Adam Drake - Blackout

Fairfax gave me a knowing little smile.

It was as if he’d hit me over the head. “Mr. Rousset,” I said. “Might you be keen on looking at something for us?”

“Certainly.”

I pulled out the etching and spread the paper on a stack of books.

Misael adjusted his glasses and peered at it. “My, my,” he said with appreciation. “This is quite a symbol you have here. Might I ask where you got it?”

I glanced at Fairfax who shrugged and said, “We’ve been finding this mark engraved at various places around town.”

“Hand engraved, do you know, or magically done?” Misael asked.

“I found this one magically created,” I said. “Why? Does it make a difference?”

“Yes, actually. It might give you an indication whether the individual who left it is a worshipper.”

“Worshipper?”

“Yes,” Misael said. He blinked at our curious looks and explained. “This isn’t just an engraving. It is a religious symbol. A very old one as well. If it was magically produced I would guess it was ceremonial in function.”

I did not like the sound of that. “Do you know what this symbol represents?”

“Oh, I forget how to pronounce the name. Just a moment,” he said and went over to the shelves of iconography books. “Here we are,” he said removing one. He carried it over, placed it down and thumbed through the old pages. I could see images within, each strange and archaic.

Misael spoke as he searched. “This looks like the Mark of an Ancient One. Well before the Pre-Era. So old that little is known of the Gods which reigned then. Myths are our only source of their existence. Ah, here we are.” He turned the book around so we could see.

On the page was a drawing of a squid the size of an elephant, its tentacles wrapped around a warrior figure, devouring him.

“It doesn’t look very big,” I noted. Most drawings of the godlike beings of that time frame were colossal, stomping on cities and such. For Ancient Gods, this one was quite puny.

“Well, with regards to size, it doesn’t matter when you are God. I would not want to mess with any of them.”

“Does it have a name?” I asked.

Misael read off the page. “Quantiqtl,” he said, and laughed. “Try saying that while in your cups.”

“You think this etching could be a Mark of this Quantiqtl?”

He turned to the next page, and pointed. “See for yourself.”

This page contained a different drawing. It, too, was of a squid but much more rudimentary. In fact, it looked almost identical to the etching on the paper.

Misael said, “This sort of iconography is typical. Worshippers needed to draw the symbol that best represented their god. Not everyone is an artist, so this style served that purpose and its easier when magically produced.”

He pointed at the etching on the paper. “I’d guess this was most likely done by someone who worships Quantiqtl and maybe as part of a ceremony.”

Fairfax asked, “Are there still worshippers of the Old Gods?”

“Across all of human history there have been thousands of deities in the pantheon of Gods. Some fade, yes. But there will always be a small group, or cult, that keeps the spirit of a God alive. So, yes, most certainly people still actively worship them.”

As Fairfax and I took our leave there were new worrying questions on my mind.

Were we dealing with cultists and, if so, why did they murder Oswall?

We returned to High Garden Museum, and when I rang the bell this time there was an answer.

One of the huge doors swung open and a tall gaunt man with round spectacles peered out.

“Yes, what is it now?” the man said. Upon seeing Fairfax’s uniform the man brightened. “Did you find the stolen relics so soon? That’s wonderful!”

I shook my head. “No, we haven’t found them, yet. Are you Curator Aubert Othmar?”

The man’s expression collapsed to one of disappointment. “Well, I guess solving this simple crime was expecting too much of the Constabulary.”

I was taken aback, but did not want to get into an argument. “Sir, we need to view the scene of the burglary and ask you a few questions.”

The man, obviously Aubert, sputtered a laugh. “Are you joking? Again? Are there two Constabularies in town conducting separate investigations and I was not made aware of that fact? Am I expected to repeat everything over again? Nonsense!”

I felt Fairfax tense up beside me.

Aubert looked angry, “Where is Detective Oswall? Knocked off for a drink at the pub already, hmm? The man was practically soaked in whiskey when he bumbled about the place. Well? Where is this drunk?”

Fairfax leaned in and said, “Detective Oswall was murdered this morning.”

Aubert Othmar stared at us in stunned silence. He blinked and looked from Fairfax to me. “Is… is this true?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I said. “We are here to resume his investigation into your case.” And see if it had something to do with his death. I did not say that out loud.

The curator shook his head, regaining his composure. “Why, yes, of course. Please come inside.” He backed out of the way and Fairfax and I entered.

The main foyer was gigantic with a high vaulted ceilings and glossy marble floors. The walls were lined with a diorama of all the great wars which stretched deeper into the building. Smaller displays filled the space in between with weapons, pottery and bits of armor.

“Sorry to hear about the detective,” Aubert said as he shut the great door with a loud clang. He seemed to mean it despite his initial tirade.

I introduced ourselves then asked, “Are there any employees here now?”

Aubert shook his head. “No, but we will be open tomorrow on schedule. I didn’t want any unsupervised activities here while I was away.”

“You were in the Capital?”

“Yes. My superiors at the Capital Museum wanted answers regarding the theft of the relics. But I was unable to offer them anything since I had not spoken to Detective Oswall for a few days.” He frowned when mentioning the detective.

Fairfax asked, “And where were you the night of the burglary?”

“I was at home with my wife. We were entertaining friends from the coast who are staying with us. I was there all night. You can check with them if it pleases you.”

Fairfax nodded.

“Might we look at the vault?” I asked.

“Of course,” Aubert said, nodding. “It’s down in the basement sub-level.”

We followed the curator toward a side doorway passing detailed displays of beautiful paintings and other art work. At the door, Aubert produced a key ring and unlocked it.

At the sight of the key ring I asked, “Did Hubertus have keys to the vault room, too?”

Aubert frowned. “Yes, and that is a mistake I will not be making with the next night caretaker, I can tell you that.” He glared at me. “I think your investigation will be shortened if you looked into that man. That is the last time I hire someone as a favor. He had access to everything!”

“He told us you fired him.” I said.

“What? You spoke to him? He’s awake now?”

“Yes. We saw him earlier today. And he’s doing fine,” I said knowing Aubert wouldn’t be concerned.

“The incompetence of that fellow. This place is very secure and yet he managed to let someone break in.”

Fairfax said, “He was spelled. Hard to protect against that.”

“Regardless,” Aubert said. “Spelled or not who is to say he wasn’t in on it from the beginning? Let the person in and allow himself to be put to sleep to make him look like a victim.”

“We are considering every angle, Mr. Othmar. That is one of them.”

This mollified the curator, and he led us through the door and descended a series of stairs. We then passed through another series of locked doors until arriving in a small room crammed with carvings, art and armor. In one corner sat a large free-standing vault safe.