Vigil's Valor: 39 - The Baker’s Boy

“Excuse me?” I said, as the matronly madame excused herself.

The woman on the bed sniffled and swiped at tear-filled eyes with the back of one hand. She was a slight woman, maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, with a Mediterranean complexion and short, wavy black hair. She was wearing a silken shift, wrinkled and dirty. Her eyes were bright green, but lined with red. It looked like she’d been crying for days. Maybe weeks. Her cheeks were gaunt and I got the sense that it had been a good while since her last meal, too.

“Deepest apologies, Vigilant One,” she said, sitting up on her mattress and swinging her legs out over the edge of the bed.

The room was larger than I expected and lavish compared to most Inns I’d stayed at. The bed was Queen-sized with silk sheets and a pillowy comforter. Colorful throw pillows lined the wooden headboard. There was a dresser in the corner, painted in red and gold and festooned with a variety of silk scarves. A four-panel, folding partition screen blocked off one corner of the room. It was perfect for changing, but I also spotted the telltale signs of a sleeping pallet tucked away on the floor.

Probably where her kid had slept.

“Why did you call me Dogan?” I asked.

Dogan the Shieldbreaker had been the Vigil looking into these murders before me. He was also dead now. Killed by the same Chaos Aberration he’d been hunting. During my training session with Niels, I’d managed to learn a thing or two about the man.

Like me, he was a Vigil of Justice and according to the Weapon’s Master, there were few who were his equal in a fight. Before being appointed to the position of Justiciar of Seekers, Dogan had been one of the most active hunters in the Citadel and had cleared more Contracts than the next three Vigils combined. Interestingly, the bounties he took were rarely renegade Mortka. Dogan had specialized in hunting down a different sort of monster: rogue Warlocks, unscrupulous Steelborn, and corrupt politicians.

His predilection for rooting out corruption was what eventually earned him the post of Justiciar, since the position was equal parts Wildespell sheriff and head of Citadel internal investigations. Long story short, he was a certified badass and was considered by damn near everyone to be above reproach. So why in the world was Terrwyn be on a first name basis with him?

“Why did you call me Dogan?” I asked again, this time more insistently.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she murmured, pulling her legs up against her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins. She looked like a kicked animal. “You just looked like him at a glance. You both have the same hair. The same build. But it’s only a passing resemblance,” she continued after a pause. “All of you Vigils have a certain look about you, I suppose. You’re clearly much younger than my Dogan was.”

“My Dogan?” Cal said. “That’s not the way you talk about someone who came by once to ask about a murder. No way they weren’t sleeping together.”

“How exactly did you know Dogan?” I pressed.

Again she hesitated. “Please sir, I don’t want to get him in any trouble,” she protested weakly.

“He’s already dead,” I said solemnly. “There’s nothing you can say now that is going to hurt him worse than what’s already happened.”

“I know I can’t bring him back,” she said, glancing at me from over her knees, “but I don’t want to tarnish his legacy.”

Yep, Cal was right on the money. She and Dogan had definitely been sleeping together. But it was also more than that. You didn’t worry about tarnishing some random client’s legacy—you only cared about that if you loved someone. Whatever they had was more than just sex. It was a relationship.

“I’m not interested in getting you in trouble or dragging Dogan’s name through the mud,” I said. “From all accounts he was a standup guy, and I could give two shits about who he loved. I just want to figure out who killed him and why. If you really cared about him, then help me get him the justice he deserves. Help me get justice for your son. For all the people who’ve died to this monster. Please, help me. Now, I’ll ask again. How exactly did you know Dogan?”

She wilted like a flower.

“He was my partner,” she said softly. “Has been for more than ten years.” She glanced down. “Not that I could tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe me even if I did. That someone as good as him would love someone like me. Someone who does what I do for a living.” I could hear the disgust in her voice.

“But he didn’t care,” she continued. “Dogan first came around a few months after my boy, Brand, was born. I was surprised as anyone when there was a knock at my door and I opened up to find this bear of a man standing there with his bloody eyes and that golden mark on his forehead. He had the very same mark as you.” She laughed softly, her gaze distant. “In truth? I thought he had come to smite me for my wickedness.” She smiled, just a small quirk of the lips. “But no. He was kind. Surprisingly gentle. He also wasn’t like my other clients. He didn’t want sex.”

Huh. Now that was strange.

“What did he want?” I asked.

She shrugged. “To check in on my boy. Brand’s father wasn’t a Vigil, but for some reason Dogan took a shine to him. He would come by once a week or so. Bring a bit of extra coin to make sure we had what we needed. Eventually, things between Dogan and I… changed. I don’t think he meant for it to happen. He was a lonely man, my Dogan. The mantle of Justiciar weighed heavily on him.

“He carried so many secrets, trusted so few people.” She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind on ear. “But he trusted me. Discretion is as much our business as pleasure. After a couple of years, he and I became involved. Then, he would visit twice a week instead of only once. But never more than that. He said it wasn’t safe. I always assumed he meant it wasn’t safe for him. For his reputation. Now I think maybe he meant it wasn’t safe for me. Or my son.”

A few things were starting to click into place.

Stefana, the Sorcerous from the Society, had told me point blank that Dogan had been sniffing around, asking about Akser’s death and now it was apparent that Dogan was somehow connected to the second victim, Brand. This both simplified things in some ways and complicated them in others.

Was it possible that Dogan was always the intended target of the attacks and that the kid was just an unfortunate bystander, in the wrong place at the wrong time? But why had Dogan taken an interest in Terrwyn and her son in the first place, especially if he hadn’t been looking for sex?

“Don’t suppose you know a man by the name of Akser Erdemir?” I asked, taking a wild shot in the dark.

“Of course,” Terrwyn replied. “Everyone with even a loose connection to the Society knows of Akser. He was only one of the most well-connected informants in Wildespell. He had his fingers in every pie and he was also a frequent visitor here—though he never took up with me,” she added quickly. “He had odd tastes and was always more interested in Sophia and Emiri.”

“Any chance he knew about your relationship with Dogan?”

“Dogan was always extremely cautious about his coming and goings, but Asker is—excuse me, was—an astute fellow. Although…” she trailed off. “Several months back I do remember seeing him down in the bakery when Dogan was leaving.” Terrwyn shrugged. “I suppose its possible Asker spotted him.”

Maybe Akser had found out about the Dogan’s relationship with Terrwyn and had been trying to blackmail him? If that was the case, I could easily see Dogan going after the information broker, but that still didn’t fit with the rest of the evidence, and it also did explain the attack on the royal advisor or the prince.

“What about your son?” I asked, trying a different angle. “Can you tell me a little about him?”

“I don’t know what there is to tell,” she said, spreading her hands. “Brand was a sweet boy—not like the street rats crawling all over the Sprawl. Dogan made sure of that. He taught the boy manners. Taught him how to fight. Even how to read and write. Brand would help Mistress Domina in the kitchen and never caused any trouble. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt him.”

“Why do you think Dogan took an interest in your son in the first place?” I pressed.

She frowned and was quiet.

“I asked him the same thing once,” she finally said. “This was several years later, mind you. After we were already together. Brand was probably five or six at the time. Dogan smiled and told me the boy was special. ‘That Raguel had designs for him.’ Those were the words he used. I always assumed that meant he would be like one of you lot. It’s no secret that many a bastard has ended up as a Vigil. And Brand did have flashes of the True Gift. He could move things with his mind. Conjure a flame to light the stove. Little things like that. His eyes didn’t change, but I never got the sense that Dogan was disappointed. It was almost like he knew something I didn’t.”

“I’d like to try something a little unconventional,” I said. “Do you have any personal effects of either Dogan or your son? A lock of hair? Or maybe some of their remains.”

“Nothing from Dogan,” she said sadly. “A couple of other Vigils came around after he died, scaring off all the other customers. They took everything that belonged to him.” She absently touched a pale band of flesh encircling her finger. “Even took the promise ring he gave me. They said it was all the rightful property of the Citadel and that they needed it for the investigation.”

“What other Vigils?” I asked, eyes narrowing.

“There were two of them. A handsome talkative fellow and a hulking man with a great bushy beard. Neither gave their names.”

I didn’t need their names. Based on her description, that had to be Telent and Kol. Who else could it be? And since their Fist was officially tasked with the investigation, it made sense that they’d be the ones running point. But that also meant they knew Dogan had been having an illicit relationship with Terrwyn.

“What about your son? Don’t suppose you have any keepsakes from him?”

She nodded, the gesture halting and jerky. She stood and disappeared behind the room partition. A moment later she returned to the bed with a small urn and a single sheet of parchment clutched in her hands.

“This is all I have left,” she said sadly. She turned the paper over, showing me a rough sketch of a young boy of twelve or thirteen with a strong jawline, a bold, hooked nose, and jet-black hair. “I had one of the local street artists do that for me after he passed,” she said in explanation. “These are his remains.”

“You had him cremated?” I asked, surprised. Cremation wasn’t at all common here. Almost everyone buried their dead and only burned bodies when there was fear of disease or plague.

She grimaced. “Not by choice. Blessings on Raguel, but I follow Dulhekit, Celestial of the Resurrection. Those of my sect believe that in the last days we shall all be raised from the dead and given new life. Destroying the body is a desecration and violation of our faith. This… This jar of bitter ash is all that remained of my sweet Brand after the creature killed him in cold blood.”

“Hold up,” Cal said, visibly perking up. “That’s weird. There was no mention of any of the other corpses being burned. Why burn this body and not the others?” he asked me.

“Because you want to cover something up,” I muttered under my breath. Cal was right, this whole situation stank like a tire fire. Someone was trying desperately to hide something.

“I know you’ve already gone through a lot,” I said, “but would it be possible for me to use a small amount of your son’s ashes?”

She recoiled in horror and clutched the urn even tighter to her chest.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” I said, raising my hands to placate her, “but I have a spell that lets me commune with the dead. But I need to be in immediate contact with the body of the deceased. I’m not even sure if this will work since it’s just his ashes, but it’s the best chance that we have to get some answers.”

Her lips stretched into a tight line of disapproval, but after a long tense pause, she begrudgingly handed the urn over.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now, if you could give me the room. I can’t have any distractions for this next part.”

Terrwyn stood and straightened her wrinkled shift.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” she said, shuffling forward. “Please find out who killed my boy,” she said over one shoulder, before stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her.

I grabbed a highbacked chair from the corner of the room and shoved it against the door. I liked Terrwyn but I sure as shit didn’t trust her and while I performed Grave Communion, I was going to be totally vulnerable. The spell was powerful but simple. Essentially, it allowed me to Astral Project, forcing my Soul outside of my body and into the Etheric Realm. According to my Grimoire of Virtues the soul and the body were tethered together even past death. By utilizing Brand’s remains, I would be able to illuminate the unbreakable bond between flesh and spirit, creating a path I could follow right to the kid’s soul.

In theory that was how it was supposed to work.

Nice. Simple. Easy.

In reality? The Etheric Realm was home not only to the vastness of the Fae Wylds but a thousand other dangers as well. The kid’s soul could be anywhere and since he’d died violently and abruptly, there was a good chance he would be wandering aimless. There were a hundred ways this could go south, but thankfully, I had an expert guide to help show me the way.

“Alright, Cal. I’ll see you on the other side.”

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