The entire chamber was engulfed in magick, fire, and chaos. The magick and fire they could handle, but the chaos was too unpredictable to be anything close to safe. 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 forces unleashed 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. “Suddenly, all the Wyrds around the palace were screaming about some sort of explosion. 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 I can assure you that 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 with the unexpected detonation of some sort of device. I’m afraid the two officers who came with us did not make it out alive. They had just laid hands on him to formally arrest him when it happened. We, fortunately, were still on the other side—”

“That’s the high wyrd of the Imperial household! Are you saying he killed himself, killed himself to avoid arrest?” The guard looked shocked and angry.

“That would be presumptuous of me. I am merely saying he was killed in an… incident. Though I suppose this means we can most 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. I wouldn’t want to contemplate the fallout and neither would you. Just tell everyone he died in an accident experimenting with a new defensive weapon for the empire or something. Certainly it is an acceptable falsehood. Then we can all quietly bury this awkward situation with no names dragged through the mud.”

Mrs. Apothecary sighed. “Okay, yes, I know that is beyond your station, but it helps if our stories are consistent. I wish we had been able to piece together more information for you about who else might have been involved. We still don’t know who, if anyone, was pulling his strings.”

One of the other guards looked at her suspiciously. “We were informed that he was the ring leader of this… thing.”

“Maybe. But there’s no easy way to tell now, is there? He was dead before anyone could ask him to confirm or deny that accusation.”

“We can get some wyrds to scry the corpse. Routine procedure.”

“I’m afraid they won’t find anything worth scrying in there. Someone very familiar with routine procedure 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, the lid cracked but otherwise only mildly damaged by the ordeal, unnoticed into her jacket.