By nightfall, I was no longer Motley. That role had served its purpose for now. Tonight, I was 'W'—or more precisely, James. I would head to the Jewelry District to meet Milverton and plan the next move in this increasingly tangled game.
I put on my black cloak over a practical suit, then fitted the cold porcelain mask over my face. I didn't leave the rooftop chamber through the door but through the window, jumping onto the roof of the neighboring building. Moving across the rooftops at night was safer and more efficient.
Thud. Thud.
Each step should have made a sound on the tiles, but I had wrapped the soles of my shoes with a thin layer of Void Essence. It absorbed every vibration, devoured every sound. I moved like a ghost above a sleeping city. Below, Clockthon's gaslights looked like stars scattered across the earth. Most of the population was either resting or seeking entertainment in opera houses. They had no idea a shadow game was unfolding just above their heads.
Within minutes, I reached the Jewelry District. I dropped into a narrow, foul-smelling alley beside a pile of trash and opened a sewer hatch engraved with the Ouroboros.
Clank-clank-clank.
I closed it from the inside and descended a spiral staircase into the underground market. I headed straight to Milverton's headquarters. The guard at the now steel-reinforced door recognized me from the mask and opened it without question.
Milverton was already waiting in his luxurious office. He sat in his oversized leather chair, his black jester mask reflecting the dim light from the desk lamp.
"You came, James," he said flatly.
"You have something for me," I replied, getting to the point. I sat across from him.
"Yes," he said, pushing a leather folder toward me. "A new job. Direct request from Madame Grivana."
I opened it. Inside wasn't a request for an artifact or information, but an initial investigation report from the City Guard. "A murder at the Velvet Mask?"
"Correct," Milverton said. "One of her regular clients, a wealthy textile merchant from the Western Province, was found dead in one of the private rooms last night. Throat slit, no signs of struggle, no forced entry. Strangest part, none of his valuables were taken. The killer left everything."
"A personal motive," I said.
"Possibly. But Grivana doesn't believe that. She thinks it was a message. Someone is trying to intimidate her. She wants us to find out who did it. The reward is substantial: two hundred and thirty gold gryn, in cash."
I looked at the report. This wasn't part of my plan. I wasn't even remotely interested in becoming a private detective. But this was also an opportunity. Madame Grivana was one of the most important information hubs in Clockthon. Having a debt of favor from her would be valuable. And a mysterious murder in the heart of her territory was a good way to test my new intelligence network.
"What do the City Guard know?" I asked.
"Not much," Milverton replied. "They're lost. No witnesses. No clear motive. They suspect business rivalry or personal grudges but have no proof."
"Then we'll look for what they aren't," I said. I stood and walked to the whiteboard in the corner. "This murder isn't about 'who.' It's about 'how' and 'why.' We start from the foundation. I need everything you have on the victim. His business, enemies, family, secret lovers. I also need a full layout of the Velvet Mask, including staff corridors and hidden passages. I know a place like that has them."
"Aubert's already working on it," Milverton said, nodding toward his head servant in the corner.
"Good," I said. "Now, on methodology. In my old world, I mean, long ago, Milverton, we had a field for this. It was called criminology. A killer always leaves traces, no matter how small. Not physical ones, but psychological ones. Every crime is a story told by its perpetrator. Our job is to read that story."
I picked up a piece of chalk. "First, modus operandi. The throat was slit from behind, with no struggle. That suggests the victim knew the killer, or the killer had the skill to approach unnoticed. Possibly an Evolver from Channel Dagger or Channel Veil. That's my preliminary conclusion, Milv."
"Second, victimology. Why him? What made him a target? Did he have access to sensitive information? Was he involved in the wrong deal?"
"Third, crime scene analysis. The City Guard will only see what's on the surface. I want you to send one of your best agents, disguised as a cleaner or something similar. I don't want them looking for fingerprints. I want them looking for inconsistencies. You know what I mean—things that shouldn't be there, or things that should be but are missing. A book out of place. A teacup with the wrong contents."
Milverton stared at me. His mask gave nothing away, but I could feel his mind working. "You're treating this like a puzzle, not a crime."
"Every crime is a puzzle," I answered. "And every puzzle has a solution. We just need the right framework to see it."
For the next few hours, we sat there breaking down every detail of the case. I flooded him with concepts from my world—psychological profiling, basic forensic analysis, the importance of alibis and opportunity windows. Milverton, with his deep knowledge of Clockthon's underworld, filled in the local context. He told me about rival textile merchants, rumors of the victim's wife cheating, and how the Velvet Mask was often used as neutral ground for shady negotiations.
It was a strange dynamic. I had theoretical knowledge from a more advanced world. He had practical experience in a brutal one. We complemented each other.
"There's one more thing," Milverton said at last, after we had compiled a long list of assignments for our network. "The invitation to The Sovereign's Gambit has arrived. Officially."
He handed me a thick ivory card. The writing was embossed in gold ink. It was an invitation for "Mr. W," as a representative of The Consortium, to participate in the annual game.
"It'll take place in one month," he continued. "On a private island off the southern coast. Security will be absolute. All participants will be screened and verified. No masks, no aliases. You'll have to go as yourself."
I stared at the card. This was a problem. I had carefully built the personas of 'W' and 'James' to keep my operations separate from my public identity as Welt Rothes. Participating in the Gambit as Welt would connect dots that were meant to stay unlinked.
"Our client, the Puppeteer, insists," Milverton said, as if reading my mind. "He says it's part of the deal. You prove your worth, and they give you a larger stage."
Of course. The Consortium wouldn't let me hide behind a mask forever. They wanted to showcase their new asset. They wanted to put me under the spotlight, to see how I interacted with the young heirs of other factions.
"Who else is confirmed to attend?" I asked.
"The list is still classified. But rumors say House Valerius will send someone. So will House Droct. Most likely, the Church of Grugnir and Fravikveidimadr will send observers. Other churches and organizations are expected to do the same."
All the major players would be there. This would be a pit of vipers.
I weighed my options. Refusing meant going against The Consortium. Accepting meant exposing myself. Neither choice favored me.
"Fine," I said finally. "I'll go. But that means Grivana's case must be solved before then. I don't want any loose ends when I enter that snake pit."
"Agreed," said Milverton. "We'll focus on it."
I stood to leave. I had a lot to think about. Plans for the Grivana case, and now a strategy for The Sovereign's Gambit.
"James," Milverton called as I reached the door. "Your investigative method. It's highly unusual. Where did you learn all of that?"
I paused for a moment but didn't turn around. "From a place where lies were an art form, and truth was the rarest commodity, Milverton."
I left his headquarters and returned to the dim underground streets. My mind was racing. Madame Grivana's murder was no longer just a side job. It had become a test. A test to prove my capability as both a strategist and a detective.
I had to solve this case. I definitely needed the money. Living here wasn't as easy or charming as life in a small town. A single day could cost two gryn just for proper meals—at least for the expensive ones. The cheap ones didn't count.
As I made my way back to the surface, I realized that from now on, I would serve more as a mystery within this story. I would become one with the strange legends that haunted this city. To serve meant to dominate, and that was my thought exactly.
In the end, maybe there's no real difference between being an archon and a detective. Both try to understand a complex system and find patterns within chaos.
I had to hide my identity, even if the rules made it difficult. I had to force it with pure mental discipline. I couldn't afford a single mistake, not until I fully understood the game between the two powerful organizations that bound me.
And I, with all my secrets, was the greatest puzzle of them all. Today marked the beginning of the Grand Plan of Hundreds. Whether it would turn me into a monster or something else entirely would depend on how I executed it.