The crime scene was as both Ajax the guard and Kelner had described it. It was a modest apartment in the arcane district of the city. Such apartments were expensive, but magic users tended to be wealthy enough to afford such accommodations. The apartment was furnished with a few bare necessities, thick walls, and some runes carved into the walls that Jiles informed me were simple and meant only to provide basic protections to the tenants of the apartment, nothing as elaborate as the runes we saw in the magical holding cell. Chelton Herthshire's apartment was sparsely decorated, and the few niceties that had once decorated the den were charred and burnt now. Everything in the den was covered in soot and ashes. The smell of burnt flesh still clung to the air like a disease, I quickly put a handkerchief to my nose.

If the smell bothered Whitman he did not show it in the least. He moved about the apartment in a hurried manner, as if time were running out. He picked over the black remains of the room with his walking cane and made a quick pass through the adjoining rooms. There must not have been anything of consequence there because he quickly returned to the den.

Something caught his eye. "Your kerchief, Smit, quickly!"

I was a little stunned at his request, but I thought the smell must at last be bothering him since he asked so suddenly for my handkerchief. I handed it to him and looked in shock as he pushed it to the ground and quickly ruined the fine white silk by pushing it back and forth across the ashy floor. Soon enough a smeared image could be seen on the floor, but the soot was too thick to make it out.

"Get a bowl of water, Smit, I saw one on the kitchen counter."

I ran to fulfill his request, and soon returned to the room with the large clay bowl filled with what must have been the household wash water for the next morning. Without a word to me, Whitman leapt up from the floor and took the bowl from my hands. He unceremoniously scattered the water across the ashes and soot on the floor, washing away a large portion of the blackness in the process.

Underneath the ashes of the carpet an intricate design was drawn. It was made with some type of purple paint that had obviously been painted by a skilled hand. More impressive than that, the paint had not been marred with the fire save that it had been obscured by the ashes of the rug.

Whitman studied it for a moment and frowned deeply. "I believe that being correct about a theory has not given me the satisfaction it normally would, my friend. The implications of these markings are grave."

"What do you mean?" I asked with concern etched on my expression.

"No time, Smit. We must be quick or all will be lost!" With this he dashed out the door at a full sprint and I soon followed.