The Murder of Adelaide Sunflower Part 5

Sometimes there is nothing great about the reason for the dead.

Dawn hated the mud on his boots, but then again, mud is what you got when you came to the lower ring of the city, where all the streets were dirt. Only the higher levels of the city had stone roads, but the Emperor had come up with a plan to lay stone on every road in the city one day. The project had yet to reach this part, where the homeless lurked in the shadows, and all eyes fell on Dawn as he walked down the road.

                A few squirrels gasped at the sight of him and the four armored Knights behind him. They sprinted away from their spots to warn some Masters there were Knights of the Palace in the streets. The crime bosses would want to know about them entering the Bottoms, but Dawn wasn’t here for them.

                He heard the whistlers of spotter from the windows and down the alleyways telling more of the criminal element to run and hide. Dawn couldn’t hide the smirk from the dozen or so whistlers filling the evening air.

                Fear ran deep in the Bottoms of anyone who had true power, and if Dawn wished he could send a whole army of Knights flooding into every house along his path.

                But he didn’t care, and it was not his quest tonight.

                He stopped at the door of a Traven called the Dead Rat listening to the music blasting from inside. He hissed down at the mud caked on his boots and told the Knights beside him,” Two of you go around back and let no one in or out.”

                “Yes, sir,” The Knights said at once, dashing down the alleyway to get behind the Traven.

                “You two wait here,” Dawn ordered as they both nodded at him taking up sentinel positions on the side of the door.

                Dawn stepped into the room full of tobacco, ale, and squirrels passed out or dead under a few tables. Most of the drunken didn’t notice Dawn coming from the growing night, and those who did eye him hard. Their paws dipped under the tables to their knives while watching his every move.

                He made his way up to the bar where a fat old squirrel stared him up and down. She smiled, showing a few missing teeth and asked, “I know you didn’t come here for the ale or me. So what brings a High born to this low end of the city?”

                “I’m looking for someone,” Dawn said low and calm.

                “I can be your someone,” she said with a wink.

                Dawn took a deep breath and said,” I’m looking for someone named Lane Sliverstone or Ratty Sliver.”

                The Traven Keeper frown deeply, glancing around the room, not letting her eyes stop on anyone except for a squirrel against the wall sleeping in his arms. “I’m not going to tell you anything,” she hissed.

                “Indeed, you didn’t say a word,” Dawn said, knowing the ruse she was playing. If any of the cutthroats believe she sold one of them out, then she would wake up dead tomorrow. But she didn’t have to say a word; her eyes did it for him.

                He nodded at her, heading for the squirrel sleeping, and kicked the table hard enough to throw him against the wall. The long and thin squirrel jumped awake, pulling a long blade from his side, ready for a fight. When sleep had faded from his eye, he saw Dawn standing there with his paws cup in front of him; Lane gasps at the sight of the Knight.

                “Hello, Ratty Sliver,” Dawn said.

                “Who are you?” Lane asked, and Dawn never took the seat in front of him. He stood over the table, feeling the eyes of the lower rank squirrels on his back.

                “I am from the Palace,” Dawn said softly.

                “What do I win a Knighthood?” Lane asked with a smirk.

                “Not exactly,” Dawn said. “I spoke to your brother.” Lane's face went hard, and his eyes filled with hate.

                “Is he dead?” Lane asked, not letting go of the blade.

                “No, not at all,” Dawn said. “He is doing his time just like you will.”

                “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Lane said.

                “We both know that is a lie,” Dawn said, pushing the table out from under Lane’s arm and out of his way altogether. “Why did you do it?”

                “Do what?” Lane asked.

                “Your brother told me,” Dawn said, standing over the squirrel. “He told me how you came and saw him the night he killed Adelaide.”

                “I didn’t kill no one,” Lane said, wishing the wall wasn’t behind him.

                “But you did, Ratty Sliver,” Dawn said, staring at the dagger in his paw, “with that blade, didn’t you?”

                “No, no, not at all,” Lane hissed back.

                “Your brother thought you did,” Dawn said. “He told me about it, and you know what, I believe him.”

                “He is a liar.”

                “You are the liar, Ratty Sliver,” Dawn said.

                Lane started to hiss, and before anyone in the Traven could blink, he dashed at Dawn trying to cut his throat, but the Knight being better-trained, garb the squirrel’s arm knocking the dagger from him. The blade landed on the floor at the same time Lane did with a broken nose. Several of the cutthroats around them jump to their feet, pulling their dagger out, ready to fight Dawn, but he whistler, and the doors flew open with armored Knights rushing in. Their swords at the ready and murder in their eyes.

                Dawn looked over at the others, “If you wish to live, drop them.” The blades rained to the floor, with no one moving. Lane started to move from the floor with Dawn jerking him up by his ear. He screamed from the sudden shock of pain.

                “Look at the bright side,” Dawn said, “you’ll get to spend time with your brother before the end.”

                “What do you mean?” Lane cried as he was dragged out of the Traven.

                “Killing a member of the Palace is punishable by death,” Dawn said.

                “I didn’t do it,” Lane hissed again.

                “That is now between you and the AllFather,” Dawn said, giving him over to the Knights before they put irons on his paws. He found the truth, Lane was upset at Adelaide for getting his brother tossed into a hole, and when he could get on the Palace, he made her pay. The truth can be a killer.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or work on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact in my when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercises or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.