The afternoon sun burned low as a hooded man crossed the narrow cobblestone street of a fortified town, flanked by overhanging timber-framed houses and open market stalls heavy with grains and breads. Stone towers loomed at the far ends, watching over a steady flow of townsfolk, merchants, and labourers.
He walked to the last corner of the market and stood in front of the 'Master Denim' workshop. His eyes scanned the surroundings. Very few people were around the shop.
He entered. As he stepped inside, it was not hot, sulphurous air that greeted him, but a cold and dry atmosphere. The furnaces were completely shut down. Not a single person was present, as if the place were deserted.
Suddenly, someone came down the stairs. Each step made the wooden planks creak.
A fat old man came down, leaning on the railing. He held a bottle of rum in one hand. His long, white, bushy beard was wet with drops of rum. His red eyes were half-closed in drunkenness.
"Are you Master Denim?"
Denim turned toward him. He squinted his eyes and called out, "Who're ya, bastard? Ya come to my shop, and don't even know who I am."
Then Denim raised his bottle upward and stuck out his tongue. Just a few drops dripped onto it. He shook the bottle, but the result was the same. Empty. He threw the bottle. It shattered against the wall. "This is empty too, just like my inventory."
The hooded man asked, "What do you mean, empty? And why are all your furnaces closed?"
Denim collapsed into a nearby wooden chair. "All the iron stores were bought up by merchants from Burhild before they could even reach the market."
The hooded man squinted his eyes and murmured, "Overbuying of iron… for weapons. WAR."
Denim grumbled and asked, "Hah! Did you say somethin'?"
"Nothing. Just, can you tell me something about this?" The hooded man took out a scroll.
Denim stood up and walked toward him. He directly grabbed his collar and lifted him up. He yelled in his face, "Who are you? How can you have an invoice for royal furnishings that was already submitted to the royal court?" Droplets of his saliva sprayed over the man's face.
The hooded man revealed his face and wiped the droplets away with a handkerchief.
The grip on his collar loosened; Denim's eyes flew wide open in full sobriety. He quickly knelt down, his hands and head touching the floor. "Please forgive this lowly servant. I did not know who you were."
Thomas corrected his collar and ordered, "Stand up."
Denim hesitated at first, then stood up, but kept his head down. He quickly rushed to the counter and brought over a wooden chair. "I don't have much better furniture, but this may be more comfortable."
Thomas nodded and sat down, resting his right leg over his left knee. He passed the scroll to him and ordered, "Is this from your workshop?"
Denim answered without hesitation, "Yes, my Lord, this invoice is from my shop. Not only that, all the items listed were made by my own hands." He showed both of his rough, bruised hands.
"Then, was there any unique design among the lamps?"
Denim rolled his eyes and gazed upward, trying to recall. As memories resurfaced, he answered, "Yes, my Lord. There was one lamp that was specifically requested by your highness, Madam Emma."
A line of tension creased Thomas's face as Emma's name came to the surface. He asked, "Did that lamp have sharp edges and pointed protrusions?"
"Absolutely right, Your Majesty. That lamp had those exact features."
Thomas leaned backward and massaged his temples. Just what the heck are you doing, Emma? Every single piece of evidence is pointing to you.
"You have all evidence, but still refuse. Why?" Dire whispered to him.
But Thomas denied it. "No, she is definitely being framed by someone."
Then, Thomas took out a metal piece that was rusted and melted at one end. "What do you think about this?"
Denim took it. He examined it by sight, smell, then touch, before announcing his findings. "Sorry, my Lord, I am not knowledgeable in the alchemical field. But I can tell that this came into contact with a slow poison or acid that weakened its tenacity."
He demonstrated by snapping it in half with both hands.
Thomas sat still, lost in thought. His gaze fixed on the broken metal part. This solves one problem of how the lamp fell. And it gives another hint: either the killer knows alchemy or got help from someone.
Thomas stood up and threw a bag full of gold coins. "Take this as a reward." Then he left.
---
Thomas was dressed in ragged, hooded clothes that hid his entire face. He strolled around the market, examining the quality and availability of goods. Most items related to iron or food were expensive and also of low quality.
As he was looking, he suddenly spotted John riding a horse. John's body was fully covered except for his face, and through the gaps, the bruises from his lashing were visible.
Thomas quickly mounted a nearby horse and threw a bag of gold at the owner. The owner was speechless at the sight of so much gold.
With his excellent riding skill, Thomas quickly brought the horse under his control and followed John from a distance.
John rode toward the city gate. As a former knight, he exited easily.
Where is he going?
As Thomas was about to exit, a guard stepped in front of him.
"Hey, you! Stop! Get in line!"
Thomas glared at him, then quickly took out a small pouch full of silver coins and tossed it to him.
The guard opened the pouch. His lips curved with pleasure. He quickly hid the pouch in his armour. "You may go."
Thomas spurred the horse.
Neigh!
The horse stomped rapidly and ran at full speed.
Thomas spotted John and, not wanting to be caught, followed through the shade of the trees, off the path.
After some distance, John stopped at the shore of a river.
Thomas hid behind a thick-trunked tree a little way off. He peeked out. I knew it. He is the actual culprit. He must be here to meet a spy or another traitor.
As he was thinking this, another horse arrived. However, dense shrubs and bushes hid the view of the second person.
Thomas leaned forward and lightly parted the bushes. But what he saw completely shocked him. Hands tightned over bark, eyes hollowed and heart raced. A word escaped his pale lips: "Emma…"
Emma and John were tightly hugging and passionately kissing each other. Their eyes were closed as they deeply engrossed in their intimacy.