Murder Most Strange

In the sprawling city of Breckenweld—somewhat known for its average sites and adequate dining establishments, but more commonly known for its taverns and bar fights—a crowd gathered on the cobblestone city streets. They gathered around a crumpled form covered with a pallid sheet—onlookers and gawkers drawn to a grisly crime like moths to a flame.

Members of the City Watch, two of whom had originally been alerted to the murder by the sound of a strangled cry, tried somewhat ineffectively to form a barrier and keep the onlookers away from the corpse. Several watchmen held torches to see in the darkened night, casting strange and sinister shadows upon the nearby shops, taverns, and homes.

The body had been found at the mouth of one of the alleyways, and the two members of the City Watch who had stumbled upon it—unfortunately, quite literally, in fact—were both as pale as the sheet that now covered the body.

“Never seen anything like it,” said the one when he was asked by his superior officer. He took a swig from his flask. “Not in all my years.”

The other refused to speak, and no matter how much they coaxed him, the poor man wouldn’t even attempt to pantomime what he’d seen under the sheet. But he wasn’t really to blame—he had never been very good at charades, as his exasperated friends and fellow teammates for the weekly game night would tell you.

The crowd of onlookers, of course, was only all the more intrigued by what was under the sheet now. This just goes to show that people have a strange fascination with the macabre—as long as such things don’t happen to them or anyone they know, of course.

One brave veteran of the City Watch crouched next to the corpse and lifted the pallid sheet partly back. This was II Watch Commander Harland Graves—one of the city’s finest watchmen and investigators. By that alone, he made a good leader. But Harland Graves was more than that. He was a great leader. What made him such was that he realized some things were beyond even his capacity to solve on his own. A great leader knew when to ask for help. His face was stony and grim—he scratched the stubble on his face thoughtfully before looking up at one of his subordinates.

“Get him,” he said shortly. “I don’t care if he’s sleeping. Drag him out of bed if you have to—he needs to see this.”

The watchman nodded hurriedly and turned to begin pushing his way out of the gathered crowd. He didn’t need to ask who the II Watch Commander was referring to. He knew. He took off down the darkened city street at a dead run. His footsteps echoed off the walls of the shops, taverns, and homes as he went.

II Watch Commander Harland Graves replaced the pallid sheet covering the victim’s body and rose to his feet with a wearied sigh.

“What is it, sir?” asked one of his men anxiously.

The veteran watchman was silent for a time, resting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. He scanned the gathered crowd and wondered if one of the faces there was the face of the killer. “Murder,” he said finally. “Murder most strange.”

The gathered crowd picked up on his words and they spread like a whispered wildfire. Of course, by the time “murder most strange” got all the way back to the people standing on the outer fringes of the crowd, it had become “marmalade sage”, which made no sense whatsoever. The people who heard that turned away and left, disinterested. They thought they were gathered around a crime scene, not some wise vendor selling marmalade.

Nearly half an hour passed before the young member of the City Watch returned to the now slightly smaller crowd gathered around the corpse. He dragged along with him a disheveled, groggy man who looked to be wearing a bathrobe.

“I’ve got him, sir!” the watchman shouted as he forced his way through the onlookers. He pushed the other man forward with a hearty shove.

The other man came to a stumbling stop in front of the II Watch Commander. He blinked sleep confusedly from his eyes. This man was Percival Franklin Gamble, and there are several things you need to know about him before this story can go on.

One—He was, in fact, wearing a bathrobe. And fuzzy pink bunny-shaped slippers that were soaking wet.

Two—Percival Franklin Gamble was the city of Breckenweld’s foremost and finest detective and investigator into matters of murder most strange. His track record was simply incredible. It didn’t matter how bizarre the murder was, the man always knew what had happened. Sometimes within a few minutes of simply being at the scene.

I’d say, like so many of his fellow investigators, that this was simply because Percival Franklin Gamble was extraordinarily qualified for his job, but that would be a lie. He may have been the city of Breckenweld’s foremost and finest detective and investigator into matters of murder most strange, but he was in no way qualified for the job, whatsoever.

How did he have such an impressive track record, then, you ask? I’d say it was simply luck, but that’d be a lie too. Percival Franklin Gamble was perhaps one of the unluckiest individuals to ever walk the streets of Breckenweld—even if outwardly, he was one of the luckiest.

He had actually just made a rather ill-advised deal with the Fates to put off all the bad luck and misfortunes until later in life. See, normally such things are spread out over a lifetime. Not for Percival Franklin Gamble, though. However, he couldn’t just go through life without anything bad ever happening at all—that wouldn’t be fair. So, the Fates decided to give him little reminders of the mountain of bad luck and misfortune awaiting him by having him go through minor inconveniences instead. It was their way of preparing him for what lay ahead.

For example, on the way to that very crime scene, Percival Franklin Gamble had stepped in not one, but two puddles of rainwater, completely soaking both of his fuzzy pink bunny-shaped slipper-wearing feet. And it had been several weeks since it’d last rained, so try explaining that one away to chance.

Why his success then? This was the reason, as well as the third thing you need to know about Percival Franklin Gamble before this story can go on: Years and years ago before he moved to Breckenweld, he had been a one-time student at the University of Magics and Mysteries of the Material and Immaterial World. This was where all the witches and wizards of the land were trained.

Well, more accurately, Percival Franklin Gamble was a drop-out from the University of Magics and Mysteries of the Material and Immaterial World. He hadn’t stayed long enough to receive his wand or class ring upon completion of his studies. But he had stayed long enough to pick up a trick or two and learn a few handy spells, such as Speaking with the Dead.

That was the secret to his success. No one else in Breckenweld knew how he solved all his cases. He simply asked the murder victims who had killed them, and they were only all too happy to oblige. Dead men tell some tales, after all. They’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen, really. It’s about all they can do at that point.

And they said drop-outs of the University of Magics and Mysteries of the Material and Immaterial World never amounted to much. If only they could see Percival Franklin Gamble now. Oh—it was probably a good thing they didn’t because technically, it was illegal to practice any sort of magic in the land without a license—which was absurd if Percival Franklin Gamble said so himself. I mean, you didn’t see doctors being required to have a medical license to open up shop. They simply had to carry a stethoscope and have plenty of leeches on hand to prescribe for various ailments.

But that was beside the point. Percival Franklin Gamble stood in the middle of the gathered crowd, staring groggily at the sheet-covered corpse uncomprehendingly. What he needed right then was coffee—and a great deal of it—but what he really wanted was to go back to sleep.

He had been awoken—rather abruptly—by an overly zealous member of the City Watch, desperate to win the approval and praise of II Watch Commander Harland Graves. He’d then been unceremoniously dragged—half-asleep—down the cobblestone city streets. The first puddle he stepped in started to wake him up. The second had done nothing more than to put him in a dour mood.

“Evening, Percy,” said the II Watch Commander gravely—which is only to say he spoke in his normal tone of voice.

“Harland,” Percy stifled a yawn and blinked bleary-eyed at the sheet-covered corpse. He was the only one who didn’t bother calling the II Watch Commander by his title. “What’s this all about, then?”

“See for yourself.” The grizzled veteran crouched next to the body and pulled back the pallid sheet abruptly.

Several of those among the crowd were not prepared to see the grisly sight. Being unaccustomed to seeing a dead body up close, they turned and promptly threw up. Even some of the City Watch—men and women with stronger stomachs than common folk, seeing as they dealt with murder and mayhem on a daily basis—also turned green and had to quickly turn their attention to other matters, to not become violently ill.

Percival Franklin Gamble merely blinked. He didn’t have a strong stomach at all—quite the contrary, in fact—he just wasn’t awake enough to fully process the horror of what he was seeing.

The man lying on the cobblestone street was in remarkably good condition—apart from being dead, and the fact that a large wooden stake had been rammed through his chest cavity, impaling him quite effectively.

“Er, yes,” Percy blinked a few times. “Well, hmm. In my professional opinion, this man is dead.” He paused and then added, “Probably because of the stake in his chest.”

“I’d gathered as much already,” the grizzled II Watch Commander intoned dryly. “What I want to know is who killed him, Percy. We haven’t been able to identify him—he must have been passing through the city. There weren’t any witnesses to the crime—even though there’s a tavern right across the street. The City Watch arrived mere moments after his death, but they saw no sign of his killer. And the stake in his chest, too…”

The II Watch Commander shook his head. “Such a thing just isn’t done, Percy. Not in Breckenweld.”

Percy shrugged. “Clearly, someone thought this poor fellow was a vampire.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Graves. “If he were, we’d have a bigger problem on our hands than a dead body. Vampires don’t take too kindly to the death of one of their own. If we don’t find his killer, more blood will undoubtedly be shed. This is a time-sensitive matter, don’t you see, Percy?”

“I understand,” the smaller man nodded and swallowed nervously. “Er, I’ll just do what I do, then, shall I?”

The II Watch Commander nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Percy.”

“Don’t mention it,” the investigator said distractedly, already crouching next to the dead body. He was more awake now. “Move everybody back a street or two, would you?”

The II Watch Commander didn’t hesitate. He barked the orders, dispersing the grumbling crowd. The City Watch formed a loose perimeter, cordoning off the whole block. This was the standard operating procedure whenever their foremost investigator was involved. Percy was strange—he always requested to work in solitude, away from prying eyes. But while someone might question the man’s methods, they couldn’t question the results of his investigations.

Only after everyone was out of sight, including the members of the City Watch, did Percy begin. He was careful to avoid the pool of drying blood around the corpse. Reaching out, he took hold of the dead man’s wrist and closed his eyes in concentration. Noiselessly, his lips moved, forming the proper incantation that allowed him to Speak with the Dead.

I myself don’t know what goes into magic and spells, so I won’t even attempt to explain the process. All I’ll write is that when Percival Franklin Gamble opened his eyes, on the other side of the corpse across from him sat the spectral figure of the dead man himself. He sat cross-legged next to his own body, keeping vigil over it with a morose expression on his face. Well, that was to be expected. He was dead.

“Er, hello,” Percy said, trying to get the dead man’s attention.

The specter glanced over at him balefully. “Oh. Hello,” he said finally. “Are you Death?”

Percy didn’t even blink. He’d been asked that question before. “No, but he’ll be around shortly, I’d expect. He’s terribly busy, you know.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Foolish of me to think you’d be Death. Don’t think he’d go around in a bathrobe and slippers, now, would he?”

“No, he wouldn’t,” agreed the investigator calmly. “My name is Percival Franklin Gamble. I’m a private detective licensed here in the city of Breckenweld. I’m hoping to bring your killer to justice. But first, I have to ask—you’re not a vampire, are you?”

“No,” the dead man frowned. “Why would you even ask me something so absurd?”

“Well, you were impaled with a stake,” Percy stated, then shrugged. “Ah well, no matter. Did you happen to see who killed you, sir?

“No,” the dead man said shortly.

Percy blinked in surprise. He stared pointedly at the corpse between the two of them. “Er, you really didn’t see your killer? You were stabbed in the chest, sir,” he said helpfully.

“So I was,” said the dead man, sounding rather annoyed. “I was a bit preoccupied with that, as you can imagine. Didn’t have too much time to see who was murdering me, now did I?”

Percy was taken aback. The dead weren’t usually this unhelpful. A sliver of fear began to worm its way into his heart. What if this was the case he couldn’t solve—all because the dead man couldn’t help him out? A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his clean-shaven face. He tried again.

“Well, do you know why you were killed at least?”

The dead man looked irate. “Are you implying I did something to deserve this fate?” he demanded.

“No, no, not at all!” protested Percy quickly. “It’s just that people don’t normally go around driving stakes through random and complete strangers without cause, you know?”

The dead man’s ire deflated a bit. He appeared to be thinking about Percy’s reasoning. “I suppose that’s true,” he said finally. “You must forgive me. I don’t seem to be myself. I don’t normally fly off the handle like this.”

“It’s quite alright,” Percy said amicably. “You’ve had quite the evening.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” sighed the dead man. “Very well, I’ll try to think of a reason I was murdered.”

“Were you wealthy?” suggested Percy.

The dead man nodded. “Immeasurably,” he answered. “I’m Gerald Jones. I run one of the largest copper mines on the eastern coast.” He paused and his face fell slightly. “Or, owned, I should say.” Then he shook his head and went on, “But no one here in Breckenweld knew that. I was traveling incognito, you see. My killer didn’t even loot my body, I don’t think.”

Percy thought hard and he thought fast—which was like talking and chewing gum and blowing a bubble all at the same time for him. It was difficult.

“Sir, if you were to die, what would happen to your vast wealth?”

“It would all pass to my business partner, Sam Hale,” the dead Gerald Jones said. Then, he frowned. “You don’t think he had me killed, do you?”

Percy shrugged. “He had the most motive, don’t you think?”

Rage blossomed on the dead man’s face. “Well, that’s just perfect!” he snarled. “If I weren’t dead, I’d kill him myself! See how he likes it!”

“Not very much, I’d imagine,” Percy replied, distractedly. He let go of the dead man’s wrist and let it fall limp to the ground. He dusted off his hands and clambered to his feet. “I’ll let the City Watch know about your business partner, Sam Hale. Thanks for your help, Mr. Jones. You can rest easy knowing that he won’t get away with this. He’ll be brought to justice.”

He began to walk away. The dead man called out in a faltering, frightful voice, “Wait—you’re leaving me? All by myself?”

Percy turned back. “It’s quite alright, Mr. Jones,” he assured him. “Death will be along shortly to collect you. If you see him coming up behind you, do try and act surprised, won’t you? He likes sneaking up on people.”

With that, Percy left the dead man behind and walked away—not to get the City Watch, not yet. He stepped into the dark alleyway instead. There was still a piece of the puzzle missing, after all—the one that really mattered. Had Sam Hale killed his business partner himself, or had he hired someone else to do the deed?

In the dark alleyway, Percy crouched on the ground and kept motionless and quiet. It didn’t take long for him to hear the faint scritch-scratch of nails on the cobblestone—rats scurrying and going about their business.

Percy closed his eyes and noiselessly uttered one of the few other incantations he had picked up—Speaking with Animals. Now, this was only slightly easier than Speaking with the Dead, because animals used to talk to people all the time. They’ve long since given it up, seeing as most people didn’t understand them anymore. Percy did.

He chittered to one of the rats in the alleyway, “Hello, friend. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about who killed that man over there just a short while ago, would you?”

The rat stopped scurrying and blinked in surprise. It stood on its hind legs, staring back at Percy. Then, it spoke. “Hello,” it replied timidly. “I saw the whole thing actually. The poor fellow got jumped by another man with a large mustache and wearing a black cloak. He caught him by surprise and then stabbed him with a wooden stake. Strange, you humans—the whole thing seemed unprovoked. Not like he was intruding on his territory or anything sensible like that.”

“This man, the killer—did you see which way he went?” Percy asked eagerly.

The rat nodded. “Sure—he went into the tavern across the street. I’m in this alleyway often. I see that fellow there from time to time—I think he has a room there. Real nasty type, that one. Kills for money, I think. Strange, you humans.”

“Thank you, friend, you’ve been very helpful,” Percy said graciously and bowed his head in respect.

“Don’t mention it.”

Since the conversation was over, each went their separate ways. The rat scampered off, and Percy turned and hurried out of the alley.

“Harland!” he shouted through cupped hands down the empty street. “Harland, I’ve solved it!”

Moments later, the II Watch Commander Harland Graves came running around the corner, along with several other members of the City Watch. Their arms and armor clattered and clanked and made quite a ruckus. Almost enough to wake the dead. But not quite. They had been waiting one street over, and now stopped in front of Percy, out of breath. He told them everything rather matter-of-factly as he was stifling yet another yawn.

“The dead man is Gerald Jones. He is not a vampire. He ran a copper mine on the eastern coast. I believe his business partner, Sam Hale, had him murdered so he’d inherit his vast wealth. His hired killer—a man with a large mustache and wearing a black cloak—has a room in the tavern across the street. He’s probably hiding out there right now.”

Graves scratched his stubble thoughtfully. The other members of the City Watch all gaped at Percy with open-mouthed awe. It never failed to amaze them, no matter how many cases he cracked. If he was right, the whole thing had taken him less than ten minutes to solve. The man was a genius.

“How sure are you, Percy?” Graves finally asked.

Percy shrugged. “As sure as I always am, Harland. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

With that, the foremost and finest detective and investigator into matters most strange in all of Breckenweld turned and walked down the cobblestone street in his bathrobe and fuzzy pink bunny-shaped slippers.

The members of the City Watch all stared after him for a moment, stunned at his abrupt departure. Then, they sprang into action. They found Mr. Jones’ killer in the tavern, just as Percy had said. The assassin confessed to everything—after realizing he could avoid the noose if he gave up his employer. He didn’t even hesitate to give up his employer’s confidence—Sam Hale.

No one, not even II Watch Commander Harland Graves knew how Percival Franklin Gamble did it. Those who knew the truth certainly weren’t talking. Graves, being a smart individual, had his suspicions, but he kept those to himself. Eventually, he would address the matter and question Gamble’s methods, but not tonight. That day would come soon enough.

As for Percival Franklin Gamble, he went back home and promptly fell fast asleep. It should be noted, though, that on the way back home, he stepped in two entirely different puddles again—thoroughly soaking his fuzzy pink bunny-shaped slippers which had just started to dry. He really was one of the unluckiest fellows to walk the streets of Breckenweld. One day, it would all catch up to him. And when it did, Percy’s entire life would be turned upside-down. But not yet. Not tonight. With what was left of that night, Percy slept.

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