Chapter 3: "Getting Spookier"

An exceptionally dark cloud hangs directly above you like a sodden sponge

amidst the solid grey backdrop of an already too-bleak noontime sky. Like

the soft padding of hundreds of tiny feet, the huge, cold raindrops begin to

fall again. Far below you, the woman on the bench looks up, then opens a

frilly green parasol above her head and that of her companion seated next to

her.

The sounds of the city are distant now and only a few people are hurrying

across the wide cobbled plaza to escape the imminent downpour. With a shrug

Pablo says, "C'mon, let's go earn our keep" and the stout dwarf begins the

descent into the city park down the slick granite stairs, now spotted black

with fresh rain.

Saladrin looks at his two remaining companions. "I suppose we should start

by asking a few questions of the park visitors", he says with a solemn look.

"I'll stay up here to keep an eye on things. I'm not sure if I trust this

place.", says Rubix as he looks about trying to watch everything and

everybody all at the same time.

"Are you coming?" Saladrin asks the woman in your group, but the words seem

lost on her as she just stares down into the murky fog where Isle d'Faux

apparently lies hidden. Her unblinking eyes take on a distant look as if

she were actually listening to something otherwise unheard. Saladrin gives

her a sympathetic smile, nods to Rubix and then heads down the stairs after

Pablo.

As Saladrin descends the steep stairs, the remaining sounds and smells of

the city above quickly disappear. Winter robins and snow finches flit among

the leafless willow boughs by the dozens filling the air with their sharp

chirps, and a troupe of excited grey squirrels scamper around the wet, black

rocks and weeds along the cliff. Two green-headed mallards chase a brown

female at the water's edge, getting an early start on the season and adding

their quacks to the other sounds in the park. Gone is the smell of fresh

baking bread from one of the city bakeries and fresh horse manure on the

cobbled streets, replaced now by the smell of damp, molding leaves and pond

scum.

At the bottom of the long flight of stone stairs, a graveled pathway leads

around this end of the bog before it branches into numerous smaller paths

that lead into the trees further north. Pablo has just hailed the man with

the cane as Saladrin reaches the bottom. Even if the dwarf were actually in

a hurry, Saladrin would have had no trouble catching up with him, a dwarf's

legs no match for the long strides of the human priest. Saladrin easily

crossed the thirty yards to reach the dwarf's side as they both caught up to

the walking man.

"I say," the man says with a bit of a surprised look on his face. "What's

all the fuss about? And, if you're cutpurses, I'll have you know that the

Governor's men are all about. I wouldn't try anything if I were you!"

"Keep your lid on, bub," says Pablo wryly. "Me and the good Father, here,

just have a few questions for ya."

The man with the cane looks at Saladrin quizzically, then his eyes drop to

the medallion tied around the priest's neck and his eyes go wide.

"Oh....excuse me, Father....I, I, I d-d-didn't realize," he stammers.

"That's alright," Saladrin says smoothly. "I can most certainly understand

your hesitation. If we could just borrow a few moments of your time, we'd

be terribly grateful."

"Why yes, of course," the man says with a grin and looking considerably

calmer. "How can I help you?" The man looks to be in his middle years,

jet-black hair receding rapidly under a black, beaver-skin top hat. A

finely tailored black satin overcoat sporting tails covers a thick woolen

vest and white ruffled undershirt, as is the current fashion among the

Port-a-Lucine gentry. A leather belt holds up the man's fine dark woolen

trousers that are neatly tucked into his polished black calf-boots. His

walking cane and a gold watch chain hanging from his breast pocket complete

the man's rich ensemble.

"We were wondering about the temple," Pablo announced. "What's going on

with it these days?" Pablo sizes the man up trying to gauge whether he

knows the man or not. "Nope," he thinks. "Never had much time for the rich

and famous in my line of work. I've never seen this man in my life."

The man suddenly looks confused and looks about him for a moment. "The

temple?" he says. "The Temple of Ezra? Well that's clear across town.

And, excuse me Father, but I'm not much of a church-goer, I wouldn't be much

help to you."

"Oh, I see," says Saladrin. "Even a man as well-to-do as yourself could

find the grace of Ezra a comfort to the soul. If I may suggest, my good

sir, that . . . . ."

"What my friend is trying to say," cut in Pablo, "is that I think we're not

understandin' each other, here. We want to know about THAT temple." Pablo

points a stumpy finger out across the bog to the thick blanket of fog.

"Oh, why yes. I understand," the man says with a bemused smile whether

from the humor of the misunderstanding or the relief from Saladrin's sudden

proselyting, none could say. "That is merely an old shrine out there that

the Governor found amusing enough to preserve. No one really goes out there

but a few tourists now and then. And a few crazy old loons like Madame

Belfry and Henri Havenshaw. Somewhere those two got the crazy idea that the

old rock out on that island had some sort of spiritual meaning. But most

sane people stay clear of it. You could go see for yourself," the man

points back behind you and down toward the shore of the bog. "Havenshaw

wanted a boat from the harbor brought in, but the Governor thought a raft

would add to the rustic charm of the park. Quaint, isn't it," the man says

in a serious manner. "I've heard it is quite sturdy and even sea-worthy,

but you won't catch me on it! Dreadful idea, all the muck and mud. Really

quite dreadful."

"Nice day, eh?" a woman's voice breaks in. The man with the cane looks up

over Pablo's head.

"And who might you be, milady?" the man says with a slight bow of his head.

Pablo and Saladrin turn around to see your mysterious female companion

walking up behind you. "She's with us," the two men say in unison.

"Have you heard about the murders?" Celestia says to the man. "Murders?" he

replies shockingly. "Which ones, my dear? Port-a-Lucine is full of them."

"The murders that have taken place here in the park recently. You look like

someone who enjoys a daily stroll down here, surely you've heard of them.

What do you know about them? Who would be doing it?" she says pointedly.

"My, my," the man says, "quite a lot of gruesome questions for such a young

thing and she get's right to the point, doesn't she?" The man says to

Pablo as if Celestia were not even there. "I don't really see why a lady

such as yourself would want to concern yourself with such horrible events.

I am quite certain that you would find Port-a-Lucine's Women's Baking Circle

or the Fashion Club more suited to your interests. But if you really must

ask such things, then I must reply that I really don't know much about

them. Every so often the Governor's men pull another body out of the water

here. Mostly dockworkers and fishermen. I don't really know what they'd be

doing all the way over on this side of town. Ah, well, I suppose the life

of simple folk can get rather complicated." The man finishes this last bit

with a bored sigh and a slight roll of his eyes.

"Now," the man continues, "I really am a busy man. Is there any more I can

do for you or may I go about my way?"

"Just one more thing," Celestia says. "The shrine out there has been

desecrated. Can you tell me anything more about that?"

"Well, as I've already explained to these two gentlemen, I really don't

bother much with that business out in the bog. I prefer dry land by any

account, and I . . . . prefer to conduct my spiritual affairs at the temple

proper," he says slowly and with a wary eye on Saladrin. "Now I really must

be going. Good day to you all." And with that, the man turns and begins

walking up the path towards a copse of willows, whistling a mournful tune.

"Hey!" says Pablo when the man was finally out of earshot. "Now that got us

a whole lot of nothin'."

"There's still the couple over on the bench," Celestia says a bit too

enthusiastically. "C'mon, let's go see if they've heard or seen anything."

The three of you head back to the west, the way you came, and approach the

couple sitting on the park bench next to the stairs.

A young blonde human female with a pretty face just barely in her teens and

a human boy a few years older sit next to each other, huddled under the

girl's frilly green parasol. Rain drops drip from the green tassels and

onto the boys gray woolen trousers but the girl remains fully protected from

the weather, not even the tips of her white leather heeled boots are getting

wet. The boy, who has been attempting to grow a pair of long bushy

sideburns (and unsuccessful at that) looks up at you gruffly as you

approach.

"Yeah, what do you want?" the boy demands in a voice too rough for his size.

"Hey, bub!" Pablo snarls. "You'd best be watchin . . ."

"That you don't get too wet." Celestia breaks in, placing a hand on Pablo's

shoulder. The woman smoothly glides in front of Pablo and Saladrin.

Placing one hand on her hip and the other running fingers through her soaked

auburn hair, Celestia looks up at the dark rain clouds above and shakes her

head. "It sure is nasty weather we're having," she says with an innocence

Pablo and Saladrin had not witnessed in the hour or so you have all known

each other.

"Yes, Ma'am. It truly is a bugger of storm we're having," the boy replies

with apt attention.

"Do you two spend much time out here......" Celestia says cooly, ".....in

the rain?" Again, with the fingers and wet hair thing. Pablo could have

sworn he just saw her bat her eyes at the boy!

"Why, yes...er...Ma'am, me and Millie....er...I mean ..... eh hem.... Millie

and I spend as much time out in the park as we can," the boy turns to look

at Millie who is staring out across the park acting as if not a soul was

around; her face chiseled from stone. "Uh...don't we.....Millie," the boy

says meekly as he sees the look on the girl's face.

"You wouldn't happened to have seen anything strange or unusual around here

recently, would you?" Celestia continues.

"Unusual, like what?" the boy asks.

"Well, you know....murders?" replies Celestia.

"Oh, yeah, those. Yeah, Millie and I have seen six, maybe seven, bodies get

pulled out of the muck in the past month or so. No one knows who's been

doing it. I suspect they were just plain crazy and wandered into the bog,

there. It'll suck you right down if you're not careful, it will."

Just then the girl, Millie, mutters something softly under her breath.

"Excuse me, Millie. What was that you said?" the boy asks with unbelievable

politeness.

The girl who still is stone-faced and staring at the top of a short pine

tree says again in a soft voice, "Thirteen. We've seen thirteen bodies

pulled from the water."

"When was the last one discovered?" Celestia asks.

"It was two days ago, I think," the boy responds quickly. "Yes, two days

ago it was. A woman, some poor fisherman's wife from across town. She had

the most horrible look on her face as they drug her from the bog. I just

remember her eyes. All white and bulging, like her head was going to pop or

something."

"Really? Do you know what her name was, or where we could find her

husband? Did anyone say how she died? Did you see any wounds on her

body?" Celestia fires her questions at the boy in an excited tone, all the

coyness from moments ago suddenly lost.

The boy looks at the woman, puzzled. "No, no and no! We weren't that close

and we didn't ask any questions, either."

"Do you know anything about the shrine out on Isle d'Faux? Did you know

that the place has been desecrated?"

"So, who cares?" says the boy. "Kids are always going over to that island

and causing a ruckus. It's a real romp. I've been over there myself

sometimes."

"Really now?" Saladrin steps forward and levels a serious gaze at the young

boy. "Oh, uh, just to explore the place. I never did the place any harm,

you know," the boy says nervously as he realizes for the first time that an

Ezran priest is in the crowd. "Some of the other boys are always trying to

knock the rocks over, and all."

"Apparently, there's been more than just your usual ruckus that's gone on

over there. Someone has been writing all over the place in blood."

Celestia says with her eyes wide.

"Hmmm," the boy looks thoughtful for a moment. "That could be Louis

Montbray, the butcher's son. He's one of those boys who always goes a bit

too far, and he certainly has access to a large supply of blood. What do

you think, Millie?"

"I think it is past time we should be leaving, Master Solei. I should think

your parents might be wondering if you went all the way to Lamordia to pick

up that loaf of bread you promised them," Millie says coldly. The girl gets

up, shaking her parasol roughly, most of the water catching both the boy and

Celestia.

Master Solei gets up and nervously bows to your little group. "Good

day....Uh, nice meeting you." Then he hurries after Millie who is already

ascending the steep stone stairs leading back up to the city.

At the top of the stairs, Rubix has been dutifully watching over the whole

scene. Nothing unusual. At least not yet. As the couple reaches the top

of the stairs, Rubix smiles at them. "Good day, to you," he says to them.

"Hrmmph," the boy snarls, "what's so good about it." The two young people

leave the park and cross the plaza. As Rubix watches them leave, he

suddenly spies a group of three city militia men, talking loudly and

laughing at some unheard joke. The group has entered the plaza and most

certainly is heading toward the park stairs.

Rubix turns back to the park and sees his three companions below him

checking out the wooden raft at the water's edge. Movement to the north on

the west side of the bog catches his eye. Two miserable looking beggars are

emerging from the trees. Even through the fog, Rubix can see the filthy

dirt and grime coating the pair and the burlap rags wrapped loosely around

their bodies to keep out the damp and cold.

Back down in the park, the trio of adventurers have reached the wooden raft

and are inspecting the muddy ground at the edge of the brackish water.

Numerous footprints of all shapes and sizes form a lumpy quagmire of thick

brown slop where the long raft is pulled ashore. The raft itself is made of

a dozen stout pine trunks lashed together with sturdy hemp rope. The raft

is eight feet in width and fifteen feet long. It could hold six human sized

occupants quite comfortably and as many as nine or ten if passengers don't

mind a cramped ride. Two smooth poles as thick as a blacksmith's wrist and

twelve feet long lay crossed upon the raft. A ten foot length of ratty hemp

rope is tied to one end of the raft and moored to a willow stump three feet

from the shore.

Fresh mud from booted feet is smeared over much of the raft, but otherwise

there is nothing of interest. The island in the middle of the bog can't be

more than thirty yards from shore, the tops of a few tall pines can be seen

sticking up through the fog approximately that distance north from where you

stand. However, the island itself is not visible due to the thick murk that

has settled within the park. Visibility is possible only twenty feet out

from the shore.

What do you do now?????