Flopping down into the armchair in Diero's study, Cerys let out a long, heavy sigh. Diero watched her in amusement. Cerys felt anything but amused. There was a lingering moment of silence as Diero studied her expression closely, before his own shifted into one of concern. Leaning back against his desk, he drummed his fingers upon the polished wooden top, and waited for her to start.

"I think we've been looking at the Filth Fever case wrong," she said.

"Interesting," Diero said. "Do go on."

"We've been working upon the assumption Lavinia Greenbottle was the target, and my family - and our pig - were unintended victims." She clenched her jaw and shook her head. "Everyone was surprised at Wilmorn's success. What if… what if he had to succeed? What if someone sabotaged Lavinia?" she asked. "At the Summer Fête, Lavinia accused my father of having bribed the judges. What if someone did? What if we weren't the unintended victims? What if we were the targets?"

"That is a lot of 'what if's, Cerys," Diero remarked, but stroked his chin all the same. "What has brought all this on?" he asked.

"Another of the pigs is dead - and all her piglets," Cerys said. "I was looking after them yesterday. They were fine - they weren't sick in any way," she explained. "Furthermore, the only suspect we could find - whilst working under the assumption Mrs Greenbottle was the target - was Haseid Jassan, and you, nor I, nor even Shandri Kulenov seems to think Mr Jassan is the sort."

"No. You're right. I don't think he's the sort," Diero said. "Of course, his wife didn't seem the sort to steal flowers and frame another in an attempt to sabotage the competition's chances at success."

"What if this isn't about killing Mrs Greenbottle or my family?" Cerys suggested. "What if this is about the Jassans? Atala Jassan protested her sentencing - she claimed her innocence right until the end, and now Haseid Jassan might be accused of… pretty much the same thing. Don't you find that suspicious?"

"So you think someone is trying to frame Mr Jassan?"

"Well… let's pretend for a moment Mrs Greenbottle was the culprit here. If she poisoned a cake, it would make sense for her to then sabotage her own chances at the Pig Agility - she wouldn't want to kill her very own Portia by eating the cake, would she? Meanwhile, Mr Jassan offered to lend the tin for the cake this year - which of course Mrs Greenbottle would know. After all, she's friends with none other than Shandri Kulenov. And of course Ms Kulenov would tell Mrs Greenbottle about the tin. Mrs Greenbottle wins every year, and for the past few years, the cake has been a rather sorry melted mess. Shandri would want her friend to know that the cake would be intact this year."

"So Mrs Greenbottle bribes Shandri Kulenov to let Wilmorn win, and then Ms Kulenov tells you about Mr Jassan's feud with Mrs Greenbottle to mislead you," Diero said, nodding in deep thought. "Well, it's certainly a sound theory, Cerys," he said with a sigh. Cerys noted he sounded ever so slightly impressed. Despite her attempts to conceal her pride, she failed. "However, theories don't close cases." Her pride vanished, and was swiftly replaced with embarrassment. "We need to prove or disprove your theory, and for that… we need evidence."

"So we need to know where Mrs Greenbottle was in the days leading up to the Pig Agility. If the cake - or tin - was laced with poison, she had only a narrow window within which to do it," Cerys said.

"That's no easy task," Diero said. Cerys nodded in agreement. "Still, I applaud your thinking. I had wondered why you hadn't mentioned the case in a while, but I hadn't wished to pry," he added. With an appreciative smile, Cerys sighed.

"Well, it's worth thinking about. I'm not sure how to get that evidence, but I'll continue to think on it," she said. "In the meanwhile, we should continue thinking about the book and its clues."

Taking a deep breath, Diero pushed up from where he was leant against the desk and turned around to examine the numerous scraps of parchment lay scattered across its surface. Cerys pulled herself out of the chair, and made her way over to help him. She stood by quietly and watched as he sorted through the passages, putting the references to Hellgate Dell to one side.

Cerys was about to ask how they planned to decipher the other clues, when Diero thrust the neat wad of parchment into her hands.

"Read them aloud to me," he said, and turned once more to rest against his desk. He closed his eyes and pressed a finger to his chin.

With a deep sigh, Cerys glanced down to the scrap at the top of the pile. "The light shone as if it were day, always. That was, until the night came. And it was a long night. The oppressive darkness tore at the day until the light dwindled, until there was no light left. And in the darkness echoed screams of the lost souls, far beyond the reach of any god." She swallowed, and lifted her gaze to meet Diero's. Only, he was not looking at her. His eyes were trained on the chair she'd been sitting in, now empty.

Shaking his head, he waved his hand. "Next one."

Cerys placed the sheet of parchment down onto the desk, and scanned over the next. "The naked eye could not see it. It was bathed in the light of fire and of radiance. The men who glanced upon it were blinded by its authority, and they never did see the world in the same light again. They did not see the light again."

"Next."

"Once, the rock was rich. Veins of glimmering ore ran through it, like rivers through a valley. It was not long after the minerals were discovered that they found their way into the fires that burned them into shapes of war."

"Next."

"The armies could not fight them. The portal would not shut. Day and night, it spewed fire and ash, rot and decay. The best they could do was hold-"

"Stop," he said. Cerys stopped. "Do you think that one should be in the pile with the others?" he asked.

Cerys paused to take a breath while she considered what he was saying. "I don't know," she said after a moment of thought. "It mentions lions here. I don't know how lions or treants could get confused in translation - perhaps due to the differences between Netherese and Old High Wyrm?"

"That's what I'm wondering. Still… the difference between treants and lions… The only man who can tell us for certain is the man who translated this, himself," Diero said. "And he doesn't much like me." He threw a pointed look at Cerys who shot him back a look most unimpressed. "Miss Jones... we're so close to solving this. You don't plan on giving up now, do you?"

Cerys scowled at him but sighed in defeat. She glanced to the window to get a gauge of how late it might be, but she supposed it didn't really matter. Paelias Meliamne was likely to be in the Seven-Stringed Harp, regardless of however early or late it might be. "I suppose you want me to go and do that now," she said.

"I'll get dinner prepared for when you return."

"You're lucky you're a good chef," she said, and gathered up the rest of the parchment, before turning to leave. Diero caught her shoulder, stopping her before she managed to take even one step.

Looking her in the eye, with such intensity that she shuddered, he smiled with a great deal of sincerity. "That's not why I'm lucky," he said, and let go of her arm. Cerys remained in place for a moment, watching him closely. Averting her gaze, she kept her expression as impassive as she could manage until she was half way to the tavern, when she could no longer keep the smile away from her lips, and by the time she reached the abnormally low door, her cheeks ached with an unfamiliar feeling.

"Miss Jones," Finnan Greenbottle called out in a sigh from behind the bar. She turned her head to look at him. "You seem to be in a good mood. Can I help you?"

"Actually, Mr Greenbottle," she said, "I believe you can."

Rather evidently, Finnan Greenbottle had not expected Cerys to take him up on his offer, as he flinched and stared at her, startled. "Oh." He grunted.

Cerys made her way to the bar. "I don't know if you know, but I have been working rather closely with Mr Astorio, aiding him on one of his cases… and one of Mrs Marsk's chickens has been… well… for lack of any better word… stolen."

"That's awful, who would want to steal one of Mrs Marsk's chickens?" he asked. "Or any chicken for that matter."

"Well, quite," Cerys said. "I'm having a hard time trying to put motive to this crime. There was also no sign of anyone breaking in. I believe her chicken may have been killed and eaten, leaving little to no trace of the poor thing left. However, whatever broke in to eat her poor Clementine must have been rather small. I'm thinking a rat."

"A rat? Heavens, that would be a disaster!"

"Mm, precisely. I haven't seen much of a rat infestation, but it's possible it has not yet made it to our farm. We are - after all - a little ways further from the town centre than most others. Has your farm had any trouble recently?" she asked.

Finnan pressed his lips together, and looked deep in thought. After a moment, he shook his head. "I'm glad to say it hasn't. I know that's not particularly helpful for Mr Astorio's investigation," he said, and shook his head again. "If I see any rats, I'll be sure to let one of you know, though. The last thing Secomber needs is another rat infestation."

Cerys bowed her head in gratitude. "Thank you, Mr Greenbottle. If you see so much as rat droppings be sure to let us know immediately, no matter how insignificant you think it may seem," she said, and Finnan nodded. "Again, thank you - and I hope for all our sakes, you don't find anything of the sort."

"Me too, Miss Jones," he said. "Now, was there anything else I can help you with?" he asked.

Cerys glanced over her shoulder, her gaze wandering the room until it landed upon the back of Paelias Meliamne. His hair was not quite the nest it had been the last time she'd come to this tavern, but it was well on its way. "No," she said, "that would be all." Turning around, she meandered her way across the bar. Paelias' two drinking companions each sighed and stood up when they saw her approaching, and relocated themselves rather wordlessly to another table, leaving Paelias to look around in confusion.

She sat down beside him right as he noticed her. With one brow cocked, he drew breath - presumably to ask her why she was harassing him at the tavern again - when she placed the parchment on the table and spread them out. He turned his attention to the translations he'd made, though his eyes narrowed as he studied them.

"Where are the rest?" he asked. "I gave you a lot more than this."
"I burned them, because they were distracting me," she said. He lifted his hands and let them drop rather heavily onto the table. "Hey," she grunted in warning. He lifted his hands again, this time in resignation. "Right," she said, cutting to the chase. "So. You see this passage here about the lions?" she asked, pointing to the respective scrap of parchment. "Is this a reference to the treants mentioned in some of the others?"

Paelias' eyes narrowed. He picked up the parchment to study it, and stared at it in silence for a moment, before shaking his head. "No. This one was Dragonspear Castle."

"Dragonspear Castle?" she asked. "I'm sorry… what is that?"

The elf attempted to force a smile, but did not quite manage. "An old... friend of mine pissed off a Rakshasa some years ago, anyway… the damned thing came back - somehow - even though it had been cast to the hells - and decided to get revenge. I was sent to Dragonspear Castle to deal with it," he said.

"And there were lions?"

"What? Oh… no. No lions. The man who sent us told us a bit of its history. Apparently, in an attempt to keep the devils - coming from some portal - at bay, they set up the Hold of Battle Lions. It was some shrine to Tempus," he said. "I'm not sure of more than that."

"Who could tell me more?"

"You'd have to ask the man who sent us, himself. He's in Daggerford. Isteval or something like that. He had some issues with some Red Wizards or something, I'm not really sure," Paelias said.

Cerys' heart skipped a beat. "Did you say red wizard?" she asked, her stomach twisting into a knot. She wet her lips, and waited for Paelias to finish swallowing his mouthful of ale.

"Yeah."

Sighing at his pointless response, she gritted her teeth together. "What is a red wizard?"

"Red robes, shaved heads, tattoos. Powerful mages from Thay. Caused a lot of trouble for this Isteval guy, and subsequently me. Not a fan of them."

"Madevic got into a fight with one."

"Well… rest in peace to your ex, I guess."

"Actually, he's fine," Cerys said, "but that's not the point-"

"Madevic survived a fight with a Red Wizard of Thay? Nice. You shoulda stuck with that guy instead of wasting your time with Diero."

Cerys inhaled sharply. "You really don't like him, do you?" she asked. "Why? What's he done?"

"There's just something off about him. He walks around like he owns the place, like he knows something we all don't - like he's better than the rest of us," Paelias said in a grunt. "I hate that kinda person."

Cerys thought Diero was better than most people, but she also knew better than to tell Paelias that. "Well, thank you for your time. If I have a moment, I'll have to see about getting to Daggerford," she said.

"You won't," Paelias said as she stood up. She looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "You'll be stuck here your whole life, because I don't see you wanting to spend another second away from Diero, and your life is going to be so boring."

"Better boring in the courthouse than boring in a pig sty," she said. Paelias shrugged, conceding. Cerys tried her best to conceal her feelings, but his words bothered her somewhat. She rose to her feet and without so much as excusing herself, headed straight for the door.