Around 7:00 a.m., 18 November 1797
Residence of the Chancellor of the Exchequer
A piercing scream tore through the quiet morning.
When the household guards rushed to the source, they froze in horror.
A young maid lay collapsed on the floor, hand clamped over her mouth, trembling violently.
In the centre of the bedroom lay the lifeless body of the Chancellor's only son—no breath, no pulse, only the cold stillness of death.
The news spread like wildfire through London's streets.
By the time the constables arrived, the entire household was in chaos. According to every guard on duty, no suspicious person had entered or left the mansion that night—at least none they had seen.
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8:00 a.m., 18 November – Morven's watchmaking shop
Morven stood beside Marcus as usual, arms folded, watching his apprentice's every move with the unforgiving eye of a master craftsman. The slightest mistake, he believed, could throw a pocket watch's time forever off true.
Marcus, sweating under the silent pressure, finally drew a shaky breath.
"Master… I love that you supervise, really, but could you at least stop looking at me like the Grim Reaper?"
Morven removed his spectacles slowly, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he opened them again he slid the glasses back on and answered in a flat tone.
"Mind your work and stop whining."
At that moment the little bell above the door jingled.
Morven exhaled, flicked his eyes toward Marcus—go greet the customer—and Marcus nodded, stood, and hurried out of the workshop.
Less than a minute later the door flew open again. Marcus burst in, breathless.
"Master… the Chancellor's son is dead!"
Morven froze for once looked genuinely startled. He set his spectacles on the table, turned fully to Marcus.
"Which Chancellor?"
"The Chancellor of the Exchequer—his son!"
A faint, sardonic smirk touched Morven's lips. He lifted his top hat from the stand, placed it precisely on his head, slipped into his long black coat with deliberate calm, and glanced at Marcus.
"Why are you still staring? Put your coat on. We're leaving."
He picked up his cane, stepped out of the workshop, and tapped the ferrule sharply against the tiled floor in front of the Chancellor's bodyguard who had brought the news.
"Is the carriage ready?"
"Yes, Mr Blacktide!"
Marcus emerged a moment later, coat half-buttoned.
"I'm ready, Master…"
Morven gave him the ghost of a smile. The three men left the shop together.
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Thirty minutes later – The Chancellor's mansion
Servants stood in shocked clusters; guards lined up stiffly while the Chancellor himself roared at them in helpless fury.
The clatter of hooves and wheels announced the carriage. It rolled to a stop in the courtyard. The moment Morven and Marcus stepped down, the Chancellor hurried over, face pale and contorted with grief.
"Mr Blacktide! My son… someone murdered my son. I have no heir left. I beg you—find the killer. Bring me the man who did this!"
Morven listened with a calm, almost amused smile.
"I haven't even seen your son's room yet, nor the maid who found him."
The Chancellor, chastened, gestured toward the mansion and strode ahead to organise the staff.
Once he was out of earshot, Morven turned to Marcus with a quiet sneer.
"See? When they need you, they treat you like a king. When they don't… you're just the watchmaker. That's every noble for you."
Marcus said nothing, only listened.
Three minutes later the Chancellor returned and respectfully invited Morven inside. The two young men climbed the grand staircase and entered the entrance hall. Morven's sharp gaze swept over the lined-up servants before settling on the Chancellor.
"Which maid discovered the body and screamed?"
The Chancellor pointed to a trembling young woman near the back.
"That girl, Mr Blacktide. Elizabeth."
Morven walked over, bent slightly so his eyes were level with hers, and asked gently,
"What is your name?"
"E-Elizabeth, sir…" she whispered.
Morven straightened, smiled at the Chancellor, and said,
"At least we can rule her out as the murderer. Now—show me your son's room."
The Chancellor led the way upstairs. Morven followed at his usual measured pace, cane tapping softly on each step.
Two minutes later they stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Morven surveyed the scene in silence for several seconds, then turned back to the Chancellor.
"Thank you. I'll return to my study, put everything together, and begin the real investigation."
After polite farewells, Morven and Marcus left the mansion. In the courtyard, just before stepping into the waiting carriage, Morven paused and spoke to the Chancellor.
"Thank you again, my lord, but we won't be needing the carriage home."
He turned to Marcus with a mischievous glint in his dark red eyes.
"Marcus… let's walk."
Marcus simply nodded. Together they left the gates.
As they stepped onto the street, Morven looked up at the overcast autumn sky and the swirling orange leaves.
"Rain is coming. Might fall tonight. We should have brought umbrellas."
Marcus blinked.
"But it's not even noon yet!"
Morven's smile widened.
"I told the Chancellor I was going back to my study. Did you actually believe me?"
Marcus opened his mouth to protest; Morven raised a gloved finger to his lips.
"Shhh. Quiet. We're going to the shop."
He turned and began strolling leisurely back the way the carriage had brought them—cane tapping rhythmically against the pavement, autumn leaves drifting around his polished boots like silent accomplices.
Marcus stared for a moment stared in confusion, then hurried to catch up. Side by side, master and apprentice walked through the crisp morning, heading not for home, but straight toward whatever secrets the murdered boy's room had left behind.