Chapter 34 - A Dark Murder

"You fools! You stupid, dimwitted fools!"

Barford Porterson screamed at Ferdinand Jaw's messenger, vitriol in his words. A news article sat on his coffee table, the headlines "MASSIVE SHOOTOUT AT MORDEN HOTEL" emblazoned on it with ink. Among the casualties listed, none of them were elves.

"You not only failed to do your job, you also caused a massive scene, killing people I never asked to be killed! And now, after everything that's happened, Jaw suddenly refuses to come himself, sending someone to pick up a reward that he didn't earn?"

"You said we needed to gun them down. You didn't say we needed to kill them doing so."

"What kind of logic is that? Are your brains scrambled? No matter which way you look at it, it's a mess! I refuse to give you the blood gem. You don't deserve it!"

"Are you going back on your word, sir? We don't like it when people do that."

"I'd be going back on my word if you actually killed them, you fools! Butler, take him away!"

The butler came in, rolling his sleeves up. Before he could touch him, the messenger pulled out a derringer and shot the butler in the stomach. The butler collapsed onto the floor, bleeding profusely. The messenger turned around, shooting Barford in the back as he attempted to run. He walked over, pocketing his empty casings, before loading fresh rounds. Barford crawled, screaming while attempting to escape, before a bullet entered his cranium. The messenger shook his head.

"All this money, and you couldn't afford proper security. What a shame."

The messenger quickly swiped up the blood gem, locked up in a peculiar looking box, and searched frantically for the key. Finally, he found it within Barford's pockets and, right before police arrived, he escaped through a window, running into the night.

. . .

Claire hadn't spoken a word since they left Morden.

Due to the damages the hotel suffered, it was only a matter of time before authorities came. Wanting to protect the identity of the man who saved him, the hotel owner quickly requested a horse-drawn wagon and sent the group of five on their way. The destination was Holdenville, requested specifically by Maya. With their current speed, they were projected to reach their destination in five days.

Scala crossed her arms, staring at Peter. Thanks to Alana's medical training and a spare healing elixir, Peter would live to see another day. When that day would come, however, was up in the air. Someone would occasionally slip some water down his throat, keeping him hydrated, but even so, it looked pretty grim. She considered saying something to try and lighten the mood, but the tension on the wagon was too thick to cut.

Alanis put her hand on Claire's shoulder, unsure of what to say. Maya looked behind her, holding her rifle tightly. If any of those men from before chased them, she needed to be ready.

The mood didn't change until they reached the next town, where Scala retrieved the latest newspaper. It had only been a couple of days since the attack, but even so, the news spread like wildfire. She read every bit of the front page, trying to absorb every ounce of information she could. Apparently, the attack was planned by a band of mercenaries called the "Jawbreakers". She understood why the shootout even happened; they were known for their messy and crass way of fulfilling jobs. The night after, Barford Porterson was shot dead in his house, along with his butler. The killer escaped through a window, and authorities were unable to get him. Barford murdered, right after the shootout? Something seemed suspicious, but she didn't know what. 

Alanis walked up to Scala, peeking at the newspaper. "Wow, it's been a lot of bloodshed these past couple of days."

"Yep." She took out her revolver, spinning it around as she thought about possible connections. "Hey, Alanis, you were an indentured servant for Porterson, right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It says here that an object was stolen from the mansion when he was murdered. It was some sort of antique box or something. Did he tell ya anything about any boxes?"

"Antique box... I think I do remember something like that. Since I cleaned the house for him, I'm quite familiar with all the items inside. There was this wooden box with a golden lock that he kept in his office. As far as I know, it had two types of locks on it: a physical lock, and a magical lock."

"Magical locks? Those exist?"

"Yes. Elves like me use those kinds of locks all the time. Basically, when the object is near its owner, it fades away, allowing access. When they're not, the object is forced close - imagine a heavy weight stored on top of a chest. Even if someone has the key to the chest, it won't open if it has a magical lock."

"Huh. Seems like a pretty neat thing to have. But no security system's perfect. Someone's gotta have a way to disable that, right?"

"Yes, but people who can do that are relatively rare, especially since disabling a magical lock is treated the same as disabling a physical one. Most of the people who can do that are gonna be thieves."

"Hmm. Seems like whoever stole it is gonna have a bad discovery." She handed Alanis the newspaper. "I'm gonna start heading back now."

"Why?"

"Can't go too far now. Got a meeting with my cowboys, and it's a little rude for the leader to not be there, ya know?"

"I see. I'll tell the others about your decision."

She holstered her revolver and fetched a handful of bullets from her pouch. "Here, give Peter this too. For his gun."

Alanis pocketed them. "I will, when he wakes up."

"Alrighty then. Well, see ya!"

She waved as Scala walked away, then turned her attention back to the newspaper. The Jawbreakers hadn't been found, despite the mess they made. The killer also hadn't been found, despite Porterson being an influential name in Phegolan. Both involved guns as their instrument of choice.

How curious.