Extracting Confessions (3)

Nicolaus and Rafte stood shoulder to shoulder, the air around them thick with the acrid scent of the inky substance that had recently drained from the now lifeless body slumped in the chair.

Nicolaus shifted his gaze toward Rafte, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. In a voice laced with intrigue, he inquired, "What do you think?"

Rafte, who had taken precautions by wearing a handkerchief over his nose and mouth to shield himself from the pungent stench, leaned closer to examine the corpse. His brows furrowed deeply as he conducted a meticulous observation.

"It's as if... well, like his insides just... turned to some kind of muck or something," Rafte muttered. He had never seen anything like this, nothing close to compare to this bizarre death.

Rafte gently opened the lifeless body's eyelids, revealing the unblinking stare of his eyes. Rafte's gaze then drifted to the once pink tongue, now starkly dark, sticking out from the corpse's mouth.

"His organs liquefied, except for his eyes and tongue." Continuing to study the body, Rafte contemplated aloud, "This is like a work of some sinister witchcraft."

Nicolaus raised an incredulous eyebrow, his disbelief giving way to a growing curiosity. "You believe in witches?" he inquired.

Rafte chuckled awkwardly, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke, "Well, there were tales and pieces of literature about witches and their dark arts at my nana's library, my lord. Been fond of them when I was a kid."

Nicolaus paused momentarily before nodding. "But I do think you're nearly right," he admitted. "This could be the work of dark alchemy."

The two exchanged a lingering glance like they were talking in a secret language only they could decipher. Nicolaus had known someone from the Middle East, a master alchemist capable of brewing the most unbelievable potions and elixirs.

As the memory resurfaced in his mind, he wondered if this alchemist might be able to answer this person's death.

The dungeon became a cocoon of eerie hush, broken only by the flickering torchlight. Rafte's brow furrowed, his mind racing in search of answers. "But who would go to such lengths to kill him like this? And why?"

Nicolaus didn't need to pause and ponder; he already knew, and his gaze was unwavering as he explained, "The reason was to silence him for good, to ensure he would never utter anyone's name. The one who ordered him to mess with me wasn't taking any chances."

This wasn't any simple sabotage, no. It probably ran much deeper than that – like a downright devious plot.

"Hold on a second," Rafte's voice sliced through the air, putting a stop to Nicolaus' contemplations.

Nicolaus discovered Rafte down on the floor, and his gaze locked onto the bulging pocket of the lifeless body.

Rafte's keen eye caught something unusual. He reached into the suspect's tattered clothes pocket and pulled out two small vials containing a mysterious liquid. One was a crystal-clear shade of blue, and the other looked as dark as midnight.

Rafte approached, addressing, "My lord." He held a pair of vials in his hands, their contents glimmering.

Nicolaus accepted the vials from Rafte, his eyes narrowing as he examined their mysterious contents. "These," he murmured, "these are potions."

He observed the first vial with clear blue contents with a  shadow of suspicion fell over Nicolaus's features. His finger pointed decisively to the vial, his gaze unwavering as he spoke, "This one seems to be a sleeping potion. Or maybe I'm wrong."

He was skeptical of his answer but knew he had seen a similar potion from the master alchemist.

Rafte arched an inquisitive eyebrow, his thoughts spinning with curiosity. "And what's in that other vial?"

Nicolaus carefully examined the second vial, his features darkening as he scrutinized its contents. "This," he said, "this is... I'm not sure."

Rafte butted in, offering a speculative suggestion, "Could it be a lethal poison, my lord? The very substance that ended this guy's life?"

Rafte asked, "Will you inspect the potions, my lord?"

Nicolaus pondered the idea, though he remained uncertain of how he would put these potions to the test. He contemplated his choices, carefully weighing each one. 

He could dispatch a messenger to the Middle East to submit the potion for examination by the alchemist there. However, he pondered the amount of time required for the travel to reach its destination.

Alternatively, the fastest way to do it was to experiment with it to find out.

"First, we must dig into how this man managed to slip in. Hunt down anyone who might have been his accomplices among our men," Nicolaus stated firmly. "After that, take this corpse down to the pier to convey a message to its master tomorrow. With any luck, we might be able to uncover the person behind all this."

Rafte hesitated, his expression uncertain. "My lord, I think tomorrow ain't the right day to leave him there on the pier. You see, Madam Isabel's gone and set up a welcome feast for the Marchioness at the city center. It just wouldn't sit right, my lord."

Nicolaus considered Rafte's words, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Alright, let's delay it until the day after tomorrow. But today, we'll kick things off by tracking down the other underdogs."

…

Mikael had spent a quiet morning within the estate's peaceful confines, occasionally interrupted by the distant sounds of servants bustling about their daily chores.

Sitting in the comfortable solitude of the library, he had seized this moment of calm to catch up on his reading, with Beth standing beside him to assist him with anything.

As he immersed himself in the pages of literature, he was momentarily pulled from his reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps.

He heard Aurel's voice calling from the doorway of the library. Mikael closed the book he had been engrossed in, and he turned to see her standing there, clad in her usual pants attire, an apologetic smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Sis-in-law," she began, "I hope I'm not disturbing your day. But I was thinking, perhaps we could have a little picnic? Or that thing where you sip grass juice or whatever it's called? It seems like a shame to waste this beautiful weather."

Beth chimed in, correcting, "Miss Aurel, do you mean a drinking tea? Like a tea party?"

Aurel, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, nodded. "Yeah, that dried grass stuff! I've never really given it a shot 'cause it looks pretty darn disgusting, but today, I'm finally open to trying it."

Mikael looked at the young girl's radiant expression, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. He exchanged a glance with Beth, a silent agreement passing between them that she would handle the conversation on his behalf.

With a warm smile, Beth gracefully stepped in and said, "My lady would love to have tea with you, Miss Aurel."

Aurel's face lit up with a bright, infectious enthusiasm. "Cool!" she exclaimed before playfully shrugging her shoulders and confessing, "I don't really know how to brew that grass, though."