The man in rags next to me put a hand over his mouth. The body was still fresh, but the sheer barbarism associated with Susanna's death was overwhelming. There were three citizen's crowded around the body alongside us.
"What kind of person would do this?" I crouched down, trying to get a good look at the body. Perhaps there would be something worth noting — anything, really — that would help identify a potential perpetrator.
"It's the Butcher, for sure! Only he could do something like that. And he's struck before!"
"How do you know it's a man? Perhaps the Butcher is a woman." I looked up at the tattered man, narrowing my eyes. I couldn't be too careful: if this man was really the Butcher, and was somehow tricking me, I best be on my guard. I rose from my spot on the ground, crossing my arms.
"Well it has to be! Right? What kind of woman could do such a thing?"
"Any type of person could commit a crime. Haven't you ever heard of the Daedric Prince Namira? They're generally depicted as a woman. Or how about Boethiah, or Mephala? Gods you're a daft one." I pinched the bridge of my nose, letting out a frustrated sigh. By now there were guards surrounding us: I turned to face one on my near right.
"You there! I have some questions, if that's alright."
The guard put a steady hand on the hilt of his sword.
"What can I do for you citizen?"
"I'd like to know a little more about these murders..."
The guard looked down, letting out a sigh.
"The war's stretched a lot of the guard thin so there isn't much to know. Life goes on, but eventually the killer will be found, mark my words."
"...Eventually? There's a murderer in your city, and you don't do a damned thing about it? Shor's bones!" I yelled. How could guards stand by and let these girls die? Were they going to let it pass and wait for all the women of Windhelm to be slaughtered in the night?
"Look, I'd appreciate your help. You seem like you've got a decent head on your shoulders. Besides, the Jarl would be pleased to know his city will be safe. I suggest you talk to his steward, Jorleif, at the Palace of the Kings. He can tell you more. Good day, miss." The guard inclined his head to me and walked up the stairs to my right, hand still on the hilt of his sword.
I sighed — again. Clearly Windhelm was going to be more trouble than I bargained for.
I looked around. The three people who were gathered around the body when I first arrived with the ragged man were still there. It would be best to talk to them.
I approached the haggard beggar woman first. She looked cold; if she stood outside any longer she's freeze to death.
"Excuse me, miss...?"
The woman looked at me, startled. "Silda. Silda the Unseen. I got here as quick as I could, you know. But by the time I got here she was dead. Dead and gone. Poor girl...". Silda put her arms around herself, and shivered.
"Here. For your help. Use it to get warm, okay?" From my belt I untied a tiny satchel filled with some gold. I handed her the package, a small smile gracing my lips.
"Oh! Thank you, bless your kind heart."
I inclined my head, and turned to face the well dressed man.
"Did you happen to see anything?"
"I saw a fellow running away...couldn't get a good look at him."
"So it was a man?" I stepped closer to him.
"Had to have been. He was tall. Too large to be a woman — it was dark though. Couldn't have seen much, you know how it is."
I furrowed my brows. There were torches along the wall. If this man had seen anything, it would have had to have been along a corridor, and he probably would have seen something.
"What was your name again?"
The man smiled, smoothing his outerclothes: "Calixto Corrium, at your service. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a business to run. I need my beauty sleep for work in the morning. Perhaps if you'll come by the shop, I'll have my thoughts sorted out... I could be of use to you then." With a curt nod, Calixto Corrium left in what I assume was the direction of his shop.
I turned to the last person there, the priestess of Arkay.
"Did you happen to see anything? Anything at all?"
The old woman looked at me with sad and tired eyes.
"No, sorry. But I did notice that her coinpurse was still intact, so whoever did this wasn't in it for the gold. I'm going to prepare the body now. If you'll excuse me."
The man in rags remained next to me, clearly uncomfortable.
"Well?" I said.
"It's a shame, to be sure..."
I narrowed my eyes. "You never told me your name."
"Well, you never asked. It's Agrenor. Agrenor Once-Honored. I want to apologize for what Rolff did to you earlier. Perhaps he took it a bit too far."
"That man beat me. He kicked me while I was down. There is no honor in that," I spat. "If you want to be of use then scan the streets at night instead of brawling with the dark elves — they wish no ill-will toward you." I turned away from Agrenor, and began my trek towards the Palace of the Kings.
There was ice everywhere I looked. Or snow. If there was to be a blood trail, I would have seen it. That meant the killer didn't come from the Palace. Points for the Jarl, I suppose. At least he wasn't in the company of butchers.
The Palace of the Kings was huge. It was much large than Dragonsreach, or it gave the appearance of it. The stone walls seemed to surround me. It felt more like a prison than a palace. It was at that moment I wished I was home in High Rock, in Alcaire, or at least the wide plains surrounding Whiterun where Kyne's breath was abundant and the air was free. I pushed all of my weight on the heavy metal doors. It took all I had to open it — it had to have weighed just as much as me or more.
The Palace of Kings wasn't as dreary as the outside suggested. Light blue banners adorned the walls, and torches dotted the halls. An overhead chandelier hung over an extended dining table laid out with a great many foods. There were nobles littered about: No doubt many were Thanes or Stormcloack Generals or even simple merchants.
At the far end of the hall was a raised stone throne.
It was empty.
"Praise Talos!" I whispered. I knew I would have to interact with Ulfric Stormcloak eventually but if I could delay the meeting any longer, it would be a blessing.
There was a man with an interesting mustache at the right of the throne. He was clearly a Nord, but he was of a leaner build. He had a red hap on his head, and parchment in his hands.
I began approaching him swiftly when suddendly I heard a commotion to my left.
"Damn them Galmar! Damn those Elvish bastards! Tullius would hand over Skyrim on a silver platter to sate their appetite."
Ulfric Stormcloak came barging into the hall, walking backwards as to face the man he was arguing with. In close pursuit was a great bear of a man (who was convenienty dressed in bear-like armor).
"Jarl Ulfric, calm yourself! Skyrim will never belong to the Aldmeri Dominion: you know that and I know that! Besides, we promised never to talk politics in front of guests."
The man's eyes darted over to me, and he inclined his head in my direction. I was frozen in place: I was directly in front of the throne, a few paces away from the steward. My mouth was agape: I was attempting to talk to Jorlief, but the commotion had turned my head away. Ulfric whipped around. He too, seemed frozen. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
"What brings you to Eastmarch? Last time we met I believe you were destined for the headsman's axe."
I blinked, hard. Then I too cleared my throat.
"I could say the same to you, Ulfric Stormcloak."
The man behind him let out a hearty laugh. Ulfric turned his head to glare at him. Then he walked towards me. He made a motion and I moved aside. Turning about, he sat and reclined on his throne.
"Only the foolish approach a Jarl without summoms."
I narrowed my eyes, all initial feelings of embarrassment gone.
"I was here to see your steward, Jorlief, about a matter you care little about."
Ulfric leaned closer to me. "And what matter is that."
"I'm here for the Butcher."
Ulfric let out a chuckle.
"Ah! and you're going to catch him? I doubt you'd have the aptitude and strength to catch a murderer, much less open the doors of this Palace!" Ulfric spread his arms wide, then placed his hand under his chin, clearly entertained.
My face turned a deep red. "I can get on very well, thanks." I turned to face Jorlief, who began briefing me on the murders and their trends.
I was listening well, trying to absorb as much information as I could from the steward. As time elapsed I couldn't help but hear Ulfric and his man laughing. I turned my head a degree to the left. Ulfric was motioning towards me, whispering to the man at his side. I put my hands on my hips, excused myself from Jorlief, and addressed the Jarl:
"Do you mind?"
Ulfric Stormcloack ignored me, and the man on his right let out another laugh. I sighed.
"Thank you for all of your help, Jorlief. I hope my efforts orove successful." With that, I took my leave from the Palace of the Kings.