Lavendar Veed was a plump woman with grey hair and grey eyes. She'd once been an incredible beauty and hints of her youth still remained in the elegant way she presented herself.
"It's lovely to see you, Taran," she said smoothly as she poured me a cup of tea. "How is that fussy old butler of yours?"
"Annoying as usual," I said.
"You'd be lost with out him," she said with an amused click of her tongue. "And you know it."
"Hmm," I said, not wanting to grumble.
She lifted a tray towards me. "Shortbread?"
"Thank you, Lavendar," I said eagerly as I took one of the biscuits.
One didn't say no to Lavendar Veed's shortbread biscuits. Even Mudge couldn't bake one like she could. As I smiled broadly, the smell of their sweet buttery goodness filled my nostrils.
"Only one, mind you," Fagen put in, sipping his tea.
"Now, Fagen," his wife said through her teeth. "Don't be rude."
"Last time he ate them all," the old man grumped in a tone which sounded very familiar to my ears.
It made me wonder if being grumpy was a mage thing, or a soldier thing.
When had I picked it up?
"Inspector?" She offered the tray to Telly, who was looking a trifle lost.
"Umm…"
"Take it," I told him. "They're much better than those ridiculous lollipops."
"Very well," he said, looking a little sheepish about it. And so he should. "Thank you, Mrs. Veed."
"Lavendar," she said firmly. "Please call me Lavendar."
I nibbled on my shortbread.
To do more than that would be to eat it too fast. One should never eat one of her biscuits too fast. They should be savoured.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed it.
The Old Twit seemed to hum in my ears.
Sighing, I opened my eyes. "Would you mind?"
"Of course, dear," she said. "Would He like tea, too?"
"I think He's more concerned with the biscuits."
Opening a portal, I passed a biscuit through. A thick tentacle whipped out of the void, wrapping eagerly around the offered portion. Then, before anyone could move, it streaked for the little old lady and gave her head a gentle pat before the portal snapped shut with a happy crunch.
Telly blinked. "Umm, what was that?"
"An elder god," I told him. "Thank you, Lavendar."
She was still blushing from her headpat. "You're most welcome, Taran," she said. Then cleared her throat. "But you must tell me why you thought to ruin my garden."
"It, umm, wasn't my intention."
"I thought he'd come to duel," Fagen put in. "It was my fault."
"I should have said something, though," I said. "So, blame is also mine."
"You're too polite," he said.
"Fifty fifty?"
The old man nodded. "Sounds right to me."
"Are you free on Moonday?"
"I can be."
"Then I'll let Grimsby know to dig out some old tweeds."
"Excellent," he said cheerfully. "That's sorted. Sorry, Lav. We'll fix everything on Moonday."
The old lady gave us a shrewd look and sat down. "Then I'll be wanting a change of carnations. I've always wanted to get some Pink Velvets."
"They're a bit expensive, love," Fagen said dismissively. "How about some Red Rangers?"
"Pink Velvets."
The old man's lips tightened.
"I think we can manage," I interjected before he could put his foot into his mouth. "I'll see if Grimsby can track some down."
Fagen sighed. "Thank you, Taran."
"It's my pleasure."
It wouldn't be my wallet's pleasure, though. But one doesn't admit this anywhere near Lavendar Veed or she'll think the complaining meant I wanted to source even more expensive varieties for her instead.
He dipped his shortbread into his tea. "Well, if you didn't come for a duel, why did you come?"
"It's a bit gruesome for the table," I said, glancing at his wife.
"It's alright," Lavendar said softly. "I've spent decades listening to his war stories. I think I can handle whatever it is."
"Hmm."
"Spit it out," Fagen growled.
"Harl Stenton," I said. "He was a leatherworker."
Fagen squinted at me. "Was?"
"He's dead now," I told him, dunking my shortbread. It wasn't very gentlemanly a thing to do, but it was tasty. "The Inspector here can give you the indelicate details if you like, but they're not necessary. He was murdered. And, someone heard you telling him you were going to…"
"Melt his head off," Inspector Telly supplied calmly. Then lifted his half-eaten biscuit and took a decent portion between his teeth. The fellow didn't know how to savour a good biscuit. "These are great."
"Thank you, dear," Lavendar said absently. "Fagen, have you been threatening people again? Haven't I told you not to do that?"
"I didn't mean it literally," he grumbled. "I meant it, like…"
I raised an eyebrow and decided to rescue him. "Figuratively?"
"Is that when you say something you can do, but wouldn't?"
"Close enough."
"Then, that's it. That's what I did," he turned his face to his wife with an earnest smile. "I threatened him figuratively."
"Fagen," she sighed.
She didn't sound angry.
She didn't sound upset.
No. It was worse than that.
She sounded disappointed.
And it was enough to make the old man wilt like an old bloom.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm trying."
She patted his arm. "I know you are. But you're not in the army anymore. I'm sure Taran here doesn't go around threatening people. Do you, Taran?"
Telly choked on his biscuit as I shook my head firmly. "No, Lav. I never ever threaten anyone," I said. "And I only ever kill mooks."
"You see?" She wagged a finger at her husband. "You should be more like Taran."
Telly blinked.
"I'll try harder," Fagen said. "Really, Lav. I will."
She kept her gaze on him for a few heartbeats longer than were necessary.
Then turned her gaze to me. "Is he in trouble?"
"I doubt it," I said, causing Telly to blink again.
"Well, we might have some questions," the Inspector put in.
"Of course we do," I said. "Fagen, did you ever get a look at his list of customers, or know of any other mages who visited him?"
"That's not what I meant," Telly hissed.
"Why? What else did you think he'd know?"
"Like, whether he killed Stanton or not? Shouldn't we ask?"
"Fagen kill Stanton?" I looked at him like he was an idiot. Which I thought he was in that moment. "What are you talking about, Inspector? Why would you think that?"
"Well, you said-"
"I said I knew who'd been seen threatening him. I didn't think he'd done the killing. The man had a pair of scissors in his neck, Inspector. And his head was clearly attached to his neck."
Lavendar cleared her throat.
"Sorry, Lavendar," I said, catching myself. "I got carried away."
"That's quite alright, Taran," she said. "But it sounds like you're right. Inspector, Fagen wouldn't use scissors to kill anyone. I don't think he'd use scissors for anything."
Fagen was thoroughly looking confused. "Scissors?"
"The killing was staged to look mundane," I told him. "But it was a mage who'd done it. There was still magical residue in the air."
He scratched his head. "Telekinesis?"
"I was thinking Morvel's Mana Grip."
"Really?" He looked surprised. "That'd take a lot of focus, though."
"It would."
"Or, what if…" He trailed off, then sighed. "No. I think you'd have thought of that and discounted it."
"I did."
"Alright," he nodded. "Let's say a mage used Mana Grip and stabbed old Stanton to death with it. Why not just use fire? Or ice?"
"Then we'd know what his School was. Mages seem to think that's very important and specialise in one School. Like you did with Fire."
"Fire's the best," he growled.
"For some things. But if this mage has a more obscure School, then he'd want to hide it."
"Obscure?" He frowned. "Like Necromancy?"
"No, it wasn't Necromancers."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely certain." I sipped my tea. "It's someone who's been studying the Void."
"What?" He gave me a shocked look. "But that's insane."
"It is."
"I don't know anyone that crazy." He scratched at one of the scars on his cheek. "I was seeing Stanton over a bag I was getting made."
"A bag?" Telly pulled out his notebook. "What kind of bag?"
The old man's gaze flicked towards his wife. "Do I really need to say?"
"I'd prefer if you did," the Inspector said. "To prove you have nothing to hide."
"Well, I don't!"
"It's alright, Fagen," Lavendar said with a smile. "I'm well aware of what you were trying to get made. You took my old one for the day."
"I wanted to get the size right," he said, ears turning red. Then sighed. "I was buying my wife a new handbag, Inspector. And I was also going to have it enchanted so it'd be a spatial handbag. They're very fashionable right now. But Stanton kept raising the price! Then he wanted to use some ugly old skin he'd found. But I wanted something beautiful. Something delicate. I told him, I said it's for my wife not for myself! I don't give an old cobblers for myself. But for my wife… anything…"
He trailed off, a little embarrassed as she smiled proudly at him. "I love you too, dear."
He grinned foolishly.
"Well," I said. "That's one mystery solved, I should think. What do you think, Inspector?"
"Well-"
I didn't think he understood what I was saying.
So, I turned my head and stared at him.
"I said, what do you think, Inspector?"
"Fine," he sighed. "I don't understand why we're here if you thought it was a waste of time."
"It's not a waste of time," I said. Then nodded at the shortbread biscuits. "You are eating the finest shortbread in all of Waggenrook. No. in all of the Empire. You might like to enjoy the experience."
"That's a lovely thing to say, Taran," Lavendar said, her cheeks turning pink with a happy glow. "But I do think you're being a trifle over generous."
"No, he's not," Fagen growled. Then pursed his lips. "Obscure School?"
I nodded. "Yes. Possibly very obscure."
The old man's eyes glazed over as he threaded his thoughts through his memory.
Then winced.
"I don't think you'll like it very much," he said. "But I do recall that I was heading there for an appointment to discuss the proper clasps and fittings when I did see something a little unusual."
"When was it?" Telly asked, scribbling away.
"Last Freasday," he said. "Just before lunch. I saw a carriage. It was just leaving."
"A carriage?" That perked the Inspector's mood a little. "Could you describe it?"
"Black," the old man said. "And wide. One of those new-fangled ones with mage lights and everything. Much too fancy for someone like me."
"I like them," Lavendar said gently. "Their interiors are quite splendid."
"I'll buy you one, then," he said without hesitation.
She patted his cheek. "You're a good boy, Fagen. Most of the time."
"Any livery on it?" Telly asked tightly.
"Hmm? No. None I could see."
The Inspector's shoulders slumped.
"But," Fagen continued. "I didn't need to. I'd recognise that pompous old prude's carriage anywhere."
Telly's eyebrow lifted. The pencil quivered in his fingers. "Which pompous old prude?"
"You won't like it," he sighed, talking to me.
"I'm sure I won't."
The old man nodded. Closed his eyes.
"Minton Blackwell."
"Ah," I said, feeling a cold fire ignite deep in my heart. "Bugger."