flintlock-investigations

[flintlock-investigations]

Errands

With the chance to pursue a case outside the walls of the city, Harry took the chance to run a few errands as well.

While in Queensdale, one could easily overlook the nook cut against the cliffs just on the other side of the lake as Claypool. By this point, an overgrown lot that has all but been reclaimed by nature, only the barest remnants of a foundation breaking up the vegetation if you looked close enough. But those who’d lived in the area long enough had some vague memories of it, and some of the devout patrons of the old Forthill Inn would swear up and down a memorial should be built there.

Sadly, while he knew he still made his parents proud, Harry never really had the coin to commission such a thing. Nor did anyone who blustered about it, which was fine. None of the Forthill family really warranted that much of a permanent memory, or so he told himself. His father got the military honors warranted to him, and his mom was buried with him under their favorite tree just a few dozen feet from their pride and joy.

Harry made his pilgrimage, just  going to brush dirt off of what was the ‘family plot,’ keeping their names clear to the day, the simple inscription still not worn out over the six years it had been there (”And so he always came home to her, so may they never be separated again”), thanks to the care he paid. A simple enough bouquet to replace the old. A little update in his life for them both, anything new or noteworthy, while he sat against the tree next to the headstone.

Of course this gave him a view of the plot of land, and of course he still could see the warm, little inn. Just faintly the distant sounds of glass clinking, laughter, excited shouting, maybe even the sweet, ethereal notes of his mother’s singing, a memory as comfortable as a sunset. He didn’t have many regrets to really make this a sad meeting, and routine had left a certain normality to it. This was what he did, simple as that.

Even if the fire was still a case left unsolved by short staff and more pressing issues. A bitter voice tended to say if he half thought about it. There was one regret, which was more joking anyway, was that he never gave his mum that oh so desired grandchild. Or grandchildren. There was still time for that, but he wasn’t in a good spot for it anyway.

All told, it was a twenty minute stop on the way to as after Idris’ parents and neighbors. A little pump up in the early morning sun anyway. A reminder of those who were always in his corner, and would support him no matter what.

[flintlock-investigations]

Leads and Failures

“So weapons crates bound for Claypool got waylaid near the back entrance of Bandithaunt...”

While making meetings and scaring up sit downs with various staff of the various trading companies attached to the Harkness Estate was something of an ordeal all its own, that earned one of them even trying to use physical means of shaking him off, Harry had a lead. A lead he planned to follow. As soon as that first black eye was healed, Harry set out for Queensdale, and specifically, that back end of Bandithaunt.

He went under the cover of night, to hide his approach. He knew about the camp in amongst the cliff-face, thanks to one or two old friends of his within the Seraph, as something to always keep an eye on. Which meant that he had to pick his path through the camp, without being seen. A plan more easily said than done, as even the side ‘entrance,’ to the crag that led to the cave was patrolled. He had to sit back, out of sight, watch, and listen for his chance.

“Man, have you seen these things? I don’t think the Ministry Guard has anything this good in their armories!”

“What do you think money gets you, Pete? Two-bit rusty slabs of metal like we usually have?”

“I could carve a centaur clean in two with something like this... If not some uppity guard that gets too close. Heh. Watch this...”

A hushing of voices as something was no doubt put on display. Harry paused, holding his breath-- Until the rowdy cheers started and distracted the patrol that blocked the way for him to the cave. Harry took his chance, only making the lightest noise of scuffing boots against the ground and the fluttering of his jacket.

So the weapons were out there, which meant the actual create should be nearby...

Weapons were heavy things of course, which meant that they couldn’t be carried -too- far, before someone stood by to just set them down. Harry spirited himself by grubs and torches, into the main bulk of the cave where... Surprisingly, it wasn’t absolutely crawling with bandits. So far, so good. A patrol that seemed more lazy and tired,than anything, and one with a long route by the looks of it. Once again, Harry hid himself behind a wall, before counting down, and peeking his head around to look at the setting.

Kegs, kegs, kegs-- Crates! Markings on them too! Jackpot!

And thus an eager Harry was making his way around crates just taller than he, covered in markings of various companies, noble houses, and blacksmithies until-- There! The Harkness seal! He glanced around once more, but still quickly got to work on the chest before him. Its lock was gone, probably broken off (If it was there at all in the first place), and thus, when he opened it...

Blades, dozens of them, circular pommels face-down. Long, shining sharp edges, well made by the looks of them, and way above the usual paygrade of your typical bandit asshole. Now all there was to do was lift that piece of paper tucked in the lid. What could that be, a note? Maybe--

“...Who the fuck are you?”

Before he moved, he shoved the piece of paper into an inner pocket of his coat, and then Harry felt the cold press of the barrel of a pistol in the back of his head, and the ‘click,’ of the hammer rang in his ears. He swallowed, hard, and brought both arms up on either side of him in surrender. “Hey, hey, I don’t mean any trouble, just... Let me leave in one piece, and I’ll forget I’ve seen anything here, yeah?”

“Stand up, turn around real slow-like. Try any funny business and you get a lead pill right to your brain.”

Harry did as he was told, and was greeted by the sight of about a half dozen bandits, of varying shapes and sizes, and by the looks of it, only had about thirty teeth between all of them. Still, one had a gun in his face, and Harry wasn’t about to insult anyone right then.

“Good. Y’can follow directions. Now. We got somethin’ good goin’, and far as I see it, yer puttin’ the lot of it in... What’s the word... Jeopardy? By bein’ here, seeing what you saw. Tell me why I shouldn’t just... Eliminate you, right here, right now?”

And then the pistol was pressed right between his eyes, a fact Harry tried to ignore as his heart raced and his mind grasped for whatever bullshit he could pull off. Bullshit was something he could do, right? Really well, too! One of his best traits! Or worst, depending on who you were talking to.

“Hey! I just wanted to see if I could...” He sighed a bit, looking somewhere between pissing-his-pants terrified, and somewhat remorseful. “...Borrow a weapon. I heard you guys had good stuff, and life’s hit me pretty hard recently, and... Fuck, I have nothing elkse, so, thought gettin’ me a good sword would give me a promisin’ job shaking down the noble types. Waaaay out of your territory of course, but--”

A few of the bandits behind the lead stared... One cracked up, three others just shook their heads in pity, the lead though? He gave Harry ‘the eye,’ as if he were trying to pick up on a lie... Before he sighed, and pulled off a three-toothed grin.

“Y’know, guy, I’m feelin’ kind of charitable, sure. Just--”

“Oh Gods, thank you sir! I’ll-”

“Walk right outta here, after getting a good ‘talkin’ to,’ about trying to pinch somethin’ from us.”

Harry quickly found out what a ‘good talkin to,’ meant. It included being held up by a massive Bandit, and a few others taking turns swinging into his gut, a kidney shot or two, a new black eye, and finally, a pistol-whip that left a gash across his brow. But, charitable they were-- They tossed him out on the road, to be found by some patrolling Seraph, who further drug him to Claypool to get his wounds treated, and get him a bed for the night-- Not without taking his report on what happened. Harry stayed true to his word. He didn’t say a damned word.

What he did do, however, was read that one lone clue, tucked away in that chest.

The time is soon, friends. Arm yourselves. We will rise. -H

[flintlock-investigations]

Files

And one night, Harry returned to a delivery...

A night of people telling him he needed to carry protection, to find a bodyguard, to do all these sorts of things, centering around watching his back in the place he once thought safe. A place he called home. And now that was becoming a bit more difficult, but... He could forge through it, couldn’t he?

He told himself that. Then he found a file waiting on his desk. In his locked office.

Fuck!

Of course he tested it, made sure it was what he expected... And he tested his locks a few times, before he sat down, sparking a lantern to burn on his desk as he began to read over pages of the file, no doubt left by Lord Albercroft’s people. A fact that drove up the alarm in the back of his mind, but, he had work to do to crowd that out.

Relevant shipment invoices on the Harkness family’s trade ventures, missing boxes here and there, those shipments circled by ink to draw eyes to them. A lot of this showing that a lot of the work was done for him. He was being shown where exactly to look. There was even a suspected tie. A distant relative, who’d disappeared into Queensdale after a bandit raid, reports showing that he’d been seen recently, in bandit garb.

Then there were the list of people who had disappeared from the estate so far. Half a dozen, names, short descriptions, little more on a piece of parchment. Names and descriptions he committed to memory, for the future. His hope was to find them alive. Imprisoned, but alive. All the best from this, he’d get the best results, get paid for them, and get out of this, all in one piece. Intact.

The last piece of paper among all of the documents, was an invitation to a ball, a week out from that very night, at Harkness Manor. There was a simple note attached.

A chance to gain more evidence. Your garb will be delivered the day before. -Albercroft

Harry let out a long breath of a sigh. This was going to be something else. He basically had been given a week, maybe two to find the evidence that this Albercroft was looking for. Or enough to have reason to snoop around a Minister’s manor, just in case he was caught. 

He’d have to start in the morning, anyway. He pulled open a drawer on his desk, pulled the revolver from its depths, and set it on top of the file. For tomorrow.

[flintlock-investigations]

A New Case

The sun was setting below the wall of the Reach, and Harry got a knock on his door...

Harry was already preparing to strike out on the town to find another case. He still had to put food on his table, still had to pay rent, and even if he had personal projects, he still found the bars day after day for the hope of finding a case he’d feel good about taking money for. Runaan’s case was a man with little more than Harry, just wanting to find an identity, a family. He couldn’t take money from something like that, he was willing to do that as a simple favor.

The knock on the door shook him from his readying, just as he was pulling his coat on. He blinked once, and opened the door to... Well. The man was stout, dour, and wearing what could best be described as ‘butler’s attire.’ The man gazed up at Harry, frown holding. “You are... Investigator Forthill, yes?”

“Ah. Yes. This is my office, come, sit down, Mister...?”

“Sampson. Representative of Lord Albercroft, a man who is rather interested in current Krytan developments, especially within the Ministry.”

Harry then had a conflict of principles, and the desire for work. Especially finding out what was going on in Kryta. He couldn’t say he was some big bandit slayer, he wasn’t a politician. He was just the common man, trying to make his way through the world, and politics interrupted that.

“Lord Harkness is willing to pay you a very generous sum of money for information on the ties of Minister Harkness, to the bandits terrorizing the city, and Kryta at large.”

Money. Money was good. Harry sighed, moving over to his desk, and settling down, gesturing to a seat across from him. “Have a seat, Mister Sampson. Just... What is it you’re having me dredge up about this man?”

The shorter man sat down stiffly. It was clear he was not used to the commons, and very much not used to a home and office so small, furniture that was largely utilitarian. But he was paid to bear it, to hire this man, and get his job done. He would be damned if anything else happened.

“Lord Albercroft has reason to believe that Minister Harkness has ties to the current bandit attacks cropping up all over the country, and the posters everyone has been seeing scattered about. Even if he is a Minister, he may be funding these activities, providing manpower, among other things, and Lord Albercroft simply wants these activities brought to light before the Ministry, and the city at large, because they aren’t right.”

Harry stroked his chin, considering it. Or at least making it look like that this entire story was appealing to every aspect of what he looked for in a job. Good pay, some heroics, helping people. Still, one thing.

“Other things?”

The manservant pursed his lips, then sighed through his nose, before he leaned forward, clasping his hands together as he stared at the investigator.

“...Staff have been disappearing from the Harkness estate, enough to be concerning, and it is not that they are being fired, because they are disappearing. We have no idea why. But we are... Concerned.”

Harry sighed through his nose, and opened up a drawer, staring at something inside it for a half second, before brushing it deeper in, and drawing out one of his usual contracts. “You’ll find my rates there, and the terms of this arrangement, just sign at th-”

A quill scribbled, and the contract was pushed back across.

“You will have all the information we have within the next three days. Good day, Mister Forthill, and good luck.”

And thus, the man left, and Harry was left staring at a contract, some nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him that he had just dove head first into something way over his head. More of the usual, right?