“Look out, dear!” Mrs. Apothecary pulled her husband down as a blast of magickal fire ripped over top of them.
The entire chamber was engulfed in magick, fire, and chaos. The two of them were crouched behind a stone table in the entry hall of the High Wyrd of Farport. Chaotic energies swirled above them, crackling with the force to scorch and scar stone, let alone cloth and flesh.
“Wait for it,” she said calmly, gauging the storm above them. “Now!”
The both dove for the door out of the wyrd’s chamber and into the hall. Mr. Apothecary scrambled to his feet and slammed it behind them. It seemed strong enough to hold until the magick forces within subsided, but they moved a safe distance down the hall to be sure. They were seared, and scorched, but not terribly injured.
As they inspected their wounds, and Mrs. Apothecary set about to healing what she could, more palace guards came running up.
They looked at the couple, both of whom looked worse than they really were. “What the hell happened,” one of the demanded. “Wyrds around the palace were suddenly screaming about some sort of fight. Even we could feel it.”
Mrs. Apothecary gave them a sympathetic look.
“I am sure most everyone could feel it. We were at the center of it, and it was most terrifying indeed.” Mrs. Apothecary gathered herself. “It appears that our suspect was not particularly interested in being arrested for his alleged crimes. As a result, all of his chambers were reduced to what will soon be nothing but smoldering chaos in an unexpected fire fight. I’m afraid the two officers who came with us did not make it out alive.”
“Are you saying a high wyrd of the Imperial household killed himself to avoid arrest?” The guard looked shocked and angry.
“No, I am merely saying he was killed in an … incident. Though I suppose this means we can thankfully close this case without publicly accusing him. As much as I am for bringing criminals to justice, a public accusation against him could turn into a nasty political battle indeed. Just tell everyone he died in an accident experimenting with a new defensive weapon for the Empire. Certainly it is an acceptable falsehood. Then we can quietly bury this awkward situation.”
Mrs. Apothecary sighed.
“I wish we had been able to piece together more information for you about who else was involved. We still don’t know who, if anyone, was pulling his strings.”
The guard looked at her suspiciously. “So he wasn’t the ring leader of this thing?”
“There’s no easy way to tell now, is there? He was dead before anyone could ask who was in charge or how he ended up in such a disagreeable circumstance.”
“We’ll get some wyrds to scry the corpse.”
“A pleasant notion, but I’m afraid they won’t find anything worth scrying in there. Someone went well out of their way to cover their trail.” Mr’s Apothecary looked despondently at her favorite pair of gloves, now quite ruined. “I’m sorry, I really am. I always thought him such a wonderful man.”
The guards muttered amongst themselves and pulled a little further away from the couple so as not to be overheard as they decided what to do next.
Mr. Apothecary leaned in close to his wife and whispered, “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes, yes it was. I’m sorry to drag you into these things.”
“It’s quite alright, dear.”
Mrs. Apothecary tucked a small, ornately-carved wooden box, only mildly damaged in the ordeal, unnoticed into her jacket.
The Pirate Apprentice by Mootly Obviate is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.