3 - The Second Round

After the introductions come the cross-examinations.

A little after sunrise, Varga jolted upright in her bed, stood up and went to the nearest sink, spitting into it a few times. There was nothing in her mouth, but it seemed to help get rid of the taste all the same. It was little more than a part of the routine by now.

After getting ready, she went down a flight of stairs and stopped by her office to pick up the trenchcoat. There were a pair of quiet knocks from the floor--the ceiling of the room below--and she sighed. The warning meant it would be a little longer before breakfast. Coat on, door locked, she went downstairs all the same; hiding wasn't going to resolve anything.

Coming outside and looking around, the Lagomai kid from the day before was waiting for her, not looking much better; the bruise, however, was missing from his cheek. He glared up at her when she came out, and she waited a moment for him to say or do something. Then, impatient to get this over with, she said, "Well?"

This proved just enough to provoke him into drawing his weapon again, and in a somewhat more practiced motion than the day before he swung wide at her. Varga moved around the swing and kicked him in the side, knocking him over. He rolled and, shaking, stood up again, still holding the hilt in both hands.

"Look, you're not gonna get me like that, kid." Varga crossed her arms. "You really want to kill someone, you have to think like a killer. Be willing to do whatever it takes. Not wait patiently for me to be ready for you."

He tried again, this time yelling and swinging wildly forward before he even got to her. Not wanting to get another cut in her coat, Varga moved aside of the charge, grabbing his dominant (right) wrist and yanking it off the hilt, and pulled it out of the other hand before it could close around it. Then she kicked him dead-center for good measure, knocking him over, and took a few steps back, resting the blade carefully over her shoulder.

"I don't really want to take this from you, but you're gonna get yourself really hurt if you keep acting stupid." The werewolf went around him, in the direction of the tavern. "You can have it back if you show me you got a brain somewhere in that thick skull of yours." She turned her back to him, taking a few more steps in that direction. It was long enough for him to stand up, and then...

She felt the heat from her back just in time to turn aside and let a small fireball go by, fizzling out on the ground past her. Turning the rest of the way around, he was holding up his hand, another forming in it already. His look of rage was stained with some tears that probably didn't do much for his aim, but he tried again anyway, this one dodged even easier than the first.

"That's more like it!" Varga said, pointing the sword his way. "Come on!" Unfortunately, he was still broadcasting his moves a bit, drawing both his hands back before pressing them forward, wrists together, to let out a steadier gout of flame. By the time it appeared she was already backed well out of the way of the spell, and skirted around it toward him, stopping halfway when it ended and he was left hunched over, panting from the effort.

She took a few smaller steps toward him, before tossing the sword next to him, the blade clattering loudly where it hit the ground. "There. Now get some rest before you try again, kid. You look like Hades."

After that, she turned and started the rest of the way toward the tavern. In the time it took her to reach the door, he finally caught his breath and halfway stood up. "Even if...I don't...someone will..! You'll face justice someday!"

The werewolf turned her head to face him. "Justice?" She erupted into a deeply uncharacteristic laugh, a brief burst resembling a giggle but dripping with an unfathomable contempt and bitterness. "May as well give up on that." With this, she went inside.

He was nowhere to be found after breakfast. Just as well; she had an appointment to keep.

Oleg was hard at work out in front of the manor, so Varga stopped to speak with him first. "Morning."
"Pah! Morning was three hours ago, wolfskin," the centaur said, hitting the ground with a hoe for emphasis. "Is almost lunchtime now."

"If it helps, I was held up fighting some kid out for revenge."

"Must be used to that by now, you," he retorted in a deeper, somewhat more serious tone. "You have questions, da?"

"Right."

Varga reached into a pocket and pulled out her notebook, flipping through some of the relevant pages. "You ever hear the maids talk about Sir Edwin?"
"Hmph." Oleg yanked a weed out and stuffed it in a bag slung over his shoulder. "Every morning, before sun rises, I hear all three arguing. 'I want this job today', 'let me stand by him in afternoon', 'visitor today likes me best'. Not loud, but easy to hear from the right window."

"So you'd say they're all eager to help him?"

"I suppose crow girl just wants 'debt' paid sooner. But first-life cat not part of these arguments at first."

The detective flipped over to Rion's page, noting an underlined word there. "So you'd say she didn't always like him?"

The centaur made a derisive snorting, huffing sound. "Cat threw giant tantrum after the old master of house died. Shut herself in room first day Sir Edwin was here; other maids covered for her for some reason, told him she was sick. Used to sit back and let others do most of work. Year later, suddenly part of the morning arguments."

"Right. Thanks." Nodding to the centaur, Varga moved on to the front door, knocking only once before it started opening.

Alyssa was behind it again. "Good morning, Miss Varga," she said, wearing the same chipper attitude as the night before and curtsying briefly. "Sir Vaersi is waiting for you. I can show you the way if you'd like."

"Sure. Maybe we can talk on the way."

"Oh, absolutely!"

The werewolf removed her notebook from her jacket again, flipping to Alyssa's page and pretending to consult it for moment. "Now...would you say Rion's ever shirked her duties at any point?"

"Well..uh..errr..." The Ovissan maid visibly floundered, her steps slowing considerably. Obviously she wasn't a very good liar, at least when put on the spot like this.
"I'm not looking to get anyone fired. If you want, it doesn't have to reach Sir Vaersi. I just need to know who's telling me the truth," Varga said.

"Oh. Well. You knooow, the time just after the war was really difficult for everyone, and here too. We didn't know if we'd get turned out on the streets or what. I mean--I was happy when we had someone new to serve, especially after I got to know him, but Rion was...really mad at first. It was no trouble, really; I knew she'd feel better and come around eventually, and she did."

"So until then, you claimed she was ill?"

"Well, yeah. I mean--it's, sorta true, right? Not--physically, but I knew she wasn't okay, either." ...And even when she did lie, she tried to rationalize it to herself first and others after.

"Good enough."

Picking up the pace, they entered the tea room again. This time there was a full set of tea and biscuits laid out, and Friedel was standing by to serve or do whatever else needed doing. Edwin himself was sitting in a chair, a bit slumped back. "Miss Varga's here, sir," Alyssa announced, curtsying again before scurrying off, evidently still a little shaken from the brief interrogation. Hearing this, he sat up and turned to see her coming in.

"Ahh, good morning," he said.

"Morning. Feel any better?"
"Worse, I'm afraid. Though not by too much. Friedel here suggested I could try some herbal blends supposed to be more healthy than ordinary tea," he said, waving vaguely in the Tengu's direction. "Still waiting for it to take effect, heh."

"It sure smells like medicine." Varga wrinkled her nose, regarding the Ascendant maid briefly--whose expression was as passive and serious as ever--before returning her attention to her client.

"Remembered something you said last night. No new hires for three years? I counted a few when I looked through my notes."

Edwin closed his eyes, placed a hand on his forehead, traced it down. "I said that? Last night's 'adventure' must have stressed me more than I thought. There were a few--aides, assistants. No permanent, main staff as such. And those who are still here of that, have been for well over a year at any rate."

Varga flipped through her notebook briefly again--not so much consulting the pages as glancing through them briefly as a mnemonic device--and nodded. "That checks out better, thanks."

"I've already started on a second round of questioning. Think I'll do Rion next."

"Mmh," he nodded. "She should be...in the library, I think?" Friedel nodded to affirm this when he half-looked in her direction. "I've told everyone that you have free reign to wander the manor...observe them at work, and such. But if you do have any trouble, come to me."

"Sure. I'll get to it, then."

The detective left the room, thinking: Evidently he still trusted Friedel enough to try some unknown drink from her. It'd be his own stupid fault if she'd poisoned him, but at least that would narrow the suspects to Friedel and...whoever might want to frame her. On the other hand, if he was neither better nor worse afterward then perhaps she was making an excuse to give him something else to drink, in case the real culprit got impatient and tried to poison his tea.

Rion was indeed in the library, standing on a ladder and dusting some upper shelves. The manor's librarian was a short, elderly, bespectacled human man who spent nearly all his time with the books. Even though it was possible he'd read a spellbook or two, Varga had confirmed for herself with a brief test that he didn't know the first thing about spellcasting, and then double checked that none of the other staff interviewed later had observed him using even basic cantrips that would've helped him in his line of work. He was more or less off the suspect list, in other words, so there was no real reason to send him out of the room for this interview.

"Morning," Varga announced herself, though the Ketshi's ears had turned toward the door as soon as it opened.

"Oh, hey. You need somethin'?"

"Just a question or two. You can keep working," she said, moving closer.

"Arright. Shoot."

"Let's see..." Again the detective flipped through her notebook, pretending to need to consult it for this. "I don't think you've been entirely honest with me. Last night you said you'd 'always' liked Sir Edwin, but Oleg told me you hardly worked at all over his first year here. And Alyssa admitted that she'd covered for you by saying you were ill."

"So? Maybe I was ill."

"Not the impression I got." Shutting the notebook and pocketing it, focusing her eyes up at the Ketshi: "Think Oleg used the word 'tantrum'."

Rion finally sighed, and slid down the ladder, her feet neatly hitting the floor before she turned to face the werewolf, leaning back with a hand against a rung. "Okay, so I didn't always like him. I mean, I didn't always know him! Is that a crime?"
"No." Varga crossed her arms. "But I think you knew I was looking for someone who might want to hurt him, and you tried to cover tracks. All I know now is you seemed to hate Sir Vaersi, then suddenly didn't. Maybe you can fill in the gaps?"
"Hmph. Fine. Ya know, a lot of folks say the old master of the house was mean and stuff. But he was just...angry at the way the world is, all the injustice everywhere. He was mad, and threw around all the weight he had to try and fix it, an' when that didn't work he got madder. And he never took it out on the folks who served him. He was a good guy."

"So, when he died in the war and was set to be replaced..."
Rion threw up her arms. "Yeah, I wasn't happy! I thought they'd install some kid in here to be a puppet of the empire. After he got here, I'd listen in to him talkin' with other nobles, and he'd always be so polite and nice with 'em, even the worst ones, like they were best chums. So I thought I was right! This guy was lettin' 'em step all over him, like he was a rug."

"Well then. What changed your mind?"
"I went an' I actually saw him in court. What I found out was, what the old master would try to do with fury and rage, throwin' his weight all around--Sir Vaersi was doin' too, in his own way. He'd charm and schmooze and flatter anyone he had to ta help pass the kinda laws that might make things right. He earned my respect that day, so I started takin' my work seriously again, and I've liked him ever since. That enough honesty for ya?"

"...For th'moment." Varga turned around and started toward the door. "Don't leave town, now."
"Oh, very funny."

As one of those who at least saw the maids on a regular basis, the head chef might have at least noticed something. After asking around a couple of times, Varga was able to found him in a small, cramped room in the middle of the servants' quarters, sitting on a stiff-looking chair with a pipe in his mouth. He pulled it out when she entered, shaking a bit into an ashtray. "You again? Didn't finish your job last night?" he asked with a tone that suggested she should have--never mind that he had no idea what said job was.

"Not quite. Are you free to answer another question or two?"

"Sure. I'm on break right now." He inhaled the pipe deeply, and let some of it out. "This don't bother you, does it?"
The werewolf shook her head. The scent was repugnant, but her nose had endured far worse.

"Good." It didn't seem like he would've stopped if it did, anyway.

"Right. Have you noticed any of the maids acting unusual lately?"

Joe appeared to think on it for a moment. "...Nah, th'maids haven't been acting any different from usual lately." He paused to take another huff of smoke. "I mean, I wouldn't call their behavior normal in the first place, but at least they're hard workers, don't make my job any harder. The only one I've noticed acting any different is my sous."
"How so?"
"Always tired and clumsy lately," he said, waving his free hand around. "Acts like all of a sudden, she can't take the workload. And she's not sick; I know what sick looks like."

"It hasn't been more than usual the past few weeks? Before Sir Edwin took ill, I mean."
"'Course not!" Joe's arm whipped out and forward before dropping back to his side. "You ask me, I think she's been sneaking out at night to do who-knows-what. Never know with teenagers."
"Serra's not an adult?"
Joe shrugged. "Nineteen. Still a teenager."

Varga took a moment to double-check something in her notebook. "That would make her...seventeen when she was hired?"
"Maybe? Maybe her birthday isn't up yet. I dunno when it is," he said. "What's that matter, anyway? A real chef starts working young to get good at the trade."

"Do you know anything about what she was doing before she was hired?"

"Nope. Definitely not cooking, anyway."

"You've never asked?"
"Not important to me. She's a hard worker, that's what matters. Or--used to be, anyway."

"...Do you know where she is right now?"
"Oh, on break, like me." Joe huffed more smoke. "Probably takin' another nap."

"Thanks." Varga shut her notebook and left the room, headed back out of the servant quarters. She had a hunch, and could think of at least one way to confirm it.