastery now, role-playing as you talk to the different sentient animals. Your quest will take you, sooner or later, to Father Anselm who will assure you that no large cats live on the property. And, if you ask, you’ll learn that no one who wears a habit, size youth, is missing their garment.
Your mission to the Northern Monastery is now complete. Take your level up, and prepare to follow the map South.