Adeline

I'd grown fond of helping the cook in the kitchen, and I was beginning to feel less guilty for spying on her thoughts in the cellar that night. If I hadn't, surely she would be overwhelmed and alone in preparing for the party. In any case, I stood firmly in my decision never to do it again. Not to her, that is.

"What are these?" I held aloft a bright red, conical edible I'd plucked out of a small burlap sack, nestled with the others of its kind.

"It's a chili," Vera replied. "Got them from that Partisan produce trader. Comes around once or twice a year."

"They're adorable," I said.

Vera chuckled, kneading her pudgy hands into a pile of squishy dough.

"Adorable, but a waste of notes. Garlic is about all the spice Jaskan people will tolerate, I'm learning."

I gave the pepper a sniff. Familiar, but not quite. "May I eat it?"

Vera nodded, and she slid a decanter of milk across the preparation counter, the majority of which had already been used for her secret bread recipe.

While I wasn't thirsty at that precise moment, I appreciated the gesture, and I took a generous bite of the tiny pepper.

"It's good," I said. "Somewhat like a bell pepper, but—"

I sputtered and choked, and why was everything leaking? My eyes, my nose, and even my mouth was watering as if it wanted more, and I, for one, most certainly did not want more. It felt as though I'd swallowed a Celestian. I reached for the milk and chugged desperately.

"Sweet merciful Mother of Mind!" Still holding the chili by the stem, my voice came out strained and higher-pitched than normal. "This should be outlawed."

Vera laughed with her whole body while I jogged in place and continued to cry. I'd need a few more minutes to find anything funny again, but knowing I'd brought joy to my new friend was enough to make up for the searing pain.

Once I recovered, we spoke about her family, and how dearly Vera loved her children, and how her husband had died suddenly a few years ago—all things I knew already, but had to pretend I didn't. "He was a real bastard most of the time, but I still miss him sometimes," she said.

By mid-morning, we'd finished shaping the dough for the buns. It was my final task for the day and it promised to be a busy afternoon elsewhere, but before I could leave, Vera planted a floury hand on my shoulder. "It's been nice having you here, Abby. I hope you find a reason to stop by again after this is over."

My cheeks grew warm and my eyes began to water, and it was no longer due to the problematic pepper. I promised Vera I would stop by all the time, and I did. For each morning going forward during my stay the Goose and the Gander, I helped Vera prepare breakfast for the staff.

It was the night of the banquet, and we were expecting guests all the way from Istok and Verena of all places. I'd expressed my concerns—the Verenians were less than tolerant of Partisans, of course—but Tanis insisted it would be fine. As for my responsibilities, we'd be offering wine, but I'd be serving mixed drinks as well. Some of which I'd practised from the recipe cards, and some of which I'd concocted by trial and error.

The brothel was abuzz with excitement and panic as we all put the finishing touches on the decor. Even the men and women who worked the rooms joined in lending a helping hand. Finally—the perfect opportunity. With everyone together at the same time, I could practise efficiency in fulfilling Captain Kavelin's request.

"Did you hear the news?" I said from behind the napkin folding station. "Another man was found murdered yesterday."

Those who went around lighting the sconces and setting the tables paused and looked in my direction. The others at the napkin folding station did, too.

"Just terrible," one of the ladies finally said.

"Yeah, just awful," another added. "It reminds, back a few years ago when all those people disappeared."

"It's not the same," said the receptionist who polished the wood around the stage. "We don't know those people were killed."

There were a few shrugs and murmurs throughout the room, and I honed in on the thoughts of those who'd had something to say, and then on those who'd had nothing to say. But most of the employees were only worried about their own problems, or those of their friends, or about the important event for which they were preparing and at which they stood to make quite a lot of money. One of the dancers was concerned she wouldn't find her tassels in time, and another liked my perfume and wished she could have some.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Later, I'd find the tassels and spritz a closet.

The one who spoke next had been quiet for most of the afternoon, and her words stopped the others in their tracks. "They had it coming, if you ask me."

"You can't say things like that," someone remarked.

"But she has a point," another said. "The victims were all—you know." There was a pause, and no, I didn't know. "Don't pretend you all aren't relieved."

I circled around the room again, wandering through the minds of my colleagues. "Lecherous pigs, the lot of them," one thought. "I wish I'd done it myself sooner," another mused. The dozen or so employees had one thing in common—they all knew the victims, and they all hated them, but I was certain none of them were responsible for their deaths. Captain Kavelin and I were but two scientists with opposing hypotheses, and more and more, I was convinced he was wrong.

My latest creation was the most popular drink at the banquet. Part brandy, part spiced wine, warmed and poured into a stoneware goblet, topped with a layer of spirits, garnished with a dash of cinnamon, and served on fire. Tanis insisted we call it Abby's Blaze. "It writes itself," she said, and what could I say? It truly did.

The banquet was a success, and the guests were most intriguing. They were all so dignified and had such interesting jobs, and as I was returning from the kitchen with another pot of heated brandy and wine, I couldn't help overhear why many had traveled all the way to Jaska from either ends of the territory. The reason was most alarming! They'd heard about what happened to the church in Oskari—how out of nowhere, it had just collapsed. The journalists wanted to know how it happened, of course, the historians wanted to document the aftermath, and the archaeologists wanted to excavate the wreckage. And, after hearing this, all I wanted to do was solve some murders so I could find and warn my friends back in Oskari.

As the night went on, many of our guests had already chosen a paid companion for the night, excusing themselves from the theatre in favour of the private rooms and peepshows. The music, which at first had been more upbeat, had become slow and sleepy. The guests who remained at their tables appeared satisfied and bleary eyed, and as I enjoyed the lull in the evening, I came to a stark realization. There was one employee of the Goose and the Gander whose mind I hadn't read—whose mind I couldn't read at all.

I looked to the curtain at the rear of the stage, behind which Everleigh Gloom had been playing the violin. When eventually the last of the guests in the theatre were gone, I left the bar, untidied, to confront her. I emerged on the other side of the curtain backstage to the sound of two loud snaps, and after closing her case and grabbing it by the handle, Ever looked in my direction.

"Hey," she said, deadpan as ever with those enormous, purple-rimmed grey eyes.

I smiled and approached, lowering my voice to conspiratorial tones.

"I'd like to ask you two questions," I said.

"I'm listening."

"—but only if you promise not to be angry with me."

"Aye, sure." The moody musician cradled her violin case against her chest. "I guess."

"Are you one of the Anima?"

Ever made popping sound with her lips and a star-burst gesture with her hand. "Obviously."

"Thank you for your honesty," I said. "Did you strangle all the men with belts?"

"Why would I strangle people with belts when I could freeze their blood and stop their hearts, or leech their life-force right out of them, or better yet, convince them to kill themselves."

"An excellent point," I decided, and as quickly as I'd conceived of my theory, I was forced to let it go.

"I didn't do it," Ever added. "But I know who did."

"You do?"

"Aye, I know everything."

This sounded like hyperbole to me, but what did I know? Very little, as I was quickly learning.

"Will you tell me?" I asked.

"Well, first you have to promise not to be angry with me."

"I promise."

The smallest hint of a smile touched the tiny Anima's lips. "It was the cook. Vera."

"Vera? What? No. What? No, it couldn't possibly be," I said, even though it most certainly could have been. I hadn't read Vera's mind since I'd vowed not to, and that was prior to my promise to the Captain.

"Where do you think your new friends go to cry after a bad night in the bedroom? They go to the kitchen. They all go to Vera." Ever shrugged. "It can get ugly, Abby, and believe me. I see everything. So, aye, I guess finally she had enough of it, decided to do something."

"I can't tell Captain Kavelin that!" I shrieked as quietly as one could shriek.

There was the possibility Ever was lying, but during my foray through their minds, I'd learned the employees hated the victims collectively, and for good reasons. Their good reasons matched Ever's story perfectly. I recalled seeing bruises and odd red marks on my roommates, too, but I hardly thought someone was hurting them. I found bruises and odd red marks on myself all the time.

Ever shrugged again. "You could tell the Captain, but that would be pretty shitty of you, wouldn't it?"

I nodded.

"She's got another target picked out, and she plans to do the deed three nights from tonight with another one of her late husband's belts. You know, he sure had a lot of belts. I wonder what she'll do when she runs out. That'll get expensive fast." The Anima paused for three ticks of a pocketwatch. "Well, anyhow—you two seem to have gotten close. Maybe you could talk her out of it."

Perhaps I could talk her out of it, but that would only stop her from murdering more men. It wouldn't do anything to stop the looming investigation around the Gander. After thanking Ever and clearing the bar, I went to bed tossing and turning. It was all so awful, and I had to think of something quickly. I couldn't tell Captain Kavelin the truth. I wouldn't. Vera was a good person who'd only been trying to protect us.

As the sun made its way over the clouds outside my window, it finally hit me. I told myself, "Adeline, you already know what you must do. You must do what she would do," and piece by piece, I formulated a plan that would make Enforcer Rhian proud.

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