The Suspect

With a final wave to his playmates, Cor left the shore behind. He couldn't help wondering about the man Uncle Kappa was searching for — a man without a family, embroiled in a matter serious enough to warrant such close attention from the police.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves accompanied a police carriage that sped past, stirring the dust around Cor's feet — a stark reminder of the increased police presence on the streets after the recent bank robbery near the port.

Reaching the seafood market, Cor headed for a familiar stall near the entrance, manned by an elderly couple. The husband, a retired sailor whose steps were slowed by a minor disability, prided himself on his seafaring past.

His wife, a kind-faced elderly lady, was known for fair dealings. Their small stall often sold out of seafood by midday.

"Good morning, Grandpa Rupert."

"Morning, Cor. What brings you here so early today? It's a bit soon for leftover seafood," Rupert greeted him.

"No, sir, my sister fancied a change in our diet today. Actually, I came to ask you about something else," Cor replied.

Putting down the sign he was holding, Rupert turned to Cor with a welcoming gesture.

"Is it something you want to ask, or is it coming from Kappa, eh? I can't imagine what sort of business a young lad like you would have with me."

"It's from Uncle Kappa," Cor said, playing it smooth.

"Aye, you're getting older, aren't you? Well, what is it you want to know?"

"Uncle Kappa wanted me to ask if there's been any fisherman or sailor gone missing recently, perhaps someone living alone or a widower. Someone who's given to gambling or who might owe a considerable debt."

"Hmm, a loner or widower sailor likely has more savings than an old man like me. If we're talking about gamblers who have vanished... Wife, when's the last time we saw Jeff?"

Rupert's wife, engrossed in the day's accounting, answered distractedly.

"There are more Jeffs down at the docks than hairs in your beard. Which one are you referring to?"

"The fisherman sailor Jeff, that's who! He still owes us five shillings, seven pence, and three farthings, doesn't he?"

"When the devil did you lend so much money without my knowing? That drunken gambler's probably been done in by his creditors by now. Who knows if his limbs or head can even be found in the sewer or the junkyard."

"Heh, last time he was here he said he was ill and looked it too—pale and sweating. I felt for him and lent it to him. Looks like I might as well kiss that money goodbye. It's been at least a week since he's shown up here. Even if he had found a new shipowner and gone out to sea, he should've been back by now. Didn't he run off to the Northern Continent?"

"Forget about such rotten people, even if they collapse right in front of you. Why don't you quit smoking? You could use the money you save from tobacco for your charity work."

"I think I'll pass on that, dear. Old man like me can't live without his smoke. Alright, back to work with you, wife."

Listening to the couple, Cor suspected that this Jeff might be the very person he was looking for. "Grandpa Rupert, what sort of man is this Jeff?" he inquired.

"You heard all about him—a drunk and a gambler. He grew up before my eyes, was raised alone by his mother. Once Jeff turned fifteen or sixteen, he was sent off to be an apprentice on a fishing boat. After his mother fell gravely ill, she passed away not long after, leaving him without her guidance. Jeff then took to gambling and booze—not a sailor out there doesn't touch alcohol. No one really wants to drink the green, moldy water at sea. Recently, I heard he was in deep with a gambling den in the shack area and was carted off by some strange-clothed folks and hasn't been seen since. If you're looking for him, head into the shacks from the west side; his is the fifth one in. The place looks like it could fall apart any day now."

"Shacks," the term used to describe the ramshackle buildings cobbled together near the port, were mostly wooden structures. Each year saw numerous fires or collapses due to rotten wood causing injuries or worse.

Some were long-term transport ships or homes vacated by those dodging debts. Cor had spent nights in these deserted houses with his sister, alternating between them for shelter. Order was nonexistent, and acts of violence, theft, robbery, or even murder were commonplace.

Armed with this new information, Cor planned to check out the shacks next. As he turned to leave, Rupert called out.

"It's been rough around there lately. I don't know what Kappa's got you looking into, but my gut tells me you should report back to him first. Let him take a look personally. It'll be safer."

"Alright, Grandpa Rupert. I'll do as you say."

On Wednesday, Elyon enjoyed a more leisurely day. The strain from investigating the robbery and accompanying the captain had been considerable, and Garrick had been considerate of this.

After wrapping up his morning duties in two hours, Elyon settled into a pleasant chat with Garrick over tea. Perhaps influenced by his good mood, the stew offered in the canteen at lunch seemed especially tasty.

In this era, without the comforts of fans or air conditioning, the summer's sweltering heat led Elyon to seek refuge at the hall's entrance, where he found a cool spot. He reclined on a chair, drifting quickly into sleep.

After some indeterminate amount of time, Elyon's name seemed to be called from within the darkness, his arm faintly shaken.

Blinking his heavy eyelids open, he found a teenage boy beside him, with a doll-like little girl peeking out from behind him. Without a second thought, Elyon recognized them as the young informants for the police, the siblings Cor and Barbara.

"What's the matter, Cor? Did you complete the task the captain gave you?" Elyon rose, moving the recliner back inside, while ushering the siblings into the building.

"Uncle Elyon, I think I've found the person you're looking for by the port—a fisherman named Jack," Cor said as he and his sister entered the police station.

"Oh, that was fast. Come inside and rest a bit, you two must be tired."

The document room was empty; Garrick usually spent his lunch break smoking in the cool basement with the weapons guard. He said the lack of sunlight down there made it more bearable.

"Have a seat, drink some water," Elyon offered the siblings a place on the reception bench in the document room. He started rummaging for the ingredients Garrick used for brewing tea.

Elyon prepared a brew, using dried slices of a South Continent fruit that resembled lemons. Garrick treasured these, usually sparing only two slices for a large pot of tea. Elyon placed a slice in each cup, added a few sugar cubes with tongs, and poured in hot water. The clear liquid quickly turned a pale yellow.

"Here, wait for it to cool before drinking. But don't dawdle—I wouldn't want Garrick to catch me using his prized possessions. This is our little secret, okay?" Elyon joked as he handed the cups to the siblings.

"We know, Uncle Elyon. We'll keep your secret safe," Barbara said with a sweet smile as she accepted her cup.

Uncle? Elyon thought, am I really that old? Considering his Earth age, he'd probably be a grandfather on this planet. Nevertheless, he decided 'Uncle' wasn't a bad deal and gave up on correcting them. Checking his pocket watch, it was now 1 PM.

"Captain Kappa should be up in about half an hour. Drink some water and rest for a bit, then tell me how you found our target."

The siblings didn't break a sweat, Cor cautiously blew on his cup for about a minute, then handed the cooler one to Barbara.

"Be careful, it's hot. Drink it slowly."

Barbara took a tentative sip and then turned to Cor with a smile.

"Brother, this is so sour and sweet, it's delicious! It's like juice. Can we drink this instead of tea from now on?"

Cor patted his sister's hair softly and replied,

"When I become an official paperboy, I'll buy it for you. For now, let's stick to tea."

"Okay, but you can't back out of your promise."

As the siblings sipped their tea, Elyon also brewed himself a cup. He preferred green tea to black, but in the Kingdom of Brugel, it was a rare commodity from the Eastern Continent, rumored to be found only in the collections of counts and mayors.

"Uncle Elyon, let me tell you how I found the suspect," Cor said, standing next to Elyon's chair.

"How do you know it's a suspect and not someone who's merely lost or kidnapped?" Elyon, suddenly intrigued, wanted to test the precociously mature young man before him.

"It's simple. We're looking for an adult who wouldn't simply get lost. As for kidnapping, port fishermen and sailors aren't wealthy. Kidnapping an adult is much harder than a child. If I were a kidnapper, I'd target the children of small merchants or government clerks."

"Why not target the children of nobles or wealthy merchants? They would pay more ransom, logically."

"Because kidnappers fear getting caught. Kidnapping a noble or wealthy merchant would not only prompt a citywide search by you and your colleagues, but it would also bring trouble from other parties. They aim for someone with a bit of money but not enough to cause a fuss.

That way, even if caught, they'd only face a few years in jail rather than being sent to the plantations in the South Continent."

Elyon was amazed by the precocity of the boy before him, "Cor, you should become a patrolling officer with us someday. You've got talent. Now, tell me how you found the suspect."

"I started by asking my playmates about any fishermen or sailors with families who might have gone missing. Those with families tend not to fall into gambling. Then, at the market, I heard about a missing, single fisherman sailor who gambled and owed a large sum. He lives in the shack area by the port—a fisherman named Jeff."

"Shacks, huh? Looks like I'll need to take some precautions when I visit there," Elyon said, taking out his revolver and loading it with brass bullets. After checking the time, it was 1:30 PM. He tidied up his attire.

"Let's go. We need to find the captain."