Chapter 3

While I was waiting, a tall man stepped into the waiting room. He wore a black leather trench coat stained with what appeared to be old blood with some ink and grease spots. The coat hung open, allowing me a glimpse of a holster and an abomination of a grey shirt. In his feet, he wore old black steel-toed paratrooper boots and black leather gloves with their fingers cut off at the first knuckle. On his head sat a grey fedora hat.

When he saw me and tipped his hat, and I got a glimpse of his face: hard lines, a stubble, and pale blue eyes. There was nothing especially threatening by looking at him, but something in the way he looked at me made me want to get my sword out of its sheath.

"Sir," he said.

Instinctively he scares the shit out of me. I smiled at him. "Good night." My greeting sounded a lot like, "If you get anywhere near me, there will be a fight."

The woman I talked earlier came to defuse the situation. "You can go in now, sir," she said.

The man stepped aside, slightly bowing as I walked by him. The side of my coat brushed against his trench coat.

"Nice to meet you," he said as I passed him.

"Nice to meet you, too," I answered and went into the Questor's office.

I found myself in a vast room, at least three times the size of the offices I'd seen so far. Heavy grommet draperies covered the windows. You could barely notice it was night. A massive mahogany desk dominated the room, supporting a cardboard box, a thick silvery round paperweight with a badge on top, and a pair of brown leather boots. The legs using the boots belonged to a man with broad shoulders who leaned back in an oversized grey leather chair, listening to the phone at his ear. That's the paladin-questor.

At some point, he must have been powerful, but now his muscle was sheathed in what Angelo had called it "hard fat." The paladin was still a large, strong man, and he could probably move dexterously if he needed to, despite the bulge around his torso. He surprisingly wore suit pants with suspenders and a white social shirt.

'If he was black, he'd be just like professor Klump.' I thought

As I closed the door, I heard some laughter outside.

'Great, detect thoughts, did not know they even teach that anymore.'

The paladin looked at me with his wide face with and massive round jaw and probing eyes under his heavy eyebrow and misshapen probably from being broken too many times.

The questor motioned me to one of the smaller grey chairs set before the desk. As I sat, I got a look into the cardboard box on the paladin's desk. It contained a half-eaten chocolate frosting doughnut.

The paladin resumed listening to the phone conversation, so I looked around his office. A large bookcase, also of mahogany, stood at the opposite wall. Above it, I saw a large map of Eternia and its surroundings. Golden script etched under each place of notice.

The questor finished his conversation by and hanged up the phone without saying a word.

"You've got anything to show me, now's the time."

I handed him my mercenary ID and some recommendation letters. He flipped through them.

"A-rank, not many survive to achieve that."

It wasn't a question, so I kept my mouth shut.

"Last on in the sewer, huh?"

"Yes."

"Gotta be dumb or tough to go down there these days. So, which one are you?"

"I'd say I'm not dumb, but if I tell you I'm tough, you'll peg me for some average muscle head, so I'm just going to smile." I gave him my best Colgate smile, one that would even make my dentist proud.

The questor squinted at the signature. "Jonas Trevor. I've worked with him before. You do regular work for him?"

"More or less."

"What did he need?"

"He had a problem with some pieces of magical equipment being dragged away. Someone told him he had the Aboleth."

"It wouldn't come so near a human settlement," he said. "It knows better."

An overweight slob who eats doughnuts at night wears sportswear and identifies a mystical, magical creature without a momentary pause. Paladin-questor. Camouflage expert extraordinaire.

"You got to the bottom of the problem?" he asked.

"Yes. It was the Kraken," I said.

He didn't show any reaction. If he was impressed, he did not show it. "Did you kill it?"

'Haha, very funny.' "No way to, I just made it feel unwelcome inside there."

My memory flashed, and for a moment, I was stumbling again through a dimly lighted tunnel flooded with excrement and filth that rose to my hips. My right knee burned with icy pain, and I struggled on, while behind me, the two enormous tentacles of the Kraken spilled its life-blood into the sludge. The thick blue blood flowed on the surface, each of its cells a tiny organism moved by a single purpose: to be whole again.

It didn't matter how many times or how many miles apart, this creature appeared. It was always the same, Kraken. Probably some kilometers away, it was fuming because it was just resting its body again some large "cavern" it found. There existed only one, and it was invincible.

The protector put all my papers on his desk. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I'm investigating the murder of Angelo Graham."

"On whose authority?"

"My own."

"I see." He leaned back. "Why?"

"For personal reasons."

"Did you know him personally?" He delivered the question in an entirely neutral tone, but the underlying meaning was all too clear. I felt happy to disappoint him.

"Yes. Angelo was my guardian."

"I see, do you have anything that might support your relationship with him?"

I could easily prove it to him. If he was to search me up in his files, he would find that Angelo had sponsored my entrance into the Order, but I did not want to go in that direction, good thing I came prepared.

"Angelo Graham was forty-two years old. He was a private man, and he hated being photographed." I handed him the only photograph I had of him. "This is a picture of him and me on the day of my middle school graduation. There is an identical picture in his office."

"I've seen it," the questor told me.

'Nice.' "Could I have the photo back, please?"

Returning the photo. He asked, "Are you aware that you're named as a beneficiary in Angelo Graham's will?"

"Not really, no." I'd have welcomed a moment to deal with my guilt and gratitude, but the paladin-questor continued.

"He donated his financial assets to the Order and the Academy, except the apparent you are staying." He was watching me for a reaction. Did he think I cared about his wealth? "Everything else, including his library, the weapons, and the objects of power, is yours."

I said nothing.

"I've checked with the Guild," he said. His blue eyes were fixing me in place. "I've heard you're capable but currently hurting for money. I am prepared to make you a very generous offer for all the items in question. I hope you'll find the offer to be more than adequate."

That was an insult, and we both knew it. I took a minute to calm myself. One didn't call a paladin-questor a bastard in his own office.

'Never,' I thought, "No, thank you," I said, keeping my smile.

"Really? Are you sure?" His eyes took my measure.

"You do look like you could use the money. The Order will give you a lot more than you'd get by auctioning it off." He said, waiting for my reaction.

I remained silent.

"My advice take the offer. Buy yourself a decent pair of shoes." He complemented

I glanced at my old combat boots. I liked my boots. They're easy to clean the blood of.

"Do you think I should get one like yours?" I asked, looking at his boots. "Who knows, they might even send me two pairs if you compare our sizes."

Anger stirred in his eyes. "You got a mouth on you."

"Who, me?"

"Talk's cheap. What can you really do?"

'I went overboard this time' Thin ice. Proceed with caution.

I adjusted my position in the chair. "What can I do, Sir? I won't dare to do anything to threaten or antagonize the paladin-questor in his own office inside The Order chapel no matter how much he insults me."

'That would be stupid and highly hazardous to my health.'

"I came here in search of information. I just want to know what Angelo was doing when he was killed."

For a moment, we sat there, facing each other.

The questor tiredly sucked the air into his nose with an audible whoosh and sighted, said, "You know anything about investigative work?"

"Sure. Annoy everyone involved until the guilty party tries to take you out of the picture."

He grimaced. "You do know that the Order's investigating this matter, right?"

In other words, run along and let people who are competent handle it. "Angelo Graham was my only family," I told him. "I'll find who or what killed him no matter what."

"And then?"

"I'll think about that bridge after I cross it."

He rested his hands on the desk. "Anything able to take out a paladin-venator is packing some power."

"Not for long."

He thought about it for a while. "So happens I do have some use for you," he said.

That was completely unexpected. "Why the hell would you actually want to work with me?"

He smiled what he must have considered his Colgate smile. It reminded me of a bear awakened in midwinter. "I have my own reasons. Here's my offer. You get our Mutual Aid sticker on your mercenary ID, which should solve some of the problems you might face. You get to use Angelo's office, and you also get to look at the police report and open file of the case he was working on."

An open file meant I would get the case as it came to Angelo: bare facts and no or little findings. I would have to retrace all his steps.

'A lot more than more than I expected, something is fishy.'

"Thank you," I said.

"The file and the report don't leave the office," he said. "No quotes, no copies. You'll make a report to me and only to me."

"I'm bound by the disclosure of the information act of the Guild," I said.

He waved it aside. "I will take care of it."

Since when the paladin-questor was going so far out of his way to help a worthless merc like me? Why would he do it? People who did others favor made me nervous. You never knew when they'd ask one back, although it was bad manners to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

"Officially, you have no status in the Order," he said. "Screw up, and you're alone."

"Understood."

"We're done," he said.

Outside, the woman from the phone waved me over and asked for my merc ID. I lent it to her and watched as she affixed a silvery small metallic Mutual Aid sticker to it and also chanted some magic, an official "stamp" of the Order's interest in my humble work. Some doors would open to me, and a lot more would slam in my face. Oh, well.

"Don't mind paladin Teodore," the woman said, returning my ID. "He's harsh sometimes. You can call me Lane; I'll keep the professor Klump between us."

"My name's Corben. Would you point out the late paladin-venator office to me?"

"I'd be glad to. The last one on the left."

"Thank you, my lady."

She smiled and went back to work.

I reached Angelo's office and stood in the doorway. It didn't look right.