The alley was unnaturally quiet. The only sound was the steady running of water from the rooftops -- melting from an early snowfall and dripping to the cobbles below. There was no spitting or mewling of the cats, no skittering or screeching of the large rats, no squabbling or growling of the district's packs of feral dogs, no screeching and low humming of the black-tailed monkeys. There were also no signs of any people -- no tavern brawlers, no shouting parents or crying children, not even the bustle of wagons, carts or pedestrians from the busy streets not more than a hundred yards away. The alley was as still as a tomb. The still-melting blanket of snow and the thick, ubiquitous fog muffled any potential sound.

Except for Kenna, creeping silently along the cobbles; her back against the wall, and her knees bent to give her a low profile. She kept to the shadows, using the mounds of trash, the rickety wooden structures of doorways, awnings, scaffolding and whatever else she could find to keep herself hidden. In one hand, she held her blued-steel rapier, it's polish muted with a coat of soot, and in her other hand was her flintlock pistol. Both were ready to be used. Kenna herself was fairly muffled and bulky, she had a light mail shirt, with short sleeves over her woolen tunic, and a cuirass of leather scales covered that. A thick black cloak kept her warm, dry and hidden; unadored except for the magical clasp with the sign of the Inquisition. Underneath the heavy clothing, she was a petite girl in her late twenties, with rough-cut sandy hair, a few freckles on her cheeks and piercing green eyes.

Right now, Kenna was dripping water from her cloak, and covered in soot and dirt. She was struggling to control her breathing, to not make more noise than necessary, but her lungs burned from the effort of trying to gasp too much of the frigid air, and her heart still fluttered from the mad chase through the sprawling back alleys near the docks. She stopped for a moment to take deep but measured and quiet breaths, then crept forward again, eyes straining against the murky gloom.

Then she froze. She thought she could hear the furtive sounds of someone else moving quietly ahead of her. Then, through the darkness she caught a flash of movement and heard a whispered voice, chuckling and lilting as if softly singing or chanting. She squinted to see better. Then her eyes opened wide in surprise and she dived to the ground.

The figure in front of her was the fugitive she had been chasing -- a short but compact man with a shaved head and a jowly face that was twisted in a smile, exposing his yellowed teeth. He laughed some more as he motioned with his arm as if throwing something in her direction. Her dive barely spared her as the tiny ethereal skulls sheathed in violet flame that erupted from his hand smashed into the brick wall behind her with a crash and a cloud of dust. With a clipping rumble, bricks spilled from the now-broken wall to fall on Kenna, pinning her to the ground. The man in front of her drew a gleaming, curved knife. Kenna strained to pick up her dropped pistol, cocked the mechanism with a quaking hand and fired at the approaching man with another loud crack and explosion of smoke and sparks. The man grunted as the ball entered his shoulder, but in his feverish state, it didn't seem to slow him at all. He giggled again as Kenna dropped her gun and reached for her sword, heaving to try and move enough bricks to allow her to stand up.

Then from ahead of her she heard running footsteps slapping on the wet cobbles. Her attacker did too, and turned just in time to see her burly partner emerge from the mists, swinging his massive sword with two hands. The man's cackle turned to a burbling, hoarse rasp as his throat and chest were ripped open like an over-ripe fruit. He sank to his knees, and then slumped completely to the ground, his eyes still staring widely but his breath stilled. Kenna saw her companion pull the curved knife from his leg -- apparently the fugitive had delivered a final blow as he fell. She shifted the bricks again and stumbled to her feet, falling briefly to one knee before rising somewhat unsteadily.

"How you doing there, Tak?" she asked through a raspy voice, coughing out the dust and powdered morter that seemed lodged in her throat. She spit and rubbed the dust out of her stinging eyes as best she could with the back of her gloved hand. "How bad is it?"

The burly orc just grunted briefly, sitting down to rip the dead man's shirt and press the rag to his still flowing wound. He ripped another strip of his shirt and tied it tightly over the wadded and now soaked cloth. When he was done, he stood up slowly. "Had worse. You? That wall came down on you like... well, like a ton of bricks." Her companion was much taller and stronger than she was, with dark olive green skin and thick black, but close cropped hair. His riveted steel helmet was missing somewhere in the alley. A small beard grew on just his chin, although stubble was starting to invade his cheeks and neck this late in the evening. He was dressed much as she was, with his pistol still in his belt. His eyes were a dull yellow, and looked tired.

Kenna stretched and tightened her face in pain. "Pretty bruised, but my armor seems to have stopped the worst of it." She kicked the body, rolling it to a face-up position with her foot. Sorley Murdagh was an unlikely looking felon -- he was a well-known merchant and relatively respected in the city, and he appeared soft and out of shape, and dressed in too much frippery and finery to even be in this part of town at all.

Tak was hissing through his mouth in pain after taking a few faltering steps around the alley to try out his leg. "I'm not doing the paperwork this time -- let's find some Watch clean-up crew to get this trash off the street."

"That spell he threw at me," Kenna said after staring at the body for a moment. "I've never seen anything like it." Tak grunted and gave a slight nod.

"Been seein' an awful lot of spells we don't recognize lately," he said quietly. "I think something new's come to town. Someone found some other bloody accursed book, or someone's been brought from outside." He was now cleaning the blood from his sword on Sorley's torn silk tunic, then he put it back on his back where he normally wore it. "D'you say somethin' about the Watch earlier?"

Kenna looked behind her as voices were starting to drift in through the fog, as well as the metallic grinding of gears and pistons. "There were some Watchmen behind me when we first starting chasin' this lump of lard," she said. "I expect that's them finally catching up." Within moments two surly men with black hair and the grimy blue tabards of the Cassant Watch did indeed materialize from the thick fog, with a lumbering clank behind them; a vaguely humanoid brass construct powered by it's coal-burning furnace and the infusion of native magic. The huge construct came to a stop near them with the hiss of escaping steam and a hard rattling sound.

Tak glanced up at them. "Sounds like your clank has a loose gear or something. What's that awful sound?" They ignored his question, although one of them had a bit of a hurt expression as he put one hand on the metallic monster. The other one spit on the ground, looking sceptically at the body.

"Thought I heard a request for help or something, sir," he said sardonically. The Watch's dislike of the Inquisitors was a well-known rivalry, although the Inquisitors themselves rarely paid it any heed. "Looks like all you need is a little clean-up."

The two Inquisitors ignored him momentarily as they looked over the body's beltpouch, which was singularly unremarkable. Kenna frowned at the body then turned to the Watchmen. "Your right, pal. We'll leave this one in your hands. This is an Inquisition case, so I want the body delivered to HQ immediately for autopsy."

The Watchman's face grew red. "Autopsy? You mean you don't know what killed the blighter?"

Tak gave a little smile and salute. "I'm sure you'll be right behind us, constable," he said. "We better get back and start on our paperwork. They could hear the two watchmen muttering and cursing as they turned and walked away -- they all knew that the Watch itself would have to do most of the paperwork on the death. Kenna stomped off angrily, although each step made her wince at the bruises in her lower back.

"We'll hear about that in the morning," said Tak with a sigh. "Probably all morning at the top of Captain Garrath's lungs. Hey, slow down -- I'm limpin' here, remember?" Kenna stopped short giving Tak a black look as she waited for him to catch up. "And stop staring daggers at me -- I just saved your life!"

Kenna managed a wan smile, and a slight loosening of her posture. "Yeah, thanks again, partner," she said. "I'm just frustrated -- you might not have had to, if those slack-jawed constables had made any effort to help out at all. Would have been nice to have the clank just squash the little twit instead of you having to open him up like a jelly roll."

Tak chuckled. "But every once in a while I like to open someone like a jelly roll. It's good for the stress levels, you know. That's your whole problem, isn't it? You didn't get to vent any steam, and I did." Kenna rolled her eyes. "C'mon! Admit it!"

About half an hour's walk ahead of them, a large citadel loomed out of the mist, with glaring statues and gargoyles, and soaring buttresses and towers. It was their destination; the Inquisition Fortress -- an impregnable structure that towered over most of the buildings in the city both literally and metaphorically. In past years the Inquisition had been a powerful paramilitary force in the city of Cassant, and even now as the special unit of investigators that rooted out supernatural threats for King Lugotorix. Now, the Inquisitors numbered little more than a hundred for the entire city and surrounding countryside, and the few that were on "foreign service assignments." Kenna and Tak stumbled towards the building, supporting each other as they limped down the street. As they came nearer, the dark and menacing nature of the neighborhood near the docks became more open, and lit with many lamps. The two Inquisitors relaxed somewhat and slowed their weary bodies as they sensed a lessening of the sense of watchfulness and danger.

After the long walk and in their injured condition, it was especially difficult to navigate the steep, wide steps that led to the front gate. Two armed and uniformed Inquisition guards -- not true Inquisitors, but men-at-arms attached to the organization for security -- stepped forward to take their arms and help them through the thick, multilayered iron-banded oak door into the courtyard.

Here the lamps were more prevalent yet, and ringed the large courtyard, as well as running in a double row through the center. It was even bright enough that some of the night stars faded from view. The guards escorted the two Inquisitors to an office they knew all too well on the other side of the courtyard.

Captain Garrath was quite often in late at night, several candles burning at once as he pored over scrolls, documents, evidence summaries and other things he kept tucked away on the cherrywood shelves that completely covered the walls. Tak and Kenna sank heavily into soft leather stuffed chairs opposite the Captain's desk without waiting for an invitation. At that, the Captain looked up at them, his nose crinkling in distaste at their dusty and dishevelled condition. "I take it you won't bleed on my furniture or my rugs, is that clear?" he said. The captain was an esonir -- tall and stately, with shimmering white hair and silver-chrome eyes. He was relatively young for his position, but his ruthless prosecution of his duties as an Inquisitor as well as his cunning intellect in the political arena of Cassant kept him there firmly -- he was clearly first in line to succeed the Arch-Judicar should she step down.

"Now then," he said, setting down a yellowing tome he had been studying as they walked in, "a few minutes ago two Watchmen and a big work clank drop off the body of a fairly well-known and popular merchant who made a small fortune bringing ivory from the north shore of the Gunfirth Sea. They claim it's your handiwork. Explain, Kenna and Tkaaq, and make it good."

Tak looked at Kenna and gulped to himself. If the Captain was using his formal orcish name, that was already a bad sign. "We had no choice -- he attacked us with illegal magic when we went to question him," Kenna explained. "To be honest, we hadn't even thought him a suspect in the Fabrica Street murders, we were just going back to question the people one more time to see if there was anything we missed, when he suddenly bolted away from us. We chased him, and he threw a spell at us -- a real bad one too, that's not in our records -- and nearly killed me. If Tak hadn't stopped him, I'd be dead myself, or worse."

The Captains face had darkened as she spoke. "And if you had stopped him without gutting him like a Yuletide pig, we might have been able to actually question him about the spell and the murders. Now, we have no idea what he had to do with them, if anything! Has it occured to you that just because he is a sorceror and happened to be in the area when you went back for follow-up questions doesn't mean he had anything to do with the killings? Now, our best lead is a dead one -- literally. Both of you; get cleaned up and go home. Tomorrow you're taking a beat. I don't want to hear either of your names in connection with this case again, am I clear? Until you can stop playing the rogue agents around here, investigating whatever case you take a fancy to, you'll be doing Watch work!"

After mumbling their assent and limping out of the office just fast enough to avoid the door slamming on their backsides, Tak smiled at his partner. "Could've been much worse," he said. Kenna rolled her eyes and grinned as he continued. "It was a bit more interesting than walking the beat. But we should tone it down -- I'm ready for a real case again."

"Hey, at least we're still getting paid, right?" Her aching body creaked as the two of them made their way into the cellars below the citadel. Here the smoke of the lanterns was joined by steam and much warmer air. The floors were tiled and slightly slick from the moisture. It was here that the various Inquisition cells came back for relaxation. Their own cell, six Inquisitors in all, had evening beats and should be just coming in for the night. The cell was their family -- they had a fraternal bond stronger than that to their real families.

The cells baths were fairly commodious, a large round basin with room for all six to sit up to their chins in steaming hot water that bubbled as it was continuously piped in through brass pipes from the lake itself, and another for the cold bath afterwards were in the center of the room. Old wooden dressers, warped from the constant exposure to rot and moisture lined the walls, along with four gleaming torches, and two doors to the rear that each had a privy.

They found that they were the second to arrive; Ksadsar and Tirksu were already there, the first a grizzled and graying orc, with yellowed tusks, the second a female orc, even younger than Kenna, but much larger and louder. Both were seated naked in the hot bath, and waved cheerily as Kenna and Tak entered the room, but were quickly concerned when they saw Tak's bleeding leg. Kenna and Tak both stiffly undressed, their armor clanking noisily to the floor, and limped their way into the tub.

"Ouch!" said Ksadsar sympathetically to Kenna's black and blue back and legs. "Here, the hot water'll do wonders for you." Indeed, the stiffness seemed to flow out of her as she leaned her head back on the copper lip of the tub. Meanwhile, Tirksu cursed at Tak's inability to hold still as she gracefully stitched his leg with a needle and thread she had produced from the beltpouch she had left within reach. In a few minutes, he had his leg back in the tub and seemed to be half asleep as Kenna told them about their evening. The two orcs, meanwhile, had apparently had an uneventful beat for the evening.

"Wonder how Ruan and Carenza have made out tonight?" Tak mumbled to himself. Within a few minutes, though, the other two members of the cell burst into the room. Ruan was a short and slight charcoal-skinned dapper charissan, while Carenza was a sturdily built human woman with dark olive skin and long brown hair. They did not smile as they came in.

"Make it snappy, folks. There's been a big, nasty to-do the Earl of Delennyk's house. Our cell has the detail. We don't know any details yet, so don't ask."