16th of the Month of Seeds, 1864

Isle of Morley, City of Fraeport

It came like a soft breeze through her window. The smell of salt and a cool northern chill woke Sadia from a dream. She did not jump, only turned to her side to see the lights of the town stretch out beyond her open window. A young thing, with dusty blonde locks all tangled in bed rags, she looked all the world of a girl in her prime, almost a woman. She stood, and lazily closed her window before it struck her as sleep fell from her eyes. She had latched the window before bed, knowing the sounds of the docks and the cranes would wake her in the morning. She did it every night.

"Strange," Sadia mumbled. She shuffled to her bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, looking into her open hands. A simple ring adorned her right ring finger. Silver, with a small green gem inlaid between a simple knot.

She removed the ring, and turned it over. The moon was shining, a strange occurrence in that land of grey skies. Though it made the silver shine and the simple emerald gleam with the warmth of a promise made.

"Just one more week," Sadia muttered as she held the ring close. A creak came from the corner of her room. It startled her, so she hastily tried to put the ring on her finger but fumbled with the band until it fell to the floor with a small clatter. She fell to the floor to begin looking but was met with a pair of boots. They smelled of mud and peat. She looked up with silent terror to see a tall figure standing before her. A Morley man by his build she assumed. The top half of his body was enshrouded in darkness.

Fear fell over her, but she was a Morley girl, and not one to let some man get the best of her without a fight. Without a second thought she rushed the figure, tackling him with her right side sending them both to the ground and into the darkness cast by the moon. The man grabbed her, and with a grunt tossed her aside as if she weighed nothing. He was strong, more fear, which Sadia boiled into a hard hatred. She had been tossed near her vanity, which held a small pistol in the top drawer. She removed it and and turned to face her assailant, sights aimed down at where she thought he was. The figure was in shadow, all she could see were his boots.

"Well get up then!" Sadia shouted. "Be sure I'll want to see your face before I blow you away."

The figure stood slowly, and remained in shadow for a moment. Then began walking forward. Each step creaked along the old wooden floor as the moon began to fall behind the clouds. As it did, it became harder to know how tall the man really was, he seemed to shift with the shadows, becoming taller, more imposing. Before Sadia knew it, the moon had emerged from behind the clouds and the man was nowhere to be seen. She stepped forward, slowly inching to the place where he should have been. A sharp pain split her back. A gleaming knife emerged from her chest like the shoot of a tree. Behind her came a voice. Quiet, but in a familiar accent. He was a Morley Man, but he spoke calmly, like a moth's wings.

"Call me Drifter," the man said. "For I am not of any land you know." He pulled the knife free, and Sadia fell hard to the floor. She looked up to see the man as dark as the space between stars. But his face was masked, covered by a horse's skull with the nose pointed toward the ground. She lifted her pistol and fired, landing a shot in Drifter's chest. He shifted, then sighed. He held something in his hand, a simple band the color of moonlight.

"All I want is your Hatred," Drifter said. He pried open Sadia's chest wound, and pushed the ring deep next to her heart. "And the Hatred of those around you." Sadia screamed as this was done, a piercing scream that would wake everyone on the city block for certain.

She felt herself expire as the scream left her body, though she did not leave. She did not find exaltation within the Void, nor the bliss of eternal darkness. No, she remain trapped behind her own open eyes, within her corpse, for there was nowhere for her to go.

Drifter leant in toward her. "You see now, dear," He said in a whisper. "Hate me, so I can save you from this curse." The moon fell behind the clouds, and in a moment the window was open. Before she knew it, the dock workers were shouting and running about their ships. Cranes whirred and flumes sputtered black smoke from their bowels. The Drifter was gone, and she cursed the name of that stranger from a silent tongue, and from lungs that did not breath.

18th of the Month of Seeds, 1864

Isle of Morley, City of Fraeport

The Constabaltory was tasked with this horrid thing. A murder in the city near the docks, one of several about the Isle with no seeming connection. Al sat outside the house, having been in a few times already. He had told everyone that nothing should be touched, the family be removed, and a guard posted at all hours. Only one of those requests had been awarded him. The family was being kept for questioning down at the precinct, as some superiors of Al's believed the father had killed the girl, maybe the mother. It wasn't a surprise, considering no one had seen anything happen, nor did the girl have any enemies. If anything she was well loved, betrothed to a merchant with the very ring they found embedded in her chest cavity. Al sighed, he was young, but he felt like he'd seen enough death in his days. The house was cordoned off but it was a mess inside, all possible leads were lost when constable boots tore the place apart. He was of a new school of thought, preserving a scene could yield so many results, so much evidence, but he was a drop in the Great Ocean compared to the old guard.

"Inspector?" a gruff voice returned him to reality. It was an older man, with a stiff arm. "Post for you," the man handed Al a letter with his good hand, the other heavily bandaged. The man tipped his hat and left without a word. Al wasn't surprised, more annoyed. Couriers often made deliveries, but he never figured they'd be able to find him so easily. The envelope was simple parchment, sealed with nothing more than unmarked black wax. Al chuckled, and then pocketed the letter with no intention of opening it. A death threat probably, he got them often enough from criminals and constables alike. He was in the business of changing things, and a lot people didn't like that.

The docks were a tough place, not so much this time of day. It was around early afternoon, all the ships were out trawling, trading, or doing what little whaling there was left to do in this part of the world. Al thought he'd meet up with an informant, one who'd done him well in the past. A beggar on these docks who went by Finn Silver-Tooth on account of the silver tooth he used to have before it got knocked out by one Inspector with grand ambition.

Al found the chummer chatting up some girl, who was laughing at it dirty jokes.

"Back at it again Finn?" Al said with wry smile.

"Bugger off chum," Finn said, not looking away from the black haired girl in front of him.

"Not even for a silver, eh old pal?" Al produced a silver tooth showed it to the man.

Finn sighed. "Excuse me, dear," he said the to the woman. He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. She giggled and ran off. "What do you want Inspector, aside from ruining my day?"

"You know Sadia O'Drow?" Al asked, pocketing the silver tooth.

"Course I did, everyone did," Finn said. "Sweetest tavern girl on this bleak rock if you ask me. Not a soul woulds harm her."

"You hear about her being dead I take?" Al asked, taking out two cigarettes, lighting one and handing the other to Finn.

Finn took the lighter from Al and lit up his own cigarette, letting the smoke stream out in a slight whistle from the gap in his teeth. "Maybe, heard her old man did it. But what does some lowly gutter-shit like me know about it?"

Al handed him a 5 Coin, gleaming silver with the Empress's face on it. Emily Kaldwin the Clever in all her glory being traded hands for a bit of information.

"I'd prefer a smaller piece of silver but, who knows when I'm getting that back," Finn chuckled. He took another drag of his cigarette.

"The skinny, Finn," Al pushed

"Right, Right…" Finn shrugged. "All I know is that she was a light sleeper, always kept her window closed. That's least what her betrothed said over a couple of cups at the Grinning Whale. It's where she worked."

"Her window was open when we got there," Al said. "You know this how?"

"Man's gotta drink, and that boyfriend of hers is a blubbering mess," Finn took another drag of his cigarette. "Anyone buys him a drink now, he spills his guts like a slaughterhouse whale." Finn closed his eyes and shook his head. "No need of mine to see a man in that state again."

"Thanks, Finn," Al slapped Finn on the shoulder, a brotherly gesture. "Same time next week?

"Eh, fuckign right," Finn chuckled. He pulled again on his cigarette, and waved Al off.

The Grinning Whale wasn't far from the victims place, maybe three to four blocks. Al was fine walking there, though some people in his position would think to take back alleys, maybe hire a carriage. Al was never good as subtle, he wasn't one to skulk in the shadows nor did he have quick fingers. He was stocky, built like a barge with a mop of brown hair on his head that stood out like a black stain amongst all the fair heads on Morley. Some Gristolian had gifted him it when he plumbed his mom, leaving her with a full belly and soon another mouth to feed. He had a chip on his shoulder, sure. Did he think less of other people, probably. But he wasn't the kind to let the world fall apart around him while he was still standing.

He was his mother's son, that was certain, but there was always resentment deep inside him. A hole he couldn't find a filling for.

Al noticed something odd outside the the Pub, a beggar he'd never seen before. Now Al knew every whore and beggar in Fraeport, and he could probably name each one of them. But this kid stood out like a sore thumb. Kid was a generous term. He was maybe in his late 20s early 30s, maybe an age with Al himself. But he had this look in his eyes, a dead doll's eye look, even though they were bright with youth.

"Hey, chum," Al said beckoning to the beggar. "I ain't seen you around before. New in town?"

The beggar said nothing, his hair was long and matted. His face was gaunt and thin. Something about him seemed familiar to Al. Like an old friend maybe.

"Hey, Hey, you listening? Or do you have fish eggs in your ears?" Al said walking over the the guy.

"No, I…" the beggar said. "I just haven't…"

"You could probably use a bite?" Al chuckled. "Come on, I'm goin in, you wanna come with? I'll pay for you meal if you do me a couple favors."

Al could always use more informants, more eyes on the streets and more places he couldn't go watched. It just meant he'd have to dole out a little extra coin.

"What kind of favors?" the beggar said standing up. He was of a slight built even with so little meat on his bones. A little shorter than Al, and in what looked like a beat up brown jacket. "I have a bad history with trusting strangers."

"How about this?" Al extended his hand. "I'm Alphonse Irwhile, I work for the Constabatory. I generally need eyes on the street and I pay my informants well, that's what I want of you."

The man hesitantly extended his hand. "Just call me…" the man paused. "Call me Jack for now."

"Okay Jack," Al said clasping an arm around Jack's shoulders. Let's get you a bite, a drink, and a bath. You smell like shit." Al laughed heartily as the two walked into the tavern.

The pub was full of people eating lunch, and drinking beer. The only person who seemed alone was a lone Gritsolian at a table nursing a soon to be empty bottle of rum.

"Okay Jack, Food and Drink or a Bath first?" Al said. "I'm meeting someone, so you can join us if you want a bit of stew?"

"Food," Jack said. Then shrugged. "Maybe a pint."

"That's a good man," Al laughed. They walked over to the drunken man at his table and sat down.

The man was fumbling with a silver ring with a green gem. "Andrew Ghenst, I take it?" Al asked. "Can I buy you a nail in your coffin for a tale?"

"You'd buy a grieving man a drink? Fine place this Fraeport," Andrew said. He slurred his speech, his eyes unclear. "What do I call you friend?"

"Oh I'm Al," Al said, he gestured to Jack. "This is Jack, we saw you in these sorts and thought you could use some kindness."

"The only kindness I need is a bullet," Andrew sobbed softly. "My sweet Sadia…" He began to weep softly.

"Alphonse," Jack said, his eyes wide from behind shaggy locks.

"It's Al, Jack, just, Al," Al grabbed a waitress and ordered three stews and three pints of malty beer. "And don't worry you're food is coming."

"Not that Al," Jack grumbled. His eyes unblinking on the sorry man before them. "Who is this man?"

"Word around town is he lost his betrothed not two nights ago," Al said with a shake of his head. "Murdered in her own room. They say her Pop did it."

"That's not true!" Andrew slurred. Spit dripping from his mouth, tears flowing from his eyes. "No way he could, no way he could have killed her!"

"Alright friend, I believe you," Al said. "Give yourself a minute, our food is here, Ah looks lovely eh?"

The bowls of stew sat steaming before them, the beer cool and refreshing. The three men ate and drank in silence, the sounds of the pub washing over them in waves. Laughter, shouts, burps, it all came like a wave on a noon tide at once. Al let his mind wander away, wander to a cold place with nothing to bother him, just his thoughts and himself. He could find peace there, away from the world at large. When the meal was done Jack walked away to find his room and bathe, leaving Al and Andrew to talk. Andrew seemed in better spirits if not a bit less drunk.

"Now Mr. Ghenst," Al said. "My name is Inspector Alphonse Irwhile from the Constabulary, and I believe what you're telling me is true." Al was poured another beer by the waitress who gave him a sorry smile. Al took a gulp, letting the drink sift into his gut.

"You...you do?" Andrew said. A glass of water was placed in front of him by a mournful looking barmaid. He drank is quick thirsty gulps. "But the other -"

"Don't mind them, I intend to find the man who did this," Al said with asuredy. "Now is there anything you can tell me about anyone who would want your betrothed dead? And why her window would be open?"

"Like I told the Contables, no one would want to harm her, not a single person in Fraeport nor all the Isles held her ill will," Andrew said blubbering a bit. "She always slept with her window closed because she was so close to the docks, they'd wake her up early in the morning seein as she worked nights and all."

"Then you don't see any reason to why her father or mother would kill her?" Al said, taking down some notes in his notepad. "They approved of you two being wed after all, eh?"

'They did. Her Father didn't have much of a dowery to offer up so I outright refused it, said I'd be sure to take care of the whole family with the money I'd soon be making."

"Money? You're coming into Coin soon?" Al asked. This wasn't mentioned before. A large business deal could mean the difference in this case.

"Indeed I was, nothing important, just steel fencing, treated not to rust," Andrew said. "Buyer was some Natural Philosopher at their Academy back in Dunwall, but I've missed the deadline and won't get pay. Bad luck seems to come all at once it seems."

A note dropped in front of Al from seemingly nowhere; simple rough parchment with unmarked black wax. "So it seems," Al sighed. He pocketed the letter with the other, with no intention of opening it.

"You pay for the good up front?" Al asked, taking another swig of his beer.

"Aye, I did," Andrew said, taking another large gulp of water. "Now the fencing is sitting in a warehouse down in the south end of town. Some warehouse owned by a Serkonan Landlord. Antonio...something or other...Visenko maybe."

Al had heard the name. Visenko was a property baron, made his name in leasing and holdings. He wasn't a big fish, but he did have ambition. Enough to take hold of a shipment that large and cut out the original middle man maybe. Al wrote it all down in his notes, getting as much of an address as he could out of Mr. Ghenst.

"Mr. Ghenst," Al said, finishing his beer. "I assure you'll the Contablatory will figure this out. Even if I have to do it myself."

"That's a might kind of you, Inspector," Andrew said. "Though if I keep this up," he gestured to the mostly empty bottle of rum. "I imagine I won't see the justice I so crave."

Al sniffed. "That's your prerogative, friend," he said clasping the widower on the shoulder. "But for now I have some business with a bathing lout."

"See you in the Void, Inspector," Andrew said, taking the dregs of the rum into his mouth. He slammed the bottle on the table.

Jack was being bathed by a comely young girl, who seemed to be enjoying the task a bit too much. The beggar looked trim, if not more sinew and bone than muscle.

"Excuse me miss?" Al addressed the girl. "I think he could use some new clothes, yes some of the same. Jacket, trousers, and sturdy boots. Here's fifty, keep the rest for yourself if its too much."

"You're a generous man," Jack said, rubbing his shoulders with the sponge the girl had left before she hurried out of the room. "And have plenty of coin to spread around."

"Figure it's better in their pockets than mine," Al said taking out a cigarette. He lit it with his small brass lighter.

"Not at all modest either," Jack said scrubbing his hair. "Most people would get the wrong idea Inspector."

"It's not a matter of modesty," Al said taking a drag of his cigarette. "It's a matter of care, and this isn't a place I intend to waste energy."

"An honest sort, I see," Jack said standing. His body now clean and pale. He wrapped himself in a towel from the dresser, and began drying himself. "Not the usual sort of person I find myself associating with. Not at all subtle either."

"Not my thing," Al chuckled. "Tried it, didn't take to it well."

"So what does my Patron need of me?" Jack said, sitting down. "I don't suppose I'm of much worth in an inn like this for long. Sending me back out on the streets then?"

Al thought for a moment. The guy was sharp, and had good eyes. More than that he seemed to question everything he saw. Every movement, intention, detail, he'd make a good lookout. "I figure - " Al began.

"Figure I'd be a good lookout?" Jack said, "I do tend to watch things, put two and two together better than most. Something we have in common." Jack crossed his legs, and clasped his hands together. He had simple bands on his fingers, black and white rings that could have been bone, driftwood, or stone. "No, let's make a deal Inspector."